My Beloved Nan,—­It is bad to live in such a small town, with three hundred acquaintances.  One is never sure of his life a single moment, for calls.  An hour ago I got rid of the last bores; then, during supper, I walked up and down in my room, and annihilated almost the whole fat sausage, which is very delicious, drank a stone mug of beer from the Erfurt “Felsenkeller,” and now, while writing, I am eating the second little box of Marchpane, which was, perhaps, intended for Hans, who has not got any of the sausage even; in its place I will leave him the little ham.  During the last few days we have been valiantly quarrelling in Parliament; but neither at the beginning nor later could I obtain the floor for my principal speech; but I relieved myself of some gall in minor skirmishes. * * * I am sick and tired of life here; attending the sitting early in the morning, thence directly to a screaming and chattering table d’hote, then for coffee to the Steiger, a most charming little mountain, a mile from the city, where one can walk about through the pleasantest hours of the day with a pretty view of Erfurt and the Thuringian woods; under magnificent oaks, among the little light-green leaves of prickles and horn-beam; from there to the abominable party caucus, which has never yet made me any the wiser, so that one does not get home all day.  If I do not attend the caucus meetings, they all rail at me, for each one grudges the others any escape from the tedium. * * * Good-by, my heart.  May God’s hand be over you, and the children, and protect you from sickness and worry, but particularly you, the apple of my eye, whom Roeder envies me daily in the promenade, when the sunset makes him sentimental, and he wishes he had such a “good, dear, devout wife.”  For the rest, my allowance suffices for my needs here, and I shall still bring treasures home.  Good-night, my darling.  Many thanks for your faithful letter, and write me again at once; I am always anxious for news.  Hans has just come in, and sends you sleepy greetings, after sitting on the lounge for hardly ten seconds.  Once more, good-night, my Nan.

Your most faithful v.B.

Erfurt, April 23, ’50.

My Darling,—­ * * * We shall probably be released a week from today, and then we have before us a quiet Schoenhausen summer, as the cry of war is also dying.  It is really going to be summer again, and on a very long walk, from which I am returning home dead tired, I took much pleasure in the small green leaves of the hazel and white beech, and heard the cuckoo, who told me that we shall live together for eleven years more; let us hope longer still.  My hunt was extraordinary; charming wild pine-woods on the ride out, sky-high, as in the Erzgebirge; then, on the other side, steep valleys, like the Selke, only the hills were much higher, with beeches and oaks.  The night before starting I had slept but four hours; then went to bed at nine o’clock in Schleusingen