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day yesterday with our friends The Powells the English people—  They are from Canterbury - And have I think some sort of connection with the Cathedral - Are very cultivated - And the Missus who is short, fat, and vigorous, tremendously clever - makes me think of Kate [[Jauiru?]] with much more sparkle and humor - but lots of larnin'—  We went with them to see some Carpaccios in a church-, Ruskin in hand, and received no end of instruction and illumination.  It is strange to go from French impressionism to Englisch devout reverence for Archaic beauty(?)  I have a great time defending the French schools and painters, which they think irretrievably and hopeless corrupt—  They have, however, never seen a Millet nor a Bastien-Lepage and I daresay not a Daubigny or Corot either—   We spend our evenings with them in the cozy little Salon where no one else comes - and Mr Powell plays for us - mostly Chopin


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reverberation of stone arches—  But no clatter - nothing that was'nt human.  And then after many dark narrow passages where we were most skilfully steered we came out into the open lagoon, again drew up to some steps, and were on land - or stone - rather. 

An English lady is Talking To me and it is the next night—  I write with a pencil because the pen is scratchy, and sounds loud in the quiet room

We have such a pretty big room here, and people nice to us—  Awfully nice German gentleman with wife and daughter laughs and talks with us accross the Table-d'hote—  
We have been to the Ducal Palace - Today! Seen all the Paul Veronese's Titians and Tintorettos—  Not so much color as I expected but lots of grandeur and superb - conception and [[pres?]]—  The Palace itself - rich beyond description and we went into the Bridge of Sighs - and