But the sense of the beautiful is certainly very strong in him, little darling.

He can't say the word 'church' yet, but when he sees one he begins to chant.

Oh, he's a true Florentine in some things.
Well, now we are in Paris and have to forget the 'belle chiese;' we have beautiful shops instead, false teeth grinning at the corners of the streets, and disreputable prints, and fascinating hats and caps, and brilliant restaurants, and M.le President in a cocked hat and with a train of cavalry, passing like a rocket along the boulevards to an occasional yell from the Red.

Oh yes, and don't mistake me! for I like it all extremely, it's a splendid city--a city in the country, as Venice is a city in the sea.

And I'm as much amused as Wiedeman, who stands in the street before the printshops (to Wilson's great discomfort) and roars at the lions.