cant, informs me, that
by a vessel arrived at Carthagena from Algiers, they learn the death of
the Dey of that republic. Yet, as we hear nothing of it through any
other channel, it may be doubted. It escaped me at the time of my
departure to Aix, to make arrangements for sending you the gazettes
regularly, by the packets. The whole are now sent, though a great part
of them are so old as to be not worth perusal. Your favor of April the
24th has been duly received. I have the honor to be, with sentiments of
the most perfect esteem and respect, Sir, your most obedient, and most
humble servant.

TO MADAME DE CORNY.

PARIS, June 30, 1787.

On my return to Paris, it was among my first intentions to go to the
rue Chussee d'Antin, No. 17, and inquire after my friends whom I had
left there. I was told they were in England. And how do you like
England, Madam? I know your taste for the works of art gives you a
little disposition to Anglomania. Their mechanics certainly exceed all
others in some lines. But be just to your own nation. They have not
patience, it is true, to set rubbing a piece of steel from morning till
night, as a lethargic Englishman will do, full charged with porter. But
do not their benevolence, their cheerfulness, their amiability, when
compared with the growling temper and manners of the people among whom
you are, compensate their want of patience? I am in hopes that when the
splendor of their shops, which is all that is worth looking at in
London, shall have lost their charm of novelty, you will turn a wistful
eye to the people of Paris, and find that you cannot be so happy with
any others. The Bois de Boulogne invites you earnestly to come and
survey its beautiful verdure, to retire to its umbrage from the heats
of the season. I was through it to-day, as I am every day. Every tree
charged me with this invitation to you. Passing by la Muette, it wished
for you as a mistress. You want a country house. This is for sale; and
in the Bois de Boulogne, which I have always insisted to be most worthy
of your preference. Come then, and buy it. If I had had confidence in
your speedy return, I should have embarrassed you in earnest with my
little daughter. But an impatience to have her with me, after her
separation from her friends, added to a respect for your ease, has
induced me to send a servant for her.

I tell you no news, because you have correspondents infinitely more _au
fait_ of the details of Paris