ON THE RHONE, BELOW VIENNA.

I salute you, my darling. Your telegram reached me in Lyons last night
and was very pleasant news indeed.

I was up and shaved before 8 this morning, but we got delayed and didn't
sail from Lyons till 10.30--an hour and a half lost. And we've lost
another hour--two of them, I guess--since, by an error. We came in sight
of Vienne at 2 o'clock, several miles ahead, on a hill, and I proposed
to walk down there and let the boat go ahead of us. So Joseph and I got
out and struck through a willow swamp along a dim path, and by and by
came out on the steep bank of a slough or inlet or something, and we
followed that bank forever and ever trying to get around the head of
that slough. Finally I noticed a twig standing up in the water, and by
George it had a distinct and even vigorous quiver to it! I don't know
when I have felt so much like a donkey. On an island! I wanted to drown
somebody, but I hadn't anybody I could spare. However, after another
long tramp we found a lonely native, and he had a scow and soon we were
on the mainland--yes, and a blamed sight further from Vienne than we
were when we started.

Notes--I make millions of them; and so I get no time to write to you. If
you've got a pad there, please send it poste-restante to Avignon. I may
not need it but I fear I shall.

I'm straining to reach St. Pierre de Boef, but it's going to be a close
fit, I reckon.

AFLOAT, Friday, 3 p.m., '91.

Livy darling, we sailed from St. Pierre de Boef six hours ago, and are
now approaching Tournon, where we shall not stop, but go on and make
Valence, a City Of 25,000 people. It's too delicious, floating with the
swift current under the awning these superb sunshiny days in deep peace
and quietness. Some of these curious old historical towns strangely
persuade me, but it is so lovely afloat that I don't stop, but view them
from the outside and sail on. We get abundance of grapes and peaches for
next to nothing.

Joseph is perfect. He is at his very best--and never was better in his
life. I guess he gets discouraged and feels disliked and in the way when
he is lying around--but here he is perfection, and brim full of useful
alacrities and helps and ingenuities.

When I woke up an hour ago and heard the clock strike 4, I said "I seem
to have been asleep an immensely long time; I must have gone to bed
mighty early; I wonder what time I did go to bed." And