d away from
the purely local talk, and was brilliant enough. All the men were clever
and good talkers, and all well up in Racine, his career, and the various
phases of his work.

From the classics we got into modern plays and poets, and there of
course the differences of opinion were wide; but I think the general
public (people in the upper galleries) like better when they go to the
Francaise to see a classic piece--Roman emperors and soldiers, and
vestal virgins and barbarians in chains--and to listen to their long
tirades. The modern light comedy, even when it treats of the vital
subjects of the day, seems less in its place in those old walls. I quite
understand one couldn't see Britannicus,[11] Mithridate, nor the Cid
every evening.

[11] I remember so well our cousin Arthur's description of his
holidays spent at his grandmother's chateau. Every evening they read
aloud some classical piece. When he had read Britannicus twice (the
second time to appreciate more fully the beauties which were lightly
passed over at first), he rebelled, had a migraine, or a sore throat,
something which prevented his appearing in the drawing-room after
dinner; and he and his cousins attired themselves in sheets, and stood
on the corner of the wall where the diligence made a sharp turn,
frightening the driver and his horses out of their wits.

We came down here several times to see how things were getting on, and
always found the little town quite feverishly animated. We had succeeded
in getting the band of the regiment stationed at Soissons. I wrote to
the Colonel, who said he would send it with pleasure, but that he
couldn't on his own authority. An application must be made to the
Ministere de la Guerre. There is always so much red tape in France. One
writes and receives so many letters about anything one wants to do--a
Christmas Tree in the school-house--a distribution of soup for the poor
and old--a turn in a road to be rounded, etc. However, the permission
was graciously accorded for the band. The Mayor's idea was to station it
on the Mail, where quantities of people would congregate who couldn't
get into the church or the tent.

We went one day to have tea with the Abbe Marechal in his nice old
presbytere; the salon opening out on a large, old-fashioned garden with
fine trees, and a view of the church towers in the distance. He was
quite pleased with all that he had arranged for his church service. One
of his friends, Abbe Vigno