and and that ridiculous falcon in the
other, my feather dripping down my back; and when I looked down at blue
legs fast turning another color and my huge india-rubbers I realized
what a spectacle I was making of myself...."

We laughed till the tears rolled down our cheeks. He showed us the
photograph, and I must say that a less Mignon-Henri-II-like Mignon and
a more typical American face and figure could not be imagined. If Henri
II had caught sight of him with his thin legs, side-whiskers, and
eye-glasses he would have turned in his grave.

Dr. Nevin, our pastoral shepherd, has really done a great deal for the
American church here and ought to have a vote of thanks. He has
collected so much money that he has not only built the pretty church,
but has decorated it with Burne-Jones's tall angels and copies of the
mosaics from Ravenna. He has also built a comfortable rectory, which he
has filled with rare _bric-a-brac_. They say that no one is a better
match for the wily dealers in antiquities than the reverend gentleman,
and the pert little cabmen don't dare to try any of their tricks on
him.

He shows another side of his character when in the pulpit.

The mere sound of his own voice in reading the Scriptures affects him
to tears. Last Sunday he almost broke down completely when he was
reading about Elijah and the bears (a tale which does not seem in the
least pathetic to me). He is a great sportsman and plays all games with
enthusiasm, and is a fervent but bad whist-player, and when he revokes
(which he often does) we suppose he is thinking out his next Sunday's
sermon. In the summer vacation he goes to the Rocky Mountains and kills
bears.

A few Sundays ago it was, if ever, the occasion to say, "Don't kill the
organist; he is doing his best." Signor Rotoli (the organist), who does
not know one word of English, was dozing through Dr. Nevin's usual
sermon, and, having the music open before him of the solo that Mr.
Grant (the tenor) was going to sing, heard the first words of the
prayer, "O Lord, grant--" thought that it was the signal for the
anthem, and crashed down the opening chords.

Dr. Nevin looked daggers at him, as if he could have killed him on the
spot, and had there been anything at hand heavier than his sermon he
certainly would have thrown it at him.

_March, 1881._

Dear ----,--The carnival is over. As it is the first carnival I have
ever seen, I must describe it to you. It lasts almost a week.