Lady Ailesbury and I agree exactly, and she and I certainly consider only you.  I do not answer her last, because I could not help telling you how very kindly I take your letter.  All I beg is, that you would have no delicacy about my serving you any way.  You know it is a pleasure to me:  any body else may have views that would embarrass you; and, therefore, till you are on the spot, and can judge for yourself (which I always insist on, because you are cooler than I, and because, though I have no interests to serve, I have passions, which equally mislead one,) it will be wiser to decline all kind of proposals and offers.  You will avoid the plague of contested elections and solicitations:  and I see no reasons, at present, that can tempt you to be in a hurry.(138)

You must not expect to be Madame du Deffand’s first favourite.  Lady Ailesbury has made such a progress there, that you will not easily supplant her.  I have received volumes in her praise.(139) You have a better chance with Madame de Cambis, who is very agreeable; and I hope you are not such an English husband as not to conform to the manners of Paris while you are there.

I forgot to mention one or two of my favourite objects to Lady Ailesbury, nay, I am not sure she will taste one of them, the church of the C`elestines. it is crowded with beautiful old tombs; one of Francis ii. whose beatitude is presumed from his being husband of the martyr Mary Stuart. — Another is of the first wife of John Duke of Bedford, the Regent Of France.  I think you was once there with me formerly.  The other is Richelieu’s tomb, at the Sorbonne—­but that every body is carried to see.  The H`otel de Carnavalet,(140) near the Place Royale, is worth looking at, even for the fa`cade, as you drive by.  But of all earthly things the most worth seeing is the house at Versailles, where the King’s pictures, not hung up, are kept.  There is a treasure past belief, though in sad order. and piled one against another.  Monsieur de Guerchy once carried me thither; and you may certainly get leave.  At the Luxembourg are some hung up, and one particularly is worth going to see alone:  it is the Deluge by Nicolo Poussin, as winter.  The three other seasons are good for nothing:  but the Deluge is the first picture in the world of its kind.  You will be shocked to see the glorious pictures at the Palais Royal transplanted to new canvasses, and new painted and varnished, as if they were to be scenes at the Opera-at least, they had treated half-a-dozen of the best so, three years ago, and were going on.  The Prince of Monaco has a few fine, but still worse used; one of them shines more than a looking glass.  I fear the exposition of pictures is over for this year; it is generally very diverting.(141) I, who went into every church of Paris, can assure you there are few worth it, but the Invalids-except the scenery at St. Roch, about one or two o’clock at noon, when the sun shines; the Carmelites, for