And our
celebrated composer is discomposed easily by alert and nimble-footed
mischief. And our professor of Greek and Hebrew roots is rooted to the
ground with astonishment at finding himself put through all the moods
and tenses of fun in a twinkling. Ah, culpable sirens, if the pangs ye
have inflicted were reckoned up unto you,--the heart aches and side
aches,--how could ye repose o' nights?
Saturday, June 11. Versailles! When I have written that one word I
have said all. I ought to stop. Description is out of the question.
Describe nine miles of painting! Describe visions of splendor and
gorgeousness that cannot be examined in months! Suffice it to say that
we walked from hall to hall until there was no more soul left within
us. Then, late in the afternoon we drove away, about three miles, to
the villa of M. Belloc, _directeur de l'Ecole Imperials de
Dessein_. Madame Belloc has produced, assisted by her friend,
Mademoiselle Montgolfier, the best French translation of Uncle Tom's
Cabin. At this little family party we enjoyed ourselves exceedingly,
in the heart of genuine domestic life. Two beautiful married daughters
were there, with their husbands, and the household seemed complete.
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