La Vesle borde nos prairies
    Sur sa rive toujours fleurie
    Regne un doux air de bergerie
    Dangereux pour les tendres coeurs. 
    La, qui se sent l’ame attendrie
    S’il craint de l’amour les erreurs
    Doit vite quitter la partie.

Quittons la donc, mon cher Papa; aussi bien ai-je seulement oublie de vous montrer la plus piece de l’hermitage.  C’est un canal superbe.  Il a cent vingt toises de long sur douze de large, une eau courante et crystalline en rend la surface toujours brillante, cest la digne embleme d’un coeur ami, jugez si cette vue me fait penser a vous.

De grands potagers terminent l’enclos de la maison.  Si j’etois mechante je continuerois ma description, et ne vous ferois pas grace d’une laitue, mais je me contenteraide vous dire que le ciel fit sans doute ce canton pour des Etres broutans.  Si les Israelites en eussent mange jadis, ils n’auroient ni regrette l’Egypte ni desire la terre promise.

Voila mon cher Papa une assez mauvaize esquisse du pays Courcellois.

    L’air m’en seroit plus doux et le ciel plus serein
    Si quelque jour, moins intraitable
    Et se laissant flechir, le farouche Destin
    Y conduisoit ce trio tant aimable
    Que j’aime, et cherirai sans fin
    Mais las! j’y perds tout mon latin,
    Et ce que de mieux je puis faire
    Est d’esperer et de me taire

* * * * *

I should have stopt here, and finished my present correspondence with you by leaving your mind harmonized with the above sweet stanzas of Madame des Jardins, but that it may seem strange, to give a specimen of one French Lady’s literary talents, without acknowledging, that this kingdom abounds with many, of infinite merit.—­While England can boast only of about half a dozen women, who will immortalize their names by their works, France can produce half an hundred, admired throughout Europe, for their wit, genius, and elegant compositions.—­Were I to recite the names and writings only of female authors of eminence, which France has produced, since the time of the first, and most unfortunate Heloise, who died in 1079, down to Madame Riccoboni, now living, it would fill a volume.  We have, however, a CARTER, and a BARBAULD, not less celebrated for their learning and genius than for their private virtues; and I think it may, with more truth be said of women, than of men, that the more knowledge, the more virtue; the more understanding, the less courage.  Why then is the plume elevated to the head? and what must the present mode of female education and manners end in, but in more ignorance, dissipation, debauchery and luxury? and, at length, in national ruin.  Thus it was at ROME, the mistress of the world; they became fond of the most vicious men, and such as meant to enslave them, who corrupted their hearts, by humouring and gratifying their follies,