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Bob today. I write him every Sunday. I know Aunt Addie would not care for my work at Buffalo. It is too broad. 
To paint a work in eight days 6 feet long can not be done like a Farting. Sorry it was hung so near a Sargent it will [lieffel?]along his reputation.
My time is spent painting all the time I have no malarial fever nor do I fear it. I have to much exercise - You can tell father I never drink anything here except the wine at the table. And in the restaurants raspberry or citron - because I know to well that I would be compelled to sacrifice my painting - lose my nerves and spoil the future. Got a letter from Hafie today. Say she likes Mary Bennett and is having a good time. I hope you are all well and hope you won t go to Buffalo to invite the failings of your dear son.
William  With love

for dancing and it reminded me of home for the moment to see gentle little girls of Marion's age dancing together, worn mothers dancing with sons and daughters. Workmen dancing with their families. Young men with their beaus, it was a fine night.
What a way to celebrate. Much better than blowing up dynamites.
All the cafés were crowded the sidewalks filled with tables, and beggars passing in front, some swallowing sabres, canes, and singing shaddy song, others merely begging. All life seemed to have become drunk with pleasure. No one was sober, and now today as I write two bands are playing in our square alternately.
It is a fascinating sight. I wish you were here to enjoy it with me. 
Sunday this afternoon a body, a mob of Frenchmen paraded the Boulevards crying down with the English. They were to busy to notice me. It was a fine smashing sight. I was with a Swiss and a German at the time. You would be astonished at the quality of the music produced by the beggars here. Some being real artists. I bought for 10 cents a cast of Rodin made by an old student of the Beau Art who now peddles