Midnight Frolics the sky but through green boughs; and all day long I cantered over such soft moss and turf, that the horse's feet scarcely made a sound upon it. We have some friends in that part of the country (close to Castle Howard, where Lord Morpeth's father dwells in state, in his park indeed), who are the jolliest of the jolly, keeping a big old country house, with an ale-cellar something larger than a reasonable church, and everything, like Goldsmith's bear, dances "in a concatenation accordingly." Just the place for you, Felton! We performed some madnesses there in the way of forfeits, picnics, rustic games, inspections of ancient monasteries at midnight, when the moon was shining, that would have gone to your heart, and, as Mr. Weller says, come out on the other side." Write soon, my 66 dear Felton; and if I write to you less often than I would, believe that my affectionate heart is with you always. Love and regards to all friends, from yours ever and ever, very faithfully yours. Thackeray describes his Parisian adventures to Mrs. Brookfield I WENT to see my old haunts when I came to Paris 13 years ago, and made believe to be a painter, just after I was ruined and before I fell in love and took to marriage and writing. It was a very jolly time, I was as poor as Job and sketched away most abominably, but pretty contented; and we used to meet in each other's little rooms and talk about art and smoke pipes and drink bad brandy and water— That awful habit still remains, but where is art, that dear mistress whom I loved, though in a very indolent, capricious manner, but with a real The Venus of Milo sincerity? I see her far, very far off. I jilted her, I know it very well; but you see it was Fate ordained that marriage should never take place; and forced me to take on with another lady, two other ladies, three other ladies; I mean the three and my wife, etc., etc. Well, you are very good to listen to all this egotistic prattle, chère Sœur, si douce et si bonne. I have no reason to be ashamed of my loves, seeing that all three are quite lawful. Did you go to see my people yesterday? Some day when his reverence is away, will you have the children? And not, if you please, be so vain as to fancy that you can't amuse them or that they will be bored in your home. They must and shall be fond of you, if you please. Alfred's open mouth as he looked at the broken bottle and spilt wine must have been a grand picture of agony. I couldn't find the lecture room at the Institute, so I went to the Louvre instead, and took a feast with the statues and pictures. The Venus de Milo is the grandest figure of figures. The wave of the lines of the figure, whenever seen, fills my senses with pleasure. What is it which so charms, satisfies one, in certain lines? O! the man who achieved that statue was a beautiful Genius. I have been sitting thinking of it these 10 minutes in a delighted sensuous rumination. The colours of the Titian pictures comfort one's eyes similarly; and after these feasts, which wouldn't please my lady very much, I daresay, being, I should think, too earthly for you, I went and looked at a picture I usedn't to care much for in old days, an angel saluting a Virgin and Child by Pietro Cortona, sweet smiling angel with a lily in her hands, looking so tender and gentle I wished that instant to make a copy of it, and do it beautifully, which I can't, and present it to somebody on Lady-day. There now, just fancy it is a done, and presented in a neat compliment, and hung up in your room-a pretty piece — dainty and devotional? — I drove about with and wondered at her more and more. She is come to "my dearest William " now: though she doesn't care a fig for me. She told me astonishing things, showed me a letter in which every word was true, and which was a fib from beginning to end; flattered, fondled and coaxed-O! she of Deception; was worth coming to Paris for! a Miracle Pray God keep us simple. I have never looked at anything in my life which has so amazed me. is as good almost as if I had you to talk to. out and have another walk. Why, this Horace Walpole describes Madame du Deffand Y (To George Montagu, Esq.) PARIS, September 7, 1769 My dear old friend [Madame du Deffand] was charmed with your mention of her, and made me vow to return you a thousand compliments. She cannot conceive why you will not step hither feeling in herself no difference between the spirits of twenty-three and seventy-three, she thinks there is no impediment to doing whatever one will, but the want of eyesight. If she had that I am persuaded no consideration would prevent her making me a visit at Strawberry Hill. She makes songs sings them, remembers all that ever were made; and, having lived from the most agreeable to the most reasoning age, has all that was amiable in the last, all that is sensible in this, without the vanity of the former, or the pedant impertinence of the latter. I have Madame du Deffand heard her dispute with all sorts of people, on all sorts of subjects, and never knew her in the wrong. She humbles the learned, sets right their disciples, and finds conversation for everybody. Affectionate as Madame de Sévigné, she has none of her prejudices, but a more universal taste; and, with the most delicate frame, her spirits hurry her through a life of fatigue that would kill me, if I was to continue here. If we return by one in the morning from suppers in the country, she proposes driving to the Boulevard, or to the Foire St. Ovide, because it is too early to go to bed. I had great difficulty last night to persuade her, though she was not well, not to sit up till between two and three for the Comet; for which purpose she had appointed an astronomer to bring his telescopes to the President Henault's, as she thought it would amuse me. In short, her goodness to me is so excessive, that I feel unashamed at producing my withered person in a round of diversions, which I have quitted at home. I tell a story: I do feel ashamed, and sigh to be in my quiet castle and cottage; but it costs me many a pang, when I reflect that I shall probably never have resolution enough to take another journey to see this best and sincerest of friends, who loves me as much as my mother did! but it is idle to look forward—what is next year? a bubble that may burst for her or me, before even the flying year can hurry to the end of its almanack! To form plans and projects in such a precarious life as this, resembles the enchanted castles of fairy legends, in which every gate was guarded by giants, dragons, etc. Death or diseases bar every portal through which we mean to pass; and, though we may escape them and reach the last chamber, what a wild adventurer is he that centres his hopes at the end of such an avenue! I sit contented with the beggars at the threshold, and never pro Diverting the Angels pose going on, but as the gates open of themselves. The weather here is quite sultry, and I am sorry to say, one can send to the corner of the street and buy better peaches than all our expense in kitchen gardens produces. Lord and Lady Dacre are a few doors from me, having started from Tunbridge more suddenly than I did from Strawberry Hill, but on a more unpleasant motive. My lord was persuaded to come and try a new physician. His faith is greater than mine! but, poor man! can one wonder that he is willing to believe? My lady has stood her shock, and I do not doubt will get over it. Adieu, my t'other dear old friend! I am sorry to say, I see you almost as seldom as I do Madame du Deffand. However it is comfortable to reflect that we have not changed to each other for some five-and-thirty years, and neither you nor I haggle about naming so ancient a term. I made a visit yesterday to the Abbess of Panthemont, General Ogelthorpe's niece, and no chicken. I inquired after her mother, Madame de Mezieres, and thought I might, to a spiritual votary to immortality, venture to say that her mother must be very old; she interrupted me tartly, and said, no, her mother had been married extremely young. Do but think of it seeming important to a saint to sink a wrinkle of her own through an iron grate! Oh! we are ridiculous animals; and if angels have any fun in them, how we must divert them. Charles Lamb sends news to China Mary sends her love. EAR MANNING, DEAR in lodgings. I am now in chambers, No. 4, Inner Temple Lane, where I should be happy to see you any |