er the first, and
still from Havre.

"I received your letter, my dear friend, when I was on board a ship, and
read it on deck. We laughed amazingly at your epigrammatic witticisms;
your reputation is already established here. You are known as a man of
genius; so you may judge if they listened to your letter. M. Grimod,
from the first, has been the trumpeter of your talents and wit; and the
best of the joke is, that on the strength of his descriptions of you,
they insist on believing that I am a person of infinite cleverness as
well. I am delighted to hear such good accounts of your health. I was
anxious to hear how you were. M. Grimod insists that I travel merely for
curiosity, and not for the sake of health; and this moment, let me tell
you in a parenthesis, he interrupts me to say he is sure I am writing my
best, I look so pleased in writing to you. To-morrow we are going to
breakfast in a ship, where the captain gives us a collation of all fine
things, among others chocolate; then we prepare to go to Rouen where we
shall stop two or three days to see the lions. We do nothing but go out,
change the scene, dress ourselves, and pack up our trunks. It is a
delightful life; we have scarcely time to breathe. But in spite of that,
I am grown very fat. I eat like four, and can't do without oysters. I
wished to bring you some present from this part of the country, but
there is nothing remarkable except the fish. Adieu, my dear friend! I
shall be delighted in relating all my experiences when we meet. I hope
some day you will visit these beautiful scenes, or others as beautiful;
and that the house-dove will take its flight to see all the beauties of
nature, which he knows so well how to paint. You will see that there is
no danger, and that I shall come back to you without any accident to my
wings."

Now, be it known that the last sentence is an allusion to an incident in
Lebrun's poem, _De la Nature_, of which some specimens had been
published before this time, but which the grief brought on him by his
wife's behaviour prevented his finishing--a great loss, says the
disinterested author, to the world, for it was a transcendant work! In
the month of April of the same year, the house-dove also took its
flight. The Sieur Lebrun took a journey to Marseilles, and the tender
solicitudes of his wife accompanied him.

After a few of her usual enquiries about his health, and recommendations
to enjoy himself as much as he could among