indow of one of those artists in hair, who address the friends of
deceased persons. To-morrow week a fete is coming off at the Jardin
d'Hiver, next door but one here, which I must certainly go to. The fete
of the company of the Folies Nouvelles! The ladies of the company are to
keep stalls, and are to sell to Messieurs the Amateurs orange-water and
lemonade. Paul le Grand is to promenade among the company, dressed as
Pierrot. Kalm, the big-faced comic singer, is to do the like, dressed as
a Russian Cossack. The entertainments are to conclude with "La Polka des
Betes feroces, par la Troupe entiere des Folies Nouvelles." I wish,
without invasion of the rights of British subjects, or risk of war, ----
could be seized by French troops, brought over, and made to assist.

The _appartement_ has not grown any bigger since you last had the joy of
beholding me, and upon my honour and word I live in terror of asking
---- to dinner, lest she should not be able to get in at the dining-room
door. I _think_ (am not sure) the dining-room would hold her, if she
could be once passed in, but I don't see my way to that. Nevertheless,
we manage our own family dinners very snugly there, and have good ones,
as I think you will say, every day at half-past five.

I have a notion that we may knock out a _series_ of descriptions for H.
W. without much trouble. It is very difficult to get into the
Catacombs, but my name is so well known here that I think I may succeed.
I find that the guillotine can be got set up in private, like Punch's
show. What do you think of _that_ for an article? I find myself
underlining words constantly. It is not my nature. It is mere imbecility
after the four hours' sitting.

All unite in kindest remembrances to you, your mother and brother.

Ever cordially.

[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

49, CHAMPS ELYSEES, PARIS, _Jan. 28th, 1856._

MY DEAR MARY,

I am afraid you will think me an abandoned ruffian for not having
acknowledged your more than handsome warm-hearted letter before now.
But, as usual, I have been so occupied, and so glad to get up from my
desk and wallow in the mud (at present about six feet deep here), that
pleasure correspondence is just the last thing in the world I have had
leisure to take to. Business correspondence with all sorts and
conditions of men and women, O my Mary! is one of the dragons I am
perpetually fi