busy, and can chatter all day; but here it is enough to drive one mad; I must formerly have been an entirely different mortal, to bear it as I did. * * * The girl received the notice to leave very lightly and good-naturedly, as quite a matter of course; Kahle, on the other hand, was beside himself, and almost cried; said he could not find a place at Christmas-time, and would go to the dogs, as he expressed it.  I consoled him by promising to pay his wages for another quarter if he failed to find a place by New Year’s.  The girl is quite useless except in cooking, of which more orally.  I cannot enumerate all the little trifles, and certainly Kahle does not belong to the better half of gardeners. * * * I feel so vividly as if I were with you while writing this that I am becoming quite gay, until I again recollect the three hundred and fifty miles, including one hundred and seventy-five without a railroad.  Pomerania is terribly long, after all.  Have you my Kuelz letter, too?  Bernhard has probably kept it in his pocket.  Do not prepay your letters, or they will be stolen.  Innumerable books have arrived from the binder; he claims one section of Scott’s Pirate is missing; I know nothing about it.  The tailor says that he has been able to make only five pair of drawers from the stuff; presumably he is wearing the sixth himself.  Farewell, my sweetheart.  Write as often as you can, and give love and kisses to every one from me, large and small.  May God’s mercy be with you.

Your most faithful v.B.

Schoenhausen, October 10, ’50.

My Darling,—­In a sullen rage I swoop down upon my inkstand after just lighting the Town Councillor downstairs with the kindliest countenance in the world.  He sat here for two and a half hours by the clock, moaning and groaning, without the least regard for my wry face; I was just about to read the paper when he came.  From ten to two I crawled about the Elbe’s banks, in a boat and on foot, with many stupid people, attending to breakwaters, protective banks, and all sorts of nonsense.  This is, in general, a day of vexations; this morning I dreamed so charmingly that I stood with you on the seashore; it was just like the new strand, only the mud was rocks, the beeches were thick-foliaged laurel, the sea was as green as the Lake of Traun, and opposite us lay Genoa, which we shall probably never see, and it was delightfully warm; then I was awakened by Hildebrand, accompanied by a summoner, who brought me an order to serve as a juror at Magdeburg from October 20th to November 16th, under penalty of from one hundred to two hundred rix-dollars for each day of absence.  I am going there by the first train tomorrow, and hope to extricate myself; for God so to punish my deep and restless longing for what is dearest to me in this world, so that we shall not have the fleeting pleasure of a couple of weeks together, would, indeed, be incredibly severe.  I am all excitement; that is our share in the newly achieved liberty—­that