&nb
sp;                                             Afloat
                                        2 hours below Bourg st. Andeol. 
                                        Monday, 11 a.m., Sept. 28. 
Livy darling, I didn’t write yesterday.  We left La Voulte in a driving storm of cold rain—­couldn’t write in it—­and at 1 p. m. when we were not thinking of stopping, we saw a picturesque and mighty ruin on a high hill back of a village, and I was seized with a desire to explore it; so we landed at once and set out with rubbers and umbrella, sending the boat ahead to St. Andeol, and we spent 3 hours clambering about those cloudy heights among those worn and vast and idiotic ruins of a castle built by two crusaders 650 years ago.  The work of these asses was full of interest, and we had a good time inspecting, examining and scrutinizing it.  All the hills on both sides of the Rhone have peaks and precipices, and each has its gray and wasted pile of mouldy walls and broken towers.  The Romans displaced the Gauls, the Visigoths displaced the Romans, the Saracens displaced the Visigoths, the Christians displaced the Saracens, and it was these pious animals who built these strange lairs and cut each other’s throats in the name and for the glory of God, and robbed and burned and slew in peace and war; and the pauper and the slave built churches, and the credit of it went to the Bishop who racked the money out of them.  These are pathetic shores, and they make one despise the human race.

We came down in an hour by rail, but I couldn’t get your telegram till this morning, for it was Sunday and they had shut up the post office to go to the circus.  I went, too.  It was all one family—­parents and 5 children—­performing in the open air to 200 of these enchanted villagers, who contributed coppers when called on.  It was a most gay and strange and pathetic show.  I got up at 7 this morning to see the poor devils cook their poor breakfast and pack up their sordid fineries.

This is a 9 k-m. current and the wind is with us; we shall make Avignon before 4 o’clock.  I saw watermelons and pomegranates for sale at St. Andeol.

               With a power of love, Sweetheart,
          
                                        Saml.

         &nb
sp;                                   HotelD’EUROPE, Avignon,
                                             Monday, 6 p.m., Sept. 28. 
Well, Livy darling, I have been having a perfect feast of letters for an hour, and I thank you and dear Clam with all my heart.  It’s like hearing from home after a long absence.