iergarten, bore the name in my childhood of Lennestrasse, which it
owed to Lenne, the park superintendent, a man of great talent, but
who lives in my memory only as a particularly jovial old gentleman.
He occupied No. 1, and was one of my mother's friends. Next to Prince
Packler, he may certainly be regarded as one of the most inventive and
tasteful landscape gardeners of his time. He transformed the gardens of
Sans-Souci and the Pfaueninsel at Potsdam, and laid out the magnificent
park on Babelsberg for Emperor William I, when he was only "Prince of
Prussia." The magnificent Zoological Garden in Berlin is also his work;
but he prided himself most on rendering the Thiergarten a "lung" for
the people, and, spite of many obstacles, materially enlarging it.
Every moment of the tireless man's time was claimed, and besides King
Frederick William IV, who himself uttered many a tolerably good joke,
found much pleasure in the society of the gay, clever Rhinelander,
whom he often summoned to dine with him at Potsdam. Lenne undoubtedly
appreciated this honour, yet I remember the doleful tone in which he
sometimes greeted my mother with, "Called to court again!"

Like every one who loves Nature and flowers, he was fond of children. We
called him "Uncle Lenne," and often walked down our street hand in hand
with him.

It is well known that the part of the city on the other side of the
Potsdam Gate was called the "Geheimerath-Quarter." Our street, it is
true, lay nearer to the Brandenburg Gate, yet it really belonged to
that section; for there was not a single house without at least one
Geheimerath (Privy Councillor).

Yet this superabundance of men in "secret" positions lent no touch
of mystery to our cheerful street, shaded by the green of the forest.
Franker, gayer, sometimes noisier children than its residents could not
be found in Berlin. I was only a little fellow when we lived there, and
merely tolerated in the "big boys'" sports, but it was a festival when,
with Ludo, I could carry their provisions for them or even help them
make fireworks. The old Rechnungsrath, who lived in the house owned
by Geheimerath Crede, the father of my Leipsic colleague, was their
instructor in this art, which was to prove disastrous to my oldest
brother and bright Paul Seiffart; for--may they pardon me the
treachery--they took one of the fireworks to school, where--I hope
accidentally--it went off. At first this caused much amusement, but
stric