Married people looked not to each other for happiness, and sought the aggrandizement, and not the felicity, of their children.  The acquisition of wealth and splendour and the enjoyment of pleasure occupied their thoughts, and those parents who secured these advantages for their offspring, however they might have neglected to instil sentiments of morality and religion into their minds, believed that they had fully discharged their duty towards them.  It was the want of natural affection between parents and children that led to the cynical observation uttered by a French philosopher of that day, who explained the partiality of grandfathers and grandmothers towards their grandchildren, by saying these last were the enemies of their enemies,—­a reflection founded on the grossest selfishness.

The habit of judging persons and things superficially, is one of the defects that most frequently strike me in the Parisians.  This defect arises not from a want of quickness of apprehension, but has its source in the vivacity peculiar to them, which precludes their bestowing sufficient time to form an accurate opinion on what they pronounce.  Prone to judge from the exterior, rather than to study the interior qualifications of those with whom they come in contact, the person who is perfectly well-dressed and well-mannered will be better received than he who, however highly recommended for mental superiority or fine qualities, happens to be ill-dressed, or troubled with mauvaise honte.

A woman, if ever so handsome, who is not dressed a la mode, will be pronounced plain in a Parisian salon; while a really plain woman wearing a robe made by Victorine and a cap by Herbault, will be considered tres-bien, ou au moins bien gentille.  The person who can converse fluently on all the ordinary topics, though never uttering a single sentiment or opinion worth remembering, will be more highly thought of than the one who, with a mind abounding with knowledge, only speaks to elicit or convey information.  Talent, to be appreciated in France, must be—­like the wares in its shops—­fully displayed; the French give no credit for what is kept in reserve.

I have been reading Devereux, and like it infinitely,—­even more than Pelham, which I estimated very highly.  There is more thought and reflection in it, and the sentiments bear the stamp of a profound and elevated mind.  The novels of this writer produce a totally different effect on me to that exercised by the works of other authors; they amuse less than they make me think.  Other novels banish thought, and interest me only in the fate of the actors; but these awaken a train of reflection that often withdraws me from the story, leaving me deeply impressed with the truth, beauty, and originality of the thoughts with which every page is pregnant.

All in Paris are talking of the esclandre of the late trial in London; and the comments made on it by the French prove how different are the views of morality taken by them and us.