I have not yet been here long enough to discover the causes of this change; perhaps they may lie too deep for such an observer as myself:  but if (as the causes of important effects sometimes do) they lie on the surface, they will be less liable to escape me, than an observer of more pretentions.  Whatever my remarks are, I will not fail to communicate them—­the employment will at least be agreeable to me, though the result should not be satisfactory to you; and as I shall never venture on any reflection, without relating the occurrence that gave rise to it, your own judgement will enable you to correct the errors of mine.

I was present yesterday at a funeral service, performed in honour of General Dillon.  This kind of service is common in Catholic countries, and consists in erecting a cenotaph, ornamented with numerous lights, flowers, crosses, &c.  The church is hung with black, and the mass is performed the same as if the body were present.  On account of General Dillon’s profession, the mass yesterday was a military one.  It must always, I imagine, sound strange to the ears of a Protestant, to hear nothing but theatrical music on these occasions, and indeed I could never reconcile myself to it; for if we allow any effect to music at all, the train of thought which should inspire us with respect for the dead, and reflections on mortality, is not likely to be produced by the strains in which Dido bewails Eneas, or in which Armida assails the virtue of Rinaldo.—­I fear, that in general the air of an opera reminds the belle of the Theatre where she heard it—­and, by a natural transition, of the beau who attended her, and the dress of herself and her neighbours.  I confess, this was nearly my own case yesterday, on hearing an air from “Sargines;” and had not the funeral oration reminded me, I should have forgotten the unfortunate event we were celebrating, and which, for some days before, when undistracted by this pious ceremony, I had dwelt on with pity and horror.*—­

* At the first skirmish between the French and Austrians near Lisle, a general panic seized the former, and they retreated in disorder to Lisle, crying "Sauve qui peut, & nous fomnes (sic) trahis."—­“Let every one shift for himself—­we are betrayed.”  The General, after in vain endeavouring to rally them, was massacred at his return on the great square.—­My pen faulters, and refuses to describe the barbarities committed on the lifeless hero.  Let it suffice, perhaps more than suffice, to say, that his mutilated remains were thrown on a fire, which these savages danced round, with yells expressive of their execrable festivity.  A young Englishman, who was so unfortunate as to be near the spot, was compelled to join in this outrage to humanity.—­The same day a gentleman, the intimate friend of our acquaintance, Mad. _____, was walking (unconscious what had happened) without the gate which leads to Douay, and was met by the flying ruffians on their return; immediately