the last three days I have scarcely been off the sofa. The fatigue and the heat are equally overpowering. I feel so unequal to the exertion of hearing and seeing. Yesterday I was going to a little party at Lady Kingsmill's, but I was too unwell. I cannot tell you half the kindness and civility which I have received. Of all the persons I have met, or rather who have called upon me—for there is no meeting any body now, all the soirées being over—I have been the most struck with M. Heine; his conversation is most original and amusing. Next to him, I like Monsieur Sainte Beuve, he is very French, very animated, and, to use the national expression, très-spirituelle. Monsieur Merimée, whom I met at Mr. Bulwer's, wrote me first a most polite note, asking permission to claim my acquaintance, and then called to offer his services, and made himself so agreeable. Certainly the conversation here is very delightful, far more intellectual, and with a great deal more thought in it than English talking in general. M. Odillon Barrot has been our chief cicerone, he is what we should call a remarkably quiet and gentleman-like person,—rather English than French. Another, who has shown us the very greatest civilité, is M. Beulot, rédacteur de 'Revue de deux Mondes,' a work that has the greatest reputation here. He has given us a box for the opera next Wednesday. Excepting the morning that M. Odillon Barrot took us to Notre Dame and Le Jardin des Plantes, I have scarcely been out of the house. Poor Miss Turin is still in the doctor's hands, and of course it is impossible for me to go out by myself, or accept the attendance of any gentleman alone, so that I am surrounded with all sorts of little difficulties and embarrassments. I never again would think of going anywhere with only a lady; one might almost as well stay at home. I had no idea till now how useful you gentlemen are—I might say,
