marks of an old civilisation—traversing the country in every direction, and, as far as your eye could reach, that king of roads, the Rhine.
Madame M. so fully enjoyed the delight she was bestowing, that she proposed to prolong it by an exclusion to-morrow, which shall be still richer in romance. She will come at ten with two carriages. We shall take our déjûner à la forchette here, and then drive to Roland's Castle, then pass to the monastery of Nonenworth, where, her son officiating as chaplain she proposes to make a nun of Miss K., all to end in a dinner, for (I must tell you the disenchanting fact) the monastery is converted into an inn. This is too pleasant a project to be rejected, and if—and if—and if—why we are to go.
While enjoying to-day and talking of to-morrow, we had returned to the inn. Tea was preparing at the order of our charming hostess. Dispersed about the house and piazza were coteries of German ladies, who had come out for the afternoon, and were knitting and gossiping most serenely.
Our repast was very like a home tea for a hungry party of pleasure, with the agreeable addition to our cold roast fowl and Westphalia ham and strawberries, of wine, melons, and Swiss cheese.
My Dear C.,
To-day has played a common trick with yesterday's project—dispersed it in empty air. Compelled to proceed on our journey, we did not lose the
