MY DEAR Vermont,

EVER since my return from America, where I spent so many happy days in your society, I have meditated a journey to Paris-to that Paris which you made me anxious to see, by the enthusiastic terms in which you used to speak of it. After having been prevented again and again, by a variety of circumstances, from carrying this favourite project into execution, I at last availed myself of the opportunity of being at Brighton, from which place packets sail daily for the coast of Franceand embarking on board one of these vessels on Friday last, arrived here yesterday evening. As one of my principal inducements for coming hither was the hope of renewing our former habits of intimacy, and, under your auspices, of seeing the Gallic capital to the greatest possible advantage, I need scarcely say how great was my disappointment, when on going this morning to your hotel, I learnt from your old Swiss porter that you were absent, and gone to London: the latter piece of intelligence has increased my chagrin; for I am thus not only deprived of your expected aid in piloting my way through the unknown regions of the French metropolis, but also of the sincere pleasure with which I should have offered you mine, in exploring the wonders of London.

On receiving these unwelcome tidings, I was so surprised, and so distressed, that had I allowed myself to be governed by my first impressions, I should immediately have ordered post-horses, and should have now been on my road back to England; in order, if I may be permitted to use a French phrase, de vous faire les honneurs de mon pays.

Having, however, allowed myself a few moments for reflection, (with out which you know we sober English seldom take any decided step,) I begin to think that this apparent

disappointment (which I have the vanity to believe you will regret no less than myself,) may eventually prove favourable to the attainment of the objects which we have mutually in view. No doubt, in visiting London, it is your wish, as it is mine in coming hither, to examine every thing with impartiality and fairness

had you met me in England, or I met you in France, would this have been possible? The stranger respecting the judgment of his resident friend, would have been implicitly governed by his opinions-admiring what he admired, and censuring what he censured-he would have lost all the pleasure of first impressions, and would have seen none of the objects of curiosity presented to his attention with unprejudiced eyes. Left to ourselves we shall, doubtless, be both guilty of a thousand ridicu lous mistakes; and, with the precipitancy so common to all travellers, we shall alike praise and condemn improperly-still, let us determine to communicate to each other our

respective remarks and observations with the utmost candour; and the errors of each may be subsequently corrected by the maturer knowledge of his correspondent. In losing my "fidus achates," I shall, therefore, make a merit of necessity, and learn to depend on myself. Hoping that in your letters to me you will speak of England with no less freedom than I shall use towards you in talking of France, I shall throw aside all ceremony, and tell you honestly and freely what I think.

Having been only four days in France, and but four and twenty hours at Paris, you will not expect in this first epistle that I should have much to say. Yet, perhaps, you will receive, with a smile of good humour, the crude reflections of an inexperienced foreigner, the novelty of whose situation may plead his excuse for innumerable faults.

In landing at Dieppe, I experi

enced (never having been before on the Continent of Europe) all that surprise which prior tourists have described, and, indeed, after an expeditious voyage of a few hours, I found such a change of scene in all around me, that I seemed much more in a new world, than when, after traversing the Atlantic, I set foot in America. There, the objects which presented themselves, were all similar to those which I had left behind. The countenances of the people, their dress, their manners, and their language were all the same. Here every thing seemed metamorphosed. The darker complexions and more marked features of the crowds who thronged the shore, the large cocked hats and fierce looks of the military, the high head-dresses, and other peculiarities of the Norman costume, which the female peasantry displayed, and the unaccustomed sounds of French and Patois, which assaulted my ears, presented altogether a picture so different from that which I had taken leave of a few hours before at Brighton, that I had some difficulty in persuading myself, that what I saw and heard was real, and not the phantom of a dream.

When I had sufficiently recovered my astonishment to observe them, I found myself surrounded with the importunate, but civil emissaries of numerous inns; each of whom insisted, as he forced a card into my hand, that the house which he recommended was incomparably the best. The one to which, by the ad vice of a fellow passenger, I allowed myself to be conducted at Dieppe, as well as most of those at which I stopped on the road, afforded much better accommodations than I had been led to expect; but you must pårdon me for observing, that I remarked in all of them, an incongruity of the most extraordinary kind. The walls of the rooms were generally painted with Arabesq figures, or otherwise ornamentedbut the floors, rarely carpeted, were often tiled, and commonly far from clean. Every where we found magnificent looking glasses, marble chimney pieces, and or-moulu clocks of great value and beauty; while the doors would not shut, and the windows displayed many a broken pane

the beds were excellent, and the

linen delicately white, but the furniture, of silk or satin, was often ragged, and sometimes dirty; and a mahogany dining-table seemed an unknown luxury.

I had an early specimen of the manners of your people, exhibited in those of a short boy, about fourteen years of age, who waited on me at dinner, on the day of my landing. He displayed no trifling marks of their volubility, vivacity, and officious politeness, which are supposed to be inherent in Frenchmen, in every class of society, and at every period of life.

But though no creature could be possibly more civil, and he might well be called rempli de grace, -I was surprised at certain improprieties in his behaviour, of which the aukwardest clown in our island would be ashamed. When I asked him for drink, he took a small tumbler from the table (exactly such a one as we use in our dressing-rooms in England,) and throwing some water which it contained under the cinders of the fire, wiped the glass with a dirty napkin, which he carried under his arm, and then filled it with wine.

This seemed to me no very decorous mode of executing my commands; but my surprise increased, when, at the conclusion of the dinner, the same graceful youth, after removing the cloth, threw the crumbs of bread, parings of apples, orange peel, and other relics of the meal which it contained, under the table, at which I sat, without attempting to sweep them away, or to offer any apology for what he had done.

In the course of conversation (for this pigmy waiter had chatted away during the whole of his services, and let me into all his secrets,) he had informed me, that he was very partial to the English, and was going very soon to Brighton, in order to learn our language, and to study our manners. I therefore took the liberty of hinting, that among other improvements which probably he would derive from his visit to Great Britain, I hoped he would discover, that (at least according to our prejudices,) it was not very delicate to empty a glass in the fire-place, or to throw a cloth full of crumbs under the table. He stared, thanked me; and, seeming to be

quite unconscious of having been guilty of the least impropriety, observed, as he shrugged up his shoulders, and walked out of the room, "Que tout pays a ses usages."

In respect to the appearance of the country, I had heard much of the beauty of Normandy, and was not disappointed: it fully answered. my expectations, particularly as we drove along the smiling banks of the Seine. The scenery is, indeed, delightful, and wants nothing to complete the landscape but some of those elegant villas, thatched cottages, and romantic villages, which are so common on the English side of the Channel. The specimens of Gothic architecture which the buildings of Rouen, and other towns which I traversed on my way to Paris, so profusely offer to the attention of the antiquary, I did not stop critically to examine, but what I saw both pleased and surprised me, and, perhaps, on some future occasion, I may be tempted to come hither again, purposely to study these interesting edifices.

On the road, I made it my practice to dine at the Tables d'Hote, both for the sake of society, and in order to have an opportunity of seeing the manners of the people who frequent them. At one of those dinners, finding that politics were the order of the day, I determined to take no share in the conversation, but to listen in silent attention.

One of the company, however, seemed resolved not to let me off so easily. From his dress, I concluded that he was an Abbé, and, from his mode of arguing, that he belonged to that party, which bears, in this country, the name of Ultra-Royalist. -Having made some observations, which, by his looks, he seemed to expect that I should approve, but to which I neither expressed assent nor dissent, Mais parlez donc, Monsieur L'Anglois," exclaimed he, "et dites nous n'est il pas vrai que vous commencez d'eprouver dans votre pays les tristes effets de principes revolutionaires que l'insurrection est orginazeé á Londres, l'anneé séduite, et un gouvernement provisionné formé chez le Lord Mayor."

Such seemed to be the current report of the day, and when I met this enquiry with a positive negative, I found the only point, upon which

the company seemed disposed to agree, was to disbelieve my evidence; and, in spite of the repeated assurances which I gave them, that I had left London perfectly quiet only two days before, my declarations produced no effect on these ardent politicians; and though they were too well bred to tell me I lied, I read in their countenances that such was their opinion.

In the course of the same conversation, I was informed (and many an Englishman has before heard the same news in France,) that Bonaparte's return from Elba was a British manœuvre; that L'affaire meurtrierede de Mont St. Jean (as the battle of Waterloo was called,) was not a victory gained, but a fortunate escape on our part, on which occasion we owed our escape to the accidental arrival of the Prussians; and that the victor at Toulouse was not the Duke of Wellington, but Marshal Soult.

I have no doubt that you will find English quid-nuncs making very egregious errors in their estimate of the present state of France; but I apprehend you will scarcely meet with an instance of mis-statements, as gross as those which I have just related, yet those who were guilty of them belonged to rather a higher class of society, consisting (besides ladies) of two Ecclesiastics, several military men, and three returned emigrants, on whose button-hole dangled the cross of St. Louis.

Of Paris, I have as yet only seen the principal features, and I am so bewildered with gazing at the various splendid objects which claim my attention, that I shall reserve my observations till another time.

For the present, then, adieu. I enclose some letters, which, I hope, will procure you an entrée into some of our most distinguished circles, in which you may study the English character en beau. As to John Bull in his rough garb, he is so very easily known, that I shall leave him, with all his faults and merits, to the unbiassed examination of your penetrating eye.

Believe me,

Ever yours,
C. DARNLEY.