And what made the sense of
resemblance the more striking was the sea, which one feels to be always
near, though one may not see it, and which any turn of the valley may
bring into view. We found out a little tower with an overgrown garden,
of which the owner might have been taken for a husbandman of the
Odyssey. He could scarcely speak any French, but was not without a
certain grave dignity. I translated to him the inscription on his
sun-dial, "_Hora est benefaciendi_," which is beautiful, and pleased him
greatly. It would be an inspiring place to write a novel in. Only I do
not know whether the little den would have a decent room, and one would
certainly have to live upon eggs, milk, and figs, like Philemon.
February 15, 1875. (_Hyeres_).--I have just been reading the two last
"Discours" at the French Academy, lingering over every word and weighing
every idea. This kind of writing is a sort of intellectual dainty, for
it is the art "of expressing truth with all the courtesy and finesse
possible;" the art of appearing perfectly at ease without the smallest
loss of manners; of being gracefully sincere, and of making criticism
itself a pleasure to the person criticized. Legacy as it is from the
monarchical tradition, this particular kind of eloquence is the
distinguishing mark of those men of the world who are also men of
breeding, and those men of letters who are also gentlemen.
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