Tuesday, October 17:
A package for Loulou from her grandmother, something which always brings me bitter thoughts, which I try, however, to resist and dispel. The only possible thing to do in this case is one’s duty, and nothing more; God will help.
Very fine letter from Clemens Brockhaus, on whom Tribschen seems to have made a deep impression. R. works; I nursemaid, so that I can find time to write in this book only with difficulty. Yesterday wrote a hasty letter to my mother.
The children come along suddenly with a little dog, which refuses to leave our yard; Loldi first discovered him, and he bears a remarkable resemblance to our poor Kos. The children are hugely pleased about it. In the evening R. is tired; he has written letters, to the Englishman, and I send my father a birthday greeting.