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The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 08, No. 50, December, 1861 by Various
page 3 of 283 (01%)
substituted the harpoon for the pruning-knife, the whale-ship for the
olive-orchard, in the very stronghold of the emblem of peace; and now
the collier with his pickaxe has driven them both from the field. But
the Petit Hotel Montmorenci did not wait for the change. Its broad court
was never enlivened by gas. Its tables and mantels were decked to the
last hour with the alabaster whiteness of those pure wax tapers which
shed such a soft light upon your book, and grew up into such formidable
items in your bills. A long passage--one of those luxuries of rainy,
muddy Paris, lined with stores that you cannot help lingering over, if
for nothing else, to wonder at the fertility of the human brain when it
makes itself the willing minister of human caprice--covers the whole
space which the hotel stood on, and unites the Neuve St. Marc with the
once distant Boulevard.

As I passed the porter's lodge, he handed me a letter. The hand was one
that I had never seen before; the address was in French; and the seal,
red wax thinly spread, but something which had been put on it before it
was cool had entirely effaced the impress: as I afterwards learned, it
was the profile of Washington. I opened it, and judge my surprise and
delight on reading the following words:--

"Paris, Thursday.

"I am very sorry not to have had the pleasure to see you when you have
called this morning, my dear Sir. My stay in town will be short. But you
will find me to-morrow from nine in the morning until twelve. I hope we
shall see you soon at La Grange, which I beg of you to consider as
your home, being that of your grandfather's most intimate friend and
brother-in-arms.

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