Monsieur Mignet spent last evening here.  The more I see of him the more I am pleased with his society.  To a mind stored with knowledge he joins a happy facility of bringing forth its treasures, never as if ostentatious of his wealth, but in illustration of any topic that is discussed, on which he brings it to bear most aptly and appropriately.  His countenance lights up with expression when he converses, and adds force to an eloquence always interesting and often instructive.

Though Monsieur Mignet shines in monologue more than in dialogue, there is nothing either dictatorial or pedantic in his manner, he utters opinions new and original, which it is evident he has deeply reflected on, and elucidates them to the comprehension of his auditors with great felicity.  I like listening to the conversation of such a man; and clever people, when they find an attentive listener, are incited to talk well.

In general society, in which many persons of totally opposite tastes, pursuits, and opinions, are thrown together, a clever man has seldom an opportunity of bringing forth the treasures of his mind.  He can only dispense the small coin, which is easily changed with those he comes in contact with; but the weighty and valuable, metal is not brought into use, because he knows the greater number of those, around him could give him no equivalent in exchange.

——­, conversing with Lady ——­ to-day, she observed that in early life conscience has less influence than in advanced life, and accounted for it by the nearer approach to death rendering people more alarmed, and consequently more disposed to listen to it.  Some persons attribute all good impulses to fear, as if mortals were more governed by its influence than by that of love and gratitude.

If conscience is less frequently heard in youth, it is that the tumultuous throbbing of the heart, and the wild suggestions of the passions, prevent its “still small voice” from being audible; but in the decline of life, when the heart beats languidly and the passions slumber, it makes itself heard, and on its whispers depends our happiness or misery.

My old acquaintance, Lord Palmerston, has arrived at Paris, and dined here yesterday, to meet the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche, Count Valeski, and Mr. Poulett Thomson.  Seven years have produced no change in Lord Palmerston.  He is the same intelligent, sensible, and agreeable person that I remember him to have been for many years.

Lord Palmerston has much more ability than people are disposed to give him credit for.  He is, or used to be, when I lived in England, considered a good man of business, acute in the details, and quick in the comprehension of complicated questions.  Even this is no mean praise, but I think him entitled to more; for, though constantly and busily occupied with official duties, he has contrived to find time to read every thing worth reading, and to make himself acquainted with the politics of other countries.