We are in Paris at last. We are well, and have managed to be shut up in the chaise for days all-together and yet preserve all of our original mutual regard and most of our good humour. Travel is become second-nature, and it seems very strange not to be jolting along, choaking on dust, and shouting over the noise of the chaise. We have survived not only the rigours of the sea-sickness, and the highway-men of Abbeville, but—what is more deserving of our collective gratitude—to see our safe delivery from the dirt and infestations of the post-houses of northern France. We were in agreement that they could not get by many degrees worse, before we must necessarily resort to the expedient of taking alternate turns sleeping with our own linens within the chaise. Fortunately, our hôtel in Paris is quite clean, and we are very agreeably situated.

The Parisians have been, as they are reputed, very polite and courteous—more than that—they are universally urbane and well-spoken, even the lowest orders. I think you would be very amused by the attraction they evince for looking-glasses; their houses seem to be built of little other material than mirrors. I have noticed that the French encryoable is a completely different animal from our own English dandy: the first is an insolent, affected, fawning cox-comb, who believes it his vocation to charm every example of the fair sex upon the most insubstantial of pretenses; the second is an heartless, disdainful, conceited specimen, whose business of life is studied indifference and disapprobation of everything and everyone else. Whilst I cannot help laughing at the studied affectations of the Frenchmen, with their low bows and other obsequies, on the whole, I believe that I prefer them to the English variety: it is much more pleasant to be admired, than to admire an object incapable of any return.

The Parisian ladies are very voluble in company, and seem not at all reticent to put their ideas forward in company. They converse in society very willingly, and capably join in the discourse, even on more learned subjects. English ladies are usually content to be imagined intelligent through the simple expedient of remaining silent for fear of being thought forward or unfeminine. Here, the ladies assume their share of intelligence without scruple or hesitation, unafraid of possessing both wit and vivacity, and are not thought masculine for their temerity. The English insistence on feminine reserve and passivity produces, as one might expect, half of the pleasure as when both sexes are allowed to opine and dispute. Might I add that even the most embonpoint of ladies appear here trop décolleté; I wonder how they contrive to dance or even move about without losing their gowns! Georgiana made up for our excesses in the way of the bodice by going about sans fioritures: head, gown, or husband.