at her house, and on which she had endeavoured to establish a conversazzioni, such as she had mingled in at Florence: but at Paris literary taste was not yet established on her throne; and though this species of attic entertainment was at first pursued with avidity, from the attraction of its novelty, its elegant foundress soon felt it was impossible to preserve it from those innovations which the want of a unity in taste and sentiment of its mem-bers continued to make.

All those who had not been invited to Fontainbleau crowded on this evening to the hotel de St. Dorval to meet those who had. Among the numerous assembly was d'Aubigné, de Servin, de Mempsel, de Nicholas, de Sancy, Colin the poet, and several others whose talents endowed them with the immunity of an universal welcome.

Amidst this bright pleiades of wit, Imogen herself shone not with an inferior light; and was sportively flinging round her random beams, when the chevalier de Sorville

and the duke de 'Beauvilliers entered the

apartment.

Imogen endeavoured, and with some success, to conceal the pleasure, the surprise, the emotion, which this unexpected visit inspired she pressed the chevalier's hand with more than usual warmth, and endeavoured to veil beneath the obvious pleasure with which she received him, the secret delight which throbbed her heart at the presence of his friend. Confused and agitated, in spite of every effort at composure and reserve, she received the compliments of her illustrious guest with an air hurried, though constrained; and felt relieved when the crowd gathered round him to enquire why he had not been at Fontainbleau. The gaieties of the court there, the pleasures of the chace, with all the fashionable politics of the day, then became the topic of general conversation: all who had been there triumphed in their enjoyments, and all who had not regretted their disappointment.

"Why were you not among us, de Sor"ville?" said the marquis, addressing the chevalier; "your loss was irreparable: for

there was a nameless enchantment in

"the pleasures of Fontainbleau that might "have warmed the cold heart of misan"thropy itself.

"Or transmigrated the spirit of an Al"cibiades into the cynical soul of a Diogenes," said de Pervin, bowing low, and pointedly to de Sorville.

"Did you feel that it produced that ef"fect?" retorted the chevalier drily.

"Nay," said de Servin," though I had "not the happiness to be there, I can give "credit to the metamorphosing powers of "the air of Fontainbleau; for I am told "that several of our beauties sent in their "resignation to the court of Paphos, and "enlisted in the vestal train of Diana.'

"And the Journal d'Etoile tells us," said de Mempsel, "that each particular "nymph had her Endymion."

"While the presiding deity herself," said

de Sancy, bowing to Imogen, "treated the 66 many who panted to become her Endy❝mions with the rigorous fate of Acteon."

"And like Acteon," said d'Aubigné, laughing," they have been torn to pieces

by dogs; for the satirical editors of the "Journal d'Etoile have been most barba❝rously severe on you all.

"If the rigorous strictures of our satirerists were to be made the standard of the

morality of the age," said the chevalier, "the present would be esteemed the most "virtuous in the annals of time; but, as

more of the gall of individual rancour, ❝or the ostentation of wit, is displayed in "their bitter ephemera of the hour, than "sound reproof or pointed admonition, "they do but sharpen the point of private "animosity, without effecting any public "benefit."

"My dear chevalier," said de Servin, are like a child who vents his rage you "on the rod which has inflicted his wound;

for I should almost be tempted to be

"lieve that these haughty satyrists had "handled you a little roughly."

"No," said the chevalier coolly, "I "have neither rank, talents, nor virtues, to"render the exposition of my failings an

object of temptation to them; had I pos"sessed them, my soreness on that point "would not now be a matter of doubt to you, monsieur de Servin."

"De Servin," said Imogen, gaily, and eager to interrupt the keen retort which shone in the eye of her protégé, "have "you nothing pleasant for me this even"ing? do not let me forget myself into "mortality;—I thought my expedition to "Fontainbleau would have roused all the witchcraft of your lyre!"

"Alas!" said de Servin, " my lyre, like "that of Anacreon, was repulsive to its master's touch; and, when I would have sung your triumphs, returned only ele gies of woe for your loss."

"Then pray let us have your elegiac

"strains come, we will adjourn to the