Sunday...—This Morning writing. At Noon set off for Malmaison. Walk before Dinner in the Garden alone and enjoy it much as by this Means I can dream of my own Country and converse with my absent Friends. My Mind, I know not why, has for three Days past been below its usual Tone. This Circumstance renders Solitude more agreable and Contemplation more sweet. After Dinner Madame takes some of us in her Whisky and we have a mighty pleasant Ride in one of the Royal Parks. Descend at the Top of the Montagne to view a Pavillon from whence there is a fine Prospect, and from thence another Gentleman returns with me about half a Mile or a Mile to the House. Take Tea and return to Town. A very pleasant Day. I am in Health and yet there is more of Melancholy than Gaiety about me.