...It rained hard last night, and today a part of the time. I took a lesson in roasting, in Delsarte, and I made with my own fair hands a beautiful loaf of graham bread with some rolls, long, flute-like, and delicious. I should have sent them to you by express, only it seemed unnecessary, since I can keep the family in bread easily after my return home. Please tell this, with amplifications, to Peggy and Tweedy.... BUFFALO, N.Y., _July 29_. ...The Chautauqua week, or rather six and a half days, has been a real success. I have learned a lot, but I'm glad to get into something less blameless but more admiration-worthy. The flash of a pistol, a dagger, or a devilish eye, anything to break the unlovely level of 10,000 good people--a crime, murder, rape, elopement, anything would do. I don't see how the younger Vincents stand it, because they are people of such spirit.... SYRACUSE, N.Y., _July 31_. ...Now for Utica and Lake Placid by rail, with East Hill in prospect for tomorrow. You bet I rejoice at the outlook--I long to escape from tepidity. Even an Armenian massacre, whether to be killer or killed, would seem an agreeable change from the blamelessness of Chautauqua as she lies soaking year after year in her lakeside sun and showers. Man wants to be _stretched_ to his utmost, if not in one way then in another!... _To Miss Rosina H. Emmet._ BURLINGTON, VT., _Aug. 2, 1896_. ...I have seen more women and less beauty, heard more voices and less sweetness, perceived more earnestness and less triumph than I ever supposed possible. Most of the American nation (and probably all nations) is white-trash,--but Tolstoy has borne me up--and I say unto _you_: "_Smooth out your voices_ if you want to be saved"!!... _To Charles Renouvier._ BURLINGTON, VT., _Aug. 4, 1896_. DEAR MR. RENOUVIER,--My wife announces to me from Cambridge the reception of two immense volumes from you on the Philosophy of History. I thank you most heartily for the gift, and am more and more amazed at your intellectual and moral power--physical power, too, for the nervous energy required for your work has to be extremely great. My own nervous energy is a small teacup-full, and is more than consumed by my duties of teaching, so that almost none is left over for writing. I sent you a "New World" the other day, however, with an article in it called "The Will to Believe," in which (if you took the trouble to glance at it) you probably recognized how completely I am still your disciple. In this point perhaps more fully than in any other; and this point is central!