“When we first knew Mrs. Gaskell she had not yet become celebrated, but
from the earliest days of our intercourse with her we were struck with
her genius, and used to say to each other that we were sure she could
write books, or do anything else in the world that she liked. And the
more we knew of her, the more we admired her. She was a noble-looking
woman, with a queenly presence, and her high, broad, serene brow and
finely-cut, mobile features, were lighted up by a constantly varying
play of expression as she poured forth her wonderful talk. It was like
the gleaming ripple and rush of a clear, deep stream in sunshine.
Though one of the most brilliant persons I ever saw, she had none of
the restlessness and eagerness that spoils so much of our conversation
nowadays. There was no hurry or high pressure about her, but she seemed
always surrounded by an atmosphere of ease, leisure, and playful
geniality, that drew out the best side of everyone who was in her company.
“When you were with her, you felt as if you had twice the life in you
that you had at ordinary times. All her great intellectual gifts—her
quick, keen observation, her marvellous memory, her wealth of imaginative
power, her rare felicity of instinct, her graceful and racy humour—were
so warmed and brightened by sympathy and feeling, that while actually
with her, you were less conscious of her power than of her charm.
“No one ever came near her in the gift of telling a story. In her
hands the simplest incident—a meeting in the street, a talk with a
factory-girl, a country walk, an old family history—became picturesque
and vivid and interesting. Her fun, her pathos, her graphic touches, her
sympathetic insight were inimitable.” (_Memorials of two sisters: Susanna
and Catherine Winkworth_, 1908.)