Nothing can be more obliging than the reception I meet with everywhere.  It may not be more sincere (and why should it?) than our cold and bare civility; but it is better dressed, and looks natural; one asks no more.  I have begun to sup in French houses, and as Lady Hertford has left Paris to-day, shall increase my intimacies.  There are swarms of English here, but most of them are going, to my great satisfaction.  As the greatest part are very young, they can no more be entertaining to me than I to them, and it certainly was not my countrymen that I came to live with.  Suppers please me extremely; I love to rise and breakfast late, and to trifle away the day as I like.  There are sights enough to answer that end, and shops you know are an endless field for me.  The city appears much worse to me than I thought I remembered it.  The French music as shocking as I knew it was.  The French stage is fallen off, though in the only part I have seen Le Kain I admire him extremely.  He is very ugly and ill made, and yet has an heroic dignity which Garrick wants, and great fire.  The Dumenil I have not seen yet, but shall in a day or two.  It is a mortification that I cannot compare her with the Clairon, who has left the stage.  Grandval I saw through a whole play without suspecting it was he.  Alas! four-and-twenty years make strange havoc with us mortals!  You cannot imagine how this struck me!  The Italian comedy, now united with their opera comique, is their most perfect diversion; but alas! harlequin, my dear favourite harlequin, my passion, makes me more melancholy than cheerful.  Instead of laughing, I sit silently reflecting how everything loses charms when one’s own youth does not lend it gilding!  When we are divested of that eagerness and illusion with which our youth presents objects to us, we are but the caput mortuum of pleasure.

Grave as these ideas are, they do not unfit me for French company.  The present tone is serious enough in conscience.  Unluckily, the subjects of their conversation are duller to me than my own thoughts, which may be tinged with melancholy reflections, but I doubt from my constitution will never be insipid.

The French affect philosophy, literature, and free-thinking:  the first never did, and never will possess me; of the two others I have long been tired.  Free-thinking is for one’s self, surely not for society; besides one has settled one’s way of thinking, or knows it cannot be settled, and for others I do not see why there is not as much bigotry in attempting conversions from any religion as to it.  I dined to-day with a dozen savans, and though all the servants were waiting, the conversation was much more unrestrained, even on the Old Testament, than I would suffer at my own table in England, if a single footman was present.  For literature, it is very amusing when one has nothing else to do.  I think it rather pedantic in society; tiresome when displayed professedly; and, besides, in this country one is sure it is only the fashion of the day.  Their taste in it is worst of all:  could one believe that when they read our authors, Richardson and Mr. Hume should be their favourites?  The latter is treated here with perfect veneration.  His History, so falsified in many points, so partial in as many, so very unequal in its parts, is thought the standard of writing.