hills of the heath, then you have the land of Smaa, where I am just
now. Really, the land of my dreams, inaccessible to despatches,
colleagues, and Reitzenstein, but unfortunately, to you as well. I
should like ever so much to have a hunting-castle on one of these
quiet lakes and inhabit it for some months with all the dear ones whom
I think of now as assembled in Reinfeld. In winter, to be sure, it
would not be endurable here, especially in the mud that all the rain
would make. Yesterday we turned out at about five, hunted, in burning
heat, up-hill and down, through bush and fen, until eleven, and found
absolutely nothing; walking in bogs and impenetrable juniper thickets,
on large stones and timbers, is very fatiguing. Then we slept in a
hay-shed until two o'clock, drank lots of milk, and hunted again until
sunset, bringing down twenty-five grouse and two mountain-hens. I shot
four of the former; Engel, to his great delight, one of the latter.
Then we dined in the hunting-lodge, a remarkable wooden building on a
peninsula in the lake. My sleeping-room and its three chairs, two
tables, and bedstead are of no other color than that of the natural
pine-boards, like the whole house, whose walls are made of these. A
sofa does not exist; bed very hard; but after such hardships as ours
one does not need to be rocked to sleep. From my window I see a
blooming hill rise from the heath, on it birches rocking in the wind,
and between them I see, in the lake mirror, pine-woods on the other
side. Near the house a camp has been put up for hunters, drivers,
servants, and peasants, then the barricade of wagons, a little city of
dogs, eighteen or twenty huts on both sides of a lane which they form;
from each a throng looks out tired from yesterday's hunt. * * *


Petersburg, April 4, '59.