The Tennysons in their kindest words pressed us to be present at their child’s christening, which took place last Tuesday, but I could not go; it was not possible.  Robert went alone, therefore, and nursed the baby for ten or twelve minutes, to its obvious contentment, he flatters himself.  It was christened Hallam Tennyson.  Mr. Hallam was the godfather, and present in his vocation.  That was touching, wasn’t it?  I hear that the Laureate talks vehemently against the French President and the French; but for the rest he is genial and good, and has been quite affectionate to us....

So I go without seeing you.  Grieved I am.  Love me to make amends.

Robert’s love goes with me.

Your ever affectionate
BA.

* * * * *

To John Kenyon

[Paris,] Hotel de la Ville-l’Eveque, Rue Ville-l’Eveque:  Thursday, [November 1852].

My dearest Mr. Kenyon,—­I cannot do better to-day than keep my promise to you about writing.  We have done our business in Paris, but we linger from the inglorious reason that we, experienced travellers as we are, actually left a desk behind us in Bentinck Street, and must get it before we go farther.  Meanwhile, it’s rather dangerous to let the charm of Paris work—­the honey will be clogging our feet very soon, and make it difficult to go away.  What an attractive place this is, to be sure!  How the sun shines, how the blue sky spreads, how the life lives, and how kind the people are on all sides!  If we were going anywhere but to Italy, and if I were a little less plainly mortal with this disagreeable cough of mine, I would gladly stay and see in the Empire with M. Proudhon in the tail of it, and sit as a watcher over whatever things shall be this year and next spring at Paris.  As it is, we have been very fortunate, as usual, in being present in a balcony on the boulevard, the best place possible for seeing the grandest spectacle in the world, the reception of Louis Napoleon last Saturday.  The day was brilliant, and the sweep of sunshine over the streaming multitude, and all the military and civil pomp, made it difficult to distinguish between the light and life.  The sunshine seemed literally to push back the houses to make room for the crowd, and the wide boulevards looked wider than ever.  If you had cursed the sentiment of the day ever so, you would have had eyes for its picturesqueness, I think, so I wish you had been there to see.  Louis Napoleon showed his usual tact and courage by riding on horseback quite alone, at least ten paces between himself and his nearest escort, which of course had a striking effect, taking the French on their weak side, and startling even Miss Cushman (who had been murmuring displeasure into my ear for an hour) into an exclamation of ’That’s fine, I must say.’  Little Wiedeman was in a state of ecstasy, and has been recounting ever since how he called ’"Vive Napoleon!” molto molto