air and earth look joyous. My
feelings become more buoyant, my step more elastic, and all that I love
seem dearer than before. I remember that even in childhood I was
peculiarly sensible to atmospheric influence, and I find that as I grow
old this susceptibility does not diminish.

We dined at the Rocher de Cancale yesterday; and Counts Septeuil and
Valeski composed our party. The Rocher de Cancale is the Greenwich of
Paris; the oysters and various other kinds of fish served up _con
gusto_, attracting people to it, as the white bait draw visitors to
Greenwich. Our dinner was excellent, and our party very agreeable.

A _diner de restaurant_ is pleasant from its novelty. The guests seem
less ceremonious and more gay; the absence of the elegance that marks
the dinner-table appointments in a _maison bien montee_, gives a
homeliness and heartiness to the repast; and even the attendance of two
or three ill-dressed _garcons_ hurrying about, instead of half-a-dozen
sedate servants in rich liveries, marshalled by a solemn-looking
_maitre-d'hotel_ and groom of the chambers, gives a zest to the dinner
often wanted in more luxurious feasts.

The Bois de Boulogne yesterday presented one of the gayest sights
imaginable as we drove through it, for, being Sunday, all the
_bourgeoisie_ of Paris were promenading there, and in their holyday
dresses. And very pretty and becoming were the said dresses, from those
of the _femmes de negociants_, composed of rich and tasteful materials,
down to those of the humble _grisettes_, who, with jaunty air and
roguish eyes, walked briskly along, casting glances at every smart
toilette they encountered, more intent on examining the dresses than
the wearers.

A good taste in dress seems innate in Frenchwomen of every class, and a
confidence in their own attractions precludes the air of _mauvaise
honte_ and _gaucherie_ so continually observable in the women of other
countries, while it is so distinct from boldness that it never offends.
It was pretty to see the gay dresses of varied colours fluttering
beneath the delicate green foliage, like rich flowers agitated by a
more than usually brisk summer's wind, while the foliage and the
dresses are still in their pristine purity.

The _beau monde_ occupied the drive in the centre, their vehicles of
every description attracting the admiration of the pedestrians, who
glanced from the well-appointed carriages, whose owners reclined
negligently back as if un