We went to the Odium, a favourite playhouse of Bonypart's, on purpose to see the Civil Barber, a play written by one Beau Marchy--but we were disappointed, for the house was not open, so by way of a pease-alley, as Mr. Fulmer calls it, we went to the Fait d'Eau, a kind of French uproar, where we paid very dear for tickets, and got no places after all. I was quite sick and tired of the affair altogether, and if Mr. Fulmer had not got me a caffé au lait to carry me home, I think I should have perspired from fatigue. I had almost forgot to tell you that we went to the palace at Marselles, distant from this about ten miles--it is indeed a beautiful place. There we saw the great Owes playing, which is water-works, and represents water coming out of the tails of Lions, and out of the ears and noses of frogs and goddesses, as natural as the life. Here is a wonderful fine chapel, all of marvel, and a strait canal which has no end--I forget how much it cost the nation to make all this water, but I am sure it is cheap at the money whatever it may be--though by the name it seems to be still owing. Mr. Fulmer called such an expense an easy mode of liquidating a national debt--but really I don't know why. I have little time for more at present, because two of the doctors from the Sore-bone are coming to see my daughter's sprained ancle to-night; but it is curious to remark how foolish the people are, when one has not a gentleman with one, for Mr. Fulmer being out to-day, I sent to the Traitors for the bill of fare, and the man talked of sending the dinner in a cart, which I thought was useless, it being only just over the way. So they sent the bill, and I not being particular, and not understanding the names of the things, ordered the first four dishes in the list, and they sent me four different sorts of soup, and when I complained of the cook, the garkon or waiter talked of quizzing and quizzing her, (doubtlessly meaning me) as if I had been a person of no consequence--indeed he once or twice went so far as to swear at me, and say dam when he spoke to me, but I had nobody at home to take my part, and therefore I eat the four soups and said nothing about it. The daughter of Mr. Ratschild is going to be married--they call him Creases, but he is a Jew. He gives her a dot the day of her wedding, of five millions of franks; but for all he is so rich, they say he is quite circumsized in his affairs compared with his brother in London--his daughter will be made a barrenness when she is married. Mr. Cambray Serres is more--which here means no more. I suppose, by his name, that he is related to our royal family at home.