"We had a voulez vous of fowl, and some sailor's eels, which were very nice, and some pieces of crape, so disguised by the sauce that nobody who had not been told what it was would have distinguished them from pancakes--after the sailor's eels we had some pantaloon cutlets, which were savoury--but I did not like the writing paper--however, as it was a French custom, I eat every bit of it--they call sparrow-grass here asperge, I could not find out why. "If I had not seen what wonderful men the French cooks are, who actually stew up shoes with partridges, and make very nice dishes too, I never could have believed the influence they have in the politics of the country--everything is now decided by the cooks, who make no secret of their feelings, and the party who are still for Buonaparte call themselves traitors, while those who are partizans of the Bonbons are termed Restaurateurs, or friends of the Restoration. "After dinner a French monsheur, who I thought was a waiter, for he had a bit of red ribbon at his button-hole, just the same as one of the waiters had, began to talk to Mr. Fulmer, and it was agreed we should go to the play--they talked of Racing and Cornhill, which made me think the mounsheur had been in England--however, it was arranged that we were to go and see Andrew Mackay at the Francay, or Jem Narse, or the Bullvards; but at last it was decided unanimously, crim. con. that we should go to see Jem Narse, and so we went--but I never saw the man himself after all. "A very droll person, with long legs and a queer face, sung a song which pleased me very much, because I understood the end of it perfectly--it was 'tal de lal de lal de lal,' and sounded quite like English--after he had done, although every body laughed, the whole house called out 'beast, beast,' and the man, notwithstanding, was foolish enough to sing it over again." VI. ADVENTURES AT PARIS. TO MR. BULL. Paris, January 28, 1824. SIR,--As my daughter Lavy, who acts as my amaranthus, is ill-disposed with a cold and guittar, contracted by visiting the Hecatombs last week, I send this without her little billy which she usually sends; my second daughter has sprained her tender hercules in crossing one of the roues, and my third daughter has got a military fever, which, however, I hope, by putting her through a regiment, and giving her a few subterfuges, will soon abate. I am, however, a good deal _embracée_, as the French say, with so many invalids. Since I wrote last, I have visited the Hullaballoo, or cornmarket, so called from the noise made in it; Mr. Fulmer told me I should see the flower of the French nation there, but I only saw a crowd of old men and old women; here is a pillow made for judicious astronomy, but which looks like a sun-dial.