of steps to the top. . . . . Then we went to the Cabinet of Natural History. Such birds, beasts, and fishes! If imitation be the most graceful of flatteries, this building is a delicate attention to Noah's ark. It contains a specimen of every thing on earth, in sea, or air. . . . . The person whom I think the most interesting is a Monsieur Fontaney, a young poet of about four-and-twenty, or less. . . . . He answers very well to my idea of a French genius—pale, dark, sombre, and with a sort of enthusiasm of which we have no idea in England. . . . . He joined our party at the theatre, or, rather, came into the next box. His conversation is very intellectual, and very spirited—or let me use the French word, 'spirituel.' The opera was the Temptation of Saint Anthony, which said temptation is the being made love to by a very beautiful woman, created by his Satanic Majesty for that very worthy purpose. Miranda (Mdlle. Duvernay) danced like an angel, if angels dance, which, I take it, is rather a debateable point. Going to the theatre made me very melancholy, I kept thinking so much of the Victoria! Talk of French vivacity! I don't know in what it consists. All that I have met are peculiarly quiet. Oh, the number of pretty things that there are in the shops! One could spend a fortune in a week. I shall come back with all sorts of new ideas. You, however, must be contented with some old ones."
To the same friend she describes her impressions on the perusal of Victor Hugo's "Lucretia Borgia," which she had been recommended to read.
"What a terrible pleasure I owe you; that 'Lucretia Borgia' has struck me deeply! What
