kindly given us his card to present at the ticket and freight offices), we succeeded in running the blockade much easier than we had anticipated.  Once in the waiting-room, we seated ourselves upon our bags, for every chair had been taken hours before, and waited for the twelve o’clock train.  We sat patiently for an hour, and were then informed it would not start until six, for what reason we could not learn; for French officials can never be induced to give you any information.

At the close of another hour, we were not only white with alarm, supposing the Prussians were at the city gates, but were also in a starving condition, having eaten nothing since our eight o’clock breakfast of chocolate and rolls.  What to do we did not know; the doors of the waiting-room were closed, and despite the shrieks and frantic kicks of the terrified and penned-up passengers, no egress was permitted.  Finally, our party of five helpless women decided to appeal to Mr. Cowdin, feeling confident that he would devise some means to relieve our forlorn condition.  A piteous note was accordingly written, informing him that we should be prisoners until six o’clock, and appealing to his American chivalry to come and share our confinement with us, and to fetch some bread and butter, of which we stood sorely in need.

Among the employees of the station a messenger was found, and in less than an hour Mr. Cowdin’s friendly face was seen, as he made his way through the crowd, followed by the invaluable Harry with a basket.  An impromptu table-cloth, consisting of newspapers, was spread upon the floor, and we gathered about our feast, the other passengers meantime eying us hungrily, as roast chicken, Bordeaux, and a four-pound loaf appeared from the basket.

That was my last meal in Paris, and although the circumstances appeared very amusing as we talked them over with Mr. Cowdin yesterday, they were anything but entertaining at that time, expecting momentarily as we did that a shell would explode among us.

August 31.

I have just returned from a walk to the station to meet our friend, Mrs. George Gilman, whom we expected would spend the day with us, but found instead a note from her saying that ill-health would prevent her from visiting us at present.

Mrs. Gilman is a dear friend of ours, and a charming and accomplished woman.  Her elegant drawing-rooms upon Lexington Avenue are a resort for not only the fashionable world, but a favorite rendezvous for the principal vocalists and pianists of the city, for Mrs. Gilman is perhaps the only amateur in New York society whose voice equals Carlotta Patti’s in extent, and the ease with which her flute-like tones reach G in alt.  Her voice has been carefully trained by many of the great New York masters, and has also had the advantage of Paris instruction.  Therefore we may congratulate ourselves that we possess in private life, one who would make so admirable a prima donna.