I received an edition of the works of L.E.L. yesterday from London.  She is a charming poetess, full of imagination and fancy, dazzling one moment by the brilliancy of her flights, and the next touching the heart by some stroke of pathos.  How Byron would have admired her genius, for it bears the stamp of being influenced no less by a graceful and fertile fancy than by a deep sensibility, and the union of the two gives a peculiar charm to her poems.

Drove to the Bois de Boulogne to-day, with the Comtesse d’O——­, I know no such brilliant talker as she is.  No matter what may be the subject of conversation, her wit flashes brightly on all, and without the slightest appearance of effort or pretension.  She speaks from a mind overflowing with general information, made available by a retentive memory, a ready wit, and in exhaustible good spirits.

Letters from dear Italy.  Shall I ever see that delightful land again?  A letter, too, from Mrs. Francis Hare, asking me to be civil to some English friends of hers, who are come to Paris, which I shall certainly be for her sake.

A propos of the English, it is amusing to witness the avidity with which many of them not only accept but court civilities abroad, and the sang-froid with which they seem to forget them when they return home.  I have as yet had no opportunity of judging personally on this point, but I hear such tales on the subject as would justify caution, if one was disposed to extend hospitality with any prospective view to gratitude for it, which we never have done, and never will do.

Mine is the philosophy of ——­, who, when his extreme hospitality to his countrymen was remarked on, answered, “I can’t eat all my good dinners alone, and if I am lucky enough to find now and then a pleasant guest, it repays me for the many dull ones invited.”  I expect no gratitude for our hospitality to our compatriots, and “Blessed are they who expect not, for they will not be disappointed.”

Longchamps has not equalled my expectations.  It is a dull affair after all, resembling the drive in Hyde Park on a Sunday in May, the promenade in the Cacina at Florence, in the Corso at Rome, or the Chaija at Naples, in all save the elegance of the dresses of the women, in which Longchamps has an immeasurable superiority.

It is at Longchamps that the Parisian spring fashions are first exhibited, and busy are the modistes for many weeks previously in putting their powers of invention to the test, in order to bring out novelties, facsimiles of which are, the ensuing week, forwarded to England, Italy, Germany, Holland, and Russia.  The coachmakers, saddlers, and horse-dealers, are also put in requisition for this epoch; and, though the exhibition is no longer comparable to what it was in former times, when a luxurious extravagance not only in dress, but in equipages, was displayed, some handsome and well-appointed carriages are still to be seen.  Among the most remarkable for good taste, were those of the Princess Bagration, and Monsieur Schikler, whose very handsome wife attracted more admiration than the elegant vehicle in which she was seated, or the fine steeds that drew it.