Oh! the weariness of listening for hours to the repetition of past gaieties, or the anticipation of future ones, to the commonplace remarks or stupid conversation of persons whose whole thoughts are engrossed by the frivolous amusements of Paris, which are all and every thing to them!

How delicious is it to shut out all this weariness, and with a book, or a few rationally minded friends, indulge in an interchange of ideas!  But the too frequent indulgence of this sensible mode of existence exposes one to the sarcasms of the frivolous who are avoided.

One is deemed a pedant—­a terrible charge at Paris!—­or a bas bleu, which is still worse, however free the individual may be from any pretensions to merit such charges.

Paid a visit to the justly celebrated Mademoiselle Mars yesterday, at her beautiful hotel in the Rue de la Tour des Dames.  I have entertained a wish ever since my return from Italy, to become acquainted with this remarkable woman; and Mr. Young was the medium of accomplishing it.

Mademoiselle Mars is even more attractive off the stage than on; for her countenance beams with intelligence, and her manners are at once so animated, yet gentle; so kind, yet dignified; and there is such an inexpressible charm in the tones of her voice, that no one can approach without being delighted with her.

Her conversation is highly interesting, marked by a good sense and good taste that render her knowledge always available, but never obtrusive.  Her features are regular and delicate; her figure, though inclined to embonpoint, is very graceful, and her smile, like the tones of her voice, is irresistibly sweet, and reveals teeth of rare beauty.  Mademoiselle Mars, off the stage, owes none of her attractions to the artful aid of ornament; wearing her own dark hair simply arranged, and her clear brown complexion free from any artificial tinge.  In her air and manner is the rare and happy mixture of la grande dame et la femme aimable, without the slightest shade of affectation.

Mademoiselle Mars’ hotel is the prettiest imaginable.  It stands in a court yard, wholly shut in from the street; and, though not vast, it has all the elegance, if not the splendour, of a fine house.  Nothing can evince a purer taste than this dwelling, with its decorations and furniture.  It contains all that elegance and comfort can require, without any thing meretricious or gaudy, and is a temple worthy of the goddess to whom it is dedicated.

It has been well observed, that a just notion of the character of a person can always be formed by the style of his or her dwelling.  Who can be deceived in the house of a nouveau riche?  Every piece of furniture in it vouches, not only for the wealth of its owner, but that he has not yet got sufficiently habituated to the possession of it, to be as indifferent to its attributes as are those to whom custom has rendered splendour no longer a pleasure.