The story of the beautiful life which came to an end on the 5th of April, 1904, is told by Miss Cobbe herself in the following pages up to the close of 1898. Nothing is left for another pen but to sketch in the events of the few remaining years. But first a word or two as to the origin of the book. One spring day in 1891 or ’92, when Miss Cobbe was walking with me through the Hengwrt grounds on my way to the station, after some hours spent in listening to her brilliant stories of men and things, I asked her if she would not some day write her autobiography. She stood still, laughing, and shook her head. Nothing in her life, she said, was of sufficient importance to record, or for other peop…
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