One after another the children had all flown from the parental nest. A portion of the beautiful garden had to be sold, when Hildebrand Street was made to connect Thiergarten Street with the grand canal. The latter we used to know as a modest sheep pond, upon which the green duck-weed floated like mould, and across whose sandy shores a few isolated trees cast their shadow. Lepsius yielded to the demands of the growing city of Berlin, and the vigorous old man, ever ready for new enterprises, decided to sell the dear old house. In consequence of the great rise in its value it had become too expensive a dwelling for its few inmates, especially as Lepsius had just at that time encountered heavy pecuniary losses. But neither he nor his wife wished to leave the dear old home, and therefore they caused it to be moved, after they had found a suitable lot of ground in Kleist Street on the borders of Charlottenburg, in the extreme western part of Berlin. There it was once more reared, and anyone who once knew the old house, and now seeks and finds the new, will feel, as all of us of that generation must, that he is under the power of a magic spell; for there before him stands the old Lepsius homestead, just as it was in Bendler Street. The interior too has undergone no change, and it is not only that the new house resembles the old, but, in a certain sense, it is the same, for Lepsius did not sell the materials of which his first dwelling-place had been constructed, and after the new owner had torn down the scholar’s home in Bendler Street, in order to erect a large apartment house on the site, Lepsius had it carried to Kleist Street, stone by stone, door by door, and window by window, and thus actually succeeded in living in the old house on the new site. Unluckily, the good fortune which had so long remained faithful to him did not follow him to the new home. He there saw beloved members of his family fall a prey to severe illness, and when he had enjoyed the new dwelling for a short time he was himself attacked by the malignant disease which deprived us of our revered Master, and his children of their dear father. But, on the other hand, the old house had fully and completely fulfilled the destiny to which its builder had consecrated it in a beautiful speech at the laying of the corner-stone, August fifth, 1854. He then said, speaking of his children and his wife: “This house is not meant chiefly for us, but for our children. But for them we should never have thought of building a house. To them it will be the home of their parents, where their youth will develop, therefore it shall give them as large a portion of the fresh air of heaven and of nature’s green, as it is possible to obtain in a large city. They will people every corner with their childish phantasies, and throughout life their recollections will cling to every tree and shrub.”