ive out, and the guard and I talked of London. The palace
is closed and no one is admitted except by card, so I have seen only
the outside of it. It is most interesting. There is not a ribbon or a
badge; not a banner or a band. The town is as quiet as always, and
there are not 200 people gathered at the gate through which the
deputies pass. Compared to an election convention in Chicago, it is
most interesting. How lively it is inside of the chamber where the
thing is going on I cannot say. I shall not wait to hear the result,
but will return on the coach.

Nothing could be more curious than the apparent indifference of the
people of Paris to the assassination of the President. Two days after
he died there was not a single flag at half mast among the private
residences. The Government buildings, the hotels and the stores were
all that advertised their grief. I shall have an interesting story to
write of it for the Parisian series. Dana Gibson and I will wait until
after the funeral and then go to Andorra. If he does not go, I may go
alone, but perhaps I shall go back to London at once. This has been an
interesting time here, but only because it is so different from what
one would expect. It reads like a burlesque to note the expressions of
condolence from all over the world, and to mark the self-satisfaction
of the French at attracting so much sympathy, and their absolute
indifference to the death of Carnot. It is most curious. We have an
ideal time. Never before have I had such jolly dinners, with such good
talk and such amusing companions.

DICK.

LONDON, July 15, 1894.

DEAR MOTHER:

Mr. Irving gave a supper last night to Mme. Bernhardt and Mme. Rejane.
There were about twenty people, and we ate in the Beefsteak Room of the
Lyceum Theater, which is so called after the old Beefsteak Club which
formerly met there. I had a most delightful time, and talked to all
the French women and to Miss Terry, who sent her love to Dad. She
said, "I did not SEE him this last visit; that is, I saw him but I did
not see him." Her daughter is a very sweet girl, and the picture Miss
Terry made on her knees looking up at Bernhardt and Rejane when they
chattered in French was wonderful. Neither she nor Irving could speak
a word of French, and whenever any one else tried, the crowd all stood
in a circle and applauded and guyed them. After it was over, at about
three in the morning, Miss Terry offered me a lift