Mr. Hutton wrote to me about a certain Count Brennar, a German or Hungarian--talents, youth, fortune--assuring me that this transcendental Count had a great desire to be acquainted with us. I fell to work with Madame Cuvier, with whom I knew he was acquainted, and he met us at breakfast at Cuvier's; and I asked Prony if M. and Madame de Vindé would allow me to ask the Count to come here; and so yesterday Prony came to dinner, and the Count at dessert, and he ate cold cutlets and good salad, and all was right; and whenever any of our family go to Vienna, he gave me and mine, or yours, a most pressing invitation thither--which will never be any trouble to him. I have corrected before breakfast here all of the second volume of _Rosamond_, [Footnote: The sequel, or last part of _Rosamund._] which accompanies this letter. We have coffee brought to us in our rooms about eight o'clock, and the family assemble at breakfast in the dining-room about ten: this breakfast has consisted of mackerel stewed in oil; cutlets; eggs, boiled and poached, _au jus_; peas stewed; lettuce stewed, and rolled up like sausages; radishes; salad; stewed prunes; preserved gooseberries; chocolate biscuits; apricot biscuits--that is to say, a kind of flat tartlet, sweetmeat between paste; finishing with coffee. There are sugar-tongs in this house, which I have seen nowhere else except at Madame Gautier's. Salt-spoons never to be seen, so do not be surprised at seeing me take salt and sugar in the natural way when I come back. Carriages come round about twelve, and we drive about seeing places in the neighbourhood--afterwards go to our own rooms or to the _salon_, or play billiards or chess. Dinner is at half-past five; no luncheon and no dressing for dinner. I will describe one dinner--Bouilli de boeuf--large piece in the middle, and all the other dishes round it--rôtie de mouton--ris de veau piqué--maquereaux--pâtes de cervelle--salad. 2nd service; œufs aux jus--petits pois--lettuce stewed--gâteaux de confitures--prunes. Dessert; gâteaux, cerises, confiture d'abricot et de groseille. Hands are washed at the side-table; coffee is in the saloon: men and women all gathering round the table as of yore. But I should observe, that a great change has taken place; the men huddle together now in France as they used to do in England, talking politics with their backs to the women in a corner, or even in the middle of the room, without minding them in the least, and the ladies complain and look very disconsolate, and many ask, "If this be Paris?" and others scream _ultra_ nonsense or _liberal_ nonsense, to make themselves of consequence and to attract the attention of the gentlemen.