is saturated.

You ask me also how it happens that I am living again "near by Quincy?"
As true as you live, I never thought of the coincidence. If you please,
we pronounce it "Kansee." When I read your question I laughed. I
remembered that Abelard, when he was first condemned, retired to the
Hermitage of Quincy, but when I took down Larousse to look it up, what
do you think I found? Simply this and nothing more: "Quincy: Ville des
Etats-Unis (Massachusetts), 28,000 habitants."

Isn't that droll? However, I know that there was a Sire de Quincy
centuries ago, so I will look him up and let you know what I find.

The morning paper--always late here--brings the startling news of the
assassination of the Crown Prince of Austria. What an unlucky family
that has been! Franz Josef must be a tough old gentleman to have stood
up against so many shocks. I used to feel so sorry for him when Fate
dealt him another blow that would have been a "knock-out" for most
people. But he has stood so many, and outlived happier people, that I
begin to believe that if the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb, the
hides, or the hearts, of some people are toughened to stand the gales of
Fate.

Well, I imagine that Austria will not grieve much--though she may be
mad--over the loss of a none too popular crown prince, whose morganatic
wife could never be crowned, whose children cannot inherit, and who
could only have kept the throne warm for a while for the man who now
steps into line a little sooner than he would have had this not
happened. If a man will be a crown prince in these times he must take
the consequences. We do get hard-hearted, and no mistake, when it is
not in our family that the lightning strikes. The "Paths of Glory lead
but to the grave," so what matters it, really, out by what door one
goes?

This will reach you soon after you arrive in the great city of tall
buildings. More will follow, and I expect they will be so gay that you
will rejoice to have even a postal tie with La Belle France, to which,
if you are a real good American, you will come back when you die--if you
do not before.

IV

July 16, 1914.

Your Fourth of July letter came this morning. It was lively reading,
especially coming so soon after my first quatorze de juillet in the
country. The day was a great contrast to the many remembrances I have
of Bastille Day in Paris. How I remember my first experience of that
fete, when my bedroom wind