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MEAP Edition
Manning Early Access Program
AI-Assisted Data Science
Large Language Models for multimodal
data analysis
Version 2
Thank you for purchasing the MEAP version of “AI-Assisted Data Science”!
Coming from a background in data management and data science, I started looking into
language models a few years ago. Back then, language models were considered an exotic topic
in my community and few colleagues had worked with them. When giving talks on the topic, I
would spend five to ten minutes introducing the basics of language models to my audience.
Fast-forward to 2023 and language models have taken the world by storm. ChatGPT, the
fastest-growing consumer app in history, is nowadays known to and used by large shares of the
world’s population, extending far beyond the computer science community. My introduction to
language models has been reduced to a few slides that I nowadays often skip. Clearly, language
models have become mainstream!
While many people have started using ChatGPT and similar models in their daily lives, I
found that few people exploit their true potential. This is particularly true in the domain of data
science. Perhaps for the first time ever, language models provide a unified interface that allows
analyzing almost any kind of data, merely based on short instructions in plain English! But doing
so efficiently and effectively requires using the right tools and interfaces, understanding the cost
and quality tradeoffs between different models and configurations, and, ultimately, having a
little bit of background knowledge of the internals of language models.
With this book, my goal is to provide you as a reader with everything you need to make the
most of language models for your data science projects. I don’t expect any prior knowledge on
language models, only a bit of general background in data science and Python programming
skills at a beginner’s level.
It may sound cliché, but I am writing the book I wish I had when getting started with
language models as a data scientist. You can help me in this endeavor by submitting comments
and suggestions in the liveBook discussion forum. Your feedback will make the book all the
better and is highly appreciated!
—Immanuel Trummer
brief contents
PART 1: INTRODUCTION TO LANGUAGE MODELS
1 Analyzing data with large language models
2 A chat with ChatGPT
3 The Transformer
4 Transfer learning
PART 2: DATA ANALYSIS WITH LANGUAGE MODELS
5 The OpenAI API
6 Analyzing text data
7 Analyzing images, audio files, and videos
8 Analyzing structured data
PART 3: ADVANCED DATA ANALYSIS
9 Multi-step analysis with LangChain
10 Alternative model providers
11 Prompt engineering and model tuning
PART 4: CONCLUSION
12 Summary and outlook
This chapter covers
Analyzing data with large
language models
Language models are powerful neural networks that can be used for various language pro-
cessing tasks. This chapter introduces language models and shows how and why we want
to use them for data analysis. You will learn about use cases, recommended background
before reading this book, and challenges that arise when using language models in practice.
The poem above has been generated by ChatGPT, a chat bot released in November
2022, solely based on the instructions “Write a poem about data analysis with GPT!”.
While its literary quality is questionable, the poem illustrates recent advances in the do-
main of language processing. The poem text is coherent, consistent with the instructions,
and it rhymes! Perhaps most importantly, all it took to generate the poem is a simple com-
mand, expressed in natural language. Whereas prior text generation methods rely on large
amounts of task-specific training data, this requirement is now obsolete.
Writing poems is only one out of many possible use cases (albeit, possibly, the most
entertaining one). Tools like ChatGPT are nowadays used for a variety of language pro-
cessing tasks such as summarizing text documents, extracting information from text to
answer questions, or even writing children’s books. But their scope is not restricted to nat-
ural language alone! The ChatGPT feature with, perhaps, most transformative potential
is its ability to turn natural language instructions into programming code. Not only does
this save time for advanced computer users. It also enables non-experts to accomplish a
variety of tasks with a computer that were formerly out of reach.
In this book, you will learn how to leverage language models to accomplish a plethora
of data analysis tasks, ranging from calculating aggregates over data tables up to extracting
information from large collections of text documents. The ability to analyze data has be-
come a crucial skill in virtually all sectors of industry. Yet, data comes in various formats
and different types of analysis require specialized tools. Quite often, different tools support
slightly or significantly different languages to express data analysis operations. Even for ad-
vanced users, it is hard to memorize all of them and to keep up to date as new libraries
appear. Here, language models can help by providing a unified interface for data analysis,
based on natural language, that is accessible even to users with limited IT background.
What does GPT stand for?
GPT stands for Generative Pre-Trained Transformer. Let us look at each individual term
to understand the semantics:
Generative GPT is a large neural network that generates content (text or code), in response
to input text. This fact distinguishes it from other neural networks that, e.g., classify
input text into a fixed set of pre-defined categories.
Pre-Trained GPT is pre-trained on large amounts of text or code, solving generic tasks such
as predicting the next token. Typically, the pre-training task is different from the tasks
it is primarily used for. However, pre-training helps to learn more specialized tasks
faster.
Transformer The Transformer is a new neural network architecture that is particularly useful
for learning tasks that involve variable-length input or output (such as text documents).
It is currently the dominant architecture for generative AI approaches.
STRUCTURED DATA Structured data follows a pre-defined schema. That includes, for
instance, data tables (their structure is defined by the columns and their types and
each row contains values for the same columns) as well as data describing graphs
such as social networks.
We’ll discuss how to apply language models to analyze both types of data in this book,
covering many common analysis tasks such as automatically classifying data, extracting
structured information from unstructured data, clustering data into groups of similar el-
ements, as well as answering complex questions about data, possibly integrating multiple
types of data to find an answer. While you will learn “recipes” to solve common tasks using
language models, by the end of this book, you should be able to adapt what you learned to
create customized solutions as well.
While most of this book focuses on data analysis using OpenAI’s GPT model series
(a collection of powerful models that enable you to cover a wide range of scenarios), we
will also discuss about alternative providers and models that may lead to better results or
reduced costs in certain scenarios.
1.5 How to use language models
A language model is a large neural network for language processing (some of them process
other data types in addition to text, e.g., images). Up until a few years ago, language models
had to be specialized to specific tasks (e.g., classifying product reviews as either expressing
satisfaction or dissatisfaction) using task-specific training data (e.g., a set of sample reviews
with associated classification results). However, that’s not the case anymore for the newest
generation of language models (which we focus on in this book)!
So how do we use such language models instead? Before we discuss that, let’s first intro-
duce an important term.
PROMPT A prompt is a short text that forms the input to the language model. This
prompt describes a task to solve by the language model, e.g., in plain English. It may
also provide context information, needed to solve the task. And, if we want to make
things a bit “easier” for the language model, we can help by providing a few (typically
less than ten) examples of successfully solved tasks as part of the prompt.
Let’s make all of that more concrete by an example prompt. For instance, a classical
use case for language processing is determining the sentiment behind product reviews,
i.e., whether customers are happy or unhappy with a product. If using a state-of-the-art
language model for that task via prompt, we definitely should integrate a few pieces of key
information into that prompt:
Review text The text of the product review that we want to classify.
Task description E.g., “print satisfied or dissatisfied, depending on review”.
Relevant context E.g., are we reviewing laptops or lawn movers?
Few examples We can add a few example reviews with correct output.
classify 5 . We can then submit this prompt to the language model which will hopefully
return “dissatisfied” as that is the expected answer for the last review. In the next chapter,
we will actually submit prompts similar to the one in Listing 1.1.
The task description 2 , the problem context 1 , as well as the examples 3 4 can
remain constant across different reviews. On the other hand, the review text will be sub-
stituted for each new review. Hence, the prompt template contains a placeholder for the
review text 5 .
Prompt Template
Prompt
Language Model
Output
Figure 1.1 Using language models directly for data analysis: a prompt template describes the analysis
task. It contains placeholders that are substituted by data to analyze. After substituting placeholders, the
resulting prompt is submitted to the language model to produce output.
The prompt template is used in the following way. Given a collection of data items
(e.g., reviews), we replace the placeholders in the prompt template by concrete data for
each item (e.g., we insert text of a specific review). The resulting prompts don’t contain
any placeholders anymore and are submitted to the language model. Then, we collect the
output from the language model for each prompt. Figure 1.1 illustrates this process.
Prompt
Language Model
SQL Code
Data RDBMS
Output
Figure 1.2 Using language models indirectly to build a natural language interface for tabular data: the
prompt template contains placeholders for questions about data. After substituting placeholders, the
resulting prompt is used as input for the language model. The model translates the question into an SQL
query that is executed via an RDBMS.
glish). NLQIs typically translate such questions into queries in formal languages (like
SQL), process them, and return the result to the user.
In this scenario, we prompt the language model to write SQL queries, given a question
in natural language. This means the prompt tasks the language model to translate English
questions into SQL queries. Relevant context includes, for instance, the names of data
tables in the RDBMS, as well as the names of their columns and, possibly, data samples.
The result of translation (an SQL query) is not directly returned to the user. Instead, it is
forwarded to the RDBMS and processed there. The query result is then forwarded to the
user. Figure 1.2 illustrates this situation.
This book will teach you to build NLQIs via language models for yourself and for other
users. While RDBMS are used as an example here, the approach itself generalizes to var-
ious types of tools, data, and analysis tasks.
of Artificial General Intelligence: Experiments with an early version of GPT-4” by Bubeck et al. [1].
Figure 1.3 Holistic Evaluation of Language Models (HELM): comparing language models offered by dif-
ferent providers according to various metrics.
models by OpenAI as well as from other providers. The selection of a model starts with
the choice of a model provider.
TIP As the number of model providers increases, it becomes harder to find the best
option for a given task. Benchmarks such as HELM (Holistic Evaluation of Language
Models) 2 , shown in Figure 1.3, help users choose between different providers.
interest, perhaps observing and learning more than was thought. And we
often talked to them too, so that there was really nothing so very much to
wonder at in those “Songs of the Crafts,” which I was one day to write, nor
in the intimate knowledge of each special kind of work which they
revealed. Quite young we thus learned to use our hands, and they were
never idle. I could give first-rate sewing lessons; here in Roumania even I
have taught many a young girl to embroider. But it was the smith above all
whom we were never tired of watching at his work. Everything pertaining
to the forge has a special fascination for children—the bellows, and the
tongs, and the sparks that fly, and the blackened faces—it is all too
delightful! One should allow children to familiarise themselves with all
these things, with the beauty and dignity of human toil in its every aspect,
that they may learn to have the right feeling of respect both for the work
itself, and for the workers.
Nor can one too early impress on the minds of children the debt of
gratitude they owe to all those whose lives are passed in their service. The
young can certainly not be expected to realise all the unselfishness—the
utter forgetfulness and disregard of self, I should rather say,—which are
implied in the term of “good and faithful servant.” But they can be taught to
show thoughtfulness and consideration towards all with whom they are
brought into daily contact in these relations.
Servants of the type of those whom I have tried to describe here, are
perhaps becoming more and more rare. In any case, where we do come
across them, we must look upon them as a gift from heaven, and it is in
heaven, too, that they will have their reward. For no earthly master,
however thoroughly he may recognise their merit, can ever hope to requite
or repay such services as theirs. My little tribute of words is poor indeed to
express the magnitude of such a debt. May they have found their reward in
a better world, united to the master they served so faithfully on earth!
CHAPTER VI
FANNY LAVATER
Thisangel in human form was a grand-niece of the celebrated Swiss
philosopher and physiognomist, Johann Caspar Levater. She was one of a
family of ten children, the father a member of the little French-speaking
Protestant community at Hanau, and the mother an Englishwoman.
When Fräulein Lavater came as governess to my mother the latter was
just six years old, and she herself a mere girl of eighteen, with big brown
eyes and black hair. She was, however, already remarkably well-read in the
literature of several languages, and this she always declared she owed in a
great measure to the circumstance that the nonsense called children’s books
did not exist in her childhood, she and her brothers and sisters being
consequently obliged to have recourse for such amusement as they sought
in reading, to the little collection of the best poets and prose-writers, of
whose works their mother’s library was composed. It was thus that she had
read nearly all Shakespeare’s plays when she was eight years old. In order
to indulge their taste for reading, without always having to be guided by the
choice of their elders, these young people had, she told us, discovered a
most ingenious method of quietly pushing open a panel of the bookcase,
making an aperture just wide enough to introduce the smallest arm among
them, with which several coveted volumes would be fetched down from the
shelves, and carried off to some safe hiding-place, to be brought out and
devoured at leisure afterwards.
It was not considered necessary in those days to pass a public
examination in order to give a proof of one’s knowledge and abilities, and
in the person of our “Fräulchen,” as she was affectionately called, we had a
striking example of the high degree of intellectual culture that may be
attained by careful and intelligent home training and a liberal course of
general reading. It was in the latter respect, above all, that the superiority of
independent study over the modern cramming system, was in this instance
so abundantly proved. A very few minutes’ conversation sufficed to show
how much more solid information was possessed by the quiet little
bookworm than by many a paragon of the latest methods of instruction,
however much the latter might be advertised by the diploma conferred on
her by the State. It would almost seem indeed as if no time were left for
original thought or true mental culture in the schemes of our newest
educational oracles, which apparently aim at reducing all mankind to one
dull level of mediocrity, forcing all into the selfsame groove, and trying to
make one pattern serve for all of us, utterly regardless both of our aptitudes
and our requirements. I fancy that before long there must come a reaction
from this unlucky craze, and that women at any rate will once more content
themselves with cultivating their mental powers to the utmost, feeling
therein a higher satisfaction than is to be derived from the noisier successes
of a public examination.
The home in which Fräulein Lavater had grown up, in happy
companionship of her brothers and sisters, under the guidance of their
excellent mother, was a comfortable old-fashioned house in Hanau,
surrounded by a pretty garden of considerable size. A genial and healthy
spirit animated the whole household; the inhabitants of the little town
prided themselves on the literary and artistic interests which they
considered had been wafted over to them from Frankfort, the Frankfort of
Goethe’s days; they read much, and were fond of meeting together for
philosophic discussion as well as for amateur acting. Those were still the
good old honest simple times in which living was so cheap that an excellent
mid-day meal, a slice of a roast joint with vegetables, bread and ale, could
be had for three kreuzers, and in which young girls made their own simple
white muslin ball-dresses, and embroidered them in coloured wools,
wearing the same dress contentedly for a dozen dances; and assuredly they
looked just as pretty and attractive in their modest attire as do the young
women of the present day in the extravagant toilettes on which such
preposterous sums are spent, often bringing ruin on a whole family. That so-
called period of stagnation at which it is so easy to sneer, was in reality but
the necessary reaction after the too great tension, the strain and stress of the
War of Liberation, a rest after the storm, in which the nation might
recuperate its energies, exhausted by the long conflict. No one talked then
of national antipathies or hereditary enmities; and religious strife was also
unknown. It was, at all events, a peaceful happy existence which people led
in Hanau, as in many another of the smaller German towns, in which little
colonies of French Protestants, driven out of their own country by the
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, had settled down. There was something
so distinctive about these worthy people, something that seemed to
differentiate them from their compatriots of the Catholic Faith, and that has
sometimes set me wondering as to what other possible turn affairs might
have taken for France and for Europe in consequence, had Henry IV instead
of hearing his first Mass thrown the whole weight of his influence into the
other side of the scale, and brought his countrymen over to his religion!
However that may be, it is certain that the presence of these foreigners gave
Hanau something cosmopolitan, that the tone of thought and feeling which
prevailed there was exceptionally liberal and enlightened. Anglophobia had
not yet been invented in Germany, on the contrary, one admired and
imitated everything English, looking up to the English nation as the most
highly civilised of all.
Before Fanny Lavater’s first day in Biebrich was over, her little pupil
was already sitting on her knee, and telling her:—“Je vous aime déjà
beaucoup!” “Vraiment?” said the young governess, somewhat surprised. “Je
vous aime déjà beaucoup plus que ma sœur Thérèse!” “Oh!” and this time
there was something not merely incredulous, but almost of protest in the
tone. “C’est que je n’aime pas beaucoup ma sœur Thérèse!” The elder sister
had, after the mother’s death, at once assumed the reins of government, and
carried it on in so high-handed a manner, that she had by no means
increased the affection in which she was held by her younger brothers and
sisters.
The very next evening there was a big reception at the Castle, at which
Fräulein Lavater, young and timid and unknown to everyone, had to appear.
As she shyly entered the room, nobody made way for her, or took any
notice of her at all, and my grandfather, observing this, strode through the
room to the place where she stood, offered her his arm, and conducted her
in this manner through the whole assembly, everyone falling back as they
passed along. Needless to say, that her position in society was from that
hour assured, and that she never required to assert herself in any way. And
this little anecdote shows my grandfather, then a handsome dignified man in
the prime of life, in the light in which he must have always appeared to the
outside world; towards strangers he was affable, courteous and charming,
reserving his ill-temper for his own family, his treatment of his children not
allowing them to see in him aught but a pitiless tyrant.
For my mother a happy time now began, in which she and her dear
governess lived quite by themselves in the rooms set apart for them in one
wing of the castle, where they had their own little establishment—maid,
footman and housemaids, all to themselves. Only once or twice a day did
the children have to appear before their parents, kiss their hands and be
dismissed again at once. Pupil and governess were all in all to one another,
and the former had already made up her mind that no circumstances which
she could control, should ever separate them. Fräulein Lavater must come
and live with her, the little girl explained, when she got married. “But if
your husband does not want me?” “Alors, je dirai; mon homme, tu peux
rester dans ta chambre, et moi je resterai dans la mienne!” My mother kept
her word, insisting, to our unspeakable happiness, on Fräulein Lavater
remaining with her for weeks, sometimes months together, throughout her
married life, and afterwards, during her widowhood, altogether.
The saddest day in her whole childhood was that in which her dear
governess was dismissed. The latter had often defended her little pupil
when she saw her unjustly accused, as not infrequently occurred, her
otherwise admirable and dearly-loved stepmother having the weakness—it
was the only fault that could be laid to her charge—sometimes to try to
shield her own children from their father’s severity, at the expense of the
others. And Fräulein Lavater’s zealous efforts to exculpate the poor child,
on an occasion when she knew her to be the victim of a most cruel injustice,
simply led to her own dismissal. It was for both of them a cruel blow, and
my mother has often told me how she wandered next day heartbroken
through the empty desolate rooms, throwing herself at last on a sofa to cry
her eyes out, with no one to care what had become of her.
My mother had hardly been able to speak a word of German at the time
when Fräulein Lavater came to her. Nassau belonged to the Confederation
of the Rhine and had decidedly French sympathies, so that everything was
new to my mother, when she came to Neuwied, marrying into a family that
had been mediatised for having drawn the sword for Germany. She was
simply shocked at the brutality of one of my great-uncles, who related how
he had ridden about on the field of Waterloo, in the hope of finding
Napoleon and making an end of him. “That fellow Bonaparte! if I could but
have got at him!” Uncle Max would say, clenching his fist; and my mother
turned away in horror at such savage sentiments.
There had been, quite unknown to herself, another marriage planned for
her, with the heir to the throne of Russia, whose father, the Emperor
Nicholas, was a great friend of my grandfather. But the match, on which
both fathers were so bent, fell through after my grandfather’s death, the
Emperor’s expressed desire merely having the effect of driving his son into
opposition to his wishes. But my mother was ignorant of all this; all she
knew of or cared for in Russia was the family of the Grand-Duchess
Hélène, her own first cousin and sister to her stepmother. To her, the Grand-
Duchess, and her daughters, she was deeply attached.
I cannot insist enough on the benefit resulting for us all from the
presence of Fräulein Lavater in our midst. She came among us as a true
angel of peace, bringing harmony into the strange mass of heterogeneous
elements—sometimes most conflicting and discordant—of which our
household was composed. Never were we so happy, either as children or a
little later on, as when sitting with her, close up beside her chair, listening to
all she had to tell us. Her memory was so excellent and had been so
assiduously cultivated, that her mind was a perfect treasure-house of all that
is best and noblest in the literature of the world. She was never idle; her
fingers always occupied with some pretty piece of needlework whilst she
talked, and when alone, they worked on indefatigably, her eyes meanwhile
fixed on the book that lay open before her. It was owing to this
praiseworthy habit, that in the course of completing some beautiful piece of
lace or embroidery, that looked as if wrought by fairy fingers, she had at the
same time committed whole pages of her favourite authors to memory, and
would therefore not only relate to us the substance of her reading, but even
recite long passages of poetry or prose by the hour together, in her soft
agreeable voice, and with most admirable elocution. Her needlework was
truly artistic; much of it would have been worthy to find a place in a
museum. Her tapestry-work was as if painted, and an artist friend of ours
once said of her groups and landscapes, that whilst the paintings done by
some young ladies of his acquaintance looked as if worked in cross-stitch,
Fräulein Fanny’s needlework was so fine that it might have been painted!
“Look at that grey horse,” he went on, pointing to a little group, “so
delicately is it shaded, that Wouwerman might have acknowledged it as the
product of his brush!”
Her own harmonious and well balanced disposition enabled our dear
“Fräulchen” to play the part of peace-maker among stormier natures, and
her influence was ever used for good. Never in thirty years of the closest
intimacy did I hear a single word fall from her lips, by which I could
possibly have felt hurt; and I was as ultra-sensitive and liable to take
offence, as are most children, who are too harshly brought up. With others I
was always looking out for blame,—a scolding seemed the natural thing to
expect,—never with her! She could find fault, too, when it was needful, but
with so much tact and kindness, and accompanying her criticism with
reflections that took away all its bitterness and made it sound almost like
indirect praise; and then when I looked up at her, half in alarm, with her soft
little hand she would stroke mine and say smiling:—“There was the horrid
little serpent concealed beneath the roses, was it not?” She was for ever
pouring oil on the troubled waters, making life better and happier for
everyone, and most of all for us poor children, who had in many respects a
very hard time, in an atmosphere so little conducive to our healthy and
happy development. We were accustomed to say among ourselves that we
were a three-leaved shamrock of ill-luck, our initials—(of all our names,
Otto, Wilhelm, and Elizabeth),—forming together the sound Oweh, or Woe!
Poor little woful shamrock in truth it was! We often stood in need of
someone to protect us, our parents’ ill-health placing us so entirely in the
hands of our first governesses and nursery-governesses, who unfortunately
happened to be anything but fitted for a position of such trust. We should
have suffered still more from their harsh treatment and rough ways, had not
Fräulein Lavater constantly stepped in, to interpose calmly and gently on
our behalf. My gratitude towards her knew no bounds, and can find but
scant expression in the words I write, which seem cold and colourless
beside the feelings that dictate them. She alone understood the restless
workings of my imagination, its insatiable thirst of beauty, not to be stilled
by the daily portion of dull dry fact, which was alone provided by our
earliest instruction, she alone cared to satisfy the intense longing for poetry,
for literature, for some other knowledge than was contained in the little
scholastic manuals of science and history on which our young minds were
almost exclusively fed. Thanks to her, when I was eight years old, I was
liberated from the very disagreeable young governess who had tyrannised
over me since my fourth year, and a friend of her own substituted, an
amiable and highly-instructed woman, with whom I at once made great
progress, my studies becoming from that moment a real delight to me.
Grammar, and French grammar above all, was a real passion with me, and
unconsciously I was already then, in my love of languages and of language
itself, cultivating and preparing the instrument that was one day to be my
own, to be played on as others play on the strings of a harp or violin. But
clever and accomplished as Fräulein Josse was, and much as I enjoyed my
lessons with her, the hours spent with Fräulein Lavater were worth even
more, for her knowledge had a still wider range, her judgment was more
calm and clear, being utterly unbiased by any personal considerations. She
possessed a special gift for calming the tumult—a tumult of thought
unsuspected by everyone else—which my lively imagination sometimes set
up in my brain. As she was the only person who could sympathise with my
flights of fancy, perhaps the only one who did not consider absolutely
culpable and reprehensible the tendency to indulge in them, it was only
natural that she should be the sole confidante of my dreams and aspirations.
With her too I could give vent to my natural liveliness, to the perpetual flow
of high spirits, so sadly out of place in the atmosphere of the sick-room. My
youthful health and strength drew down on me all sorts of uncomplimentary
epithets from some of the elder members of the family, to whom, more even
than to the invalids, my liveliness must have been a trial; Whirlwind,
Flibbertigibbet, Will-o’-the-wisp, these were a few of the names showered
on me by Uncle Max, and more or less acquiesced in by the rest. It must
have been the sensation of exuberant, irrepressible vitality within me which
made me one day exclaim—“Mamma, I feel as if I could carry away a
mountain!” Alas! I have sometimes thought since that my heedless words
must have been overheard by Fate!
When I came back from St. Petersburg everything was changed, my dear
father dead, and quite a different way of living to be entered on by my
mother and myself, she being restricted henceforth to her dower for her own
use, the estates of course passing into my brother’s hands, and simply being
administered by her until his coming of age. We could now no longer keep
open house as in the old days, in which the carriage had scarcely departed
that took away one party of guests, when already and perhaps quite
unexpectedly another would appear round the corner bringing a fresh relay.
It was a quiet and rather lonely life that began thus suddenly for us three
women, but no less full of interest, thanks to the one of us, to our dear
Fräulein Lavater! We were hardly an hour of the day apart from one
another, she and I; when the weather made it impossible for us to go out, if
the wind was raging or the snow falling fast, then we contented ourselves
with walking up and down indoors, pacing the rooms sometimes for hours,
subjects of conversation never failing, her well-stored mind always ready to
provide some fresh topic, and her marvellous swiftness of intuition enabling
her to place herself at another’s point of view, and participate in phases of
thought and feeling quite new to her. I had but just returned home after a
lengthy absence, in which I had travelled much, seen many new countries,
and met numbers of celebrated and interesting people. She meanwhile had
remained quietly at home, surrounded daily by the same scenes, the same
faces. And yet, how infinitely richer and fuller she had contrived to make
her life, that inner life, which is in truth independent of and superior to all
influences from without!
I could wish that many another young girl might go through the
experience that then was mine, that she might enjoy and profit by days like
our winter-days in Monrepos, provided, of course, that she had such a
companion as Fräulein Lavater to share in them. And better still were the
long winter evenings, when we sat round the lamp, the immense deep
stillness of the mighty woods reigning outside and a like feeling of calm, of
aloofness from the world dwelling within our souls. Of inestimable value
was that time for me, after all the bustle and fatigue of the long journeys, of
the rapid succession of events, of all the changing, shifting phantasmagoria
of the busy, restless world, stamped in almost bewildering variety on my
brain. The impressions had been so vivid, so multitudinous, they bade fair
to grow confused or distorted, crowding on and threatening to efface each
other. But now, in this quiet uneventful existence, I could look through the
rich collection I had brought home with me, could examine each treasure
undisturbed, and range them all in order, could bring myself into harmony
with all I had so recently acquired. How quickly those evenings passed! Our
fingers were busy all the time; my mother spinning, and I already making
all sorts of new inventions in tatting,—that pretty work of which I have
always been so fond, and which I have gone on elaborating of late years
into something resembling old-fashioned ecclesiastical embroideries. We
talked at intervals, or else read aloud by turns,—from some author whose
high and noble thoughts we might meditate on for long after.
It was the sensation of being enfolded and shut off from the rest of the
world by the woods around us, that lent those evenings their peculiar
charm. Often during the day I had wandered for hours through my beloved
woods, with the sole companionship of the faithful St. Bernard dogs, my
trusty guardians. We did not keep to the beaten path, but plunged into the
deepest thickets, threading our way through the most tangled growth of
brushwood. And on my return, my first care was to note down the songs
which the trees had whispered in my ear as I passed beneath them. I was the
wild rose, the wood rose, for all my friends. They had christened me thus,
because of the roses on my cheeks, which I never lost, although so much of
my youth had been spent in the atmosphere of the sick-room. I might
indeed pass as a living contradiction to every sort of theory of infection, my
magnificent health would have given the lie to all stories of germs and
microbes,—I was really never ill in my life, and never had occasion to see a
doctor, until the attack of typhoid fever I had while in St. Petersburg. That
was perhaps in a great measure the result of the long anxiety, the sadness of
years, but it did not come on till afterwards, not in the least as an immediate
consequence of the unhealthy atmosphere in which I had grown up.
The drawback to the life we were now leading, lay of course in its
natural tendency to encourage mere dreaming, almost at the expense
perhaps of one’s active duties, of all practical work. For me this might have
been a special danger, had I not been preserved from it by the good sense,
the clearsightedness, the spirit of self-sacrifice of my Mentor. Of herself she
never thought at all. Therein lay the secret of her great power, of her
unbounded influence. On her deathbed she could say:—“How good it is,
when one’s whole life has been filled by one great affection!”
For those who knew her best, her whole existence was summed up in
those words. But did they also contain a hidden meaning, the key to a secret
none had ever guessed, some page of quite unsuspected romance, an
attachment which death or circumstances had cut short? I had sometimes
wondered that she alone of all her sisters had remained unmarried, had
therefore never known the happiness of having a home, a family of her
own; but, like everyone else, I had grown accustomed to the idea that her
devotion to my mother was so all-absorbing as to leave no room for any
other affection in her heart. Most probably was it so, and that her last words
did but refer to the friendship, the affection, to which she had devoted her
whole life, identifying herself so entirely with the feelings, the hopes, the
interests and aims of the family of which in the truest sense she had become
a member, that she found within that circle ample scope for the exercise of
all her energy, the satisfaction of all her wishes, nor ever for one moment
regretted having formed no other ties. She died in the year 1877, after the
Balkan war, that war on which hung the destinies of Roumania, and out of
which the country came forth victorious and independent, and before her
death she had come to pay me a visit there, appearing in her old character of
an angel of peace and consolation. For it was in the saddest, darkest hour of
my whole existence, that in which its whole joy and happiness, granted to
me for so short a time, had been torn from me forever, and when my only
wish was to be allowed myself to die also. In that moment of utter
hopelessness, none knew as did this old friend of mine, in what manner
alone to strive to reconcile me with life. Hers were the gentle words, the
gentle touch, that can never hurt, that one can bear, even when one’s whole
heart seems to be an open wound. “Bun de pus pe rana,”—“good enough to
be put on a wound,” is a Roumanian proverb, that always recurs to me, in
thinking of Fräulein Lavater, for it exactly describes the feeling one had
when with her. Her hands were soft as satin, and in the moral or spiritual
sphere, she had just the same exquisite softness of touch. Whilst others,
even with the very best intentions, seemed only too often to bear heavily on
a spot too sensitive to be breathed upon, every word and action of hers was
like balm to the soul. Instead of making the vain attempt to offer
consolation for a sorrow beyond redress, she understood at once that in such
utter bereavement one can only be reconciled to the world by the effort to
live for others. And that lesson she was best fitted to teach, who had for so
many years practised it in her own person, putting herself so entirely on one
side, and only thinking how she could help and comfort those around her.
One felt sure of never being misunderstood or misjudged by her, since her
readiness of sympathy enabled her at all times to put herself in another’s
place, and look at the situation from another point of view. Witty and
amusing in conversation, her modesty made her draw back more and more
from general society as she grew older, under the plea that old people are
always dull, but this did not prevent a proper sense of her own dignity, of
that which was due to herself. She once said to me with a smile, in relating
an incident from which it appeared that she had scarce been treated with
due consideration—“Well, if the place allotted me at table did me no
honour, I must suppose that I did honour to the place by accepting it!”
Impartial and dispassionate in her judgment of men and events, she was
equally unbiased in her literary criticisms, paying absolutely no heed to the
voice of public opinion in such matters, but thinking and judging for
herself. No one I have known ever possessed in the same degree the gift of
rapid and unerring discernment: she would glance through a volume, and in
a moment her mind was made up as to its contents; she seemed able to take
in, and digest and assimilate them, in less time than it would take most
people to read the headings of the chapters. It was a real pleasure to see her,
when a big parcel of books arrived from a library; sometimes a peep into
the uncut pages of a volume sufficed for it to be put on one side to be
returned as not worthy of further attention, whilst over others she hovered,
paper-knife in hand, glancing now here, now there, and choosing the best
for more serious perusal, like a bee, we used to tell her, that darts from one
plant to the other, sipping honey from the choicest blossoms!
Like the bees too, who are not content each to gather honey for itself
alone, but bring it all to the common store, the treasures culled by Fräulein
Lavater from her reading were not intended solely for her own pleasure and
profit, but were ever destined to more unselfish purposes. She could enliven
the dullest society, revive the most languishing conversation with some
apposite remark, some reference to a topic so well chosen that even the
most listless felt their interest aroused. And best of all, her soft low voice
was like a charm for mental fatigue or overstrung nerves. It was as if she
could wile away headache or worry with her gentle tones, she brought
comfort to every sick-bed, and in the long weary day of convalescence,
when the work of taking up again the burden of existence is perchance
almost too great an effort for the weakened frame, who was there could
ever, like Fräulchen, cheer and rouse one from one’s apathy, who else
possessed such an inexhaustible fund of delightful stories, or could relate
them as she did? How often, in later days, in the long slow recovery from
illness, have I not sighed for her presence, feeling that she could beguile my
pain and weariness with one of the stories or legends she told so well. She it
was who first encouraged in me the taste for literature, the love of poetry, in
which others saw only a weakness and a danger. It was her guiding hand
that directed my youthful talent into the right path, treating it as a plant
worthy of cultivation, and not as a dangerous or perhaps even poisonous
weed, to be rooted up or trodden under foot! For it was to many quite a
shocking idea, that a princess should not merely have the misfortune to be
born a poet, but that she should actually take no pains to conceal so terrible
a fact! That sort of talent really could not be considered suitable to one’s
station, and where there was no possibility of extirpating, it must at least be
hidden away out of sight! But Fräulein Lavater, in her quiet unobtrusive
way, saying no word to hurt prevailing prejudices and thereby expose me to
still greater disapprobation, found the means of lending just the aid and
sheltering care so requisite to my first timid attempts at giving poetic form
to the emotional and intellectual chaos over which I brooded. The sure and
refined taste of the elder woman rendered invaluable service to the
somewhat headlong and indiscriminating enthusiasm of youth, in pointing
out to me, at the same time with the best models for admiration and
imitation, errors to be avoided, excesses and weaknesses to be condemned.
Then, as later, it was the certainty that one’s efforts and aspirations, one’s
failures and mistakes would meet in her, not merely with justice, but with
that indulgence which is perhaps the highest form of human justice, this it
was which inspired one with confidence in seeking her verdict, and spared
one the excessive discouragement some criticisms invariably leave behind.
A sense of justice is very strong in most children, and they suffer more
acutely than is generally supposed, in the consciousness of being unjustly
treated. Misjudged as in my childhood I felt myself to be by the iron
disciplinarians whose aim it was to crush out all originality, it was a
comfort to know that to one person I never appeared wilful or headstrong,
and it was perhaps scarce possible to experience a greater satisfaction than
was mine in later years, in hearing Fräulchen’s affectionate tribute to “our
sunbeam,” as she was fond of calling me:—“She was always a dear good
child, only wishing to make everyone happy!”
To this very day, in those moments of disappointment and lassitude by
which all of us are at times beset, I have but to think of Fräulein Lavater, for
the old feeling of peace and calm to come over me, and the physical pain is
at once stilled, and the cares and troubles that seemed overpowering shrink
into insignificance. More than once, in times gone by, when the burden laid
upon my shoulders seemed greater than I could bear, her adroit touch
adjusted it and turned it into a feather-weight, and recalling this, I rouse
myself again to the struggle, to find as before my strength and courage
increase, in proportion to the difficulties of the situation. I was in good truth
Fräulchen’s pupil, her spiritual child, and it was as much for her as for
myself that I was indignant, when of recent years an absurd report came to
my knowledge, of a nervous complaint from which I was said to be
suffering! As soon might one have credited her, the best-balanced person in
the world, with an hysterical or nervous attack, since, like herself, I have
always had my nerves under perfect control, and sharing in her somewhat
contemptuous feeling for neurasthenia, neurosis, or any other such new-
fangled disorder, I should consider it something degrading, of which to be
ashamed, to be justly ranged among its victims. I have given, I think,
sufficient proof to the contrary, and have shown of what well-tempered steel
my nerves are made, by continuing my work uninterruptedly during long
years of ill-health, and in spite of severe and almost unremitting pain, of
which the doctors only much later discovered the cause. Well may I claim
to disdain nerves and all who suffer from them, considering that they only
too often serve as a mask, behind which selfishness and hypocrisy are
hidden. Fräulein Lavater, at any rate, did not plead nerves if ever her
equanimity were disturbed; she would own quite candidly:—“I am so
irritable to-day!”
In one of the little albums—“Books of Confessions,” as they were
called,—that at one time had so much vogue, among a host of silly
questions, this one was asked: “Of all human qualities which do you prize
most highly?” Without a moment’s hesitation, my father wrote down:
“Enlightened goodness of heart!” No better description could be given of
our Fräulein. Hers was the kindness, the goodness of heart, that may be
truly said to be “illuminated” by the understanding; not that mere
unthinking, easy good nature, blind in perception and indiscriminate in
action, but the sympathy that springs from deepest insight, the indulgence
that is born of comprehension—in a word, the charity that “beareth and
endureth all things.” In each family circle, ever a little world in itself, with
its sometimes incongruous elements and oft divergent and conflicting
interests, and wherein the little rift may so soon be widened to an
irreparable breach, the trifling dissension develop into implacable enmity,
the presence of one person endowed with this rarest of human attributes
will ever be the harmonising medium, the spirit of conciliation, the factor
indispensable to the cohesion of the group.
Would that there were more like Fräulchen in this weary world! Fate is
hard enough towards most of us. No need that we should ever strive to
place a stumbling-block in another’s path, or make it darker by one shadow
the more. Let us at least cherish the memory of all, whose “irradiating
kindliness” for a moment brightened the gloom.
Wherever great intelligence and true culture combine, as in the person of
Fanny Lavater, with moral strength and sweetness to the formation of a
character, the result is like the harmonious blending of rich hues in some
beautiful old cathedral window, through which the daylight streaming,
transforms into new and unwonted loveliness even the commonest objects
on which it falls!
CHAPTER VII
BUNSEN
It was at the time when this learned and accomplished friend of the
highly gifted King Frederick William IV. was the representative of Prussia
at the Court of St. James, that I first visited England in my childhood. We
came over twice, on the first occasion to stay in the Isle of Wight, whilst our
second visit was divided between Hastings and London. A sincere and
lasting friendship then sprang up between my family and that of this
remarkable man, continuing to this day among the members of a younger
generation.
Bunsen loved to be the Mecænas of men of talent, and many were the
interesting people whom we met at his house. The whole family was
musical; two of the sons, just then students at the University of Bonn, sang
most delightfully; “Kathleen Mavourneen” was first made known to me by
the pleasing tenor of the one, and the other gave the famous “Figaro quà,
Figaro là,” of the “Barber of Seville,” with great effect in his agreeable
baritone. I had the pleasure of hearing the organ in Westminster Abbey
played by the eldest daughter, whose professor, the celebrated organist,
Neukomm, became from that moment a most welcome guest in our house,
sometimes staying with us for weeks at a time. It was from this fine old
musician that in my twelfth year I began learning the harmonium, and
became moreover an enthusiast like himself for the sweet plaintive tones of
the Æolian harp. It was his delight to fix one of these simple instruments in
the crack of an open door, and seat himself in the full draught, to listen for
and note down the weird melodies played by the wind. Often on a lovely
summer’s evening,—in the moonlight of Monrepos that has been sung of
among us from generation to generation,—we would have the harmonium
brought out on the terrace, and letting his fingers stray over the keys,
Neukomm would imitate the sighing of the breeze in the strings of the harp,
catching up the echo of some murmuring sound, and repeating and
improvising on it for hours.
Our stay in the Isle of Wight was delightful, and I look back on the
pretty little island as a sort of earthly paradise, fit scene for a happy, idyllic
life. Our little villa was smothered in the clustering roses that climbed over
it everywhere, and on all sides stretched a lawn of beautiful soft green
grass, perfectly kept, but upon which we children could fling ourselves and
play to our hearts’ content; such a relief after the perpetual injunctions to
refrain from stepping on the grass, to which we were accustomed in
Germany. Then we had the good luck too, to be by the sea during a spring-
tide, a novel experience, that gave us a most glorious excitement, as we
happened to be taking our daily sea-bath, and there was the very greatest
difficulty in getting the bathing-machine safely back to the beach again. The
ropes with which the poor horse was harnessed gave way, and the man, who
was pale with fright, had hard work to rescue the little house-on-wheels
with its occupants, whilst my brother and I were simply delighted to see the
waves dash over it, rejoicing at last to encounter something that was like a
real adventure!
Our second visit to England was in the year 1851, and we were in
London just at the closing of the first great International Exhibition, at
which I remember seeing immense crowds of people standing bare-headed
and cheering, as “God save the Queen!” was played. That spectacle made
more impression on me than anything in the Exhibition itself, unless it was
perhaps the splendid trees, one giant oak-tree in particular, which had been
built in with the edifice, completely roofed over by the big glass dome.
Other contemporary events I did not witness myself, but only heard of them
from our friends,—the funeral of the Duke of Wellington, for instance,—
which they described to us passing their house, the Embassy in Carlton
Terrace, in an endless procession rolling on for hours, like wave on wave in
swift succession, to the mournful strains of the Dead March from the Eroica
Symphony. As the sounds of one military band died away in the distance,
the next one had already come up in step to the melancholy cadence of the
selfsame march. Just like the rising and sinking of ocean waves was the
impressive yet monotonous grandeur of the nation’s tribute to its great
soldier.
The Prussian Embassy was at that time frequented by almost every one
of talent or high intellectual culture to be found in London, Bunsen
possessing in a remarkable degree the gift of attracting clever people to
himself. He was quick too to discern the promise of future eminence in
others, and many might relate how in that genial atmosphere their talent
was discovered and encouraged and obtained its first recognition.
Mendelssohn and Max Müller were amongst those who quite young there
found themselves at once prized at their true value. The conversational
powers of the master of the house himself, the young people so gifted and
versatile, the open hospitality, the excellent music,—all these things were so
many magnets, that drew strangers within the charmed sphere. I was of
course not capable then of appreciating the depth of Bunsen’s learning or
his intellectual worth, but his marvellous command of language and
rhetorical facility impressed me greatly. In the fluency of his speech, the
ease and elegance with which on all occasions he expressed himself, he
resembled his royal friend, Frederick William IV. And his handsome face
recalled that of the great Goethe at an advanced age, the likeness being
especially striking on his deathbed.
But it was only natural that at that time Bunsen’s children and
grandchildren should interest me much more than he did himself. The lame
daughter, above all, like my mother at that time, being always wheeled
about in her chair and unable to walk a step, and in whose features I also
discovered something of a likeness to my mother, that perhaps lay in the
kind gentle smile. The sympathy they felt for one another was naturally
strengthened by their common misfortune, in each case the lameness
appearing to be absolutely incurable. During the summer we spent in the
Isle of Wight, my mother could still go about on crutches, then after the
birth of my younger brother her condition grew far worse, complete atrophy
of the one leg having apparently set in, and the pain hardly allowing her any
sleep at night. Fräulein von Bunsen’s lameness proceeded from an attack of
coxalgia as an infant, and since her sixth year all hope had been abandoned
of her ever being able to walk. We children were meantime quite at home in
the house of one of her brothers, playing with his children, with whom we
continued on affectionate terms our whole life long. It is a satisfaction to be
able to look back on fifty years of uninterrupted friendship such as this.
Very specially did it exist between myself and Bunsen’s daughter-in-law,
Elizabeth, so dear to me, that it was almost as if ties of blood had united us.
Only quite recently did I bid a last farewell to this sweet and lovable
woman, death having called her away. But she lives on in my remembrance,
and I have an agreeable recollection also of her father, the Quaker, Gurney,
and of his greeting, warm and courteous in spite of his keeping his hat on
his head, as he met us on the threshold of his house with the words—“Be
welcome to my home!”
I observed and learned a great deal more than anyone at that time
suspected! It was my first stay in a great city, and the first lesson it brought
home to me was that of complete acquiescence in my own limitations, or
rather in those imposed on me by circumstances, my very modest supply of
pocket-money making quite unattainable all the splendours I saw exhibited
in the shop windows. There was one lovely doll-shop, with the most
exquisite dolls, as big as real babies, and directly I had a small sum to
spend, I made my way thither, quite happy to have a close view of all these
treasures, even if I should be unable to purchase any of them. And in truth,
it was just the tiniest wax-doll of all that the contents of my small purse
could buy—but such a lovely one, in a dear little tiny bed with curtains of
rose-coloured silk, through which the rosy light streamed over the delicate
little wax face. How I loved that doll! It looked just like a little princess in a
fairy tale, or a fairy itself, sleeping there in the beautiful rose-coloured light.
None of the bigger, grander dolls could have appealed to my imagination as
did this little one. After all it is on that—on the part played by their own
imagination, that chiefly depends the amount of pleasure children get out of
their toys, and those that are in proportion to their own diminutive scale and
on a level with their simple requirements, appeal to them far more than
others, chiefly remarkable for their magnitude and costliness. Lively as I
was, I took the very greatest care of all my toys, treating them as if they
were animate, sentient objects, so that I was in despair if any of them got
broken or hurt. Demonstrations of affection never being encouraged, in fact
being rather sternly repressed in our family, all my pent up tenderness
poured itself out on my dolls and also on my little horse-hair pillow which I
used to hug and kiss in gratitude every night before going to sleep. It was
all the dearer to me, because it was not taken with us on our journeys, and
as I was not allowed to sleep on a down pillow, I generally, when we were
away from home, had to do without altogether, which was by no means
pleasant. Notwithstanding—or perhaps in consequence of this severe
training,—having always been accustomed in my youth to sleep on a rather
hard thin mattress stretched on a very narrow camp bedstead, I have grown
somewhat more luxurious in that respect in my later years, and can hardly
now be too softly pillowed in order to rest at ease. It is as if there were a
sort of reaction,—a revolt of human nature against unnecessary and useless
hardships imposed,—a lassitude of the whole frame to which some slight
measure of indulgence must be accorded. Not in the matter of the palate
though! Naturally abstemious, the habits of my youth still prevail with me
there to such an extent, that to this day I prefer a slice of good wholesome
black bread to all the daintiest, most skilfully prepared dishes in the world!
We children knew too by experience the relish that the imagination may
impart to the simplest fare, unconsciously resembling one of the creations
of the great English novelist as we “made believe” to spread a little butter
on the bread which the hygienic theories of the age insisted on our eating
dry! But everything has its compensation, and who knows if those pleasures
of the imagination, which were our chief resource, are not denied to the
younger generation, from whom we scarcely seem to exact even needful
self-restraint and self-denial, much less to call upon them for any
exceptional sacrifice of their own comfort. Where every whim is gratified
from the outset, there remains neither the necessity nor the inclination to
seek refuge from unpleasant realities in a fairer world, to spread one’s
wings and take flight for the realms of Fancy. Do the children of the present
day even rightly believe in the possibility of thus spreading their wings?
Would not some of these little sceptics laugh at the idea? Poor little things!
Can it really be that there is no fairyland for them, no enchanted isles in the
distant ocean, no kingdoms to conquer, no heroic deeds to be performed,
that their souls find complete satisfaction in the prosaic details of everyday
life, and never soar beyond the region of dull commonplace fact of their
dreary school-hours? They little know of what they are deprived! They
could never guess the joy we knew in the possession of this wondrous
secret, this magic key, which unlocked the gates of fairyland, of the world
of dreams, of noble adventure, wherein we could wander at will. What
battles we fought, what gallant deeds we performed, what wrongs we
redressed with the aid of those invisible armies, always at hand to come to
our assistance and conduct us to victory, when the odds seemed too
overpowering! But we had not invariably such exalted ambitions as these, it
was not even always the discovery of some lonely desert island on which
we were bent, but a much simpler, more modest lot satisfied us, provided it
were but sufficiently removed from that which in truth was ours! Thus it
was one of my favourite ideas from the time I was four years old, to be a
village schoolmistress, but I could not persuade my brother to promise that
he would settle down beside me as the schoolmaster. That would have
clashed with his dream of being a soldier, so it was settled that I should be
the “daughter of the regiment,” the vivandiére, and accompany it
everywhere so that we might not be separated. Ah! what marvellous
adventures, what hairbreadth escapes, what glorious triumphs were ours!
Sometimes we were sold as slaves, at others we were bold sea-farers and
again quiet peasant-folk carrying our spades and milk-cans. It was by this
means that we kept up our spirits, and preserved our good humour
successfully, in spite of all that was irksome in our actual surroundings.
Thanks to my lively imagination, I did not succumb to the persistent
onslaught of the educational efforts destined to turn the current of my
thoughts into a perfectly alien channel. In vain was I tied down to science
and mathematics, logarithms and equations will forever be to me lifeless,
meaningless abstractions, and it took me much less time than I had spent in
acquiring it, to forget the velocity of a body falling through space! As for
doing a simple sum in addition, I might as well never have learned the
process at all for the little I know about it now. But the art of inventing a
story, of calling up imaginary beings, of following them through the
vicissitudes of their career, and weaving all this together to a plot—that was
mine then and is still mine, notwithstanding all that was done to crush it out
of me. What should I have done on the long tedious journeys, had I not
been able to amuse myself by the delightful stories I thought out. Sitting
cramped in my corner of the travelling-carriage or railway compartment,
afraid even to stretch my limbs lest the movement should disturb one or
other of the invalids, I owe it to my imagination alone, that child as I was, I
did not fall into hopeless melancholy.
It was this same happy faculty of creating for myself an ideal
atmosphere, and peopling this new world with my best-beloved heroes, and
the no less heroic creations of my own brain,—this it was which lent so
great a charm to many of our resorts,—standing us in good stead for
instance, in investing with beauty the rather tame, stiff garden of a London
square, so unsuited for the abode of mystery or romance. Apart from our
intimacy with the Bunsen family, our stay in London possessed indeed few
attractions for us. There was no relaxation of the customary strictness with
which we were treated, on the contrary, there seemed to be an accumulation
of wearisome restrictions and petty annoyances attendant on the stay in
strange houses. Even when there was a garden, we might hardly play there,
certainly not dig in it, nor run across the lawn, and as for venturing to gather