during the whole course of our dreary pilgrimage, that we have here no abiding place, and keep our hopes fixed on the life beyond! If I appear to dwell overmuch on my inner life in childhood, it is for the sake of other children, many of whom are perhaps as liable to be misunderstood as I was myself. Who was there, of the grown-up people around me, who could ever guess what was really passing in my mind? Taught that it was my duty to enliven and gladden others, I had schooled my face to an expression of perpetual cheerfulness, and should have considered myself eternally disgraced, had anyone ever surprised me in tears. It is only by the utmost kindness and tenderness, that we can hope to win the confidence of a proud and sensitive child, and break down the wall of reserve behind which it early learns to intrench itself. Among the many agreeable recollections I retain of the house in Carlton Terrace, that of the entrance and staircase is especially vivid, both being carpeted, as was the passage leading to the rooms above, with soft green felt, while book-shelves lined every available space along the walls. Such a friendly, home-like impression was thus at once created, intensified by the habit of making of the entrance-hall, on which the doors of all the rooms opened, a favourite resort for reading or conversation. That green carpeting, of just the tint of the green baize of a billiard-table, on which one’s eyes rested with so much pleasure, was no less agreeable to the ears, every sound being deadened, and the wheeled chairs of the invalids passing over it quite noiselessly. Under Bunsen’s auspices, a literary society was founded in Bonn, whose members--generally under pseudonyms--submitted their work for his approval. Among the translators, my mother distinguished herself by a version of the magnificent Paternoster in Dante’s _Purgatorio_, and another of Longfellow’s _Song of the Old Clock_, with its mournful refrain--“Forever--never,--never--forever!”