Then how edifying it is to hear the pedigrees of horses—­the odds for and against the favourite winning such or such a race—­the good or bad books of the talkers—­the hedging or backing of the betters!  Yet all this are women condemned to hear on the eve of a race, or during the shooting or hunting season, should their evil stars bring them into the society of any of the Nimrods or sportsmen of the day, who think it not only allowable to devote nearly all their time to such pursuits, but to talk of little else.

The woman who aims at being popular in her county, must not only listen patiently, but evince a lively interest in these intellectual occupations; while, if the truth was confessed, she is thoroughly ennuyee by these details of them:  or if not, it must be inferred that she has lost much of the refinement of mind and taste peculiar to the well-educated portion of her sex.

I do not object to men liking racing, hunting, and shooting.  The first preserves the breed of horses, for which England is so justly celebrated, and hunting keeps up the skill in horsemanship in which our men excel.  What I do object to is their making these pursuits the constant topics of conversation before women, instead of selecting those more suitable to the tastes and habits of the latter.

There is none of the affectation of avoiding subjects supposed to be uninteresting to women visible in the men here.  They do not utter with a smile—­half pity, half condescension,—­“we must not talk politics before the ladies;” they merely avoid entering into discussions, or exhibiting party spirit, and shew their deference for female society by speaking on literature, on which they politely seem to take for granted that women are well informed.

Perhaps this deferential treatment of the gentler sex may not be wholly caused by the good breeding of the men in France; for I strongly suspect that the women here would be very little disposed to submit to the nonchalance that prompts the conduct I have referred to in England, and that any man who would make his horses or his field-sports the topic of discourse in their presence, would soon find himself expelled from their society.

Frenchwomen still think, and with reason, that they govern the tone of the circles in which they move, and look with jealousy on any infringement of the respectful attention they consider to be their due.

A few nights ago I saw the Duchesse de Guiche, on her return from a reception at court, sparkling in diamonds, and looking so beautiful that she reminded me of Burke’s description of the lovely and unfortunate Marie-Antoinette.  To-day I thought her still more attractive, when, wearing only a simple white peignoir, and her matchless hair bound tightly round her classically shaped head, I saw her enacting the part of garde-malade to her children, who have caught the measles.

With a large, and well-chosen nursery-establishment, she would confide her precious charge to no care but her own, and moved from each little white bed to the other with noiseless step and anxious glance, bringing comfort to the dear little invalid in each.  No wonder that her children adore her, for never was there so devoted a mother.