Alice Grand Duchess of Hess

“I ever look back to my childhood and girlhood as the happiest time of life.”—(13th June, 1869.)

“Dear Princess Alice is too pretty, in her low frock and pearl necklace, tripping about and blushing and smiling at her honors. The whole family, indeed, appear to advantage on birthdays; no tradesman or country squire can keep one with such hearty simple affection and enjoyment. One present I think we shall all wish to live farther off: a live lamb, all over pink ribbons and bells. He is already the greatest pet, as one may suppose.

“Princess Alice’s pet lamb is the cause of many tears. He will not take to his mistress, but runs away lustily, and will soon butt at her, though she is most coaxy, and said to him in her sweetest tones, after kissing his nose often, ‘Milly, dear Milly! do you like me?’”

“She was at that time most graceful in appearance—charming, merry, and amiable; and though always occupying a subordinate place to her very gifted and distinguished sister, there never was the least semblance of a disagreement. Alice’s cheerful disposition and her great power of observation showed themselves very early in the pleasantest manner, and she had a remarkable gift of making herself attractive to others. Her individuality was less decided and prominent than that of her sister, and she had a special charm of childhood grace. Our walks and drives together, the life in the schoolroom, the games in the corridors, or in dear old Baron Stockmar’s room—these and all the pleasure and enjoyment of being together with the two sisters will ever remain amongst the happiest and most lasting of my recollections.”

“Alice was now drawn more into the circle of the grown-up members of the family; but, in spite of this, she retained all the fascination of her charming graceful ways. A great vein of humor showed itself in her, as well as a certain sharpness in criticising people who were not congenial to her. Many a little conflict took place in the schoolroom; but while the individualities of the sisters became more and more distinct, their happy relations to one another remained unchanged. She was a great favorite with her brothers and sisters, though they knew she was fond of mischief.

“To a naturally engaging manner quite exceptional joyousness and power of showing affectionate emotion imparted an especial charm, which revealed itself in the fine lines of her face, in her graceful movements, and a certain inborn nobleness and dignity. Her attachment to my parents, ‘Uncle Prussia’ and ‘Aunt Prussia,’ was truly touching.”

“* * * But this did not in the least disturb our dear child’s equanimity. She was in a most devotional state of mind—quiet, gentle, self-possessed, and deeply impressed by the importance and solemnity of the event. She answered admirably at her examination, and went through the ceremony in a very perfect manner.”[6]

“She is very good, gentle, sensible, and amiable, and a real comfort to me. I shall not let her marry as long as I can reasonably delay her doing so.”[7]

“* * * After dinner, whilst talking to the gentlemen, I perceived Alice and Louis talking before the fireplace more earnestly than usual, and when I passed to go to the other room, both came up to me, and Alice in much agitation said he had proposed to her, and he begged for my blessing. I could only squeeze his hand and say ‘Certainly.’ and that we would see him in our room later. Got through the evening working as well as we could. Alice came to our room * * * agitated, but quiet. * * * Albert sent for Louis to his room; he went first to him and then called Alice and me in. * * * Louis has a warm, noble heart. We embraced our dear Alice, and praised her much to him. He pressed and kissed my hand, and I embraced him. After talking a little, we parted; a most touching, and to me most sacred, moment.”[9]

“Herself filled with the intensest sorrow at her beloved father’s death—and what a father! what a head of a family! what a friend and adviser to his wife and children!—she at once took into her own hands every thing that was necessary in those first dark days of the destruction of that happy home. All communications from the Ministers and household passed through the Princess’ hands to the Queen, then bowed down by grief. She endeavored in every way possible, either verbally or by writing, to save her mother all trouble. The decision to leave Windsor for Osborne directly after the Prince’s death, according to the urgent wish of the King of the Belgians, and which it was so difficult and painful for the Queen to make, was obtained by the Princess’ influence.”

“It was the very intimate intercourse with the sorrowing Oueen at that time which called forth in Princess Alice that keen interest and understanding in politics for which she was afterward so distinguished. She also gained at this time that practical knowledge for organizing, and the desire for constant occupation, which in her public as well as in her private life became part of herself. The Princess suddenly developed into a wise far-seeing woman, living only for others, and beloved and respected by the highest as well as by the lowest.[12]

“It is impossible to speak too highly of the strength of mind and self-sacrifice of the Princess Alice during these dreadful days. Her Royal Highness has certainly understood, that it was her duty to be the help and support of her mother in her great sorrow, and it was in a great measure due to her that the Queen has been able to bear with such wonderful resignation the irreparable loss that so suddenly and terribly befell her.”

“Our life is a very, very happy one. I have nothing on earth to wish for.... To be able to make a bright and comfortable home for my dear husband is my constant aim.”—(14th Feb.-1st March, 1864.)

Royal Yacht, July 9th.

Beloved Mama:—Before leaving the yacht I must send you a few lines to wish you once more good-bye, and to thank you again and again for all your kindness to us.

My heart was very full when I took leave of you and all the dear ones at home; I had not the courage to say a word,—but your loving heart understands what I felt.

Darmstadt, July 13th.

Yesterday, after we reached Bingen, all the Hessian officers of state received us. At every station we received fresh people, and had to speak to them. At Mayence also, the beautiful Austrian band played whilst we waited, in pouring rain, which only ceased as we reached Darmstadt. The station before, the Grand Duke, Prince and Princess Charles with their children, Prince Alexander and his wife, received us—all most kind and cordial.

At the station we were again received; the whole town so prettily decked out; the Bürger [Burgesses Escort] rode near our carriage; countless young ladies in white, and all so kind, so loyal; in all the speeches kind and touching allusions were made to you, and to our deep grief. I believe the people never gave so hearty a welcome. We two drove through the town; incessant cheering and showering of flowers. We got out at Prince and Princess Charles’ house, where the whole family was assembled.

We then went to our rooms, which are very small, but so prettily arranged, with such perfect taste, all by my own dear Louis; they look quite English.

We then drove to Bessungen for dinner en famille. * * *

We were listening to twelve Sängervereine [Choral Unions] singing together yesterday evening—two hundred people; it was most beautiful, but in pouring rain. Some came up-stairs dripping to speak to us. The Grand Duke gave me a fine diamond bracelet he and his wife had ordered for me, and showed me all over his rooms.

To-morrow we receive the Ständesherren [Princes and Counts] and the gentlemen of both Houses.

My thoughts, rather our thoughts, are constantly with you, beloved Mama. Please give my love to all at home; it is impossible to write to them all.

July 16th.

* * * It is extremely hot here. The last two days we rode out at eight in the morning in the wood, where the air is very pleasant, near the ground where the troops are drilled. On Monday we looked on, and the soldiers were so much flattered.

At half-past one on Monday we received the gentlemen of the Upper House, then the Lower House, then the Flügeladjutanten [aides-de-camp], then the Stadtvorstand [Town Council], then about seventy officers, then a deputation of the English here. All these people I had to speak to en grande toilette, and at four we drove to a large dinner at the Schloss. The Grand Duke led me, and I always sit near him.

Yesterday at three the whole family drove to Seeheim, a lovely place in the mountains, to dinner with the Grand Duke. In the two villages we passed, flowers were showered upon us, and the Pfarrer [clergyman] made a speech.

I am really deeply touched by the kindness and enthusiasm shown by the people, which is said to be quite unusual. They wait near the house to see us, and cheer constantly—even the soldiers.

We then drove for tea, which is always at eight, to Jugenheim to Prince Alexander, whose birthday it was, and did not get home till 10.

The whole family are very amiable toward me, and Prince Alexander is most clever and amusing.

Darling Louis is very grateful for your kind messages. We talk and think of you often, and then my heart grows very heavy. Away from home I cannot believe that beloved Papa is not there; all is so associated with him.

July 19th.

Beloved Mama:—Many thanks for your last kind letter, and all the news from home; dear Baby [Princess Beatrice] is the only one you have mentioned nothing of, and I think of her so often.

Some people are coming to us at one, and then the whole Ministerium [Administration]. It is really so difficult to find something to say to these people, and they stand there waiting to be spoken to.

Yesterday we received a deputation from Giessen, with a very pretty dressing-case they brought us as a present.

On Thursday we went incognito with Prince Alexander and his wife to Frankfort. The town is decked out most beautifully, and countless Schützen [riflemen] are walking about in their dress. We dined at the Palais and then sat in the balcony.

I have just taken leave of dear Lady Churchill and General Seymour.[13] They have made themselves most popular here, and the people have been very civil to them.

Louis and I have begun reading “Westward Ho,” together.

The Grand Duke went all the way to Kranichstein for me the other day, and walked about till he was quite hot. He has forbidden my visiting the other places until his return, as he wishes to lead me about there himself. I do not see very much of the other relations save at meals; and, having our own carriages, we two drive together mostly alone. We have tea usually out of doors in some pretty spot we drive to.

These lines will find you in Windsor. I went out this morning and tried to find some of those pretty wreaths to send you, but could get none. Please put one in St. George’s[14] from me. It is the first time you go to that hallowed spot without me; but in thought and prayer I am with you. May God strengthen and soothe you, beloved Mama, and may you still live to find some ray of sunshine on your solitary path, caused by the love and virtue of his children, trying, however faintly, to follow his glorious example!

I do strive earnestly and cheerfully to do my duty in my new life, and to do all that is right, which is but doing what dear Papa would have wished.

July 20th.

Thousand thanks for your dear long letter of the 18th just received. How well do I understand your feelings! I was so sad myself yesterday, and had such intense longing after a look, a word from beloved Papa! I could bear it no longer. Yet how much worse is it not for you! You know, though, dear Mama, he is watching over you, waiting for you. The thought of the future is the one sustaining, encouraging point for all. “They who sow in tears shall reap in joy”; and the great joy will be yours hereafter, dear Mama, if you continue following that bright example. * * *

We usually get up about quarter or half-past seven, and take some coffee at eight. Then we either go out till ten or remain at home, and till twelve I write and arrange what I have to do.

At one, when we return from breakfast, we usually read together. I have still a great many people to see, and they usually come at two.

At four is dinner, and at half-past five we are usually back here, and occupy ourselves till six or seven, then drive out somewhere for tea at eight, walk about and return at a quarter or half-past ten. We do not waste our time, I assure you, and Louis has a good deal to do at this moment.

Mr. Theed’s bust of dear Papa must be very lovely. I am curious to hear what you think of Marochetti’s.[15] It will be very sad for you to see.

A fortnight already I am here, and away from my dear home three weeks! How much I shall have to tell you when we meet. My own dear Mama, I do love you so much! You know, though silent, my love and devotion to you is deep and true. If I could relinquish part of my present happiness to restore to you some of yours, with a full heart would I do it; but God’s will be done! God sustain my precious mother! is the hourly prayer of her loving and sympathizing child.

July 24th.

* * * You tell me to speak to you of my happiness—our happiness. You will understand the feeling which made me silent towards you, my own clear bereaved Mother, on that point; but you are unselfish and loving and can enter into my happiness, though I could never have been the first to tell you how intense it is, when it must draw the painful contrast between your past and present existence. If I say I love my dear husband, that is scarcely enough—it is a love and esteem which increases daily, hourly; which he also shows to me by such consideration, such tender loving ways. What was life before to what it has become now? There is such blessed peace being at his side, being his wife; there is such a feeling of security; and we two have a world of our own when we are together, which nothing can touch or intrude upon. My lot is indeed a blessed one; and yet what have I done to deserve that warm, ardent love, which my darling Louis ever shows me? I admire his good and noble heart more than I can say. How he loves me, you know, and he will be a good son to you. He reads to me every day out of “Westward Ho,” which I think very beautiful and interesting.

This morning I breakfasted alone, as he went out with his regiment. I always feel quite impatient until I hear his step coming up-stairs, and see his dear face when he returns.

Yesterday, and the previous night, I thought of you constantly, and of our last journey together to dear Balmoral. Sad, painful though it was, I liked so much being with you, trying to bear some of your load of sorrow with you. From here I share all as if I were really by your side; and I think so many fervent prayers cannot be offered to a merciful loving God without His sending alleviation and comfort.

Please remember me to Grant, Brown, and all of them at home in dear Scotland, and tell them how much I wish, and Louis also, that we were there, changed though every thing is.

July 25th.

* * * People say we may still have the Palais, but I doubt it. I am going to tell the Grand Duke that we return to England in autumn (not only for your sake, but principally because I do not wish to incommode our parents any longer, and because in the winter we could not even receive people here).

The only thing I shall regret in our not remaining here is, that the people feel it so much, and they are most kind; but they will see and understand that it cannot be otherwise, and that it does not arise from ill will on our part.

* * * Cecile and Michael[16] were here yesterday, so kind and so full of real sympathy toward you, which they begged me to express to you. He has such warm feelings; and they admired and loved dear Papa, though they saw him but little.

Darmstadt, August 1st.

* * * My heart feels ready to burst when I think of such sorrow as yours. I pray my adored Louis may long be spared to me. If you only knew how dear, how loving he is to me, and how he watches over me, dear darling!

To-morrow we go to Coburg, which was an old promise. Dear Uncle sent only two days ago to say he left Coburg on the 5th, and would we not come before? You will understand that, happy beyond measure as I am to go there, a lump always comes into my throat when I think of it—going for the first time with Louis to dear Papa’s house, where but recently he showed us every thing himself.[17] Dear Mama, I think I can scarcely bear it—the thought seems so hard and cruel. He told us as children so much of Coburg, spoke to us of it with such childlike affection, enjoyed so much telling us every anecdote connected with each spot; and now these silent spots seem to plead for his absence.

To see the old Baron [Stockmar] will be a great happiness, and that Louis should make his acquaintance.

Calenberg bei Coburg, August 4th.

Once more in dear Coburg, and you can fancy with what feelings. Every thing reminds me of beloved Papa and of our last happy visit.

We are living here, and yesterday we spent all the afternoon and dined at the Rosenau. It was a lovely day, and the view so beautiful. We went all over the house and walked about in the grounds. We walked to dear Papa’s little garden, and I picked two flowers there for you, which I enclose.

Every spot brought up the remembrance of something dear Papa had told us of his childhood; it made me so sad, I can’t tell you. Uncle Ernest was also sad, but so kind and affectionate, and they both seemed so pleased at our having come.

Every thing about dear Papa’s illness, and then of the sad end, I had to tell. I lived the whole dreadful time over again, and wonder, whilst I speak of it, that we ever lived through it.

At nine o’clock church service was in the pretty little chapel. Holzei read, and Superintendent Meyer preached a most beautiful sermon, the text being where our Saviour told his disciples they must become as a little child to enter into the kingdom of heaven. He spoke with his usual fervor, and it was most impressive. I saw him afterward, and he enquired very much after you.

We are going after breakfast to the Festung, and then Louis and I are going to see the dear Baron [Stockmar].

Darmstadt, August 6th.

Dear Beloved Mama:—Can you give me no ray of hope that you in some way, bodily or mentally, feel better? It makes my heart ache bitterly, to hear those sad accounts you give of yourself, though I well know what for you life without him must be! God comfort you! is my constant prayer.

We saw the dear old Baron for some time. The meeting was sad on both sides; he was very kind, but so desponding as to every thing! In England and abroad he looks at every thing in a black light, and was full of complaints about himself. He asked much after you, and is anxious to see you again.

August 9th.

Next Monday we are going to Auerbach, to live there for a little time. It lies in the Bergstrasse, and is very healthy. The Grand Duke allows us to inhabit one of the houses.

August 16th.

How I long to read what Mr. Helps has written about Papa! What can it be but beautiful and elevating, if he has rightly entered into the spirit of that pure and noble being?[18]

Oh, Mama! the longing I sometimes have for dear Papa surpasses all bounds. In thought he is ever present and near me; still we are but mortals, and as such at times long for him also. Dear, good Papa! Take courage, dear Mama, and feel strong in the thought that you require all your moral and physical strength to continue the journey which brings you daily nearer to Home and to Him! I know how weary you feel, how you long to rest your head on his dear shoulder, to have him to soothe your aching heart. You will find this rest again, and how blessed will it not be! Bear patiently and courageously your heavy burden, and it will lighten imperceptibly as you near him, and God’s love and mercy will support you. Oh, could my feeble words bring you the least comfort! They come from a trusting, true, and loving heart, if from naught else.

Auerbach, August 16th.

* * * We do feel for you so deeply and would wish so much to help you, but there is but One who can do that, and you know whom to seek. He will give you strength to live on till the bright day of reunion. * * *

Auerbach, August 21st.

* * * Our visit to Giessen[19] went off very well. The people were most loyal. We went to see the Gymnasts, and Louis walked about amongst them, which pleased them very much. He is very popular there, and I am very glad we both went, for it made a good impression.

We drove to Louis’ property, Stauffenberg, a beautiful (alas! ruined) castle, which by degrees he is having restored, and which will be a charming house for us, if it is finished, which can only be done gradually.

Auerbach, August 23d.

* * * Try and gather in the few bright things you have remaining and cherish them, for though faint, yet they are types of that infinite joy still to come. I am sure, dear Mama, the more you try to appreciate and to find the good in that which God in His love has left you, the more worthy you will daily become of that which is in store. That earthly happiness you had is indeed gone forever, but you must not think that every ray of it has left you. You have the privilege, which dear Papa knew so well how to value, in your exalted position, of doing good and living for others, of carrying on his plans, his wishes into fulfilment, and as you go on doing your duty, this will, this must, I feel sure, bring you peace and comfort. Forgive me, darling Mama, if I speak so openly; but my love for you is such that I cannot be silent, when I long so fervently to give you some slight comfort and hope in your present life.

I have known and watched your deep sorrow with a sympathizing, though aching heart. Do not think that absence from you can still that pain. My love for you is strong, is constant; I would like to shelter you in my arms, to protect you from all future anxiety, to still your aching longing! My own sweet Mama, you know I would give my life for you, could I alter what you have to bear!

Trust in God! ever and constantly. In my life I feel that to be my stay and my strength, and the feeling increases as the days go on. My thoughts of the future are bright, and this always helps to make the minor worries and sorrows of the present dissolve before the warm rays of that light which is our guide.

Auerbach, August 25th.

* * * To-day is the Ludwigstag, a day kept throughout the country, and on which every Ludwig receives presents, etc.; but we spend it quite quietly. Louis’ parents and the others are coming to breakfast, and remain during the day. Louis is out riding. We always get up early. He rides whilst I write, and we then walk together and breakfast somewhere out of doors.

We went to the little church here yesterday, which is very old, and they sang so well.

I drew out of doors also, as it was very fine; but it is very difficult, as it is all green, and the trees are my misfortune, as I draw them so badly. I play sometimes with Christa[20]; she plays very well.

August 26th [Prince Consort’s Birthday].

With a heavy heart do I take up my pen to write to you to-day—this dear day, now so sad, save through its bright recollections. I cannot bear to think of it now, with no one to bring our wishes to, with that painful silence where such mirth and gaiety used to be. It is very hard to bear, and the first anniversary is like the commencement of a new epoch in our deep sorrow.

When your dear present was brought to me this morning, I could not take my eyes from it, though they were blinded with tears. Oh, those beautiful, those loved features! There wants but his kind look and word to make the picture alive! Thousand thanks for it, dear Mama.

How trying this day will be for you! My thoughts are constantly with you, and I envy the privilege the others have in being near you and being able to do the least thing for you.

The sun shines brightly in the still blue sky; how bright and peaceful it must be where our dear Spirit dwells, if it is already so beautiful here.

September 5th.

* * * Two days ago Louis and I went to Worms. Whilst he went to his regiment, which the Grand Duke came to inspect, I went to the Dom, which is most beautiful; and then went in a little boat on the Rhine, which was charming. It took us, driving, an hour and a half from Auerbach to Worms.

Auerbach, September 7th.

* * * For Louis’ birthday we are going to Darmstadt; it is getting cold and damp here, and the house is small. We take our meals in another house, and it is cold to walk over there of an evening. Think of us on the 12th. It was such a happy day last year.[21]

I have such Heimweh [yearning] after beloved Papa; it is dreadful sometimes when I think of him and of our home. But he is so happy in his bright home, could we but catch a glimpse of him there. Dear Grandmama [the Duchess of Kent], too, is constantly in my thoughts lately. I can see her before me—so dear, kind, and merry. As time goes on, such things only mingle themselves more vividly with one’s usual life; for it is their life which is nearest us again, and not their death, which casts such a gloom over their remembrance.

Auerbach, September 11th.

* * * How beautiful Heidelberg is! we went all over the Castle, and with such glorious weather. There is one side still standing, built and decorated by a pupil of Michael Angelo, which dear Papa admired so much. How do I miss not being able to talk to beloved Papa of all I see, hear, feel, and think! His absence makes such a gap in my existence.

Darmstadt, October 13th.

* * * Our visit to Baden was charming, and dear Fritz and Louise[22] so kind! Louis and I were both delighted by our visit. The Queen, the Duchess of Hamilton, and Grand Duchess Hélène were there, besides dear Aunt [Princess Hohenlohe], and Countess Blücher. The two latter, dear and precious as ever.

We left yesterday morning; spent three hours with Grand Duchess Sophie, who is the most agreeable, clever, amiable person one can imagine. It gave me real pleasure to make her acquaintance. Aunt Feodore’s house, though small, is really very pretty, and her rooms are hung full of pictures. I saw Winterhalter also, in his lovely new house, which he has gone and sold, saying it was too good for him. He has painted a most beautiful picture of the Grand Duchess Hélène—quite speaking.

* * * I am going to make my will before leaving. I do not like leaving (for England) without having done something.

Darmstadt, October 17th.

First of all, thousand thanks from Louis and me for your having allowed dear Arthur[23] to come with us. I cannot tell you what pleasure it has been to me to have that dear child a little bit. He has won all hearts, and I am so proud when they admire my little brother, who is a mixture of you and adored Papa.

Darmstadt, October 23d.

* * * We intend probably leaving this on Saturday, the 8th, remaining until the 10th at Coblenz, from whence we go direct in eleven hours and three-quarters to Antwerp, leaving Antwerp the morning of the 12th, to reach Windsor that evening or the next morning.

We always continue reading together, and have read Hypatia, a most beautiful, most interesting, and very learned and clever book, which requires great attention.

I have the great bore to read the newspapers every day, which I must do; see Dr. Becker[24] from eleven to twelve; then I write, and have constantly people to see, so that I have scarcely any time to draw or to play. I also read serious book to myself.

Louis would like to go to Leeds and Manchester from Osborne, as he wants to go to London from Windsor. I shall accompany him sometimes.

October 25th.

As you come later to Windsor, we shall not leave till the 10th, remain the 11th with the Queen, then go direct to Antwerp. If the weather is bad we shall wait. Then on the 14th or 15th we shall be at Windsor, which we prefer to coming to Osborne. We hope this will suit you.

All are full of lamentations at our departure, and for so long, which is most natural; but they are very kind. We have a family dinner in our little room to-day, which is large enough for a few people. The Grand Duke has quite lost his heart to Arthur, and Bertie [Prince of Wales] pleased him also very much.

In talking together last night, Louis said what I feel so often, that he always felt as if it must come right again some time, and we should find dear Papa home again. In another home we shall.

October 30th.

The Grand Duke was quite overcome when I gave him the photographs, and with Baby’s [Princess Beatrice’s] he is quite enchanted, and wishes me to tell you how grateful he is, and how much he thanks you. You cannot think how pleased he was, and the more so that you sent them him. He has a warm heart and feels very much for you, and takes a warm interest in all my brothers and sisters.

I am glad you are going to see dear Fritz of Baden; he will be so pleased. We shall see Louise at Coblenz.

The plans for our house have come, and even the simplest is far above what we poor mortals can build.

November 6th.

* * * Yesterday, Mrs. Combe, widow of George Combe and daughter of Mrs. Siddons, came to see me and was with me some time. She is a clever, amiable old lady. It gave me such pleasure to see and talk with her. Will you tell Sir James Clark so, as she is an old friend of his.

Marlborough House, May 14th.

Dearest Mama:—Our parting this morning was most painful to both of us—from you to whom we owe so much, and whom we love so dearly.

May God comfort and support you, beloved Mama, on your sad and weary pilgrimage!

Marlborough House, May 16th.

I could not get your dear face and your sweet voice out of my mind for an instant, and everywhere I thought I must see you or dear Papa. It seemed so strange; I had the tears in my eyes all day. The worst was the opera, for I had never been without you or Papa, and all was the same and yet so different. It was very trying to me; and so will the drawing-room be to-day. * * * I saw Lady Jocelyn, Duchess of Manchester, Sir Charles Locock, and Lord Alfred Paget, to show them baby, and all find her like what we all were. How much we have to thank for in her name. Your affection for her and all you have done for her have touched us more than I can say. It seemed to me quite wrong to take her from you.

On Wednesday, Alix [Princess of Wales] and myself go to the studios. This morning we drove in Battersea Park.

May 19th.

* * * The drawing-room was long, but Alix and I were not so tired, considering the length of time, for we stood, excepting twenty minutes, in the middle, when there was a block and the people could not come.

In to-day’s letter you mention again your wish that we should soon be with you again. Out of the ten months of our married life five have been spent under your roof, so you see how ready we are to be with you. Before next year Louis does not think we shall be able to come; at any rate when we can we shall, and I hope we shall be able to see you for a day or two in Germany to divide the time.

Darmstadt, May 23d.

* * * Baby[25] has been so much admired, and all the clothes you gave her.

Darmstadt, May.

I sha’n’t have time to write more than a few words, as we have just returned from church and are going to Mayence till Wednesday. The Grand Duke came all the way to Kranichstein yesterday to go about with us, and see how to arrange it comfortably. He is most kind, and sat an hour with me.

We have received two deputations this morning, and my things, which ought to have been here before us, only arrived to-day.

Mayence, June 2d.

There was a large dinner yesterday; the Nassaus dined here, and this morning we have been to Biebrich. The Duke and Duchess, Nicolas Nassau, Marianne of Prussia,[26] her sister the Duchess of Altenburg, and Landgrave William were there. They were most kind and civil. We hurried back in time for dinner. The Grand Duke is most kind, has taken me everywhere about himself—into the Dom, into several shops, etc.

Now when I return I shall have to unpack and pack again for Kranichstein, and arrange the house there, which has not been lived in for eighty years, so that for writing I have barely a moment.

I have good accounts of baby, whom all the old gentlemen run out of their houses to look at, when she walks in the garden, and try to tell Moffat [her nurse] what they think of her, but she of course understands nothing.

Darmstadt, June 3d.

I write to you to-day, as Louis is going for all day to Worms to-morrow, and I am going to Jugenheim to Uncle Alexander. It is already warm here, and we are going in a day or two into the country.

The Queen of Prussia passes through here to-day, and I shall probably hear from her what her intentions are about England. I have received a splendid bracelet from the Empress of Russia—for baby’s picture. She is said to be far from well.

Darmstadt, June 6th.

* * * Louis was away from four o’clock yesterday morning till eleven at night. He was at Worms with Uncle Louis. Tuesday is his birthday, and we shall very likely go on Monday to Mayence, as Uncle Louis is always wishing for us.

I took a walk at Jugenheim yesterday with Uncle Alexander, his wife and children, of more than two hours, and it was so beautiful, and numberless little birds singing. Uncle Alexander was so grateful for all your kindness, and was above all so charmed with you. It always makes me so happy to be able to talk about you, and to hear you appreciated as you ought to be, darling Mama.

June 8th.

* * * Baby sits up quite strong, and looks about and laughs. She has got on wonderfully, and she is so good. She was an hour with us yesterday evening wide awake, and so good. She is as well and as strong as any child could be. To-day we go to Mainz, and to-morrow night from thence to Kranichstein. All our beds must be moved meanwhile, as there are none in the house.

Kranichstein, June 12th.

Louis went at six this morning to Darmstadt for the inspection of his regiment by Uncle Louis, Princess Charles’ birthday is on the 18th. The Grand Duke will be at Friedberg, and we are to go for the day, which will be rather tiring, as it is a good way by rail and back again, and we have to wait an hour at Frankfort.

Louis is going to take his seat in the Chamber on the 23d. He was unable to do so last year, as we left for England two days before the time.

June 19th.

* * * You ask me again if I occupy myself much and seriously? Not a moment of the day is wasted, and I have enough to read and to think about: what with the many and different papers, and interesting books. Dr. Becker comes daily, and I have a good deal to look after.

We have a dinner to-day—Prince and Princess Charles, Uncle Adalbert, Anna, William, and the suites.

June 23d.

* * * You will be amused to hear that I have taken a little black (a Malay) into my service. He is a dear good boy, was brought over two years ago by a gentleman, to whom he was given away by his own parents as a mark of gratitude for some service done. This man has had him here two years, but has never had him taught any thing. He has no religion, and can neither read nor write. I am going to have him taught, and, later, christened. He is very intelligent, thirteen years old.

We shall remain here for the present; we go about a good deal seeing things near by, and then it is the first time we have our household and stable, so that on account of Haushaltung [housekeeping], etc., we are going to remain here for a little time. It is very pleasant besides, and constant moving is far too expensive for us. We give dinners here, which are also useful, as I know so few people. Some of the Ständesherren are coming to-morrow, and later some of the Abgeordneten [Deputies] of the Second Chamber, which will give us an opportunity of making the acquaintance of some of the Liberals in the country.

I cannot get rid of my rheumatism, which is so unpleasant.

Louis is very busy; he reads to me sometimes out of Lord Macaulay’s last volume of the English History, which I had not yet read. Twice a week Louis takes drill with his cavalry regiment, and he has to ride out at six in the morning, as it is some way off.

June 27th.

* * * I bathe every morning and swim about; there is a nice little bathing-house.

I hear baby shrieking out of doors; she does not cry very much, but she is very passionate. She was vaccinated two days ago by Dr. Weber, and I am going to be done next week; the small-pox is at Darmstadt, and a man died of it yesterday. Louis is very industrious and busy; he has all the papers of the Stände [State papers] to read and look through, and reads other useful books, besides papers and other things which he must read. He wrote to Lord Derby to express his thanks for having been made a Doctor at Oxford. He takes a great deal of exercise, riding, walking, rowing, swimming. We get up at six every morning, and go to bed after ten.

Louis has always a good deal to do at home, and a good many things which would never be expected of him in England. He knows the necessity and importance of working. I hope next month Uncle Ernest[27] will come to us for a day on his way back from Homburg. He has asked us for a few days to the Calenberg whilst you are in Germany, and then in the winter we hope to be for a few days at Gotha.

The Lützows,[28] and Miss Seymour dine with us to-day.

June 30th.

Lady Fife is at Homburg, and is coming to dine with us. To-morrow all the family and some other people come to dinner. We have seen a good many people; we receive in the morning or for dinner.

Dalwigk gave a large soirée in the woods, with a supper for us, last night. All the Ständesherren and Foreign Ministers were there.

To-morrow is our dear wedding-day. With what gratitude do I look back to that commencement of such happiness, and such real and true love, which even daily increases in my beloved husband. Oh, may we not be deprived of it too soon! I admire and respect him for his true-hearted, generous, unselfish, and just nature! Oh, dear Mama, if you only knew how excellent he is! I wish I were good like him, for he is free from any selfish, small, or uncharitable feelings. You should see how he is beloved by all his people; our servants adore him. I open my heart to you, who have so warm and sympathizing a heart, that even in the midst of such deep grief and sorrow as yours will listen to what your children, who love you dearly, long to say.

Our little one is grown so pretty; she has little pink cheeks, and is so fat and so good-humored. I often think her like you when she smiles.

July 2d.

You can fancy how much we thought of this day last year, and of you and all the love and kindness you showed us then. How truly we both love you, and, when we can, how willingly we shall come to your side, and be of the least use to you, you know, for I feel for you and with you, more than words can describe.

Our first large dinner yesterday went off very well. We make our arrangements, sitting, etc., all as you and dear Papa had it, which is new here, but I am happy to say, approved of. We always dine at four. Baby appeared afterward, and really never cries when she is shown, but smiles, and seems quite amused. She is immensely admired, particularly for her healthy appearance and fine large eyes. I really think her like you now; she is very much changed, and, when she sits up, looks so pretty and dear.

To-day we have again a dinner. There is a fine dining-room and drawing-room here, so that we can see a good many people.

July 4th.

Shortly we are going to pay Prince Solms-Lich, the president of the First Chamber, a visit. He is very liberal on the whole, rich, and a nice old gentleman. He knew Grandpapa in the year 1820, also Uncle Charles, Uncle Hohenlohe, Aunt Feodore, and Eliza. Lady Fife, Annie, and Mr. Corbett from Frankfort are coming to us to-day.

The Grand Duke of Weimar was here yesterday for dinner at the Schloss.

What you said about Germany is so true; and Louis has the real good of his country near at heart. They always have to vote for or against what the Second Chamber brings forward, and the other day a vote was sent in from the Liberals for an alteration of a press law. Only one voice in the whole Chamber was for it, which was Louis’, and this produced a very good effect among the Liberals. He is no coward, and will say what he thinks, if it is necessary, even if all are against him.

Kranichstein, July 15th.

To-day is Uncle Alexander’s birthday, and we have to drive for dinner to Seeheim. To-morrow morning we leave for Lich at five in the morning.

Two nights ago a horrid and schauerliches [appalling] event took place here. I went out about eight down to the pond, which is close to the house, to meet Louis. I met an odd-looking pale man, who neither bowed nor looked about, walking slowly along; and when I joined Louis he asked me if I had seen him, as he had been prowling about all the afternoon. We stopped a little longer, when at the end our grooms were running. We rowed on to see what was the matter, and on coming near, a body was floating in the water, the face already quite blue and lifeless. I recognized him at once. Louis and the others with trouble fished him out and laid him in our boat to bring him on shore. It was very horrid to see. We brought him on shore, tried all means to restore him to life, but of no avail. He was carried into the stable. He had committed suicide, and we heard afterward that he was a very bad character. You can fancy that it was very unpleasant to me, to have that disfigured corpse next me in the boat; and it haunts me now,—for a violent death leaves frightful traces, so unlike any thing else. But half or quarter of an hour before, I had passed that man in life, and so shortly after to see him floating by quite lifeless! It brings death before one in its worst form, when one sees a bad man die by his own hand. The indifference with which the other people treated it, and dragged him along, was also revolting to one’s feelings; but one must be manly, and not mind those things; yet I own it made me rather sick, and prevented my sleep that night.

I am glad we are going away for a few days; the change will be pleasant.

It was such a pleasure to me to have seen dear Lady Frances Baillie the other day, and she was looking well, though she is very thin.

You kindly gave me our dear Papa’s Farm-book for the Farmers’ Union here; the people are so touched and pleased. I send you the letter of thanks to read.

Lich, July 18th.

* * * We leave to-morrow afternoon for Frankfort, and the next day we go to Homburg on the way home. The Prince and Princess are most kind and civil; they have a fine Schloss, and are rich. The latter is clever and amiable, and the young people—their nephews and nieces—are very nice and very kind. It is a fine, rich country, and they seem very much beloved. The sister of the Princess, Princess Solms-Laubach, née Büdingen, is here also. Her husband was in the Prussian service, and they lived at Bonn whilst dear Papa was there. He came to see them and to spend the evening there very often. She told me how handsome he then was, and how much praised and liked by all. She asked after Rath Florschütz,[29] and Eos,[30] and if dear Papa continued later on to be so sleepy of an evening, as he was even then.

Kranichstein, July 21st.

Our visit at Lich went off very well. Everything is so vornehm [in such good style] and so well arranged.

July 23d.

We are going to give Heinrich[31] a rendezvous somewhere, perhaps at Kreuznach, which is not very far. On August 1st, we are going to the north of the country,—a part which I do not know,—and on the way we stop at Giessen, where we have been invited to see an agricultural exhibition. On Monday we give a tea and a dance—between fifty and sixty people. The advantage of this place is its nearness to Darmstadt, and that there is room enough to receive people.

The Russian and French ambassadors, with their wives, and Mr. Corbett and Lord Robert S. Kerr, dine with us to-day.

July 27th.

I have no news to give. To-night we give our first large party—seventy people.

August 1st.

Yesterday we were all day at Rumpenheim: so kindly received! The Landgrave, his two brothers, Frederic and George, the Dowager Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, her daughter Duchess Caroline, Aunt Cambridge, Mary, Augusta, and Adolphus; Fritz and Anna of Hesse and good Princess Louise, kindness itself. Aunt Cambridge was very amiable, and spoke most tenderly of you. To-morrow morning Louis goes to Oberhessen, where I join him in two days. I go to see Uncle Alexander at Jugenheim; go on Monday to Friedberg, where there is an asylum for blind people, of which I am Protectorin [Patroness]. I go to see it, and sleep at the Castle. The next day I stop on my road to see Marburg, and shall be in the evening at Alsfeld, where I find Louis. The next day I go on to Herr von Riedesel at Altenburg, where I breakfast, and I dine and spend the night with another Riedesel family at Eisenbach. Louis joins me that evening. The next day we go on though the country, as the people are anxious to see us, and the country is very beautiful. On Thursday and Friday we shall be at Giessen, on Saturday at home.

Giessen, August 7th.

I am very hot and tired; we have only just reached this place, and have to go out almost immediately to see the animals and machines.

Our journey has been most prosperous, but rather tiring, and the heat quite fearful. We were most kindly received everywhere. English, Hessian, German flags everywhere, and Gesangvereine of an evening.

Last night we slept at Schotten, and posted from thence to-day through a lovely, rich, wooded, and mountainous district, the Vogelsberg.

We have had but one room everywhere, and have remained only long enough at a place to see it, so that writing has been impossible. To-morrow evening we return to Kranichstein, and then I will write to you an account of every thing. Here, with no time, and with such heat and noise, it is impossible.

Kranichstein, August 9th.

* * * We went, when I last wrote to you at Giessen, to see the different machines at work, in a crowd close round us and a smothering heat. It was interesting, though, in spite of all. The people cheered and were very civil. That day, at the meeting of the agriculturists, Count Laubach told me dear Papa’s book lay on the table, and is of the greatest use and interest. I am so pleased to have been the first in Germany to make known something of Papa’s knowledge in this science, one of the many in which dear Papa excelled. The people are so grateful to you for having sent it. In the evening the president and some other scientific gentlemen came to tea with us. I was so glad to see how pleased the people were at the interest Louis takes in these things. A procession was really very pretty; large carts, decorated with the different agricultural emblems, peasants in their different costumes—it was something quite new to me.

At Marburg, I saw in the beautiful church the grave of St. Elizabeth, the castle where she lived, and many other things which Kingsley mentions in his “Saint’s Tragedy.”

This week the Emperor of Austria and other potentates came to Frankfort. The King of Prussia has refused, so that now, as it is not a universal meeting, it will not be what it might have been.

August 19th.

* * * The Emperor came all the way to Kranichstein to pay us a visit, and is very amiable, though not very talkative. Archduke William, King Max, and the Duke of Brunswick were also here yesterday.

We saw the procession to the Römer from a small room, already filled by twelve Rumpenheimers! It was a very interesting sight.

August 21st.

* * * This evening all the crowned heads nearly are coming to the opera, and the Rumpenheimers very likely also. Uncle Ernest comes to us for dinner, and we take him with us.

August 24th.

* * * We dined at Homburg yesterday afternoon with the old hereditary Grand Duchess of Schwerin, Louis’ great-aunt, who is eighty-six, and as fresh and lively as ever. The Duke of Altenburg and the Grand Duke of Schwerin were with us, and both of them wish to have their respectful duty sent to you.

Buckingham Palace, October 28th.

Thousand thanks for your dear lines! How sad that we should be reduced to writing again! It was such a happiness to speak to you, and in return to hear all you had to say,—to try and soothe you, and try to make your burden lighter. I always feel separation from you so much, for I feel for and with you, more, oh, far more, than I can ever express! I can only say again, trust, hope, and be courageous, and every day will bring something in the fulfilment of all your great duties, which will bring you peace, and make you feel that you are not forsaken, that God has heard your prayer, felt for you, as a loving Father would, and that dear Papa is not far from you.

We remain here to-night, as Louis had a bad sick-headache, toothache, and so on, and he must rest. We leave to-morrow afternoon.

Affie [Prince Alfred] and William (of Hesse) were very well, and seem quite happy together. Affie sends love, and William his respects.

Darmstadt, November 2d.

Before going out (half-past six) I begin these lines. You will have heard what an awful passage we had. Christa and I had one of those cabins near the paddle-box, and good old May[32] was with us. Each wave that broke on the ship Christa and I groaned, and May exclaimed: “Oh, goodness, gracious me! what an awful sea! Lord bless you, child, I hope it is all safe!” and so on. If we had not been so wretched, and had not looked so awful with those mountains of waves about us, I should have laughed. All the maids and Moffat were sick. Baby was sick all over her nice new shawl, which was a great grief.

Uncle Louis and Uncle Gustav received us at the station. My parents-in-law don’t return till Wednesday. Yesterday Uncle Louis gave us a large dinner, and to-day he dines en famille in our house with Prince Adalbert of Bavaria, Uncle Gustav,[33] and ourselves.

I was quite done up by this journey. At four in the morning we changed carriages at Cologne, and did not get here till past twelve o’clock—twenty-nine hours under way.

November 5th.

* * * Yesterday evening Louis and I were at a chemical lecture, which was very interesting, by young Hallnachs, the brother of the one Becker spoke to you about.

Our house is getting on very well, and we are often there.

Louis is very grateful and touched by your kind message, and kisses your hand. He is often away for those tiresome Jagden [shooting-parties] from five in the morning till eight at night, as it is some way off.

November 14th.

It is not yet eight, and I have such cold fingers. The messenger leaves at nine, so I must write now. We are going to Mayence to-day, to see a house of our architect Kraus, which is said to be very pretty and very English.

I paid Becker and his mother a visit yesterday. Their rooms are so nice, pictures and presents from you and dear Papa in all directions, remembrances of past, such happy, years!

Yesterday also I drove baby out in my little carriage. She sat on Christa’s knees and looked about her so much; she went to sleep at last.

November 17th.

* * * Yesterday I was all the morning with Julie Battenberg buying Christmas presents. To-day also I am much occupied. We get up at seven, with candles, every morning, as this is the best time for doing all business, and breakfast at eight.

November 21st.

* * * The Holstein question, I fear, will lead to war. Fritz’[34] rights are so clear. And I am sure all Germany will help him to maintain his rights, for the cause is a just one.

I am sure, dear Mama, you are worried to death about it, which is very hard, for you cannot undo what once exists. Any thing only to avoid war! It would be a sad calamity for Germany, the end of which no one can foresee.

My baby has this morning cut her first tooth, and makes such faces if one ventures to touch her little mouth.

To-day I am going to visit the hospital in the town, which is said not to be good or well looked after. I want to be able to do something for it, and hope to succeed, for the people have plenty of money, only not the will. The Burgomaster and Gemeinderath [the Town Councillors] will meet me there.

I have just called into life what did not exist—that is, linen to be lent for the poor women in their confinements, and which I hope will be of use to them, for the dirt and discomfort is very great in those classes.

November 28th.

* * * My visit to the hospital was very interesting, and the air was good, the place clean and fresh. There were few people dangerously ill there, and they looked well taken care of. Air and water are making their way into these places to the benefit of mankind.

I was so much distressed the other day; for the poor man who fell in our house has died. He was a soldier, and so respectable and industrious, not above twenty-four. This is already the second who has died in consequence of a fall.

Our visit to Carlsruhe was very pleasant. The Queen [of Prussia] was there, and we spoke so much of you together. She enters quite into all your feelings, and perfectly understands all the sad trials and difficulties of your position in addition to your just and natural grief.

November 30th.

A few words of love and affection from us both on this dear day—the third anniversary of the commencement of all our happiness, which dear Papa and you enabled us to form.

Those happy days at Windsor and those awful days the year after! I assure you the season, the days, all make me sad—for the impression of those two years can never be wiped out of my mind. I can write but a few lines, as to-morrow we leave for Amorbach, and to-day I go with Louis out shooting. It is cold and fine, as it was two years ago.

Darling Mama, again and again we thank you and beloved Papa for all your love to us at that time.

Amorbach, December 2d.

* * * We arrived here at half-past four yesterday, after a bitter cold drive in an open carriage over hard roads, all being frozen, since ten in the morning. The country we came through was beautiful, though all white, up and down hill all the way, through many villages, through woods, etc. The house is large and comfortable, full of souvenirs of dear Grandmama [Duchess of Kent], of Uncle Charles.

I am so pleased to be with Ernest and Marie,[35] it is a bit of home again.

Darmstadt, December 6th.

* * * Our visit to Amorbach was so pleasant, though the weather was bad. I was so happy to be once more with Ernest and Marie. Edward[36] was very amusing and good-natured. I saw poor old Wagner,[37] who wishes me to send you his duty.

December 8th.

* * * Think, only yesterday evening at a concert they played “Ruy Blas,” which I had not heard since Windsor. The room, the band, dear Papa, all came before me, and made my heart sink at the thought that that belonged to the bright recollections of the past! I cried all the way home. Such trivial things sometimes awaken recollections more vividly, and hurt more keenly, than scenes of real distress. I am sure you know what I mean.

December 12th.

* * * I must close; my tears fall fast, and I ought not to make you sadder, when you are sad enough already. Pray for me when you kneel at his grave—pray that my happiness may be allowed to last long; think of me when you kneel there where on that day my hand rested on your and Papa’s dear hands, two years ago. That bond between us both is so strong, beloved Mama. I feel it as a legacy from him.

December 22d.

A great pleasure I have had in arranging a tree for our good servants. I bought all the things myself at the market, and hung them on the tree; then I also got things for darling Louis.

December 26th.

* * * We all had trees in one large room in the Palace, and our presents underneath it looked extremely pretty. Uncle Alexander’s five children were there, and made such a noise with their play-things.

Baby had a little tree early at her Grandpapa and Grandmama’s, with all her pretty things.

Many thanks for the turkey-pie; we give a dinner to-day in honor.

January 5th.

* * * The cold here is awful. I skated yesterday, and to-day we are going to the pond at Kranichstein. (Very few people skate here—only one lady, and she very badly.) Baby only goes out for half an hour in the middle of the day, well wrapped up. It would not do to keep her quite at home, as she would become so sensitive when first taken out again. Of course when it is windy or too cold she stops in.

January 9th.

I was aghast on receiving of Bertie’s telegram this morning announcing the birth of their little son. Oh, may dear Papa’s blessing rest on the little one; may it turn out like dear Papa, and be a comfort and a pride to you, and to its young parents! Your first English grandchild. Dear Mama, my heart is so full. May dear Alix and the baby only go on well!

January 16th.

* * * Baby says “Papa,” “Mama,” and yesterday several times “Louis.” She imitates every thing she hears, all noises and sounds; she gets on her feet alone by a chair, and is across the room before one can turn round. Her adoration for Louis is touching. She stops always, since the summer, alone in our room, so she never cries for Moffat [her nurse], and is very happy on the floor with her play-things. She is a very dear little thing and gets on very fast, but equally in all things, and is as fat as she was. It is so interesting to watch the progress and development of such a little being; and baby is so expressive, she makes such a face when she is not pleased, and laughs so heartily when she is contented. She is more like a child of two years old a great deal.

Gotha, January 22d.

After a very cold journey we arrived here on Wednesday afternoon. I found dear uncle and aunt well, Leopoldine (who is very dear and nice) and Hermann,[38] Edward and Marie Leiningen, and Prince Lowenstein here. Only Hermann and Leopoldine live in the Castle besides us; the others are all at uncle’s house.

January 30th.

* * * These poor Schleswig-Holsteiners do what they can to liberate themselves from the Danish yoke, and to regain their lawful sovereign, Fritz. And why is England, who stands up for freedom of countries, who in Italy, where there was less cause, did what she could to liberate the country from her lawful sovereigns, to do what she can to prevent the Schleswig-Holsteiners from liberating themselves from a king who has no right over them, merely because they are unfortunate good-natured Germans, who allow themselves to be oppressed?

February 5th.

In the distance, dear Mama, one really cannot judge correctly of reasons for or against things, when one does not exactly know how every thing stands.

February 14th.

* * * We have been in sledges to-day, and everybody drives about the town with them; it sounds so pretty, all the jingling bells.

* * * Shakespeare’s words came home to him—

Thank God, my husband has none! I thank the Almighty daily for our peaceful homely life, in which sphere we can do a good deal of good to our fellow-creatures, without having to mix in those hateful politics.

Our life is a very, very happy one. I have nothing on earth to wish for, and much as I loved my precious Louis when I married him, still more do I love him now and daily; for his character is worthy of love and respect, and a better husband or father, a more unselfish and kind one, there does not live. His love for you, you know; and on our return how glad we shall be to be near you once more.

February 16th.

Louis is in the Chamber to-day from nine till one, long enough at a stretch, and immediately after breakfast. We always breakfast at eight; then Louis sees the three officers who come every morning on his military business, then Westerweller and all others who have business. We usually walk before luncheon, which is at twelve; and often drive at two or three. At five we dine; at half-past six, theatre, four times a week, till half-past nine; then we take tea together, Louis reads to me, and I work. On other week-days there are concerts or parties. We are often in our new house, and in the garden, arranging things and watching the progress. We also go to lectures here, and are much occupied, which makes the day pass so quickly.

March 1st.

I have learned much since I married, and, above all, not to be dependent on others in my existence. To be able to make a bright and comfortable home for my dear husband is my constant aim; but even in this one often fails, for self constantly turns up, like a bad sixpence. Oh, how dear Papa spoke about that! His whole noble life was that one bright example of sacrificing himself to his duty. Dear, adored Papa! such goodness, such love, when one thinks of it, must silence all complaints of petty troubles in the mouths of his children and servants. You, dear Mama, are the one who suffers the most, though this awful loss has touched all; and to soothe your grief and to help you lightens one’s own.

March 5th.

* * * Spring always makes me so wehmüthig [sad], I don’t know why; one longs for every thing and any thing which is out of one’s reach.

I will tell you of something I did the other day; but please tell no one, because not a soul but Louis and my ladies know of it here. I am the patroness of the “Heidenreich Stiftung,” to which you also gave a handsome present in the beginning. The ladies who belong to it go to bring linen to poor respectable Wöchnerinnen [women in child-bed], who claim their assistance. They bring them food, and, in short, help them. All cases are reported to me. The other day I went to one incog. with Christa, in the old part of the town—and the trouble we had to find the house! At length, through a dirty courtyard, up a dark ladder into one little room, where lay in one bed the poor woman and her baby; in the room four other children, the husband, two other beds, and a stove. But it did not smell bad, nor was it dirty. I sent Christa down with the children, then with the husband cooked something for the woman; arranged her bed a little, took her baby for her, bathed its eyes—for they were so bad, poor little thing!—and did odds and ends for her. I went twice. The people did not know me, and were so nice, so good and touchingly attached to each other; it did one’s heart good to see such good feelings in poverty. The husband was out of work, the children too young to go to school, and they had only four kreuzers in the house when she was confined.

Think of that misery and discomfort!

If one never sees any poverty, and always lives in that cold circle of Court people, one’s good feelings dry up, and I felt the want of going about and doing the little good that is in my power. I am sure you will understand this.

March 14th.

My own Dear precious Mama:—These words are for the 16th, the first hard trial of our lives, where I was allowed to be with you. Do you recollect when all was over [death of the Duchess of Kent], and dear Papa led you to the sofa in the colonnade, and then took me to you? I took that as a sacred request from him to love, cherish, and comfort my darling mother to all the extent of my weak powers. Other things have taken me from being constantly with you; but nothing has lessened my intense love for you, and longing to quiet every pain which touches you, and to fulfil, even in the distance, his request.

Oh, darling Mama, were there words in which I could express to you how much I am bound up with you, how constantly my thoughts and prayers are yours, I would write them. The sympathies of our souls can only tell each other how tender my love and gratitude to you is, and how vividly I feel every new trial or new thing with you and for you. * * *

I was with another poor woman, even worse off, this morning, and on the third day she was walking in the room and nearly fainted from weakness. Those poor people!

March 26th.

* * * Yesterday morning at nine we took the Sacrament—all the family and congregation together. The others then stopped for the rest of the service, till after eleven. I went home and returned for the English service at twelve. At half-past six, in the Stadtkirche, Bach’s “Passion” was given.

April 5th.

To-day is Victoria’s birthday. What a day it was this time last year! Baby has her table in the room next to my sitting-room. Uncle Louis and the rest of the family expected to breakfast with us at twelve.

Munich, April 11th.

* * * To-day, for the first time since the King’s death,[39] the Queen and we all with our Gefolge [suite] dined in the Winter Garden. It seemed to try her very much, but she is so wonderfully quiet that she scarcely shows it. I was three hours with her yesterday evening. She spoke so kindly of you and with such sympathy and interest, and said, when dear Papa died, she had prayed for you so much.

Munich, April 13th.

* * * Between sight-seeing, and going to the Queen’s room, and being with her, I have not a moment scarcely to rest or write. Yesterday we visited the whole Schloss full of frescoes, and the studios of all the famous painters—so interesting. How dear Papa would have enjoyed it! I was thinking the whole time what he would have thought of certain pictures, and how much he would have admired some. But at all times seeing things, and most of all pictures, is fatiguing.

Darmstadt, April 21st.

* * * On Monday Louis goes into the country to shoot capercailzies [Auerhahne]. I accompany him part of the way, but stop at Schweinsberg with Christa’s parents. The air is very good there, and we thought the country would do me good.

* * * We shall leave probably later [for England], after or just before your birthday. We have a great deal to do in London for our house, for which I should want a week; and from Windsor to leave you for a whole week I should not like, and to go up constantly is rather tiring.

We go from Mayence to Rotterdam by steamer, from thence by rail to Antwerp, and then wait for good weather to cross, so that we shall be long under way, but quite easily and comfortably.

April 25th.

* * * We shall leave the week of your birthday. Louis wishes us to have a full fortnight in London.

Schweinsberg, April 28th.

* * * This is a charming country house, in a lovely healthy country; the air has already done me much good. Christa’s parents are charming, clever people, and the life is quiet and refreshing. On Saturday I expect Louis, and then we shall go home.

Darmstadt, May 14th.

Many thanks for your letter, and above all for your great kindness about the ships, for which I thank you many times.

Christa and Becker wrote an account of the wedding,[40] so I won’t write any more about it save that it went off very well and was very vornehm and well-arranged. * * *

I have borne the fatigues well; but two days before, for two days and one night, I was very unwell. * * * Dr. Weber is a clever man, and is vielseitig [many-sided] in his views on medicine and treatment of illnesses. I think you will like him.

Baby runs alone through two rooms without falling now; she learnt it in a week. She will amuse you so much. Yesterday Louis drove me and his two brothers in a break, and baby went with us much enchanted.

May 17th.

* * * To-morrow afternoon Fritz and Anna leave. To-day the town gives a large ball, to which we all go, and before it there is a dinner at the Schloss.

May 21st.

* * * It is excessively hot, which makes me so tired and weak. I am sure you suffered dreadfully from the heat.

The parting from Anna three days ago was dreadful; she so distressed, and her parents also. * * * They begin their old age alone, so to say, for there are no children in their house any more. It makes us both very sad to leave them, and seems so unfeeling; but we shall return to them soon. What a blessing that you have Beatrice and two brothers, still boys; and yet, for one alone what an anxiety!

Marlborough House, May 26th.

Arrived here at half-past eleven, and quite rested. I at once write to you to thank you for your letter and for the great comfort of the ships. I feel so much better already from the air on the Rhine those two days, and the fresh sea air, that I have borne the journey this way with but little fatigue. I find Bertie and Alix both looking well, and the baby so pretty and dear.

I slept during the whole night passage, as I went to bed early. I had about twelve hour’s sleep, which has completely set me up. Louis is paying visits. We have lunched, and in the afternoon Bertie and Alix have promised to call on Lady Augusta and Dean Stanley, and we join them. Aunt Cambridge and Mary we shall see afterward.

Kranichstein, August 30th.

* * * I have stood the journey well, though I am rather fatigued. It is very warm. Louis is off to Jugenheim. I am to go there to-morrow, and it takes my whole day, as it is so far. I have seen none of the family yet. I was so distressed to part from dear Ernest and Marie, they were so dear and good all along the journey. The weather was beautiful and the passage good.

September 2d.

* * * I am so glad that, from all accounts, every thing went off so very well at Perth[41]; it must have been most trying to you, and yet satisfactory. We read all the accounts you kindly sent us with much interest.

* * * The Emperor [of Russia] with his second and third sons arrived yesterday. We saw him at the station at Darmstadt, but did not join them as the rest of the family did. We go to Jugenheim to-day and baby with us, as little Serge,[42] who is just Beatrice’s age, has such a passion for her. The children are very nice, the two older sons very big. Uncle Gustav is here, which makes me think of you here this time last year.

September 13th.

* * * Two days ago we had intense heat, and since great cold—the two extremes constantly, which is so unwholesome. The Emperor is very grateful for your message, and sends his best remembrance. * * * There were seven young men to dinner yesterday, and your glass was used for the first time and looked so pretty.

September 17th.

* * * The Emperor and Empress [of Russia] before leaving took a most tender farewell of us, and she gave me their Order. They return to Darmstadt on the 27th for a fortnight, as it is now settled that the Empress is to spend the winter at Nice, and she may not go there till the beginning of October at the soonest, as it would be too warm.

* * * We are in the middle of the second volume of Froude,[43] but it is too detailed to interest you; you have far too much to do to be interested in it. * * * Robertson’s beautiful sermons we have also read together, and I have discovered that a German translation exists, and have ordered one.

Mrs. Hardinge[44] leaves me the end of this month, I am sorry to say; for she is very nice, discreet, and ready to do any thing, and not at all of the present bad English genre.

September 20th.

* * * What you say about the poor sisters, and indeed of all the younger ones, is true. The little brothers and Beatrice are those who have lost the most, poor little things! I can’t bear to think of it, for dear Papa, more peculiarly than any other father, was wanted for his children; and he was the dear friend, and even playfellow, besides. Such a loss as ours is indeed unique. Time only increases its magnitude, and the knowledge of the want is felt more keenly.

* * * I was yesterday in our little house, arranging and clearing out the rooms. We shall have very close quarters, but it will not be uncomfortable.

* * * I often wish dear Papa could have seen what a treasure I have in my darling; but I am sure he does see it, and his blessing with yours rests on us, for we seem not separated from either of you, our life is so interwoven with yours.

Where people are unselfish, loving, good, and industrious, like my dear Louis, I always feel a certain likeness beginning to grow up with our dear angel Father! Don’t you? Oh, may we all only become like him! I struggle so hard, dear Mama, in the many little trials I daily have, to become more like him. My trials melt away when I think of you, and I wish I were great and strong to be able to bear some of your great trials for you. Dear Mama, how I love you! how we both love you, and would shield you with our love from all new blows and trials, you know. God comfort you! My heart is often too full to say all that is in it; to tell you all my love and devotion, for your own precious sake, and for dear Papa’s, who left you as a legacy to us all to love and to cherish for him.

September 23d.

To-morrow Louis, I, and my two ladies, take the sacrament in the little church here. I wished much to take it before my hour of trial comes. Dear Louis read to me yesterday evening Robertson’s sermon on the “Sympathy of Christ.”

We have fine autumn weather, and I am out as much as I can. * * * I sleep well and breakfast always at half-past eight; we dine at two, and take supper at eight, then my ladies read aloud, and I work or Christa plays, Louis reads his papers, etc. To myself I read Lord Malmesbury’s “Memoirs,” which are very curious, and when Louis has time he reads Froude to me.

Kranichstein, October 4th.

* * * To-morrow dear Uncle Leopold [King of the Belgians] comes for a few hours. Louis will go to Darmstadt or Mayence to meet him, and I will receive him at the station, as none of the family know him. Louis is out shooting with the Emperor. Uncle Alexander’s throat has already begun to be bad again.

* * * I am writing quite a confused letter in the midst of household troubles, for the Emperor and Empress have just let me know that they wish to breakfast here, and Louis is out, and I don’t know where or how to have the things in our small ménage. I must therefore conclude and do my business.

October 7th.

* * * I had the pleasure of seeing dear Uncle two days ago looking wonderfully well, and kind and dear as ever. * * * To-day I must go to a large family dinner. Fritz and Anna of Hesse, Grand Duchess Marie, and Prince and Princess William of Baden, besides ourselves, the family, and the Emperor and Empress.

Darmstadt, October 14th.

We are at length here, in great disorder, and I have been waiting half an hour only for a pen to be found. I am tired and not very well. * * * Augusta [Lady Augusta Stanley] being with you I am very glad of, and she must be such a comfort to you, for besides being such a friend, she has that peculiar charm of manner which all the Bruces possess.

October 21st.

* * * I am so grieved about poor Louise; she will want much care and attention.

Lady Car. [Caroline Barrington] is here since yesterday evening to my great delight, and is not looking the worse for her journey.

October 29th.

* * * To-morrow we expect Vicky and Fritz [Crown Prince and Princess of Prussia] for two hours, and later Bertie and Alix on their way back from Amorbach, for a few hours. I shall be delighted to see them.

October 31st.

* * * Yesterday we had the pleasure of having dear Vicky and Fritz and baby here for two hours, the former well and in such good looks, as I have not seen her for long. The baby is a love, and very pretty. We were very glad after a year’s separation to meet again, and Vicky was so dear and loving. I always admire her understanding and brightness each time I see her again; and Fritz so good, so excellent. Bertie and Alix we expect in a day or two for a short visit. It is very cold, but not unpleasant. I go out twice a day.

Darmstadt, November 7th.

* * * The little daughter[45] was but a momentary disappointment to us, which we have quite got over. We console ourselves with the idea that the little pair will look very pretty together.

November 20th.

* * * We are both very much pleased at the arrangements about Brown and your pony, and I think it is so sensible. I am sure it will do you good, and relieve a little the monotony of your out-of-door existence, besides doing your nerves good. I had long wished you would do something of the kind; for, indeed, only driving is not wholesome. * * * I have had two drives, which have done me good. * * * My mother-in-law has been kindness itself all along—so attentive and yet so discreet. I can’t be grateful enough. My good father-in-law also. * * * Louis’ mother is to be godmother, because it is customary here to ask some one of the name the child is to receive to stand on the occasion. We liked Elizabeth on account of St. Elizabeth being the ancestress of the Hessian as well as the Saxon House.

November 26th.

* * * We probably go to Carlsruhe on Wednesday, the only place we can well go to near by; we can’t take an inn at Baden or any thing of that sort, and we only go for a week or ten days at most. * * * I am very well and very careful; all people say I look better, and have more color than I have had for long, and, indeed, I feel strong and well, and my fat baby does perfectly, and is a great darling. Affie and Louis and his brother are out shooting. The horrid weather has kept me in these three days.

November 29th.

* * * I ought to mention the christening. My mother-in-law held baby all the time, and it screamed a good deal. Victoria stood with us and was very good, only kneeling down and tumbling over the footstool every two minutes, and she kept whispering to me, “Go to Uncle’s.” I thought so much of the christening last year, when Victoria behaved much better than her larger dark sister. Ella measured twenty-three and a half inches a fortnight ago, and she had not grown then. Victoria, I believe, was twenty inches.

Carlsruhe, December 5th.

* * * Dear Dr. Macleod is coming with Affie to Darmstadt for the 14th. Vicky and Fritz will be with us also. How kind of him to come, and it has made Affie so happy, for he is so devoted to him.

Darmstadt, December 10th.

* * * We returned here yesterday, after a very pleasant stay at Carlsruhe. It was very quiet, and we were always en famille. We had the opportunity of speaking much with Fritz, who is in every way so distinguished, and dear Louise is so good and kind.

I have very little time to write to-day, as we arrived late last night. Louis has to be absent to-day, so I have a great deal to do.

December 15th.

I had not a moment to myself to write to you yesterday, and to thank you for the kind lines you sent me through dear Dr. Macleod. He gave us a most beautiful service, a sermon giving an outline of dear Papa’s noble, great and good character, and there were most beautiful allusions to you in his prayer, in which we all prayed together most earnestly for you, precious Mama!

We talked long together afterward about dear Papa, and about you, and though absent were very near you in thought and prayer.

Dear Vicky talked so lovingly and tenderly of you, and of how homesick she sometimes felt. She was not with us on that dreadful day three years ago, and that is so painful to her. Dear Affie was, as we all were, so much overcome by all Dr. Macleod said. Vicky, Affie, Louis, and myself sat in the little dining-room; he read to us there. Fritz had left early in the morning. The day was passed quietly and peaceably together, and I was most grateful to have dear Vicky and Affie with me on that day. My dear Louis wishes me to express to you how tenderly he thought of you and with what sympathy on this sad anniversary. Never can we cease talking of home, of you and of all your trials. God bless and comfort you, my own dear Mama!

January 1st.

* * * Thousand thanks for your dear words and for the wishes! I was thinking so much of you and of home, when your letter came in. It made me so happy! Darling Mama, I can feel so much with and for you during these days. I was all day on the verge of tears, for the very word “Neujahr” brought Papa and Grandmama, and all at Windsor as in former days, so vividly before me, it made my heart ache! That bright happy past, particularly those last years, when I was the eldest at home, and had the privilege of being so much with you both, my own dearly loved parents, is a remembrance deeply graven, and with letters of gold, upon my heart. All the morning I was telling Louis how it used to be at home, and how we all assembled outside your dressing-room door to scream in chorus “Prosit Neujahr!” and to give to you and Papa our drawings, writings, etc., the busy occupation of previous weeks. Then playing and reciting our pieces, where we often stuck fast, and dear Papa bit his lip so as not to laugh; our walk to the riding-school [where the alms to the poor were distributed], and then to Frogmore. Those were happy days, and the very remembrance of them must bring a gleam of sunshine even to you, dear Mama. Those two dinners, when I was with you both, were such happy evenings. I am so grateful I remained at home, and lost not a day of those happy ones.

At eight this morning we two went to church; at half-past three there was a large dinner at the Schloss. I wore the bracelet with your pictures, as I always do on all particular days, for I like to be able to look at those dear faces.

January 2d.

We mean to go out sledging. The cold, and all the ground being white this last month, has given me such bad eyes. I can do nothing of an evening at all, and reading even by daylight makes them so bad that they get quite red. The ladies read to me, instead, all sorts of instructive things. Louis has already found time to read through a whole volume of the “Lives of the Engineers.”[46] You could not have sent any thing that would interest him more. He thanks you so much for the pretty New Year’s wish also.

January 14th.

Thousand thanks for your dear letter, for the nice enclosure from Dr. Macleod, and for the beautiful sermon by Dean Stanley. One remark struck me as singularly applicable to dear Papa, where he says: “To die is gain; to be no longer vexed with the sight of evil, which they cannot control,” etc.—for dear Papa suffered when he saw others do wrong; it pained that good pure spirit: and though we long for him and want him, if we could call him back—even you who want him so much, I think would pause before you gave vent to the wish that would recall him. * * *

When trials come, what alone save faith and hope in a blessed future can sustain one!

* * * You can’t think how much I am interested in every little detail of your daily life. Besides, you know it cannot be otherwise. Please say kindest things to Brown,[47] who must be a great convenience to you.

January 20th.

* * * The more one studies and tries to understand those wonderful laws which rule the world, the more one wonders, worships, and admires that which to us is so incomprehensible; and I always wonder how there can be dissatisfied and grumbling people in this beautiful world, so far too good for our deserts, and where, after our duty is done, we hope to be everlastingly with those we love, where the joy will be so great and lasting that present sorrow and trouble must melt away before that sunshine.

January 23d.

* * * We have rain and warm high wind, and leave at four o’clock this afternoon. Ella has her bath as a bed, and Victoria sleeps in the bassinet, which is done up with chintz for the occasion. I don’t think they can catch cold. There is a stove in the centre compartment besides. You can fancy I feel shy going to Berlin into a perfectly new society; and I have been so little out on the whole since the year 1861. Marie Grancy[48] goes with us.

Berlin, January 29th.

* * * The journey went off very well, and we are so happy to be here. Vicky and Fritz are kindness itself, and Vicky so dear, so loving! I feel it does me good, that there is a reflection of Papa’s great mind in her. He loved her so much, and was so proud of her. The King is, as always, very kind, and so pleased to see us here. Louis is very happy to meet his old comrades again, and they equally so to see him; and I am so glad that he can have this amusement at least, for he is so kind in not leaving me—and our life must be rather dull sometimes for a young man of spirit like him.

Berlin, February 1st.

* * * Affie arrived at eight this morning. I am sure the King will be so pleased at your having let him come now. He is so kind to me; it touches me very much, for I have never done any thing to deserve it.

Berlin, February 4th.

* * * I have not been sight-seeing anywhere, as it is too cold for that. We drive in a shut carriage, and then walk in the Thiergarten. We spend the whole day together, which is a great enjoyment to me, and of an evening we go out together. It is so pleasant to have a sister to go out with, and all the people are so kind and civil to us.

Sigismund[49] is the greatest darling I have ever seen—so wonderfully strong and advanced for his age—with such fine color, always laughing, and so lively he nearly jumps out of our arms.

This house is very comfortable, and Vicky is surrounded with pictures of you and dear Papa—near her bed, on all her tables—and such endless souvenirs of our childhood: it made me quite wehmüthig [sad] to see all the things I had not seen for seven years, and since we lived together as children—souvenirs of Christmases and birthdays from you both, and from dear Grandmama, from Aunt Gloucester, etc. It awakened a thousand old remembrances of happy past times.

Berlin, February 7th.

* * * How much do I think of you now, the happy Silver Wedding that would have been, where you could have been surrounded by so many of us! Poor Mama, I do feel so deeply for you. Oh, may I be long, if not altogether, spared so awful a calamity!

Morning, noon, and night do I thank the Almighty for our happiness, and pray that it may last.

These lines are for the dear 10th,[50] though they will reach you on the eve; and they are to tell you from Louis and myself how tenderly we think of you on that day, and of darling Papa, who made that day what it was. It will be a day of great trial to you, I fear. May the Almighty give you strength and courage to bear it! I am sure the dear sisters and brothers who are at home will try to cheer you with their different loving ways—above all, little Beatrice, the youngest of us all.

Louis goes to Schwerin to-morrow until Friday. They wanted us to go together, but one journey is enough at this time of the year.

Berlin, February 11th.

* * * We have been sledging these two days; it is very cold, and the rooms mostly very hot. When we go out of an evening, we are packed up from head to foot. My dear Louis returned from Schwerin at five this morning, pleased with his visit. He found the Castle fine and comfortable, and its inmates very happy.

Berlin, February 14th.

* * * We leave next Saturday. I shall be so sorry to leave dear Vicky, for she is often so much alone. Fritz is really so excellent, it is a pleasure to look at his dear good face; and he is worked so hard—no health can stand it in the long run.

Berlin, February 17th.

* * * This will be my last letter from here, and I only regret leaving here on account of parting with dear Vicky and Fritz, whom we see so rarely, and usually but for a short time. I have passed such pleasant hours with dear Vicky: that is what I shall look back to with so much pleasure and satisfaction.

Darmstadt, February 21st.

I write once more from our dear little home, which I find very cold; snow and ice everywhere still—it seems as if winter would never end. We accomplished our journey very well. Poor Vicky will miss us very much, I fear, in the many hours when she is alone, and which we spent together. Writing does not make up for it.

We give a large masked ball in the Palace at Fastnacht [Shrove Tuesday], which is to-day week. It is the first thing we do for the society, and I hope it will go off well. I found so much to do since my return that I can write no more.

Before closing I must mention though, that yesterday evening I heard “Elijah” beautifully given. How I thought of dear Papa! Nearly every note brought back to mind observations he made about it. I thought I could see him, and hear his dear sweet voice turning round to me with quite watery eyes, saying, “Es ist doch gar zu schön” [“It is really quite too lovely.”]

Adored Papa! how he loved this fine music; the harmony in it seems like the harmony of souls, and Mendelssohn’s music is so good, fromm [pious]—I mean, it makes one better to hear it. In the second part, in an air of “Elijah” toward the end, I found the part from which those beautiful responses are taken which Cusins arranged, and which Papa liked so much.

February 27th.

* * * I can write but a very short letter to-day, having so much to do for our ball. I have made a sketch of my costume, which is the same I wore at Berlin at the masked ball at Putbuses. Louis wears part of the Garter Costume.

March 4th.

* * * My parents-in-law leave the middle of this month for Schwerin. * * * My mother-in-law fears that Anna will be badly managed and treated quite after the old fashion, and she won’t be able to help her, she fears. Anna is not very strong, and if she is starved and kept from the air, it will certainly do her harm.

I have written to dear Tilla.[51] To think of home without her seems too sad, but I hope you will invite her sometimes. Every one liked her in the house, she was so gentle and so kind. I shall never forget what I owe her, and I ever loved her most dearly. But she has never been the same again since 1861. It gave her a dreadful shock; she had such a veneration for darling Papa.

I hope this year we can show you our house, though it will not be far enough advanced for you to live in. For another year, I hope, we could make you so comfortable.

Darmstadt, March 6th.

* * * I am reading at this moment a book by Herr von Arneth—the publication of letters from Maria Theresa to Marie Antoinette from 1770-80. I recommend it to you. The letters are short and interesting, and it would amuse you to take it up now and then, when you have a leisure moment. The advice the Empress gives her daughter is so good; she was a very wise mother.

I have read and studied a great deal about the human body; about children—their treatment, etc. It interests me immensely. Besides, it is always useful to know such things, so that one is not perfectly ignorant of the reasons why doctors wish one to do certain things, and why not. In any moment of illness, before there is time for a doctor to come, one can be able to help one’s self a little. I know you don’t like these things, and where one is surrounded by such as dear Sir James [Clark] and Dr. Jenner, it is perfectly unnecessary and pleasanter not to know a good deal. Instead of finding it disgusting, it only fills me with admiration to see how wonderfully we are made.

Darmstadt, March 11th.

* * * Westerweller does not accompany us this time to England; he may join us in June. A former playfellow of Louis, Ferdinand Rabenau, accompanies us. Affie knows him and likes him. We think of starting on the 3d, and passing by Brussels to see dear Uncle Leopold. Uncle Louis is still at Nice, and does not return here, it seems, until the Emperor and Empress meet for April 24th—the Emperor’s birthday. My mother-in-law is very grateful for your kind message. She seems very nervous about Anna.

Victoria is teething, which makes her pale and poorly. Ella’s vaccination did not take, and we have the small-pox here.

March 18th.

My poor children have been confined to the house with dreadful colds and coughs. Victoria looks the most pulled, though Ella’s cough was much more violent. I am happy to say that they are really better to-day; but we have snow every day, and that makes their recovery slower.

Yesterday night part of a large seed manufactory close by, near the artillery barracks, was burnt down. The flames were enormous, but the damage done was not great.

My parents-in-law are in Berlin, and after to-morrow they go to Schwerin.

Last night we heard Cosi fan tutte given to perfection. The music is most charming, and I had never heard it before.

April 1st.

* * * Since some days the snow is many feet deep; one can get about in sledges, and Louis drove me in one with four horses this morning. All intercourse by carriage is impossible, and this is very inconvenient to the people in the country where their “Post” cannot drive.

April 4th.

I must begin by telling you how much pleasure your telegram has given me. It is like my own dear Mama to have her arms open for those who want her kind support; and I can only repeat again, that with you, and under your care alone, should I like to leave my little ones so long! To them, indeed, it will in every way be an advantage, and I shall be quite easy in leaving them there, where I know they will have every care which can be given; and it would make us both so happy to feel that in this way we could give you some little pleasure.

Westerweller and Becker both wish very much we may take this winter, D.V., for a journey. As long as we have fewer servants and this small house, it is easy to break up the whole establishment—later, this will be less possible. Louis has never been able to travel, and the advantage of seeing other parts of the world would be so great for him. Without me he would not do it; he says, alone he should not enjoy it. I urge this journey principally for his sake, and I hope you will support me in this. Since our marriage we have seen nothing, and all who can try to enlarge their knowledge. From books alone it becomes tedious and less advantageous.

Victoria is going to have a party of thirty children to-morrow in Prince Charles’ rooms. The snow is thawing at length, and the sun is much too hot. The sudden spring is not pleasant. We have been out riding, and this evening I shall accompany Louis to the Schnepfenstrich [woodcock-shooting[52]], which in a fine evening, when the birds sing, is lovely.

April 8th.

* * * We shall be delighted to receive you in Kranichstein, and if you will send your suite all to Darmstadt we shall be able to arrange, though we have not one spare room anywhere, and I feel you will be rather squeezed. How I look forward to meeting you again, after a year of separation, I can’t say; and I am so glad that it will be under our roof that our joyful embrace will take place. As Uncle Louis is to have the Garter, may not Affie bring it to him without ceremony? He would like it so much better if it can be so.

On the 17th Louis goes to Oberhessen to shoot capercailzies, and he deposits me and the children at Lich on his way, where he will join us again for my birthday.

Anna was safely delivered of a little girl this morning, and is doing well.

April 15th.

* * * We have been very anxious about Anna[53] the last few days, for she has had fever since the 9th, and shivering still yesterday.

We have a great deal to do this morning, so I can write but shortly.

We have fine weather at length, and are out a great deal.

Yesterday we took the Sacrament at nine, and numbers of people with us. The service lasted till past eleven, with a pause between.

April 18th.

This is really a dreadfully sad death in our family, and will be a blow to my dear parents-in-law, which will weigh them down for many a day. They who lived so retired, and to whom the family life was all—Anna, the pet—“das Prinzesschen,” whom they gave up so unwillingly, and with whom they corresponded daily! It will be a blank in their existence, which I can’t bear to think of! Such tender loving parents! My poor Louis was dreadfully distressed, though he feared the worst all along since we knew that Anna had fever. He left with Grolmann, having passed a dreadful morning. All the old servants, tutors, friends, came crying to us. Since he is gone I have passed sad lonely hours; and poor old Amelung comes[54] and sits in my room, sobbing that she should ever have lived to see this day.

Yesterday morning I went to the Rosenhahe and picked flowers from Anna’s garden, and wound a large wreath, which I have sent to Louis to place on her coffin. The three brothers feel it dreadfully—the first rent in the family circle is always hard to bear, and she so young, so good, so happy! I hear the poor little baby is nice.

Yesterday night Anna was taken into the Schlosskirche [Palace Chapel] upon Louis’ arrival, after a journey of twenty-seven hours. I hope he won’t be ill after all this Gemüthsbewegung [strain upon his feelings], and fatigue always upsets him and makes him sick, and he feels all so deeply and warmly. It is so shocking. I can think of nothing else; and I am very low and sad being so alone, and the warm weather makes one unwell.

The poor Cesarewitch has passed a tolerable night. I fear he is so reduced he can’t get through it. The Empress doats on this son, and he is so like her. The poor Emperor has left for Nice.

April 21st.

Oh, it is sad, very sad! Life indeed is but a short journey, on which we have our duty to do, and in which joy and sorrow alternately prevail. Anna was very good, very unselfish, and a true Christian, with her gentle, humble spirit, and as such she was loved and admired. What rare people my parents-in-law and their children are, I can’t tell you—such childlike faith, such pure unselfish love to each other; I really feel unworthy to belong to them, and they are dear to me beyond description. As I have shared their joys, so with all my heart do I share their sorrow, and fervently pray for them! You will understand this, darling Mama. From you I have inherited an ardent and sympathizing spirit, and feel the pain of those I love as though it were my own. To-morrow I have wished that there should be in the Palace Chapel a funeral service at the same time as the funeral at Schwerin, and all the people here seemed pleased at my wish. Bender, who taught her, confirmed her, and who married her not a year ago in that very church, will perform the service.

Poor Dagmar! what a journey for her, poor child! She begins her troubles early enough.

April 24th.

* * * Many thanks for your kind letter, and for all the kind wishes for my birthday. It will be sad and quiet; but I hope my beloved Louis will arrive to-night, and be with me again—such cause for joy and thankfulness. When I have him, all sorrow is turned into peace and happiness. Could I but know you still had darling Papa at your side, how light would my heart be! Once when we have all fulfilled our allotted duties, and overcome that dark night, then, please God, we shall be together, never again to part!

The sympathy of all does my sorrowing family good, for it soothes so much! I had a few lines so tender, so full of faith, from my dear mother-in-law to-day. Since Ella’s birth I know to understand and love her most dearly. She suffered dreadfully, but no complaint passes her lips. She consoles her husband, her son-in-law, and this, with prayer, enables her to bear that which has almost broken her heart.

April 25th.

* * * Dear Louis returned last night well, and bringing good accounts of his parents. They remain there still a little longer, to arrange Anna’s things. At Frankfort, at eleven last night, we met; it was so warm.

The poor Cesarewitch is gone! The Emperor and Empress are coming here in ten days; what sad meetings.

How warm it has been daily since a fortnight, I can’t tell you! We sit all day in the garden, take tea there, drawing-lessons, etc.

April 29th.

I thank you so much for your kind sympathizing letter. All my family are so grateful for all the kindness and sympathy you have shown them on this sad occasion.

To-day Uncle Louis arrives; on Monday the Emperor and Empress, and children. What a sad meeting! They go to Jugenheim direct, where last year they were so happy all together. I hear the Empress is worn out, mind and body; and she insists, instead of finishing her cure, on going in a fortnight to St. Petersburg to meet the remains of her child, and to do him the last honors. Louis fears that it will be more than her feeble frame can endure. In the Greek Church, too, the night Masses are long and exhausting, and she is sure to wish to do all.

We spent my birthday as every other day, and the weather was heavenly. I am painting in oil now, and that interests me much. I find it much easier than water-colors.

I hope Affie will come to pay his respects to the Russians. If you send them a kind message through him, it would please them much.

May 2d.

* * * How well I understand your compassion being alike for mourners in all positions of life. It is but right and natural, and I can’t imagine one’s feeling otherwise.

May 6th.

To-morrow morning my poor parents-in-law arrive. What a meeting, and what a return! My father-in-law and the Empress[55] are each other’s favorites, and understand each other so perfectly. It will be a consolation to both to pour their hearts out to each other, and share each other’s sorrow. My dear father-in-law wrote to Aunt Marie: “Although my heart is sorely depressed, yet it is even more filled with gratitude than with sorrow, that the dear God has given us two such dear children, though but for a brief space.” He is so touching in his grief.

May 8th.

I find my dear parents-in-law pretty well, but poor Mama so terribly tired. She was dreadfully overcome in coming home, and at the several meetings. He looks much older, as, indeed, does also the poor Emperor, who parted yesterday to go to St. Petersburg. Dear Aunt Marie seems very weak, and they both, together with my parents, make such a sad picture to look at. But they all like to speak of those they have lost. My parents-in-law and we go this week to Uncle Louis, to Seeheim for three weeks.

Seeheim, May 12th.

You can’t think what real pleasure your pretty locket gave my mother-in-law. She was deeply touched by the kind thought and the considerate attention of the gift—with what was engraved on it. She was so very much pleased with it, and put it on the moment she received it. The photograph is to be put in. To-day, Anna’s wedding-day, it arrived.

We have been here since yesterday afternoon—my parents-in-law and Uncle Louis. The suite are on leave of absence, so we are quite en famille.

Yesterday, Serge’s birthday, we went with Uncle and Aunt to the Greek Mass, which lasted more than an hour. We dine daily at the Heiligenberg. This morning also we were there with our parents and children; and Aunt Marie [the Empress of Russia] kept Ella half an hour on her lap, playing with her, which the little one enjoyed very much, as she is particularly sociable and amiable. Victoria romped with her cousins—Aunt Marie’s two, and Uncle Alexander’s four.

Seeheim, May 15th.

* * * To-day Michael and Cécile arrive, and on Tuesday the Emperor and Empress recommence their journey homeward. The return will be for both most trying. Aunt Marie spoke with me about her sons, their education, etc., very long last night. Her whole life she has studied and lived for Nike [the late Cesarewitch], that he might become that which was necessary for his future; and she was much more with him, and they were both much more intimate together, than she is with her other children. Affie came here on Saturday, and I am so glad to have him and hear some news of you. At this moment he and William are in the room shooting at a target out of the window, which makes no little noise.

May 20th.

* * * We mean to remain here in the Bergstrasse with our parents; is seems to console them; but my father-in-law makes me very anxious, and is so nervous. Poor Mama! so soft, so tired, so unlike herself, cela fait pitié.

On the fifth the Grand Duke is going to receive the Garter. You shall have an account of all.

Affie is here, and to-day dear Arthur comes for a few hours. I shall be so pleased to see him again.

Seeheim, May 21st.

* * * Yesterday the Emperor and Empress and children left. So sorry to see them go! God knows when we shall all meet here again. We have been so much together and so intimately, that I have grown very fond of them, and am very sad at the thought of the long and uncertain separation. Dear little Arthur was here, looking very well. The wooded hills here are so nice to ride about on, and the country is very beautiful.

May 31st.

I read serious books a great deal, and of a Sunday together we read out of Robertson’s sermons. In the second series there is one, “The Irreparable Past” for young people, so cheering, so encouraging, so useful. Louis read it to me on his return from Schwerin after poor Anna’s death. A short life indeed, and it makes one feel the uncertainty of life, and the necessity of labor, self-denial, charity, and all those virtues which we ought to strive after. Oh, that I may die, having done my work and not sinned with Unterlassung des Guten [omission to do what is good], the fault into which it is easiest to fall.

Our life being so quiet gives one much time for earnest thought, and I own it is discouraging to find how much one fails—how small the step of improvement is.

I suffer still so much, and so often, from rheumatism. I am taking warm soda-baths in the morning for it, and am rubbed afterward with towels which have been dipped in cold water and then wrung out. It is not very pleasant.

June 4th.

* * * The weather is very beautiful, and we had tea yesterday at Schönberg, the castle of young Count Erbach, whom Louis presented to you at Windsor. Could you tell us for certain when you intend going to Coburg, and when we are expected there, as we are going to the sea to bathe for Victoria and myself, and we would arrange our time accordingly? I require some sea air after the great heat, and after baby’s weaning; also before Scotland it would be good, for I have so much rheumatism. Some sea water will strengthen me.

June 7th.

* * * You know how very Scotch we both are. Louis is devotedly attached to Scotland and his Scotch friends. Do tell them so always. But now I must tell you of yesterday. In the morning Affie, we, and our suite, drove into town for the investiture. At half past three I drove with my ladies, a Kammerherr [Chamberlain], Becker, etc., to the Schloss, where Uncle Louis received us in shorts! Then Affie and Louis in their whole Garter dress arrived in a carriage with six horses and an escort. Uncle Louis, before the throne, and the family, Court, corps diplomatique, etc., received them. Affie read in English the address, to which Uncle Louis answered in German; then Affie buckled on the Garter; then Louis helped him to put on ribbon, cloak, etc., and fastened the sword on him, which was no easy task; but they acquitted themselves to perfection, and went out through the long Kaisersaal backward, bowing.

There was a large dinner afterward, at which your health was proposed by Uncle Louis, and in return Affie gave his. You have made a happy man, and he feels the honor—as he said to me in English—“utmostly”; and he wishes me to repeat once more how grateful he is to you. * * *

Affie did not return here last night; he slept at Darmstadt, and left this morning for Amorbach. To-day Uncle Ernest is coming to us, but only for one night. As we have again to go into town to fetch him, and it is very warm, I must close.

Seeheim, June 15th.

* * * How it will amuse and please us to show the good excellent Scotchman our home. It is a pleasure to hear of such devotion and attention to you as Brown’s is, and indeed you are so kind to him, that his whole happiness must consist in serving so good a mistress.

I think you will be pleased to hear of a most kind and touching tribute which the Frauen [women] of Darmstadt have paid me. Two hundred and fifty have subscribed to have a splendid picture painted for me, by P. Weber, of Loch Katrine. I am to see it on Sunday. It is very much admired, and they sent the painter to Scotland to do it, thinking that something from my own country would please me most. Is it not kind of them? It has given me so much pleasure—but of all things the feeling which has prompted them to do it, as it shows me that, though I have been here so short a time, they have become attached to me, as I am with all my heart to my new home and country.

Now about myself. I have weaned Ella, last Saturday, and can say that my health has never been so good, nor have I been so strong or looked so fresh and healthy as I do now. When Uncle Ernest saw me he said I looked again as I did as a girl, only rather fatter.

Ella crawls now, and is very strong; she has her first two teeth. Victoria is very wild, and speaks more German than English. I think her rather small, but other people say she is not. She goes out walking with her Papa before breakfast quite alone, with her hands in her pockets, and amuses him very much.

June 19th.

Many thanks for your last letter from dear Balmoral. The parting from that lovely place must always be sad, and there is something in mountains which attaches one so much to that scenery.

Yesterday was a very trying day for my poor mother-in-law (her birth-day), and she was very low, but, as all along, so resigned, so touching in the beautiful way she bears her grief; so unselfish with it, never wishing to make others sad, or to be less interested in their concerns than formerly.

Dear Mary Cambridge has been here, and we enjoyed her visit so much. We took her back to Frankfort to-day, where we gave her and Aunt Cambridge a luncheon in Uncle Louis’ Palais.

June 21st.

It is warm, but very windy and dusty here; we were nearly blinded out riding yesterday evening. I am reading that most interesting History of England by Pauli, in German, which commences with the Congress of Vienna in 1815, and is, I believe, very detailed and correct. It gives a sketch also of the reign of George III., and is so well written one can scarcely lay the book down. It is part of a work written by the best German professors on England, Russia, Italy, France, Spain, and Austria in those years, and I am reading them one after another. They are thick books, and eight volumes.

Kranichstein, July 2d.

We both thank you for your kind wishes for our wedding-day. It was rainy and not fine, but we spent it very happily indoors—Affie and Mary with us. Dr. Weber now wishes (as we should have to go from Blankenberghe back to Coburg, and then again all the journey back), that I should not bathe at all this year, as all the good would be undone by the hurried journey, and the excitement of the sea air might not be good for Victoria. We are all to go instead for four weeks to Switzerland, beginning with Rigi Kaltbad, and this we greatly prefer. We go into the mountains at once for the bracing air. On Saturday until Tuesday we go to Baden for the christening of the baby. We both are god-parents.

Kranichstein, July 10th.

*** Ella already says, since some time, “Papa” and “Mama,” and calls herself, and crawls, and is very forward and merry—such a contrast to Victoria, who is so pale and fair, and now thin, for Ella’s eyes are so dark blue, and her hair of such a rich brown, that you would never take the little things for sisters. They are very fond of each other, and so dear together, that they give us much pleasure. I would not change them for boys, if I could; this little pair of sisters is so nice, and they can be such friends to each other.

I hope you will be comfortable here, but we are much annoyed not to be able to be there to receive you. None of the family will be here, save perhaps my mother-in-law with poor Fritz Schwerin, who is expected then.

We mean to start on the 25th, and we go as private people, on account of the expense. We are only going to Oberland, and sha’n’t go very far about.

Kranichstein, July 17th.

*** It was 95° in the shade yesterday at eight in the morning, and I think the heat increases. Dr. Lyon Playfair lunched with us yesterday; he is so charming. To-morrow morning at five we go to Bonn for the day, and shall be there before ten. The heat is too great to go at any other time. We start next Tuesday evening, and on Wednesday shall be on the Rigi.

This morning at six o’clock we rode to the exercising—I on a new horse, for two hours and a half over sand without any shade.

Mary [Duchess of Teck] has been so kind as to give us a boat, which we expect shortly. It is to be christened “Mary Adelaide,” after her.

July 24th.

Many thanks for your letter, and for the sad account of Victoria Brant’s[56] death. It is quite shocking, and she was my dearest friend of those contemporaries, and the one I saw the most of. “In the midst of life we are in death”; and the uncertainty of all earthly things makes life a real earnest, and no dream. Our whole life should be a preparation and expectation for eternity. Merry as she was, she was yet very serious and thoughtful; but what a loss she will be to her poor parents and husband!

I have made all arrangements for your comfort here. I own I do not like your coming here when we and the whole family are away—it looks so odd! I forgot to tell you, in answer to your question about Ella’s name, that she of course must be called “Elizabeth,” entre nous only “Ella,” for she bears my dear mama-in-law’s name.

Rigi Kaltbad, August 1st.

I am enchanted, delighted with this magnificent scenery. Oh, how you would admire it! When I am sketching, I keep telling Louis how much more like you would make the things; one can always recognize the places when you draw them.

We left Darmstadt at eight Wednesday morning, the 26th, slept at Basel that night, and we got there early enough to see the fine church in a thunder storm. The next day we only went to Lucerne, as the weather was not fine enough to ascend the Rigi. It was a lovely afternoon, and the lake of a marvellous green color. The Pilatus was quite clear for a few hours. The next morning we two, the children, Moffat, Harriet the nursery-maid, Logoz and wife, Jäger, and Beck, our whole party, started in a very crowded steamer for Wäggis. Splendid weather, though cloudy. We then, on horses and in chairs carried by three or six men, made our ascent along a winding, narrow, steep path, below rocks, past ravines, where little châlets are situated, and all over the green pasture cows and goats feeding with bells round their necks. Westerweller was here when we arrived; he acts courier, and when we make long expeditions remains with the children. This is a very roomy hotel, crammed full of people, among them some odd Austrian ladies whom we see below walking on the terrace—very smart, and smoking. We two have been on mules with a guide—such a funny man, who was a soldier at Naples, and was at the siege of Gaeta—on all the expeditions hereabout.

To-morrow we leave, and go till Monday to Buochs, on the other side of the lake; then to Engelberg, where Uncle Adalbert and his wife will be. The children are well; Victoria very troublesome, but Ella good and amiable as ever. As I am writing at the window, the clouds cover the lake and the lower mountains, and I can only see the quite high ones with glaciers, which are of such a splendid shape.

The color of the Scotch mountains is, I think, finer; but here they are, first of all, so enormously high, and then such fine shapes, and the mountains are studded with trees and rocks down below, and of a green color.

The air is very light and cold, but the sun intense. We are going off for the day again on our mules, so I must close. Of course many funny incidents take place, which I reserve to tell you when we meet.

I do hope the heat will be over for your journey, and that it will be fine when you are at our dear Kranichstein. Marie Grancy will be there to receive you, and do any thing which is required.

Engelberg, Hotel Titlis, August 8th.

These lines I send by Becker, and hope you will receive them at Kranichstein. * * * I hope you found all you wanted in the rooms, and that the meals were as you like them. I ordered all, and wrote all down before leaving, as I know what you like.

We were for some days at Buochs, a very pretty village; and we lived in three detachments in different common Swiss houses, very comfortable on the whole, but not smelling very nice, so that I could scarcely eat while we were there.

Yesterday morning, in a very funny two-seated carriage with one horse, we left, the children and servants following in a bigger carriage. A nearly four hours’ drive through the most beautiful scenery, up a narrow valley through which the Aa runs, brought us here. The last two hours are a steep ascent on the side of a precipice; beautiful vegetation through the wood all the way upward; view on the high mountains with snow and glaciers close by. On coming to the top there is a narrow and lovely green valley studded with peasants’ cottages, and in the centre a Benedictine Abbey, near which our hotel is situated. The valley is of very green grass; the tops of the mountains quite rocky, with snow. Lower down, and skirting the valley, which is quite shut in by the hills, fine trees; several very high waterfalls, in the style of the Glassalt (near Balmoral), only much higher. This Alpine valley is said to give the most perfect idea of a Swiss valley up in the mountains. One can ascend the Titlis; but it is said to be dangerous, so we sha’n’t attempt it. We are very careful, and Louis won’t undertake any thing risky. The scenery seen from the carriage merely is so splendid that one may well be content with that. Unfortunately, to-day it pours, and it is very cold. The children are very well. The journey has really done Victoria good, and she begins to have an appetite, which with her is a very rare thing.

The next place we go to is Meyringen. We mean to ride there over the Joch Pass, but the children must go back the same way to get round, as there is no other way out of this valley. We will leave them then with Westerweller, and go to the Grindelwald, Interlaken, etc.; and then return home by the 29th probably. The children are living in a cottage here also.

Pension Belle Vue, Tracht bei Brienz, August 14th.

* * * Our ride from Engelberg over the Joch Pass to Meyringen was quite beautiful; but a worse way than any we have ever been out on in Scotland. We were eleven hours on the road, and the sun was very hot, and the walking on these steep bad paths made one still hotter; but we enjoyed it very much, and I never saw any thing grander or more magnificent. * * * I have made little scribbles on the way. * * * To-day we two with two horses were to have walked and ridden to the Grindelwald, over the Rosenlaui glacier, and to have gone on the next day to Interlaken, but the weather is so bad that it is impossible, and, not being satisfied with the prices, etc., at the hotel of Meyringen, we came on here, an hour’s drive, near to the beautiful falls of the Giessbach, which we saw on Sunday. * * * The weather will determine whether we can make an expedition to-morrow.

We shall be home on Friday by Thun and Basel, where we sleep. What day are we to be at Coburg, and for how long exactly? I believe only two or three days.

The white heather is from above Engelberg, near Brienz.

Pension Belle Vue, August 15th.

I have this instant received your dear letter from Kranichstein, and, though only just returned from an expedition to the Rosenlaui glacier, I sit down at once to thank you with all my heart for such dear lines. How glad I am all was comfortable, and that you were pleased with your day in our nice Kranichstein! I am glad you missed us a little. * * * But I must tell you of to-day. We drove to Reichenbach, close to the falls, took a guide and horses, and in two hours by a steep stony path got to Rosenlaui. The view on the Wetterhorn, covered with snow, and on the Wellhorn, which is a rugged rock on the other side of it, the white sparkling glacier, is quite beautiful. The shapes and immense height of the mountains are so imposing. I look, admire, wonder; one can’t find words to express what one feels. How you would admire the scenery! Papa was so fond of it all.

Kranichstein, August 21st.

These will be my last lines until we meet. We returned here well, having unfortunately, though, much rain from Interlaken to Basel. At Thun we were in the same hotel as Blanche and Mademoiselle Bernard, and to-morrow we expect Uncle Nemours, Marguerite, and Alençon, whom we asked to dinner on their way to Frankfort. I am mostly at the Rosenhöhe with my mama-in-law, as she is quite alone. I was in town with her, and read to her this morning; she is ever so dear and kind. I do love her so much. Ever since Ella’s birth we have been drawn so closely to each other, and I admire her also now that I know and understand her. There is so much beneath, so much Gemüth, tenderness, and delicacy of feeling. It is indeed a blessing to have such people as they are for parents-in-law.

September 1st.

Uncle George was here yesterday. Vicky remains with us till the 5th, and gives me so much pleasure to be able to repay her for her hospitality this winter.

We were at the christening of Becker’s baby, which went off so well. In the morning we had to go through High Mass for the inauguration of the Grand Duchess’ monument in the Catholic church.

Poor papa-in-law, who went to bathe for his headache, has had such a return of his cough that he is coming back here on Monday. I hope they will go to Switzerland later.

Kranichstein, September 8th.

* * * After having missed the train they intended, to come by, Bertie and Alix arrived at three o’clock. They dined with us. Louis then took him to the theatre, and I drove her about.

My poor father-in-law’s throat is very bad, and gives him much pain. I am really very anxious about him.

We leave to-morrow afternoon at four, and shall spend the following day at Ostend, embarking in the evening. Till the end of the week we intend stopping in town, and if Bertie and Alix remain longer, we shall leave by the limited mail (for Balmoral).

Inverness, October 8th.

This is a very fine town, and the country is very beautiful. We took a walk this morning, and shall drive this afternoon. It was thought better not to go to a kirk, as the people seemed to look out for us.

Again a thousand thanks for having arranged this nice journey for us, which we enjoy so much. I thought so much of you and dear Papa yesterday during our ride.[57]

Sandringham, November 16th.

* * * I am pleased that the children are well under your roof. I know they have all they can want. Bertie had such bad toothache yesterday; Louis also a little; the cold air must be the cause, for it is so sharp here.

Alix and I practice together for an hour of an evening. * * * Alix drove me down to the sea the other day, and a most alarming drive it was, for the horses pulled, and to our astonishment the coachman suddenly alighted between us, with his feet in the air, from the back seat, and caught hold of the reins—it was too funny. I hope to be near you again on Saturday.

Coblenz, November 25th.

* * * Having just a quarter of an hour to myself before leaving this, I hasten to write to you a few lines to tell you that we have travelled quite well so far. May will have told you about our passage. I have been sick ever since, which is dreadful. Henry and William joined us at Bonn, and came here with us.

The Queen was most kind. We spent the evening most pleasantly en famille with her, and whilst we dined alone together she had to go to a town ball.

Darmstadt, November 28th.

* * * I find my father-in-law looking better, I am happy to say, though far from strong; and alas! one of his lungs is affected. Though, with care, one can guard him from evil consequences, still of course, it is an anxious thing. All the family are very grateful for your kind messages, and send their respects to you.

* * * The children are very well, and Victoria said to my mother, “Meine Grossmama, die Königinn, has got a little vatch with a birdie,” and she is always speaking of all at Windsor, but principally of the things in your room. I am so glad that you are pleased with the children’s picture. I admire it so much.

It is warm and damp here. * * * I have a great deal to do. * * *

We have been over the new house yesterday, and alas! found many things not quite what they were intended to be. * * *

Darmstadt, December 5th.

Many thanks for your letter received yesterday, with the account of Lenchen’s Verlobung [betrothal]. I am so glad she is happy, and I hope every blessing will rest on them both that one can possibly desire.

I had a letter from Marie Brabant two days ago, where she says dear Uncle’s [King Leopold’s] state is hopeless; but yesterday she telegraphed that he was rather better. What a loss it would be if he were to be taken from us, for his very name and existence, though he takes no active part in politics, are of weight and value.

Yesterday I was painting in oils, and I copied my sketch of the Sluggan, and, if it be in any way at all presentable and fit to give, I will send it to you. I hope it won’t be very Chinese, for our sketches had a certain likeness to works of art of that country. Louis is very busy here. He has begun his military duties; he has the command and Verwaltung [administration] of the Cavalry Brigade. To-day he has to go to the Chamber, and he is going to attend the different offices—home department, finances, justice, etc.,—so as to get a knowledge of the routine of business. * * * Louis of Portugal and family passed through here yesterday, and went to Frankfort. I have inquired if they are there still, and if they are we shall try to see them. I am so curious to see Marie Pia. * * *

All our Hofstaat [Court circle] lay their good wishes for Lenchen’s engagement at your feet.

Darmstadt, December 8th.

We are so grieved and distressed at dear Uncle Leopold’s alarming state, and have given up all hope, the accounts are so bad. Oh, were there but a chance for you, or for any of us who love him so dearly, to be near him during his last hours!

December 11th.

Many thanks for your letter. Alas, alas! beloved Uncle Leopold is no more! How much for you, for us, for all, goes with him to the grave! One tie more of those dear old times is rent!

I do feel for you so much, for dear Uncle was indeed a father to you. Now you are head of all the family—it seems incredible, and that dear Papa should not be by your side.

The regret for dear Uncle Leopold is universal—he stood so high in the eyes of all parties; his life was a history in itself—and now that book is closed. Oh, it is so sad, and he is such a loss! I am almost glad this sorrow has fallen into those days already so hallowed by melancholy and precious recollections. How I recollect every hour, every minute of those days. In thinking of them one feels over again the hope, the anxiety, and lastly the despair and grief of that irretrievable loss. The Almighty stood by you and us, and enabled us to bear it, for I always wonder that we lived through that awful time.

The future world seems so like a real home, for there are so many dear ones to meet again. There is something peculiarly sad in the death of the last one of a large family—to feel that none is left to tell of each other, and of their earlier life, which the younger ones could know only through their lips.

December 15th.

Many thanks for your letter. I was so anxious to hear something of our beloved Uncle’s end; it seems to have been most peaceful.

There will be many Princes at Brussels, I believe.

How much I thought of you and of dear Papa on the 14th! Dear Louis leaves me this afternoon. He will reach Brussels at five to-morrow morning, and remain over the Sunday.

The accession of the new King and the honors that have at once to be paid are so painful, following so closely on the death of one we have loved and known in that position. As the French say: “Le Roi est mort. Vive le Roi!”

December 20th.

* * * I was sitting up for Louis till half-past eleven with Countess Blücher—who leaves to-day, and has spent a few days with me—when he, and to my astonishment Bertie also, came into the room. The next day, alas! he had to leave again at four; but still, short as his stay was, it was a token of his constant love for me, and it touched me very much, for I ever loved him so dearly.

Every thing went off well at Brussels as you will have heard. The more I realize that we shall never see beloved Uncle Leopold again, the sadder I grow. He had, apart from all his excellent qualities, such a charm as I believe we shall seldom find again.

The dear Countess is well. We made the dining-room into a bedroom for her, and we dined downstairs. I was so afraid of her getting cold, if she lived out of the house.

Darmstadt, December 24th.

* * * How I wish beloved Uncle were brought to Windsor to rest there as he had wished! I wondered so much that every thing had taken place at Laeken, knowing that dear Uncle had wished it otherwise.

Uncle Louis wishes me to thank you once more for the Christmas eatables, and my mother-in-law likewise for the lovely little frame and photograph. They are both much touched by this kind attention on your part.

Christmas Day.

* * * To me Christmas is always sad now, and for Louis and his family it was so likewise this year; my parents-in-law felt it very much. We went to the Military Church at eight this morning. It is the service we like best; but it was bitterly cold, every thing snow white.

I hope my little picture, though very imperfect, found favor in your eyes. It gave me such pleasure doing it for you, thinking of you and our expedition the whole time I was doing it.

December 30th.

This is my last letter this year. In many ways a happy one has it been, though it has deprived us of many dear and near ones. Each year brings us nearer to the Wiedersehen [reunion with the dead], though it is sad to think how one’s glass is running out, and how little good goes with it compared to the numberless blessings we receive. Time goes incredibly fast.

Every earnest and tender wish from us both is yours, dear Mama, for this coming year with its expected events. May God’s blessing rest on this new union which is to be formed in our family, and may dear Lenchen be as happy as all those who loved her can wish! I am sorry to think that I shall probably not see her again until she is married; but I am glad for her sake that the Brautstand [the betrothal period] is not to be long.

I send you a locket with Ella’s miniature, which I hope will please you.

“Life is meant for work, and not for pleasure.” (August 29, 1866.)

January 2d.

I am at the head of a committee of ladies out of the different classes of society to make a large bazaar, in which all the country is to take part, for the Idiot Asylum. It is very difficult—all the more as I have never had any thing to do with such things in my life. * * * I wanted for the first public thing I undertake, to take in all principles, and my mother-in-law has given her name to it. I have chosen the committee out of different sets—half adelig [people of rank] half bürgerlich [of the citizen class], and all these ladies, half of whom I did not know before, come and sit in my small room and discuss—and, as yet, do not disagree.

January 6th.

* * * The people here are so much pleased that my Louis takes such active part in all his duties—military and civil, for he attends the different offices, and as General, I hear, he keeps great order where there was until now disorder and great abuse of power. Of course, I see him much less, and some days scarcely at all.

On the 14th we go to Gotha for about a fortnight, without the children.

Gotha, January 19th.

Dear Uncle and Aunt are well, and we are very happy here, for they are always kindness itself to us. Uncle looks very well, but he grows very stout, I think. We saw the Braut von Messina [Schiller’s] so well given two nights ago. I thought so much of dear Papa, who admired it greatly; and Uncle Ernest told me he had it given for you, when you first came here.

Gotha, January 22d.

* * * Two nights ago Uncle, Louis, and I, with a very clever old actress, read a piece together. Louis resisted at first, but it went very well. You can’t imagine how mild it is. I have the windows always open. Gustav Freitag is here. I am always glad to see him. He is a good friend to Uncle, and he is so honest and straightforward.

Gotha, January 26th.

I shall be very sorry to go away from here—the whole atmosphere does one good. Dear Uncle is so amusing; he speaks of interesting things, and has interesting people.

Our Quaker acquaintances have sent me a great deal for the bazaar, and an old gentleman who heard of it, 100l.! I could not believe my eyes. They are always so generous: and, hearing of my undertaking a work of this sort, they sent me this spontaneously. Is it not kind?

Darmstadt, February 1st.

It is spring weather here altogether—quite warm when one comes out of the house. It is so unnatural. The children enjoy it, and are out a great deal, looking so well and strong: I wish you could see them. The little one is growing up to her sister very fast, and actually wears the frocks Victoria wore last year. I wish you could hear all the extraordinary things Victoria says. Ella is civil to all strangers—excepting to my mother-in-law, or to old ladies. It is too tiresome. There is a large ball given by the officers at their Casino to-night, to which we must go. It will be crowded and hot. Our house gets on tolerably. The housekeeper, a Berlinerinn, comes on the 20th, and we told that we can go into the house next month. I can’t help doubting it, and I regret leaving this nice little house, where our first happy years have been spent. I am so glad that you have at least been in the new house, so that I can always think that you are no stranger to it, which makes me like it much better.

February 10th.

* * * I am happy to think you are quiet at Osborne after all you had to go through. The emotion and all other feelings recalled by such an event must have been very powerful and have tried you much.[58] It was noble of you, my darling Mama, and the great effort will bring compensation. Think of the pride and pleasure it would have given darling Papa—the brave example to others not to shrink from their duty; and it has shown that you felt the intense sympathy which the English people evinced, and still evince, in your great misfortune.

How to-day recalls those bright and happy former years! There is no cloud without a silver lining, and the lining to the black cloud which overshadows your existence is the bright recollection of the past blending into the bright hope of a happy future; a small part of it also is the intense love of your children and nation, which casts a light around you which many live to enjoy and admire, and which few—if any—possess like you. I wish I could have sent a fine nosegay of orange blossoms for to-day, but they could not have arrived fresh so I gave it up.

Louis sends his tenderest love, and wishes me to say how much his thoughts with mine are to-day constantly with you. He is very industrious, and has a great deal to do now, and, I hear, does all very well.

Darmstadt, February 15th.

How dear of you to have written to me on the 10th—a day of such recollections! That last happy wedding-day at Buckingham Palace, how well I remember it, and all the previous ones at Windsor, when we all stood before your door, waiting for you and dear Papa to come out. You both looked so young, bright, and handsome. As I grew older, it made me so proud to have two such dear parents! And that my children should never know you both together—that will remain a sorrow to me as long as I live.

Darmstadt, March 10th.

* * * Your idea of Friedrichroda for us was so good, but alas! now even that will be impracticable, on account of money. Louis has had to take up money again at Coutt’s to pay for the house, and the house is surety.

We must live so economically—not going anywhere, or seeing many people, so as to be able to spare as much a year as we can. England cost us a great deal, as the visit was short last time. We have sold four carriage horses, and have only six to drive with now, two of which the ladies constantly want for theatre, visits, etc.; so we are rather badly off in some things. But I should not bore you with our troubles, which are easy to bear.

March 16th.

How trying the visit to Aldershot must have been, but it is so wise and kind of you to go. I cannot think of it without tears in my eyes. Formerly that was one of the greatest pleasures of my girlhood, and you and darling Papa looked so handsome together. I so enjoyed following you on those occasions. Such moments I should like to call back for an instant.

Our house here is quite empty, and the déménagement creates such work. To-morrow night we sleep for the first time in the new house.

March 17th.

I write from our dear little old house. May dear Papa’s and your blessing rest on our new home, as I am sure it will! It is full of souvenirs of you both—all your pictures, photographs of dear brothers and sisters and home. It reminds me a little of Osborne, of Buckingham Palace, a little even of Balmoral. Could I but show it to darling Papa! If I have any taste, I owe it all to him, and I learned so much by seeing him arrange pictures, rooms, etc.

At half-past seven we go into our house to-night. Bender is to say a prayer and pronounce a blessing, when we with all our household are assembled in hall; only Louis’ parents and William besides ourselves. Yours and dear Papa’s I pray to rest on us.

March 20th.

That [the death of the Duchess of Kent] was the commencement of all the grief; but with darling Papa, so full of tenderness, sympathy and delicate feeling for you, how comparatively easy to bear, compared to all that followed!

* * * We are very comfortably established here, and I can’t fancy that I am in Germany, the house and all its arrangements being so English. When can we hope once to have you here? Of course that is the summit of our wishes. Your rooms are on the east side and very cool—as you always go abroad when it is hot, and suffer so much from the heat. I shall die of it this year, as my rooms are to the west.

March 24th.

* * * Our grand-uncle of Homburg has just died, so that Homburg falls to Uncle Louis now. But all the things of the Landgravine Elizabeth go to Princess Reuss, and her [Aunt Elizabeth’s[59]] rooms are full of beautiful miniatures, oil-paintings, and ornaments en masse, like Gloucester House.

I shall be so glad to see dear Affie. His rooms are to be ready by this evening. The house is very comfortable, but the weather is awful—wind, rain, and sleet. In spite of it the house is so cheerful.

How sorry I am for you that dear Aunt[60] is gone. As she was so well this time, it will be a reason more for her returning soon to you.

Dear Lady Frances Baillie was with me on Thursday, so dear and charming.

April 2d.

* * * We are living in such a state of anxiety and alarm. War[61] would be too fearful a thing to contemplate—brother against brother, friend against friend, as it will be in this case! May the Almighty avert so fearful a calamity! Here, at Mayence and Frankfort, it will begin, if any thing happens, as there are mixed garrisons; and we must side with one against the other. For Henry, who is still here, it is dreadful. He can’t desert at such a moment, and yet if he should have to draw his sword against his country, his brothers fighting on the other side! Fancy the complications and horrors of such a war!

For Vicky and Fritz it is really dreadful; please let me hear by messenger what you hear from them. I am sure you think of us in these troubled times. What would dear Papa have said to all this? I long to hear from you, to know that your warm heart is acting for Germany.

March 26th.

* * * The dear old Oueen Marie Amélie[62] is gone to her rest at last, after a long and so stormy a life! Claremont is now also altered. How sad those constant changes are! It reminds one again and again that we are on a journey, and that the real home is elsewhere. All those who work hard and love their fellow-creatures meet again, and the thorny path will be forgotten which leads to the happy meeting. I sincerely mourn for the dear Queen, and she was so kind to me always. I am glad she was one of Victoria’s god-mothers.

April 7th.

* * * Our Bazaar goes off wonderfully: 7,000 florins the first day, and to-day again a great deal. Affie was invaluable in arranging, selling, and assisting in every way. There have been crowds these two days, as in England: something quite unusual for the quiet inhabitants of this place. They have shown so much zeal and devotion that I am quite touched by it, as I am more or less a stranger to them.

April 25th.

Thousand thanks for your dear lines, and for the money and charming bas-relief of you, which I think very good. I thought so much of former birthdays at home in Buckingham Palace. They were so happy. We did nothing in particular; merely dined at Kranichstein with Uncle Louis in the afternoon. It was warm and fine.

The money will go at once to Louis’ man of business toward paying off the furniture, and is, indeed, very, very acceptable, more so under present circumstances than any thing else you could give us; and that part of the furniture will then all be your present.

May 3d.

* * * The prospect of war seems to be nearing realization. It will be so dreadful if it does. God be with us, if such a misfortune befall poor Germany! These prospects have already done much harm to trade. The large manufacturies send away their superfluous workmen, and they sell next to nothing. Most unpopular amongst high and low, and amongst people of all opinions, this civil war will be. * * *

I have made all the summer out-walking dresses, seven in number, with paletôts for the girls—not embroidered, but entirely made from beginning to end; likewise the new necessary flannel shawls for the expected. I manage all the nursery accounts, and every thing myself, which gives me plenty to do, as every thing increases, and, on account of the house, we must live very economically for these next years.

It is so kind of you to give Dr. Priestley his fee, otherwise I would have had scruples in giving so large a sum for my own comfort.

If there is a war then, and Louis is away, what shall I do? This is my constant dread and apprehension. As long as he comes home safe again—that is all I shall think of. Please God to spare me that fearful anxiety, which weighs on me now already; for he, having only a brigade, could not keep out of danger, like Fritz in Schleswig.

I put my trust wholly in the Almighty, who has watched over and blessed our life so richly thus far—so much, much more than I ever deserved, or can deserve; and He will not forsake us in the hour of need, I am sure.

These dangerous times make one very serious and anxious; the comfort of faith and trust in God, who does all well and for the best, is the only support. Life is but a pilgrimage—a little more or a little less sorrow falls to one’s lot; but the anticipation of evil is almost as great a suffering as the evil itself, and mine always was an anxious nature, so I cannot banish the thoughts which all the dreadful chances of war force upon one.

May 7th.

* * * I am so sorry for poor Louise and Beatrice, and whooping-cough is a nasty thing, though I wish we could complain of that as our sufferings here. Anxiety, worry without end!

Uncle Alexander returned from Vienna two days ago. The Emperor, Uncle Alexander Mensdorff, all frantic at being forced into war, but fearing now no more being able to prevent it. Cannot the other three Powers interfere and step between at this dangerous crisis—proposing a Congress, or any thing, so as to avert this calamity?

Henry, who was here on six weeks’ leave, as he and Uncle Louis were to have gone to Russia (which now, of course, they won’t do), had suddenly to return to Bonn, as his regiment is made mobil. Uncle Alexander receives the command of the 8th Armee-corps, which I suppose and hope will be stationed somewhere near here, as Louis is in that, and is to go. He means to go to Berlin this afternoon for a day to see Fritz, and tell him how circumstances now force him to draw his sword against the Prussians in the service of his own country. The whole thing is dreadful, and the prospect of being left alone here at such a moment (for all our people, nearly, will accompany Louis) is dreadful! If I were only over my troubles I should not be so anxious, so nervous and unhappy, as I must say the anticipation of all these dreadful things makes me. Could I follow in the distance! But now that is impossible, and I have not a single older married person near me. When dear Louis goes, of course Westerweller goes too. I still pray and hope that there be no war; even if all the troops are assembled, I hope that the other Powers will interfere, and not look on whilst these brothers cut each others throats. It is such an unnatural, monstrous war!

The death of Lord and Lady Rivers is dreadful for their children, but how blessed for themselves! I hope Lady Caroline [Barrington] will pass by here, which will be a great pleasure to me, though she says she can but stop two days, as you wish her to be home by the 15th.

May 18th.

* * * How glad I am to hear that Lord Clarendon is still hopeful! Here as yet, though there is no distinct reason for it, save the repugnance of all to this civil war, all still hope to avoid the war. Every day we have occasion to hear how the Prussians detest this war—army and all—and there are constant rows, with the Landwehr in particular. Men of forty, who have families and homes to look after, are taken away with their sons; and those who have horses are also taken, with their horses: so that the wife and children sit at home, unable to do any thing for their land. It is ruining numbers, and murmurs get louder and louder. A revolution must break out if this continues. * * * I do pray most fervently that the King will listen to the just advice, in no way derogatory to his dignity, of placing the hated question of the Duchies before the Confederation; but I fear he won’t. If he would only listen to that advice and disarm, all Germany would do it at once—only too gladly—forgetting all the losses in the happiness of peace restored. Forgive my stupid letter, but we live really so in the midst of these affairs, on which our existence will turn, that I can think of nothing else.

Austria can’t hold out much longer, and the country is getting very violent against the King and Bismarck. The Emperor is less able to concede and keep peace.

Now good-bye, dearest Mama. We are so grateful to you for taking the children, if any thing comes to pass.

May 22d.

* * * Any thing you hear of Vicky and Fritz, will you write it to me? * * * The cloud grows blacker every day, and the anxiety we all live in is very great. But I ought not to write to you to-day of such gloomy things, which, thank God, you only see and hear of from the other side of the water.

May 25th.

* * * The Duke and Duchess of Nassau were here yesterday. They, like me, are in such an unpleasant position, should it come to blows, which I still hope may be averted—for why should we harmless mortals be attacked?

* * * We shall be beggars very soon, if all goes on as it promises to do; it is quite dreadful, and the want of other people (and dissatisfaction) increases. * * * I have ordered a good travelling-bag for Louis, for much the same reason that some people take out an umbrella in fine weather to keep off the rain, and this is to be against a war. * * * I have a sort of Ahnung [presentiment] that it won’t come to the worst—for us at least—and here we shall keep so quiet, only on the defensive, if attacked.

May 28th.

* * * There seems a little chance of the dreadful prospects being bettered. How I do pray it may be the commencement of a better time; and that, if peace be established, it may be so firmly, so that one may not live in the daily dread of new quarrels re-opening between the two countries. * * *

The man who built our house has nearly been made bankrupt, and wants money from us to save him from ruin, and we can scarcely manage it. The ruin this preparation for war, and consequent cessation of all speculations, buildings, or trade, has brought on people is dreadful, and of course increases.

June 8th.

* * * How precious are your words of love and sympathy and the hope you still hold to, that war may somehow be averted! It does me good to hear it; and I know how much, and how lovingly, your thoughts dwell with dear Vicky and with me during this time of trial. * * *

June 13th.

* * * I fear if the Bund orders the mobilization, and goes against Prussia, our troops will be the first to go, and then Louis may get orders to be off any day. It is too dreadful! I live in such dread that he may have to go just before, or at the very moment of my confinement. * * *

I hope Scotland will do you good. Please God, when you return matters may be better. If Austria and Prussia would only fight out their quarrel together; but the latter has taken refuge with the Bund now, because she wanted it.

Darmstadt, June 15th.

* * * The serious illness of poor little Sigismund[63] in the midst of all these troubles is really dreadful for poor Vicky and Fritz, and they are so fond of that merry little child.

We have just received the news that the Prussians have crossed our frontier and established themselves at Giessen. The excitement here is dreadful and it is very difficult to keep people back from doing stupid things—wanting to attack, and so on, which with our force alone would be madness.

Louis—as always—remains quiet; but we live in a perpetual fever, alarms being sent, being gehetzt [stirred up] from Vienna, as they want the Bund to go with them at once. It is a dreadful time. I anticipate it will be the close of the existence of the little countries. God stand by us! Without the civil list Uncle Louis and the family are beggars, as all the private property belongs to the country.

It is so kind of dear Lady Ely to offer to come. I shall be very glad of it, for from one day to another I don’t know what Louis’ duties may be; and, when I am laid up, it is so pleasant to have some one who can write to you.

June 18th.

These lines I send by our children, whom you will so kindly take charge of—alas, that the times should be such as to make this necessary! In your dear hands they will be so safe; and if we can give you a little pleasure in sending them, it would be a real consolation in parting from them, which we both feel very much.

The state of excitement here is beyond description. Troops arriving, being billeted about—all will be concentrated from here to Frankfort. Two days ago the Bund telegraphed for Uncle Alexander to come, as the Prussians were advancing; we, of course, were all unprepared, and the confusion and fright were dreadful; but, thank God, they retreated again, when they got wind that troops were assembling.

June 24th.

* * * The state of affairs is awful; perpetual frights and false news arrive. The Prussians are coming from Wetzlar or Bingen; all the bustle and alarm for necessary defence; it is really dreadful. Louis’ chief has his staff at Frankfort. Louis’ cavalry brigade is there likewise, so he has his adjutant, etc., there, and does his work early in the morning at Frankfort, returning here in the afternoon, which has been kindly allowed on account of me. I remain here, of course, as near dear Louis as I can; and now that the children are gone, I have only myself to look after. * * * I have not the least fear, but my anxiety about Louis will be very great, as you can imagine. * * * Collections are already being made for the hospitals in the field, and the necessary things to be got for the soldiers. Illness and wounds will be dreadful in this heat. Coarse linen and rags are the things of which one can’t have enough, and I am working, collecting shirts, sheets, etc.; and now I come to ask, if you could send me some old linen for rags. In your numerous households it is collected twice a year, and sent to hospitals. Could I beg for some this time? It would be such a blessing for the poor Germans; and here they are not so rich, and that is a thing of which in every war there has been too little. Lint I have ordered from England by wish of the doctors; and bandages also they wished for. If you could, through Dr. Jenner, procure me some of these things, I should be so grateful. * * * Four dozen shirts we are making in the house. Every contribution of linen or of patterns of good cushions, or any good bed which in the English hospitals has been found useful, we should be delighted to have. * * * For the moment the people beg most for rags; our house being new, we have none. I am tolerably well, and cannot be too thankful for good nerves. Louis is very low at times, nervous at leaving me; and for him I keep up, though at times not without a struggle. May the Almighty watch over us, and not separate us, is my hourly prayer!

In your hands we feel the children so safe, though we miss them much. It is so kind of you to have taken them, and they are strong and healthy. * * *

June 25th.

Two words by Lady Ely’s courier. I am so glad she is here. She performed the journey in a day and night without difficulty; and Christa, who merely came from Cassel, took three days coming by road.

Alas! to-morrow Louis’ division moves on into the country to make room for other troops, and he must go. It will be too far for him to return—save with special permission for a few hours—so we shall have to part. My courage is beginning to fail me, but I bear up as best I can. God knows what a bitter trial it is! He is just in front, so the first exposed. William is to go in Uncle Alex.’s staff, and my poor mama-in-law is beginning to break down now. We try to cheer each other. The whole thing is so hard: against her countrymen—there where Louis has served. The whole thing is so contrecœur, and the Prussian soldiers dislike it as much as we do.

I am going to Frankfort with ever so many poor wives to take leave of their husbands, who march to-day.

The heat is awful. I have no time to think of myself, or I daresay I should have heat, etc., to complain of. Being still off and on with Louis, and having things to do, keeps me up; but when he is gone, and I have no man here to reassure me, it will be dreadful.

I must close. * * * Letters from home now are such a pleasure; do let any one write to me sometimes to give me news of you all. Your own child,

Alice.

Darmstadt, July 1st.

* * * The parting now was so hard! and he feels it so dreadfully. I can scarcely manage to write. The heat, besides, is overpowering. Our dear wedding-day four years ago! Four years of undisturbed, real, and increasing happiness. How I thank and bless the Almighty for them, and how fervently I pray that we may live over this most bitter trial!

* * * Whether Henry is engaged or not we don’t know, and can get no news of him. At any rate he is cut off from news of us and the rest of Germany; and, as our army is moving, and he is on the extreme wing, at any moment he may find himself opposite to his own brothers and countrymen. It is most painful, and has been to my poor father-in-law a great shock, as we all hoped he had got away. Please let my brothers know this. They will feel for this unheard-of position for three brothers to be in. * * *

Dear Lady Ely is a comfort and support to me, and it was quite a relief to Louis to leave her with me. We are both so grateful that she came. Christa is quite out of sorts about her country, and sees every thing black. Marie is low about her brother; and we are so in the middle of it all, that an English person who has no one concerned in it all is really a relief.

I am so glad that you are pleased with the little ones. You be sure, I know, not to let them get in the way of infection, if there is still any.

July 3d.

* * * Poor Vicky! She bears her trial [the death of her son, Prince Sigismund] bravely, and it is a heavy one indeed. This dreadful war is enough to break one’s heart. Those lives sacrificed for nothing—and what will be the end of it all? All our troops are gone now, too, and, what is so unpleasant, of course we here don’t know where they go to—where they are. Letters are fetched by the Feldpost, and as they are chiefly not near the railroads—at least not Louis—we cannot telegraph. At such a moment I know dear Louis fidgets dreadfully for news, and I not less. Since he has gone I have heard nothing.

At length letters from Henry have come. He never received until the 29th the telegram his parents begged the King to send him on the 18th, for the King said he did not know where he was—thought he was in Russia! He has been in all the engagements, wondering why, as was originally arranged, no order came for him to leave.

I am so very uncomfortable, and it wants courage and patience and hope, under such circumstances, to bear all. Of course, anxiety about beloved Louis is the chief thing, and longing for news. The Prussians are collecting a large army near Thüringen, in which direction ours are marching. Probably Uncle Ernest against ours! He might so well have remained quiet, and sent his troops to Mayence, as was settled.

For dear Lenchen’s wedding-day receive every warm and affectionate wish. May God’s blessing rest on their union! I am so glad you are pleased with the dear children. I have already found that likeness in Ella to Affie’s picture by Thorburn, but she is so like dear Louis.

July 6th.

* * * There seems a chance of an armistice. I trust it is so, and that peace will ensue. The enormous bloodshed on both sides this fortnight is too awful to think of. Poor Austria! it is hard for her. But as she is said to be ready to cede Venice, then, at least, the Italian war will be at an end.

Surely the neutral Powers will try and prevent Austria and Prussia beginning again; it is too horrid!

The rest of Germany now must knock under; but that is better than again shedding so much blood on the chance of getting the upper hand.

I have had some lines from dear Louis from the north of Hesse. He is well; how I do hope now that they won’t come to blows.

How kind of you to give the children frocks for the wedding! Will you kiss the dear little ones from me? I miss them very much.

Darmstadt, July 19th.

Beloved Mama:—What a time I have passed during these eight days since baby’s birth! Firstly, I have to thank the Almighty for having preserved my own sweet and adored husband, and for the blessing of having had him by me, so dear, so precious, during my confinement. After three days he had to go, and when he got near Aschaffenburg found fighting going on. We could hear the guns here. The Prussians shot from the roofs of the houses; they fought in the streets; it must have been horrid. Our troops retreated (as had always been intended) in perfect order. The wounded were brought in here the following day. The 13th and 14th they fought. Louis was there on the 14th; since then I have not seen him—God knows when I shall again.

The Prussians have taken Frankfort, and they are at home here. No communications allowed; get no papers or letters; may send none! An existence of monstrous anxiety and worry, which it is impossible for those to imagine who have not lived through it.

I had a letter from Louis from the Odenwald this morning, written yesterday. They expected to pass Amorbach to-day. They are trying to meet the Bavarians, who are never to be found.

I long for a letter from you. We have none at all. I have had none from you since baby’s birth. The people, who are such cowards and so silly, fly from here in all available droschkies.

How I pray some end may soon come to this horrid bloodshed! Ah! the misery around us you can’t imagine. Henry has never received his discharge, and has gone unscathed, in spite of being so exposed through all these battles.

I myself am very well, and I don’t give way, though the anxiety about Louis leaves me no peace.

Baby is well and very pretty. The time she came at prevented a thought of disappointment at her being a girl. Only gratitude to the Almighty filled our hearts, that I and the child were well, and that dear Louis and I were together at the time. The times are hard; it wants all a Christian’s courage and patience to carry one through them; but there is one Friend who in the time of need does not forsake one, and He is my comfort and support. God bless you, my own Mama, and pray for your child,

Alice.

Friday, July 27th, 9 o’clock P.M.

At this moment the messenger has arrived, to leave again at five to-morrow morning. A thousand thanks for your dear letter, the first I have received since baby’s birth!

To-night (since Sunday no news of Louis) at length I have heard that dear Louis is well. These last four days they have been fighting again. I had a few lines from him. These last two nights he slept in a field, and the country is so poor, that they had nothing but a little bread during two days to eat. Now the Prussians, having made peace with Austria, and having refused it to us, are advancing on our troops from three sides.

I can scarcely write; this anxiety is killing me, and my love has been so exposed! All are in admiration of his personal bravery and tender attention to the suffering and want of all around. He never thinks of himself, and shares all the dangers and privations with the others.

Louis says they long for peace. He disapproves the different Governments for not now giving way to Prussia, and begs me to use my influence with Uncle Louis to accept Prussian conditions to spare further bloodshed.

From all parts of the country the people beg me to do what I can.

The confusion here is awful, the want of money alarming; right and left one must help. As the Prussians pillaged here, I have many people’s things hidden in the house. Even whilst in bed I had to see gentlemen in my room, as there were things to be done and asked which had to come straight to me. Then our poor wounded—the wives and mothers begging I should inquire for their husbands and children. It is a state of affairs too dreadful to describe.

The new anxiety to-night of knowing a dreadful battle is expected, perhaps going on, in which dear Louis again must be! I can scarcely bear up any longer; I feel it is getting too much. God Almighty stand by us! My courage is beginning to sink. I see no light anywhere; and my own beloved husband still in danger, and we cannot hear, for the Prussians are between us and them. Any thing may have happened to him, and I can’t hear it or know it! I could not go to him were he wounded.

What I have suffered and do suffer no words can describe—the sleepless nights of anxiety, the long days without news—how I pray it may soon end, and dear darling Louis be spared me!

In these days I have so longed to hear from you. It would have been such a comfort, and I longed for it much.

If we live, and peace is restored, the country and every thing will be in such a mess, and both of us in such want of change, that we must go somewhere; but we shall then, I fear, be next to ruined. You can’t think what war in one’s own country—in a little one like this—is! The want is fearful. I must go to bed, as it is late. I am well, so is the little one; but I can’t sleep or eat well all along; and the worry of mind and much to do keep me weak.

Oh, that we were together again! Good-bye beloved Mama. These next days I fear will be dreadful. May the Almighty watch over dear Louis! You will pray for him, won’t you?

P.S.—The standard of Louis’ cavalry regiment, which they did not take with them, and which is usually kept at the Schloss, is in my room for safety.

Forgive the shocking writing, but I am so upset to-night, since my messenger of Tuesday returned with Louis’ letter.

Darmstadt, August 4th.

* * * The linen, etc., for the wounded has arrived, and been so useful; a thousand thanks for it! Matters here change from one day to another, and I hope Louis may soon be able to return with the troops. Uncle Louis I do hope and pray will then return, and I hope he will regain the favor which he had lost, for any change now would be dreadful.

My father-in-law is really in such a state since these events, and his nerves so shattered, that my mother-in-law trembles for him, and tries to keep him out of all. He is so angry, so heartbroken at the loss of Oberhessen, which is probable, that he wishes not to outlive it. My poor mama-in-law burst into tears this morning in my room, where this scene took place.

I have just returned from having been to inquire after the wounded at the different hospitals and houses, which are filling fast as they can be brought from Aschaffenburg, Laufach, etc. As soon as I am better, I will go to them myself; but the close and crowded wards turn one easily faint.

Becker saw Louis three days ago, and accompanied him to Munich for a day. I hear he is well, though for six nights he had slept out of doors, and the last three nights it had poured incessantly; and all that time—on account of ours not having a truce, and expecting to be attacked—they were, being such a mass together, without provisions, barely a morsel of bread. I am so distressed about poor Anton Hohenzollern and Obernitz; so many acquaintances and friends have fallen on both sides, it is dreadful!

The town is full of Prussians. I hope they will not remain too long, for they pay for nothing, and the poor inhabitants suffer so much. There is cholera in the Prussian army, and one soldier lies here ill of it. I hope it won’t spread.

August 13th.

* * * It is fearful. Those who have seen the misery war brings with it, near by—the sufferings, the horror—know well what a scourge it is. May the Almighty spare our poor Germany this new evil! I forgot to thank you in Louis’ name, as he had told me, for your letter, which he found here on his return. He is to-day still at Berlin, and we are so grateful for your having written to good Fritz. What he can do I know he will.

Uncle Louis is still at Munich, and I don’t think he will abdicate; besides, he is at this moment doing what his country wishes.

I received a letter from Julie Battenberg, saying what Uncle Alexander had written to her about Louis: “Le Prince Alexandre m’écrit qu’il a obtenu du Grand Duc la démission de Perglas” (who commanded the troops so badly), “et la nomination du Prince Louis en commandement de nos troupes; il me dit à cette occasion que votre Mari pendant cette triste campagne s’est fait aimer et apprécier de tout le monde qu’il s’est fait une excellente réputation, et qu’il sera reçu à bras ouverts par la troupe.” * * * It is a large command for one so young, and with so little experience—all the more so, as we don’t know how long peace may last. He is sent to Berlin, as the country all look to Louis to prevent new evil; and all this without poor Louis having any direct position of heir to be able to enforce his opinion. He has no easy life of it.

The horse you gave Louis he rode in the different engagements, and praised him very much. He stood the fire quite well, but not the bursting of the shells close by.

About the children, the 23d is quite soon enough for their departure.

We shall not call baby “Irène,” unless all seems really peaceful, and at this moment it does not look promising. I am very sad and dismayed at the whole lookout. My mother-in-law was so pleased with your letter, and thanks you warmly for it.

Nierstein, Gelbes Haus, August 17th.

This dear day makes me think so much of you, of home, and of those two dear ones whose memories are so precious, and who live on with us, and make me often think that we had parted only yesterday.

We are so pleased at your saying that you claim Louis as your son. He always considers himself in particular your child, and if any thing helps to stimulate him in doing his duty well, it is the sincere wish of being worthy to claim and deserve that title. Darling Papa would be proud of him, and pleased to see how earnestly he takes his duties, and how conscientiously and unselfishly he fulfils them, for he has had and still has many trials—things I can tell you of when we meet again.

Life is such a pilgrimage, and so uncertain is its duration that all minor troubles are forgotten and easily borne, when one thinks what one must live for.

Before leaving Darmstadt yesterday to come here, we went to see some of the wounded again. One poor man had died since I was last there: he had been so patient, and had suffered so much. Another had had an operation performed and was very low—he was crying like a child. I could scarcely comfort him, he held my hand and always moaned out “Es brennt so” [It burns so]. Such nice people most of those young men are—very young, and for that class so well educated. All who are well enough are reading.

I must praise the ventilation and cleanliness in the different hospitals; in these things they have made wonderful progress here.

We are here in Rheinhessen, as Louis has to take his command. This place, Nierstein, lies between Worms and Mayence, and all our troops are quartered about here. Louis’ staff is at Worms, where he himself is to-day, and was already last night.

He was more hopeful about the prospects for Oberhessen on his return from Berlin, and had been so kindly received by dear Vicky and Fritz.

When Louis wrote his farewell to his cavalry brigade (who are so sorry to lose him), as a remembrance that he and they had stood in the field together for their first campaign, he asked these two regiments, officers and men, to stand sponsors to baby, as she was born during that time, and they are delighted, but wish the child to have one of their names! We wait till the troops can come home to christen baby on that account. * * * I don’t think we shall be here very long. Whenever the Prussians leave Darmstadt we can return.

Nierstein, Gelbes Haus, August 21st.

* * * We are here still, and all our troops, and Louis has a great deal to do. To-morrow the armistice is over, and at present we have no news as to its prolongation or the settlement of peace; but it must be one or other. A little private war of Prussia against us would be absurd and impossible, so the troops remain quartered in the little villages about here. The country here is so rich and fertile, the villages so clean, with such good houses; but the people are blessed with children to an extraordinary extent! It is the most richly populated part of all Germany, and there are more people on the square mile than in England.

The change of air—though it is but two hours from Darmstadt—has done me good, and if later, through your great kindness, a little journey should be possible to us, it would be very beneficial to both of us.

This house is quite close to the Rhine, and this instant our pioneers have come by from Worms on their pontoon bridge singing a quartett, about twenty or thirty men. It looks so pretty, and they sing so beautifully. On their marches the soldiers always sing, and they have so many beautiful songs, such as: “Der gute Kamerad.” The Germans are such gemütklich [simple, kindly, sociable] people. The more one lives with them, the more one learns to appreciate them. It is a fine nation. God grant this war, which has produced so many heroes, and cost so many gallant lives, may not have been in vain, and that at length Germany may become a mighty, powerful Power! It will then be the first in the world, where the great ideas and thoughts come from, free from narrow-minded prejudice, and when once the Germans have attained political freedom, they will be lastingly happy and united.

But the present state of things is sad, though one should not despair of some good resulting from it.

My letter is quite confused. I beg a thousand pardons for it, but I have been interrupted so often.

Gelbes Haus, August 29th.

* * * The children arrived well and safe, and in such good looks. It was a great pleasure to see them again; and I tried to make Victoria tell me as much as possible of dear Grandma and uncles and aunts, and when she is not absent-minded she is very communicative. How much we thank you, darling Mama, for having kept them and been so good to them I can’t tell you. This change has been so good for them; for now there are both cholera and small-pox at Darmstadt, which is still full of Prussian soldiers. More have come, and our peace is not yet concluded. I hope it is no bad sign, and that the hopes of losing less will not disappear.

We were only in Darmstadt for the day when the children arrived, and we go there for a few hours to-morrow on business. Louis has a great deal to do, and all the military things are in his hands.

I am not feeling very well. The air here after a few days is relaxing, and I begin to feel more what a strain there has been on my nerves during this time. I have such a pain in my side again. Mountain air Weber wants me to have, and quiet, away from all bothers; but I fear that is impossible now, on account of Louis not being able to leave—and then financially.

I have some Heimweh [home-sickness] after dear England, Balmoral, and all at home, I own, though the joy of being near dear Louis again is so great! But life is meant for work, and not for pleasure, and I learn more and more to be grateful and content with that which the Almighty sends me, and to find the sunshine in spite of the clouds; for when one has one’s beloved, adored husband by one’s side, what is there in the world that is too heavy to bear? My own darling Mama, when I think of darling Papa and of you, and that he is not visible at your side now, I long to clasp you to my heart, in some way to cheer the loneliness which is a poor widow’s lot. Oh, none in the world is harder than that!

Darmstadt, August 31st.

* * * Thank you for telling me how you spent that dear day; it must have been peaceful and solemn, the beautiful country harmonizing well with the thoughts of that great and beautiful soul which ever lives on with us. He remains nearer and nearer to me, and the recollection of many things dear Papa told me is a help and a stay in my actions, particularly of late. The separation seems so short. I can see him and hear him speak so plainly. Alas! my children have never seen him. Through you, darling Mama, and in your rooms, and at your side, they must learn to know him, that they may become worthy of their descent.

Yesterday we saw the children. Victoria is not quite well, but Ella is well, and won’t leave me when I come into the room; she keeps kissing me and putting her fat arms round my neck. There is each time a scene when I go away. She is so affectionate: so is dear Victoria. I send you a photograph of our smallest, who is such a pretty child, and very good.

The peace is not concluded yet; more Prussians have been quartered in and around Darmstadt. The people are very angry at this lasting so long * * * They believe it is Strafeinquartierung [done to punish us]. Nothing is settled as to what we keep or lose, and we know and hear nothing. Waiting here, uncomfortably lodged, the troops impatient to go home, as they have nothing to do, gets very irksome.

Gelbes Haus, September 8th.

* * * At last the peace is concluded, though not yet ratified. The terms are not so bad. We lose the Hinterland and the Domains there, as also the whole of Hesse-Homburg—in all sixty-four thousand souls—pay three millions contribution, besides having kept a large part of the Prussian army six weeks for nothing, which cost the country twenty-five thousand florins daily. For Oberhessen we go into the North-German Bund, and half the army is under Prussian command, which will make a dreadful confusion. Louis would prefer having it for the whole, particularly in anticipation, alas! of a coming war.

The railroads, posts, and telegraphs also become Prussian; and they demand, besides, some fine old pictures, books, and manuscripts, which had once belonged to the Kölner Dom, and were made a present of to this country years ago; and for our Domains no Entschädigung [compensation]. In exchange for Homburg we get some small places—amongst others, Rumpenheim.

When the peace is ratified and the money paid, the Prussians leave the country, which must now be very shortly. Until then Louis must stop here, and as he can only get leave now and then to go to Darmstadt, and that always uncertain, baby’s christening is still impossible, as Louis must be there. She will be called “Irène Louise Marie Anna.”

Gelbes Haus, September 11th.

* * * Tired of constantly putting off and waiting, we settled yesterday to have baby christened to-morrow, as it is Louis’ birthday, and to go for the day to Darmstadt. Though the Prussians are still there, some of the godfathers are coming over; otherwise it will be quite quiet.

* * * How true and sad is what you say, dear Mama, about life and its trials! Alas! that it should be you, dear, loving, kind Mama, who have had to drink so deeply of that cup of bitterness. Those who possess all they love, as I do, can, however, feel all the more keenly, and sympathize more truly with you for what you have lost, though it is a grief we do not know. How I do long always to alleviate this grief for you, dearest Mama; but that is the world’s trial. None can bear the burden for you. One must carry it one’s self; and it wants patience and courage to bear such as yours, dear Mama. I feel for you now more than ever since during that month I feared from day to day my happy life might be brought to a violent close, and anticipated all the misery that might come, but which the Almighty graciously averted.

Darmstadt, September 16th.

* * * That you sent Louis, besides the pretty souvenir, the money for something in the house is really so kind. Our whole dining-room we consider your present, and it is furnished as like an English one as possible.

The name Irene,[64] through other associations, is one my parents-in-law and we like; it stands, besides, as a sort of recollection of the peace so longed for, and which I so gladly welcomed. It will always reminds us of the time, and of how much we have to be grateful for.

Darmstadt, September 24th.

* * * We are settled here again; our troops have returned and Uncle Louis likewise. The former were received most warmly by the inhabitants and showered with nosegays—Louis also, who rode at their head. We saw them all in front of the Schloss, and it was sad to see the thinned ranks and to miss the absent faces we knew so well. On the 13th and 14th of July, at Frohnhofen, Laufach, and Aschaffenburg, out of 8,000 we lost 800 men and 11 officers, and of the officers just those who were very intimate with the Prussians, and who wished Germany to be united under Prussia.

This afternoon we are going to see after the poor wounded, some of whom are still very ill with such horrible wounds. So much suffering and pain and grief to those poor people, who are innocent in this unhappy war!

If only now the other sovereigns will forget their antipathies and the wrongs they have suffered from Prussia, and think of the real welfare of their people and the universal fatherland, and make those sacrifices which will be necessary to prevent the recurrence of these misfortunes!

The poor Homburgers marched by with our troops, and their tears and ours fell as we saw them (who had fought so bravely under Uncle Louis) for the last time before they become Prussians, and return to their homes as such.

My parents-in-law are gone to Switzerland. Henry is become Colonel of the 2d Guard of Uhlans at Berlin.

October 1st.

* * * I can but write a few lines, as we are going with the children to Uncle Alexander to Jugenheim for a few days. The change of air is wanted for Ella, who is still pale; and Irene has never had any change yet, and is also rather pale.

We were at Frohnhofen and Laufach a few days ago to see where the unfortunate engagement was, and visited the graves of our soldiers. In the middle of a field there is a mound, below which some eighty men and some officers lie, and so on. It makes a very sad impression, for as our troops retreated, and they were buried by the people, none know which of the common soldiers or even which of the officers lie in the different places. We found some balls, and things the soldiers had thrown off during the fight. In one grave in the churchyard, the wounded who died afterward are buried. I asked who lay there, and the gravedigger answered “Ein Preuss’ und ein Hess’ liegen dort beisammen” [“A Prussian and a Hessian lie there together”], united in death, and fallen by each other’s hand, perhaps. Some of the officers who accompanied us, and had not been there since the engagement, were much overcome on seeing the graves of their comrades. I put wreaths and flowers on them, and ordered crosses where we knew who lay there.

The wounded here are recovering, and I go often to see after them.

As you say, this large Prussia is by no means an united Germany; but, nevertheless, I think the duty of the other German sovereigns, in spite of all, is to unite with Prussia and place themselves under her, so as to make her unite with Germany. Otherwise, the next opportunity, they will be annexed.

Heiligenburg, Jugenheim, October 7th.

* * * We return to town to-day, leaving the children for another week, as the air on the hill is so delicious. Louis has so much to do that he can’t remain away longer, though he went at half-past seven every morning to his office, returning for luncheon.

Darmstadt, October 22d.

On Thursday we are going to Waldleiningen for a fortnight and take Victoria with us. The two little girls knew your photograph at once, and began, of course, to talk of you and of England.

Waldleiningen, October 31st.

* * * It is quite beautiful here. We found dear Ernest, Marie and children well; the former so kind and dear, as they always are. Victoria and Alberta get on tolerably together. The little boy is splendid, so strong and fat.

The Castle is so fine and lies just in the midst of mountains and woods, and there are walks without end—many of them reminding me so much of Scotland.

The Nichels came to see us, and Marie and I played with Nichel[65]; it reminded me so much of the good old times to see him.

Ella’s birthday is to be kept when we return. She is too small to know the difference of the day. I thank you beforehand for the locket for her with dear Papa’s picture. The children always speak of their two Grandpapas—dear Grandpapa in Heaven, and dear Grandpapa in Darmstadt. Victoria, hearing Papa so often mentioned, and seeing his pictures about everywhere, asks no end of questions about him.

Darmstadt, November 14th.

I am better, thank you, but I am so weak without the least reason, and dreadfully chilly. Still, I go out regularly in all weathers and take exercise, but of an evening I am quite knocked up.

We always breakfast at half past eight, as Louis gets up early and prefers it; so that I lead a very healthy life, and in spite of that am not well. A change quite into another climate, for a few months was what I really required; but it was impossible. On that account, dear Mama, I shall hope to have a full three months in England when we come, and perhaps part of the time with Bertie, if he can have us. I went through a great deal this summer during my confinement. The excitement and the will to keep well kept me so at the time, but I feel it now, alas! and show it, too, for I am getting so thin again.

Darmstadt, November 21st.

Dear Vicky’s birthday. She will think how happily she passed it at Windsor last year, and, though she has another child, it cannot replace to her what the other one was.

How glad I am to hear you praise dear Alix! She is so good, tactvoll [full of tact] and true. I love her very much.

I had the pleasure of seeing dear Countess Blücher for a few hours here last Sunday. She came during a dreadful snowstorm. The young King of Bavaria is coming here for the day to-morrow. * * *

The large pictures from Homburg—George III., Queen Charlotte, George IV., William IV., and the Duke of York en pied—Uncle Louis has given us, and now that I have given these good people, whom I don’t like, the best places in our rooms, I should so much like you and dear Papa, which you promised me some years ago from the last Winterhalters, or from those in the garter dress.

I look forward so much to seeing dear Bertie here, if only for a few hours. I suppose Monday or Sunday, if he travels day and night, as he leaves on Friday; it is a very long and cold journey.

November 22d.

A thousand thanks for the precious book,[66] and for your dear lines. The former I have nearly finished. I got it yesterday morning, and you can well imagine that every spare moment was devoted to its study.

I think it very well done, and I am only sorry that General Grey cannot continue it, as the other persons, I believe, did not know dear Papa. The longer I live, the more I see and know of the world, the deeper my tender admiration grows for such a father. It makes me feel myself so small, so imperfect, when I think that I am his child, and am still so unworthy of being it. How many people here who like to hear of dear Papa, ask me about him, and you can understand with what pride and love I talk of him, and tell them things which make them all share our sorrow at not having him here any more! But if ever a life has outlived a man, dear Papa’s has done so. In my thoughts and aims he ever remains the centre and the guiding star. Dear beloved Papa, he never half knew, how much, even when a foolish child, I loved and adored him. His great life will be a model for many and many for generations to come, and his great thoughts and aims can leave none idle who knew them.

You kindly ask how I am. Better, thank you, since I have begun some bark—quinine I can’t take, or else I should have been well sooner.

Victoria I am teaching to read—in playing with cards with different letters on them.

November 30th.

To-day it is six whole years since we were engaged to each other in the Red Drawing-room at Windsor, when we in dear Papa’s little room afterward received your and dear Papa’s sanction to it. And the following year—how sad that already was, for darling Papa was beginning to be unwell. How constantly do I think of you, beloved Mama, during that fortnight of anxiety and sorrow! God mercifully spare you to us, though for yourself it was the commencement of the sad and lonely existence you lead without dear Papa.

I am sure it is good for little Henry[67] to be this winter with you in England: the Berlin climate is very unwholesome. Health is such a blessing. If one has children, the first wish is they should be healthy, for ill health influences all, and nothing more than temper.

We intend, if possible, going for a day or two to Carlsruhe. Poor Louise and Fritz went through so much that is painful this summer. * * *

I read an immense deal now of serious, and what some call dry, books; but it is a great resource to me, and the thought of standing still, if one does not study, urges me on. The long winter evenings we always spend together, and twice in the week receive in the evening, when I play on the piano duets with such as play on the violin, and pass the evenings very pleasantly.

Carlsruhe, December 6th.

Thousand thanks for your dear letter! I congratulate you on all having gone off so well at Wolverhampton,[68] and am very grateful for the account. Dear Bertie’s visit is over, and it has been a very great pleasure to us to have seen him again, and to have him under our own roof—where we at length had an opportunity, in a small way, to return his hospitality and constant kindness to us. God bless him, dear brother! he is the one who has from my childhood been so dear to me.

We have come here, and I think it has pleased good Fritz. Louis seems very well. I saw Lady Fanny Baillie yesterday, looking dear and pretty as ever. It is a pleasure to look at her sweet face.

Carlsruhe, December 11th.

As every year during these days my thoughts are with you, and as each year brings round again the anniversary of that dreadful misfortune, it seems more and more impossible that five years should already have elapsed, since he whom we all loved so tenderly was taken from our sight. How I thank the Almighty again and again, as this season returns, that He spared you to us, when at such a moment, we trembled for your precious life, fearing that two so united in life even in death could not be parted. What should we poor children, what would the country have done, had that second misfortune come over us! Yet it seemed selfish and unkind to wish for your loving wife’s heart the solitary widow’s existence. How bravely and nobly you have borne it!

We leave this to-morrow morning, and have spent pleasant days here. There was much to talk about together, and Fritz is so excellent and so wise, that I am always glad to hear him. Dear Louise is well and in good looks, and most kind.

Now I must end beloved Mama. God bless you and comfort you, and in these days let sometimes the thought of your absent child, who was at your side during that dreadful time, mingle with the recollection of the past!

Darmstadt, December 14th.

Beloved, precious Mama:—On awaking this morning, my first thoughts were of you and of dear, darling Papa! Oh, how it reopens the wounds scarcely healed, when this day of pain and anguish returns! This season of the year the leafless trees, the cold light, every thing reminds me of that time!

Thousand thanks for your dear letter received yesterday. Well, only too well, do I remember every hour, almost every minute, of those days, and I have such an inexpressible longing to throw my arms round your neck, and to let my tears flow with yours, while kneeling at that beautiful grave.

The tender love and the deep sorrow caused by His loss remain ever with me, and will accompany me through life. At the age I then was, with its sensitive feelings, it made an impression which, I think, nothing can efface—above all, the witnessing your grief. Happily married as I am, and with such a good, excellent, and loving husband, how far more can I understand now the depth of that grief which tore your lives asunder! I played our dear Papa’s organ under his beloved picture this morning, and my heart and my thoughts were in dear England with you all.

We found our children well on our return, and Irène prospers perfectly on her donkey’s milk.

My mother-in-law is so much pleased with the book,[69] and it has interested her very much. She came to see me early this morning on account of its being the 14th. She is always so kind and full of attentions.

Darmstadt, December 17th.

How dear of you to have written to me on the 14th; thousand thanks for your letter! How much I thought of all on that day you can imagine; also what good it did me to know that you still thought of me so kindly with those recollections. I am so sorry to hear that you are so suffering. I hope Osborne will do you good, and that rest and quiet will refresh you.

Darmstadt, December 21st.

* * * I hope by this time that you are quite recovered, though this mild damp weather is not made to give one strength. I feel it so much also, and am really only kept alive by steel, for off and on I am so weak that I nearly faint if I have to stand any time, and this is so unpleasant.

* * * I am trying to found what is no small undertaking: a “Frauen-Verein” to be spread all over the land in different committees, the central one being here under my direction, for the purpose of assisting the International Convention for nursing and supporting the troops in time of war, which was founded at Geneva, and to which this country also belongs. The duty in time of peace will be to have nurses brought up and educated for the task, who can then assist in other hospitals or amongst the poor, or to nurse the rich, wherever they may be required in time of war. This committee of women has to collect all the necessary things for the wounded and for the marching troops, has to see to their being sent to right places, etc.

All these things were done by private people in this war, and, though quantities of things were sent, the whole plan was not organized, so that there was want and surplus at the same time.

In time of peace these things should be organized, so that, when war comes, people know where to send their things to, and that no volunteer nurses go out who have not first learnt their business.

The same thing exists in Baden, in Bavaria, and in Prussia, and here it is much wanted. But all these undertakings are difficult, particularly in the choice of persons to assist one. Still I hope I shall be able to do it. My mother-in-law helps me, and I hope before long to be able to begin.

The Elector is coming here on a visit to-day, and Uncle Alexander returned from Petersburg last night.

Darmstadt, December 25th.

* * * I have a dreadful cold, and am not very well besides, so I can but scribble a few lines. To-day we go to the Bescheerung [distribution of Christmas gifts] to the wounded in three hospitals. Of course it will be very hot.

Henry is here for a few days. He looks so handsome in his new uniform with his dark beard. He has grown so good-looking these last few years, and he is so excellent. I am very fond of him. He is likewise so much gayer than formerly.

The good eatables you sent will be given to-night, when Louis’ parents and brothers come to us for dinner.

The children have a party for their tree.

Darmstadt, December 30th.

* * * May the Almighty give you every blessing of peace and comfort which the world can still give you, till you gain that greater blessing and reward above all others, which is reserved for such as my own sweet mother! May every blessing fall on my old dear home, with all its dear ones! May peace, and the glory which peace and order bring with it, with its many blessings, protect my native land; and may, in the new year, your wise and glorious reign, so overshadowed by dear Papa’s spirit, continue to prosper and be a model and an ornament to the world!

This year of pain and anxiety, and yet for us so rich in blessings, draws to a close. It moves me more than ever as its last day approaches. For how much have we not to thank the Almighty—for my life, which is so unworthy compared to many others, the new life of this little one, and above all the preservation of my own dear husband, who is my all in this life.

The trials of this year must have brought some good with all the evil: good to the individual and good to the multitude. God grant that we may all profit by what we have learnt, and gain more and more that trust in God’s justice and love, which is our guide and support in trouble and in joy! Oh, more than ever have I felt in this year, that God’s goodness and love are indeed beyond comprehension!

* * * I am really glad to hear that you can listen to a little music. Music is such a heavenly thing, and dear Papa loved it so much, that I can’t but think that now it must be soothing, and bring you near to him. * * *

Gotha, January 15th.

* * * It is a great happiness to be with dear Vicky and Fritz, and the future—that which is to be feared, that which must inevitably come—is of course our constant talk. Whatever comes, our position, and that of other small sovereigns, must undergo a change, which for the older ones will be very hard, and which they will ever feel. Even dear Louis, who is so sensible and reasonable, says he has been brought up with particular rights, which for centuries have been ours, and he feels sore that he is never to inherit them.

Dear aunt seems very well, and is ever like a second mother to us, so loving and kind; also dear uncle. Papa’s and your children are dear to him almost as though they were his own; and he lives to see us with our families and in our homes, whereas darling Papa does not. Yesterday the Braut von Messina was given—that beautiful piece which Papa was so fond of. I thought so much of you.

On Thursday Vicky and Fritz go to Berlin. We remain here until Sunday afternoon, as on Sunday is the Ordensfest; and as many will be decorated who fought against us, Louis thought it better to arrive after the ceremony. Hermann is here still. He has been to see Feo,[70] who has been very ill. Fritz William [the Crown Prince] saw Ada and Fritz Holstein at Carlsruhe, and Fritz and Anna of Hesse—all four turned out of their countries. * * *

I am delighted to hear of dear Arthur having passed so good an examination. How proud you must be of him! And the good Major,[71] who has spared no pains, I know—how pleased he must be! Arthur has a uniform now, I suppose.

Berlin, January 26th.

* * * We remain here a little longer, probably until the following Saturday, as the King, owing to his cold, could not see us often, and begged us to remain longer.

I saw Amalie Lauchert[72] here two days ago, looking so well, and charming as ever.

Little Vicky is such a darling, very like her poor little brother—so merry, so good, one never hears her cry—and it is really a comfort to Vicky to have that dear little thing. Poor Vicky is very sad and low at times.

After intense cold it is quite warm, like spring, which is very unwholesome and tiring.

Darmstadt, February 16th.

* * * I think I can understand what you must feel. I know well what those first three years were—what fearful suffering, tearing and uprooting those feelings which had been centred in beloved Papa’s existence! It is indeed, as you say “in mercy,” that after the long storm a lull and calm ensues, though the violent pain, which is but the reverse side of the violent love, seems only to die out with it, and that is likewise bitter. Yet, beloved Mama, could it be otherwise? There would be no justice or mercy, were the first stage of sorrow to be the perpetual one; and God grant, that time may still soothe and alleviate that which it cannot change! I can only imagine what the loss must be, if I measure it by the possession of that one adored being, who is the centre and essence of my existence.

Darmstadt, February 28th.

* * * Yesterday we had a very interesting lecture in our house about Art in Venice, by a young Swede [Herr von Molin], who has been studying three years in Italy. We had the room full of people, artists, and professors, who liked to listen.

* * * All the natural cleverness and sharpness in the world won’t serve nowadays, unless one has learnt something. I feel this so much; and just in our position it is more and more required and expected, particularly in a small place, where so much depends on the personal knowledge and exertions of the Princes.

Darmstadt, March 8th.

* * * The knowledge of dear sweet Alix’s state makes me too sad. It is hard for them both, and the nursing must be very fatiguing for Mrs. Clarke. I am so distressed about darling Alix that I really have no peace. It may, and probably will, last long, which is so dreadful.[73]

March 28th.

* * * We mean to have some children on the 5th, so that Victoria can have a party.

My father-in-law is better again, I am happy to say. The warm weather did him good at once.

Darmstadt, April 1st.

* * * I could not write the other day, as I had a good deal to do with two committees for charities, which had to be got into order, and which took up a great deal of my time.

Cold, hail, snow, and rain, have returned; and Irène has got a cold, which most people here have. The weather is so unpleasant.

We shall stop here in town until we go to England, as we have nowhere to go to before. It is a pity for the children to have no country air, and they miss the flowers in their walks. I can’t praise Orchard[74] enough. Such order she keeps, and is so industrious and tidy, besides understanding so much about the management of the children’s health and characters.

Darmstadt, April 5th.

Thousand thanks for your dear letter, and for the kind wishes for Victoria’s birthday! I pray she may be a worthy granddaughter and goddaughter of my darling Mamma! I shall never forget that day—your kindness to us, and the tender nurse you were. * * *

Victoria means to dictate a letter to you; she is so much pleased with her presents. Irène has not a tooth yet, and is not very fat, poor little thing! but she is fresh and rosy, and, I think, strong.

This last week the excitement here has been dreadful, as all anticipated a war with France on account of Luxembourg. I fear sooner or later it will come. May the Almighty avert such a calamity!

The Moriers were quite in ecstasies about your handsome present. The christening[75] went off very well.

April 8th.

* * * We have just returned from church, and to-morrow morning we all take the Sacrament at nine o’clock in the Schlosskirche. Professor Jowett is here on a visit to the Moriers, and is going to read the service on Sunday. I have not had an opportunity to attend our English service since we were at Windsor, excepting one Sunday at Berlin with Vicky and Fritz.

People think now, the evil of war is put off for a few weeks, but that is all. Henry is here for Easter, and says the same from all he heard at Berlin.

April 21st.

* * * How I wish you may be right in not believing in war. I always fear it is not Luxembourg, but the intense jealousy of the French nation, that they should not be the first on the Continent, and that Germany is becoming independent and powerful against their will. Then, again, the Germans feel their new position, and assert their rights with more force because unanimous, and neither nation will choose to give in to the other.

The war would be totally useless, and sow no end of dissension and hatred between the two neighbor countries, who, for their own good as for that of mankind, ought to live in peace and harmony with each other.

We seem drifting back to the Middle Ages, as each question is pushed to the point of the sword. It is most sad. How dear Papa would have disapproved of much that has happened since 1862!

Is the Catalogue which Mr. Ruland sent some time ago to Mr. Woodward for dear Papa’s Raphael Collection in print now?[76] So many people know of its coming out, and are anxious to see it, as, indeed, I am likewise, for it is the only complete collection in the world, and the world of art is anxious to know all about it. Will you, perhaps, let me know through Mr. Sahl,[77] as I believe it is already a good while since you approved of its being published, and gave the orders for its being printed?

May 2d.

As yet none dare to be sure of the peace, but all live again since there are more chances for its being maintained. But, then, I trust it will be a permanent peace, not merely a putting off till next year!

The French press was so very warlike, and it always talks of the French honor not being able to allow such a mighty empire as the German is becoming to gain the upper hand; and then rectification of her frontiers, always wishing for the Rhine.

Poor little Anna of Mecklenburg is here; it seemed so sad to see the dear little child come alone to inhabit the rooms its Mama had never returned to. She looks delicate, very fair, but with dark, thick eyebrows and eyelashes; rather shy and silent for she has no little children to play with in her home. My two led her about at once, and tried to amuse her. Ella, who is five months older, is a head taller and twice as broad. I am so afraid they will be too rough with her, for dear, fat Ella is very strong, and by no means gentle.

Annchen has an old nervous nurse, who is too frightened about her. It is a great responsibility, where there is no mother. It looks so sad!

May 13th.

I must tell you something in confidence of what has taken place here with regard to Louis. * * * Since Louis took the command last August, and since the Convention with Prussia has been settled, Louis has been opposed by Uncle Louis and the Kriegsministerium [War Department], in doing all the things which he thought absolutely necessary, and which toward Prussia the Grand Duke had promised to do, so as to get the troops into the necessary order and organization. Here the Government is, Louis has reason to fear, once more playing a false game toward Prussia, and all his true friends and a small party of the clever-thinking people have encouraged him in the idea that to serve his country, he may and must not be implicated in the present sad and desperate state of affairs.

It has cost him a great struggle to make up his mind to ask Uncle Louis to accept his resignation, which he has been obliged to demand, as he felt that under present circumstances he could not fulfil what was desired of him.

Uncle Louis may refuse to let him go; then he intends to ask for leave until the 1st of October, the date when the Convention must be carried out, when he hopes and trusts the King will send a Prussian general to put all in order.

Uncle Louis and his Umgebung [the people about him] will all be against my Louis, as they think it a shame and injustice to give up any of their rights, and that it is unpardonable of Louis to act up to what he has always said. He is so good a nephew, that all this will be dreadfully painful to him; but he is quite convinced that his duty to his country and his future demands this step of him. He is obliged to go away from here, as he does not think it right for him to be always in opposition to Uncle Louis, and as he cannot gain by it what the country and the troops require. On account of all these reasons he considers it right to leave.

He wished me to write all this to you, as he knows you will understand and not disapprove the confidence he bestows on one, on whose opinion he quite relies. He looks forward so much to coming to England, as he is worried and harassed by all that has happened. In all this he has again shown, as of old, that he always places himself and his wishes and feelings in the background, and that to serve others and to do his duty are the sole aims of his existence. He will, as soon as he has received an answer from the Grand Duke, telegraph to you to settle our plans. The children are overjoyed at the prospect of seeing their dear Grandmama again.

I am not up to very much, I don’t always feel quite strong; but the change will do me good, I am sure.

May 16th.

The Grand Duke has not as yet consented to Louis’ resignation. Louis has made conditions, under which it will be possible for him to remain, if Uncle L. consents. The first condition is to have a Prussian officer at his side. The Grand Duke declared he would sooner lose his country than give his consent to that. Louis has now officially written his letter of requirements, and sent it. But, whatever happens, he will be able to get a short leave, he thinks, by the beginning of June.

May 19th.

The military affair is at length settled. Uncle Louis has given in to the points Louis demanded, and he retains his command. All are astonished at Louis’ unlooked-for success in this affair, and as Uncle L. would not have a Prussian General, and had no one here to take in Louis’ stead, who could do the things well, he had to agree and to allow what Louis was justified in asking. Louis’ firmness and decision have done great good, and all are thankful to him for it, though others, who ought to do as he has done, have never shown the courage.

Louis is laid up with the most awful nettle-rash all over face and body, and is so unwell with it. He has had it now three days. Altogether since the winter, or rather since the war, he has had so much cause for vexation, that he has been constantly unwell; and each time he is much worried he has an attack of illness.

May 29th.

* * * I presided at my committee of seven ladies and four gentlemen a long while yesterday, and to-morrow I have my other one, which is more numerous. It is an easy task, but I hope we shall have good results from our endeavors.

Paris, June 9th.

I really am half killed from sight-seeing and fêtes, but all has interested me so much, and the Emperor and Empress [of the French] have been most kind. Yesterday was the ball at the Hôtel de Ville, quite the same as it had been for you and dear Papa, and there were more than 8,000 people there. It was the finest sight I have ever seen, and it interested me all the more, as I knew it was the same as in the year when you were at Paris.

Every morning we went to the Exhibition, and every evening there was a dinner or ball. It was most fatiguing. To-morrow morning we leave, and had really great trouble to get away, for the Emperor and Empress and others begged us so much to remain for the ball at the Tuileries to-morrow night; but we really could not, on account of Wednesday’s concert,[78] as we should barely arrive in time.

The attentat on the Emperor of Russia was dreadful, and we were close by at the time. The Empress can’t get over it, and she does not leave Uncle Sache’s[79] side for an instant now, and takes him everywhere in her carriage.

To-day we are going with the whole Court to Versailles. Dear Vicky is gone. She was so low the last days, and dislikes going to parties so much just now, that she was longing to get home. The King [of Prussia] wished them both to stop, but only Fritz remained. How sad these days will be for her, poor love! She was in such good looks; every one here is charmed with her.

Darmstadt, August 4th.

We arrived here at midnight on Friday and I was so knocked up * * * that I was incapable of doing any thing yesterday.

* * * My poor Willem[80] was buried yesterday. Every one regrets the poor child, for he was very dear. I miss him so much here, for he did every thing for me, and liked being about me and the children. All our servants went to the burial. It quite upset me here not to find him, for I was really attached to him, and he learnt so well, and was in many ways so nice, though of course troublesome too at times. How short life is, and the instant one is gone, he is so wiped away for others, and one knows so absolutely nothing about the person any more! Were it not for a strong faith in a future, it would indeed be cruel to bear. No one of the family is here. We leave to-morrow for Zürich, where we shall be at ten at night; the next day to Chur, and the next day to St. Moritz.

St. Moritz, August 1st.

With perfect weather we accomplished our journey perfectly, and were enchanted with the beautiful scenery from Zürich here, not to speak of this place.

The first day—5th—we left Darmstadt at 11 A.M., and did not reach Zürich till eleven at night. We got two little rooms in the Hôtel Baur, but the whole place was full. The next morning after breakfast we went to look at the lovely lake, which is green and quite transparent. It was a beautiful warm morning. We left by rail at ten, partly along the lake of Zürich and then along the Wallenstädter See, which is long and narrow, with high perpendicular mountains down to the water—very wild and picturesque. This lake likewise is of that marvellous green color. We reached Chur at three that afternoon—a pretty small town, situated close up against a mountain. We visited a beautiful old church there, which contains fine old pictures and relics; it was built in the time of the Romans, and is still the chief church of the bishopric.

The next morning we two, with Sarah, Logoz and our footman, left at six o’clock in a diligence (we both sitting in the coupé in front) with four horses, for here the road is the grandest one can imagine, perpetually ascending for two hours, and then descending again, always along precipices, and the horses at a quick trot turning sharp round the corners—which, I assure you is a trial to the best nerves. We drove over the Julier Pass, which was a road already used by the Romans, and which is almost the highest in Switzerland. One passes close to the top of the mountains, which have snow on them, and are wild and rugged like the top of Lochnagar. Lower down, the mountains are covered with bright green grass and fir trees, but rocks look out everywhere, and there are constantly lovely water-falls.

After crossing the Pass, we drove down—very steep, of course nothing on the edge of the road, always zigzag, and at a sharp trot—for some distance down to Silva Plana, where the view over the valley and lakes of the Engadine, where St. Moritz lies, is beyond description beautiful.

We reach this in the evening at six o’clock, the weather being most beautiful. The Curhaus is below the town, and looks like a large asylum. It is overfilled with people. We have two rooms, but our people as yet, none, though they hope for some to-morrow.

I saw Dr. Berry, a little Swiss man, and he recommended me to take the baths twice a week, besides drinking the waters; which I have begun this morning at seven o’clock, the usual hour, as one has to walk up and down a quarter of an hour between the glasses. The bath I took at ten. It is tepid and also iron water, which bubbles like soda water, and makes one feel as if insects were crawling over one.

Lina Aumale is here, the Parises and Nemours. Fritz and Louise [of Baden] leave to-morrow. This afternoon we drove with them, in two funny little “Wageli” with one horse, to Samaden, where Louise went into the hotel to see Mme. d’Usedom, who was lately upset with her carriage off the road, as there is no barrier, and hurt herself severely. We saw her brother likewise.

I have sent you a nosegay of Edelweiss and other Alp flowers. I hope it won’t arrive quite dead. You must fancy them alive, and, if they could speak, they would tell you how much I love you, and how constantly I think of you, and of my dear, dear home!

St. Moritz, August 11th.

* * * All the Orleans’ left this place suddenly yesterday, as there are three cases of scarlatina in the house. We consulted the doctor immediately, whether he thought it safe for Louis to remain, he never having had it, and he said, “Perfectly, as we are at the other end of the house, and out nearly all day.”

Victor and Lolo [Count and Countess Gleichen] are here, and we went out drawing together yesterday; but it is too difficult here. I think constantly how much you would admire this place: it is indeed exquisitely beautiful—much the finest I have ever seen. It is very wild and reminds me in parts of dear Scotland.

You say that our home in England is dull now for those who like to amuse themselves. It is never dull, darling Mama, when one can be with you, for I have indeed never met a more agreeable charming companion. Time always flies by when one is with you. I hope it is not impertinent my saying so.

St. Moritz, August 13th.

* * * I knew you would feel for me at the loss of my poor Willem. Of course one must feel that sort of loss more than that of many a relation, if one knew the latter but little. I said to Louis at the time, that Willem’s death distressed me more than would that of several relations who were not intimate with me. * * *

Yesterday we and the Gleichens went to the Rosegg Glacier, and to get there had to go from Pontresina in little Bergwagen, which are strong miniature Leiterwagen without springs, and we went over a horrid path with quantities of stones, so the shaking was beyond description.

Victor and Lolo go mostly with us and we always dine together.

I take three glasses beginning at seven in the morning, and a bath at eight. One lies in a wooden thing, covered over up to one’s chin with boards, and remains so twenty minutes.

We lunch at twelve and dine at half-past six, and go to bed early. We are out nearly all day long. It is very warm, the sun scorching; my face is quite red-brown, in spite of veils and parasols. I feel already very much better, and Louis says my face is quite fat. I wish we could remain longer than the end of the month, but Louis must be home.

I hope you notice the pains I take with my writing, for you complained of it at Osborne—I fear, justly—and I am trying to improve it again.

St. Moritz, August 16th.

Yesterday we made a beautiful expedition, which it may amuse you to hear of, as in an exaggerated way it reminded me of our nice Scotch ones. The evening before we left with Victor and Lolo (without servants) about eight o’clock for Pontresina. The country looked more beautiful than ever in the brightest moonlight. We found two very small but clean rooms in an hotel outside the village.

The next morning we got up at half-past four, dressed, and breakfasted, then got on four horses with most uncomfortable saddles, with our guide Adam Engler, an amusing man, most active and helpful. We saw the sun rising over the snow-covered mountains, and the valleys gradually coming out clearer.

We were to ascend the Piz Languard, a mountain 1,200 feet high. We rode for two hours by a worse and much steeper road than up the Glassalt, then walked over rocks, sand, and slippery grass, so steep that one could not look up to see where one was going to, quite precipitous on each side, leaving snow and glacier below us. The last bit has a sort of immensely high steps hewn in the rock. After an hour and a half’s hard labor we reached the summit, which is rocky and small—enormous precipices all round. Poor Lolo was giddy for some time, which was very unpleasant. The view from the top is most extensive. The Italian, Swiss, and Tyrolese Alps are all to be seen, but the view was not very clear. We rested and ate something, and drank some Lochnagar whisky. The sun was getting intense. We commenced our descent at eleven o’clock, and had to walk the whole way back, for one can’t ride down. We did not reach Pontresina till nearly four, as we had to rest several times, our limbs ached so, for there is no level ground the whole way, and the stones slip, and it was very hot. I had quite sore feet with blisters all over, so that the last hours were really agonizing. But it is a thing to have done, and the view amply repaid one, though one does not feel tempted to do it a second time. I feel very well, excepting my face, (which is still burning and quite red), and my unfortunate feet.

Poor Christa wrote to me yesterday, and says:—

“I must also tell your Royal Highness that I have received a letter in her own hand from Her Majesty the Queen. I cannot express how deeply this has moved me and filled me with gratitude. God bless the Queen for her rare human love; for surely there is no one, who in such a position as hers, has preserved a heart like hers, so full of kindness and sympathy for others.”[81]

Dear sweet Mama, your kind and sisterly words have been balsam to many a wounded heart, and many are the blessings that have been craved for you from above by hearts filled with thankfulness for your true sympathy.

St. Moritz, August 21st.

* * * Now I will tell you of our expedition. Louis and I, Victor and Lolo, and a guide, with each a small bag, left this early on the morning of the 17th (dear Grandmama’s birthday) in a carriage for Pontresina; from thence, in two of those shaky Bergwagen, over part of the Bernina Pass, past the magnificent Morteratsch Glacier, which we saw perfectly. The guide told us he had been there with Professor Tyndall, and that the latter had observed that the glacier advanced a foot a day in the warm weather, and old people recollect it having been a mile higher up. We soon left the high-road, and all vegetation, save grass, for a bad path into the Val da Fain. The heat was again intense. We lunched and rested, and then took the horses out of the carts for us ladies to ride. The scenery was wild and severe, until we began again to descend, and came down upon the lovely Livigno Valley, which is Italian, and covered with brown châlets. We reached the village of Livigno, with only wooden huts, by six o’clock, and turned into a funny little dark inn, in which we four found one small but clean room for us—most primitive. As the inhabitants speak a sort of Italian, we had the greatest difficulty to make ourselves understood. Victor cooked part of the dinner, and it was quite good.

We all slept—I resting on a bed, the other three on the floor—in this little room, with the small window wide open.

The next morning we left at nine, and drove on no road in such a small carriage—of course, no springs—our husbands at first getting a lift on the horses, without saddles; then on foot up a steep and dangerous ascent. Splendid weather, but too hot. We went over the Pass of the Stretta: a more difficult and rough ground I never crossed in my life, but splendid scenery. We came on a view which was glorious—such enormous snow-covered mountains and glaciers, with the green valleys deep below looking on Italy and the Tyrol.

We reached Bormio by seven, and took up our residence at a bathing-place, quite magnificently situated, very high up—also Italian. The next morning we started early in carriages, and went over the Stelvio Pass. There, nearly at the risk of my neck, I picked for the first time some Edelweiss, which I am very proud of, as it is always difficult and rare to get.

We got down to St. Maria, which is at the upper end of the Münsterthal and belongs to Switzerland. In the afternoon, dreadfully hot, I was very thirsty and drank off a glass of milk; but how it tasted! It was goat’s milk; the people keep the cow’s milk for butter and cheese. We remained the night there, and left the next morning for here, by Zernetz and Ofen. To get from one valley into another, one has always to ascend and descend enormous heights, and always by narrow paths at the edge of precipices. We enjoyed our tour immensely, and got on perfectly without servants. Packing up my things, though, every morning was a great trouble, and the bag would usually not shut at first. The trees growing here are splendid larches and arven[82]; the latter grow only in these very high regions and in Siberia. Victor and his wife are most amiable and pleasant travelling-companions, and pleased with every thing; not minding to rough it, which we had to do.

Schloss Mainau, August 30th.

* * * We left St. Moritz at seven, and reached Chur at seven in the evening. The next day we came on here to Louise of Baden. Fritz is at Carlsruhe. This place is very lovely, though, alas! the fine mountains are gone, which one always misses so much.

I thought of you more than I can say on the dear 26th, and I felt low and sad all day. Dear Papa! Time has not yet accustomed us to see each anniversary come round again, and he still remain away. It is so inexpressibly hard for you, and you must feel such intense longing for the dear past. There remains a future! that is the only consolation.

To-day we went with Louise by carriage, and then across part of the lake to the property of the Emperor Napoleon, Arenenberg, which the Empress gave him eight years ago, and which was his home with his mother, and where she died. Every picture and bit of furniture is replaced as it was when the Emperor lived there, and he was there himself and replaced every thing. It is quite a page in history to see all the things that surrounded the Emperor in the days of his misfortune.

Darmstadt, September 8th.

* * * I spent three days and two nights with dear Alix at Wiesbaden, and I find her leg decidedly better. * * * It is a little less hot to-day, but much hotter even now than we ever have in England. Stallmeister Meyer[83] came to see us yesterday, and we took him out riding, which made him quite happy. Any one who reminds me of the good old times before the 14th of December does me good; it is a pleasure to speak about those past, so happy days! When they came to a close, I lost the greater part of my joyousness, which, though I am so happy, has never returned. A certain melancholy and sadness sometimes overcome me, which I can’t shake off; then I have Heimweh after adored Papa to such an extent that tears are my only relief.

Darmstadt, September 20th.

* * * The King of Prussia’s visit went off very well here, and both high personages seemed pleased to have got over the meeting. The King came most kindly to see us, and went over all our rooms, which seemed to amuse him. * * * Yesterday evening Sache and Minnie[84] arrived, and we intend going over to see them all to-morrow.

Louis will retain the command, but, according to the King’s advice, has demanded a Prussian General Stabschef [Chief of the Staff], which will be a great assistance to him.

At the sale of the Homburg things I bought a lovely miniature of dear Grandmama in a black velvet gown, with a red shawl over her shoulder—shortly after her marriage, I think.

Darmstadt, October 3d.

Yesterday evening I returned from Wiesbaden, leaving Alix well, but having caught a bad cold myself. The children have equally heavy ones.

Darmstadt, October 8th.

Many thanks for your letter just received, and for the review of dear Papa’s Life, which is excellent, and which I sent on to Aunt Feodore, as you desired. I have been laid up for a week with influenza, and am only about again since yesterday, though not out of the house. I am quite weak from it. The whole house is laid up with bad colds, and baby can’t shake her’s off at all. The cough is so tiring, and she whoops whenever she coughs. Poor Jäger, who is, alas! we fear, consumptive, broke a blood-vessel two days ago, and is dangerously ill, to the great grief of all in the house. He is our best servant, and so devoted; he never would take care of himself, as he could not bear letting any one but himself attend on Louis. We have just got a Diakonissin [Deaconness] to nurse him; on account of his great weakness he can’t be left alone one instant.

Sir William, Lady, and Charlotte Knollys have been on a visit to us; also Lady Geraldine Somerset for two nights. They are all interested to see our house.

Uncle George has made me a present of one of the horses the Sultan sent him.

Darmstadt, October 10th.

I can’t find words to say how sorry I am that dear sweet Arthur should have the small-pox! and that you should have this great anxiety and worry. God grant that the dear boy may get well over it, and that his dear handsome face be not marked! Where in the world could he have caught it? The Major kindly telegraphs daily, and you can fancy, far away, how anxious one is. I shall be very anxious to get a letter with accounts, for I think constantly of him, and of you. My parents-in-law wish me to tell you how they share your anxiety, and how they wish soon to hear of dear Arthur’s convalescence; of course my Louis likewise, for he shares all my feelings, being a real brother towards my Geschwister [brothers and sisters].

We both paid the King of Prussia our respects at Frankfort this morning, principally to tell him that Bertie had been so grieved at the ill success of his intended visit, as the Queen begged us to do.

I am better to-day, but Ella and Irène can’t shake off their colds, and poor Ella is altogether unwell. Victoria is all right.

We are going on the 18th to Baden for Fritz’s birthday.

Darmstadt, October 14th.

How glad I am to see by your letter that darling Arthur is going on so very well. One can’t be too thankful; and it is a good thing over, and will spare one’s being anxious about him on other occasions.

Bertie and Alix have been here since Saturday afternoon, and leave to-morrow. They go straight to Antwerp, and Bertie is going back to Brussels to see the cousins.

The visit of the King went off very well, and Alix was pleased with the kindness and civility of the King. I hear that the meeting was satisfactory to both parties, which I am heartily glad of. Bearing ill-will is always a mistake, besides its not being right.

Dear Alix walked up our staircase with two sticks, of course very slowly, but she is improving wonderfully, though her knee is quite stiff.

Poor Jäger is a little better, and the momentary danger is past, though I fear he cannot ultimately recover. How hard for poor Katrinchen! There is much sorrow in the world, and how often such a share falls to the best and gentlest! I, of course, go to see him daily, but it always goes to my very heart to see that attached and faithful creature dying slowly away. How is Brown’s sister?

We hope that Countess Blücher will return here with Vicky and me from Baden for a few days, as it is an age since Vicky has seen her.

Dear Alix is writing in my room at this moment, and is so dear and sweet. She is a most lovable creature.

Darmstadt, October 23d.

I have had the pleasure of having Augusta and the Dean [Stanley] here since yesterday, but they leave again this morning.

The King of Prussia is here to-day, and there is a large dinner for him in the Schloss, and he is kind enough to come and see me afterward.

The accounts of poor dear Aunt Feodore are so sad, and I hear she does not look well, and is so low about her eyes and being unable to see you again after so long a separation. She seems alone and lonely, with old age and sickness coming over her. If I had been well, I should have gone to see her. I am much better these last days. I can breathe much better, but the dreadfully swelled ankles and wrists remain as bad as before, and cause great discomfort and even pain. I never had this before.

Schweinsberg, October 24th.

Dear Vicky and Fritz left us yesterday morning. It is such a pleasure to me to think that they, like Bertie and Alix, know my house, and that they have lodged under our roof. When will you, darling Mama? If ever again you go abroad and wish to rest on your way, all in the world we have is at your disposal. How happy that would make us!

We ourselves left at four yesterday afternoon, remaining the night at Marburg, and leaving at a quarter to five in the morning, so that Louis could reach Alsfeld in time to join the shooting-party. We parted at Kirchhain, and I came here with Christa to her mother’s house—so sad and changed since three years ago. It is most kind of them to have taken me up here, and the bracing air will do me good. They know that I can understand what a house of mourning is, and that I don’t want to amuse myself.

Ella cried on parting with us yesterday, and wanted to get into the train with us.

Victoria is going to have a little lesson every other day, when I go back, from Mr. Geyer, who taught poor Willem, and who teaches little girls particularly well. She must begin in my room, as it is better not to have lessons in the nursery, I think. Vicky and I spoke much together about education and taking a governess. I thought to wait a year (for financial reasons), and I think it time enough then—do not you?

Darmstadt, October 26th.

* * * We arrived late at Baden, and Vicky and Fritz, who had had two long days’ journey, were very tired; but we had to go to dress at once, to go to a soirée at Madame Viardot’s, which lasted till midnight, and at which the King and Queen were present. Her daughters and scholars sang a little operetta she had composed, which was very pretty.

I hope the inauguration of the statue went off as well as the weather would permit.

November 15th.

* * * It is so good and wholesome not always to be one’s own master, and to have to suit one’s self to the wish of others, and, above all, to that of one’s mother and sovereign. —— feels it as such, and often told me so, regretting how seldom such was the case.

The Moriers are often with us, and we value them much; they are such pleasant companions, and such excellent, clever people.

Darmstadt, December 6th.

* * * The visit to Claremont must have been quite peculiar for you; and I can fancy it bringing back to your mind the recollections of your childhood. In spring it must be a lovely place, and, with gayer papers on the walls, and a little modern comfort, the house must likewise be very pleasant. Ella, who was breakfasting with me just now, saw me dip my Bretzel in my coffee, and said: “Oh, Mama, you must not! Do you allow yourself to do that?” because I don’t allow her to do it. She is too funny, and by no means quite easy to manage—a great contrast to Victoria, who is a very tractable child. Ella has a wonderful talent for sewing, and, when she keeps quiet a little while, sews quite alone and without mistakes. She is making something for you for Christmas, which she is quite excited about. Victoria’s little afternoon lesson answers admirably, and is the happiest time of the day for her. She can read words already.

We have snow and ice, and no sunshine since some time, and it is not inviting to take the dull walks in the town. But I make a rule to go out twice a day, and keep nearly the same hours as at home.

The account of your visit to Lady Palmerston and to her daughter is most touching. It is so inexpressibly sad for grandmother and mother, for it is unnatural for parents to survive their children, and that makes the grief a so peculiar one, and very hard to bear.

December 9th.

* * * During the long winter days, when Louis is away sometimes four times in the week from six in the morning till six in the evening, and then when he returns from his shooting has his work to do, I feel lonely. I am often for several hours consecutively quite by myself; and for my meals and walks only a lady, as she is the only person in the house besides ourselves. It is during these hours, when one cannot always be reading or at work, that I should wish to have some one to go to, or to come to me to sit and speak with; but such is not the case, and it is this I regret—accustomed as I was to a house full of people, with brothers and sisters, and above all, the chance of being near you. I always feel how willingly I would spend some of those hours with or near you—and the sea ever lies between us! When Louis is at home and free—for in the morning I don’t see him—then I have all that this world can give me, for I am indeed never happier than at his dear side; and time only increases our affection, and binds us closer to each other.

We have deep snow now and sledging the last two days.

December 12th.

Before going to rest, I take up my pen to write a few loving words that they may reach you on the morning of the 14th. The sound of that date brings with it that sad and dreary recollection which, for you, my poor dear Mama, and for us, time cannot alter. As long as our lives last, this time of year must fill us with sad and earnest feelings, and revive the pain of that bitter parting.

I ought not to dwell on those hours now, for it is wrong to open those wounds afresh, which God in His mercy finds little ways and means to heal and soothe the pain of.

Dear darling Papa is, and ever will be immortal. The good he has done; the great ideas he has promulgated in the world; the noble and unselfish example he has given, will live on, as I am sure he must ever do, as one of the best, purest, most God-like men that have come down into this world. His example will, and does, stimulate others to higher and purer aims; and I am convinced that darling Papa did not live in vain. His great mission was done; and what has remained undone he has placed in your dear hands, who will know best how to achieve his great works of love and justice. I shall think much, very much, of you on the 14th, and you will be more in my prayers than ever. Think also a little of your most devoted child!

Darmstadt, Christmas Day.

We missed poor Willem so much in arranging all the things; and poor Jäger’s illness was also sad. We gave him a tree in his room. He looks like a shadow, and his voice is quite hoarse.

To two hospitals, the military and the town one, I took presents yesterday, and saw many a scene of suffering and grief. My children are going to give a certain number of poor children a Bescheerung on New Year’s Day. It is so good to teach them early to be generous and kind to the poor. They even wish to give some of their own things, and such as are not broken.

Your many generous presents will find their use at once, and the Christmas pie, etc., be shared by all the family. The remembrances of those bright happy Christmases at Windsor are constantly before me. None will ever be again what those were, without you, dear Papa, and dear kind Grandmama.

Darmstadt, December 27th.

* * * I am sure you will have felt under many a circumstance in life, that if any momentary feeling was upon you, and you were writing to some one near and dear, it did you good to put down those feelings on paper, and that, even in the act of doing so, when the words were barely written, the feeling had begun to die away, and the intercourse had done you good.

Darmstadt, January 24th.

* * * To-night I am going to act with two other persons in our dining-room a pretty little piece called “Am Klavier,” but I fear I shall be very nervous, and consequently act badly, which would be too tiresome.

I have never tried to act in any thing since “Rothkäppchen.”

February 14th.

What a fright the news of dear Leopold’s dangerous attack has given us! Mr. Sahl’s letter to Becker arrived yesterday afternoon containing the bad news, and he spoke of so little hope, that I was so upset and so dreadfully distressed for the dear darling, for you, poor Mama, and for us all, that I am quite unwell still to-day.

When your telegram came to-day, and Louise’s letter, I was so relieved and only pray and hope that the improvement may continue. May God spare that young bright and gifted life, to be a comfort and support to you for many a year to come!

Had I only had a telegram! for, the letter being two days old, until your telegram came I passed six such agonizing hours! Away from home, every news of illness or sorrow there is so difficult to bear—when one can share all the anxiety and trouble only in thought.

The day passes so slowly without news, and I am always looking toward the door to see if a telegram is coming. Please let me hear regularly till he is quite safe; I do love the dear boy, as I do all my brothers and sisters, so tenderly!

How I wish you had been spared this new anxiety! Those two days must have been dreadful!

Darling Mama, how I wish I were with you! God grant that in future you may send us only good news.

Louis and my parents-in-law send their respectful love and the expression of their warmest sympathy, in which the other members of the family join.

February 2d.

How glad and truly thankful I am, that the Almighty has saved our darling Leopold and spared him to you and to us all! For the second or even third time that life has been given again, when all feared that it must leave us! A mother’s heart must feel this so much more than any other one’s, and dear Leopold, through having caused you all his life so much anxiety, must be inexpressibly dear to you, and such an object to watch over and take care of. Indeed from the depth of my heart I thank God with you for having so mercifully spared dear Leo, and watched over him when death seemed so near!

You will feel deeply now the great joy of seeing a convalescence after the great danger, and I know, through a thousand little things, how your loving and considerate heart will find pleasure and consolation in cheering your patient.

That for the future you must ever be so anxious is a dreadful trial, but it is to be hoped that Leo will yet outgrow this strange illness. I am sure good Archie[85] takes great care of him, and by this time he will have gathered plenty of experience to be a good nurse.

Baby is better, but her poor head and face are perfectly covered with spots, and she was in despair with the smarting and itching, and of course rubbed herself quite sore. Ella has it slightly since this morning.

Darmstadt, February 13th.

* * * First let me wish you joy for the birth of this new grandson,[86] born on your dear wedding-day. I thought of you on the morning of the 10th, and meant to telegraph, but those dreadful neuralgic pains came on before I had time to look about me, and really laid me prostrate for the whole day, as they lasted so very long. I have never felt so unwell, or suffered so much in my life, and this moment, sitting up in Louis’ room, I feel more weak than I have ever felt on first getting up after my confinements. Quinine has kept me free from pain to-day, and I hope will do so to-morrow. I have been in bed a week and touched absolutely nothing all the time. Yesterday evening, as throughout the day, I had had (but much more slightly) a return of these agonizing attacks, which seized my left eye, ear, and the whole left side of my head and nose. I got up and sat in Louis’ room; I could only bear it for two hours, and all but fainted before I reached my bed. If I can get strength, and have no return of pain, I hope to go out after to-morrow. I could not see the children or any one during this week, and always had my eyes closed, first from pain, and then from exhaustion when the pain left me. I really thought I should go out of my mind, and you know I can stand a tolerable amount of pain.

February 17th.

* * * I am so distressed that you remained so long without news. I was really for a whole week quite incapable of any idea about any thing, and had mostly my eyes shut, and was constantly alone, as I could not bear any one in the room.

General Plonsky, the Corps Commandant from Cassel, came here unexpectedly, and Louis, being under his command, was so taken up during those days, besides an immense deal of military business, that I never saw him more than a few minutes in the morning; and during his free time in the afternoon he sat, like the best nurse in the world, near my bed in the dark room, putting wet rags on my head and trying by every possible means to alleviate my pains. He was touching in the great care he took of me. Louis and Harriet did all for me, and I could bear no one else about me. You see, poor Louis had no time to write, and he always thought that I should be well the next day and write myself.

Darmstadt, February 24th.

To my and, I fear, dear Vicky’s great disappointment, Dr. Weber won’t let me go to Berlin, and wants me to go to Wiesbaden for a cold-water cure instead. The latter will be intensely dull, as I shall be there for four weeks all alone; but I believe it will be very beneficial, as with every year I seem to get more rheumatic, which at my age is of course not good.

We shall hope to be able to come to Windsor, middle of June, as you desire. The exact time you will kindly let us know later.

Darmstadt, March 9th.

* * * Louis left yesterday morning for Munich. It is a twelve hours’ journey. There is a procession on foot at the funeral, going to the church through the town, which will last about two hours, and then a very long ceremony in the large, cold Basilica.[87]

Darmstadt, March 14th.

I send you a few lines to-day for the 16th, the anniversary of the first great sorrow which broke in upon your happy life. How well do I recollect how I accompanied you and dear Papa down to Frogmore that night, our dinner in the flower room, the dreadful watching in the corridor, and then the so painful end! Darling Papa looked so pale, so deeply distressed, and was so full of tender sympathy for you. He told me to go to you and comfort you, and was so full of love and commiseration as I have never seen any man before or after. Dear, sweet Papa! that in that same year we should live together through such another heart-rending scene again, and he not there to comfort or support you, poor Mama!

It sometimes, even at this distance of time, seems nearly impossible that we should have lived through such times, and yet be alive and resigned.

God’s mercy is indeed great; for He sends a balm to soothe and heal the bruised and faithful heart, and to teach one to accommodate one’s self to one’s sorrow, so as to know how to bear it!

Darmstadt, April 2d.

* * * Louis is in a most unpleasant crisis with the Ministry and the Grand Duke. I don’t know how it will end.

Darmstadt, April 5th.

Only two words to-day, as my heart is so full of love and gratitude to you who took such care of me this day five years ago, who heard Victoria’s first cry, and were such a comfort and help to us both. All these recollections make Victoria doubly dear to us, and, as in this world one never knows what will happen, I hope that you will always watch over our dear child, and let her be as dear to you as though she had been one of us.

We have spent the day very sadly and quietly together. Louis’ affairs have taken such a turn that he has been obliged to tender the Grand Duke his resignation, as he does not consider it compatible with his honor to remain, under existing circumstances. He has made a great sacrifice to his duty and honor, but doing one’s duty brings the reward with it of a clear conscience.

April 3d.

* * * The King of Prussia has sent General von Bonin here to speak seriously with the Grand Duke, and prove to him through papers, etc., that he has not kept his word, and that he has been very badly advised, and that Louis was quite in the right. The result has been that the poor Grand Duke is scandalized at the state of affairs, and that he really seems to have been more in the dark than was supposed. He gives Louis the command again, sends away the whole Kriegsministerium [War Department], to be reorganized more simply, and with other people, according to Louis’ proposals; and so all military affairs will be in order, and Louis have much greater power to carry out all that has to be done.

We are so pleased at all having turned out thus far well, and know that you will share our feelings. Louis gets more work and a great responsibility; but he has proved himself so capable in every respect, so active and hard-working, that I think and trust he will overcome all difficulties.

I go alone to Gotha, and Louis will follow as soon as he can, so as to spend my birthday there.

I am so distressed at dear, good Sir James [Clark’s] illness. I hope and trust that this precious old friend will still be spared for a few years at least.

Gotha, April 25th.

* * * It is now eleven years since I spent my birthday with dear Vicky, and she has been so dear and kind, and dear Aunt and Uncle likewise. We spend the day quite quietly together, and the bad weather prevents any expeditions.

After to-morrow we go home.

Darmstadt, May 4th.

Accept my best thanks for your last letter written on dear Arthur’s birthday. The playing of the band I am sure gave him pleasure; but it would be too painful for all ever to have it again on the terrace as formerly. There are certain tunes which that Marine Band used to play, which, when I have chanced to hear them elsewhere, have quite upset me, so powerful does the recollection of those so very happy birthdays at Osborne remain upon me! Those happy, happy days touch me even to tears when I think of them. What a joyous childhood we had, and how greatly it was enhanced by dear, sweet Papa, and by all your great kindness to us!

I try to copy as much as lies in my power all these things for our children, that they may have an idea, when I speak to them of it, of what a happy home ours was.

I do feel so much for dear Beatrice and the other younger ones, who had so much less of it than we had!

Darmstadt, May 11th.

For your sake I am sorry that my condition should cause you anxiety, for you have enough of that, God knows. But I am so well this time that I hope and trust all may go well, though one is never sure. It is this conviction which I always have, and which makes me serious and thoughtful, as who can know whether with the termination of this time my life may not also terminate?

This is also one of the reasons why I long so very much to see you, my own precious Mama, this summer, for I cling to you with a love and gratitude, the depth of which I know I can never find words or means to express. After a year’s absence I wish so intensely to behold your dear, sweet, loving face again, and to press my lips on your dear hands. The older I grow the more I value and appreciate that mother’s love which is unique in the world; and having, since darling Papa’s death, only you, the love to my parents and to adored Papa’s memory is all centred in you.

Louis has leave from the 11th of June to the 11th of August.

Uncle Ernest is coming here to-day for the day, from Frankfort, where he has been to a cattle-show. Uncle Adalbert is here, so much pleased with having seen you again, singing the praise of both Lenchen and Louise, which of course I joined in, as it is such a pleasure to hear others admire and appreciate my dear sisters.

Darmstadt, May 14th.

I know you will be grieved to hear that we all have had the grief of losing good, excellent Jäger.[88] He was, on the whole, better and was out daily, and he went to bed as usual, when in the middle of the night he called one of the men, and before they could come to his assistance he expired, having broken a blood-vessel. Poor Katrinchen’s despair and grief were quite heart-rending, when we went together to see our true and valued servant for the last time. I was so upset by the whole, that it was some days before I got over it. We made wreaths to put on his coffin, which was covered with flowers sent from all sides, and we both were at the door with our servants when he was carried out, and tried to console the poor, unfortunate Braut [bride], who remained at home.

He was the best servant one could find; never, since he has been in our service, had he been found fault with by any one. He was good, pious, and gentle, and very intelligent. The death of a good man, who has fulfilled his allotted duty in this world as a good Christian ought, touches one deeply, and we have really mourned for him as for a friend, for he was one in the true sense of the word. Jäger rests alongside my poor Willem, in the pretty little cemetery here; a bit of my heart went with them.

Fritz, on his way back from Italy, spent a few hours with us, and told us much of his journey. He heard the strangest rumors of France intending to break out in sudden hostilities with Germany, and asked me what you thought of a probability of a war for this summer. I hope to God, that nothing horrid of that sort will happen! Do you think it likely, dear Mama?

Darmstadt, May 19th.

My own darling and most precious Mama, the warmest and tenderest wishes that grateful children can form for a beloved parent we both form for you, and these lines but weakly express all I would like to say. May God bless and watch over a life so precious and so dear to many! It is now six years since I spent that dear day near you, but I hope that some time or other we shall be allowed to do so. Our joint present is a medal for you with our heads. We had it made large in oxidized silver on purpose for you. I myself have braided and embroidered, with Christa’s help (who begged to be allowed to do something for you), a trimming for a dress, which I hope you will like and wear. It took a deal of my time, and my thoughts were so much with you while I was doing it, that I quite regretted its completion.

We are having a bracelet with our miniatures and the three children’s in it made for you, but unfortunately it is not finished, so we shall bring it and give it to you ourselves.

Darmstadt, May 29th.

* * * The intense heat remains the same, and becomes daily less endurable here in town—the result on my unfortunate person being a very painful rash which itches beyond all description. I hope it won’t increase.

How I envy you at Balmoral! the very thought of that air makes me better.

Osborne, August 6th.

I was just sitting down to write to you when Ernest came in with your dear letter. Thousand thanks for it! These parting lines will be such a clear companion to me on our journey. I can’t tell you how much I felt taking leave of you this time, dear Mama; it always is such a wrench to tear myself away from you and my home again. Where I have so, oh, so much to be thankful and grateful to you for, I always fear that I can never express my thanks as warmly as I feel them, which I do indeed from the bottom of my heart. God bless you, darling Mama, for all your love and kindness; and from the depth of my heart do I pray that nothing may cause you such anxiety and sorrow again as you have had to bear of late. * * *

When I left you at the pier the return to the empty house was so sad! It felt quite strange, and by no means pleasant, to be here without you and all the others. We lunched alone with Victoria, and dined in the hot dining-room with the ladies and gentlemen, sitting on the terrace afterward.

It has rained all the morning, and is most oppressive. As it is so foggy, we have to leave at two; but there is no wind, and I hope the sea will be quite smooth. I am sure you must feel lonely and depressed on this journey, poor Mama; but the change of scene and beautiful nature enjoyed in rest and quiet must surely do you good.

Kranichstein, August 10th.

* * * We left Osborne at two on Thursday in rain and wind. The children and I were dreadfully sick an hour after starting, but the passage got smoother later; and, though I was very wretched in every way, I was not sick again. The same sort of weather on the Alberta next morning, but it cleared up later. The Rhine steamer was very comfortable, and Doctor Minter accompanied us to Dordrecht. The last afternoon and night on board I suffered dreadfully. Since I arrived here, I am better, but not right yet. Had it not been for your great kindness in giving us the ship, I am sure I should not have got home right. This awful heat adds to my feelings of fatigue and discomfort.

Kranichstein, August 11th.

I have just received your letter, from Lucerne, and hasten to thank you for it.

How glad I am that you admire the beautiful scenery, and that I know it, and can share your admiration and enjoyment of it in thought with you! It is most lovely. The splendid forms, and the color of the lake, are two things that we don’t know in dear Scotland, and which are so peculiar to Swiss scenery.

Louis is in town from eight till our two o’clock dinner, and has a great deal to do.

For your sake as for my own I long for a respite from this unbearable heat, which is so weakening and trying.

Kranichstein, August 16th.

* * * How satisfactory the accounts of dear good Arthur are! From the depth of my heart do I congratulate you on all that Colonel Elphinstone says about his character, for with a real moral foundation, and a strict sense of duty and of what is right and wrong, he will have a power to combat the temptations of the world and those within himself. I am sure that he will grow up to be a pride and pleasure to you, and an honor to his country.

Brown must have been glad to be allowed to continue wearing his kilt, and, as it is a national dress, it is far more natural that he should give it up nowhere. I am sure that he and Annie[89] must admire the place.

Kranichstein, August 26th.

I have just received your dear letter, and am so pleased to hear that you enjoyed your excursion, and that you have now seen the sort of wild scenery high up in the mountains, which I think so beautiful and grand in Switzerland. For all admirers of that style of scenery there is nothing to be compared to Switzerland.

Since it became cool again I have had neuralgia in my head, and I have had a dreadful sty, which had to be cut open, and made me quite faint and sick for the whole day. In spite of it I went to the station here, with a thick veil on, to see the Russian relations pass two days ago. The Emperor looks even more altered and worn since last year, and is suddenly grown so old.

Kranichstein, September 4th.

* * * How too delightful your expeditions must have been! I do rejoice that, through the change of weather, you should have been able to see and enjoy all that glorious scenery. Without your good ponies and Brown, etc., you would have felt how difficult such ascents are for common mortals, particularly when the horses slip, and finally sit down. I am sure all this will have done you good; seeing such totally new beautiful scenery does refresh so immensely, and the air and exertion—both of which you seem to bear so well now—will do your health good.

Yesterday we both were two hours at Jugenheim. To-day the two little cousins are coming to see my children.

Louis’ business is increasing daily, and until the 19th, manœuvres, inspections, etc., won’t be over. He will even have to be away on his birthday, which is a great bore. There is a great review for the Emperor on Saturday.

September 15th.

* * * Like a foolish frightened creature as I am, I have worried myself so much about this sudden talk of war and threatening in all the French papers, saying that October, November, or thereabouts would be a good time to begin. Do tell me, if you think there is the least reasonable apprehension for any thing of that sort this year. I have such confidence in your opinion, and you can imagine how in my present condition I must tremble before a recurrence of all I went through in 1866!

I am so grieved that you should be so unwell on the journey home. Dear beautiful Scotland will do you good. I envy your going there, and wish I could be with you, for I am so fond of it. Remember me to all the good people.

Darmstadt, October 28th.

* * * The Queen of Prussia is coming to lunch with us on Saturday on her way to Coblenz.

I have a cold these last days, and Victoria is still confined to the house with her swelled neck. She had quite lost her appetite, and I tried some porridge for her, which she enjoys, and I hope it will fatten her up a little, for she is so thin and pale. Would you please order a small barrel of oatmeal to be sent to me? Dr. Weber thinks it would be very good for Victoria, and one cannot get it here.

Darmstadt, November 20th.

It is with the greatest interest that I read about the Mausoleum,[90] as I was very anxious to know whether all would be finished. Having been present before at all the important steps in the progress of this undertaking, I feel very sorry to be absent at the last, and I shall be very impatient to see it all again.

Winter has quite set in now here, and when there is no wind the cold is very pleasant.

Darmstadt, December 4th.

Thousand thanks for all your dear kind wishes, for your first letter to me, for the one to Louis, and finally for the eatables! I can’t tell you how touched, how pleased we both are at the kind interest all at home have shown us on this occasion. It has really enhanced our pleasure at the birth of our little son, to receive so many marks of sympathy and attachment from those in my dear native home, and in my present one. My heart is indeed overflowing with gratitude for all God’s blessings.

The time itself was very severe, but my recovery is up to now the best I have ever made, and I feel comparatively strong and well.

The girls are delighted with their brother, though Victoria was sorry it was not a sister. Darling Louis was too overcome and taken up with me at first to be half pleased enough. Baby is to be called by Louis’ Uncle Louis’ wish, Ernst Ludwig, after a former Landgrave;[91] then we would like you to give the name Albert; Charles, after my father-in-law; and William, after the King of Prussia, whom we mean to ask to be godfather. The christening is most likely to be on the 28th, or thereabout.

I am on my sofa in my sitting-room with all your dear photos, etc., around me, and your pretty quilt over me.

December 12th.

* * * Every new event in my life renews the grief for dear Papa’s loss, and the deep regret that he was not here to know of all, to ask advice from, to share joy and grief with, for he was such a tender father, and would have been such a loving grandfather.

You, darling Mama, fill his place with your own, and may God’s support never leave you, and ever enable you to continue fulfilling the many duties toward State and family! The love of your children and people encircles you.

Darmstadt, December 18th.

* * * The presents you intend giving baby will delight us, and in later years I can tell him all about his Grandpapa, and how I wish and pray he may turn out in any way like him, and try and aim to become so.

I think it would be best, perhaps, if you asked my mother-in-law to represent you and hold baby. I think it would pain her, should any one else do it, and I will ask her in your name, if you will kindly telegraph me your approval.

I am sorry Arthur cannot come, it would have given us such pleasure had it been possible.

The greater part of baby’s monthly gowns have been put away, as from the beginning they were too small. He is so very big.

Christmas Day.

* * * Louis thanks you thousand times, as we do, for the charming presents for the children. They showed them to every one, shouting: “This is from my dear English Grandmama”; and Ella, who is always sentimental, added: “She is so very good, my Grandmama.” Irene could not be parted from the doll you gave her, nor Victoria from hers. Baby was brought down, and was wide awake the whole time, looking about with his little bright eyes like a much older child.

We spent a very happy Christmas eve, surrounded by the dear children and our kind relations.

Darmstadt, December 29th.

* * * Prince Hohenzollern with three gentlemen were sent by the King, and the former dined with us after the ceremony. All went off so well, and baby, who is in every way like a child of two months, looked about him quite wisely, and was much admired by all who saw him.

I am so sorry that you have never seen my babies since Victoria, for I know you would admire them, they look so mottled and healthy. Weather permitting, baby is to be photographed to-morrow.

Darmstadt, January 8th.

* * * Dear charming Lady Frances [Baillie] is on a visit with us, and I enjoy having her so much. We talk of old times at Frogmore, and so many pleasant recollections.

I am glad that you like baby’s photograph, though it does not do him justice. He is a pretty baby on the whole, and has a beautiful skin, very large eyes, and pretty mouth and chin; but his nose is not very pretty, as it is so short at present. He is a dear good child, and, though immensely lively, does not give much trouble. He is a great source of happiness to us, and I trust will continue so.

Darmstadt, January 13th.

* * * Is not the death of Leopold’s son shocking?[92] Such suffering, such a struggle for months between life and death; and for the poor parents to have in the end to relinquish their child, their only son! I think it heart-rending. May the Almighty continue to support them even now, as he did these many months! I cannot say how much and truly I feel for them both. This world is full of trials, and some seem to be called upon to suffer and give up so much. Faith and resignation alone can save those hearts from breaking, when the burden must be so heavy.

A few days ago at two o’clock we had another shock [of earthquake], and it seemed as if the house rocked; at the same time the unearthly noise. I think it uncommonly unpleasant, particularly this repetition.

January 30th.

Our thoughts and prayers are so much with you and dear Leopold on this day [his Confirmation]. May the Almighty bless and protect that precious boy, and give him health and strength to continue a life so well begun and so full of promise!

It seems to me quite incredible, the eighth of us should already be old enough to take this step in life, and to have his childhood in fact behind him. Dear Papa’s blessing surely rests on him, and his spirit is near you as you stand there alone by the side of his child, about whom he always was so anxious.

February 5th.

* * * Beloved Papa’s cast arrived a few days ago, and stands in my bedroom. I think it very beautiful, and thank you so warmly for having sent it me.

Poor Orchard, whose leg is very painful and swelled, is to go to bed for a week for entire rest of the limb. You can imagine how inconvenient this is, as we have only Emma and Kathrinchen for the others and baby. You will be amused when I tell you that old Amelung is coming to sleep with baby, and take charge of him; but she is too old and out of practice to be able to wash and dress him morning and evening besides, so I do that, and it is of course a great assistance to all, my being able to do it, and I don’t mind the trouble. Of a morning, as Louis is usually out riding or at his office, I take Victoria and Ella out, who are very good little girls and very amusing.

Darmstadt, March 8th.

* * * We shall go to Potsdam the first week in May, and from there go for a week or ten days to Fischbach. My mother-in-law, Tante Mariechen, and Uncle Adalbert, are all going to spend my mother-in-law’s birthday there.

The Moriers are going to England in the first days of April, and I hope that you will see them. We see a good deal of them, and like them both much. He is wonderfully clever and learned, and takes interest in every thing; and she is very agreeable, and a most satisfied, amiable disposition—always contented and amused.

March 19th

I thought of you so much on the 16th. From that day dated the commencement of so much grief and sorrow; yet in those days you had one, darling Mama, whose first thought and deepest was to comfort and help you, and I saw and understood only then how he watched over you, and how and everywhere he sought to ward off all that was painful and strange from you, and took all that pain alone for himself for your sake! I see his dear face—so pale, and so full of tears, when he led me to you early that morning after all was over and said, “Comfort Mama,” as if those words were a Vorbedeutung [presage] of what was to come. In those days I think he knew how deep my love was for you, and that as long as I was left in my home, my first and only thought should be you and you alone! This I held as my holiest and dearest duty, until I had to leave you, my beloved Mother, to form a home and family for myself, and new ties which were to take up much of my heart and strength.

But that bond of love, though I can no more be near you, is as strong as ever.

Darmstadt, March 23d.

* * * Yesterday it was very warm, and to-day it snows; the weather continues so changeable and many people are ill. Ella has again had one of her bad attacks in her throat, but, thank God, it passed away very soon. Two nights ago she could not speak—barely breathe—and was so uncomfortable, poor child. It makes one so anxious each time; but I hope she will outgrow it, when she is six or seven years old.

Victoria is already now composing a letter for your birthday. I won’t have her helped, because I should like you to see her own ideas and style—it is much more amusing.

March 26th.

* * * We had such an unexpected pleasure the other day in the visit of good General Seymour, and I was so pleased to see some one who had seen you lately, and who could give me news of my home. He had not been here since he came with us after our marriage, and was of course interested in seeing every thing.

April 2d.

* * * The constant anxiety about the children is dreadful; and it is not physical ill one dreads for them, it is moral: the responsibility for these little lent souls is great, and, indeed, none can take it lightly who feel how great and important a parent’s duty is.

Darmstadt, April 5th.

* * * Thousand thanks for your dear letter, and for all the tender wishes for our dear child’s birthday! The child born under your roof and your care is of course your particular one, and later, if you wish to keep her at any time when we have been paying you a visit, we shall gladly leave her.

Victoria is so delighted with what you sent her, and sends her very warmest thanks and her tenderest love. She is in great beauty just at present, as she is grown stouter; and I look with pleasure on those two girls when they go out together. They possess, indeed, all we could wish, and are full of promise. May the Almighty protect them and give them a long life, to be of use and a joy to their fellow-creatures!

April 16th.

* * * Rain and wind have at length cooled the air, for this heat without any shade was too unpleasant. Louis left at five this morning to inspect the garrison at Friedberg and Giessen, and then to go to Alsfeld to shoot Auerhähne [capercailzies]. He will return on the 21st or 22d probably.

We shall indeed be so pleased, if later you wish to have any of the granddaughters with you, to comply with any such wish, for I often think so sadly for your dear sake, how lonely it must be when one child after another grows up and leaves home; and even if they remain, to have no children in the house is most dreary. Surely you can never lack to have some from amongst the many grandchildren; and there are none of us, who would not gladly have our children live under the same roof where we passed such a happy childhood, with such a loving Grandmama to take care of them.

April 25th.

* * * May I only know the way to give my children as much pleasure and happiness as you have ever known to give me!

The dinner of family and suite is here in the house to-day—or rather I should call it a luncheon, as it is at two o’clock.

The Irish Church question, I quite feel with you, will neither be solved nor settled in this way; and instead of doing something which would bring the Catholics more under the authority of the State, they will, I fear, be the more powerful. It seems to me that one injustice (with regard to the Protestants) is to be put in the place of a former one, instead of doing justice to both, which would not have been an impossibility through some well-considered settlement and giving in on both sides. Such a changement requires so much thought and wisdom, and, above all, impartiality.

May 3d.

* * * My children are, on the whole, very well behaved and obedient, and, save by fits and starts, which don’t last long, very manageable. I try to be very just and consistent in all things toward them, but it is sometimes a great trial of patience, I own. They are so forward, clever, and spirited, that the least spoiling would do them great harm.

How glad I am that the dear Countess [Blücher] is with you again; she is the pleasantest companion possible, and so dear and loving, and she is devoted to you and dear Papa’s memory as never any one was.

Potsdam, May 25th.

How much we thought of you yesterday, I can’t say! Lord Augustus Loftus lunched with us three and the elder children; and we drank your health, the band playing “God Save the Queen!” All our girls had wreaths of natural flowers in honor of the day.

Potsdam, June 1st.

* * * To-day is regular March weather, and the palace is cold and draughty.

We were in Berlin yesterday, to visit the Gewerbe-Museum [Industrial Museum]; then luncheon at Lord Augustus Loftus’, and from thence to the Victoria bazaar and Victoria Stift, and then home.

It is always so tiring to see things at Berlin; an hour’s rail there and the same back takes so much time. Before returning, we paid a short visit to Baron Stockmar and his wife, who is very pleasing, and seems to suit him perfectly. They look as if they had always belonged to each other.

Potsdam, June 13th.

Our time here is soon drawing to a close, much to my regret; for the life with dear Vicky—so quiet and pleasant—reminds me in many things of our life in England in former happy days, and so much that we had Vicky has copied for her children. Yet we both always say to each other, no children were so happy, and so spoiled with all the enjoyments and comforts children can wish for, as we were; and that we can never (of course, still less I) give our children all that we had. I am sure dear Papa and you, if you could ever hear how often, how tenderly, Vicky and I talk of our most beloved parents, and how grateful we are for what they did for us, would in some measure feel repaid for all the trouble we gave, and all the anxiety we caused. I ever look back to my childhood and girlhood as the happiest time of my life. The responsibilities, and often the want of many a thing, in married life can never give unalloyed happiness.

We are looking for a governess for the two elder girls for next year, and a lady with the necessary knowledge and character, and yet of a certain rank, is so difficult to find.

Potsdam, June 19th.

Louis went two days ago to Fischbach for his mother’s birthday, and returns to-morrow morning. Vicky was very low yesterday; she has been so for the last week, and she told me much of what an awful time she went through in 1866, when dear Siggie [Sigismund] died. The little chapel is very peaceful and cheerful, and full of flowers. We go there en passant nearly daily, and it seems to give dear Vicky pleasure to go there.

Vicky goes on the 7th of July to Norderney.

Fischbach Schlesien, July 2d.

We arrived here in this exquisitely-lovely country two days ago, and were received by our parents-in-law and Aunt Mariechen, whose guests we are in the pretty old Castle of Fischbach, surrounded by fine old trees, with a view on the beautiful Riesengebirge, which reminds me a little of Scotland, and also of Switzerland. The valleys are most lovely and the numberless wooded hills, before one reaches the high mountains, are quite beautiful. The trees are splendid and the country looks very rich and green.

All the people of the village and the neighborhood came out to see us and our children, and old servants of Louis’ grandparents, who were so delighted and pleased that I and my children should be here, and that they should have lived to see the younger generation.

We are out seeing the beautiful spots nearly all day long. The weather is fine and not very warm, so that one can go about comfortably. Yesterday we went over for tea to Erdmannsdorf. If only dear Vicky and Fritz were there now! We must hope for another year to be there together. The parting from them, who had made our séjour under their hospitable roof such a very happy one, was very sad, and the pouring rain was in accordance with our feelings. We left them and dear lovely Potsdam and the pleasant life there with much regret, and many a blessing do I send back in thought to its dear inmates.

Yesterday afternoon we were at Schmiedeberg. We went to see a very interesting carpet-manufactory, worked by hand, and all by girls, and a very simple process, much like making fringe, which you used to do and then make footstools of after Beatrice’s birth.

Yesterday our wedding-day—already seven years ago—made me think so much of Osborne, and of you, darling Mama, and of all that passed during that time. It was a quiet wedding in a time of much sorrow, and I often think how trying it must have been for you.

Kranichstein, July 21st.

Yesterday after eighteen hours’ very hot railway journey, we arrived here all well. Many thanks for your letter, which I received at Dresden. It was impossible to write, as I had to pay visits and to see things during those two days.

The Crown Prince and Princess received us at the station; the following day we paid our visits. I found Marie[93] in bed looking very well, and her baby, tied up in a cushion, seemed a nice child. Her other children are very pretty; the eldest girl is like George, and the little one has a quantity of fair curls, like Louis of Portugal’s boy. In the afternoon of that day the King and Queen came to see us, and were very kind. She is very like the Queen Dowager of Prussia, her twin sister, and her other sister, Queen Marie, is very like her twin sister, Archduchess Sophie. As they are first cousins, and very fond ones, of my father-in-law, they consider themselves of course as our aunts.

I went to see the picture-gallery, which has some exquisite pictures, though the Sistine Madonna surpasses all others, and the famous Holbein, of which the Dresden gallery has been for long so proud, is now recognized as a copy, and the one that belongs to my mother-in-law as the original. We visited the Grüne Gewöbel [the Green Vaults], where the magnificent jewels and other treasures are preserved, and the King was kind enough to lead us over the rest of the castle himself, including his own rooms, in one of which the life-size pictures of his last four daughters (all dead) stand, of whom he cannot speak without tears. How dreadfully he and the poor Queen must have suffered these last years!

Uncle Louis is at Friedberg and intends remaining there all next month, till the manœuvres are over. Alice Morier will accompany me.

Kranichstein, July 25th.

Thousand thanks for your kind letter which I received yesterday, at the same time that the beautiful christening present for Ernest arrived! Thousand thanks for this most beautiful and precious gift for our boy, from Louis and from myself! We are so pleased with it! It is to be exhibited here, and it will interest and delight all who see it, I am sure.

I have just received a letter from Bertie, announcing his arrival here for the 28th. We shall be greatly pleased to see them all; but we have so little room, and our house in town is all shut up and under repair, so that we shall have some trouble to make them comfortable and shall be quite unable to do it as we should wish. But I trust they will be lenient and put up with what we can offer.

The heat is very great, though this place is comparatively cool.

Kranichstein, July 29th.

Dear Bertie and Alix with their children arrived at Darmstadt after ten, and we brought them here by eleven o’clock last night. They are all looking well, but Bertie has shaved off his beard, which does not suit him. Dear Alix is unchanged, and certainly no fatter.

The children are very dear and pretty, but my boy is as tall as little Louise, and of course much bigger. I am so delighted to see them all again; it is such a great pleasure, as you can well imagine.

The pony you kindly sent us has just arrived, and to the great delight of all the children, who send their best thanks. We are all lodged very close together: Bertie and Alix, our bedroom and my dressing-room; we both, my sitting-room, and the passage-room; then come the different children. No gentlemen or ladies are in the house, as it was utterly impossible.

Kranichstein, August 11th.

* * * Victoria has often ridden on Dred, and also the other girls, on a Spanish saddle, and he goes very well. They delight in him. Baby rolls about the room anywhere now, and tries to crawl properly. He calls Papa, and tries no end of things; he is very forward, and is now cutting his fifth tooth, which is all but through.

Friedberg, August 26th.

On this dear day I must send you a few words. The weather is so beautiful, and the sun so bright, as it used to be at Osborne in former years. I don’t care for the sun to shine on this day now, as it can’t shine on Him whose day it was. It makes one too wehmüthig to think of darling Papa on those happy birthdays, and it must be more so for you than for any of us, poor Mama.

Yesterday was Ludwigstag; all the town decorated with flags, illuminations, etc., and English flags and arms with the Hessian everywhere.

We started on horseback along the high road at half-past seven this morning, and did not get off till one. A lovely country and very interesting to see. To-morrow we shall have a very long march, and the night Alice Morier, I and William (Louis is undecided) will spend at Prince Ysenburg’s at Büdingen. The next morning we have to ride off at half-past five, and a long day back here.

Kranichstein, September 11th.

* * * What charming expeditions you must have made in that lovely country?[94] What I saw of it some years ago I admired so intensely. You can well be proud of all the beauties of the Highlands, which have so entirely their own stamp, that no Alpine scenery, however grand, can lessen one’s appreciation for that of Scotland.

The day before yesterday we went to Mayence to see a “Gewerbe-Ausstellung” [Industrial Exhibition] of the town, which was very good and tastefully arranged. From there we went to Frankfort to our palace, for a rendezvous with Aunt Cambridge, Uncle George, Augusta and Fritz Strelitz. I showed them the children, and afterwards, when our relations left, we took our children to the Zoölogical Garden, which delighted them.

Many thanks for the grouse, which has just arrived, the first since two years ago!

Darmstadt, October 3d.

* * * I am very glad that you also approve of Louis’ journey, which I know will be so useful and interesting for him, though it was not possible to attain this without parting from each other, which is, of course, no small trial for us, who are so unaccustomed to being separated. But we never thought of that when we considered the plan of Louis joining Fritz, which was my idea, as travelling in new countries is so good for a man, and Louis may never find so good a chance again. I am looking forward very much to seeing Geneva—where we spend a day—and the south of France, and above all, seeing the sea again. Fritz passes through here to-morrow. Louis starts Saturday morning, viâ Munich, for Venice, where he will join Fritz next Sunday afternoon, and spend the following Monday there before they go to Brindisi. Vicky comes here with her children on the 12th or 13th, and a suite of twenty-five people. She goes on with the big boys to Baden, and I follow with the other children on the following day. I don’t like separating Victoria and Ella, who like being together; the three girls will be so well taken care of at their grandparents’. I have written down rules for meals, going out, to bed, to lessons, etc.; and my mother-in-law, who never interferes, will see that all is carried out as I wish. I shall miss them so much, but having one child at least is a comfort; and baby is beginning to talk, and is so funny and dear, and so fond of me that he will be company to me when I am alone. I take no one but Orchard, Eliza, Beck, and my Haushofmeister [Steward], who used to be with Lord Granville.

Darmstadt, October 11th.

Yesterday morning at eleven we had the hard separation from each other, which we both felt very much. My own dear, tender-hearted Louis was quite in the state he was in when we parted at Windsor in 1860 after our engagement. He does not like leaving his children, his home, and me, and really there are but few such husbands and fathers as he. To possess a heart like his, and to call it my own, I am ever prouder of and more grateful for from year to year. Nowadays young men like Louis are rare enough, for it is considered fine to neglect one’s wife, and for the wife also to have amusements in which her husband does not share. We sisters are singularly blessed in our husbands.

Dear kind Countess Blücher has been here the last two days—such a happiness to me just now, for the house feels far too lonely.

Grand Hôtel, Cannes, November 5th.

* * * I have this instant received another letter from dear Louis from Constantinople, giving the accounts of what they did and saw there until the 29th ult., when they left for Jaffa. He seems delighted, and very greatly interested with all he has seen. Louis thought so much of the Sultan’s English visit in 1867, on seeing him again. He found him more talkative than then. He saw also several of the suite who were in England. They went to Scutari, into the Black Sea, and visited all in and near Constantinople, and on the last day they visited the Emperor of Austria, who had just arrived. There is something very funny in hearing of these Royalties, one after another, all running to the same places. They must bore the Sultan considerably.

This journey will be of great advantage to dear Louis, who has never had an opportunity (through marrying so young) of travelling like others.

This afternoon we went to see poor Princess Waldeck. She is still in great grief at the loss of her eldest daughter, who suffered so long, and knew she was dying, and bore her lot with such resignation and such goodness. She was only fifteen and a half, I think.

I was very much pleased to see Lord and Lady Russell again the other day. We hope to be able to pay them a visit at San Remo, though one can’t go and return in the same day.

The country has looked too lovely to-day; the sunset is always most beautiful, for it sets behind the Esterel Mountains, which lie to the right from this bay, and have a very lovely jagged form.

I am reading to Vicky a new Life of Napoleon, by Lanfrey, which is very well and impartially written.

Cannes, December 14th.

* * * The heavenly blue sea, stretching so far and wide, is in accordance with one’s feelings, and the beauties of nature have always something comforting and soothing. * * *

The Duke of Argyll’s sister, with his pretty daughter, Victoria, are here, and we have been twice to see them, and are distressed that they should be so anxious about the dear Duchess, of whom the news to-day is worse. How dreadful, should any thing happen to her, for her husband and for the many children!

The Eburys and Lord Dalhousie have likewise arrived here, but we have not seen them yet.

To-morrow we had intended leaving this, but during the night poor Vicky had the dreadful fright of Waldie’s being taken ill with the croup. Thank God, he is better this morning, but our journey will have to be put off for a few days, so that Vicky cannot now reach Berlin in time for Christmas. As we don’t wish to spend that day en route, we have telegraphed to our husbands, who reach Naples to-day, to ask whether they will not join us here, that we may all spend Christmas together before leaving.

This is all unsettled, and I will telegraph as soon as every thing is definitely arranged. Rollet[95] is here to-day, and spends this day in quiet with us.

Cannes, December 20th.

We both had the happiness yesterday of receiving our dear husbands safe and well here after so long a separation. They had been to Naples and Pompeii, and Louis went for a day to Rome, so that he has seen an enormous deal, which is very instructive for him, and will be such a pleasure for him to look back upon in later years.

I am so glad that Louis has had the opportunity of making this journey; and it seems to have done his health good also, for he looks very well.

The journey back is so long and difficult for me to manage alone with Louis—as Vicky’s people, particularly in the nursery, have helped mine—that I am obliged to wait until the 26th, and to go with Vicky and Fritz, for they travel slower than I would do if I went with Louis, who goes back direct day and night. The doctor would not consent to my travelling with Ernie from this warm climate into the great cold so fast, and during the night, for he is cutting four back teeth at this moment.

The day before yesterday we visited Lord Dalhousie and Lady Christian, and found him very gouty, but in good spirits. Lady Ebury and Oggie[96] came to see us this afternoon. Prince and Princess Frederic of the Netherlands and their daughter have arrived here. The poor Princess is so weak, and looks like a shadow.

Hôtel du Jura, Dijon, December 28th.

Just as we were leaving Cannes your last letter reached me, for which many thanks. It was cold the morning we left Cannes, very cold at Avignon, where we spent the night, and still colder, and snow and frost, on reaching this place yesterday evening. We and the children are all well, and the poor little ones are very good on the journey, considering all things. In an hour we leave for Paris, rest there to-morrow, and then go to Cologne, where I shall take leave of dear Vicky and Fritz, and go straight home. I have been so much with dear Vicky this year, that the thought of parting from her costs me a great pang, the more so as I do not think it likely that I shall meet her in this new year.

On New Year’s eve I arrange a Christmas-tree for all my children, and in advance I thank you for all the presents you have been kind enough to send us, and which we shall find at Darmstadt. * * *

“Although I was entirely unaccustomed to associate with persons of high rank, I soon felt entirely at ease with this lady. Her simplicity, the kind manner in which she met me, and her keen bright intellect made me forget all differences of social position.”

“She, however, asked me,” Strauss writes, “to come and see her, if I was not afraid of infection. She said that the next few weeks would be very solitary ones, and it would be of great value to her if I felt disposed to put up with her as sole audience for my lectures on Voltaire. To this I was only too willing to agree.”

“When it first occurred to me to write something on Voltaire for the Princess in the form of lectures, I naturally cherished the hope that, when the little book was printed, I might obtain her permission to dedicate it to her. As the work progressed, however, this hope became fainter, and by the time the book was ready I had entirely given it up.

“I could only take pleasure in my work, if I felt I had been perfectly sincere; if, instead of condemning Voltaire, as is usually the case, I stood up for him upon essential points—nay, even went so far as to intimate that here and there he had seemed to me not to have gone far enough.

“The Princess might naturally have scruples about allowing a book of such a tendency to be dedicated to her, considering her position and what was due to it; and to ask her to allow the book to be dedicated to her seemed forbidden by that discretion which I was bound to observe. The thought then struck me of writing with my own hand into the copy of the book which I gave her the Dedication, in the terms in which it now stands printed on the second page of the volume. Meanwhile, on the one hand, the friendly intercourse with the Princess continued, whilst on the other the printing of the book advanced. One day in the most kind manner she told me how much she felt she owed to our acquaintance, and how much it had helped to clear her views in many ways. I, on my part, expressed to her in all sincerity the animating and exhilarating influence which our intercourse had exercised upon myself, and, in particular, how it had cheered and encouraged me in my labors on Voltaire.

“‘It would be nice, if you would dedicate your book to me,’ the Princess rejoined. How agreeably surprised I was can easily be imagined. I acknowledged without hesitation how this had been my first intention, but that I had given it up out of regard for her, not wishing to expose her to misinterpretation. The Princess replied that the fear of being misunderstood would never prevent her from doing what she thought right. I pointed out, that the matter must be well and carefully considered, and that, first and foremost, she must obtain her husband’s consent. Her answer was that she had no fear on that point; but that she would of course consult him about it. I told the Princess that I had made several changes and additions since I first wrote the lectures. I would therefore bring her the proof-sheets as soon as they were ready, partly that she might glance over the whole again, and partly that she might draw the Prince’s attention to any doubtful passages. They would then be able to form their own opinions.

“I sent her the proof-sheets, and received them back from the Princess on the 11th of June, 1870, with the following letter:

“‘Dear Herr Professor:—I return you your “Voltaire” with many thanks. My husband read through the fifth chapter of it yesterday; he does not think that its contents are such as to justify my refusing the dedication. The value which I place on the dedication of your book will always be far greater than any little unpleasantness which might possibly arise from my accepting it.

Alice.’

“‘I should not like any change made in what you have written on the first page, and am greatly touched at your kind dedication.

Alice.’

“‘I have not been able till to-day to thank you for your “Voltaire” received yesterday. The book itself is the cause of the delay, as I devoted my spare time to reading over what you had yourself read to me so beautifully last winter. I seemed to hear your voice and all your observations again. I must thank you once more for that great enjoyment, and for the kind terms of your dedication.

“‘Alice.’

“Seldom have the negotiations about the dedication of a book been carried on in a way like this, and seldom has a Royal Princess shown herself so courageous and amiable.”

“The memory of the Princess Alice will be inseparably connected, as long as I live, with one of the most gratifying episodes of my life—the writing of my work on Voltaire.”

January 8th.

* * * My three girls have had fearful colds—Ella bronchitis, which Ernie also took from her, and during twelve hours we were in the very greatest anxiety about him; the difficulty of breathing and his whole state caused great alarm. Thank God, he is now quite convalescent; but those were hours of intense suffering for me, as you can imagine. Weber is most attentive and most kind on such occasions, and in such moments one is so dependent on the doctor.

* * * Some very good lectures have been given here lately, undertaken by a committee, which we are at the head of, and of which Mr. Morier is a member. They have been a great success hitherto, and we are going to one to-night by Kinkel, who in 1848 was a refugee in England, and is now a professor at Zürich.

January 16th.

Beloved Mama:—We are very grateful for your kind enquiries, and for your letter received this morning. The violence of the fever and the great pain in the throat have abated, and dear Louis is going on favorably. The nights are not good as yet, and his head pains him.

I am cut off from all intercourse with any one in the house, on account of the dear children; and I trust they may escape, for they still cough, particularly Ella and Ernie. I see Christa when I am out walking, not otherwise, as she comes in contact with the part of the house where the children live. I read to Louis, and play to him, as my sitting-room opens into the bedroom. I keep the rooms well aired, and not hot, and at night I sleep on a sofa near his bed. The first two nights were anxious ones, and I was up all night alone with him; but now, thank God, all seems to be going well. * * *

January 20th.

I am happy to say that all is going on well. Louis has no more fever, but his throat is still far from well; it has still the character of diphtheria, though in a mild form—a sort of skin and bits of blood come away when he coughs. He is a very good patient, and I leave him very little alone save when I take my walks, which in this high cold wind are very unpleasant. I hear Ella is still so hoarse and coughs, and Victoria is not quite well. Orchard writes to me every evening, and Dr. Weber sees them in the morning before he comes downstairs.

This instant Weber tells me that Victoria has the scarlet-fever, and I have just been up to see her. She suffers very much, poor child; the fever is very high and the rash much out. It is too late now to separate the others, and those who are not predisposed will escape; but those who are inclined to take it have it in them by this time.

It is a source of great anxiety. Orchard and Emma have never had it. * * *

January 23d.

I was very glad to get your dear lines of the 22d, full of sympathy for me during this anxious time. Victoria’s fever has been very high; and so much discomfort and pain, with a dreadful cough, which she has had for the last six weeks. She is very low, and cries every now and then from weakness, etc., but is a very good patient, poor little one. Amelung comes every afternoon and sits with her, and she is a great favorite with the children, as she knows countless pretty stories.

Louis is not out of bed yet, on account of his throat, etc.; but he is much better, though in this treacherous climate, which is so proverbially bad for throats and lungs, I fear that even with the greatest care there is a risk.

The other children are as yet well, though I don’t think Ella looking well; she has still a cold, and is as hoarse as when I came home. Ernie is all right again, and looks the best of them all. I doubt their escaping, though it is quite possible, as they did not take it when Victoria did. I keep the rooms fresh and continually aired.

All the balls and parties are going on here now. Of course, I can neither go anywhere nor receive any one, on account of the infection. It is a wearisome time indeed, and being so much in sick rooms and so little out begins to tell upon me. How kind of you to send the books! Louis will be delighted. I have just read to him Russell’s book of Bertie and Alix’s journey, and am now reading to him a new Life of Napoleon, by Lanfrey, which is very well written—more against than for Napoleon. Of course, newspapers and the Revue des Deux-Mondes I read to him besides. * * *

January 31st.

* * * Though dear baby has had two bad, restless nights, yet I am happy to say that he has the illness so slightly, with so little fever or sore throat, that we are in great hopes it will get no worse. He is cutting his back teeth just now, which is the worse moment possible to be ill in.

Victoria looks very hollow-eyed, pale, and wretched, poor darling, but is in good spirits now. The other two are as yet free. The weather is most beautiful—frosty and clear,—and I have been skating daily for the last six days, which does me much good, and enables me to see people again. This afternoon I have a large party on the ice at Kranichstein, and this is always a great amusement to the young people. * * *

Mayence, April 10th.

* * * Yesterday evening we had to give a large party here, half to the military, and the other to the civil authorities and to the Bürger [citizens]. It went off well; but the amount of speaking, as one must speak to all, and the effort to remember who they all were—they having been all presented at once—was no small exertion. * * *

Mayence, April 15th.

* * * Lady Car. [Barrington] wrote to me how very grateful Mrs. Grey was to you for your great kindness and consideration.[97] In trouble no one can have a more true and sympathizing friend than my beloved Mama always is. How many hearts has she not gained by this, and how many a poor sufferer’s burdens has she not lightened! * * *

April 25th.

Thousand thanks for your dear loving lines! I kissed them a thousand times, and thank you so much for the quite lovely statuette—a little gem, which every one has been admiring this morning. The shawl and little ornament gave me also great pleasure, and the colored photographs of the rooms—in short, all and any thing from such dear hands must give pleasure. * * *

June 25th.

* * * I am proud of my two girls, for they are warm-hearted and gifted, too, in appearance. Victoria’s facility in learning is wonderful, and her lessons are her delight. Her English history and reading she has learned from me. I give her a lesson daily, and Bäuerlein[98] can tell you how much she has learned. * * *

I read a great deal, chiefly history and deeper works; and I have one or two very learned acquaintances with whom to read or to have books recommended by.

My two committees always give me no end of work, and I have tried to have many improvements made in the girls’ schools of the different classes; and some of these things, by dint of a deal of trouble, are prospering, and I hope in time to come will prove their worth. There is a great deal to be done, and in the hospitals I have been able to get some very necessary changes made. I tell you all this, fancying it may perhaps interest you a little bit. * * *

July 2d.

How grieved I am for your sake, above all, and for the poor Clarks and ourselves, that dear kind Sir James, that true fatherly friend, is no more!! Many thanks for your last letter, which tells me of your last visit to him, which I am sure must be a great comfort to you. Oh! how sad to think how many are gone! And for you, dear Mama, this is quite dreadful. I can’t say how I feel it for you!

Lord Clarendon’s death grieves me much also; and it was so sudden. Alice Skelmersdale wrote to me in the greatest distress; he had been a most loving father.

In the midst of life we are in death; and in our quiet and solitary existence out here, where we see no one, all accords with sad and serious feelings, which, amidst the many people and worry you live in, must jar with such feelings and make you wish for solitude. The accounts you give touch me so much. Many thanks for having written so much about dear Sir James; it is of great value to me. Louis begs me to say, how he shares the grief you all and we must feel at such a loss.

What you say about the education of our girls I entirely agree with, and I strive to bring them up totally free from pride of their position, which is nothing save what their personal worth can make it. I read it to the governess—who quite enters into all my wishes on that subject—thinking how good it would be for her to hear your opinion. * * * I feel so entirely as you do on the difference of rank, and how all important it is for princes and princesses to know that they are nothing better or above others, save through their own merit; and that they have only the double duty of living for others and of being an example—good and modest. This I hope my children will grow up to.

July 26th.

When I returned home last night really heartbroken, after having parted from my good and tenderly-loved Louis, I found your dear sympathizing words, and I thank you a thousand times for them—they were a comfort and pleasure to me! I parted with dear Louis late in the evening, on the high road outside the village in which he was quartered for the night, and we looked back until nothing more was to be seen of each other. May the Almighty watch over his precious life, and bring him safe back again: all the pain and anxiety are forgotten and willingly borne if he is only left to me and to his children!

It is an awful time, and the provocation of a war such as this a crime that will have to be answered for, and for which there can be no justification. Everywhere troops and peasants are heard singing “Die Wacht am Rhein” and “Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland?” and there is a feeling of unity and standing by each other, forgetting all party quarrels, which makes one proud of the name of German. All women feel ashamed of complaining, when father, husband, or son goes, and so many as volunteers in the ranks. This war is felt to be national, and that the King had no other course left him to pursue with honor.

I must be in town by nine o’clock: so much rests on me, and there are so many to help—the poor forsaken soldiers’ families amongst others! I have seen that all is ready to receive the wounded, and to send out help. I send out fourteen nurses for the Feld-Lazarethe [field-hospitals].

How much I feel for you now, for I know how truly you must feel for Germany; and all know that every good thing England does for Germany, and every evil she wards off her, is owing to your wisdom and experience, and to your true and just feelings. You would, I am sure, be pleased to hear how universally this is recognized and appreciated.

What would beloved Papa have thought of this war? The unity of Germany, which it has brought about, would please him, but never the shocking means!

July 28th.

My darling Louis is at Worms, and Henry just in front of him. The enthusiasm all along the Rhine is wonderful. They are all hopeful, though knowing well what enormous sacrifices and struggles a victory will cost.

I cannot leave this place until our troops should have—which God prevent!—to retreat, and the French come! Now is the moment when a panic might overcome the people; and I think it my duty to remain at my post, as it gives the people courage and confidence. My parents-in-law, who have their three sons out, would feel my absence, and they have the first claim on me. I am in beloved Louis’ home, and nearer to him, if I remain. Of course, with dear Vicky I should personally be far better off. But Fritz is not much exposed, and she has not that fearful anxiety to such an amount as I have for dear Louis, who, as commander of only a division, must be in the very midst of all. Day and night this thought is uppermost in my mind. I hope and pray for the best, and bear what is sent to me in common with so many others. Work is a Zerstreuung [distraction], and I know dear Louis would prefer knowing me here for the present, and that must be the first consideration to determine my actions.

Louis is well, and, now the dreadful parting is over, I am sure in better spirits, though work and anxiety weigh on him, poor love.

The children send their love. I am pretty well; able to do a great deal; headache and sleeplessness are but natural at this moment.

August 5th.

Arrived in our house this morning, I was received with the news of dear Fritz’ victory, and that 500 French prisoners had just passed through here by rail. I know none of ours can have been engaged, but we have not heard if there was an engagement elsewhere. The excitement and anxiety are quite dreadful! Please God, my darling is safe, and will pass safely through these dreadful dangers—and our many dear friends and acquaintances also! I am always sending off things for the wounded from our stores, and continue working and collecting, and all are most patriotic and united. It is a solemn and great time we live in, and there is something grand and elevating in the unity of high and low throughout this great nation, which makes one proud of belonging to it. If only all goes on well!

I am very sleepless, and never without headache, but one has neither time nor wish to think of one’s self. My own Louis’ safety is the all-engrossing thought; and I know, beloved Mama, that you love him truly, and share this anxiety with me. * * *

August 15th.

A few words by messenger. I have sent a letter by Kanné, who came here yesterday, having seen dear Louis the day before, which was the first direct news I have had from him. Yesterday morning he was at Faulquemont. Poor General von Manstein (our Chef), when he reached Saarbrück, found his son had been killed, and he had him taken out of the general grave and buried in the churchyard. * * * No less than forty French wounded I saw this morning in our hospital, with some Turcos. Some can’t speak in any known language, and the French dislike having these savages near them as much as we do; their physiognomies are horrid, and they steal and murder as Handwerk [their vocation].

So much going about—for I go to Darmstadt at half-past eight, and remain till half-past eleven, in the morning, and in the afternoon from five till eight—is getting very fatiguing to me; but the people have no time to come out here, and there is much to see to, and many to speak with.

August 19th.

I have tried to write as often as I could, but I have only two hours to myself during the whole day, through driving in here twice a day. Besides the large Hülfsverein for the “wounded and sick,” which is in our palace, I have daily to visit the four hospitals. There is very much to do; we are so near the seat of war. This morning we got two large wagons ready and sent off for Pont-à-Mousson, where they telegraph from the battlefield of the 16th they are in great want. My best nurses are out there; the others are in three hospitals: two of them—military ones—were not ready or organized when 150 wounded arrived a week ago. I have just had a telegram from dear Louis; he is well, and I hope in a day or two the least dangerously of the Hessian wounded will arrive.

Thank God, all goes on successfully; but, indeed, I hope I shall not live to see another such war—it is too shocking by far. We have over five hundred wounded; as soon as any are better, they are sent north, and worse ones fill the beds—French and German intermixed. I neither see nor smell any thing else but wounds! and the first Anblick [sight], which sometimes one does not escape meeting, is very shocking! It was very late last night before I got home. I was stopped at one of the hospitals, as a poor soldier had had sudden violent bleeding, and was all but dead, as the doctor could not find the artery; but I sent my carriage for another surgeon, and I am happy to say he lives and is recovering.

As Louis commands the whole of our little army, a great many things concerning the troops come to me from all parts of the country, and there is much to do—much more than in my present state is good for me; but it can’t be helped.

I drive back to Kranichstein by one daily, and am here again before five, so I hope you will kindly forgive my writing seldomer. Becker is engrossed with his duties at the Hülfsverein; there is no other gentleman with me, and I have the household to look after, besides.

August 20th.

My telegram will have told you that dear Louis is until now safe. On the 16th, in the evening, and on the 17th and 18th, our troops were engaged, and yesterday evening late I drove to the station, to speak to General Kehrer, our commandant, and received a telegram of the last victory, near Metz—a battle of nine hours, very bloody—no mention of names. The people, all excited, crowded round my carriage, asked for news—which of our regiments had been under fire? I could tell them nothing, but pacified them, begging them to go to their homes—they should hear as soon as I had news. I drove home with an aching heart, and passed a dreadful night of suspense. At six this morning a telegram from Louis (19th); he and his two brothers safe; our loss enormous—seventy officers out of one division (ours is the 25th), and Oberlieutenant Möller, a great favorite, his adjutant since 1866, very badly wounded. I went at once to Darmstadt to Louis’ parents. They were so overcome and thankful to hear of the safety of their children. This continual anxiety is fearful. Now to-day all the poor wives, mothers, sisters, come to me for news of their relations; it is heart-rending! We sent off two large wagon-loads to Pont-à-Mousson again with provisions, bandages, and medicaments, and mattresses to bring back all the wounded possible by rail. I went the round of the hospital, to have all the convalescent Prussians and French able to travel sent to their homes, so as to get room, and now we can await the sad arrivals. Oh, if it would but end! the misery of thousands is too awful!

Kranichstein, August 25th.

Many thanks for your dear words of the 20th. God knows, I have suffered much, and the load of anxiety is great! But thousands of Germans bear this load in unity together for their Fatherland, and none murmur. Yesterday a poor woman came to me to ask me to help her to get to the battlefield, to have the body of her only son looked for and brought home; and she was so resigned and patient.

I see daily, in all classes, so much grief and suffering; so many acquaintances and friends have fallen! It is heart-rending! I ought to be very proud though, and I am so, too, to hear from the mouths of so many wounded officers the loud praise of Louis’ great bravery on the 16th and 18th. Always in front, encouraging his men where the battle raged fiercest and the balls fell thickest. He was near our troops, speaking to them, directing them, and right and left of him they fell in masses. This lasted eight hours!

* * * Hourly almost the trains brings in fresh wounded, and many and shocking are the sights one sees. I only returned here by one, having gone to town at half-past eight this morning, and have still three hospitals for this afternoon.

My nurses reached the battlefield in time, and were of great use. Louis telegraphed (yesterday’s date) from Auboué, between Thionville and Metz, where they remain in bivouac. * * * It is ten days since Louis has been in a bed or under a roof. They have no water (it is kept for the wounded), and little to eat, but he is very well.

It is difficult to get news, and I can never send any that is not mostly ten days old ere it reaches him.

August 26th.

* * * I had a telegram on the 25th from near Marengo, not far from Metz—all well. Louis has not been in bed or under a roof since the 16th, and it rains incessantly. I hope they won’t all be ill. He writes mostly on cards, on the hilt of his sword, sitting on a box. They cook their own dinner, and on the 16th they were going to eat it, when orders came to turn the French left wing and go into battle. That night was awful, though the day of the 18th seems to have been the bloodiest ever known. Our wounded all tell me so.

My dear parents-in-law bear up well; but when we three get together we pour our hearts out to each other, and then tears which are full of anxiety will flow.

Kranichstein, September 2d.

I went early to Homburg, as no trains go regularly now. I went by road from Frankfort, and found dear Vicky well—her little baby very pretty and healthy-looking; the other dear children also well.

How much we had to tell each other! How much to be proud of, and how many friends and acquaintances to mourn over! The few hours we had together flew by in no time, and at Frankfort the train was unpunctual—outside Darmstadt it waited nearly an hour. At our palace, where I arrived at ten in the evening, people who were going to our Haupquartier [headquarters], were waiting. I scribbled a few words to my dear Louis (the first since he received the Iron Cross, a great distinction) and packed a few things for him—tea, etc.

September 15th.

Though I am still forbidden to use my eyes, I must send you a few words of thanks for your dear letter and telegram. I had a violent inflammation of eyes and throat, with two days strong fever and neuralgia. I am recovering now, but feel the effects very much; my eyes are still bad, and it has reduced my strength, which I require so much. Dr. Weber has just lost his sister (whom he treated in her confinement) from puerperal fever, and he told me he thought he must have given it to her, from going to and fro to his wounded, for Lazarethfieber [hospital fever] and that were so closely akin. You can fancy that in Louis’ absence, and with the prospect of being alone, without even a married experienced lady in the house, this prospect frightened me. It is unhealthy at any time to be for one’s confinement in a town full of hospitals with wounded, and Weber could never give me as much attention as at another time, and, should I be very ill, there is no authority to say any thing about what had best be done. On that account your telegram was a relief to me.

September 20th.

* * * Daily I hear the muffled drums of the funeral of some soldier or officer being taken past my windows to his last resting-place. How deeply I do feel for the poor parents and widows!

My children are very well, but have absolutely no place where they can walk with safety from infection, for the mass of sick troops who get out and stop near the Exercirplatz [drill-ground], and the hospitals in town. The barrack at the foot of our garden contains 1,200 French prisoners, and many of them ill. It is much to be hoped that there will be soon an end to all these things. I feel for the Emperor and Empress very much. What ungrateful, vain, and untruthful people the French are! To expose Paris to a siege, now their armies are beaten, which they think through fine speeches and volunteers they can set right again.

September 22d.

I received your letter through Kanné yesterday, and thank you many times for it; also for the little shawls and sash for Ernie. Every souvenir from dear Balmoral is a pleasure.

Good Dr. Hofmeister will be very welcome, and I know he is very clever. Mrs. Clarke is sure to get on well with him, and an older doctor just now, besides being an acquaintance of so many years, is to me indeed a comfort. I shall be able also to hear of all at home, and of so many things that interest me. Thousand thanks from Louis and from myself for your sending him. * * *

All long for peace—the army and the nation—and I think so great a national war as this need not require part of the foes’ territory. What little is necessary for the military frontier they must take; but the union of Germany under one head is a far greater and finer end to such a war than the annexation of land!

* * * War is the greatest scourge this world knows, and that we may not live to see it again, is my earnest prayer.

October 1st.

* * * The children are all well, in spite of the bad air here. I send them out driving of an afternoon, when I can best, having only one coachman, as ours are with Louis. At present they can’t manage it often. * * *

October 3d.

* * * Dr. Hofmeister is to both of us a source of real confidence and comfort. I don’t think any one else would have been more welcome to me just now, and he can write daily to Louis, and letters go usually in two days now.

I go as little as possible to the hospital now, and, indeed, do nothing imprudent, you can be sure. * * *

November 12th.

* * * The nerves of my forehead and eyes are still painful; and from all sides I am again called upon to look after, settle, and advise concerning many things. On that account Dr. Weber and my mother-in-law insist on my leaving Darmstadt for a total change of scene, etc., for three weeks. I have resisted as long as I could, as I so much dislike going from home now (though I do not feel up to the work, and yet cannot keep from doing it), but I have finally given in, and accepted Vicky’s kind invitation to accompany her for three weeks to Berlin. The journey is long and cold, but her company when we are both alone is a pleasure to me, and I shall hear all news as directly there as here.

* * * Last night I was much overcome. I had been sitting at the bedside of one of my poor young friends, and he was gasping in a too-distressing way. The father held his hand, the tears streaming down his cheek, the son was trying to say “Weine nicht, Papa” [“Don’t weep, Papa!”]. The poor old father, so proud of his good and handsome child, is heart-broken, and they are touchingly united and full of feeling for each other. I would give any thing to save his life; but all efforts will, I fear, be in vain. Though I have seen so many lately die hard deaths, and heard and seen the grief of many heart-broken widows and mothers, it makes my heart bleed anew in each fresh case, and curse the wickedness of war again and again.

Poor baby can’t be christened yet, as my parents-in-law think Louis would not like it during his absence, so I shall wait. * * *

November 17th.

* * * How I rejoice to hear that Leopold gains so much strength, and that he can be about again as usual. Will you kindly tell him in Louis’ name and mine (as I am still restricted in all writing and reading) that we beg him to stand godfather to our little son?[99] Baby is so nice and fat now, and thrives very well. I think you would admire him, his features are so pretty, and he is so pink, and looks so wide-awake and intelligent. Ernie, who in general is a rough boy, is most tender and gentle to his little brother, and not jealous. * * *

Berlin, December 5th.

* * * Yesterday Fieldmarshal Wrangel came to see me, and his words were, “Zu gratuliren dass Ihr Mann ein Held ist, und sich so superb geschlagen hat” [“Accept my congratulations that your husband is a hero, and has fought so magnificently”]. I am very proud of all this, but I am too much a woman not to long above all things to have him safe home again.

* * * The evenings Vicky and I spend alone together, talking, or writing our letters. There is so much to speak of and think about, of the present and the future, that it is to me a great comfort to be with dear Vicky. It is nearly five months since Louis left, and we lead such single existences that a sister is inexpressibly dear when all closer intercourse is so wanting! There is so much, beloved Mama, I should like to speak to you about. * * *

The girls are quite well, and very happy with their grandparents. The governess—who in the end did not suit for the children—as the six months’ trial is over, will not remain, and I am looking for another one.

Darmstadt, December 18th.

* * * The children and I bore the journey well, and it was not cold. Parting from dear Vicky was a hard moment, and I shall feel the loneliness here so much, and miss my dear good Louis more than ever. The children are, of course, at such a time the greatest blessing. There is so much to do for them, and to look after for them; and mine are dear good children, and do not give over-much trouble.

Letters I have again received speak of the amount of danger Louis has again been daily exposed to, and how his personal courage and daring have given the victory in many a fight. God protect him! I live in fear and trembling for his precious life, and after I hear of his being safe through one battle, I take it as a fresh present from the Almighty, and breathe freer again, though the fear soon enough gets the upper hand again.

I have asked Uncle Louis to allow his Berichte [reports] to be copied for you. Louis has Köhler and another footman with him, that is all—and two coachmen. He rides in all battles the horse you gave him in 1866, which he rode during that campaign, and which is quite invaluable. It would interest Colonel Maude to know this, as he bought the horse. My nursery is in very good order, and they are all invaluable in their way.

How is good Dr. Hoffmeister’s family? Please say many kind things to him from me, and tell him that the baby is getting so nice and fat, and is so healthy in spite of all troubles. Here is a photograph of him, but not at all flattered. Please give Dr. Hofmeister one of them!

I have this instant received a letter from Louis dated the 11th! I will have an extract made for you, I think it might interest Bertie to hear something of Louis, whom he can be proud to have as a brother-in-law, for I hear his praises continually. He has been throughout the war, as every other General has been, without a carriage, etc., like other Princes, and has gained the respect and devotion of his troops.

Darmstadt, December 19th.

* * * I hope for this last time, if we are spared and live to come over together once more, we may have the joy of showing their dear Grandmama the whole little band. Of course, no thoughts of plans can be entertained, and I know, after so very long a separation, Louis would not be willing again to part from his children.

My wounded were so pleased to see me again yesterday. Alas! many in bed, and so ill still! My two in the house are much better, and the one who during six weeks lay at death’s door is recovering. I have seldom experienced so great a satisfaction as seeing this young man recover, and the doctors say I have been the means of saving his life.

The joy of the old parents will be very great. Since I left, there are new widows, and fresh parents bereft of only children; it is a most painful duty to go to them. But I know the comfort of sympathy is the only one in deep grief.

December 23d.

My warmest and tenderest thanks for your dear and loving letter, with so many expressions of a mother’s love and sympathy, which do my heart good, now that I feel so lonely and anxious. It seems too great a happiness to think of, that of our being allowed to come with our children to you, and to Scotland; and you know the smallest corner is enough for us, who are by no means particular—neither are our people. If I write this to Louis, it will be something for him to look forward to, to cheer him and reward him after so hard a time, which he bears so bravely and uncomplainingly. This morning I have been at the Alice Hospital, which is prospering. I have been taking my gifts for Christmas to one hospital after another. Your two capes have delighted the poor sufferers, and the one wounded for the second time is very bad, alas! My wounded officer in the house is recovering, next to a miracle. For the two wounded in the house, the children, our household, and the children of our servants at the war, I arrange Christmas-trees.

We grown-up ones of the family have given up keeping Christmas for ourselves. We have too much to do for others, and my parents-in-law, like me, feel the absence of the dear ones who are always here for Christmas.

I am superintending Victoria and Ella’s letters to you, which have not achieved the perfection wished for. As they are to be quite their own, I hope you will excuse their arriving a little later.

Darmstadt, December 27th.

* * * Louis telegraphed on Christmas day from Orleans, where I had sent Christa’s brother with a box of eatables and woollen things for his people, and a tiny Christmas-tree with little lights for the whole party. Louis has sent me a photograph of himself and staff done at Orleans, and I have sent for a copy for you, as it is very good. On Christmas day it was five months since Louis and the troops left. The charming stockings you sent, I have sent off in part to-day to Louis to give to his Stabswache [Staff-guard]; the other things I divide among the wounded and sick.

My children are all well. The little one sits up, and, though not very fat, is round and firm, with rosy cheeks and the brightest eyes possible. He is very healthy and strong, and in fact the prettiest of all my babies. The three girls are so grown, particularly the two eldest, you would scarcely know them. They are both very tall for their age. Victoria is the height of Vicky’s Charlotte, and Ella not much less. They are thin, and a change of air would be very beneficial.

Darmstadt, January 7th.

* * * In England people are, I fear, becoming unjust toward the German troops. Such a long and bloody war must demoralize the best army; and I only say, in such a position how would the French have behaved? Many French officers say the same, and how greatly they respect the German soldier. Hundreds of French officers and two generals have broken their word of honor, and run away. I doubt, whether one in the German army would do such a thing. The French peasants, often women, murder our soldiers in their beds, and the wounded they have used too horribly many a time. Is it a wonder, then, when the men let a feeling of revenge lay hold of them? A guerilla war is always horrid, and no words can say how all Germans feel and deplore the present phase of the war! I hope and trust that the end may not be far distant.

One of the poor wounded soldiers whom I gave your cape to is dying, and the poor boy won’t part from it for an instant, and holds it tight round himself.

Louis continues at Orleans, where they have entrenched themselves, and await with impatience news from Paris which must be of great influence for the continuation or ending of the war.

My days fly past. The children take much of my time—so, too, the house, my two wounded in the house, and the hospitals, to one of which I go daily.

Darmstadt, January 14th.

* * * How kind of you to work something for Louis; he will wear it with such pleasure. Prince Frederick Carl’s recent victories[100] and the fresh hosts of prisoners must help to bring the war to an end. Germany does not wish to go on, but the French won’t see that they are beaten, and they will have to accept the visitors, who must increase in numbers the longer the French refuse to accede to the German demands.

I am so low, so deeply grieved for the misery entailed on both sides, and feel for the French so much. Our troops do not pillage in the way described in English papers. I have read far worse accounts of what the French soldiers and francs-tireurs do in their French villages.

The poor soldier who had your cape is dead. He died with it round him. I was with him in the afternoon, and he had tears in his eyes, and was very low. In the night he died. This morning I was at the station to give things to the wounded and sick who came through—a sorry sight. This afternoon I am going to a poor soldier’s widow who has just had twins. The distress on all sides is great. I help where I can. Becker tears his hair. The two wounded in the house cost so much. So does every thing else; but as long as I can, through sparing on myself, help others, I must do it—though I have, as things now are, nothing left.

I will get a head of Ernest done for your bracelet, and another one, so that you may have something else of him. He is a magnificent boy, but so huge—such limbs! The baby is not at all small, but near Ernest all the others look small.

He can’t speak properly yet, but he understands every thing, and has a wonderful ear for music. He sings the “Guten Kameraden” without a fault in the time, and is passionately fond of dancing, which he also does in time.

Irène is growing fast also, but the two eldest are quite big girls; it makes me feel old when I see them growing up to me so fast. Victoria has a very enquiring mind, and is studious, and learns easily and well. Since the middle of December I have been without a governess.

To-morrow I go to Mayence to see poor Woldemar[101] Holstein’s sister. He is very bad, to the grief of all Mayence, and of all who know him.

Darmstadt, January 16th.

* * * It is pouring and thawing—most dismal—and my thoughts are with our dear ones and our poor troops far away. Becker lost his brother-in-law, who leaves a wife (Matilda, Becker’s sister) and four little children. Each day fresh losses.

My little baby ought to be christened, but Louis and my parents-in-law always hope that the end of hostilities is near, and that Louis can then get leave. Baby’s blue eyes are beginning to turn, and look almost as if they would be brown. Should dear Grandmama’s and Grandpapa’s eyes come up again amongst some of the grandchildren, how nice it would be!

I have but little news to give. I go about to the poor soldiers’ widows and wives—no end of them, with new-born babies, in the greatest distress.

Yesterday I saw the mother of the poor young soldier who died. She keeps your cape as a precious relic, as it had given him such great pleasure.

January 30th.

Your charming photograph and kind letter arrived this morning—thousand thanks for both! How like the photograph, and how pleasing! I am so glad to have it.

The armistice and capitulation of Paris are great events. The people are out of their minds with joy—flags all over the town, and the streets crowded.

I forgot to say in my last letter how grieved I was about Beaty Durham’s[102] death. It is quite shocking! and those numbers of children in so short a time. I earnestly hope none of us run such a chance, for on the whole our children have not been so close together. My last came sooner than I wished, and is smaller than his brother, but I hope now for a long rest. I have baby fed, besides, so as not to try my strength. He is very healthy and strong, and is more like Victoria and my brothers and sisters than my other children, and his eyes remind me of Uncle Ernest’s, and seem turning brown, which would be very pretty, as he is very fair otherwise.

Your pretty photograph is standing before me, and makes me quite absent. I catch myself continually staring at it, instead of writing my letters.

Darmstadt, February 2d.

* * * All the many French here are pleased at the capitulation of Paris, and hope that peace is certain. Louis writes to me that the inhabitants of Orleans were equally pleased, and consider the war over. I earnestly pray it may be so. How greatly relieved and thankful all Germany would be!

Louis telegraphed to-day. He has no leave as yet, though he hopes for it. Now that there is a prospect of peace, and that the fighting is momentarily over, I feel quite a collapse of my nerves, after the strain that has been on them for six whole months. I can scarcely imagine what it will be when my beloved Louis is at home again; it seems too great a joy! Rest and quiet together are what I long for; and I fear in the first weeks he will have so much to do, and there will be much going on.

He speaks with the greatest hope of going to Scotland this autumn; and, if we are spared to do so, it will be such a rest, and do good to our healths, which must feel the wear and tear sooner or later.

February 11th.

Many thanks for your last kind letter. I thought so much of you yesterday, spending the dear 10th for the first time again at Windsor. To day our little son is to be christened, but only the family will be present, and my ladies and the two wounded gentlemen, who can get about on crutches now. When I think that the one owes his life to being here, it always gives me pleasure.

Two nights ago I was awakened by a dreadful noise, the whole house and my bed rocking from it; and twice again, though less violently. It was an earthquake, and I think too unpleasant. It frightens one so; the doors and windows rattle and shake. To-night two slight shocks, and one during the day yesterday.

How I shall miss dear Louis to-day! The seven months will be round ere we meet, I fear, and he has never seen his dear little boy. It always makes me sad to look at him, though now I have every reason to hope—please God—that I shall have the joy of seeing Louis come home, and of placing his baby in his arms. My heart it full, as you can fancy, and, much as I long to see Louis, I almost dread the moment—the emotion will be so great, and the long pent-up feelings will find vent.

I pray that peace may be restored, and that I may not live to see such a war again, or to see my sons have to go to it.

I will tell Christa to write an account to you of the christening, for Leopold to see also, as he will be godfather. Frederic William Augustus (after the Empress) Victor (victory) Louis will be his names. Fritz and Vicky, the Empress and Fritz Carl, are godparents.

Darmstadt, February 14th.

My bad eyes must again excuse the shortness of these lines, which are to thank you many times for your last dear letter.

Christa will have sent you the account of little Fritz’s christening, which was a sad day for me, and will have been so for dear Louis likewise. We have added dear Leopold’s name to the other, as his sad life, and the anxiety his health has so often caused us all, endear him particularly, and we hoped it would give him pleasure, poor boy.

The elections in the provinces are all for peace, and only the towns for war and a republic. This week is one of intense and anxious expectation; though the greater portion believe in the restoration of peace, yet we have no security for it.

March 6th.

* * * Now dear Louise’s marriage draws near, how much you must feel it! I think so much of her, of your and of my dear home. I trust she will be very happy, which with such an amiable young man she must be.

Louis has received the Order “Pour le mérite,” which I am so glad of for him. The Emperor telegraphed the announcement to my mother-in-law, with many complimentary words about her sons. To have the three sons safe is something to be thankful for, for they were much and continually exposed. I know nothing of Louis’ coming. The troops march home, and it will take at least six weeks. I hope so much that he may have leave for a fortnight, and then return to the troops, to lead them home.

To-night are the peace illuminations here, which will be very pretty. Our house will also be illuminated, and I take the two eldest girls out with me to-night to see it all. It is a thing for them never to forget, this great and glorious, though too horrid, war.

March 13th.

I know nothing as yet of Louis’ return. I fear I must wait a few weeks longer. On Wednesday the Emperor, Fritz, and some of the Princes pass through Frankfort, and I am going there with my parents-in-law to see them.

The Paris news is not very edifying, and I fear France has not seen the worst yet, for there seems to be a fearful state of anarchy there.

I have no news to give, save that Frittie has his first tooth. He is between Victoria and Irène, but not like Ernie—not near so big, which is really not necessary. I think he is the sort of baby you admire. I go on looking after my hospitals, and now the trains, full of Landwehr returning home cheering and singing, begin to pass. Now good-bye, darling Mama. I am in thought daily with you during these days, and only wish it had been in my power to be of any use or comfort to you just now.

Darmstadt, April 8th.

* * * We had the pleasure of catching a glimpse of Louise and Lorne on their way through, but their stay was too short to be able to say more than a few words. They can scarcely help passing through here, as they can’t go through France, on their way back; and if you would allow them quite incognito on their way back to pass a day here, it would give both Louise and me the greatest pleasure, and entail no other visits.

The Emperor, who kindly gave Louis leave, prolonged it till Monday, when he leaves, and for how long is quite undecided. If I could only go with him! Marie of Saxony has joined George: so has Carola [the Crown Princess of Saxony] her husband; but our division, which is near Chumont, is in too bad and close quarters to admit of my living there.

Should Louis have to remain very long, I still hope to rejoin him—I don’t care about the little discomfort.

The new governess, Frl. Kitz, comes on Thursday. She is not young, but pleasing-looking—said to be very amiable, and a good governess; has been for eighteen years in England, first with Lady Palk, and then for ten years with Herr Kleinwart—a rich German banker in London—where she brought up the two daughters.

Darmstadt, April 13th.

* * * Ernie’s kilt was sent him by Mr. Mitchell.[103] He admired Ernie so much at Berlin, that he said he would send him a Scotch dress, and I could not refuse. It is rather small as it is, and I hope that you will still give him one, as from his Grandmama it would be doubly valuable.

Louis has arrived safely at his destination—Donjeux; and we both feel the separation very much after having had the happiness of being together again.

The Paris battles are too dreadful, and the end seems some way off yet.

May 27th.

My thoughts cannot leave unfortunate Paris! What horrors, and enacted so close by in the centre of the civilized world! It seems incredible; and what a lesson for those who wish to learn by it!

Darmstadt, June 8th.

Louise and Lorne are just gone, and it rains and blows, and is dreadful. Their visit was so pleasant, so gemüthlich, and I think Louise looks well and happy. She had much to tell of their journey, which seems to have been very interesting. I could show them almost nothing, as the weather was so bad. We three went yesterday evening to my parents-in-law, who were most kind to them, as they always are to all my relations.

Their short stay was a great great pleasure to me, so cut off from home as I have been since three long years.

Louis will be here in a few days, and we go together to Berlin for four days; Louis insists on my accompanying him. On the 24th the entry of the troops will be here.

Seeheim, June 14th.

* * * I am so glad that the poor Emperor and Empress are so kindly treated. They deserve to be well used by England, for the Emperor did so much to bring France and England together. How shamefully the French treat them, and speak of them, is not to be told; for the French consider themselves blameless, and always betrayed by others, whom they had made almost their gods of, as long as all went well.

Dear Frittie is getting better—principally his looks, but the illness is not overcome yet. I have been so anxious about him. The country here is more beautiful than ever, and country air and flowers are a great enjoyment. Every little walk is up and down hill, little brooks, rocks, small green valleys, fine woods, etc. I have not lived here since 1865, when Ella was a baby. The children are beside themselves with pleasure at the pretty country and the scrambling walks, but above all at the wild flowers, in which they are getting quite learned. I find them in a book for them, and even Ernie knows some names, and never calls them wrong. All my children are great lovers of nature, and I develop this as much as I can. It makes life so rich, and they can never feel dull anywhere, if they know to seek and find around them the thousand beauties and wonders of nature. They are very happy and contented, and always see, the less people have the less they want, and the greater is the enjoyment of that which they have. I bring my children up as simply and with as few wants as I can, and, above all, teach them to help themselves and others, so as to become independent.

Darmstadt, June 20th.

I write at the dinner-table, whilst the children finish dinner, as I have not found a spare moment yet, and the rest of my afternoon is taken up with the preparations for to-morrow.

The Empress Augusta has just been here for three hours, quite dead-tired with all she went through.

Thousand thanks for your dear letter received before our departure for Potsdam! Our journey was dreadful. We left in the evening, and were to have been here at 11 A.M., and through the irregularity of the trains we only got here at four in the afternoon. I am quite done up. The fatigues at Berlin were incessant. Any thing more grand, more imposing or touching and erhebend [elevating] than the entry of the troops in Berlin I never saw. It was a wonderful sight to drive for three-quarters of an hour through rows of French cannon! The decorations were so artistic, so handsome, and the enthusiasm of the dense crowds quite enormous. I am glad to have been there; it will be a thing to recollect. The old Emperor, surrounded by the many princes and by his great generals, looked so noble riding at the head of his glorious troops. Deputations of all the German troops were there.

It was very hot, and we had to drive every day to Berlin, and back in the evening.

Alas! it is rainy here, and the town is so beautifully decorated; three large triumphal arches, and the houses covered with garlands and flags.

I found the dear children well, though rather pale from the heat.

Louis left again this morning, but after to-morrow remains here for good, which will indeed be a pleasure after such endless separations.

Darmstadt, June 27th.

* * * To-day Aunt Marie of Russia and her children were here. Aunt Marie looks thinner than ever, but well; and Marie dear and nice, with such a kind fresh face, so simple and girlish. She gives her brothers music lessons during the journey, which she is very proud of. She is very fond of children, and of a quiet country life—that is the ideal she looks for. The Emperor of Russia comes here on the 5th, to join Aunt Marie at Petersthal. Louis’ work is incessant—the selling off of horses, the changing garrisons of the regiments, the new formation of our division, causes almost more work than the Mobilmachung [mobilization]. The entry was very beautiful: the decorations of the town most tasteful; not a house or the smallest street which was not covered with garlands, flags, and emblems. There were large groups of the captured guns, and the names of the battles on shields around. Unfortunately, it poured nearly all the time, and we were quite drenched. I had the five children in my carriage, and Irène gave wreaths to her godfathers of the cavalry brigade. Two days ago we gave a large military dinner, and have several soirées of that sort to give before we can go into the country, which I am longing for. We shall probably go to Seeheim, as the summer seems too damp for Kranichstein.

The middle of August we shall go to Blankenberghe, near Ostend, as the doctors wish sea-bathing for Louis, and sea air for me and for some of the children, which is very necessary to set us up before going to Scotland. We want to remain one or two days and one night in London. We require a few things, which make a stay necessary. If we might be at Balmoral on the 10th, as Louis’ birthday is on the 12th, would that suit you?

Please let me know in time if you think our plans good. This will enable us to settle when to go to Blankenberghe, as we can’t be there longer than three weeks.

How I look forward to seeing you again, and to come home once more! It is so kind of you to let us bring the children. The arrangement of the rooms will do perfectly, and we don’t care how we are put up, and above all things don’t wish to be in the way.

The weather is horrid—rain and wind incessantly—after having been tremendously hot. These sudden changes upset every one, and Frittie has had a very slight return of his illness.

August 13th.

* * * The newest news is, that my nice excellent Marie Grancy is going to marry. She will be such a loss to me. These last years she has been so useful, so amiable, and I shall miss her dreadfully. She is going to marry Major von Hesse, who was with us in England the last time, and the wedding is to be in September. As he has been ill in consequence of the war, they will go to Italy and spend the winter there.

We leave at eight to-morrow morning, reach Cologne at one o’clock, and wait there till ten in the evening, when we continue our journey and reach Blankenberghe at eight next morning. Will you kindly send a gentleman to Gravesend, who can remain with us in London, as we are quite alone?

Uncle George, Aunt Cambridge, and Mary dined with us at Frankfort two days ago. Mary I had not seen for three years; she was looking very handsome.

Blankenberghe, August 17th.

Only two words to say that we arrived safe and well here yesterday after a very hot journey. The hotel is on the beach where we sit all day; there are no walks or any thing save the beach, and no trees. Our rooms are very small and not very clean; but the heavenly sea air and the wind refresh one, and the sands are very long. One can ride on donkeys, which enchants young and old children. Every one bathes together, and one has to take a little run before the waves cover one. We bathed with the three girls this morning, but I felt quite shy, for all the people sit round and look on, and there are great numbers of people here. Our children play about with others and dig in the sand. Frittie sleeps so well since he has been here; his color is beginning to return.

We have one small sitting-room, which is our dining-room, and Louis’ dressing-room.

I was so sad and upset at taking leave of my dear Marie Grancy the other day; a kind true friend and companion has she been to me these nine years, and during the war she was quite invaluable to me. I hope she will be as happy as she deserves to be.

Buckingham Palace, September 10th.

The pleasure of seeing your dear handwriting again has been so great! Thank God that you are going on well. I do feel so much for you, and for all you have had to suffer in every way! I trust entire quiet and rest of mind and body, and any little attention that I may be able to offer for your comfort, will make the autumn of real benefit for your health. How I do look forward to seeing you again, I can’t say. * * *

We propose leaving the evening of the 13th. Bertie and Uncle George have arranged for our going to Aldershot on Monday and Tuesday, which interests Louis above all things, and I fancied this arrangement would suit you best.

The journey has quite cured Frittie, without any medicine, and the heat is over.

* * * I took Victoria and Ella to the Exhibition, and what enchanted Ella most was a policeman, who was, as she said, “so very kind” in keeping the crowd off. It reminded me of “Susy Pusy,” which dear Papa used to tease me with as a child.

We dined and lunched with Bertie, who had only just arrived, and is gone again. Dear Arthur of course I have not seen.

Bram’s Hill Park Camp, Cavalry Brigade, 2d Division, September 12th.

In Bertie’s tent I write these few lines to thank you in Louis’ name and my own a thousand times for your dear kind letter. Every loving word is so precious to us, and the presents you so kindly gave Louis enchanted him. The pin, unfortunately, did not arrive.

How I regret each time I hear you speak of your illness! I have been so anxious about you. Uncle Louis and my parents-in-law, in their telegram of to-day, enquire after you.

We have had two such interesting days; the country too lovely, each day in a quite different part. We accompanied Uncle George, and in this way have seen the two Divisions, and through sleeping here will be enabled to see the third Division to-morrow before returning to town.

I saw dear Arthur yesterday. He rode with me all the time, and to-day we met him marching with his company. How I have enjoyed seeing your splendid troops again, I can’t tell you; but I shall reserve all news till we meet.

Louis thanks you again and again for your kindness, and only regrets not having seen you himself, but is very grateful that we were allowed to stay a few days at Buckingham Palace, through which we were enabled to come here, which to him as a soldier is of the very greatest interest. Bertie is full of his work, and I think it interests him immensely. He has charming officers about him, to help and show him what to do. To our great disappointment we did not see the 42d. Highlanders, the “Black Watch” to-day; but yesterday we saw the Agyleshire 91st Highlanders, who gave Louise the present. Bertie lent me a charming little horse, but the ground is dreadful, and not having ridden for so long, and being on horseback so many hours, makes me feel quite stiff.

Dunrobin Castle, Sutherland, October 19th.

I wish your telegram had brought me better news of you. I really can’t bear to think of you suffering, and so much alone. I feel it quite wrong to have left you, and my thoughts and wishes are continually with you, and distract my attention from all I see here. I can’t tell you how much I feel for you at being so helpless. It is such a trial to any one so active as yourself; but your trial must be drawing to a close, and you will be rewarded in the end, I am sure, by feeling perhaps even better and stronger than you did before all your troubles.

I was nearly sick in the train, which is the slowest I was ever in my life, and was unable to go to dinner; but a long walk by the sea this morning has quite set me up in spite of the extraordinary warmth.

Sandringham, November 9th.

It is the first time since eleven years that I have spent Bertie’s birthday with him, and though we are only three of our own family together, still that is better than nothing, and makes it seem more like birthday. Bertie and Alix are so kind, and give us so warm a welcome, showing how they like having us, that it feels quite home. Indeed I pray earnestly that God’s blessing may rest on him, and that he may be guided to do what is wise and right, so that he may tide safely through the anxious times that are before him, and in which we now live. They are both charming hosts, and all the party suit well together. The Westminsters and Brownlows are here; Lady B. is so very handsome.

We joined the shooting party for luncheon, and the last beats out to-day and yesterday; and the weather is beautiful, though cold—a very bracing air, like Scotland.

Darmstadt, January 21st.

* * * Louis returns to-morrow from Berlin. He was the first to be invested by the Emperor, and has met with great kindness. He was very glad to have been there with dear Arthur, who seems to please every one.

February 5th.

* * * It is a great pleasure to have dear Arthur here. He is so amiable, civil, and nice, and takes interest in all he sees, and is so pleasant to have in the house. His visit will be very short, as he gives up two days to go to Baden.

We gave small suppers on two evenings for Arthur, and yesterday evening a celebrated, most excellent violinist played quite as well as Joachim: a friend of his, and a pupil of Spöhr’s. This afternoon he is going to play some of Bach’s celebrated sonatas with and to me. Arthur enjoys music very much, and keeps up his playing.

There is a dance at Uncle Alexander’s to-night, on Wednesday a Court ball, and on Friday one at my parents-in-law. I can’t stand the heat at all of an evening, and the rooms are very hot. Louis, who has an awful cold, took Arthur to see the barracks, as all military things give him pleasure.

It is heavenly sunny weather, having been quite dark and foggy all day yesterday.

April 20th.

* * * Louis has been in Upper Hesse the last four days shooting Auerhähne, but as yet unsuccessfully. My mother-in-law is very grateful for your kind message, and is better, though weak. She has had a narrow escape from fever.

Frittie has again endless bruises, with lumps, as Leo used to have; but he is taking iron, as Sir William [Jenner] wished, and is strong and rosy and well otherwise. I trust he may outgrow this.

June 17th.

Many thanks for your dear letter and kind wishes for the birth of our baby[104]—a nice little thing, like Ella, only smaller and with finer features, though the nose promises to be long. * * *

Kind Dr. Hofmeister was most attentive; and of course having him was far pleasanter than not, and we owe you great thanks for having sent him. Mrs. Clarke has been all one could wish.

Louis wrote as soon as he could, but this last week he has only been home just before his dinner, and was so tired that he invariably fell asleep. He has gone out at six, returning at twelve, and has had to be out before four in the afternoon, returning at eight. He is away again to-day. Until the 15th of September his duty will be important, and he has all the office work besides. It is double this year to what it usually is, as all people and things are new since the war.

How sad the loss of those two poor children is,[105] and the sweet little “bairnie” of three! The unfortunate mother to lose two in so dreadful a way! I am sure it touched Beatrice much to see the poor little one; and in a child death so often loses every thing that is painful.

We think of calling our little girl “Alix” (Alice they pronounce too dreadfully in German) “Helena Louise Beatrice,” and, if Beatrice may, we would much like to have her as godmother.

Darmstadt, June 24th.

* * * We both felt so truly for you when we heard of dear Dr. Macleod’s death, knowing what a kind and valued friend of yours he was, and how fate seems to take one friend after another, and before age can claim its right. He indeed deserves his rest, for he did so much good in his life!

I feel rather weaker than usual this time, and sitting and walking, though only a few steps, tries me a good deal. I was out for half an hour yesterday, and I think the air will do me good.

Louis left at half-past five this morning, and will be back by seven, I hope, this evening; to-morrow the same.

I will add Vicky’s name to baby’s others, as you propose; and “Alix” we gave for “Alice,” as they murder my name here: “Aliicé” they pronounce it, so we thought “Alix” could not so easily be spoilt.

Uncle Alexander is coming back shortly, and says the Empress is not to return to Russia this winter, and will be sent to Italy for the whole winter.

The heat has been quite dreadful; there is a little air to-day, though.

August 14th.

* * * Baby is like Ella, only smaller features, and still darker eyes with very black lashes, and reddish-brown hair. She is a sweet, merry little person, always laughing, with a deep dimple in one cheek just like Ernie.

We are going to Frankfort to-day to give Uncle George and Fritz Strelitz a luncheon in our Palais there. Hélène Reuter comes to us for a month to-morrow as lady.

I hope your Edinburgh visit will go off well. You have never lived in Holyrood since 1861, have you?

How I shall think of you at dear Balmoral, and this time capable of enjoying it—not like last time, when you had to suffer so much, and were unable to do any thing. It quite spoiled our visit to see you an invalid. Remember me to all old friends there—to Brown’s kind old mother, and any who ask after us.

I shall think of you on dear Grandmama’s birthday. She is never forgotten by any of us, and lives on as a dearly-cherished memory of all that was good and loving, and so kind. My children have her picture in their room, and I often tell them of her.

Kranichstein, August 20th.

I am very grateful for your telegrams from Edinburgh, and for Flora’s [MacDonald] letter. It interests me so much to know what you did there, and I am very glad all went off so well. The people will have been too delighted to have had you in their midst again, and I am sure you enjoyed the beauty of your fine northern capital anew after not having seen it for so long a time. Beatrice seems delighted with what she saw. I recollect those many interesting and beautiful spots so well.[106]

The 18th was the anniversary of the dreadful battle of Gravelotte, which cost so many lives, to our division especially. We drove into town to the military church, which was full of officers and men, at half-past seven in the morning, and thought much of the friends and acquaintances in their distant graves, and of the desolate homes, until that day so bright. My heart felt too full when we were singing Ein’ feste Burg, and I had my husband at my side, whom the Almighty had graciously spared to my children and myself. Gratitude seems barely enough to express the intense depth of what I feel when I think of that time, and how again and again I long to give all and all to my good dear Louis and to our children, for he is all that is good and true and pure.

* * * The children were much distressed at the sad fate of my poor little bullfinch, who piped beautifully. Louis had caught an owl and put it in a wooden sort of a cage in the room where my bird was. In the night it broke the bars and got loose and tore the bullfinch’s tail out, and the poor little thing died in consequence.

Of our quiet country life there is little to tell. We are a good deal out, always with our little people, their pets—dogs, cats, ponies, donkeys; it is rather like a menagerie.

Schloss Kranichstein, September 17th.

* * * On Sunday the Moriers with their children were with us for the day. He looked so white and reduced, walks on crutches, but retains, as always, his spirits and his lively interest for all things. He is a kind, warm-hearted man, to whom we are both attached. Alice feels the loss of her poor sister deeply, and says her father has been so cut up about it.

We took them to races close by, and feared we should be upset, the ground being very heavy and uneven, and I was in terror for Mr. Morier, who was in my carriage.

On the 9th there is a large meeting here of the different associations existing throughout Germany for the bettering of women’s education and social position (of the middle class especially with regard to trade). Some English ladies are coming, some Swiss and Dutch. It will last four days, and be very fatiguing. The programme I arranged with my two committees here and the gentlemen at Berlin, and they wanted to force me to preside; but for so large an assemblage—to me nearly all strangers—I positively refused. I do that in my own Associations, but not where there are so many strangers, who all want to talk, and all to cross purposes. It is difficult enough to keep one’s own people in order when they disagree. I hope and trust I have prevented all exaggerated and unfeminine views being brought up, which to me are dreadful. These Associations, if not reasonably led, tend too easily to the ridiculous. My Associations take a great deal of my time and thought, and require a good amount of study. I hope and trust that what we are doing here is the right thing. We have already had some satisfactory results in the class of the workwomen, and in the reform of the schools; but there are many open questions yet, which I hope this meeting, with others who work in the same field, may help us to solve.

Will you look through the programme? It would please me so much, if I thought, you took a little interest in my endeavors here in a very small way to follow in a slight degree part of dear Papa’s great works for the good of others.

The meeting at Berlin seems to have gone off very well, and has pleased all Germans, who hope for a consolidation of peace—so necessary to them.

We have an entire change of Ministry at Darmstadt, the first since 1848, which fills all with hopes for an improvement in all the affairs of the Grand Duchy.

Kranichstein, September 25th.

* * * All sympathize with you, and feel what a loss to you darling Aunt[107] must be—how great the gap in your life, how painful the absence of that sympathy and love which united her life and yours so closely.

Darling, kind Mama, I feel so acutely for you, that my thoughts are incessantly with you, and my prayers for comfort and support to be granted you in the heavy trial are warm indeed. You have borne so many hard losses with courage and resignation, that for darling Aunt’s sake you will do so again, and knowing her at rest and peace will in time reconcile you to the loss—all the more as her passing from this world to another was so touchingly peaceful. Dear Augusta [Stanley] wrote to me, which was a great consolation, and we intend going to Baden to pay our last token of respect and love.

Darmstadt, October 13th.

* * * A few words about our doings here may be of interest to you. The meeting went off well, was very large, the subjects discussed were to the purpose and important, and not one word of the emancipated political side of the question was touched upon by any one. Schools (those of the lower, middle, and higher classes) for girls was the principal theme; the employment of women for post and telegraph offices, etc.; the improvement necessary in the education of nursery-maids, and the knowledge of mothers in the treatment of little children; the question of nurses and nursing institutes.

The committees of the fifteen Associations met Wednesday afternoon, and in the evening thirteen of the members came to us to supper.

The public meeting on the following day lasted from nine to two with a small interruption; a committee meeting in the afternoon; and that evening all the members and guests came to us—nearly fifty in number. The following day the meetings lasted even longer, and the English ladies were kind enough to speak—only think, old Miss Carpenter, on all relating to women’s work in England (she is our guest here). Her account of the Queen’s Institute at Dublin was most interesting. Miss Hill (also our guest), about the boarding-out system for orphans. Miss C. Winkworth, about higher education in England. She mentioned also the new institution to which Louise now belongs, and is a member of it herself. The ladies all spoke very well; the German ones remarkably so.

There was a good deal of work to finish afterward, and a good many members to see. They came from all parts of Germany—many kind-hearted, noble, self denying women. The presence of the English ladies—above all, of one such as Miss Carpenter, who has done such good works for the reformation of convicts—greatly enhanced the importance of the meeting, and her great experience has been of value to us all. She means still to give a lecture on India and the state of the native schools there, before leaving us.

I have still so much work in hand, that I fear my letter is hurried and ill-written, but I hope you will kindly excuse this.

To-morrow I am taking Miss Carpenter to all our different schools, that she may see how the different systems in use work. Some are good, but none particularly so; there is much to improve.

Louis is gone to Mayence to-day for the inauguration of the Memorial which the town has erected to the memory of dear excellent Waldemar Holstein, for so many years its beloved Governor.

Darmstadt, October 24th.

You must indeed miss dear Aunt much, and feel your thoughts drawn to her, whose precious intercourse was such a solace and comfort to you. It is nice for you to have Louise a little to yourself. * * *

You ask, if my mother-in-law talks with me about the different woman’s work in which I am interested. Of course she does. We are so intimate together, that even where we differ in opinion we yet talk of every thing freely, and her opinion is of the greatest value to me. She had ever been a most kind, true, and loving mother, whom I respect and love more and more. She was much pleased and interested in the success of the meeting, but is of course as adverse as myself to all extreme views on such subjects.

I have joined to my Nursing Institute an Association for watching over the orphans who are boarded-out by the State into families, where some poor children are unhappy and ill-used. The use of such meetings as this one was consists mainly in the interchange of experience made in the different branches in other places, which it is impossible to carry on by correspondence.

The schools are entirely different throughout Germany—good and indifferent; and those here do not count among the best, as every thing, through the long misrule of the late Government, is not what it ought to be.

Uncle Louis has a new Ministry now, which gives every one cause for hope.

Darmstadt, November 3d.

* * * The weather is awful here; the wind sounds in the house as if one were at sea.

This article was sent me the other day, and though I half fear seeming unbescheiden [overbold], yet, as you spoke of your feelings about women’s meetings the other day, I venture to send it.

Ella is writing to you herself to thank you for the lovely bracelet, which gave me as much pleasure as it did her. To think that she is already eight! She is handsomer than she was, and a dear child. * * * They all give me pleasure, dear children, though of course they have as many faults as others; but they are truthful and contented, and very affectionate. Having them much with me, watching and guiding their education—which, through our quiet and regular life, is possible—I am able to know and understand their different characters, for not one is like the other.

Darmstadt, November 12th.

* * * We have the same weather here which you seem to have, which for our long journey was not pleasant. We took nearly twelve hours going, and as much returning from Metz. For the inauguration itself the weather held up. The roads were dreadful, and the wide plateau looked dreary and sad—dotted all over with graves, like an enormous churchyard.

The memorial is a dead lion in bronze, on a plain pedestal, bearing an inscription on black marble in front, and at the back all the names. Deputations of officers and men were present, besides the generals, etc., from Metz. The clergyman of the division read the prayers, preached a short and touching sermon, and the band played a chorale. Louis spoke a few words, ending with the usual “Hoch” for the Emperor and Grand Duke. I then laid some wreaths at the foot of the Memorial from Louis’ parents and ourselves, and we drove back to Metz across the different battlefields. The villages are all built up again, and re-inhabited, so that few traces of the dreadful struggle remain.

* * * The Empress of Russia wrote the other day that the alliance with Marie[108] of Mecklenburg is quite impossible, as she won’t change her religion. I hope all other German Princesses will follow her example.

Darmstadt, December 12th.

For the 14th I write a few words. From year to year they can but express the same; the grief at the loss of such a father, such a man, grows with me, and leaves a gap and a want that nothing on earth can ever fill up.

The deep, intense sympathy for what you, my poor dear Mama, went through then and since, in consequence of your bereavement, remains as vivid as ever. God heard our prayers, and sustained you, and through the healing hand of time softened your grief, and retained you for us, who were too young and too numerous to stand alone!

That our good sweet Alix should have been spared this terrible grief, when this time last year it seemed so imminent, fills my heart with gratitude for her dear sake, as for yours, his children, and ours. That time is as indelibly fixed on my memory as that of 1861, when the witnessing of your grief rent my heart so deeply. The 14th will now be a day of mixed recollections and feelings to us—a day hallowed in our family, when one great spirit ended his work on earth—though his work can never die, and generations will grow up and call his name blessed—and when another was left to fulfil his duty and mission, God grant, for the welfare of his own family and of thousands.[109]

I have not time to write to dearest Bertie and Alix to-day; and as I love to think of them with you on the 14th, so I would ask you to let them share these lines full of sympathy for them, letting a remembrance of me, who suffered with them, mingle with your united prayers and thanks on this solemn day!

My little Fritz is at length better, but white and thin, in consequence of his illness.

Christmas Day.

Your dear presents gave me so much pleasure; I thank you again and again for them. The precious souvenir of dear Aunt, and my Ernie’s picture delight me. I assure you, nothing has given me more pleasure this Christmas.

Let me also thank you, in Louis’ and the children’s names (meanwhile, until they do so themselves), for your kind gifts to them. It makes us all so happy and grateful, to be always so kindly remembered.

The boys were well enough to enjoy Christmas, though rather pale and pulled—above all, sweet Ernie.

We gave all our servants presents—the whole household and stable—under the Christmas-tree, which we made for the children; and when the tree is divided, the children of all our servants come and share it with ours. It keeps the household as a family, which is so important. We have fifty people to give to!

Dear Beatrice’s wishes (cards) pleased the children very much, but Frittie lamented for a letter from Auntie “for Frittie.” He talks quite well now.

On Saturday we shall go for the day to Vicky. I don’t like leaving the boys for longer yet. I am so glad Vicky gave such a flattering account of baby. She is quite the personification of her nickname “Sunny”—much like Ella, but a smaller head, and livelier, with Ernie’s dimple and expression.

“May the hour of trial and grief bring its blessing with it, and not have come in vain! The day passes so quickly, when one can do good and make others happy—and one leaves always so much undone.” (August 2, 1873.)

Darmstadt, January 12th.

* * * We were both much shocked to hear of the death of the Emperor Napoleon, and I must say grieved; personally he was so amiable, and she is much to be pitied. That he should die an exile in England and, as Louis Phillipe did, is most striking. In England the sympathy shown must touch the poor Empress, and, as I telegraphed, we should be so grateful to you, if you would kindly be the medium through which both of us would like to express to her how much we feel for her. How proud you must ever be, in feeling that your country is the one always able to offer a home and hospitality for those driven away from their own countries! England is before all others in that; and its warm sympathy for those who are in misfortune is such a generous feeling.

Fannie Baillie’s Victoria is such a nice girl. She comes to our children every Saturday, and is not above playing at dolls with them, though she is so much older. There are two rather nice little English girls, daughters of the chaplin here, who come to them.

February 1st.

If any one will feel with us, I know you will do so most. Since three days, with an interruption of one day, poor Frittie has been bleeding incessantly from a slight cut on his ear, which was nearly healed. Since yesterday evening we cannot stop it. All the usual remedies were used, but as yet unavailing. Just now the place has been touched again with caustic and tightly bound, after we had with great trouble got rid of the quantity of dried blood from his hair, ear, neck, etc. He is horrified at the sight of so much blood, but shows great strength as yet in spite of so great a loss. He is of course very irritable, and, as he must not scream, one has to do whatever he wishes, which will spoil him dreadfully. I own I was much upset when I saw that he had this tendency to bleed, and the anxiety for the future, even if he gets well over this, will remain for years to come. All have their trials, one or another, and, please God, we shall bear whatever is sent without complaining. To see one’s own child suffer is for a mother a great trial. With what pleasure one would change places with the little one, and bear its pain!

February 6th.

* * * In the summer Fritz had a violent attack of dysentery, which was so prevalent at Darmstadt, and off and on for two months it continued, until Scotland stopped it; and this illness made him sensitive and delicate.

* * * What has caused him such great suffering has been that, what with the use of caustic, the tight bandaging and the iron, a quantity of small gatherings formed on his cheek and neck, causing such an amount of pain that he could not remain in bed or anywhere quiet for the two first days and nights. Now they are drying off, the itching is such that he don’t know what to do with himself, and we have the greatest difficulty in keeping him from rubbing or scratching himself. The want of sleep through pain, etc., has excited him very much, so that he has been very difficult to manage. The bandages of course cannot be removed, and great care will be taken when they are removed, lest bleeding should re-commence. He has been out twice a day as usual all along, and his skin never quite lost its pinkness and mottled appearance; all of which are signs that he has good blood and to spare, else he would look worse and have shown weakness, which after all he did not. * * *

He speaks well for his age, and is, alas! very wild, so that it will be impossible to keep him from having accidents. * * *

* * * I have been playing some lovely things (very difficult) of Chopin lately, which I know you would admire.

Darmstadt, February 19th.

My best thanks for your dear letter! That I forgot to thank you at once for dear Grandmama’s very beautiful print[111] came from my having the lithograph of that picture in my room always before me, and, though the print far surpasses it, I am so fond of the lithograph, that I forgot the print at the moment I was writing to you. Before that dear picture, the painting of which I recollect so well, my children often sit, and I tell them of her who was and ever will be so inexpressibly dear to us all. In the schoolroom, in my sitting-room, in the nursery, there is, with the pictures of you and dear Papa, always one of dear Grandmama, and, in my room and the schoolroom, the Duke of Kent also.

My sitting-room has only prints and lithographs, all Winterhalters, of the family: you and Papa, your receiving the Sacrament at the Coronation, Raphael’s “Disputa” and “Bella Jardiniérre,” and the lovely little engraving of yourself from Winterhalter’s picture in Papa’s room at Windsor.[112]

Vicky is coming here on Wednesday. The Grand Duke of Weimar has kindly allowed Mr. Ruland to join us as cicerone: which for galleries, etc., is very necessary, and we take no courier. Rome is our first halting-place in Italy, and for years it has been my dream and wish to be in that wonderful city, where the glorious monuments of antiquity and of the Middle Ages carry one back to those marvellous times.

I am learning Italian, and studying the history and art necessary to enable me, in the short time we have, to see and understand the finest and most important monuments. I am so entirely absorbed and interested in these studies just now, that I have not much time for other things. My father-in-law, perhaps Princess Charles too, will be with Aunt Marie of Russia at Sorrento then. William will probably join us at Rome; he is quite a connoisseur in art, and a good historian, quite at home in Rome, about which he raves. I must say that I look forward immensely to this journey; it opens a whole new life to one. * * *

Kanné has made all arrangements for us at Rome. We shall leave here about the 18th of March.

Rome, Hôtel Allemagne, March 27th.

* * * We left the dear children well, but very sorry at parting. The two days at Munich were most interesting. The National Museum in its way surpasses any I have ever seen, and in originals is richer even than South Kensington. Aunt Mariechen was very kind and dear; the Moriers very amiable hosts, and we met some interesting people there. Two hours before we left, after eight in the evening, Ludwig and Otto[113] came to us and remained some time.

The Brenner, over which we came, was covered with snow—most beautiful scenery, like St. Moritz in the Engadine. The journey was very fatiguing. We had a morning for Bologna, and had to wait three hours at Florence for the night train—time enough to drive round and in the town, which is most lovely. What trees, mountains, colors! then the fine buildings!

The following morning at six we reached Rome. The sun was bright, the distance blue—the grand ruins dark and sharp against the sky, cypresses, stone pines, large cork oaks, making up such a beautiful picture. Every day I admire the scenery more and more; every little bit of architecture, broken or whole, with a glimpse of the Campagna, a picturesque dirty peasant and a dark tree close by, is a picture in itself which one would like to frame and hang up in one’s room. It is too, too beautiful! To tell you all we have seen and are seeing would tire you. Bertie and Arthur’s descriptions, too, so lately have told you the same.

The Via Appia, the grand old road lined with ruins of splendid tombs, leading from Albano through the Campagna to Rome, along which St. Paul went, and the great kings and emperors made their triumphal entries, is a fit one to lead to such a city as Rome, which ruled the world.

The antique monuments, those of the Middle Ages, are so magnificent and interesting that as yet I don’t know which to mention first or admire most!

Our incognito did not last long (though even now we maintain it), for the Crown Princess heard of us and came to see us, as did the Crown Prince, and we had to go to the Quirinal, a morning visit without entourage.

Palm Sunday, Rome, April 6th.

* * * We saw the beginning of mass and blessing of the palms in St. Peter’s this morning, with a procession and beautiful singing. Whilst the procession, with part of the choristers, go outside the church, some remain within, and they respond to each other, which produces a very striking effect. In spite of the bad style inside of St. Peter’s, as a whole it produces a marvellous effect through its wonderful size and richness of decoration.

I saw two convents yesterday: the Sepolte Vive, which Bertie and Alix saw, and where the nuns asked much after him, and said that he was molto amabile; and another equally strict one, but not austere, where the Superior told me that Aunt Feodore with Princess Hohenzollern had paid them a visit. Monsignore Howard was the only gentleman with me and the ladies, as they never see any men. Their idea is, that they spend the whole of their life in contemplation and prayer, so as to pray for those who cannot pray for themselves.

The museums of the Vatican and of the Capitol, with their enormous collection of antiques, are very fine. The celebrated Venus, Apollo Belvidere, the Torso (which Michael Angelo admired so much, and was taken to touch when he could no more see it), the wounded Gladiator, etc., are there. The Sistine Chapel, with Michael Angelo’s frescoes, which are certainly the most marvellous pieces of painting and conception, is very dark, and the frescoes are suffering much from the smoke, dust, etc. Raphael’s Stanze are far better preserved, and lighter than I had expected, and of such beauty!

I thought so often and so much of dear Papa, when I saw the originals of all the pictures he so much admired and took such interest in. How this alone fascinates me I cannot tell you. In these galleries and churches there is only too much to be seen, besides the antique ruins, etc. You would be terrified to see how full our day is from before nine. Mr. Ruland is an excellent cicerone for pictures and sculptures. William is with us here since last Sunday.

We are going to the Villa Ludovisi this afternoon. The gardens of the Villa Doria Pamfili are most beautiful: the terraces there remind me of Osborne. I can see in many things where dear Papa got his ideas from for Osborne and for his decorations, which Professor Gruner understood so well to carry out.

Many thanks for your having told Lady Churchill to send me an account of your opening of the Park.[114] I am glad that all went off so well, and that you were not the worse for it.

I have quite refused going to Naples. We shall arrange probably to go for two days to Castellamare (one hour from Naples); from thence to Sorrento and Pompeii, and return here. As yet it is not hot here at all.

Rome, April 9th.

Let me thank you for your letter written on our dear Victoria’s birthday. I have never been away from her on her birthday before, and though we see such fine interesting things, yet I feel very homesick for the dear children always. In three weeks or less I shall see them again. I look forward all the time with perfect impatience, as I am so rarely separated from them, and we live so much together. Every other day Fräulein Kitz and Orchard write, so that I have news daily.

Louis’ father wrote me to-day, as his sister asks us to her house at Sorrento for one or two nights for the 12th; but as I was rather deranged from a sick headache yesterday, I shall wait a day before we decide. It is wet and quite cold to-day.

We visited San Clemente two days ago, and Father Mulooly took us through the three churches—one under the other. The antique one was full of water, and we walked about on rickety planks, each with a lighted taper, as it is quite dark there. It is most curious, and the old paintings on the walls telling the legend of St. Clement are wonderfully full of expression and feeling for the time they were done.

Rome, April 19th.

* * * Our visit to Sorrento went off well. We got there at one on Monday morning for luncheon. The sun had given me a dreadful headache, which ended in sickness, so that I could not leave my room. Marie sat with me, and was very dear and kind. The next day, she and my Aunt, who seems tired and dispirited, had bad headaches. We went with my father-in-law and some of the ladies and gentlemen on the following afternoon in the Empress’ yacht to Capri, close by, to see the blue grotto.

The Bay of Naples, particularly seen from Sorrento, is most lovely—like a beautiful dream—the colors, the outlines are so perfect.

We breakfasted together in the morning with Aunt and Marie, and on Tuesday we took our leave.

We shall go to Florence the 23d, (the first station homeward); remain there three or four days; one night at Verona, and then home. It is a fatiguing journey, and we have so often had people in the carriage, which is very unpleasant—some very rude English, going to Sorrento; they did not know us.

Florence, April 25th.

Your kind wishes I received early this morning. Thousand thanks for them, and for the presents which I shall find on getting home.

I shall be so glad to have a large photograph of yourself. Thirty years! Good-bye, youth! but I feel quite as old as I am, though the time has flown by so fast. I would it had flown as well as it has fast! I look back to the past with great gratitude to the Almighty for innumerable blessings, and pray our life may continue so blest. I have a very bad headache—neuralgia; I have it continually; and the journey is very long and tiring. Darling Ernie wanted to buy something for my birthday, and he thought a china doll with a bath would be the best. I am glad Victoria remembered to write to Beatrice as I told her; they are very fond of their Auntie.

Florence seems a beautiful town, and the situation amongst the hills, over which the suburbs spread, is most picturesque.

I enclose the last telegrams from Sorrento. It is fièvre du pays which Marie had. We remained at Rome a day longer on account of poor Alfred. He is very patient and hopeful.

The King, whom we saw at the races, sends you his respects, and was delighted with the cream-colored horse you sent him. Many thanks for the flowers. I enclose two from here. The account of your giving away the colors[115] I had already read with interest.

We must go to the Grand Duchess Marie to-morrow; Monday to Verona, twelve hours; next morning to Munich, and that night to Darmstadt. How I look forward to seeing the dear children! It seems to me an age since we parted.

Darmstadt, June 9th.

Tender thanks for your last letter, and for every word of sympathy! The weary days drag on, and bring much pain at times, though there are moments of comfort, and even consolation.

The horror of my darling’s sudden death[116] at times torments me too much, particularly waking of a morning; but when I think he is at rest, free from the sorrow we are suffering, and from every evil to come, I feel quite resigned. He was such a bright child. It seems so quiet next door; I miss the little feet, the coming to me, for we lived so much together, and Ernie feels so lost, poor love.

We were at the Mausoleum with all the children yesterday evening. It is a quiet spot amidst trees and flowers, with a lovely view toward the hills and plain. He loved flowers so much. I can’t see one along the roadside without wishing to pick it for him.

There is a young sculptor from Stuttgart, who was accidently here, and, meeting the children, had asked permission to make medallions of them. The last afternoon sweet Frittie had sat to him, and he is now making a lovely bust of him, which is getting very like.

On Wednesday my mother-in-law, with her three sons, goes to Berlin; on Thursday Uncle Adalbert[117] will be buried in the Dom.

We sha’n’t be able to go to Seeheim until Saturday.

How too kind of you to have asked us to Osborne! How a rest and home air would have revived me—and the pleasure of seeing you again; but Louis cannot leave until after his birthday. If he did get leave, it would so throw him out before he has to command; and, having been absent this spring, he feels it an impossibility, and this I am sure you will understand. I could not leave him or the children. Our circle has grown smaller, and drawn us all the more together with a dread of parting from each other. We thank you a thousand times for the kind offer.

Seeheim, June 22d.

* * * I do earnestly hope that too long a time may not elapse before we meet.

It is very hot, and I feel very low and unhappy.

To-morrow this house will be full, and all the Russians, etc., close by. Had there only been any other quiet country place to be at, how gladly would I have escaped this.

* * * It is only three weeks to-day since we took our darling to his last resting-place! I wish I could go there to-day, but it is too hot and too far.

Fritz and Louise of Baden came two days ago to Darmstadt, to see my parents-in-law and us.

Dr. Macleod’s letter is very kind.

I enclose two photographs of dear Frittie out of groups, the negative of one of which unluckily does not exist any more. The little blouse is the one he had on on that terrible day. My darling sweet child—to have lost him so! To my grave shall I carry this sorrow with me.

In the book you sent me there is a fine poem by Miss Procter, “Our grief, our friend,” called “Friend Sorrow,” which expresses so much what I myself feel about a deep grief.

Seeheim, June 27th.

* * * It was just four weeks yesterday since our darling died, and we went to the Mausoleum. I felt the whole weight of my sorrow, and the terrible shock doubly again. But the precious child does not—that is a comfort. He is happy and at rest, whilst we grieve and mourn. Ernie always prays for Frittie, and talks to me of him when we walk together.

Aunt Marie arrived at two on Monday, and a few hours later came to see me, and was so sympathizing, motherly, and loving; it touched me much. At such moments she is peculiarly soft and womanly, and she loves her own children so tenderly. She cried much, and told me of the sad death of her eldest girl, who was seven, and of the terrible, irreparable loss her eldest son was to her. She has such a religious, truly resigned way of looking at great sorrows such as these. In the room I am now living in Aunt Marie had seen Frittie in his bath two years ago, and she remembered all about him. She is coming to “Sunshine’s” toilet this evening; it always amuses her, and she is very fond of the children.

Seeheim, July 9th.

* * * There are days which seem harder than others, and when I feel very heartsick, prayer and quiet and solitude do me good.

I hear Affie comes on Thursday night. This evening the Emperor arrives. Poor Marie[118] is very happy, and so quiet. * * * How I feel for the parents, this only daughter (a character of Hingebung [perfect devotion] to those she loves), the last child entirely at home, as the parents are so much away that the two youngest, on account of their studies, no more travel about.

Seeheim, July 26th.

* * * I am glad that you have a little colored picture of my darling. I feel lower and sadder than ever, and miss him so much, so continually. There is such a gap between Ernie and Sunny, and the two boys were such a pretty pair, and were become such companions. Having so many girls, I was so proud of our two boys! The pleasure did not last long, but he is mine more than ever now. He seems near me always, and I carry his precious image in my heart everywhere. That can never fade or die!

Seeheim, August 2d.

Many thanks for your dear letter! I am feeling so low and weak to-day that kind words are doubly soothing. You feel so with me, when you understand how long and deep my grief must be. And does one not grow to love one’s grief, as having become part of the being one loved—as if through this one could still pay a tribute of love to them, to make up for the terrible loss, and missing of not being able to do any thing for the beloved one any more?[119] I am so much with my children, and am so accustomed to care for them and their wants daily, that I miss not having Frittie, the object of our greatest care, far more than words can describe; and in the quiet of our every-day life, where we have only the children around us, it is doubly and trebly felt, and is a sorrow that has entered into the very heart of our existence.

May the hour of trial and grief bring its blessing with it, and not have come in vain! The day passes so quickly, when one can do good and make others happy, and one leaves always so much undone. I feel more than ever, one should put nothing off; and children grow up so quickly and leave one, and I would long that mine should take nothing but the recollection of love and happiness from their home with them into the world’s fight, knowing that they have there always a safe harbor, and open arms to comfort and encourage them when they are in trouble. I do hope that this may become the case, though the lesson for parents is so difficult, being continually giving, without always finding the return.

Dear Fannie Baillie has been a few days here, and goes to England to-day. I shall miss her so much. I am so very fond of her. I hope you will see her; she will bring you many messages from us.

Seeheim, August 13th.

* * * After endless difficulties it has been settled that we can go to the Mainau. I am so far from strong and well that a change is necessary, and we shall go on the 15th, as Louise of Baden proposed, and I have written this to her.

How you will enjoy the rest at Balmoral! After so much going on you must require it.

Hélène Reuter is coming here for a fortnight with her boy—Ernest’s age. Poor boy, he longs for a playfellow.

Seeheim, August 16th.

* * * Louis joins with me in saying that we shall gratefully accept your wish that we should come to Windsor, and he trusts there will be no difficulties for leave then. * * *

Seeheim, September 7th.

* * * You ask if I can play yet? I feel as if I could not, and I have not yet done so. In my own house it seems to me as if I never could play again on that piano, where little hands were nearly always thrust when I wanted to play. Away from home—in England—much sooner. I had played so often lately that splendid, touching funeral march of Chopin’s, and I remember it is the last thing I played, and then the boys were running in the room.

Mary Teck came to see me and remained two nights, so warm-hearted and sympathizing. I like to talk of him to those who love children, and can understand how great the gap, how intense the pain, the ending of a little bright existence causes.

Soon I shall have my Louis back. I long for him very much; but the change of air, the active out-door life, and being quite thrown into men’s society and occupations, must refresh body and mind. Here he has only me, the governess and children as Umgang. But he is what the Germans call ein Haushammel—it is what he likes best.

We shall do nothing for his birthday. The children will recite their poems and write little things, and his parents will come to our five o’clock tea.

Heiden, Appenzell, October 7th.

How kind of you to remember our darling’s birthday; we both thank you for this. Sad and many are our thoughts. I think of my loneliness and anxiety when he was born, with Louis far away in the midst of danger—a sad and awful time to come into the world; but sweet Frittie was my comfort and occupation, a second son, a pleasure to us both! Now all this is wiped out, and our parents’ hearts are sore, and asking for the dear bright face we miss so much from amongst our circle of children! He ended his fight very soon. May we all follow in a way as peaceful, with as little struggle and pain, and leave an image of as much love and brightness behind, to be a blessed remembrance for the rest of our lives!

I can’t write on any other subject to-day, therefore close these short lines with much love from your devoted child,

Alice.

Darmstadt, November 14th.

* * * It is very kind of you to ask about the rooms. I should prefer living in the tapestry rooms this time. It won’t be like the last time—though after our house here, so full of happy and heart-rending recollections, I go through continual pangs, which it will take many a year to soften down, as you can understand.

Buckingham Palace, December 20th.

Beloved Mama:—How much I thank you for your dear precious letter, and for all the true love and considerate sympathy you showed me during our visit! It has soothed and comforted me, I assure you, and will be a pleasure and satisfaction for me to look back to the many pleasant talks we had together.

Louis, who has always been so devoted to you, was touched to tears, as I was, by your expressions of love to us and to our children.

Thank you also for all advice, which is so precious to me, and in following it I shall like to think that I am doing something that you told me.

How much I felt in parting from you I cannot say. Neither did I like to speak of it, for it was too much, and the harder things in life are better borne in silence, as none can bear them for one, and they must be fought out by one’s self.

Ernie and Irène send endless loves to you, to Uncle and Auntie. Sunny’s hand is better.

Tilla came to see me yesterday, and we both drove with her to the Memorial.[120]

* * * There is so much I would run on about, now the dear habit of intercourse together has once more become so natural to me. Writing is at best a poor remplaçant.

Once more from both of us warm and tender thanks for so much love and kindness! Love to Leopold and Beatrice; kind remembrances to all who surround you! From your grateful and devoted child,

Alice.

Buckingham Palace, December 21st.

* * * It is fine and warm and still. I hope it will be so early to-morrow when we cross over. I shall telegraph how the passage has been.

Please thank Brown for his kind wishes. I am so sorry that I missed saying good-bye to several. To say the truth, I dreaded it. It is always so painful. The old Baron’s[121] way of disappearing was almost the best.

Darmstadt, January 12th.

* * * How low and miserable I am at times in these rooms, particularly when I go to bed, I cannot tell you! The impression of all is so vivid and heart-rending. I could cry out for pain sometimes.

Till the first year is round this will often return, I know, and must be borne as part of the sorrow!

January 16th.

* * * I know well what your grief and your bereavement were compared to mine; but they are such different sorrows, I don’t think one can well compare them. Your life was broken—upset: altered from the very roots, through the one you lost; my life is unchanged, save in the mother’s heart the blank, the pain which thousands of little things awaken—which by the world, even by the family, are scarcely felt; and this ofttimes loneliness of sentiment clouds one’s life over with a quiet sorrow which is felt in every thing. * * *

Darmstadt, January 23d.

On our dear Affie’s [Prince Alfred’s] wedding-day, a few tender words. It must seem so strange to you not to be near him. My thoughts are constantly with them all, and we have only the Times’ account, for no one writes here—they are all too busy, and of course all news comes to you. What has Augusta [Lady Augusta Stanley] written, and Vicky and Bertie? Any extracts or other newspaper accounts but what we see would be most welcome.

We give a dinner to-night to the family and entourage, and Russian and English legations. * * *

Louis sends you his love and warmest wishes for yourself and the happiness of the dear pair, in which I most earnestly join. God bless and protect them, and may all turn out well!

Darmstadt, January 28th.

* * * Dear Marie [the Duchess of Edinburgh] seems to make the same impression on all. How glad I am she is so quite what I thought and hoped. Such a wife must make Affie happy, and do him good, and be a great pleasure to yourself, which I always like to think. I shall read to my mother-in-law the letters, and show them to Bäuerlein. Both will be very grateful for being allowed to see them.

We are going from Saturday to Monday to Carlsruhe. The eldest girls and Bäuerlein, who is going to take charge of them for a week, are going with us.

* * * One day we have six degrees of heat, the next two or four of cold; it is very unwholesome.

Carlsruhe, February 2d.

I have a little time before breakfast to thank you so very much for the enclosures, also the Dean’s [Stanley] letter through dear Beatrice. We are most grateful for being allowed to hear these most interesting reports! It brings every thing so much nearer. How pleasant it is to receive only satisfactory reports! I fear Aunt Marie is far from well. I should be very anxious, for she is like a fading flower.

All the family, Hohenlohes and Holsteins, send their duty. All their respective children and ours were together yesterday afternoon. I hope not to seem vain, if it strikes me that amongst all the children my girls usually carry away the palm. Victoria is in such good looks at present; they are both natural and real children, and as such I hope to be able to retain them long.

Sophie Weiss[122] came to see me yesterday. I was very glad to be able to give her so good an account of you, and how young you looked when I had that great happiness of those few short days at Windsor, which did me good in every respect. Old Frau von Bunsen, now eighty-three, I went to see—such a charming old lady, fresh in her mind, with snow-white hair. You and Papa were the topic she enjoyed speaking about, and our brothers and sisters.

Darmstadt, March 2d.

* * * My nice Miss Graves I could so well have taken when Kitty left, but I was so anxious for a German, though I was much inclined toward her; I thought a German more important than it really is. Not the nationality but the individuality is the first thing; and here I think I have succeeded in finding the right person. * * *

Darmstadt, March 11th.

* * * I hope you were not the worst for all your exertions. The Times’ accounts are charming. Such a warm reception must have touched Marie, and shown how the English cling to their Sovereign and her house.

We have cold, snow, and dust, after quite warm weather. I trust you will have sunshine to-morrow.

This last fortnight the news from Ashantee has so absorbed our thoughts. It has been an arduous undertaking, and one’s heart warms to our dear troops, who under all difficulties sustain their old name for bravery and endurance. The poor 42d [Regiment] lost many through illness, too; and I see they entered Coomassie playing the bagpipes!

Louis is just reading to me Sir Hope Grant’s book on the Indian Mutiny, which he kindly sent me, and which is interesting and pleasant to read.

I am taking the first snowdrops to sweet Frittie’s grave. How the first flowers he so dearly loved bring tears to my eyes, and recollections which wring my heart anew! I dread these two next months with their flowers and their birds. Good bye, darling Mama.

Darmstadt, April 7th.

* * * Surely Marie must feel it very deeply, for to leave so delicate and loving a mother must seem almost wrong. How strange this side of human nature always seems—leaving all you love most, know best, owe all debts of gratitude to, for the comparatively unknown! The lot of parents is indeed hard, and of such self-sacrifice.

April 11th.

* * * The children are too much an object here; they have too little to compare with; they would be benefited by a change, seeing other things and people, else they get into a groove, which I know is not good. They are very unspoilt in their tastes, and simple and quiet children, which I think of the greatest importance.

Louis Battenberg has passed a first-rate examination. The parents are so happy, and the influence the good conduct and steady work of the elder brother has on the younger is of the greatest use, as they wish to follow him, and be as well spoken of, and please their parents, as he does. * * *

April 15th.

My best thanks for your dear letter of the 13th. You say rightly, what a fault it is of parents to bring up their daughters with the main object of marrying them. This is said to be a too prominent feature in the modern English education of the higher classes. * * * I want to strive to bring up the girls without seeking this as the sole object for the future—to feel they can fill up their lives so well otherwise. * * * A marriage for the sake of marriage is surely the greatest mistake a woman can make. * * * I know what an absorbing feeling that of devotion to one’s parent is. When I was at home, it filled my whole soul. It does still, in a great degree, and Heimweh [homesickness] does not cease after ever so long an absence. * * *

Darmstadt, April 23d.

* * * I thought so much of your remarks about daughters, etc., and do think it so natural and dutiful to remain with one’s parent as long as one is wanted. Is it not a duty when no one else can take one’s place? I should feel it so.

April 26th.

I thank you most tenderly for your loving wishes for my birthday, received on getting up yesterday morning. You can understand that the day was inexpressibly sad, that the fair head missing in our circle was painfully felt, and that all these recollections caused me endless tears and heartache—though not for him, sweet precious child.

As you say, life at best is a struggle; happy those who can lie down to rest, having fought their battle well; or those who have been spared fighting it at all, and have remained pure and untouched, barely touching this earth, so mixed up with grief and sin!

Let me thank you for the charming photographs, and for the present toward the layette—a most kind assistance.

* * * We went to the Mausoleum. The children had made me wreaths to take there, and we all went together. How often and tenderly Ernie speaks of Frittie! It is very touching, and speaks of his deep and warm heart. He said the other day—for the recollection of death has left such a deep impression, and he cannot reconcile it with life, it pains him,—“When I die, you must die too, and all the others; why can’t all die together? I don’t like to die alone, like Frittie.” Poor child! the wish that all have, who love their own, so early expressed. * * *

May 4th.

Many thanks for your last dear letter written on dear Arthur’s birthday, of which, though late, I wish you joy. Such a good, steady, excellent boy as he is! What a comfort it must be to you, never to have had any cause of uneasiness or annoyance in his conduct! He is so much respected, which for one so young is doubly praiseworthy. From St. Petersburg, as from Vienna, we heard the same account of the steady line he holds to, in spite of all chaffing, etc., from others; which shows character.

My mother-in-law tells me that since Miechen has been allowed to retain her religion, this right will of course be conceded to all Princesses in future. What a good thing, for the changing I always thought too bad, and nowadays so intolerant and narrow. * * * To think of Mr. Van de Weyer also leaving this world! To you he will be a loss, and to all who knew him. Old friends are precious landmarks in the history of one’s life, and not to be replaced by new ones; and it is sad, how time reduces the number as one gets on in life. How deeply you must feel this with each fresh loss! I feel much for you. * * *

Darmstadt, May 18th.

* * * Since 1867 the Emperor’s [of Russia] face shrank so, and he became so thin. When I first saw him, in 1864, he was much stouter and fresher looking. He has many cares, and one sees they weigh upon him, for he is so kind and so well-meaning, and has done so much to advance liberty and culture in his own country.

Darmstadt, June 5th.

Beloved Mama:—* * * The day (Whitsunday, and dear Frittie’s burial-day) of baby’s birth would have been too sad, had not the fact of its being your birthday given a double significance; but when I heard those bells, and became conscious again of every thing, my feelings were deep and mingled beyond expression. * * * With repeated tender thanks, your most loving child,

Alice.

June 11th.

* * * Having no cow, or country place to keep one, in this tremendous heat where one can’t keep milk, and dysentery carries off so many babies, it would not be fair to deprive the poor little thing of its natural and safest nourishment till the hot months are over. These, darling Mama, are my reasons, and though I do it with such pleasure, yet it is not without sacrifices of comfort and convenience, etc.; but it seems to me the best course to take for our children, and as we are situated.

Many thanks for being baby’s godmother! It gives us great pleasure.

Do thank all our good people for their kind interest. * * *

I am driving out this afternoon if cool enough. You must not tell one of the heavenly Scotch air, when one is breathing heated stove air; it makes one too envious.

July 13th.

The christening went off very well. Baby looked really pretty for so young an individual. It was in a large room. Marie [Duchess of Edinburgh], quite in pink, held her godchild; and my mother-in-law, with her best love, begs me to tell you, it had pleased her so much that you had asked her to represent you. My three older girls looked very nice, I thought, in lavender silk (your Christmas present). I had the same color, and “Sunny” in pink, was immensely admired. She is still improving in looks since you saw her.

I was glad it was another place, in different circumstances from the last christening. As it was, it moved me much. The last time I heard these words, darling Frittie was with us, and now the chain has a gap!

* * * We can get nothing at Scheveningen except at exorbitant prices, so we go to that dreadful Blankenberghe—without tree or bush, nothing but a beach and sand banks.

Blankenberghe, July 24th.

The sea air is doing all good, the children especially, the heat had pulled them so.

I have bathed once, and hope it will agree. * * * My cough and relaxed throat are getting better.

The rooms are small and few, but clean, and the cooking good, and we are quite satisfied. There is not a soul one knows.

Blankenberghe, August 16th.

This day makes me think of our dear kind Grandmama, whose image still dwells amongst us! None who ever knew her can forget how truly lovable she was; and we grandchildren will ever retain such a bright recollection of her. So many little attentions, small souvenirs, kind letters, all tokens of affection so pleasing to the receivers.

Yesterday Louis saved a lady from drowning. He was bathing. The waves were high, and he heard a cry for help, and saw a bather struggling. She had lost her footing. Her husband tried to help her, but was exhausted and let her go; equally so the brother-in-law, and Louis felt he was losing his strength, but she kept her presence of mind and floated. He let her go once till a wave brought her near him again, and he caught her hand and brought her in, feeling quite done himself. I was not in the sea at the time, for the waves were so tremendous that I lost my footing several times, and had come out, fearing an accident. The lady is a Mrs. T. Sligo, a Scotchwoman, and she has just written to me to thank Louis. He is a good swimmer, and very strong. The gentlemen are two grey-haired Scotchmen.

Ella has so wonderfully improved since she has been here. She is no more pale and languid, and Ernie is another child also.

Luckily it has not been warm, so the air and baths are doubly efficacious. They have done me a world of good. I feel quite different to what I have done ever since Sunny’s birth. I believe the sea to be the only thing for such a relaxed state, and, being strong and healthy by nature, I can’t bear not being well, and feeling so weak. Miss Graves has returned, but the girls have been very good—no trouble at all.

Kranichstein, August 26th.

On dear Papa’s birthday I must send you a few lines. The past is ever bright and vivid in my mind, though year after year intervenes. How must it be for you, who live surrounded by such precious recollections of the happy past!

I think doubly of you to-day, and doubly tenderly, sweet Mama!

I got home quite right, and found the house here cold. There was no sun, and our rooms being to the north, and the wood so near, makes them feel chilly.

I am glad dear Leopold bore the journey well. The air will do him good in his weakened state.

The day at Laeken was quiet and pleasant. Marie is still thinner, and more aged, I think. The loss of that nice boy weighs on them still, and they spoke much about it, and she with many tears.

Every one has his burden to bear, and must bear it alone with trust and resignation—that is the thing to struggle and to pray for.

Kranichstein, September 1st.

* * * I shall get a comforter done for good Mrs. Brown, kind old woman. I am glad she does not forget me, and shall be pleased to do any little thing that can give her pleasure. Will you tell her the plaid she made me still goes everywhere with me? How is Mrs. Grant?

Louis is gone, and I have a good deal to do every day. We breakfast at half-past eight, then I have baby, and take the children out till eleven. I then have business, baby, and, at one, the elder girls alternately for French reading. After luncheon I write my letters, etc., and before five go out. In the evenings I read, and have supper at eight with the two ladies.

Ella is another child since she has been at the seaside—fine color, no longer pale and languid, learns well, and is quite different. Ernie the same, bright and fresh; while before they had been looking pulled and weak, outgrowing their strength.

“Sunny” is the picture of robust health, and sweet little “sister Maly” sits up quite alone, and is very neat and rosy, with such quick eyes, and two deep dimples in her cheeks—a great pet, and so like my poor Frittie.

The return here has been very painful, and days of great depression still come, when I am tormented with the dreadful remembrance of the day I lost him. Too cruel and agonizing are those thoughts. I dwell on his rest and peace, and that our sufferings he cannot know. What might not life have brought him? Better so! but hard to say, “God’s will be done.”

Kranichstein, September 15th.

* * * ——’s conversion has created no smaller sensation with us than elsewhere, and the Times criticised his step so sharply. It remains a retrograde movement for any Protestant, how much more so for a man of his stamp! Quite incomprehensible to me.

* * * This Catholic movement is so un-English. I think, among those Ritualists there are bonâ fide Catholics who help to convert. * * *

I will send you sweet little Maly’s photograph next time. * * * Baby has a very fair skin, light-brown hair and deep-blue eyes with marked eyebrows, not much color in her cheeks, but pink and healthy-looking altogether.

Kranichstein, September 24th.

* * * People with strong feelings and of nervous temperament, for which one is no more responsible than for the color of one’s eyes, have things to fight against and to put up with, unknown to those of quiet, equable dispositions, who are free from violent emotions, and have consequently no feeling of nerves—still less, of irritable nerves. If I did not control mine as much as I could, they would be dreadful. * * * One can overcome a great deal—but alter one’s self one cannot. * * *

October 31st.

* * * I always think, that in the end children educate the parents. For their sakes there is so much one must do: one must forget one’s self, if every thing is as it ought to be. It is doubly so, if one has the misfortune to lose a precious child. Rückert’s lovely lines are so true (after the loss of two of his children):

Yesterday Ernie was telling Orchard that I was going to plant some Spanish chestnuts, and she said: “Oh, I shall be dead and gone before they are big; what a pity we had none sooner!” and Ernie burst out crying and said: “No, you must not die alone—I don’t like people to die alone; we must die all together!” He has said the same to me before, poor darling. After Lenchen’s [Princess Christian’s] boys were gone, and he had seen Eddy and Georgy [sons of the Prince of Wales], his own loss came fresh upon him, and he cried for his little brother! It is the remaining behind the loss, the missing of the dear ones, that is the cruel thing to bear. Only time can teach one that, and resignation to a Higher Will. * * *

Darmstadt, November 9th.

* * * The new Church laws (similar to the Prussian) go through our Upper Chamber to-morrow, and will meet with great opposition. Louis is, of course, for accepting them, as a check must be put on the Catholics; for the Catholic clergy are paid by the State as well as the Protestant, so that the State has an equal right over both; but this right the Catholics have for years managed to evade. The Bishop of Mayence is doing his utmost to create every possible obstacle, but it is to be hoped that one will not here have to have recourse to the method of fines and imprisonment as in Prussia * * *

November 16th.

Many thanks for your dear letter, and for the advice, which, as a mark of your interest in our children, is very precious, besides being so good! What you mention I have never lost sight of, and there is, as you say, nothing more injurious for children than that they should be made a fuss about. I want to make them unselfish, unspoiled, and contented; as yet this is the case. That they take a greater place in my life, than is often the case in our families, comes from my not being able to have enough persons of a responsible sort to take charge of them always; certain things remain undone from that reason, if I do not do them, and they would be the losers. I certainly do not belong by nature to those women who are above all wife; but circumstances have forced me to be the mother in the real sense, as in a private family, and I had to school myself to it, I assure you, for many small self-denials have been necessary. Baby-worship, or having the children indiscriminately about one, is not at all the right thing, and a perpetual talk about one’s children makes some women intolerable. I hope I steer clear of these faults—at least I try to do so, for I can only agree in every word you say, as does Louis, to whom I read it; and he added when I was reading your remarks: “Das thust Du aber nicht. Die Kinder und andere Menschen wissen gar nicht, was Du für sie thust” [“But you don’t do so. Neither the children nor anybody else knows what you do for them”]. He has often complained that I would not have the children enough in my room, but, being of your opinion, where it was not necessary, I thought it better not. * * *

December 12th.

I enclose a few lines to Mr. Martin.[124] I have only had time to look at the preface, and am very glad to hear that you are satisfied.

With what interest shall I read it! You will receive these lines on the 14th. Last year I had the comfort of being near you. It did me real good then, and I thank you again for those short and quiet days, where the intercourse with you was so soothing to my aching heart. There is no Umgang [intercourse] I know, that gives me more happiness than when I can be with you—above all, in quiet. The return to the so-called world I have barely made. Life is serious—a journey to another end. The flowers God sends to brighten our path I take with gratitude and enjoy; but much that was dearest, most precious, which this day commemorates, is in the grave; part of my heart is there too, though their spirits, adored Papa’s, live on with me, the holiest and brightest part of life, a star to lead us, were we but equal to following it! The older I grow, the more perfect, the more touching and good, dear Papa’s image stands before me. Such an entire life for duty, so joyously and unpretendingly borne out, remains for all times something inexpressibly fine and grand! With it how tender, lovable, gay, he was! I can never talk of him to others who have not known him, without tears in my eyes—as I have them now. He was and is my ideal. I never knew a man fit to place beside him, or so made to be devotedly loved and admired. * * *

December 14th.

Before this day is over, I must write a few words—my thoughts are so much with you and with the past, the bright, happy past of my childhood, where beloved Papa was the centre of this rich and happy existence. I have spent nearly the whole day with the precious volume which speaks so much of you and of him.

What a man in every sense of the word; what a Prince he was—so entirely what the dear old Baron [Stockmar] urged him always to be! Life with him must have seemed to you so secure and well-guarded. How you must have loved him! It makes one’s heart ache again and again, in reading and thinking of all dear Papa was to you, that you should have had to part from him in the heat of the day, when he was so necessary. Ihm ist wohl [With him it is well]. A life like his was a whole long lifetime, though only twenty-two years, and he well deserved his rest!

The hour is nearing when we last held and pressed his hand in life, now thirteen years ago. How well I recollect that last sunrise, and then the dreadful night with you that followed on that too awful day! But it is not well to dwell on these things, when we have the bright, sunny past to look back to. Tennyson’s beautiful Dedication[125] expresses all one feels and would wish to say. I can only add, with a heavy-drawn sigh, “Oh, to be worthier of such a Father!” How far beneath him, if not always in aims, at least in their fulfilment, have I always remained!

December 17th.

My best thanks for the letter of the 15th. Poor Colonel Grey’s[126] death is shocking, and Bertie and Alix are sure to have felt it deeply. Dear Bertie’s true and constant heart suffers on such occasions, for he can be constant in friendship, and all who serve him serve him with warm attachment. I hope he won’t give way to the idea of Sandringham being unlucky, though so much that has been trying and sad has happened to them there! Superstition is surely a thing to fight against; above all, with the feeling that all is in God’s hands, not in ours!

How interesting the book is [“Life of the Prince Consort”]! I have finished it, and am befriedigt [satisfied]. It was a difficult undertaking, but Mr. Martin seems to have done it very well.

I am sure dear Osborne is charming as ever, but I can’t think of that large house so empty; no children any more; it must seem so forsaken in our old wing. I have such a Heimweh [yearning] to see Osborne again after more than six years. * * *

Darmstadt, January 3d, 1875.

* * * It is touching and fine in you to allow the world to have so much insight into your private life, and allow others to have what has been only your property and our inheritance.

People can only be the better for reading about dear Papa, such as he was, and such as so feelingly and delicately Mr. Theodore Martin places him before them. To me the volume is inexpressibly precious, and opens a field for thought in various senses.

For the frivolous higher classes how valuable this book will be, if read with real attention, as a record of a life spent in the highest aims, with the noblest conception of duty as a leading star.

Osborne, January 12, 1875.

Dearest Alice:—* * * Now as regards the book. If you will reflect a few minutes, you will see how I owed it to beloved Papa to let his noble character be known and understood, as it now is, and that to wait longer, when those who knew him best—his own wife, and a few (very few there are) remaining friends—were all gone, or too old, and too far removed from that time, to be able to present a really true picture of his most ideal and remarkable character, would have been really wrong.

He must be known, for his own sake, for the good of England and of his family, and of the world at large. Countless people write to say, what good it does and will do. And it is already thirteen years since he left us!

Then you must also remember, that endless false and untrue things have been written and said about us, public and private, and that in these days people will write and will know: therefore the only way to counteract this is to let the real, full truth be known, and as much be told as can be told with prudence and discretion, and then, no harm, but good, will be done. Nothing will help me more, than that my people should see what I have lost! Numbers of people we knew have had their Lives and Memoirs published, and some beautiful ones: Bunsen’s by his wife; Lord Elgin’s, by his (very touching and interesting); Lord Palmerston’s; etc., etc.

“The Early Years” volume was begun for private circulation only, and then General Grey and many of Papa’s friends and advisers begged me to have it published. This was done. The work was most popular and greatly liked. General Grey could not go on with it, and asked me to ask Sir A. Helps to continue it, and he said that he could not, but recommended Mr. Theodore Martin as one of the most eminent writers of the day, and hoped I could prevail on him to undertake this great national work. I did succeed, and he has taken seven years to prepare the whole, supplied by me with every letter and extract; and a deal of time it took, but I felt it would be a national sacred work. You must, I think, see I am right now; Papa and I too would have suffered otherwise. I think even the German side of his character will be understood.

One of the things that pleases people most is the beautiful way in which he took all good Stockmar’s often very severe observations. And they also admire so much good old Stockmar’s honesty, fearlessness, and are pleased to be shown what a dear warm-hearted old man he was. Your devoted Mama,

V. R.

January 18th.

* * * The service in Dr. Weber’s study before the open coffin, filled with flowers, was very affecting. He was truly beloved and respected. His sufferings must have been intense, and for many years borne heroically—not a word said; not a complaint; always ready to bear the sorrows of others with them, yet bearing his own unassisted! Wonderful self-command and unselfishness! He knew his illness was fatal; even to the latter weeks considered his days as but few, and put all in order, without letting his family and friends know what he himself only too well foresaw.

It was a stormy afternoon with pouring rain when he was buried. Louis, his poor boy, and many were out. * * *

We have April weather. I have a very heavy cold, and feel so weak and done up. It is too warm and unhealthy; every place smells, our house especially.

January 27th.

* * * My little May has such a cold, which lessens her usual smiles. She is a fine, strong child, more like what Victoria was, but marked eyebrows, with the fair hair and such speaking eyes. She and Aliky are a pretty contrast!

February 14th.

You say of the drains just what I have said from year to year; and this summer—if we can get away in the spring, when it is most unwholesome—what can be done is to be done, and I hope with better success than what has hitherto been attempted.

My little May cannot get rid of her cough, though she looks pink and smiling. I shall be so glad to show her to you—she is so pretty and dear.

My father-in-law has for the first time got the gout in his feet, and is so depressed. Uncle Louis suffers dreadfully from oppression at night, so that he can’t remain in bed. He is a good deal aged, and stoops dreadfully. * * *

March 14th.

Louis gave me a dreadful fright last week by suddenly breaking through the ice, and at a very deep place. He laid his arms over the thicker ice, and managed to keep above water till some one was near enough to help him out. He said the water drew immensely, and he feared getting under the ice. The gentleman, who is very tall, lay down and stretched his arms out to Louis, another man holding the former: and so he got out without ill effects. As it was at Kranichstein, he undressed and rubbed himself before the stove in the Verwalter’s [land-steward’s] room; and he came home in the Verwalter’s clothes, which looked very funny. * * *

Marlborough House, May 15th.

I did not half thank you yesterday for our pleasant visit. I could not trust myself to speak. I felt leaving you again so much. It has been a great happiness to me, so wohlthuend [doing me so much good] to have been with you, and I can never express what I feel, as I would, nor how deep and tender my love and gratitude to you are! The older I grow, the more precious the Verhältniss [relation] to a mother becomes to me, and how doubly so to you!

Louis feels as I do; his love to you has always been as to his own mother; and my tears begin to run when I recall your dear face and voice, which to see and hear again has seemed so natural, so—as it ought to be! that it is quite difficult to accustom myself to the thought that only in memory can I enjoy them now.

How I do love you, sweet Mama! There is no sacrifice I would not make for you! and as our meetings are of late years so fleeting and far between, when they are over I feel the separation very much. * * *

Marlborough House, June 15th.

* * * God bless you, my precious Mother, watch over and guard you; and let your blessing and motherly interest accompany us and our children! Louis’ tenderest love; many, many kisses from all children, and William’s respectful duty!

Kranichstein, June 20th.

* * * All Victoria and Ella tell me of their stay at Balmoral—the many things you gave them and their people—touches me so much: let me thank you so many times again. I feel I did not half say enough, but you know how much I feel it!

Our journey did very well; no one was ill, after that dreadful storm—a piece of luck. You are now again at Windsor. How much I think of you and of dear Beatrice!

July 10th.

* * * We got home from Carlsruhe at eleven o’clock last night. We went there on Thursday; arrived at two; were received there by Fritz and Louise and the Emperor; found dear Marie Leiningen and Hermann and Leopoldine there. Fritz W. arrived half an hour afterwards from Vienna, having met with a railway accident in the night; but he was, thank God, unhurt—barely shaken.

It was frightfully hot! Family dinner at five; then a drive about the town, which was decked with flags. At nine in the evening a large soirée and continual circle! and supper—such a heat! At eight next morning in gala, church service. Fritz (son) for the first time in uniform with the Black Eagle; then at ten a very fine parade, in which Fritz marched past as second lieutenant with his regiment. The troops were so fine; the Emperor led his own regiment past, and it was a very moving sight, with a great deal of cheering. At two there was a large banquet, at which Fritz made a beautiful speech, and the Emperor a very good answer.

All Fritz’s (son) former school-fellows, and the different schools and masters, came by in procession, and the day was very fatiguing. He is such a good boy. His former tutor, who finished his task of education yesterday, said to me: “Er ist ein guter Mensch und die Wahrheit selber” [He is a good man, and truth itself]. He was very self-possessed, modest, and civil, talking to every one. He is full of promise, and has been carefully and lovingly brought up by his parents, who are such excellent people. I have the greatest regard for them.

I told the Emperor the fright we had about the war. He was much distressed, that any one could believe him capable of such a thing; but our Fritz and Fritz of Baden agree that, with Bismarck, in spite of the nation not wishing it, he might bring about a war at any moment. Our Fritz spoke so justly and reasonably—quite anti-war—and I told him all the opinions I had gathered and heard in London; and he was much grieved and worried, I could see; but it must and can be prevented, if all are against it, I am sure. This enormous and splendid army, ready at any moment, is a dangerous possession for any country. * * *

Kranichstein, October 7th.

* * * To-day my eyes will not remain dry; the recollection of five years ago, which brought us joy and promise of more in our sweet second boy, is painful in the extreme. The sudden ending of that young life; the gap this has left; the recollections that are now but to be enjoyed in silent memory, will leave a heart-ache and a sore place, beside where there is much happiness and cause for gratitude. The six children and we, with endless flowers and tears, decked his little grave this morning, and some sad lines of Byron’s struck me as having much truth in the pain of such moments—

The weather is fine; it was much like this five years ago, but round Metz it rained. Louis was turning into quarters with his troops from a sortie, and he called the news out to the regiments as he rode along, and they gave a cheer for their little Prince!

It was a dreadful time of trial and separation for both of us, and Frittie was such a comfort and consolation to me in all my loneliness.

How sorry I am for poor Alix at this long separation![128] For her sake I grieve at the impossibility of her accompanying him.

We hope to get back to our house by the 19th, though there will be an end of nice walks for the next eight months—the town grows so, and is all railroad and coal heaps where we had our walks formerly, and the town pavement in the streets is most unpleasant walking. * * *

Schloss Kranichstein, October 16th.

For your dear letter and for the inclosures I am so grateful, but distressed beyond measure at dear Fannie’s [Lady Frances Baillie]. I had a long letter from her some weeks back, when she was more hopeful about dear Augusta [Stanley]. This is too much sorrow for them all! Fannie I loved as a sister, and dear Augusta’s devotion and self-sacrifice to you, and even to us in those dreadful years, was something rare and beautiful. Her whole soul and heart were in the duty, which to her was a sacred one. The good, excellent Dean! My sympathy is so great with these three kind and good people so sorely tried. I grieve for you too! God help them!

October 26th.

How sorry I am for dear good old Mrs. Brown and for her sons.[129] Please say something sympathizing from me; her blindness is such a trial, poor soul, at that age. How gloomily life must close for her!

January 18th, 1876.

No words can express how deep my sympathy and grief is for what our dear Augusta and the Dean have to go through. With her warm, large heart, which ever lived and suffered for others, how great must her pain be in having to leave him! I can positively think of nothing else lately, as you know my love for Augusta, the General [her brother, General Bruce], and Fanny has always been great; and when I think back of them in former times, and in the year 1861, my heart aches and my tears flow—feeling what you and we shall lose in dear Augusta. My pity for the dear, good, kind Dean is so deep. I sent him a few words again to-day, in the hope he may still say a few words of love and gratitude to dear Augusta from me.

Darmstadt, January 22d.

* * * Yesterday morning Ernie came in to me and said, “Mama, I had a beautiful dream; shall I tell you? I dreamt that I was dead and was gone up to Heaven, and there I asked God to let me have Frittie again; and he came to me and took my hand. You were in bed, and saw a great light, and were so frightened, and I said, ‘It is Ernie and Frittie.’ You were so astonished! The next night Frittie and I went with a great light to sisters.” Is it not touching? He says such beautiful things, and has such deep poetic thought, yet with it all so full of fun and romping.

February 9th.

* * * I am so sorry and shocked about excellent Mr. Harrison.[130] What a loss! He was so obliging and kind always in the many commissions for us children. Poor Kräuslach,[131] too—so sad! It is too grievous; how one well-known face—with its many associations—after another, is called away; and on looking back, how short a space of time they seemed to have filled!

Wolfach, June 7th.

* * * The heat here is excessive; the wild flowers covering every field are more beautiful than I have ever seen them anywhere—such quantities of large forget-me-nots. The streams are very much like Scotch ones; the valleys are partly very narrow, and the hills wooded to the very top—rather like the Thüringer Wald, but more different greens: such lovely coloring. I admire the country so much.

Darmstadt, June 23d.

* * * How sorry I am for good, kind old Mrs. Brown—to be blind with old age seems so hard, so cruel; but I am sure with your so loving heart you have brightened her latter years in many kind ways. It is such a pleasure to do any thing for the aged; one has such a feeling of respect for those who have the experience of a long life, and are nearing the goal.

* * * Yesterday, again, the Emperor Alexander spoke to me, really rejoicing that the political complications were clearing peacefully: “Dites à Maman encore une fois comme cela me réjouit, et de savoir comme c’est elle qui tient à la paix. Nous ne pouvons, nous ne voulons pas nous brouiller avec l’Angleterre. Il faudrait être fou de penser à Constantinople ou aux Indes!” He had tears in his eyes, and seemed so moved, as if a dreadful weight was being lifted off; so happy for the sake of Marie, and Affie, too, that matters were mending. He showed me after dinner the buttons you gave him; spoke also so affectionately of Bertie. * * * I thought of you—thirty-nine years of rule not to be envied, save for the service one can render one’s country and the world in general in such an arduous position.

Private individuals are, of course, far the best off—our privileges being more duties than advantages—and their absence would be no privation compared to the enormous advantage of being one’s own master, and of being on equality with most people, and able to know men and the world as they are, and not merely as they please to show themselves to please us. * * *

Darmstadt, July 5th.

* * * We dined with Uncle Louis, the Emperor, etc., and Grand Duke of Weimar, at Seeheim yesterday. The Emperor said he had written to you, but Prince Gortschakoff seemed only half-happy, and said to me: “Franchement puis-je vous le dire, je désirerais voir l’Angleterre grande, forte, décidée dans la politique, comme l’était Canning et les grands hommes d’état que j’ai connus en Angleterre il y a quarante ans. La Russie est grande et forte; que l’Angleterre le soit aussi; nous n’avons pas besoin de faire attention à tous les petits.” He said we made our foreign policy and despatches for the Blue Book, and not an open decided policy before the House of Commons and the world. It may interest you to hear this opinion, as it shows the temper of his policy.

September 5th.

It is long since I have felt such pain as the death (to me really sudden and unexpected, in spite of the danger inherent in her case) of my good, devoted, kind Emily[132] has caused me. My tears won’t cease. Louis, the children, the whole household, all mourn and grieve with me. She was singularly beloved, and richly deserved to be so! Her devotion and affection to me really knew no bounds. I cannot think what it will be to miss her. I have never been served as she served me, and probably never shall be so again. It is a wrench that only those can estimate who knew her well—like poor Mary Hardinge. She came first in Emily’s heart, and the loss for her is quite, QUITE irreparable! Had I but seen dear Emily again! This sudden, cruel sort of death shocks me so.

How I should have nursed and comforted her had I been near her! She always wished this, and told me she had such a fear of death. There never breathed a more unselfish, generous, good character.

September 6th.

* * * I fear you will find me so dull, tired, and useless. I can do next to nothing of late, and must rest so much. Poor Emily! My thoughts never leave her. I cannot yet get accustomed to the thought of her loss.

P. S.—Just received your dear note. The accounts of my dear Emily’s sad end have just reached me, and I am terribly upset. You can hardly estimate the gap, the blank she will leave—my only lady, and in many ways homme d’affaires. We had been so much together this last waiting; every thing reminds me of her, and of the touching love she bore me. Surely some years more she would have lived.

Darling Mama, I don’t think you quite know how far from well I am, and how absurdly wanting in strength. I only mention it, that you should know that until the good air has set me up I am good for next to nothing; and I fear I sha’n’t be able to come to dinner the first evenings. I hope you won’t mind. I have never in my life been like this before. I live on my sofa, and in the air, and see no one, and yet go on losing strength! Of course this unexpected shock has done me harm too, and has entailed more sad things. * * *

Douglas’ Hotel, Edinburgh, Sunday, September 11th.

* * * I hear Ernie is still so dull and melancholy at missing me; he always feels it most, with that tender loving heart of his. God preserve and guard this to me so inexpressibly precious child! I fancy that seldom a mother and child so understood each other, and loved each other, as we two do. It requires no words; he reads in my eyes, as I do in his, what is in his little heart.

It is so wonderfully still here, not a soul in the streets. The people of the house have sent up several times to enquire when and to what church I was going; so I shall go, as it seems to shock them, one’s staying away. I shall see the Monument this afternoon, and go and see Holyrood again. The whole journey here brought back with the well-remembered scenery the recollection of my childhood, all the happy journeys with dear Papa and you. How the treasured remembrance, with the deep love, lives on, when all else belongs to the past!

I seem, in returning here, so near you and him in former happy years, when my home was in this beloved country. No home in the world can quite become what the home of one’s parents and childhood was. There is a sacredness about it, a feeling of gratitude and love for the great mercies one had there. You, who never left country, Geschwister [kindred], or home, can scarcely enter into this feeling.

In the hopes of meeting you soon, kissing your dear hands, with thanks for all goodness, and many excuses for having caused so much trouble. * * *

Buckingham Palace, October 19th.

I was so sad at parting with you yesterday. I could not half thank you for all your love and kindness during those weeks. But you know how deeply I feel it; how truly grateful I am to you; how happy and contented I am to be allowed to be near you as in old days. Darling Mama, once more, thousand thanks for all and for every thing!

The journey went quite well, and I am not particularly tired.

Buckingham Palace, November 19th.

Thousand thanks for your dear letter received this morning! I feel leaving dear England, as always, though the pleasure of being near the dear children again is very great.

Let me thank you once more from my heart, darling Mama, for all your great kindness, and for having enabled me to do what was thought necessary and best. I return so much stronger and better than I came, in every way—refreshed by the pleasant stay in dear Balmoral with you, and then much better for the time here. I feel morally refreshed, too, with the entire change, the many interests to be met with here, which is always so beneficial, and will help me in every way when I get back to Darmstadt. All this I have to thank you for, and do so most warmly.

Louis, who, as you know, is full of love and affection for you, is very grateful for your kind words, and has likewise derived profit and enjoyment from his stay in England.

* * * My color and strength have so much returned, that I do not doubt being well again this winter.

I went with Dean Stanley to see Mr. Carlyle, who was most interesting, and talked for nearly an hour. Had I had time, I would have written down the conversation. The Dean said he would try and do so.

With Louise I visited Mr. Motley also, who in his way is equally interesting, and has a great charm. * * *

Darmstadt, November 26th.

Many thanks for your last letter from Balmoral, received yesterday morning! I know you feel leaving the dear place, but without going away there is no Wiedersehen [meeting again]. The happiness of our meeting with the dear children was very great on all sides—they eat me up!

They had made wreaths over the doors, and had no end of things to tell me. We arrived at three, and there was not a moment’s rest till they were all in bed, and I had heard the different prayers and hymns of the six, with all the little different confidences they had to make. My heart was full of joy and gratitude at being with them once more, and I prayed God to make me fit to be their real friend and stay as long as they require me, and to have the insight into their different characters to guide them aright, and to understand their different wants and feelings. This is so difficult always.

Victoria is immensely grown, and her figure is forming. She is changing so much—beginning to leave the child and grow into the girl. I hear she has been good and desirous of doing what is right; and she has more to contend with than Ella, therefore double merit in any thing she overcomes, and any self-sacrifice she makes.

Ernie is very well, and his birthday was a great delight. Sweet little May is enchanting,—“my weet heart,” as she calls me. Aliky is very handsome and dear.

Darmstadt, December 12th.

I see this letter will just arrive on the 14th—day never to be forgotten! How deeply it is graven in my heart—with letters of blood; for the pain of losing him, and of witnessing your grief, was as sharp as any thing any child can go through for its beloved parents. Yet God’s mercy is to be found through all, and one learns to say “Thy will be done,” hard though it is. * * *

Darmstadt, January 1st.

* * * How beautifully Max Müller’s letter[133] is written and expressed, and how touchingly and truly he puts the point of view on which we all should learn to stand. To become again pure as children, with a child’s faith and trust—there where our human intellect will ever stand still!

I have been reading some of Robertson’s sermons again, and I think his view of Christianity one of the truest, warmest, and most beautiful I know. * * *

Darmstadt, March 23d.

Thank you so much for your dear and sympathizing letter. These have been most painful—most distressing days—so harrowing.

The recollections of 1861, of dear Frittie’s death, when my dear father-in-law was so tender and kind, were painfully vivid. My mother-in-law’s resignation and touching goodness, doing all that she could during the illness and since for all arrangements, is very beautiful!

The poor sons gave way to bursts of tears during those agonizing hours; yet they held their father alternately with me, and were quiet and helpful for their mother and for him, just as their simple, quiet natures teach them. I begged Bäuerlein to write to you meanwhile. I am feeling so exhausted, and there is so much to do, and we are always going from one house to the other.

It was heart-rending from Monday morn till Tuesday eve to see the painful alteration in the dear well-known features augmenting from hour to hour, though I believe he did not suffer latterly. He was not conscious, unless spoken to, or called very directly.

My mother-in-law never left his bedside day or night, and we were only a few hours absent on Monday night. Before we went home she called our names distinctly to him as we kissed him, and he seemed to notice it; then she knelt down, and distinctly, but choked with tears, prayed the Lord’s Prayer for him, calling him gently.

The next day at six we were there again, and till half past six in the evening never left the bedside. She repeated occasionally, as long as she thought he might hear, a short verse—so touching! and once said: “Bist Du traurig? es ist ja nicht auf lange, dann sind wir wieder zusammen!” [“Art thou sad? It is not for long, and then we shall be together again”] kissing and stroking his hands. It was very distressing.

When all was over we four were close to her, and she threw herself on him, and then clasped her sons to her heart with words of such grief as you so well understand!

Early the next morning we went with her to his room. He lay on his bed, very peaceful, in his uniform. Louis had clasped the hands together when he died, and I arranged flowers on the bed and in the room round him.

There is a terrible deal to do and to arrange, and many people come, and we are much with my poor mother-in-law. Yesterday we went for the last time to see the remains of what had been so precious. She read a “Lied” [a hymn], and then kissed him so long, and took with us the last look. Yesterday evening the coffin was closed in presence of the sons.

We are going to the Rosenhöhe [the Mausoleum] now, before going to Louis’ mother, to put things straight there, and see if one can get by dear Frittie—it is so small.

The three brothers are dreadfully upset, but able to arrange and see after what is necessary. Aunt Marie [the Empress of Russia] wanted to come, and is in terrible distress; she loved that brother beyond any thing. In her last letter to my mother-in-law she says: “Ich habe solche Sehnsucht nach dem alten Bruder” [“I have such a yearning after my old brother”].

His was a singularly delicate-minded, pure, true, unselfish nature, so full of consideration for others, so kind. My tears flow incessantly, for I loved him very dearly.

My dear mother-in-law has such a broken, ruined existence now—all turned round him! She knows where to find strength and comfort—it will not fail her. * * *

Darmstadt, June 7th.

* * * We are going through a dreadful ordeal. The whole of Monday and Monday night, with a heat beyond words, dreading the worst. Now there has been a slight rally.[134] Whether it will continue to-morrow is doubtful. He is always conscious, makes his little jokes, but the pulse is very low and intermits. I was there early this morning with Louis. * * *

The questions, long discussions between Louis and some people, as to complication and difficulty of every kind that will at once fall upon us, are really dreadful, and I so unfit just now! The confusion will be dreadful. * * *

I am so dreading every thing, and above all the responsibility of being the first in every thing, and people are not bienveillant.

I shall send you news whenever I can, but I am so worn out. I shall not be able to do so much myself.

I know your thoughts and wishes are with us at so hard a time. God grant we may do all aright! * * *

June 7th.

Going to Seeheim, as great weakness has come on. Am much tired by all that lies before us, and not feeling well.

Seeheim, 13th.

Dear Uncle Louis is no more. We arrived too late.

Darmstadt, 6.20 o’clock, 13th.

Such press of business and decisions. Feel very tired.

15th.

We are both so over-tired; the press of business and decisions is so wearing, with the new responsibility.

18th.

Last ceremony over! All went off well, and was very moving.

Alice.

Darmstadt, June 19th.

Only two words of thanks from both of us for your kind wishes and letters! Christian and Colonel Gardiner bring you news of every thing that has been and is still going on. But we are overwhelmed, over-tired, and the heat is getting very bad again.

* * * Will tell you what a very difficult position we are in. It is too dreadful to think that I am forced to leave Louis in a few weeks under present circumstances, but, if he wishes to keep me at all, I must leave every thing and this heat for a time. These next weeks here will be very anxious and difficult. God grant we may do the right things!

June 28th.

* * * To have to go away just now, when the refreshment of family life is so doubly pleasant to Louis after his work, I am too sorry for. If I were only better; if I only thought that I shall have the chance of rest, and what is necessary to regain my health! Now it will be more difficult than ever, and I see Louis has the fear, which I also have, that I shall not hold out very long.

July 15th.

* * * I leave on Tuesday, but stop on the way. The children go direct and join me in Paris, when we go on together on Friday or Saturday to Houlgate. The trains don’t fit, and one has some way to drive from Trouville.

Houlgate, July 25th.

* * * This place is quite charming—real country, so green, so picturesque—a beautiful coast; the nicest sea-place I have been at yet. Our house is “wee” for so many, and the first days it was very noisy; and it was so dirty. The maids and nurses had to scrub and sweep; the one French housemaid was not up to it. All is better now, and quite comfortable enough. The air is doing me good, and the complete change. I have bathed twice, and the sea revives me.

I follow as eagerly as any in England the advance of the Russians, and with cordial dislike. They can never be redressers of wrongs or promoters of civilization and Christianity. What I fear is, even if they don’t take Constantinople, and make no large demands as the price of their victories now, the declaration of the independence of Bulgaria will make that country to them in future what Roumania has been for Russia now, and therefore in twenty years hence they will get all they want, unless the other Powers at this late hour can bring about a change. It is bad for England, for Austria, for Germany, if this Russian Slav element should preponderate in Europe; and the other countries must sooner or later act against this in self-preservation.

What do the friends of the “Atrocity Meetings” say now? How difficult it has been made for the Government through them, and how blind they have been! All this must be a constant worry and anxiety for you!

The children are so happy here—the sea does them such good. I am very glad I brought them.

Houlgate, July 28th.

* * * Though we have rain off and on, still the weather is very pleasant, and we are all of us charmed with the place, and the beautiful, picturesque, fertile country. The life is so pleasant—real country—which I have never yet found at any bathing-place abroad yet. I have bathed every other day—swim, and it does me good. I feel it already. Ella is getting her color back, and the little ones look much better.

I send you the last photos done of the children; Ella’s is not favorable, nor Irène’s, but all in all they are a pretty set. May has not such fat cheeks in reality; still it is very dear. The two little girlies are so sweet, so dear, merry, and nice. I don’t know which is dearest, they are both so captivating.

I have been to an old tumble-down church at Dives—close by here—where William the Conqueror is said to have been before starting for England. His name and those of all his followers are inscribed there—names of so many families now existing in England. It was very interesting.

August 22d.

* * * How difficult it is to know one’s children well; to develop and train the characters according to their different peculiarities and requirements! * * *

Darmstadt, September 9th.

* * * I must tell you now, how very heartily and enthusiastically the whole population, high and low, received us yesterday. It was entirely spontaneous, and, as such, of course, so very pleasing. * * * I was really touched, for it rained, and yet all were so joyous—flags out, bells ringing, people bombarding us with beautiful nosegays; all the schools out, even the higher ones, the girls all dressed in white. The Kriegerverein, Louis’ old soldiers, singing, etc. In the evening all the Gesangvereine joined together and sang under our windows.

We are very glad to be at home again, and, please God, with earnest will and thought for others, we together shall in our different ways be able to live for the good of the people entrusted to our care! May God’s blessing rest on our joint endeavors to do the best, and may we meet with kindness and forbearance where we fall short of our duties.

Darmstadt, October 30th.

* * * I had to receive sixty-five ladies—amongst them my nurses—and some doctors from here and other towns, all belonging to my Nursing Society, which has now existed ten years. Then I was at the opening of my Industrial Girls’ School, where girls from all parts of the country come, and which is a great success. I started it two years ago. On Sunday I took the children to hear the Sunday-school, which interested them very much.

I have been doing too much lately, though, and my nerves are beginning to feel the strain, for sleep and appetite are no longer good. Too much is demanded of one; and I have to do with so many things. It is more than my strength can stand in the long run. * * *

December 13th.

For to-morrow, as ever, my tenderest sympathy! Time shows but more and more what we all lost in beloved Papa; and the older I grow, the more people I know, the more the remembrance of him shines bright as a star of purer lustre than any I have ever known. May but a small share of his light fall on some of us, who have remained so far beneath him, so little worthy of such a father! We can but admire, reverence, long to imitate, and yet not approach near to what he was.

We are going with the children to-day to Wiesbaden until Saturday; and I mean to tell Vicky that she had better give up the hope of my being able to come for the wedding.[135] I could not do it. I only trust the why will be understood. Do write to the dear Empress about it when next you write. How sorry I am to be absent at a moment when, as sister and a German Sovereign’s wife, I should be there; but the doctor would not hear of it, so I gave it up. * * *

Darmstadt, December 21st.

* * * You say all that happened after the dreadful 14th is effaced from your memory. How well I can imagine that! I remember saying my utmost to Sir Charles Phipps in remonstrance to your being wished to leave Windsor—it was so cruel, so very wrong. Uncle Leopold insisted; it all came from him, and he was alarmed lest you should fall ill.

How you suffered was dreadful to witness; never shall I forget what I went through for you then; it tore my heart in pieces; and my own grief was so great too. Louis thought I would not hold to my engagement then any more—for my heart was too filled with beloved, adored Papa, and with your anguish, to have room or wish for other thoughts.

God is very merciful in letting time temper the sharpness of one’s grief, and letting sorrow find its natural place in our hearts, without withdrawing us from life!

“Life is serious—a journey to another end.” (December 12, 1874.)

New Palace, Darmstadt.

Dear Mrs. Vicars:—I have returned from visiting the Home so convinced of your excellent management of it in every respect, that, if you still feel my becoming Patroness of the Home (and of the Ladies’ Association connected with it) can further the good and noble work, I am most willing to comply with your request. The spirit of true, loving, Christian sympathy in which the work was begun by you, and with which it is carried out; the cheerfulness you impart, the motherly solicitude you offer to those struggling to return to a better life, cannot fail to restore in a great measure that feeling of self-respect so necessary to those voluntarily seeking once more a virtuous life, and by so doing regaining the respect of their fellow-creatures. “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me.” In this spirit may the Home, as well as the Association connected with it, continue its good work. My entire sympathy and good wishes will ever be with it.

Ever yours truly,
Alice.

Darmstadt, January 26th.

Though I have no letter, and expect none at such a moment, still I must send you a few lines to tell you how constantly I think of you, and of my own beloved and adored country. The anxiety you must be going through, and the feelings you must experience, I share with my whole heart. * * *

God grant it may be possible to do the right thing, for it is late, and the complication is dreadful!

I have barely any thoughts for any thing else; and the Opposition seems to me to have been more wrong in its country’s interest, and to have done her a greater harm than can ever be redressed. It is a serious, awful moment for Sovereign, country, and Government; and in your position none have to go through what you have—and after all so alone!

I hope your health bears up under the anxiety.

April 9th.

* * * Angeli has arrived, and will begin at once. We thought Ernie and Ella—Victoria is too big, though she is the eldest and ought to be in the picture; she would be too preponderant. Angeli is quite lost in admiration of Aliky and May, who are, I must say myself, such a lovely little pair as one does not often see. He will begin our heads to-morrow. * * *

Darmstadt, November 6th.

* * * I am but very middling, and leading a very quiet life, which is an absolute necessity. It is so depressing to be like this. But our home life is always pleasant—never dull, however quiet. Only a feeling of weariness and incapacity is in itself a trial.

November 8th.

Victoria has diphtheria since this morning. The fever is high. I am so anxious.

November 10th.

Victoria is out of danger.

November 12th.

This night my precious Aliky has been taken ill.

Darmstadt, November 12th.

This is dreadful! my sweet, precious Aliky so ill! At three this morning Orchie called me, saying she thought the child was feverish; complaining of her throat. I went over to her, looked into her throat, and there were not only spots, but a thick covering on each side of her throat of that horrid white membrane. I got the steam inhaler, with chlorate of potash for her at once, but she was very unhappy, poor little thing. We sent for the doctor, who lives close by, and who saw at once that it was a severe case. We have put her upstairs near Victoria, who is quite convalescent, and have fumigated the nursery to try and spare May and the others. It is a terrible anxiety; it is such an acute, and often fatal, illness. * * * Victoria has been graciously preserved; may God preserve these [the younger ones] also in His mercy! My heart is sore; and I am so anxious.

Telegram.

November 13th.

Aliky tolerable. Darling May very ill; fever so high. Irène has got it too. I am miserable; such fear for the sweet little one!

Telegram.

November 15th.

My precious May no better; suffers so much. I am in such horrible fear. Irène and Ernie fever less. Ernie’s throat very swelled. Louis no worse; almost no spots. Aliky recovering.

Evening.

Darling May’s state unchanged; heart-rending. Louis’ fever and illness on the increase. The others, as one could expect; all severe cases. May’s most alarming.

November 16th.

* * * Our sweet little one is taken. Broke it to my poor Louis this morning; he is better; Ernie very, very ill. In great anguish.

November 16th; evening.

The pain is beyond words, but “God’s will be done!” Our precious Ernie is still a source of such terrible fear. The others, though not safe, better.

November 17th.

Ernie decidedly better; full of gratitude.

November 18th.

My patients getting better; hope soon to have them better. Last painful parting at three o’clock.

Telegram.

November 19th.

The continued suspense almost beyond endurance. Ernie thought he was going to die in the night, and was in a dreadful state for some hours. Louis very nervous, too; but they are not worse. The six cases have been one worse than the other.

Later, November 19th.

Ernie had a relapse, and our fears are increased. I am in an agony between hope and fear.

November 19th.

Beloved Mama:—Tender thanks for your dear, dear letter, soothing and comforting!

Our sweet May waits for us up there, and is not going through our agony, thank God! Her bright, happy, sunshiny existence has been a bright spot in our lives—but oh! how short! I don’t touch on the anguish that fills me, for God in His mercy helps me, and it must be borne; but to-day, again, the fear and anxiety for Ernie is still greater. This is quite agonizing to me; how I pray that he may be spared to me!

His voice is so thick; new membranes have appeared. He cries at times so bitterly, but he is gayer just now.

To a mother’s heart, who would spare her children every pain, to have to witness what I have, and am still doing, knowing all these precious lives hanging on a thread, is an agony barely to be conceived, save by those who have gone through it.

* * * Your letter says so truly all I feel. I can but say, in all one’s agony there is a mercy and a peace of God, which even now He has let me feel. * * *

P.S.—I mean to try and drive a little this afternoon. I shall go out with Orchie. Of my six children, since a week none more about me, and not my husband. It is like a very awful dream to me.

November 22d.

Beloved Mama:—Many thanks for your dear letter, and for all the expressions of sympathy shown by so many! I am very grateful for it.

Dear Ernie having been preserved through the greatest danger is a source of such gratitude! These have been terrible days! He sent a book to May this morning. It made me almost sick to smile at the dear boy. But he must be spared yet awhile what to him will be such a sorrow.

For myself, darling Mama, God has given me comfort and help in all this trouble, and I am sure His Spirit will remain near us in the trials to come! Great sympathy, such as all show, is a balm; but I am very tired, and the pain is often very great; but pain can be turned into a blessing, and I pray this may be so. * * *

When alone, I rest; and writing even is a physical exertion. Those around me have spared me all they could, but one must bear the greater weight one’s self.

May God spare you all future sorrow, and give you the peace which He alone can give!

P.S.—I finish these lines at my dear Louis’ bed. He thanks you so much for your dear, loving sympathy. Thank God, he is doing well. But the pain they have all gone through in their poor throats has been awful. The doctors and nurses—eight! for they have changed day and night, and had such constant attendance—have been all I could wish.

Your loving child,
Alice.

Darmstadt, December 1st.

* * * Every one shows great sympathy, I hear, everywhere. * * * All classes have shown a great attachment to us personally, and to the House, and amongst the common people—it goes home to them that our position does not separate us so very far from them, and that in death, danger, and sorrow the palace and the hut are visited alike.

So many deep and solemn lessons one learns in these times, and I believe all works together for good for those who believe in God. * * *

December 2d.

So many pangs and pains come, and must yet for years to come. Still gratitude for those left is so strong, and indeed resignation entire and complete to a higher will; and so we all feel together, and encourage each other. Life is not endless in this world, God be praised! There is much joy—but oh! so much trial and pain; and, as the number of those one loves increases in Heaven, it makes our passage easier—and home is there!

Ever your loving child,
Alice.

December 6th.

Louis and Ernie will go out in a shut carriage to-day, though it rains—but it is warm. Louis’ strength returns so slowly. Of course he shuns the return to life, where our loss will be more realized; to him, shut off so long, it is more like a dream. I am so thankful they were all spared the dreadful realities I went through—and alone. My cup seemed very full, and yet I have been enabled to bear it. But daily I must struggle and pray for resignation; it is a cruel pain and one that will last years, as I know but too well.

Ever your loving child,
A.

“After her son’s death I thought I observed a change in her feelings. Before that time she had often expressed openly her doubts as to the existence of God—had allowed herself to be led away by the free-thinking philosophical views of others. After Prince Fritz died she never spoke in such a way again. She remained silent while a transformation was quietly going on within, of which I afterwards was made aware, under the influence of some hidden power. It seemed as if she did not then like to own the change that had come over her.

“Some time afterwards she told me herself, in the most simple and touching manner, how this change had come about. I could not listen to her story without tears. The Princess told me she owed it all to her child’s death, and to the influence of a Scotch gentleman, a friend of the Grand Duke’s and the Grand Duchess’, who was residing with his family at Darmstadt.

“‘I owe all to this kind friend,’ she said, ‘who exercised such a beneficial influence on my religious views; yet people say so much that is cruel and unjust of him, and of my acquaintance with him.’ At another time she said: ‘The whole edifice of philosophical conclusions which I had built up for myself, I find to have no foundation whatever; nothing of it is left; it has crumbled away like dust. What should we be, what would become of us, if we had no faith, if we did not believe that there is a God who rules the world and each single one of us? I feel the necessity of prayer; I loved to sing hymns with my children, and we have each our favorite hymn.’[136]

“I remember observing that her table in her room was covered with religious books of all languages. Some of them she recommended to me.”

A WATCHER BY THE DEAD.

Long, long before daybreak on one of those gloomy December days of last week, an officer made his way hurriedly along the empty, silent streets of the capital. He was in full uniform, but its pomp and splendor were shrouded in a thick covering of crape, for he was afoot thus early to do duty by the bier of the beloved Princess. Desolate were the streets, as of a city of the dead; desolate as though tenanted only by the dead was the lordly palace to which he bent his steps. The sentinels at the great gate stood motionless, despite the severe cold, as if they feared to disturb the repose of death. Here, where the inhabitants of the capital used to see all astir with the busy, cheerful life inseparable from the residence of a reigning Prince; here, where in days but recently gone by children, blooming and beautiful, the country’s pride and the joy of their princely parents, gave animation to house and garden, all was silent and void; a deadly blast had swept over the till now so happy home. The country’s young, idolized mother had closed her beautiful eyes, closed them for evermore, after doing and enduring nobly, after tasting the bitterness of great earthly sorrow. Many long and woful days, many nights of even greater anguish, had she watched, trembled, and prayed by the couch of a husband sick unto death, and of five children beloved past telling. The sweet, youngest bud in the fair wreath of princely children, had been torn from her bleeding heart, and tears—scalding tears—for the sweet little May-blossom, which she had herself put to its last sleep under chaplets of flowers, flowed fast, as she folded her hands in gratitude, when the peril of death had passed over the heads of her husband and her other children. “Thus do we learn humility!” she said, with quivering lip, to a lady who stood beside her. “God has called for one life, and has given me back five for it; how, then, should I mourn?” And now, when, with fear and trembling, joy seemed about to enter once more into that heavily-stricken home, again the dark pinions of the Angel of Death were heard upon the air, and he bore away the truest of wives, the most loving of mothers, a sacrifice to duty fulfilled with the noblest forgetfulness of self. These were the thoughts with which the solitary wayfarer went upon his sorrowful way, and crossed the threshold of the chamber of death. With light step and whispered words the watchers by the dead whom he relieved withdrew.

Overwhelmed by the majesty of death, which met him here in its most sombre form, the new comer bent his head and continued long in silent prayer. The Princess lay on a bier in the great hall on the ground-floor, where she had so often sat surrounded by a radiant circle of guests. What of her was earthly, cased in a triple cerement, was covered with a pall of black velvet, which, however, was almost hid from view beneath a mass of flowers and palms. Upon the head of the coffin stood a little, simple crucifix of perfect artistic workmanship. Six torches on pedestals, hung with black, stood round the bier, shedding but a feeble glimmer through the hall, scarcely brighter, indeed, than the scanty light of the dawning winter day. From the wall opposite the coffin the youthful image of her husband, painted in happier times, looked sadly down upon the loved one lost. Directly opposite hung the picture which the Hessian Division had had painted for their much-loved leader, in remembrance of the glorious day of Gravelotte—a picture of battle and of the wild mêlée of slaughter in the silent chamber of death. He who now watched by the coffin had played a part in the conflict of the memorable day which the picture was meant to perpetuate, and he knew how deeply it was interwoven with the life of the Princess who lay there in her long last sleep. Her dear husband had gone to the campaign with his faithful Hessians; she knew his precious life to be in hourly danger; but her own sorrows and cares were not her first thought. Helpful, comforting, encouraging, she gave at all times to those who were left behind a brilliant example of cheerful and devoted courage; and when the wounded and sick came back from the battlefields in ever-increasing numbers, she it was who everywhere took the lead with noblest self-abnegation and practical good sense. By the beds of the sick and dying she stood like a comforting angel, and the love of the Hessian people twined the fairest of all diadems, the aureole of the heroine, round her princely brows.

This grateful love, not only of those who bore arms, but of the citizen and artisan as well, for which these things laid the foundation, was now sincerely and unconstrainedly busy beside the bier of the princely sleeper. Servants came, with loads of wreaths and bouquets, and arranged them upon the coffin. But it was not the official tributes of flowers from Court and noble, from the deputations of regiments far and near, which were laid as a mournful homage at the feet of the dead mistress, that touched most deeply the heart of him who stood there on guard. No, the tear that stole down unbidden, the little trivial gift of the poor and humble who lived far away from Court favor, had a greater value in his eyes. It was still quite early morning when, with the first glimmer of day, came an old peasant woman from the Odenwald. Advancing timidly, she laid, with a murmured prayer, a little wreath of rosemary, with a couple of small white flowers, perhaps the only ornament of her poor little room at home, as a token of grateful affection down upon the velvet pall. Then, thinking herself unnoticed, she took a rosebud from one of the splendid wreaths, and hid it under the old woollen dress. Who could interfere to balk the impulse of genuine affection, that longed to carry off some slight memorial with it? And now the little flower is lying between the leaves of the old Bible, and in days to come the matron, when she turns the leaves of the sacred volume, will tell her daughters and granddaughters of the noble lady, too early snatched away from her people—of her, who never forgot the poorest and the humblest of them all.

Anon appeared the bearer of one of the proudest names in Hesse, who was attached to the personal service of the Princess. The official, stalwart bearing of the courier was left outside, and, weeping hot, unhidden tears, he lingered long by the bier. To what a lofty soul, to what goodness of heart, was he saying here a bitter farewell! He was followed by two little girls, poorly but cleanly dressed, and they, too, brought their tribute of gratitude—two little bunches of violets. Shyly, almost frightened, and yet with childish curiosity, they drew slowly nearer. They thought of another winter day, some years ago. Hungry, chilled to the heart, they were sitting in an empty attic; their parents were dead, and they ate among strangers bread that was hard and grudgingly given, when that great lady appeared who was now sleeping here under the flowers. From her, whose heart was ever yearning to the orphan’s cry, they heard again, for the first time, gentle, loving words; by her provision was quickly made for their more kindly treatment, and gratitude was rooted firmly and forever in their young souls.

A deputation from the Court Theatre laid upon the coffin a wreath intertwined with pale pink streamers. Art, too, had come to mourn for her noblest patroness, who had been ever ready with her fine, cultivated intelligence to advance whatever was great and good. A servant brought a beautiful cross, of dark foliage with white flowers. It was the gift of the Grand Duke’s mother, anxious to testify by an outward sign her love for her dead daughter. In ever-growing numbers came the mourners, all visibly oppressed by the weight of the calamity which had fallen upon the country. Countless were the gifts of love, of gratitude, of respect, which, now beautiful and costly, now slight and simple, arched ever higher and higher the hill of flowers above the coffin. The ladies of the neighboring towns sent cushions of dark violets, with chaplets of white flowers. Two ladies deeply veiled brought branches of palm, from the dark green of which gleamed a white scroll—a poetic farewell word of deep feeling:

There was a second poem, enclosed in a heart-shaped framework of leaves, which gave expression to the grief of a devoted soul for the high-hearted lady.

But now the hour was come for another to take the post of honor by the bier of the Princess. Silently and sadly the two men saluted. He that left took away with him a deep and elevating impression of the general love and respect paid by the people of Hesse to their too-early departed Princess, and the remembrance of that silent watch by the dead will remain in his memory forever. And he who now entered on that honorable duty could chronicle proofs of genuine grief, of true reverence and love, not fewer nor less touching. Whosoever is thus bewept has secured the best and fairest memorial in the hearts of her own people for all time—“The remembrance of the just abideth in blessing.”

December 14th, 1878.

On the 14th of December, seventeen years ago, a great sorrow fell upon England in the death of the Prince Consort, who, if he did not die too soon for his own happiness and fame, died at least, as all now feel, too soon for England. The memorable 14th of December has again come round, and again a great sorrow has fallen upon the country. The Princess has been taken to her rest, who watched and soothed the Prince Consort in the last days of his fatal illness, and who by her fortitude and noble devotion helped materially, though then but a girl of seventeen, to sustain and comfort the widowed Queen in her measureless affliction. For the first time a breach—and such a breach—has been made in that family circle to which all who had the priviledge to know it looked as the happiest in England—happiest, because mutual love and esteem bound all its members together by ties knit in childhood and never broken, and because of the noble activity for good which had been set before them in the example of their parents kept their hearts fresh and their minds ever open. She who, while yet a girl, was called to play a woman’s part by her father’s deathbed, has been the first to follow him into the Silent Land.

No life could have opened more auspiciously than that of the second daughter of our Royal house.[137] From the first she gave great promise of beauty and of intelligence. The fine old English names of Alice and Maud, selected for her by her happy parents, seemed as names sometimes do, to be particularly fitted to the winning, open character of her fair and finely-formed features, and their sound was one pleasant in the mouths, not only of those to whom she was known, but of the people, as she grew up and was seen in public by the eager and kindly eyes to whom the sight of the Royal children has always been welcome.

When the marriage of the Princess Royal took place in 1858, the Princess Alice was still only a girl of fifteen; but she had already developed qualities of mind and heart of no ordinary kind. She came by degrees to fill up in some measure the vacancy which had been created by the removal of her very gifted sister to Berlin. Naturally she was drawn nearer to the Prince Consort; and the influence of his character and the teachings of his affectionate wisdom sank deeply into her pure and highly intellectual nature. He looked forward to her future with the assurance that she would prove all he could wish a daughter to be. She, on the other hand, loved him with a devotion only tempered by a profound reverence for the great qualities which she could then, perhaps, but dimly appreciate, but the true extent and worth of which her own subsequent experience and reflection taught her more thoroughly to measure. When in later years she spoke of the Prince, one saw that, as Ben Jonson said of Shakespeare, “she honored his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any.”

The teaching of that beloved father was put to the proof in those sad days of patient watching which preceded his death. Things were told at the time of the devotion and the marvellous self-control of the young girl, called so sternly and so suddenly to face death in the person of a father, on whose life that of the Queen herself seemed to depend, and whose counsels she knew to be of inestimable value to the nation. A few days after the Prince’s death, she was spoken of by the Times in these noticeable words: “Of the devotion and strength of mind shown by the Princess Alice all through these trying scenes it is impossible to speak too highly. Her Royal Highness has, indeed, felt that it was her place to be a comfort and a support to her mother in her affliction, and to her dutiful care we may perhaps owe it that the Queen has borne her loss with exemplary resignation, and a composure which, under so sudden and terrible a bereavement, could not have been anticipated.” The knowledge of this fact—and it was a fact—sank deeply into people’s minds. It was never forgotten, and from that day the name of the Princess Alice has been a cherished household word to all her countrymen and women.

When, in 1862, she married the husband of her choice—a man whose sterling worth and manliness had satisfied even the critical judgment of parents jealous for the happiness of a daughter so justly dear—the affectionate good wishes of the Queen’s subjects of all grades went with her to her new home. In that home, brightened and ennobled as it was by her presence, her love for the home and country of her youth burned with a steady and ever-deepening glow. It is only those who know how strong is the mutual love by which the children of Queen Victoria are bound to their parent and to each other, who can appreciate the passionate yearning toward England of the Princesses whose homes have been made elsewhere. England and all its interests held a foremost place in the heart of the Princess Alice; and no one watched more closely every phase of the changeful life of the busy land, which she loved and reverenced as the home of liberty and the pioneer of civilization.

While fulfilling with exemplary devotion every duty as a wife and mother, the process of self-culture was never relaxed. Every refined taste was kept alive by fresh study, fresh practice, fresh observation; neither was any effort spared to keep abreast with all that the best intellects of the time were adding to the stores of invention, of discovery, of observation, and of thought. Each successive year taught her better to estimate the value of the principles in religion, in morals, and in politics in which she had been trained. As her knowledge of the world and of men grew, she could see the wide range of fact upon which they were based, and their fitness as guides amid the perplexing experiences of human life, which, however seemingly varied in different epochs, are ever essentially the same. Then the significance of the Prince Consort’s habit of judging every thing by some governing principle, and working always by strict method, became clear to her; and in a letter written in January 1875, of which a copy is before us, the Princess writes with her accustomed modesty: “Living with thinking and cultivated Germans, much in Papa has explained itself to me, which formerly I could less understand, or did not appreciate so much as I ought to have done.”

She inherited much of her father’s practical good sense, and, like him, was ever ready to take part in any well-directed effort for raising the condition of the toilworn and the poor. How much of their misery, nay, of their evil ways, was due to their wretched habitations, she, like him, felt most keenly; and she gave her sympathy and support to every effort for their improvement. With this view she translated into German some of Miss Octavia Hill’s essays “On the Homes of the London Poor,” and published them with a little preface of her own (to which only her initial A. was affixed), in the hope that the principles, which had been successfully applied in London by Miss Hill and her coadjutors, might be put into action in some of the German cities. No good work appealed to her in vain. The great exemplar of her father was always before her; and in the letter from which we have already quoted she speaks of his life, “spent in the highest aims, and with the noblest conception of duty,” as a “leading star” to her own.

That sense of duty carried her to the bedside of the Prince of Wales when, at the end of 1871, he was struck down at Sandringham by the fell disease under which his father had sunk. There she fulfilled the same priceless offices which she had ten years before discharged at Windsor Castle. It pleased Heaven to spare her a renewal of the great affliction of 1861; and in the very days of December in which we are now living, the life of the much-loved brother, which had been wellnigh despaired of, came slowly back to requite her affection, and in answer to her prayers.

The trials of that time came, before the exhaustion had passed away both of body and mind which the Princess had undergone during the Franco-German war. Separated—and for the second time—by war from the Prince of Hesse, who was away in the thickest of the perils of that campaign, she was not a woman to give herself up to morbid brooding on the pangs and apprehensions under which, devoted wife as she was, she yet could not fail to suffer most acutely, for her feelings were warm, and her imagination active beyond that of most women. In the hospital at Darmstadt, crowded with the soldiers, French as well as German, who had come from the battlefields maimed and racked with pain, she was foremost with her bright intelligence, her helpful sympathy, and her tender hand, in soothing pain, and inspiring that sense of manly gratitude which is the best of panaceas to a soldier’s sick-bed. What she was and what she did at that time have embalmed her image in many a heart, and will make the tears flow thick and fast in many manly eyes at the thought of the death of one so young, so good, so gifted, and so fair. To her it was merely duty—duty to be done at every cost; but how much it had cost to that finely touched spirit and to that delicate womanly frame might be read, by all who could look below the surface, in the deep earnestness of her eyes and the deeper earnestness of her thoughts. The pain of that terrible period would not let itself be forgotten even in the gratitude which she felt for the providence which restored her beloved husband to her side, and for the realization of her father’s cherished dream of an United Germany, which had been purchased by the valor and the sufferings of its sons.

The Princess’ fortitude had already been severely tried in the war between Prussia and Austria in 1866. Hesse-Darmstadt was engaged upon the side of Austria, and her husband, Prince Louis, took the field with the troops of the Principality. At the very time that his third daughter, the Princess Irène, was born, he was with the army; and the Princess Alice knew he was under fire but was unable to get any tidings from him. The victorious Prussians marched into Darmstadt, while the Princess, newly made a mother, was still confined to her room.

Of the sad aspects of life it had been her destiny to see much—as daughter, as sister, and as mother. In June, 1873, a terrible calamity fell upon her as a mother. A child—one especially beloved—climbing to an open window in a room adjoining that in which she was, lost its balance, and was killed almost before her eyes, as she rushed in terror to call him back. This, too, had to be borne. It was borne nobly, and with Christian resignation. But such shocks tell upon the vital powers, and some trace of what had been “undergone and overcome” seemed to be visible long afterward in a perceptible bodily languor, and in a more spiritual beauty which had passed into her expressive face.

The thought of this sent an anxious thrill through the hearts of many, when it became known that the Princess was herself seized by the terrible malady which had prostrated her husband and five of her children, and taken from her the youngest of them all—the youngest, the brightest, the idol of her other children.[138] She had nursed them all through their time of danger, and now, spent with watching and anxiety as she was, the malady had laid its fatal clutch upon herself. She that had cared and thought for all was soon past all human care to save. Thus she died as she had lived, devoted, self-sacrificing, purified by great pain and great love—a model daughter—wife—mother.

Of the loss of such a woman to the husband to whom she was the all-in-all, to the children to whose love she will respond no more, to the mother in whose thoughts she is interwoven with the sweetest, the saddest, the most sacred memories, to the brothers and sisters whom she loved and who loved her so truly, so tenderly, who dare trust himself to speak? It must be long before the grief can be assuaged, under which all these must now be suffering—before the “Idea of her life can sweetly creep,” as something hallowed, “into their study of imagination”; but the day will come when they will bless God, that theirs was a wife, a daughter, a sister, a mother, so good, so noble, and that, having fought her fight on earth valiantly, yet meekly, she has gone where there is no more sorrow, nor crying, and where the great mysteries of life alone find their solution.

Theodore Martin.

IN MEMORIAM.

Princess Alice: died December 14th, 1878.