We are not adamant, said I, taking hold of her hand——and there is need of all restraints, till age in her own time steals in and lays them on us—but, my dear lady, said I, kissing her hand—’tis too,—too soon——

I declare I had the credit all over Paris of unperverting Madame de V^***——She affirmed to Mons. D^*** and Abbe M^***, that in one half hour I had said more for revealed religion, than all their Encyclopedia had said against it——I was listed directly into Madame de V^***’s Coterie—and she put off the epocha of deism for two years.

I remember it was in this Coterie, in the middle of a discourse, in which I was shewing the necessity of a first cause, that the young Count de Faineant took me by the hand to the furthest corner of the room, to tell me my solitaire was pinn’d too strait about my neck——It should be plus badinant, said the Count, looking down upon his own—but a word, Mons. Yorick, to the wise—

—And from the wise, Mons. le Count, replied I, making him a bow—is enough.

The Count de Faineant embraced me with more ardour than ever I was embraced by mortal man.

For three weeks together, I was of every man’s opinion I met——Pardi! ce Mons. Yorick a autant d’esprit que nous autres——Il raisonne bien, said another——C’est un bon enfant, said a third——And at this price I could have eaten and drank and been merry all the days of my life at Paris; but ’twas a dishonest reckoning—I grew ashamed of it—It was the gain of a slave—every sentiment of honour revolted against it—the higher I got, the more was I forced upon my beggarly system—the better the Coterie—the mere children of Art—I languish’d for those of Nature; and one night after a most vile prostitution of myself to half a dozen different people, I grew sick—went to bed—order’d La Fleur to get me horses in the morning to set out for Italy.