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Worked one morn. on horse at League. Wheelock was there and taught me [[strikethrough]] anf [[/strikethrough]] an old French song. It was said to have been set to music by one of the early composers who was then a poor boy, fiddling for a cake at a bakery. The baker was thought crazy because he said everything in verse. 
Au clere de la lune,
Mon ami Pierro,
Pretez moi ta plume
Pour aerire un mot.
Ma chandel et morte

Transcription Notes:
typed as written but her French is a little off