Memoirs of an editor : fifty years of American journalism / Edward P. Mitchell.

THE GOLDEN SPIKE AND MANY JOURNEYS 413
of Montmart.re and the caf6s and worth-while restaurants
of both sides of the river was due to his friendly guidance.
He introduced me one day to the maitre d'h6tel of Foyot's,
up by the Luxembourg. Trying to say something pleasant,
I risked the remark that Foyot seemed to be the Voisin
of the Rive Gauche. "Pardon, Monsieur," replied the
dignified personage who dictated salads to the Senators
of the Republic, "we prefer to say that Voisin is the Foyot
of the Rive Droite."
My last letter from Child was mailed from Paris just
as he was about to start on a horseback expedition to
Persia and into India, through the region where prophets
then thought they foresaw the next war between England
and Russia, to write a book for the Harpers. The letter is
dated June 22, 1892:
Thanks for your kind wishes for the success of my journey.
I want this time all the good wishes I can get, and if some good
friends I know could only lend me some of their brains and
powers of observation and judgment I should be truly grateful.
It is a fearful responsibility to have to trust to one's own brains
or alleged brains. Did it ever strike you?
With kind regards, yours ever faithfully,
THEODORE CHILD.
He reached Tabriz, where he was stricken with the
Asiatic cholera and nursed by a woman missionary there.
He got better and started out again. The despatch announcing his death came from hundreds of miles farther
on his route.
How strangely news sometimes comes to you! I was

awakened early one morning in a hotel in Nantes, the
place of the Edict, by a negro newsboy who yelled continuously beneath the window. I got up and went to the
balcony and shook my head. After I had gone to bed
again the vociferation did not lessen. In five minutes I
tried once more to dismiss him, in order that there might