on declared it to be insufferably dull, when another, who had
published some novel, observed, with rather a supercilious air, "You
know not how difficult it is to write a good book!"

"I suppose it must be very difficult," was the answer, "seeing how long
and how often you have attempted, without succeeding."

How these letters of commendations of bad books, extorted from those to
whom the authors present them, will rise up in judgment against the
writers, when they are "gone to that bourne whence no traveller
returns!" I tremble to think of it! What severe animadversions on the
bad taste, or the want of candour of the writers, and all because they
were too good-natured to give pain to the authors!

Went to the Theatre Italien last night, and saw Malibran in _la
Cenerentola_, in which her acting was no less admirable than her
singing. She sang "Non piu Mesta" better than I ever heard it before,
and astonished as well as delighted the audience. She has a soul and
spirit in her style that carries away her hearers, as no other singer
does, and excites an enthusiasm seldom, if ever, equalled. Malibran
seems to be as little mistress of her own emotions when singing, as
those are whom her thrilling voice melts into softness, or wakes into
passion. Every tone is pregnant with feeling, and every glance and
attitude instinct with truthful emotion.

A custom prevails in France, which is not practised in Italy, or in
England, namely, _les lettres de faire part_, sent to announce deaths,
marriages, and births, to the circle of acquaintances of the parties.
This formality is never omitted, and these printed letters are sent out
to all on the visiting lists, except relations, or very intimate
friends, to whom autograph letters are addressed.

Another custom also prevails, which is that of sending _bonbons_ to the
friends and acquaintance of the _accouchee_. These sweet proofs
_d'amitie_ come pouring in frequently, and I confess I do not dislike
the usage.

The godfather always sends the _bonbons_ and a trinket to the mother of
the child, and also presents the godmother with a _corbeille_, in which
are some dozens of gloves, two or three handsome fans, embroidered
purses, a smelling-bottle, and a _vinaigrette_; and she offers him, _en
revanche_, a cane, buttons, or a pin--in short, some present. The
_corbeilles_ given to godmothers are often very expensive, being suited
to the rank of the parties; so that in Paris the compliment