These balconies are the darlingest things.  I have spent all the morning in this north one.  Counting big and little, it has 256 panes of glass in it; so one is in effect right out in the free sunshine, and yet sheltered from wind and rain—­and likewise doored and curtained from whatever may be going on in the bedroom.  It must have been a noble genius who devised this hotel.  Lord, how blessed is the repose, the tranquillity of this place!  Only two sounds; the happy clamor of the birds in the groves, and the muffled music of the Neckar, tumbling over the opposing dykes.  It is no hardship to lie awake awhile, nights, for this subdued roar has exactly the sound of a steady rain beating upon a roof.  It is so healing to the spirit; and it bears up the thread of one’s imaginings as the accompaniment bears up a song.

While Livy and Miss Spaulding have been writing at this table, I have sat tilted back, near by, with a pipe and the last Atlantic, and read Charley Warner’s article with prodigious enjoyment.  I think it is exquisite.  I think it must be the roundest and broadest and completest short essay he has ever written.  It is clear, and compact, and charmingly done.

The hotel grounds join and communicate with the Castle grounds; so we and the children loaf in the winding paths of those leafy vastnesses a great deal, and drink beer and listen to excellent music.

When we first came to this hotel, a couple of weeks ago, I pointed to a house across the river, and said I meant to rent the centre room on the 3d floor for a work-room.  Jokingly we got to speaking of it as my office; and amused ourselves with watching “my people” daily in their small grounds and trying to make out what we could of their dress, &c., without a glass.  Well, I loafed along there one day and found on that house the only sign of the kind on that side of the river:  “Moblirte Wohnung zu Vermiethen!” I went in and rented that very room which I had long ago selected.  There was only one other room in the whole double-house unrented.

(It occurs to me that I made a great mistake in not thinking to deliver a very bad German speech, every other sentence pieced out with English, at the Bayard Taylor banquet in New York.  I think I could have made it one of the features of the occasion.)—­[He used this plan at a gathering of the American students in Heidelberg, on July 4th, with great effect; so his idea was not wasted.]

We left Hartford before the end of March, and I have been idle ever since.  I have waited for a call to go to work—­I knew it would come.  Well, it began to come a week ago; my note-book comes out more and more frequently every day since; 3 days ago I concluded to move my manuscript over to my den.  Now the call is loud and decided at last.  So tomorrow I shall begin regular, steady work, and stick to it till middle of July or 1st August, when I look for Twichell; we will then walk about Germany 2 or 3 weeks, and then I’ll go to work again—­(perhaps in Munich.)