deepest grief to others. She
always strove to cope with her sorest trials alone. Her sunny nature
shrank from diffusing shadow and darkness around her.

On the 14th of February, the anniversary of my father's death, wherever
she might be, she always withdrew from the members of the household,
and even her own children. A second occasion of sharing her sorrowful
emotion was repeated several times every summer. This was the visit to
the cemetery, which she rarely made alone.

The visits impressed us all strongly, and the one I first remember could
not have occurred later than my fifth year, for I distinctly recollect
that Frau Rapp's horses took us to the churchyard. My father was buried
in the Dreifaltigkeitskirchhof,--[Trinity churchyard]--just outside the
Halle Gate. I found it so little changed when I entered it again, two
years ago, that I could walk without a guide directly to the Ebers
family vault. But what a transformation had taken place in the way!

When we visited it with my mother, which was always in carriages, for
it was a long distance from our home, we drove quickly through the city,
the gate, and as far as the spot where I found the stately pile of the
brick Kreuzkirche; then we turned to the right, and if we had come in
cabs we children got out, it was so hard for the horses to drag the
vehicles over the sandy road which led to the cemetery.

During this walk we gathered blue cornflowers and scarlet poppies from
the fields, bluebells, daisies, ranunculus, and snapdragon from the
narrow border of turf along the roadside, and tied them into bouquets
for the graves. My mother moved silently with us between the rows of
grassy mounds, tombstones, and crosses, while we carried the pots of
flowers and wreaths, which, to afford every one the pleasure of helping,
she had distributed among us at the gravedigger's house, just back of
the cemetery.

Our family burial place--my mother's stone cross now stands there beside
my father's--was one of those bounded in the rear by the church yard
wall; a marble slab set in the masonry bears the owner's name. It is
large enough for us all, and lies at the right of the path between
Count Kalckreuth's and the stately mausoleum which contains the earthly
remains of Moritz von Oppenfeld--who was by far the dearest of our
father's relatives--and his family.

My mother led the way into the small enclosure, which was surrounded by
an iron railing, and prayed or thought sile