PREFACE. 



My poor husband published some years ago his 'Diary in Mexico.' I 

 contributed to this work some leaves of mine, promising to publish more 

 whenever I should find leisure. Encouraged by many friends and the kind 

 manner in which the above-mentioned fragment was received, I shall carry 

 out my promise now. 



World-stirrmg events have taken place since 1868. History has turned 

 another leaf in her eternal book. The French period has come to a close, 

 and the GeiTnan era has commenced. The old German Empire has risen, 

 like the phoenix from its ashes, in richer glory than ever before, and from 

 its iidia It throne a fresh and wholesome current is sweeping over our globe. 

 Much antiquat°d dust has been kicked up ; time-honoured prejudices and 

 generally admitte^^ principles are fluttering in the air ; old people look at 

 them regre ingly and bewildered, prophesying the end of all things and 

 howling a Miserere, whilst the young generation rejoice, full of hope, and 

 breathe wi'h delighc t!ie spring air of rational liberty. The genius of the 

 age looks smi.'ngly fiom i*s sunny height upon flying superstition, carry- 

 ing tyranr.y on its back. 



Ti'iough it seems to be a law of nature that even the most beneficial 

 poliiical or social changes must-be ushered in first with bloodshed and tears, 

 it is abo natuiul that the feelings of those who saw flow the hearts' blood 

 of their fathe';s, husbands, or sons, and who with their tears and ruined 

 lives in reality paid and still pay alone for the national hopes bought by 

 such sacrifice.-., are not quite in harmony wivh the feelings of the great 

 majority. 



Though well aware that the late cruel war made, alas, too many suffer- 

 ers hke myself, and that our grief is felt like a dissonance in the general 

 concert of rejoicing, who is cruel enough to blame a poor woman because 

 she moun-s hei li'ile flow-r-gardcn changed by that storm into a wilder 

 ness ? Who is unjuit enough to accuse her of selfishness, or want of 

 jvatriot'sm, or nairowness of mind, if she cannot suppress a shudder on 

 hearing the marches of triumph or the rejoicings of the crowd ? Alas ! 

 in my ear is still resounding the din and roar of battles, ahd in my heart 

 are still lingering the cries of the wounded and the heartrending whispered 

 woids of the dying, sending their last greetings and blessings to their be- 

 reaved mothers, wives, or children. And above all, before my mental eye 

 is still a maddening vision — the gory body of a dear, kind husband. 



Yes, yes ; I know he died a most glorious death for his beloved king 

 and the independence and glory of his dear Germany, and his remains are 

 enshrined in a princely tomb, — but alas, he is dead, dead, gone forever, — 

 and I have only a })oor weak woman's heart. 



