Gastein, 28th July, 1863.

As this day sixteen years ago brought sunshine into my wild bachelor life, so to-day it has rejoiced this valley, and I have seen it on a morning walk for the first time in all its beauty. Moritz would call it a giant dish full of cabbage, narrow and deep, the edges set round with white eggs. Steep sides, some thousand feet high, covered with furze and meadow-green, and huts of thatch, strewed here and there up to the snow-line, the whole surrounded by a wreath of white peaks and bands, richly powdered with snow during five rainy days, and the lower frontier of which the sun is causing gradually to grow higher. Dozens of silver threads run through the green from above—little water streams, tumbling down hastily, as if they were too late for the great fall which they make with the Ache close before my dwelling. The Ache is a river with somewhat more water than the Stolpe has near Strellin, and waltzes swiftly through all Gastein, falling down at different levels some hundreds of feet between rocks.

It is possible to live here in such weather, but I should prefer to have nothing to do, only to walk about on the heights, and sit down upon sunny banks, smoke, and look at the rocky snow-peaks through the telescope. There is little society here. I only mix with the retinue of the King, with whom dinner and tea bring me in daily contact. The rest of the time scarcely suffices for work, sleeping, bathing, and walking. I yesterday evening visited old —— with the Emperor, who is expected on the second. N. N. will come, and will complain to me that lying is the curse of this world. I have just heard that the King (who is very well, only he has hurt his ankle, and must sit still) keeps the courier till to-morrow, and this letter will not reach by post any sooner, as it would lose a day by being opened. I shall therefore leave it. Good Prince Frederick was yesterday released from his sufferings: the King was much overcome.

Gastein, 2d Aug., 1863.

Bill’s day was kept by me in fine weather, and the King was informed; he asked how old he was, and how industrious his godson might be. To-day the Emperor is coming, flags and garlands are the order of the day, the sun is shining, and I have not yet been out of my room; have been writing for three hours, therefore no more than hearty greetings. If I do not write by way of Berlin, I fall into the hands of the post-office here—certainly I write no secrets, but it is very unpleasant. The mare is in Berlin again. I bathe every day; it is agreeable, but tiring.

Gastein, 12th Aug., 1863.

I am very well, but the couriers are in terror in all directions. Yesterday I shot two chamois at an elevation of seven thousand feet—quite cooked, despite the height. On the 15th we leave here for Salzburg—the 16th, Stuttgart—17th, Baden. On account of the Frankfurt nonsense I can not leave the King.

Gastein, 14th Aug., 1863.

In order that you may see whether it is really quicker, I send this letter by the post, the courier starting at the same time. I have been writing for four hours, and have got so tired that I can hardly hold my pen. There has been a hot sun for a week, in the evenings storm. The King is well, but the baths have shaken him; he bathes daily, and works as if he were in Berlin; there is no saying any thing to him. God grant it may go well with him! To-day I take my last bath—twenty or twenty-one in all, in twenty-six days. I am very well, but worked to death. I am so engaged that I can see very few people. To-morrow evening we sleep at Salzburg—on the 16th, probably at Munich—the 17th, at Stuttgart, Constance, or Baden; it is uncertain. Write to Baden, where I shall probably stay a few days. A letter came from —— at Spa; perhaps I shall visit her there, but who knows ce qu’on devient in a week? Perhaps every thing will be different.

Baden, 28th Aug., 1863.

I really long to spend a lazy day among you; here, on the most charming days, I never get away from ink. Yesterday I went for a walk till midnight, in the loveliest moonlight, through the fields, but can not get business out of my head; society also gives no rest. N. N. is charming to see, but talks too much politics to me; —— naturally is always full of rumors; ——, who is usually so delightful to me, has people about her who disturb my satisfaction; and new acquaintances are very troublesome. A. is especially pleasant. With him and E., who is here for two days, I yesterday dined in my apartment. The King is well, but besieged by intrigue. To-day I dine with Her Majesty the Queen. Schleinitz is here, Hohenzollern expected, Goltz gone to Paris. I think the King will not leave here till Sunday; a few days later I must be in Berlin; perhaps I shall have time in between for a trip to Spa, where I shall find O. Perhaps I shall have to go to the Queen of England, whom the King proposes to visit at Rosenau, near Coburg. In any case, I hope to have a few days free in September for Pomerania. I wish that some intrigue would necessitate another Ministry, so that I might honorably turn my back upon this ewer of ink, and live quietly in the country. The restlessness of this existence is unbearable; for ten weeks I have had secretary’s work at an inn, and again at Berlin. It is no life for an honest country nobleman, and I regard every one as a benefactor who seeks to bring about my fall. With this the flies are humming and tickling and stinging all over the room, so that I really want a change in my position, which in a few minutes the Berlin train will certainly bring me, by a courier with fifty empty dispatches.

Berlin, 4th September, 1863.

At last I find a moment to write to you. I had hoped to have a few days of recreation at Kröchlendorff, but it is all the old treadmill over again; last night work till one o’clock, and I then poured the ink over it instead of sand, so that it ran down over my knees. To-day the Ministers were here at nine, and for the second time at one, and with them the King. The question for discussion was the dissolution of the Chamber, for which I had no heart. But it could not be otherwise; God knows what the use of it is. Now we shall have the Electoral swindle! With God’s help I am well through it all; but an humble reliance on God is required, not to despair of the future of our country. May He, above all, grant our King good health! It is not very pleasant in this empty house, but I do not notice it on account of work. The horses have arrived to-day in much better condition. The trouble about the mare was groundless.

Bukow, 21st September, 1863.

I wished to-day, on the last day of summer, to write you a very comfortable and reasonable letter, and full of this idea lay down on the sofa three hours ago, but only woke a quarter of an hour before dinner, which is about six. At seven I had gone out to ride until half-past one, in the capacity of “Herr Oberstwachtmeister,” to see our brave soldiers burn powder and form attacks. I first joined Fritz, who commanded three regiments of cavalry, then went over to the Garde du Corps, stormed like a man over stock and block, and for a long time have had no pleasanter day. I am living next to the King, and two adjutants in a nice old house of Count Hemming’s; it is a pretty neighborhood, with hillocks, lakes, and woods, and, above all, there is nothing to do, after finishing my business with —— yesterday. To-morrow, I am sorry to say, I must go on the treadmill again: and now to dinner, having slept myself quite stupid, and wrenched my neck on the steep sofa. We had twenty persons at table, all sorts of foreign officers, Englishmen, Russians, besides the whole Federation in the house. I have no mufti clothes with me, so for forty-eight hours am wholly a major.

Berlin, 29th September, 1863.

I was so far ready on Saturday that I had only an interview with the King before me, and hoped to be with you on Sunday at noon. But the interview led to my having four hours of autograph work, and the necessity of seeing the King before his departure for Baden. There was just time for one day at Kröchlendorff, whither I repaired on Saturday evening, after writing myself crooked and lame, to reach there at midnight. Yesterday morning drove to Passow, reached the King by five, and at a quarter to eight attended him to the railroad. To-day I accompany Moritz and Roon to Freienwalde, must see Bernhard about Kniephof, and hope to come to you the day after to-morrow, if there should remain time enough to make it worth while. I am to follow the King to Baden; the “when” will be first known from our correspondence and the business in hand. If there should be time enough for me to remain two or three days at Reinfeld, I will come; if not, the harness-makers will preponderate over my rest, and I shall see you again here in Berlin. On the 17th I then shall probably return with the King from Cologne. M. is sitting opposite, and is working out at my table a joint matter.

Berlin, 27th October, 1863.

It is bitterly cold, but I am quite well. Are you also making fires up at Reinfeld? I hope so; we have been doing so here for more than a week. Yesterday, after dinner, I sat with K. in the blue saloon, and he was playing when I received your letter of Sunday. Indeed, the letter you wrote was written in quite a holiday humor. Believe in God, my heart, and on the proverb that barking dogs do not bite. I did not accompany the King to Stralsund, it being a tiring journey, and would retard my work for two days. This evening His Majesty has returned: the threats against his life are far more menacing than those directed against me; but this, too, is in the hands of God. Do not allow the last few fine days to be dimmed by care; and if you are coming, send some feminine being in advance to arrange every thing as you wish it. I must go to work. Farewell! This morning, at nine, only three degrees,[48] and a hot sun. The inclosed[49] I have twice received this morning from two different quarters.

Babelsberg, 1st November, 1863.

I employ a moment in which I am awaiting the King, who is dining at Sans-Souci, to write a line as if from Zarskoe or Peterhof, only to say that I am well, and am heartily rejoiced that I shall soon see you ruling again in the empty apartments at Berlin. On the 9th comes the Diet, with all its worry; but I think, on the day of the opening, I shall go with His Majesty to Letzlingen, and pass two days in the woods. During that time you will, I hope, have done with the hammering and dragging, the necessary accompaniment of your beloved advent, and on my return I shall then find every thing in the right place.

For the last few days I have been living alone, and industrious, have generally dined alone, and, except for a ride, have not left the house; have been quiet and bored; occasionally there has been a Council of Ministers. This week we shall probably have them daily in the matter of our dear Chambers; and as the King has been a week in Stralsund and Blankenburg, plenty of work has accumulated. I just hear his carriage-wheels, and close with hearty greetings.

Carlsbad, Tuesday, 1864.

God be thanked that you are all well; so am I, but more than ever engaged. At Zwickau on the Perron I met Rechberg; we came on together in one coupé and carriage to this place; thus we talked politics for six hours, and for the first time here. Yesterday evening at tea with the Grand Duchess, King Otho, Archduke Charles Frederick, many diplomatists, and much work with R.

Carlsbad, 20th July, 1864.

The King has just set out for Marienbad, through espaliers of beautiful ladies, with giant bouquets, which more than filled his carriage. R. with “Vivats,” “hurrah!” great excitement. For me there is now some leisure, all my acquaintances being gone. To-morrow morning early for Vienna; we shall sleep at Prague. Perhaps in a week we shall have peace with the Danes; perhaps this winter again war. I shall make my stay in Vienna as short as possible, to lose as few baths as possible at Gastein. After that, I shall probably accompany the King again to Vienna, then to Baden; then the Emperor of Russia is coming to Berlin in the beginning of September. Before that time there is no prospect of rest—if then.

Vienna, 22d July, 1864.

Yesterday morning I came with —— and —— and two others, who lend me their calligraphic aid, from Carlsbad, in a carriage as far as Prague; thence by railway hither to-day; unfortunately this time not to go by water to Linz, especially to worry myself and others. I am living with —— for the present; have seen nobody but R. I was rain-bound for two hours in the Volksgarten, and listened to music. Stared at by the people as if I was a new hippopotamus for the Zoological Gardens, for which I consoled myself with some very good beer. How long I shall remain here I can not tell; to-morrow I have many visits to pay; dine with R. in the country; then, if possible, conclude peace with Denmark, and fly as swiftly as possible, to the mountain in Gastein. I wish it were all over. The two days of journeying have somewhat mentally rested me, but in body I am very tired, and say good-night to you.

Vienna, 27th July, 1864.

I have received one letter from you here, and long for the second. I lead an industrious life—four hours a day with tough Danes, and am not at the end yet. By Sunday it must be settled whether we are to have peace or war. Yesterday I dined with M——; a very agreeable wife, and pretty daughters. We drank a good deal, were very merry, which is not often the case in their sorrow, of which you are aware. He has grown gray and has cut his hair short. Yesterday, after the conference, I dined with the Emperor at Schönbrunn, took a walk with R—— and W——, and thought of our moonlight expedition. I have just been for an hour in the Volksgarten, unfortunately not incognito, as I was seventeen years ago—stared at by all the world. This existence on the stage is very unpleasant when one wishes to drink a glass of beer in peace. On Saturday I hope to leave for Gastein, whether it is peace or no. It is too hot for me here, particularly at night.

Gastein, 6th August, 1864.

Work gets continually worse; and here, where I can do nothing in the morning after the bath, I do not know when to get time for any thing. Since my arrival on the 2d, in a storm with hailstones as hard as bullets, I have just been able, in magnificent weather, for the first time, to go out by rule. On my return, I wish to employ the half-hour at my disposal in writing to you. A—— was, however, here immediately, with plans and telegrams, and I must be off to the King. I am, however, by the blessing of God, quite well. I have had four baths, but shall hardly get more than eleven, as the King sets out on the 15th. Since yesterday I have been very comfortably lodged, as a large cool corner room, with a magnificent landscape, was vacant; until then I had-been living in a sun-blinding oven, at least by day. The nights are pleasantly fresh. The King probably goes hence to Vienna in short day journeys, by way of Ischl, and thence to Baden. Whether I shall accompany him to the latter place is uncertain. I still hope to get away for a few days to my quiet Pomerania; but what is the use of plans?—something always comes in between. I have not a gun with me, and every day there is a chamois-hunt; certainly, I have also had no time. To-day seventeen were shot, and I was not there; it is a life like that of Leporello:—

7th August.

Just now I had the whole room full of ladies, flying from the rain, which relieves guard with the sun to-day. Fr—— from R——, with, two cousins, Frau von P——, a Norwegian. I have long since heard no feminine voice, not since Carlsbad. Farewell!

Schönbrunn, 20th August, 1864.

It is too strange that I should be living in the rooms on the ground-floor, abutting on the private reserved garden where, very nearly seventeen years ago, we intruded in the moonlight. If I look over my right shoulder I can see, through a glass door, the dark beech clump-hedge by which we wandered, in the secret delight of the forbidden, up to the glass window behind which I am living. It was then inhabited by the Empress, and I now repeat our walk by moonlight at greater ease. The day before the day before yesterday I left Gastein; slept at Radstedt. The day before yesterday went, in misty weather, to Aussee—a charmingly situated place; a beautiful lake, half Traunsee and half Königssee; at sunset reached the Hallstädtersee; thence, by boat, in the night, to Hallstadt, where we slept. Next morning was pleasant and sunny; at noon we reached the King at Ischl, and so, with His Majesty, over the Traunsee to Gmunden, where we passed the night, and I thought a great deal of L——, H——, and B——, and all those times. To-day, by steamer, hither, arriving about six, passing two hours with R——, after convincing myself that —— is one of the most beautiful women, of whom all pictures give a false idea. We stay here three days; what follows, whether Baden or Pomerania, I cam not yet foresee. I am now heartily tired, so wish you and all of ours good-night.

Schönbrunn, Thursday.

The King went early this morning to Salzburg; I follow him to-morrow. This morning I killed fifty-three pheasants, fifteen hares, and one karinckel; and yesterday eight stags and two moufflons. I am quite lame in hand and cheek from shooting. To-morrow evening it will be decided whether I am to go to Baden, but now I go to bed. Good-night all, for I am very tired.

Baden, 1st September, 1864.

The King arrived this morning from Mainau, well and cheerful, having been through the rain with the Queen to the races. A.’s busy hand continually shakes over me new blessings of projects, as soon as I have worked through the old ones. I do not know whence I wrote to you last; I have hardly come to my senses since Vienna; slept one night in Salzburg, the second at Munich; conferred much and lengthily with N. N., who has grown thin. I then slept at Augsburg, and thence came, by way of Stuttgart, to this place, in the hope of passing two days in lazy rest, but only had two hours’ intermission in the forest yesterday morning. Couriers, ink, audiences, and visits, constantly buzz round me without interruption. —— is also here. I dare not show myself on the promenade; no one leaves me at peace.

Frankfurt, 11th September, 1864.

It is long since I have written to you hence, and never from the Zeil. We alighted at the Russian Embassy; the King has driven to the Emperor Alexander at Jugenheim; thence he visits the Empress Eugénie at Schwalbach, and I have got myself free for a day, which I spend with K. at Heidelberg. I accompany her to Heidelberg, shall be back here about two or three—time enough to devote myself to the Diet; to-morrow morning early to Berlin, whence, after the necessary cavilling, I shall start for Pomerania.

Bordeaux, 6th October, 1864.

Excuse this scrawl, but I have no paper at hand, and only wish to apprise you that I have reached this place safely. It seems almost like a dream to be here again. Yesterday morning I started from Baden, slept very well at Paris, set out this morning about eleven, and now at eleven P.M. am here. I think of leaving for Bayonne to-morrow morning at eight, to reach Biarritz by two. In Paris it was still cold; in Baden yesterday there was an early frost; on this side of the Loire things grew better; here it is decidedly warm—warmer than any night this year. I am, in fact, already quite well, and would be quite cheerful if I only knew that all was well with you. At Paris I felt very much inclined to live there again; he had arranged the house there very well, and the life I lead in Berlin is a kind of penal servitude when I think of my independent life abroad. If it agree with me, I think I shall take about fifteen baths, so that on the 21st or 22d I shall set out on my return journey; if God wills, you will then be—or perhaps somewhat earlier—at Berlin. In his care, Engel has locked me in; there is no bell, and this letter will lose a day, as it can not be sent to the post to-night. It is so warm that I have the window open.

Biarritz, 9th October, 1864.

When I remember how assiduously we lighted fires in Baden, and even in Paris, and that here the sun graciously requests me to take off my paletot and drawers, that we sat till ten by the sea in the moonlight, and this morning breakfast in the open air, and that I am writing to you at the open window, looking at the blue and sunny sea, and on bathing folks who are wandering about in very slight costumes, paddling with naked feet in the water, I can not help saying that southern nations possess a peculiar grace of God in their climate. I shall not yet bathe more than once, but shall soon venture upon two, if not, à la ——, upon more. The only comfort I require is to hear from you. If we were free people, I should propose to you to come with child and baggage to this place, and remain here the whole winter, as many of the English do, from reasons of economy, which prevails here in the winter season.

Biarritz, 12th October, 1864.

My dear Sister,—I am so delightfully disengaged that I can send a few lines in the direction of my thoughts! I am well, particularly since I have yesterday and to-day at last received news of Johanna’s gradual recovery. I reached here on the forenoon of the 7th—in Paris we still had fires, from Bordeaux an agreeable temperature, and here heat so that summer clothing was necessary. Since yesterday there has been a north wind, and it is cooler, but still warmer than I have felt it all the summer. A very light summer coat was too hot for me on my evening’s walk by the shore. Until now I have taken seven baths, and now proceed with two per diem. I am writing to you by the open window, with flickering lights, and the moonlit sea before me, the plash of which is accompanied by the carriage bells on the road to Bayonne. The lighthouse in front of me changes its light from red to white, and I am looking with some appetite at the clock, to see whether the dinner hour of seven has not arrived. I have not for a long time found myself in such comfortable climatic and business conditions, and yet the evil habit of work has rooted itself so deeply in my nature that I feel some disquiet of conscience at my laziness—almost long for the Wilhelm Strasse, at least if my dear ones were there. “Monsieur, le diner est servi,” is the announcement.

The 13th.—I could not yesterday write any further. After dinner we took a moonlight walk on the southern shore, from which we returned, very tired, at about eleven o’clock. I slept till nine; about ten bathed in water of 14° warmer[50] than ever I had found the North Sea in August; and now we are going together to Fuent Arabia, beyond the frontier; shall dine on our way back at St. Jean de Luz. The weather is heavenly to-day, the sea quiet and blue; it is almost too hot to walk in the sun.

Izazu, 17th October, 1864.

Although I have this morning sent you a letter by the courier, pour la rareté du fait, I must write to you from this remarkable place. We breakfasted here, three miles to the east of Biarritz, in the mountains, and are seated in charming summer weather at the edge of a rushing stream, the name of which we can not learn, as nobody speaks French—nothing but Basque. There are high narrow rocks before and behind us, with heather, ferns, and chestnuts all around. The valley is called Le Pas de Roland, and is the west end of the Pyrenees. Before we went off we took our baths—the water cold, the air like July. The courier dispatched, we had a charming drive through mountains, forests, and meadows. After eating and drinking, and climbing ourselves tired, our party of five are sitting down reading to each other, and I am writing myself on the lid of the box in which were the grapes and figs we brought with us. At five we shall return with the sunset and moonlight to Biarritz, and dine about eight. It is too pleasant a life to last. The 20th, the evening before last, we went to Pau. It was heavy and sultry there, and at night storm and rain; we were in the railway, but came from Bayonne hither by carriage; the sea magnificent. After it had been as smooth as a duck-pond for some days with the land winds, it now looks like a boiling caldron, and the wind is warm and moist with it; the sun alternates with rain—very Atlantic weather.

To-day I take my fourteenth bath; I shall hardly get more than fifteen, for it seems I must to-morrow leave this warm shore. I am still striving between duty and taste; but I fear the first will conquer. I will first take my bath, and then decide whether it shall be the penultimate one. Anyhow, the fourteen days I have spent here have done me good, and I only wish I could transport you, without travelling discomfort, hither or to Pau.

Paris, 25th October, 1864.

Before going to bed, after a tiring day, I will announce to you my fortunate arrival here. Yesterday noon I left dear Biarritz; they were making hay in the meadows when I started in the hot sun. Friends accompanied me as far as Bayonne; at about 6 A.M. I arrived here. Plenty of politics, audience at St. Cloud, a dinner at Drouyn de Lhuys’s, and now I am going to bed tired out.

Carlsbad, 12th July, 1865.

I am ashamed that I did not write to you on your birthday; but there is so much of “must” in my life that I scarcely ever get to “will.” The treadwheel goes on from day to day, and I seem as if I were the tired horse in it, pushing it along without getting any forwarder. One day after the other a courier arrives, one day after the other another departs—between whiles come others from Vienna, Munich, or Rome; the burden of papers increases, ministers are all at odds, and from this centre I am obliged to write to each of them singly.

The review I hope to stop; as far as I know, the actual return has not yet reached the King; but I have brought the matter forward, and His Majesty has promised to examine into the provision question for man and horse. To-morrow I will inquire in the military cabinet as to how far the writing has got.

Late in the evening, the 13th.

The whole day I have been writing, dictating, reading, going down and up the mountain as to the report to the King. The courier’s bag and my letter are both closing. Across the table I see the Erzgebirge, along the Tepl by the evening twilight, very beautiful; but I feel leathery and old. The King starts from here on the 19th, five days off, for Gastein, whither the Emperor designs to come. On the road I will see —— somewhere in Bavaria. “Neither rest by day nor night.” It looks ugly for peace—it must be settled at Gastein.

Gastein, 4th August, 1865.

I begin to count the days I shall have to sit through in this fog-chamber. As to what the sun looks like, we have only dark reminiscences from a better past. Since this morning it has at least been cold; until then sultry moist heat, with a change only in the form of rain, and continued uncertainty as to whether one gets wet with rain or perspiration, when one stumps up and down the esplanade steps in the mud. How people with nothing to do can endure it I do not understand. What with bathing, work, dinner, reports, and tea at His Majesty’s, I have scarcely time to realize the horrors of the situation. These last three days there has been a theatre of comedians here; but one is almost ashamed to go, and most people avoid the passage through the rain. I am very well through it all, particularly since we have had Kaltenhäuser beer. —— and —— are dreadfully cast down from not knowing what to drink. The landlord gives them bad beer in order to force them to drink worse wine. Other news than this there is none from this steam-kitchen, unless I talk politics.

Gastein, 14th August, 1865.

For some days I have had no time to send you any news. Count Blome is here again, and we are zealously laboring at the maintenance of peace, and the repair of the fissures in the buildings. The day before yesterday I devoted a day to the chase. I think I wrote you word how fruitless the first was. This time I have at least shot a young chamois, but saw no others in the three hours during which I abandoned my motionless self to the experiments of the most various insects; and the prattling activity of the waterfall beneath me convinced me of the deep-rooted feeling which caused some one before my time to express the wish, “Streamlet, let thy rushing be!” In my room, also, this wish is justified both by day and by night—one breathes on reaching any place where the brutal noise of the waterfall can not be heard. In the end, however, it was a very pretty shot, right across the chasm; killed first fire, and the brute fell headlong into the brook, some church-steeple’s height beneath me. My health is good, and I feel myself much stronger. We start on the 19th—that is Saturday—for Salzburg. The Emperor will probably make his visit there, and one or two days will be spent besides at Ischl. The King then goes to Hohenschwangau. I go to Munich, and join His Majesty again at Baden. What next may follow depends upon politics. If you are in Homburg long enough, I hope to take a trip over to you from Baden—to enjoy the comforts of domesticity.

Baden, 1st September, 1865.

I reached this place the day before yesterday morning, slept till half-past twelve, then had much hard work; dinner with the King—long audience. In the evening a quartette at Count Flemming’s with Joachim, who really performs on his violin in a most wonderful way. There were many acquaintances of mine on the race-course yesterday whom I did not very well remember.

September begins rainy. Two-thirds of the year are gone just when one has grown accustomed to write 1865. Many princes are here. At four —— wants to see me; she is said to have grown very beautiful. The King leaves at five—it is undecided whether to Coblenz or Coburg, on account of Queen Victoria, whom he desires to meet. I hope in any case to pass by way of Frankfurt on the 5th or 6th. Whether, or how long, I can be in Homburg, will soon be seen—longer than one day in no case, as I must be with the King in Berlin.

Baden, Sunday.

That you may see what a husband you have, I send you the route. We go to-morrow morning, at six o’clock, to Coburg, to the Queen of England. I must go too, and I am sorry to say Spa is all over for me; but it can not be otherwise.