do hope that in a day or two we may hear from you that
the happy change was confirmed as time passed on. I do hope so; it
will be joy, not merely to Robert, but to me, for indeed I never
forget the office which his kindness performed for both of us at a
crisis ripe with all the happiness of my life.

Then it was sad to hear of your dear father suffering from lumbago.
May the last of it have passed away long before you get what I am
writing! Tell him with my love that Wiedeman shall hear some day (if
we all live) the verses he wrote to him; and I have it in my head that
little Wiedeman will be very sensitive to verses and kindness too--he
likes to hear anything rhythmical and musical, and he likes to
be petted and kissed--the most affectionate little creature he
is--sitting on my knee, while I give him books to turn the leaves
over (a favorite amusement), every two minutes he puts up his little
rosebud of a mouth to have a kiss. His cold is quite gone, and he has
taken advantage of the opportunity to grow still fatter; as to his
activities, there's no end to them. His nurse and I agree that he
doesn't remain quiet a moment in the day....[195]

Now the love of nephews can't bear any more, Sarianna, can it? Only
your father will take my part and say that it isn't tedious--beyond
pardoning.

May God bless both of you, and enable you to send a brighter letter
next time. Robert will be very anxious.

Your ever affectionate sister
BA.
Mention yourself, _do_.

[Footnote 195: A long description of the baby's meals and daily
programme follows, the substance of which can probably be imagined by
connoisseurs in the subject.]

_To Miss Mitford_
Florence: February 18, 1850.

Ever dearest Miss Mitford, you _always_ give me pleasure, so for
love's sake don't say that you 'seldom give it,' and such a magical
act as conjuring up for me the sight of a new poem by Alfred
Tennyson[196] is unnecessary to prove you a right beneficent
enchantress. Thank you, thank you. We are not so unworthy of your
redundant kindness as to abuse it by a word spoken or sign signified.
You may trust us indeed. But now you know how free and sincere I
am always! Now tell me. Apart from the fact of this lyric's being a
fragment of fringe from the great poet's 'singing clothes' (as Leigh
Hunt says somewhere), and apart from a certain sweetness and rise and
fall in the rhythm, do you really see much for admiration in the poem?
Is it _new_ in, any way?