HAS REACHED PARIS—­THE FRENCH OPERA—­ILLNESS OF THE DAUPHIN—­POPULARITY OF MR. HUME.

TO THE RIGHT HON.  LADY HERVEY.

PARIS, Sept. 14, 1765.

I am but two days old here, Madam, and I doubt I wish I was really so, and had my life to begin, to live it here.  You see how just I am, and ready to make amende honorable to your ladyship.  Yet I have seen very little.  My Lady Hertford has cut me to pieces, and thrown me into a caldron with tailors, periwig-makers, snuff-box-wrights, milliners, &c., which really took up but little time; and I am come out quite new, with everything but youth.  The journey recovered me with magic expedition.  My strength, if mine could ever be called strength, is returned; and the gout going off in a minuet step.  I will say nothing of my spirits, which are indecently juvenile, and not less improper for my age than for the country where I am; which, if you will give me leave to say it, has a thought too much gravity.  I don’t venture to laugh or talk nonsense, but in English.

Madame Geoffrin came to town but last night, and is not visible on Sundays; but I hope to deliver your ladyship’s letter and packet to-morrow.  Mesdames d’Aiguillon, d’Egmont, and Chabot, and the Duc de Nivernois are all in the country.  Madame de Boufflers is at l’Isle Adam, whither my Lady Hertford is gone to-night to sup, for the first time, being no longer chained down to the incivility of an ambassadress.  She returns after supper; an irregularity that frightens me, who have not yet got rid of all my barbarisms.  There is one, alas!  I never shall get over—­the dirt of this country:  it is melancholy, after the purity of Strawberry!  The narrowness of the streets, trees clipped to resemble brooms, and planted on pedestals of chalk, and a few other points, do not edify me.  The French Opera, which I have heard to-night, disgusted me as much as ever; and the more for being followed by the Devin de Village, which shows that they can sing without cracking the drum of one’s ear.  The scenes and dances are delightful:  the Italian comedy charming.  Then I am in love with treillage and fountains, and will prove it at Strawberry.  Chantilly is so exactly what it was when I saw it above twenty years ago, that I recollected the very position of Monsieur le Duc’s chair and the gallery.  The latter gave me the first idea of mine; but, presumption apart, mine is a thousand times prettier.  I gave my Lord Herbert’s compliments to the statue of his friend the Constable; and, waiting some time for the concierge, I called out, Ou est Vatel?