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Charles E. Stowe, Harriet Beecher Stowe compiled from her letters and journals by her son Charles Edward Stowe, Chapter 12: Dred, 1856. (search)
ly, at Madame Mohl's, Madame Lanziel's, and Madame Belloc's. All these salons are informal, social gatherings, with no fuss of refreshments, no nonsense of any kind. Just the cheeriest, heartiest, kindest little receptions you ever saw. A kiss to dear little Charley. If he could see all the things that I see every day in the Tuileries and Champs Elysees, he would go wild. All Paris is a general whirligig out of doors, but indoors people seem steady, quiet, and sober as anybody. November 30. This is Sunday evening, and a Sunday in Paris always puts me in mind of your story about somebody who said, Bless you! they make such a noise that the Devil could n't meditate. All the extra work and odd jobs of life are put into Sunday. Your washerwoman comes Sunday, with her innocent, goodhumored face, and would be infinitely at a loss to know why she should n't. Your bonnet, cloak, shoes, and everything are sent home Sunday morning, and all the way to church there is such whirli