Before I conclude my account of the audience, I ought to mention, that it may be well called a _court_; for it is attended not only with all the requisites of show, parade, form, and etiquette, but likewise by that flattery and cringing attention, which it was once the exclusive privilege of royalty to receive. I saw the proudest nobles of foreign courts, decorated with all the trappings of chivalry, humbly bending the body, and anxiously courting the smile of that individual, whom, a few years, nay, a few months before, they would have branded with the names of rebel, jacobin, and usurper; but the creed of courtiers is to change with “existing circumstances,” and those, whose intrigues against Bonaparte were the most active, are now his most obsequious sycophants. But a truce to remarks which lead to politics. The english who were presented immediately after the peace, were asked to dinner; but owing to the greatness, I imagine, of our number, this favour was not yesterday shown to us. I regret much having missed the entertainment, as I am told it was strikingly magnificent. I went in the evening to see a _spectacle_, infinitely more interesting, according to french ideas, though certainly not so according to mine. I mean, the first appearance, this season, of Vestris, and mademoiselle Chameroi. This was at Paris a matter of great importance, and boxes were engaged for weeks before hand. Mrs. ⸺ was fortunate enough to procure one; and I therefore saw the performance (Hecubé, and “le _Ballet_ de Paris,”) to great advantage. Vestris has certainly lost none of his merit, and deserves, as well as ever, that celebrity which has long been his; but I could not help being disgusted at the thunder of applause which greeted his appearance. It is impossible, indeed, to carry further the _sublime_ art of dancing; but how contemptible is it to lavish the praises of a great nation on the exertions of mere bodily skill! If, as Dr. Johnson well observes, “the garlands due to the great benefactors of mankind should not be suffered to fade upon the brow of those who can boast only petty services and easy virtues,” much less should they ornament the head of him, whose utmost claims on the gratitude of the public are the flexibility of his body, or the grace of his steps. Mademoiselle Chameroi, the _élève_ and favourite of Vestris, danced delightfully, and almost shared the popularity of her protector. Bonaparte was present, and sat, for the first time, in his state or open box. He was welcomed with warm and universal plaudits; but I blush to add, that they were not greater than those which the “quick-footed” Vestris had already received. Is it possible that the parisians reward, with the same honours, the services of their great statesmen, and the exertions of their favourite dancers?