She lived until her death (April 1, 1904) in her quiet, unpretentious home in one of the large empty streets behind the Tiergarten at Berlin, reaching the age of ninety-two, but never losing her freshness of mind and memory. In my many happy talks with the aged lady the succeeding periods seemed to melt together. The small, old furniture and the ancient, ever-ticking clock made me forget, in dreamy twilight hours, that the red glare in the sky above the houses beyond, that faintly lit up the old-time room, was the reflection from the twentieth century of the electric flames that flashed on the great modern city. On the table lay the latest part of Haeckel’s (her nephew) fine illustrated work for artistically minded scientists and scientifically minded artists—the _Art-forms in Nature_. The dear old lady spoke with pride of her knowledge of the “radiolaria,” the mysterious unicellular ocean-dwellers, described in Haeckel’s splendid monograph, the flinty shells of which are amongst the finest artistic treasures of nature. She called them the “dear radiolaria” with all the tenderness of the emotional man of science who had felt a sort of psychic relation, a living affinity, to the tiny microscopic strangers he had been the first to arrange and describe in their thousands. Smiling, with quiet pride, she told me how her nephew visited her, when he came to Berlin; how, with the unassuming ways of this sound stock, he chose to sleep in the clothes-drying loft; how he invited his friends to come and hear of his voyages and work, bringing thirty of them to share a single dish of herring-salad in his naïve way, and how, as they continued to pour in, he made seats for them of boards and tubs, and fed them with his wonderful genius for anecdote so that none went away fasting. She dwelt with entire satisfaction on the last, the “zoological” phase, of the Haeckel-Sethe house. Yet it all blended softly with the old and the past of nearly a century ago. Over the patriarchal furniture hung the oil painting of Christoph Sethe, with the large Roman nose that runs through the family down to Ernst Haeckel himself, and gives the chief feature to his otherwise soft profile. Under a glass shade, in the old fashion of our grandfathers that we perhaps do not sufficiently appreciate, was a fine bust of Schleiermacher. He was a friend of the Sethes. Bertha Sethe was confirmed by him. He died four days before Ernst Haeckel was born, on February 12, 1834. The sister came from the grave to attend the mother of the new-born child. A little fact of that character seems to pour out a broad stream of light. The religious sense was strong in the Sethes, but it was not of the rigid conventional character. It came from the depths of human destinies, of individual experience. In those depths it is always found associated with that other fundamental quality of human experience and inner life—a zeal for the truth. Schleiermacher,