Ex Libris C. K. OODEN THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES MEMORIES OF THE PAST - ^ MEMORIES OF THE PAST BY ADELAIDE BENECKE Printed for Private Circulation 1906 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &■» Co. At the Ballantyne Press DA PHOTOGRAVURE PORTRAITS Adelaide Benecke Frontispiece Alfred Benecke to face p. 1 1 022Gfifi y jr* J (V . cession from our balcony at the Russische Hof with such interest. It really was very awful ! One cannot forget the terrible silence while they marched past, holding up their scythes. Every man, during that time, was sworn in as special constable, 46 and my father, among others, was out patrolling for nights together, and we felt terribly nervous very often! The Confix mation impressed us as a very solemn act. How often since, have I wished I could go through it all again in later life, with my own views and opinions about these questions, and being instructed by a man whose views I admired and looked up to! Soon after my Confirmation came the sad day of leaving my beloved Frankfurt. I thought I never could be happy again! It had been such a lovely time! so full of kindness from every one, of enjoyment, of interest, of friendships formed, &c. 47 Soon after leaving Frankfurt, my parents went to Ems and Homburg, and I was sent for a few weeks to Kreuznach, with Miss Mahrlen, our governess, who had been with us many years. She was very devoted to us all, and I was very fond of her, but she was very dutiful and proper and particular, and felt, evi* dently, the responsibility of the sole care of a girl of seventeen, which rather de* pressed and tried her, and made her a less cheerful companion than was always pleasant to me, and I fear she did not find her life a sinecure. We did not know many people at 4 8 Kreuznach, but among these was Wit- helm Souchay, the son of Mark Andre' Souchay, a cousin of my father's, from Ltibeck. We had never met before, and as we were both deeply interested in music, and he played the violin very beautifully, and also accompanied me very well when I sang, we saw much of each other, and spent many an enjoyable hour together. We never met again till fifty^six years after this (of which meeting I shall speak later on), but in our old age, through a chance, concerning some songs he had at that time composed for me, we began to cor* respond, and the mutual recollections of 49 G our early youth led us to keep up a cor^ respondence, which is a real and great pleasure, I think, to both of us. He is now (1906) an old man of nearly eighty years old, and his letters are so beautiful, so bright still, and so full of interest, that they are always quite refreshing. After our ten months in Germany we recommenced our life at Withington. I was older and all was different, but it was again a charming life! I went on with all my lessons like a schoolgirl, and my dancing lessons with a very nice Mrs. Elliston played a part. Soon Mr. Halle* came to Manchester, and his coming really 50 made a great change, for it is impossible to imagine how benighted Manchester was as to music before his advent. How many- lovely concerts I now heard! How de* lightful, too, Hallos visits were, who so often brought such charming friends with him, among others Ernst the violinist, who then already looked like a dying man, but played with a tone which went to one's very heart; for my taste, a tone in* comparably finer and more pathetic than any I have ever heard 1 And Hallos les^ sons! How can I describe the delight they were to me! Had I but had these years before, I think I really might have 51 played pretty well! Even this short time was better than if I had had no lessons from him. Among my many enjoyments at this age, one great one was that of dancing, and I suppose I must have shown this very perceptibly, for people always used to say to me, "I can see how you are enjoying yourself/* I re* member many delightful balls, but one in particular, when I was just grown up, at Withington, which went off so brightly, and gave us all so much pleasure, that when the guests had left, my mother declared, to our intense joy, that she would like the whole thing repeated two days afterwards. 52 She had this put into the Manchester paper the next day, and the second ball was just as nice as the first one, giving equal pleasure to hosts and guests. Only too quickly my happy childhood was over. I had never wished to be grown up, be* cause it seemed to me impossible that I could ever be happier than I was at the dear home of my childhood, surrounded by so much love, by so many friends, deeply interested in my lessons and occu^ pations, in the dear old days! Time went on — and in the summer of 1849 mv sister Juliet and I spent a few very happy and, for my life, all'important 53 weeks at Aunt Iette's at Denmark Hill. I had not been there long when I felt pretty sure that my inward life would be a very different one when I returned to dear old Withington to what it was when I left it. Alfred Benecke was almost a daily visitor at Denmark Hill, but he very soon be* came a daily one — and though I could not quite believe in the possibility of my lovely dream becoming true, it did very soon cross my heart, that it no longer belonged only to me. When we left for Manchester he was at the station, and I felt a great pang to say goodbye to such a beautiful time, and a 54 very distinct hope and belief that we two should soon meet again. Soon after our return to Withington, the Benecke family all came to stay there, and as they were a great number, several of our family, one of whom I was, went to stay at Eltville, my Uncle John's house, which was close by, to make room. On July nth, a lovely summer day, there was a large haymaking party at Eltville, and the hayfield was full of merry people. Suddenly I saw approaching the joyous party my Alfred! . . . We all went in to a late tea, after which many of the guests went home, but Alfred and I found our 55 way into the garden. How long we stayed there I know not, but there my dream became a reality, and I knew the secret that for ever and ever our two hearts were one, and would share every joy and every grief, to the end of our lives. . . . We both knew that my parents* permission was certain; still, we could not separate without having seen and told them of our happiness, and we found a little hidden path for getting out of the Eltville garden without passing the house, about 10 o'clock at night, and went over to Withington, where all were still up. Kind old Uncle John had begun to feel uncomfortable about 56 us, and followed us in the distance. We met at the door of Withington House! My father and mother were expecting our visit. Then followed the joyous first days of our engagement, when my heart was so full of my new happiness that I felt as if I must tell every one how gladly it throbbed ! Our engagement, which lasted till March 14, 1850, was a time full of happiness, and rich in love from every side! Life seemed to have nothing in it but peace and hope and radiance, and many are the delightful recollections of those months! I wished this time to go on, as far as 57 h possible, in the old way, and enjoyed all doubly, feeling that I should soon have to say good-bye to lessons and my old home life! Mr. Gaskell's lessons remained a great pleasure to the end — but Mr. Hallos were more than a pleasure, and how often I wished I had been able to begin these years ago. His beautiful concerts, too, were such a joy to me ! And the delight* ful Choral Society, which I never missed if I could help it ! During our engagement my parents and I went to Germany, where Alfred accompanied us. How proud I felt to introduce him to my old friends there! 58 We stayed at Heidelberg and Frankfurt among other places, and I have often re* joiced in having been able to introduce my future husband to my grandmother Souchay among others. Every one welcomed us most warmly, and I remember a very sweet evening at the dear old " Fahrthor," where some one had arranged a very beautiful " Standchen ** (Mannerquartett) for us. My old Kranz* chen, too, had invited us one afternoon, as they wished to make Alfred's acquaint' ance. I do not think that can have been a great pleasure to him! Even I was quite glad when that ordeal was over! 59 The last few days before our wedding were very busy, and full of very mixed feelings. The leaving such an ideal home, the saying good-bye to so many old friends . . . ! How well I remember paying my farewell visits ; for instance, that to old Mrs. Birch, whose parting advice was " never to keep accounts," as she had learned in her long married life that this was a constant worry and loss of time, and that, after all, it made no difference. The money that was spent was gone, and why keep yourself informed where to ? Neither my mother nor my fianci at all admired this advice! The day before my 60 marriage, Mama and I went to say good* bye to old Aunt Schunck at Chorlton Abbey, in Green Heys, and I cannot resist putting down a little incident which has often amused me to think of, as it shows me how different I must have been to the girls of the present day. It also makes me think what a trial I must often have been to my poor Mama, from whom in many ways I was so different. On the day I mentioned, I had made myself very smart for my visits, when, in walking through Green Heys, we met old Mr. Woods, the old, bent, greyhaired farmer, in whose fields we children had spent so 61 many happy hours. He was walking slowly along, in his white smock-frock, carrying his two big milkpails, when he saw us. In one moment he put down his cans, and rushed across the road, " to em* brace and kiss once more his dear Ady Souchay, whom he had known as a baby, and carried in his arms many and many a time — before she went away and got married." The part of the story that made such an impression upon me was that I was touched and delighted at this dear old milkman's affection, and was per^ fectly astounded at Mama's great indigna* tion, and at her saying she could not 62 believe that the poor old man could be sober ! March 14, 1850, was our wedding day; at Withington Church we were married by the Rev. Theophilus Bennet, the nice, good-natured Irish curate who was so fond of hunting and riding, but was "not quite sure" that it was the right thing for a clergyman to do, and I fancy was always rather sorry when he met one of his parishioners. We were the first couple that were married in Withington Church, and according to an old English custom, a large Bible was presented to the bride at the altar in those cases. My new 63 brother-in-law, Herman Benecke, carried it for me. It was a very cold morning, and was even snowing when we came out of church. Of this day of grief and joy, of partings, of love and affection from all sides, of agitation, glad and sad, I can say no more, except that after the large meet* ing, chiefly of relations and old friends, we drove to Roseberry in Derbyshire, to a sweet, quiet little hotel called "The Pea* cock," where we arrived in sunshine, and that our old coachman, "Tom," drove us the first part of the way, and that I never shall forget the moment, when I felt as if my heart must burst, when, on 64 passing the little garden gate which opens into the Withington Road, my dear Papa had reached it — running, of course, all the way through the garden — in time to wave his sweet and sad farewell to us, as we passed once more, and parted from my dear old home, to enter into a new and unknown life, full of hope; but — who knows the untried land ? I, nineteen years old, had no doubt of the love and joy before me, and my only pang was the leaving all that was so dear to me, my only doubt whether I could deserve such bliss, my only wonder that this beautiful dream could be fulfilled. My dear Papa! 65 1 I still see before me his beautiful earnest face! What a father he had been to me, and how intensely I loved and admired him! We had only a short wedding tour in Devonshire, and rejoiced to arrive at our dear little house on Champion Hill, which Alfred had made so pretty for me. It was full of reminders of past and present, and the very picture of comfort. The two nice young servants Aunt Iette had engaged for us received us — Martha the cook and Jane the housemaid. They had made all so bright and nice. (How often, in later times, I have thought how nice it was, to have only two servants ! ) 66 The picture of Withington House hung in the dear little drawing-room, and it was months before I discovered that my good old friend, Mr. Koch, had had it painted for me without telling me who was the donor. It only came out through Mama happening to read aloud a letter from me, in his presence, in which I had expressed how happy its possession made me. This so touched the good old man that the secret oozed out. What shall I say of our first years of home life? We were very kindly re^ ceived by every one, and we had many delightful, interesting friends. Never, from 6 7 the first evening of our arrival in the dear little Champion Hill house, with its pretty- view, and its bright little garden, did I feel strange for a moment ; I had all I could have pictured to myself, to make me more than contented. My dear husband's only- thought was to make me happy, and he spoiled me then and all my life, as few wives have been spoiled. It was not like coming to a new world for me, as I knew the little house before, where my brother-in-law Herman, with his amiable wife, Kate, had lived for years before us. And I also knew many of the friends who gave me such a warm welcome. 68 And had I not a feeling almost like that of a daughter in the house of my kindest of aunts, Aunt Iette, who, as well as Uncle William, made me feel as though I belonged to them! Aunt Iette remained to her last day the same motherly friend to me* She died in 1893, loved and missed by all who knew her, young and old. Her children are still as affec^ tionate as ever to me. Their number is now, alas! much smaller than it was, and the three who still live together at Denmark Hill — Lily, Cecile, and Charley — and I, meet as often as we can, though far too seldom. 69 The first few years of our life were busy ones for Alfred. There were no Saturday and Bank Holidays then, and I passed long days alone ; and twice a week, on mail days, he came home very late at night, at ten or eleven o'clock. But this was the same with all men of business, and I never felt lonely, having many friends, and my music, which was such a pleasant occupation. Some of our dearest friends were the family Cross. Florence, the youngest, was born two days later than Amy, and has always remained one of her dearest friends, and no words can express what that whole family, old and 70 young, has been to me all my life. One and all, parents and children, had a charm I have never known in any one else! Alas! most of them are no longer living. The fascinating Zibbie (afterwards Mrs. Hall), the sweet Mary, the original Eleanor, died long ago. Emily Otter, my sweet friend, died only in 1905. Florence Eve has been, and will always be, as she was, one of my life's jewels. I was much interested in starting a "Choral Society" under the direction of Ernst Pauer, a young pianist who had just come to London, and had plenty of time to help me. This was a source 71 of great pleasure to me. He also gave me some lessons. Another time I played a good deal with Louis Riess's accompany ment. Then I played duets with Wilhelm Ganz. I also took a few singing lessons from Mathilde Graumann, who soon mar* ried Marches!, and is still the celebrated teacher, Mme. Marchesi, in Paris, now above eighty years old. I had many musical advantages and pleasures, which have helped me to keep up my music to a certain degree. No one knows what a joy my singing has been to me, though chiefly to myself, as I had never had my voice properly trained, as is always 72 thought an utter necessity nowadays. I never had a fine or a strong voice, but I doubt whether any one ever derived more real pleasure from singing the many beautiful songs that seemed part of my life, than I did. I had always been spoiled by my mother's and my sister Juliet's beautiful accompaniments, and that was always my difficulty, but in that again I was most fortunate. One of our great friends, who often came to accompany me, was Dr. Beneke, who was at the German Hospital; an* other equally sympathetic accompanist was Dr. Becker, our ever^welcome friend 73 K (Prince Albert's librarian). Not only was he a most delightful friend to us, but a very interesting one also, as he had so much to tell us of his charming life at Court, where he was in a delight* ful position of real intimacy with Prince Albert, for whom he was quite enthusiastic, and was also much connected with the education of all the royal children. He came to us very often, and through him we saw and heard all sorts of interesting things. Among others, he took me into Buckingham Palace on the occasion of the Princess Royal's marriage to the Crown Prince of Prussia, and I stood at 74 the foot of the staircase inside the Palace and saw the whole party come down the stairs, being so close that I could have touched them; and when the bridal party had driven off to church, I was shown through many of the private rooms — for instance, the nurseries, where the children's toys were standing about just as in a private house, I also for a time had Adolph Riess regularly to accompany me. We saw much, too, of the MacGregors, and Mrs. MacGregor accompanied me, or we played together. Alfred was always so good in urging me to hear music, and to how 75 many delightful concerts I used to go; and a still greater pleasure was that of seeing many artists at our house, Madame Schumann stayed with us several times, I forget in what year she first played in England, but well remember that first concert. She, Joachim, and Stockhausen came to London together. Music was then at a very different ebb in England to what it is now, and Schumann was simply perfectly unknown. Madame Schumann was determined to introduce him in England, and persisted in play^ ing his compositions. He was neither understood nor liked, and both her playing 7 6 of his compositions and Stockhausen's perfect singing of his beautiful songs enraged people. The first concert was a matine'e at the Hanover Square Rooms* I had arranged to be there t and take the three artists home with me for dinner. No one applauded. It was most painful ; in fact, here and there, there was a sort of suppressed hissing! After the concert I went into the artists' room. What a scene! Madame Schumann in tears, and sobbing ; Stockhausen in a rage, having torn his music to bits; Joachim trying to pacify both. Is it not strange to think of that, and 77 of how Madame Schumann and Schu* mann's music was appreciated and loved in later years? Our drive home. was very- painful, but in the course of the evening, after a rest, the sky brightened, and all were very amiable. Our first staying visitors were our dear old friends Mr. and Mrs. Gruber, on their way to Germany, very soon after our marriage. How proud we felt to show our guests our pretty little home! Alfred was always so kind and hospitable, and so genial to every one, and I always had the name, even when a little girl, of inviting every one I met. I must say it has been one of my great 78 pleasures to see many friends at our home. About a year after our marriage a Dusseldorf artist, named Schex, called on us, very warmly recommended by my grandfather Dethmar. He often came to us, but it soon became obvious that he got no orders for portraits, and was using up all his means, and earning nothing. One day he entreated me to allow him to paint my portrait in order to have something to show. I was very much disinclined for it, but Alfred thought we ought to say "yes," and it was done. When it was finished we thought it would be best to give a large party 79 and exhibit it. This was our first large party — a dance ! and a great event for us, and I confess a great plea- sure. Our house was tiny t and our friends many, and we really did take a good deal of trouble, and I do believe the success was chiefly owing to the pleasure that everything gave to those who knew the difficulties of it. The only possible room to dance in was our dining-room — the only possible supper-room, our bedroom; these two had to be cleared of all fur- niture, some of which was carried into the garden, but much of it into an 80 upstairs bedroom, where we had to sleep that night, and which was so full of tables and cupboards and sideboards that I literally had to dress standing on the bed. Such things could not happen nowa* days, but I can only say it much increased the charm for us. Many friends had been most kind in helping me all day with arranging the flowers, cutting up " hering'Salat," &c, and it really was all very nice. Mr. Schex's picture was placed in the drawing-room and much admired, and on that very evening he got so many orders, that it was indeed well worth the effort of our party. Among 81 l these was one for the portrait of our friend, Mrs, Havenith, which certainly- turned out to be his best picture. She was not young, but very handsome, and very delicate, the mother of seven chik dren. About a year after this Mr. Hav^ enith died; later on Mr. Schex married her, knowing that she had probably not long to live, but determined to be a good stepfather to her children, which promise he nobly performed. In the year 1851 our oldest child, Ida, was born. The very first nurse I had for her was Charlotte Frost, the only nurse I ever had for all our children, 82 and long after they were grown up she stayed on as our maid, always travelling with us, &c. She left us, old, and very feeble, after thirty^seven years of faithful service, and lived with some nieces in Brighton till her death. I do not believe there ever was a more faithful person in the world. She would have died for any of our children! As Amy was ex* tremely delicate, even very ill for some years, she always travelled with us wher^ ever we went, and nursed and cared for her devotedly. One year, Amy being stronger, my husband and I much wished to give ourselves a treat, and travel without 83 a servant, when we were going to spend a few months in Italy. How often I tried to tell poor old Charlotte this, and had not the courage! At last it had to be done. She stared at me in utter amaze^ ment, as if I were demented. At last she said, "You cannot know what you are saying. Suppose one of you were ill, and I not with you. And who is to pack for you and brush your clothes, and who is to hold Miss Amy's parasol when she is sketching, and carry her things for her ? " All I could say was useless, till at last I said we wished to save ourselves the expense of taking her, 84 upon which she replied, "Well, there is some sense in that! But it's your own fault that I am such an expense* Why- do you take second class for me, and not third when we travel ? Why do you take a bedroom when you know how gladly I would lie on the floor by Miss Amy's bedside? Well, suppose now I were to give up one year's wages, or suppose I paid for my living while we were away, would not that do ? " Of course she went abroad with us. This story is only one of many proofs of her attachment. We have all our lives been most 85 fortunate with our servants. This was, however, not owing to my management, for nothing was such a trial to me in my housekeeping as having to find fault with them, and my husband often told me I really ought to be more firm and strict. One day, I found a little marble vase we had bought on our wed* ding tour, smashed. I thought I must now pretend to be very angry, so I told the girl under whose care it was, how vexed I was at her carelessness, and that I knew her master would be much annoyed about it, as he was so fond of that vase. She quietly let me have my say, and then 86 exclaimed, "Please, ma'am, Master broke it himself this morning." And I felt duly- punished for my hypocritical scolding. One of our most faithful servants was a great original, our coachman, Kingston. He was with us about thirty years. He, too, was touchingly fond of us all. Our children all loved him, and when Frank was quite a little fellow, he said one day, "When I die, I should like to fly to heaven with that angel, Kingston." It was very difficult to make him feel that when his poor old hand shook so ter* ribly, when he was more than seventy years old, we could not safely let him 87 continue to drive. My husband told him he should keep his old position, his old rooms over the stable, and his old wages, if he would only kindly permit him to have a second man for driving, and at last he consented to this. Another faiths ful servant was Bick, the gardener, who was with us twenty^seven years. One day we found out that every time we went away for the winter, he retired to bed, for months, as he had some ailment of which we did not know, and was for* bidden to go out in the cold or damp. Of course we assured him we would pension him, but we had the hardest 88 work to make him leave. He declared he would not go, saying, "I am very comfortable here. I have a nice cottage in which I have always said I would live and die. I can give my orders from my bed. I don't see it! If you had had a plant in your garden for twenty^seven years would you uproot it ? * However, at last he did "see it/' and is still alive (1906) and very comfortable. I ought not to leave unsaid a very unusual fact in my mention of this old gardener. When we began giving him his pension, he actually refused to accept it, as he said he thought he would be able to work in 89 m the summer, and to live quite comfort' ably, unless he were ill, in which case he would get quite as much as he would want from the clubs he had paid into for many years — at any rate during the first months of his illness. It was therefore arranged by his wish that he should be sure to let us know if at any time of his life he received less than 12s. per week, which we would always make up to him. For many years he did not ask us for anything. Then he became quite an invalid, and still assured us his clubs paid more than he really required. Later on, when those paid him only 4s. per 90 week for his life, I sent him 8s., when he assured me he only required 4s. from me, as the club allowed him 4s* and his children gave him 4s. This is such a rare case of honesty that I cannot leave it unmentioned. But I will go back to our oldest child, Ida. She was always a quiet, studious little girl, fond of reading and her lessons, and when grown up she took much more interest in life in London than in the country, having more oppor* tunities to hear lectures and occupy her- self with social questions, such as the Charity Organisation Society, educational questions, &c. (Later on she was for 91 some time a Poor Law Guardian.) All these occupations she could not find so well in the country, and she early showed the decided wish to leave her home, and live in London. This was a great trial to my husband, who considered her too young to leave her parental roof alone, but she was so decided in her wish that he gave way after a hard struggle, and later on, we often felt that it was far happier for her to live her own life, which she had thought out for herself, and in which she was of great use, and worked energetically and conscientiously for many years. She went to live in 92 London in 1883, at first in lodgings, and then in a nice little flat at Hampstead, spending Saturday and Sunday mostly with us at Cleveland. Later on, when we spent our winters at Cannes, she often came to us for some weeks, and she made several other journeys, partly for health, partly for enjoyment, once to America, once to Greece, &c. Ida was very fond of her uncle Ernest, who lived in Paris, at the pretty Abbe* aux Bois, and often spent weeks with him there, which they both much enjoyed. She also stayed several times with my mother at Wies^ baden, and was with her when she died. 93 Our second daughter, Juliet, was born in 1852. She was very different to her sister Ida in every respect, both outwardly and inwardly. She gave her teachers, &c, much more trouble than her older, indus* trious little sister, and often rebelled against them. But she was a very sweet and bright part of our home life, and a great favourite of her grandfather's. In 1875 she married August von Stralendorff, who lived in Manchester. On the evening of her engagement, when I told our faithful old nurse Charlotte about it, she burst into tears and sobs, and was utterly upset ! She kept on exclaiming with real grief, 94 " Oh, I shall never get over it ! I feel just as if Pd been shot ! It's all very well for you: you must have known about it, but no one ever told me anything about it. Oh dear, oh dear!" The poor old thing was really quite ill, and I had to send for the doctor for her. The parting from our Juliet was a great pang to us both, for she was very young and a great joy to us. But, on the other hand, to see her so happy and so loved by her husband was a great comfort to us both, and I think I may say that the old story about sons and mothers-in-law did not come true in our case. August has always been an 95 affectionate son to me, and their seven dear children a great joy to their grand- parents. Happily they have always liked to be with us, and our only regret has been that we could not see more of them, which, of course, schools, our spending six months of the year at Cannes, &c, made impossible. The only two of Juliet's children who have been to us in our Cannes home are Ulric (before going to Canada) and Inez, who has several times paid us a visit there, which, I am glad to say, she much enjoyed. They are now all grown up, except the youngest, Gerald, who is still (1906) at Charterhouse. 96 Juliet's two youngest children, who were always very devoted to each other, were once overheard, when they were quite young, in the following nice little conversation : — Gladys to Gerald. "I don't think I should much care to go to heaven/' Gerald. "Oh, / should! I think it would be so nice to see so many of one's relations and ancestors/' Gladys- "But if we did see them, we shouldn't know them/' Gerald. "Oh, that would be quite easy, Jesus would just take us by the hand and introduce us to them/' 97 N In 1854 our first boy, Alfred, was born. It was really remarkable by what a number of accidents and illnesses he was pursued in his childhood, and even later in his life. When four years old he fell from the top to the bottom of the stairs, and was insensible for hours. When a few years older he had an awful fall from the verandah of the Champion Hill house, falling on to the stones of the kitchen area, twelve feet high; he broke no bones, but rather hurt his head, and bit through his tongue, which bled profusely. He was unconscious for hours, and we were terribly anxious, as 98 was also our good friend Dr. Elliot. He sent for his partner, Dr. Nichol, who horrified me by saying, " If this child lives, he ought to have a good whipping for climbing on to that rail." He did quite recover, but got no whipping. Another time his lip was cut through by a stick. Again, at school, a boy threw a bottle at him and cut his forehead deeply. Another boy bent back his finger and broke the bone; the finger remained quite crooked, which put an end to his violin playing, which I now confess I did not much regret, as I never thought he had much talent. When he was about sixteen he 99 was travelling with his father in France; when near Lyons they saw from the rail* way carriage a shepherd flinging a large stone at the train. Of course it must needs enter the window at which he sat, breaking it, and hitting him with great force above the eye. It bled so violently that they were obliged to get out at the next station and have it sewn up. When grown up, he had a very serious acci^ dent playing cricket. Later on, he went to America on business, fell down on the ship, which was rolling heavily, and put out his knee. It is wonderful that he got over all these accidents, but also 100 wonderful that they still pursue him. He has lately spent two years at Johannesburg, where he fell down and broke a rib and much hurt his ankle. When a young man Alfred went to India, where he married Nellie, the daughter of General Kempster. They have only one child, Norah, who is now studying singing in Paris, where her mother and she have spent some years, while Alfred was in South Africa, from where he has now returned, having hoped in vain to find some position there. Norah is a dear girl and very musical, and has worked very hard, and most warmly do I hope her exertions may 101 be crowned with the success which she deserves. Amy, our fourth child, was born in 1857. She was a delicate and very tender-hearted little thing. When quite young I had been nursing my daughter Juliet through scarlet fever, and had taken it myself, and I recollect being much touched by hearing a gentle little knock at my door, one day when I was in bed, and her weak little voice calling out to me, "Mama, I have stroked the cow/* which meant a great deal, as the poor child was always so terribly frightened of cows, and I could not induce her to go near one, and she 102 thought this act of heroism would please me. In the year 1885 we spent a few weeks at Berlin in November, and the last day of our stay there Amy felt very ill. She had a great wish to get home, and we ventured the journey. It proved a very serious illness, one which lasted for years, years of deep anxiety to us, which perhaps linked us even more closely together. Most patiently she bore her great pain, and I have often thought she could not have pulled through if she had not had such energy. By Sir William Jenner's advice, we spent the winter of 1886 to 1887 at San Remo in the Villa Giulia. 103 In many ways we enjoyed it, especially as our darling got much better, but in February, the terrible earthquake was a great shock to us, and although we were some of the very few who did not leave San Remo after it, we were thankful when the day arrived for our departure. Our house was not really injured, but so many of the small mountain^towns and villages suffered so terribly, and one could not for a moment lose the impression of the sad things one heard of every day, and saw, when one drove about to try to bring a little help to the sufferers. It happened quite early on the morning of 104 Ash* Wednesday, when we were awakened by the terrible loud rumbling noise under ground, exactly like the roaring of wild beasts, and only became aware of the cause, when our beds were violently shaken. It was an awful moment, never to be forgotten. The scenes afterwards were most remarkable, the streets and gardens full of people, too frightened to go back to their homes. It was such a heavenly morning, so clear and still. Most people left San Remo at once; the hotels were closed, the shops shut up — it was like a dead city! A little mountain town about four hours off, called Bayardo, had 105 o suffered terribly, 250 people all having been killed by a church falling in. That winter, the American singer David Bispham, who has since become so celebrated, was spending at San Remo. At that time he had not meant to become an artist, but his splendid voice and talent were a great pleasure to every one. After the earthquake he showed wonderful energy and kindness in helping in every way, visiting the most damaged places himself, and rendering assistance in the most noble way. We stayed six weeks longer, but sad weeks they were. When the next winter came, we could not make up our minds to go 106 abroad again, and Sir W. Jenner allowed Amy to try Hastings, but she was there taken ill again, and we had to spend many months there before we could bring her home, instead of a few weeks, as we had hoped; and when the next winter came, it was decided that we must make it a rule to spend it in a warmer clime. We could not face San Remo again, so we settled in 1889 at Cannes, where we have spent every winter since. Amy is our youngest daughter, and has been our constant companion. She has been the light of our home, the joy of her father and me: also a most precious 107 aunt to her nephews and nieces, often recalling to my mind Stevenson's words : — TO AUNTIES ** Chief of our Aunts/' not only I But all our dozens of nurslings cry, "What did the other children do? And what were children, wanting you ? M And not only as aunt and daughter and friend to so many has she played such a part in our home life, she has also given pleasure to many by her talent for painting and her artistic nature, Our youngest child, Frank, was born in 1867, just while we were going through an awful time of anxiety, as Alfred had 108 been sent home from Mr, Andresen's school at Finchley Road with typhoid fever, which he had most seriously, being unconscious for six weeks, Frank was a very sweet little fellow; I wish I could recall some of his pretty little sayings. I remember his once asking me, when quite a little boy, "Mama, why is God so particularly fond of mice ? " When I said I did not know that He was, he said, "But you taught me in my evening prayer to say to Him, * Pity mice implicitly ' (the words in the prayer are Pity my simplicity), and so I always thought mice were God's special favourites V* 109 Frank was so much younger than all the others that he stood much alone. For a time he had a tutor named Bulley, from whom he did not learn much, but who was devoted to him and his companion, Will Meredith, who joined him in his lessons. He had the very original plan of punishing Frank when Will had been naughty, and vice versa ; thinking it would make more impression. Frank tried farming in Kent, but alas! without success, and then went out to New Zealand. The parting from him and the separation has been one of the greatest, perhaps the greatest of our trials, no but happily he seems contented with his very lonely and simple life in his new country, which is our comfort in thinking of him. He writes affectionately, and I know our thoughts often meet. Our first governess, when our two oldest girls were still very young, was Miss Bourne (later Mrs. Campbell), who was with us many years, in fact till we moved to Cleveland Lodge, going abroad with us several times, and proving herself a most devoted friend ; she faithfully helped with nursing when Alfred had typhoid fever, when he was about fourteen years old. Ida and Juliet were chiefly educated at ill Miss Thornley's school, which was close to our house, and they lived at home and spent their mornings there, where they had, among other advantages, that of having very interesting lectures on Shake* speare and General Literature from George Macdonald. They had various music masters, I fear none who were very satisfactory. Their first one was a miserable Mr. Bres, then they had a good master but not very sympathetic, called Ergmann, and later on a very sweet Miss Pignatel, who was replaced by Miss Sarah Carmichael. Amy also had lessons from Mr. Giinther, whom I always considered 112 a good master, but whom she so dis^ liked that I fear he quite for the time killed her wish to learn music. How^ ever, she was never strong enough to learn both music and painting well, and begged to be allowed to devote all her time to painting, which I think was the right thing, though I have often felt that she had a truly musical nature. After we came to Cleveland Lodge, we had a German governess for the girls, who stayed on for Amy after Ida and Juliet were grown up. Her name was Gardthausen. I fear they did not enjoy their lessons with her as I wish they could have done. 113 p Alfred spent some years at Marlborough College, and very much he enjoyed them. For some time he had also had a very nice tutor, Mr. Harbord. For many years we went to the Ger^ man Church while at Champion Hill, where Mr. Meyer was the clergyman, but later on we very much preferred the Independent Chapel, of which Mr. Bald' win Brown was the minister, a man whose sermons we extremely liked, and who also, as a man and friend, was very sympathetic to us. Later, when living at Cleveland, we went to the English Church. I remember with pleasure my Sundays at 114 Withington before my marriage, when I often went with my father to Mr. John James Taylor's Unitarian Chapel, or later on to Mr. Marotzky's German Church. On November 29, 1852, my parents celebrated their silver wedding at Witlv ington. They wished no notice to be taken of the day except by their own children, who all assembled around them, except my brother, who was then staying at Hamburg. We went to Manchester the day before, with our two little girls, and received the "silver couple " in the morning with flowers, presents, &c. In "5 the evening we were sitting quietly to gether when my father was called out to speak to a "working man" who wished to see him. This was our friend Mr. Kling, one of the older members of the German Colony, in fancy dress, who begged to be admitted with his friends — and a stream of German friends, old and young, followed, all in different Ger* man peasants' costumes, carrying some of them their children, most of them fruit and flowers in baskets, also more sub' stantial gifts for the supper table, for they stayed all the evening. It really was a lovely picture. Madame Wiegmann, 116 the talented artist, had helped with the arrangement, and it was charming and most touching and overpowering to hear all the congratulations and marks of affection and gratitude to our dear parents, who were, of course, delighted, though at first overcome. When all were grouped and had shaken hands with the "silver couple," a poem was recited, which, I be- lieve, Mr. Kling had composed, and I need not say what a joy it all was to parents and children. The evening ended very merrily with healtlvdrinking, &c. Mr. William Rohmer represented an organ-grinder, and played some merry 117 dances, to which the children danced; in short, it was a lovely scene. The following is the poem which was recited : — ** Es ist uns eben zu Ohren gekommen, Und haben wir freudigen Sinnes vernommen, Wie heute, es sind nun zwanzig und fiinf Jahr Aus Karl und Adelheid ward ein gliicklich' Paar ! Da haben wir uns denn aufgemacht Damit der Gliickwunsch werd' angebracht Trotz Wind und "Wetter, trotz Sturm und Regen, Zu treten freudig Euch entgegen! In hellen Haufen zogen wir aus Zu begriissen dieses gluckliche Haus, Und kommen zu dem frohen Feste — Wir hoffen, als willkommene Gaste. Alt und Jung und Gross und Klein Jeder will der Erste sein 118 Bruder, Schwester und Verwandte Treue Freunde und Bekannte, Alle drangen sich herbei Dass der Jubel voll, auch, sei! Und gar lieblich anzuschauen Nah'n sich jetzt die holden Frauen Aus den heimathlichen Gauen: Julie, Thecla und Marie, Constanz, Adelheid, Sophie Augen schwarz, und braun und blau Blondinen, Briinetten, nicht Eine grau! Schwer beladen mit den Gaben Durch die uns Dian* und Ceres laben Legen sie zu Euren Fiissen! Mdchten sie mit Euch geniessen! Bachus stellt sich auch wohl ein Denn das Fest erst kront der Wein. Freude strahlend in Geberde Folgen, dann die Herrn der Erde 119 Leer sind ihre Hande wohl Doch das Herz zum Springen voll! Alle wiinschen hundert Jahr' Noch dem lieben Jubelpaar Gliicklich in der Kinder Schar! Alle rufen mit mir aus: Heil und Gliick stets diesem Haus!" When our children were young we went to Germany with them several times, chiefly to stay with my mother*in4aw, who lived at Buckeburg* When we had only two children we spent some weeks there. Charlotte our nurse, and the two English "babies," were quite a sight in the little German town (I believe the smallest principality in Germany), and 120 ever so many people used to come in to see them washed and dressed. The "Fiirst" von Btickeburg was one of the richest German princes, an old man, but known for his stinginess. His wife was an intimate friend of my mother-in-law's, and they were always most friendly to us. Many stories existed relating to this royal couple. Certainly the extraordinarily shabby furniture of their palace, the stuff* ing peeping out of all their chairs, &c, told a tale. It was related that the prince had given his greatcoat, which was quite worn-out, to his gamekeeper. The next day, when he was going out to shoot, it 121 Q rained, and he could not make up his mind to wear his new one. He there* fore borrowed the old one for the day. He was putting some sandwiches into his pocket when they kept falling on to the ground, upon which he exclaimed, "Oh, to be sure, I forgot that I cut out the pockets before giving away the coat, as they were still quite good." While we were there, a Court ball took place, to which we were invited. When we wanted to order a fly, my mother* in4aw said, "Oh, every one always sends for the state carriage on such occasions! You see, the prince pays his 122 coachman no wages, and he lives by these things." The ball began very early (it was summer), and it was not quite dark when we arrived; the candles were just being lighted, and as soon as one was lighted, the prince followed and blew it out, saying, "It is not dark enough yet. It is too extravagant to light so many candles at this time." When the dancing began, the Ftirstinn came to me, saying, "I am so sorry the music is so bad to-night. The first violinist is ill, so I hope you will be lenient. Of course you must be 123 accustomed to so much better music at Vauxhall Gardens." It was like a peep into the old-world times* When Frank was about three months old (in 1 1867) we left Champion Hill, which had been indeed a happy home to us for seventeen years, and spent the winter with all our children in Leipzig, where Ida and Juliet were confirmed by Pastor Dreydorff, going at once, when we returned to Eng^ land in 1868, to live at Cleveland Lodge, Dorking, our sweet home to the present day. It was a great wrench to us to leave so many old friends, among them the Schwartz's, Triers, and others, but 124 we had various reasons for wishing to live more in the country* We had long spoken of this move. Alfred's health had not been quite satisfactory, and it was thought that farther away from the town would be better for him. Besides this we imagined that in many ways for the children, as they grew older, the country interests would have a great charm. Our circle of friends had grown so large that we longed for a little more quiet, which we could only get by going further away from London. We were, however, quite undecided as to the neighbourhood which 125 would suit us, when, in the year 1867, on Juliet's birthday, we took the children for a day into the country to Box Hill. We lunched in the little Burford Bridge Inn garden, where it was very sweet, and the children were so happy. We asked the waiter whether we could have heard that there was a house to let somewhere near, belonging to a Mr. Wylie, and he told us it was close by, but he did not know whether it was to let. This was Cleveland Lodge, and we walked up to it. On reaching the front door, we rang the bell, but I said to Alfred, "No, I could not live in that house! In fact 126 there is no house to be seen. It is like the door of a little dissenting chapel." But when the door opened, and we saw that lovely garden and that sweet, com* fortable^looking hall, going first through a small greenhouse, filled with lovely ferns and flowers, we were simply enchanted, and much cast down by the servant saying Mr. and Mrs. Wylie were out, but he had never heard that they were leaving, and thought it must be a mistake. He said he was sure we might just go through the downstairs rooms and the garden, which we did. It was a glorious day in June, and we felt as if we were dreaming 127 when we entered the sweet drawing-room, so tastefully furnished, and so full of pretty things, its bow-windows open to the charmingly kept garden filled with lovely flowers, the picture framed, as it were, by the beautiful background of Box Hill. We wandered all over the sweet place, and said to each other, "Either this must be our new home, or we will stay at Champion Hill." The next day Alfred called on Mr. Wylie in the city, and found that they really did mean to let their house; we made use of the first possible day to see the place thoroughly, fell more and more in love with it, and 128 to our unspeakable joy, all was soon decided, and Cleveland Lodge was to be our future home. What fortunate people we thought ourselves! and we never altered our first impression. It was * love at first sight." While we were in Germany our excellent Clara, the housemaid, who had lived many years with us, and was one in a thousand, a real jewel, managed the whole move for us, and when we returned to England, we spent two or three days at the Burford Bridge Hotel while all was got quite ready, and very soon were settled in our new home. I recollect so well that some time after 129 R this, my parents came to spend a few- days with us ! We had purposely not written too much about it all, wishing to see their first unbiassed impressions, and their delight and surprise were a great joy to us. They were charmed with everything. We took them the sweet drive through the Denbies with our then very simple carriage arrangements ; a pretty large landau with only one horse and a very ordinary coachman, who was not with us long. The time at Leipzig was a very de^ lightful one in many ways. Our children had many interesting lessons, and we 130 enjoyed the music there extremely, and were most kindly received by the Schuncks and many other friends. The object of our going, however, was to my mind not carried out successfully. My great wish had been to have my children prepared for confirmation by Schwartz of Gotha, who was and has remained and will remain my ideal of a teacher and guide of religion. How often I have found myself wishing that I had been under his influence at that time of my life — his religion was so completely that of love and charity and large-hearted^ ness! Unfortunately we were dissuaded 131 from going to Gotha for various reasons; the climate was considered bad for young children, and Schwartz was thought too unorthodox or freethinking, and we were advised to have them confirmed by Drey* dorff, which I have never ceased to regret, for he called forth no sort of enthusiasm in them. On returning to England, we soon grew very fond of our new home at Cleveland Lodge. The country life and lovely garden have been a very great pleasure to us; and we have been able to give much pleasure to others, also, through them. My husband was always 132 genial and hospitable to all, and loved to see his friends around him. We had many very nice people among our new neighbours, too. It would lead too far to enumerate them; but some of those who soon became part of our intimate circle were Sir Thomas land Lady Paine and their daughters, who have remained amongst our best friends. I should also like here to name our kind and valued friends, Mr. Clark and his family. He was our doctor, and our help and comfort in many an anxious hour. He was equally sym^ pathising and attentive, not only as medi* cal man but also as friend, and deeply 133 did Amy and I feel his death in the year 1906. One of our very valued friends has been Arthur Severn, the well-known waters colour painter, who often came to see us. He was very kind to Amy, in taking great interest in her painting. Through him she was enabled to make the ac* quaintance of Ruskin, and even to stay with him and the Severns at Brantwood several times, which was always a great enjoyment to her, One act of friendship of Mr. Severn's I can never sufficiently thank him for. He made the beautiful pencil drawing of 134 my husband, the reproduction of which is in this book, and which has charmed every one who has seen it, and is to me an invaluable possession. Some of our dearest friends were the daughters of the charming old Canon Tinling, Rhoda and Beatrice. We often met, both in England and abroad. Among others we knew rather an ork ginal old lady, a Mrs. Gough Nichols, who had been a widow many years. One day she invited all her friends to celebrate her Golden Wedding Day! It was a very large party, with tents for meals, music, fireworks in the evening, 135 and every sort of amusement. She her* self, a very handsome old lady, was dressed very elegantly, and made a charm* ing hostess, explaining to her friends that she could not see why she should not celebrate the anniversary of the day that had made her such a proud and happy woman, and ask her children and grand* children and friends to rejoice with her, though her husband was no longer there to spend it with them; and that she knew he would have liked to see so many people around them on that day. The years fled on, our children grew up, some married, some left home; and 136 we had, of course like every one, our trials and anxieties, as well as more than our share of joy and gladness. The links of the old chain of friends of course grew fewer and fewer. My dear father died at Withington in 1872. How he was mourned, not only by his nearest and dearest, but by all who knew him, no words can say. My mother later on left England and bought a house at Wies^ baden, where we often stayed with her, and spent very delightful days. She died there in 1890. After her death we three sisters and my husband spent a sad but in a way very happy time in her house 137 s together, wishing to arrange all her affairs as she would have liked. She loved giving pleasure to others, and we spent our time together there thinking and talk* ing of what she had been, and what the old home had been to us, and selecting and sending off very many keepsakes which we thought she would have liked many of her old friends to have. We sisters also each took our share of the many personal treasures she had left, and I cannot help remembering with warm gratitude how sweetly my husband helped us in all this, and how not a word was uttered by him all those weeks that was not soothing and comforting and kind, 138 and also how clearly we three sisters felt, during that time, how we had always understood each other, and should always, to the end, be bound together by a chain which nothing could break or bend. It was a precious time to all of us, and I think my sisters must have felt what a real and loving brother they had in my husband. I can truly say that one of the reasons that I was so happy in my marriage was, that he was so completely one of our family. Our life at Cannes, where we for many years spent six months of every year, was very enjoyable. I could tell of many pleasant visitors we had in our nice Villa 139 Florence, and my husband loved it. In the year 1900 (on March 14th) we spent there one of the most beautiful days of our long married life — our Golden Wedding Day! Our first wedding day was joyous indeed, for it gave us to one another, and that, thank Heaven! told our whole life's happy story. Our Silver Wedding Day, spent at Mentone with all our children (Juliet and August von Stralendorff met us there on their way back from Italy, where they had been for their wedding tour), found us even surer of one another's love, for the hopes of the first one had been more than realised, and now the Golden Wedding Day was 140 the crowning point, and gratitude to God filled both our hearts for the long life of bliss, for the permission to bear together all the happiness, and all the sadness; for we had had trials — who has not ? — but they were lightened by each only bearing half the load. The clouds that had here and there been spread over our sunny sky may perhaps have brought us even nearer together, if that were possible. This Golden Wedding Day was celebrated quietly but very brightly. My two dear sisters came to Cannes for it, also Ida, and of course the Alfreds, who then lived at San Remo. Juliet was not able to come, and poor Frank was far away. 141 But letters and messages from all parts showed us that we were not forgotten, as well as the beautiful presents from all sides and the lovely flowers from our Cannes friends with which the house was decorated when we stepped out of our bedroom door in the morning. The sun shone upon it all so brilliantly, too; the whole day was like a lovely dream. This ought perhaps to end my "talk of other days." Our married life was almost over, and how few can tell of such fifty years as we had been permitted to spend with one another ! My dear husband's time for rest had almost come, for in the very year of our 142 Golden Wedding, in November 1900, he quietly closed his eyes after three days' illness, and without any acute suffering, and the saddest day of all my life had come. We had been at Cannes only ten days — -Cannes, that he loved so dearly. How we had looked forward to our winter there! Never can I forget the warm sympathy, which helped me so much, from all our friends at Cannes — in fact from every one, for he was known and liked by all with whom long years had brought him in contact there; and "the kind old gentleman in grey with his red tie," always in the same costume and always with the same genial smile for 143 every one, was missed by all. Soon after his death, I went into a little shop to pay a small bill I had found. The old man in the shop told me how often he missed the kind face, and added, "I have always much wanted to know whether your husband was an Englishman ? Surely, he cannot have been." I assured him he had been, when he again said, " No, it is impossible ; for the English are not only rude but brutal (pas seule- ment brusque, mais m&me brutal). They simply ask for what they want, never say ' Please ' or ' Thank you/ while he had always a kind word, a pleasant smile, a friendly inquiry or message for every 144 * one. No, he cannot have been an Englishman." That afternoon the kind old Bishop of Gibraltar called on me, and I told him this story. At first he said, "Yes, it is so. We are a rude nation." Then he thought for a moment, and continued, " No ; I am not sure about it. I think it is more that we are a shy nation; we are afraid of our bad French, afraid of being laughed at," and I think he was right. But the little incident, at all events, was a pleasant proof to me of how much my husband was liked. Dr. Bright, our kind friend, was a great comfort to me, and was indeed 145 T right when he said, with tears in his eyes, "I can only say, it was beautiful, a beautiful end to a beautiful life." And I can say with all my heart — "I hold it true, whatever befall, I feel it when I sorrow most, 'Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all!*' I have many blessings left, and dear children, sisters, and friends to help me, one of whom (Mr. Davies) has been most valuable to me also, in arranging things that I could not have done alone, and has been ever kindly ready to advise me. My life never can be the same to me again, but never can be without the 146 rays of sunshine left to light up its lone^ liness with the remembrance of brighter days. I can say no more! It has been a great pleasure to me to jot down these old recollections, as it has made me again live through my long life. I fear they may be tedious to my children and grandchildren, for whom I have written them just as they came into my head, but they will have patience with and forgive their loving Mother and Grandmother, „^« W ^, WT , A. BENECKE. P.S. — I cannot resist adding a short postscript to this little account of my 147 experiences, as what I should like to mention has been such a great pleasure to me since my life has changed so much at Cannes, that I should be sorry to omit naming it among the events of my later years. In the year 1902 the daughter of the Wilhelm Souchay whom I have named in the beginning of my little book, Emilie, spent the winter at Cannes with her hus^ band, Senator Behn from Lubeck, who was then very ill. We saw a great deal of them, and grew very fond of each other. They intended to come again the next year, but this plan did not come true on account of Mr. Behn's death. It 148 was a great joy to me to make Emilie Behn's acquaintance. The year after that, she and her sister Cornelie Behn gave Amy and me the great pleasure of spend- ing some weeks with us at Cleveland, They were in every way most sympa- thetic to both of us, and this new bond made it a delight to their father and me to dream on the old dream of many years ago. In the year 1904 Amy and I travelled home from Cannes by way of Germany, as I had long wished to see it once more, though I much dreaded going to all the dear old places and people my husband and I had seen together, without him. We went to Otto von Lucius' wedding at 149 Berlin (where, among other guests, were Ellen von Kempis, with her three sweet little girls), to Frankfurt, Dresden, Leipzig, Bamberg, and it was a most delightful journey. Deeply was I touched at the affection and kindness of all I came across. At Frankfurt, where I had spent so many happy days formerly, my niece, Helene Schmidt, and her husband and daughters gave us a most warm welcome, and our nephew, Walter Benecke, with his wife, and our niece Nellie Mtiller, with her husband and daughters, kindly came to Frankfurt to see us, and many were the pleasant hours we spent with them, in the Schmidts* pretty and hospitable 150 house. At Berlin I had a great surprise and pleasure. My old friend Wilhelm Souchay, when he heard that I was coming there, most kindly also came to see me from Lubeck, bringing his wife and daughters also. One of these (Frau Lotte Klugmann) is married there, and at her house we spent a delightful evening, where they were all assembled. It was just fifty'Six years since we had met, and we enjoyed talking of and recollecting together things and people long, long gone by. He reminded me that the last song I sang to him was Mendelssohn's * Schlummre und traume von kommender Zeit Die Dir sich bald musz entfalten: 151 Traume, mein Kind, von Freude und Lcid Traume von lieben Gestalten: Mogen auch Viele noch kommen und gehen Miissen Dir neue doch wieder erstehen! Bleibe nur fein geduldig!" — And of many things we thought and spoke together when we were both very young. Now we are both old, and both have lived a happy life. We had lost sight of each other for many years, and it was a joy to meet again. Printed by Ballantynb, Hanson <5r* Co. Edinburgh &* London >io UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50m-9, , 60(B3610s4)444 3t ML LIBRARY FACILITY A 000 953 727 5 DA 565 "V