he individuals of each circle are thus in the habit of being
continually in each other's society; consequently the etiquette and
formality, so _genant_ among acquaintances who seldom meet, are
banished.

To preserve the charm of these unceremonious _reunions_, strangers are
seldom admitted to them, but are invited to the balls, dinners, or
large parties, where they see French people _en grande lenue_, both in
dress and manner, instead of penetrating into the more agreeable
parties to which I have referred, where the graceful _neglige_ of a
_demi-toilette_ prevails, and the lively _causerie_ of the _habitues de
la maison_ supersedes the constraint of ceremony.

Such a society is precisely the sort of one that literary men would, I
should suppose, like to mingle in, to unbend their minds from graver
studies, and yet not pass their time unprofitably; for in it, politics,
literature, and the fine arts, generally furnish the topics of
conversation: from which, however, the warmth of discussion, which too
frequently renders politics a prohibited subject, is excluded, or the
pedantry that sometimes spoils literary _causerie_ is banished.

French people, male and female, talk well; give their opinions with
readiness and vivacity; often striking out ideas as original as they
are brilliant; highly suggestive to more profound thinkers, but which
they dispense with as much prodigality as a spendthrift throws away his
small coin, conscious of having more at his disposal. Quick of
perception, they jump, rather than march, to a conclusion, at which an
Englishman or a German would arrive leisurely, enabled to tell all the
particulars of the route, but which the Frenchman would know little of
from having arrived by some shorter road. This quickness of perception
exempts them from the necessity of devoting much of the time and study
which the English or Germans employ in forming opinions, but it also
precludes their being able to reason as justly or as gravely on those
they form.

Walked in the gardens of the Tuileries to-day. What a contrast their
frequenters offer to those of the Luxembourg! In the Tuileries, the
promenaders look as if they only walked there to display their tasteful
dresses and pretty persons.

The women eye each other as they pass, and can tell at a glance whether
their respective _chapeaux_ have come from the _atelier_ of Herbault,
or the less _recherce magasin de modes_ of some more humble _modiste_.
How rapi