beau, would suppose they were preparing for a dance, and that the new comer was a musician.  For my part I always find it an oeconomy of strength (when the locality makes it practicable) to take possession of a window, and continue standing in readiness until the hour of visiting is over, and calm is established by the arrangement of the card tables.—­The revolution has not annihilated the difference of rank; though it has effected the abolition of titles; and I counsel all who have remains of the gout or inflexible joints, not to frequent the houses of ladies whose husbands have been ennobled only by their offices, of those whose genealogies are modern, or of the collaterals of ancient families, whose claims are so far removed as to be doubtful.  The society of all these is very exigent, and to be avoided by the infirm or indolent.

I send you with this a little collection of airs which I think you will find very agreeable.  The French music has not, perhaps, all the reputation it is entitled to.  Rousseau has declared it to be nothing but doleful psalmodies; Gray calls a French concert “Une tintamarre de diable:”  and the prejudices inspired by these great names are not easily obliterated.  We submit our judgement to theirs, even when our taste is refractory.—­The French composers seem to excel in marches, in lively airs that abound in striking passages calculated for the popular taste, and yet more particularly in those simple melodies they call romances:  they are often in a very charming and singular style, without being either so delicate or affecting as the Italian.  They have an expression of plaintive tenderness, which makes one tranquil rather than melancholy; and which, though it be more soothing than interesting, is very delightful.—­Yours, &c.

Amiens, 1793.

I have been to-day to take a last view of the convents:  they are now advertised for sale, and will probably soon be demolished.  You know my opinion is not, on the whole, favourable to these institutions, and that I thought the decree which extinguishes them, but which secured to the religious already profest the undisturbed possession of their habitations during life, was both politic and humane.  Yet I could not see the present state of these buildings without pain—­they are now inhabited by volunteers, who are passing a novitiate of intemperance and idleness, previous to their reception in the army; and those who recollect the peace and order that once reigned within the walls of a monastery, cannot but be stricken with the contrast.  I felt both for the expelled and present possessors, and, perhaps, gave a mental preference to the superstition which founded such establishments, over the persecution that destroys them.