cannon-yawls which are rotting at Bremerhaven and devouring
cash. * * * Farewell, my beloved heart. Much love to our parents, and
God keep you all.

Your most faithful v.B.


Frankfort, July 8, 1851.

_My Darling_,--Yesterday and today I wished very much to write to you,
but owing to a hurly burly of business I have not been able to do so
till now, late in the evening, after returning from a walk during
which, in the charming summer-night's air, with moonlight and the
rustling of poplar-leaves, I have brushed off the dust of the day's
documents. On Saturday, in the afternoon, I went with Rochow and Lynar
to Rüdesheim, hired a boat there, rowed out on the Rhine, and swam in
the moonlight, nothing but nose and eyes over the tepid water, as far
as the Mouse Tower near Bingen, where the wicked bishop met his death.
There is something strangely dreamlike in thus lying in the water on a
quiet, warm night, carried gently along by the tide, seeing only the
sky with moon and stars, and, alongside, the wooded hill-tops and the
castle battlements in the moonlight, hearing nothing but the gentle
purling of one's own motion. I should like to swim thus every evening.
Then I drank some very nice wine, and sat for a long time smoking,
with Lynar, on the balcony, the Rhine beneath us. My little Testament
and the starry firmament caused our conversation to turn on Christian
topics, and I hammered for a long time at the Rousseau-like chastity
of his soul, with no other effect than to cause him to remain silent.
He was ill-treated while a child by nurses and private tutors, without
having really learned to know his parents, and by reason of a similar