_Paris, December 3, 1801_.
In this season, when the blasts of November have entirely stripped
the trees of their few remaining leaves, and Winter has assumed his
hoary reign, the garden of the _Tuileries_, loses much of the gaiety
of its attractions. Besides, to frequent that walk, at present, is
like visiting daily one of our theatres, you meet the same faces so
often, that the scene soon becomes monotonous. As well for the sake
of variety as exercise, I therefore now and then direct my steps
along the