Many thanks for your last letter from dear Balmoral. The parting from that lovely place must always be sad, and there is something in mountains which attaches one so much to that scenery.
Yesterday was a very trying day for my poor mother-in-law (her birth-day), and she was very low, but, as all along, so resigned, so touching in the beautiful way she bears her grief; so unselfish with it, never wishing to make others sad, or to be less interested in their concerns than formerly.
Dear Mary Cambridge has been here, and we enjoyed her visit so much. We took her back to Frankfort to-day, where we gave her and Aunt Cambridge a luncheon in Uncle Louis’ Palais.
June 21st.
It is warm, but very windy and dusty here; we were nearly blinded out riding yesterday evening. I am reading that most interesting History of England by Pauli, in German, which commences with the Congress of Vienna in 1815, and is, I believe, very detailed and correct. It gives a sketch also of the reign of George III., and is so well written one can scarcely lay the book down. It is part of a work written by the best German professors on England, Russia, Italy, France, Spain, and Austria in those years, and I am reading them one after another. They are thick books, and eight volumes.
Kranichstein, July 2d.
We both thank you for your kind wishes for our wedding-day. It was rainy and not fine, but we spent it very happily indoors—Affie and Mary with us. Dr. Weber now wishes (as we should have to go from Blankenberghe back to Coburg, and then again all the journey back), that I should not bathe at all this year, as all the good would be undone by the hurried journey, and the excitement of the sea air might not be good for Victoria. We are all to go instead for four weeks to Switzerland, beginning with Rigi Kaltbad, and this we greatly prefer. We go into the mountains at once for the bracing air. On Saturday until Tuesday we go to Baden for the christening of the baby. We both are god-parents.
Kranichstein, July 10th.
*** Ella already says, since some time, “Papa” and “Mama,” and calls herself, and crawls, and is very forward and merry—such a contrast to Victoria, who is so pale and fair, and now thin, for Ella’s eyes are so dark blue, and her hair of such a rich brown, that you would never take the little things for sisters. They are very fond of each other, and so dear together, that they give us much pleasure. I would not change them for boys, if I could; this little pair of sisters is so nice, and they can be such friends to each other.
I hope you will be comfortable here, but we are much annoyed not to be able to be there to receive you. None of the family will be here, save perhaps my mother-in-law with poor Fritz Schwerin, who is expected then.