Dined yesterday at St.-Cloud with the Baron and Baroness de Ruysch; a very agreeable and intellectual pair, who have made a little paradise around them in the shape of an English pleasure ground, blooming with rare shrubs and flowers.

Our old friend, Mr. Douglas Kinnaird—­“the honourable Dug,” as poor Lord Byron used to call him—­paid me a visit to-day.  I had not seen him for seven years, and these same years have left their traces on his brow.  He is in delicate health, and is only come over to Paris for a very few days.

He has lived in the same scenes and in the same routine that we left him, wholly engrossed by them, while

     “I’ve taught me other tongues, and in strange eyes
     Have made me not a stranger;”

and wonder how people can be content to dwell whole years in so circumscribed, however useful, a circle.

Those who live much in London seem to me to have tasted the lotus which, according to the fable of old, induced forgetfulness of the past, so wholly are they engrossed by the present, and by the vortex in which they find themselves plunged.

Much as I like England, and few love it more dearly, I should not like to pass all the rest of my life in it. All, all:  it is thus we ever count on futurity, reckoning as if our lives were certain of being prolonged, when we know not that the all on which we so boldly calculate may not be terminated in a day, nay, even in an hour.  Who is there that can boast an English birth, that would not wish to die at home and rest in an English grave?

Sir Francis Burdett has arrived, and means to stay some time here.  He called on us yesterday with Colonel Leicester Stanhope, and is as agreeable and good-natured as ever.  He is much feted at Paris, and receives great attention from the Duc d’Orleans, who has offered him his boxes at the theatres, and shews him all manner of civilities.

Colonel Leicester Stanhope gave me some interesting details of poor Byron’s last days in Greece, and seems to have duly appreciated his many fine qualities, in spite of the errors that shrouded but could not eclipse them.  The fine temper and good breeding that seem to be characteristic of the Stanhope family, have not degenerated in this branch of it; and his manner, as well as his voice and accent, remind me very forcibly of my dear old friend his father, who is one of the most amiable, as well as agreeable men I ever knew, and who I look forward with pleasure to meeting on my return home.

The Marquise Palavicini from Genoa, her daughter-in-law the Princesse Doria, sir Francis Burdett, and Colonel Leicester Stanhope, dined with us yesterday.  The marquise Palavicini is a very sensible and agreeable woman, and the Princesse Doria is very pretty and amiable.  Like most of her countrywomen, this young and attractive person is wholly free from that affectation which deteriorates from so many of the women of other countries; and the simplicity of her manner, which is as remote from gaucherie as it is from affectation, invests her with a peculiar charm.