
Today I came down to my new lodgings at Les Sablons. The bed-sitting room is large with a bare polished floor and a portrait of Melanchthon (in a fur coat) on the wall. Antoine Lebert and his wife, the householders, have lived in Paris 31 years and have retired here. They keep a large garden and grow grapes on long walls. Bunches still remain on certain vines which are covered with a kind of coarse muslin. I realise that I know nothing at all of viniculture - it wasn't much practised in Burslem.

"The Way of all Flesh" is exceedingly good in parts. Whenever the author is satirical he is excellent. And every now and then he gets a sudden sharp effect of pathos. He is very careless in details of construction, writes without dignity, and has a tendency to moralise at length. But I read the book with real zest, which is rare. There is a vast amount of naked truth in the book.
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