pression--by my wife. In either case I shall try to bear the
misfortune with philosophical steadfastness; for it is to be hoped that
it will not be so bad that I must dig deeper and seek Christian
consolation for it.

Your very faithful B.

Berlin, July 4, '47.

_Juaninina_,--Happily, I have left Schoenhausen behind me, and do not
expect to enter it again without you, _mon ange._ Only some business
matters detain me here, which I cannot attend to today because it is
Sunday; but I confidently anticipate starting for Angermuende tomorrow
at four, and accordingly, unless the very improbable event occurs that
I am detained outrageously in Kniephof, shall arrive in Schlawe on
Thursday. * * * Farewell, my heart. This is probably the last
post-marked paper that you will receive from your _Braeutigam_[16] (I
hate the expression). Our banns were cried today for the first time in
Schoenhausen. Does that not seem strange to you But I had learned your
given names so badly that I could mention only Johanna Eleonore: the
other six you must teach me better. Farewell, my heart. Many
salutations to the parents.

Your very faithful B.

_My Dear_,--I believe I can now reassure you most completely as to the
safety of the members of the Landtag. The Landtag was opened today,
_minus_ King and _minus_ cheers, with quite calm discussion. In a
few words I uttered my protest against the thanks and exultation that
were voted to the King, without hostilities becoming overt. Ten
thousand men of the city militia were posted for our protection, but
not even a slight disturbance occurred at the palace. I could be with
you tomorrow, as there is no session, if I had ordered a carriage
to meet me at Genthin this evening. But as the whole affair apparently
will come to an end this week, perhaps as early as Thursday, I was
too stingy to hire a carriage. Brauchitsch was taken violently ill
again last evening. * * * Give cordial remembrances to your mother, and
be of good courage. I am much calmer than I was: with Vincke one heart
and one soul.

Your faithful B.

April 2, '48, Sunday Evening.

I fear, my dear heart, the letter I wrote you last evening reached the
post-office so late, through an oversight, that you will not receive
it today, and not before tomorrow with this; and it pains me to think
that you were disappointed in your hope when the mail was delivered,
and now (9 o'clock in the evening) are perhaps troubled with
disquietude of al