[S]wallowed my dinner, and flew to the theatre. Here they play French and Dutch alternately; and, luckily for me, French to-night, so that I could judge better of the acting. Here was a comedy of which I forget the name, and have not time to look for the bill; but, in a word, their comic acting is better than ours, though inferior to that of Paris; and, on the other hand, in serious strains they are superior to the French and inferior to the English. Theatre small, tolerably neat; two good pillars on each side of the stage; house badly lit up with eight pairs of poor oil lamps, suspended in a circle from a plain white ceiling. Three tiers of seats; pit very respectable, and when the act scene dropped, the whole of the people from thence adjourned to walk the streets and groves of trees, having each received a card to return, with merely the word ‘sortie’ printed on it. Orchestra pretty good and strong. People very well-behaved during the performance, no whistling or blackguard cries from the gallery like England, but all quiet and attentive like Paris.