I know the French in general will not like to see this dirty charge, brought even against an aubergiste, and much less to hear it said, that this disregard to cleanliness is almost general in the public inns; but truth justifies it, and I hope the publication may amend it.

A modern French anonymous traveller, who I conclude by the company he kept in England, is a man of fashion, gives in general a just account of the English nation, their customs and manners; and acknowledges, in handsome terms, the manner he was received by some of the first families in England. He owns, however, he does not understand English, yet he has the temerity to say, that Gulliver's travels are the chef d'oeuvre of Dean Swift; but observes, that those travels are greatly improved by passing through the hands of Desfontaines.—This gentleman must excuse me in saying, that Desfontaines neither understood English, nor Dean Swift, better than he does. He also concludes his first volume, by observing, that what a French Ambassador to England said of that nation, in the year 1523, constitutes their character at this day! 'Alas! poor England! thou be'st so closely situated, and in such daily conversation with the polite and polished nation of France, thou hast gained nothing of their ease, breeding, and compliments, in the space of two hundred and fifty years!'—What this gentleman alludes to, is the Ambassador's letter to the Conetable Montmorency, previous to the meeting of Henry the Eighth and Francis the First, near Ardres; for, (says the Ambassador) sur-tout je vous prie, que vous ostiez de la Cour, ceux qui unt la reputation d'etre joyeux & gaudisseur, car c'est bien en ce monde, la chose la plus haie de cette nation. And in a few lines after, he foists in an extract from a Scotchman, one Barclay, who, in his Examen of Nations, says, Jenenc connoit point de plus aimable creature, qui un Francois chez qui l'enjoument est tempore par le judgment, & par discretion; to all which I subscribe: but such men are seldom to be met with in any kingdom.

This gentleman says, the most remarkable, or rather the only act of gaiety he met with in London, was an harangue made for an hour in the House of Lords, previous to the trial of Lord Byron; and that, as he afterwards understood, it was made by a drunken member of parliament. He says it made him and every body laugh exceedingly; but he laughed only (I presume) because every body else did, and relates the story, I fear, merely to make it a national laugh; for the harangue was certainly very ill placed, and the mirth it produced, very indecent, at a time a Peer of the realm was to be brought forth, accused of murder; and the untimely death of a valuable and virtuous young man, revived in every body's memory.

This is the unfavourable side of what the gentleman says of the first people in England. Of the peasants and lower order, he observes, that, though they are well fed, well cloathed, and well lodged, yet they are all of a melancholy turn.—The French have no idea of what we call dry humour; and this gentleman, perhaps, thought the English clown melancholy, while he was laughing in his sleeve at the foppery of his laquais.

These observations put me in mind of another modern traveller, a man of sense and letters too, who observes, that the ballustrades at Westminster bridge are fixed very close together, to prevent the English getting through to drown themselves: and of a Gentleman at Cambridge, who, having cut a large pigeon-hole under his closet door, on being asked the use of it, said, he had it cut for an old cat which had kittens, to go in and out; but added, that he must send for the carpenter, to cut little holes for the young ones. His acute visitor instantly set up a horse laugh, and asked him whether the little cats could not come out at the same hole the big one did? The other laughing in his turn, said, he did not think of that.

Though I have spoken with freedom of this French traveller's remarks, yet I must own that, in general, he writes and thinks liberally, and speaks highly of the English nation, and very gratefully of many individuals to whom he was known; and, I dare say, a Frenchman will find many more mistakes of mine, which I shall be happy to see pointed out, or rectified: but were I to pick out the particular objects of laughter, pity, and contempt, which have fallen in my way, in twice crossing this great continent, I could make a second Joe Miller of one, and a Jane Shore of the other. If this traveller could have understood the Beggars' Opera, the humour of Sam. Foote, or the pleasantry among English sailors, watermen, and the lower order of the people, he would have known, that, though the English nation have not so much vivacity as the French, they are behind-hand with no nation whatever, where true wit and genuine humour are to be displayed. What would he have said, could he have seen and entered into the spirit of the procession of the miserable Scalds, or Mr. Garrick in Scrub; Shuter, Woodward, Mrs. Clive, or even our little Edwin at Bath? Had he seen any of these things, he must have laughed with the multitude, as he did in the House of Lords, though he had not understood it, and must have seen how inimitably the talents of these men were formed, to excite so much mirth and delight, even to a heavy unpolished English audience.



LETTER XLVII.

From St. George to Macon is five leagues. Nothing on earth can be more beautiful than the face of this country, far and near. The road lies over a vast and fertile plain, not far distant from the banks of the Soane on one side, and adorned with mountains equally fertile, and beautiful, on the other. It is very singular, that all the cows of this part of the country are white, or of a light dun colour, and the dress of all the Maconoise peasants as different from any other province in France, as that of the Turkish habit; I mean the women's dress, for I perceived no difference among the men, but that they are greater clowns, than any other French peasants. The women wear a broad bone lace ruff about their necks, and a narrow edging of the same sort round their caps, which are in the form of the charity girls' caps in England; but as they must not bind them on with any kind of ribband, they look rather laid upon their heads, than dressed upon them; their gowns are of a very coarse light brown woollen cloth, made extremely short-waisted, and full of high and thick plaits over the hips, the sleeves are rather large, and turned up with some gaudy coloured silk; upon the shoulders are sewed several pieces of worsted livery lace, which seem to go quite under their arms, in the same manner as is sometimes put to children to strengthen their leading-strings; upon the whole, however, the dress is becoming, and the very long petticoat and full plaits, have a graceful appearance.

At Lyons I saw a Macinoise girl of fashion, or fortune, in this dress; her lace was fine, her gown silk, and her shoulder-straps of silver; and, as her head had much more of the bon gout than the bon ton, I thought her the most inviting object I had seen in that city, my delicate landlady at Nismes always excepted. I think France cannot produce such another woman for beauty as Madame Seigny.

I bought a large quantity of the Macon lace, at about eight-pence English a yard, which, at a little distance, cannot easily be distinguished from fine old pointe.

Between St. George and Macon, at a time we wanted our breakfast, we came to a spot where two high roads cross each other, and found there a little cabbin, not unlike the Iron House, as to whim, but this was built, sides, top, and bottom, with sawed boards; and as a little bit of a board hung out at the door informed us they sold wine, I went in, and asked the mistress permission to boil my tea-kettle, and to be permitted to eat our breakfast in her pretty cabbin? The woman was knitting; she laid down her work, rose up, and with the ease and address of a woman of the first fashion, said we did her honour, that her house, such as it was, and every thing in it, were at our service; she then sent a girl to a farmer's hard by, for milk, and to a village a quarter of a league distant, for hot bread; and while we breakfasted, her conversation and good breeding made up a principal part of the repas; she had my horse too brought to the back part of her cabbin, where he was well fed from a portable manger. I bought of her two bottles of white wine, not much inferior to, and much wholesomer than, Champaigne, and she charged me for the whole, milk, bread, fire, conversation, and wine, thirty six sols, about seventeen pence English! Though this gentlewoman, for so I must call her, and so I believe she is, lived in such a small hut, she seemed to be in good circumstances, and had liqueurs, tea, and a great variety of bons choses to sell. This was the only public house, (if it maybe called by that name,) during my whole journey out and in, where I found perfect civility; not that the publicans in general have not civility in their possession, but they will not, either from pride or design, produce it, particularly to strangers. My wooden-house landlady indeed, was a prodigy; and it must be confessed, that no woman of the lower order in England, nor even of the middling class, have any share of that ease and urbanity which is so common among the lower order of the people of this kingdom: but the woman I now speak of, had not, you will perceive, the least design even upon my purse; I made no previous agreement with her for my good fare, and she scorned to take any advantage of my confidence; and I shewed my sense of it, by giving her little maid eight times more than she ever received for such services before—an English shilling.

Let not this single, and singular woman, however, induce you to trust to the confidence of a French aubergiste especially a female; you may as well trust to the conscience of an itinerant Jew. Frenchmen are so aware of this, that have heard a traveller, on a maigre day, make his bargain for his aumlet and the number of eggs to be put in it, with an exactness scarce to be imagined; and yet the upshot was only two pence English.

The easy manner in which a French officer, or gentleman, can traverse this mighty kingdom, either for pleasure or business, is extremely agreeable, and worthy of imitation among young British officers.—In England, if an Ensign of foot is going a journey, he must have two horses, and a groom, though he has nothing but a regimental suit of cloaths, and half a dozen shirts to carry; his horses too must set both ends well because he is a Captain upon the road! and he travels at about five times the expence of his pay.

The French officer buys a little biddet, puts his shirts and best regimental coat into a little portmanteau, buckles that behind his saddle, and with his sword by his side, and his croix at his button-hole, travels at the expence of about three shillings a day, and often less, through a kingdom where every order of people shew him attention, and give him precedence.

I blush, when I recollect that I have rode the risque of being wet to the skin because I would not disgrace my saddle, nor load my back with a great coat; for I have formerly, as well as latterly, travelled without a servant.

I have a letter now before me, which I received a few days ago from a French Captain of foot, who says, sur le champ j'ay fait seller ma petite Rossinante (car vous scavez que j'ay achete un petit cheval de 90 livres selle et bride) et me voila a Epernay chez Monsieur Lechet, &c. This gentleman's whole pay does not amount to more than sixty pounds a year, yet he has always five guineas in his pocket, and every convenience, and some luxuries about him; he assists now and then an extravagant brother, appears always well dressed; and last year I bought him a ticket in the British lottery: he did not consider that he employed an unfortunate man to buy it, and I forgot to remind him of it.

After saying thus much of a virtuous young man (though a Frenchman) there will be no harm in telling you his name is Lalieu, a Captain in the regiment du Maine.—Before I took my last leave of him, talking together of the horrors of war, I asked him what he would do if he were to see me vis-a-vis in an hostile manner? He embraced me, and said, "turn the but end of my fusee towards you, my friend." I thank God that neither his but-end, nor my muzzle can ever meet in that manner, and I shall be happy to meet him in any other.

P.S. I omitted to say, that the Maconoise female peasants wear black hats, in the form of the English straw or chip hats; and when they are tied on, under the chin, it gives them with the addition of their round-eared laced cap, a decent, modest appearance which puts out of countenance all the borrowed plumage, dead hair, black wool, lead, grease, and yellow powder, which is now in motion between Edinburgh and Paris.

It is a pity that pretty women, at least, do not know, that the simplicity of a Quaker's head-dress, is superior to all that art can contrive: and those who remember the elegant Miss Fide, a woman of that persuasion, will subscribe to the truth of my assertion. And it is still a greater pity, that plain women do not know, that the more they adorn and artify their heads, the more conspicuous they make their natural defects.



LETTER XLVIII.

At Challons sur la Soane, (for there is another town of the same name in Champaigne) I had the honor of a visit from Mons. le Baron Shortall, a gentleman of an ancient family, rather in distress at this time, by being kept out of six and thirty thousand a year, his legal property in Ireland; but as the Baron made his visit ala-mode de capuchin Friar, without knocking, and when only the female part of my family were in the apartment, he was dismissed rather abruptly for a man of his high rank and great fortune in expectation. This dismission, however, did not dismay him; he rallied again, with the reinforcement of Madame la Baroness, daughter, as he positively affirmed, of Mons. le Prince de Monaco; but as I had forbad his being shewn up, he desired me to come down, a summons curiosity induced me to obey. Never, surely, were two people of fashion in a more pitiable plight! he was in a russet brown black suit of cloaths; Madame la Baroness in much the same colour, wrapt up in a tattered black silk capuchin; and I knew not which to admire most, their folly or their impudence; for surely never did an adventurer set out with less capabilities about him; his whole story was so flagrant a fib, that in spite of the very respectable certificates of My Lord Mayor, John Wilkes, and Mr. Alderman Bull, I was obliged to tell him plainly, that I did not believe him to be a gentleman, nor his wife to be a relation of the Prince of Monaco. All this he took in good part, and then assured me they were both very hungry, and without meat or money; I therefore ordered a dinner at twenty sols a head; and, as I sat by while they eat it, I had reason to believe that he told me one plain truth, for in truth they eat as if they had never eaten before. After dinner the Baron did me the honour to consult with me how he should get down to Lyons? I recommended to him to proceed by water; but, said he, my dear Sir, I have no money;—an evil I did not chuse to redress; and, after several unsuccessful attempts at my purse, and some at my person,—he whispered me that even six livres would be acceptable; but I held out, and got off, by proposing that the Baroness should write a letter to the Prince her father, to whom I had the honour to be known, and that I would carry him the letter, and enforce their prayer, by making it my own. This measure she instantly complied with, and addressed her father adorable Prince; but concluded it with a name which could not belong to her either as maid, wife, or widow. I remarked this to the Baron, who acknowledged at once the mistake, said she had signed a false name, and she should write it over again; but when I observed to him that, as the Prince knew the handwriting of his own dear child, and as the name of women is often varying by marriage, or miscarriage, it was all one: to this he agreed; and I brought off the letter, and my purse too, for forty sols; yet there was so much falshood, folly, and simplicity in this simple pair of adventurers, that I sorely repented I did not give them their passage in the coche d'eau to Lyons; for he could not speak a word of French, nor Madame la Baroness a word of English; and the only insignia of distinction between them, was, a vast clumsy brass-hilted sword which the Baron, instead of wearing at his side, held up at his nose, like a Physician's gold-headed cane.—When I took my leave of this Sir James Shortall, (for he owned at last he was only a Baronet) he promised to meet me next time dressed in his blue and silver.

I verily believe my Irish adventurer at Perpignan, is a gentleman, and therefore I relieved him; I am thoroughly persuaded my Challons adventurer is not, yet perhaps he was a real object of charity, and his true tale would have produced him better success than his borrowed story. Sir James was about sixty, Lady Shortall about fifty.—Sir James too had a pretty large property in America, and would have visited his estates on that continent, had I not informed him of the present unhappy differences now subsisting between that and the mother country, of which he had not heard a single syllable.

After having said thus much, I think I must treat you with a copy of Lady Shortall's letter, a name very applicable to their unhappy situation, for they did indeed seem short of every thing;—so here it is, verbatim et literatim:

"Monsieur Thickness gentilhomme anglaise

"Adorable preince de monaco que tout mordonne deme, lise au de fus de cette lette le non deun digne homme qui me randu ser visse, je suis malade, le convan; serois preferable a mon bouneur je veux sepandant sauve non marij mais je me meure tre seve mon derinier soupire, je ne le doit qua vous.

"JULIE BARONNE DE CHATTERRE. le 18 May 1776."

"A sont altess ele preince de Monaco, dans sont hautelle rue de Vareinne a Paris."



LETTER XLIX.

From Challons to Bonne, is five leagues. Bonne is a good town, well walled-in, pleasantly situated, and remarkable for an excellent and well-conducted Hospital, where the poor sick are received gratis, without distinction, and where the rich sick are accommodated with nurses, physicians, medicines, food, and lodging, with every assistance that can be wanted, for four livres a day. The apartments in which the poor are received, are so perfectly clean and sweet, that they are fit for people of any condition; but those provided for the better sort, are indeed sumptuously furnished. The women who act as nurses, are of a religious order, and wear a particular, decent, and uniform habit, to which their modest deportment exactly coincides; yet most of them are young, and many of them very beautiful.

Between these two towns we met an English servant, in a rich laced livery, conducting, behind a post-chaise, a large quantity of baggage; and soon after, a second servant, in the same uniform; this excited our curiosity, and we impatiently proceeded, in hopes of meeting the equipage, which it was natural to expect would soon follow; instead of which, it was an old English four-wheel chaise, the contents of which were buckled close up behind a pair of dirty leather curtains; and on the coach-box sat, by the side of the driver, a man who had the appearance of an English farmer. This contrast rather increased than lessened our curiosity; and, therefore, at Bonne, I made some enquiry about them of the post-master; who told me they came in, and set off, separately, just as I had met them; but that one servant paid for the horses to all the carriages, and that the woman behind the curtain, according to custom, did not chuse to shew herself. Just as I was returning with this blind account, an English servant, who I had not perceived, but who stood near, told me, he was sure as how it was either the Duchess of Kingston or Mrs Rudd, for that he seed her very plain. I was much surprized at finding an Englishman so near me; and the singularity of the man's observation had a very forcible effect upon me. When the mirth which it unavoidably occasioned, was a little subsided, I could not help correcting, in gentle terms, (though I was otherwise glad to see even an English footman so far from English land) a man in his station for speaking of people of high rank with so much indecent levity, and then told him, that there was no such person living as the Duchess of Kingston, but that it was probable the Lady he thought he had seen might be Lady Bristol; that there was not however, the least resemblance between the person of her Ladyship and the other Lady he had mentioned, the latter being young, thin, and rather handsome; whereas Lady Bristol was very fat, and advanced in years; I therefore suspected, I told him, that he had confounded the trials of those two Ladies, and fancied he saw a likeness in their persons, by an association of ideas; but in reality, there was as much difference in their crimes as in their persons. Crimes! did I say? that is an improper expression, because I am informed Mrs. Rudd has been acquitted; but that, if the foreign papers might be relied on, Lady Bristol had been found guilty of BIGAMY: But as he seemed not to understand what I meant by Bigamy, or the association of ideas, I was unavoidably led into a conversation, and explanation, with this young man; which nothing but my pride, and his ignorance, could justify; but as the fellow was overjoyed to see me, I could not help giving him something to drink, and with it a caution never to speak of people of high rank and condition, even behind their backs, but under their proper names or titles, and with decency and respect: he then begged my pardon, and assured me, if he had known that either of the Ladies had been a friend of mine, he would not have coupled them so improperly together; and I am thoroughly convinced, the man left me with a resolution, never to hazard a conjecture without a better foundation than that he started to me, and which I rather believe he hit off extempore, to speak to me, and shew himself my countryman, than from really suspecting that the woman behind the curtain was either Lady Bristol, or Mrs. Rudd; though I was inclined to think it very probable, for I had seen Lord Bristol on his way through Lyons from Italy to England, and had been informed, Lady Bristol was then on her road to Italy; in which case, I, like the footman, had my conjectures, and accounted for the leather curtains being so closely buckled to.

These are trifling remarks, you will say; but if a sign-painter can paint only a bear, those who employ him must have a bear for their sign; nevertheless, we have all a certain curiosity to know even the most trifling actions, or movements of people, who by their virtues or vices, especially if they are people of rank or condition, have occasioned much talk in the world; and therefore, ridiculous as this incident is, yet as we have long known one of the Ladies, and often admired both, I could not let either one or the other pass me unnoticed, on a road too, where even an English Duchess (if she would own the truth) would feel a secret delight in meeting of a Hyde-park-corner groom.

I have already mentioned what partiality and degree of notice, countrymen take of each other when they meet far from home. That notice is always in proportion to the distance. Had my Bonne footman spoke of Lady Bristol, or Mrs. Rudd, in such free terms as how he seed 'em, &c. &c. at Hyde-park-corner, or in Tyburn-road, I should have knocked him down with the but end of my whip; but at Bonne (five hundred miles from either of those places) he and I were quatre cousins; and I could not help treating him with a bottle of vin de pais.



LETTER L.

From Bonne we intended to have taken the high road to Dijon; but being informed that there was another, though not much frequented, by way of Autun, and that that town, which was a Roman colony, still contained many curious monuments worthy of notice, we pursued the latter, which twisted in between a vast variety of small, but fertile valleys, watered with brooks, bounded by romantic hills, and some high mountains, most of which were covered with vines, which did produce the most delicious red wine in the world; I say did produce, for the high gout and flavour of the Burgundy grape has for many years failed, and perhaps so as never to return again. We, however, missed the road to Autun, and, after four leagues' journey through a most delightful country, we arrived at a miserable auberge in a dirty village called Yozy, which stands upon the margin of a large forest, in which, some years since, the diligence from Lyons to Paris was attacked by a banditti, and the whole party of travellers were murdered: ever since that fatal day, a guard of the Marechaussee always escort the diligence through this deep and dreadful forest, (so they called it), and we were persuaded it was right to take a couple of the Marechaussee, and did so; but as we found the forest by no means so long, deep, or dreadful, as it had been represented, we suspected that the advice given us, was more for the sake of the men who guarded us, than from any regard to us, two men could have made no great resistance against a banditti; and a single man would hardly have meddled with us.

The next day we passed thro' Arnay-le-Duc, a pretty country village, three leagues from Yozy, and it being their annual fair-day, we had an opportunity of seeing all the peasantry, dressed in their best, and much chearfulness, not only in the town, but upon the road before we arrived, and after we passed it. Amongst the rest of the company, were a bear and a monkey, or rather what Buffon calls the maggot. I desired the shew-man to permit my maggot, as he was the least, the youngest, and the stranger, to pay a visit to Mons. Maggot, the elder, who embraced the young gentleman in a manner which astonished and delighted every body, myself only excepted; but as my young gentleman seemed totally indifferent about the old one, I suspected he had really met his father, and I could not help moralizing a little.

From Arnay-le-Duc we passed through Maupas, Salou, Rouvray, Quisse la forge, and Vermanton to Auxerre, the town where the French nobleman was said to live, whom Dr. Smollett treated so very roughly, and who, in return, was so polite as to help to tie the Doctor's baggage behind his coach!

About a quarter of a mile without this town, stands a royal convent, richly endowed, and delightfully situated; the walls of which take in near twenty acres of land, well planted on the banks of a river; and here I left my two daughters, to perfect themselves in the French language, as there was not one person within the convent, nor that I could find, within the town, who could speak a word of English. And here I must not omit to tell you, how much I was overcome with the generosity of this virtuous, and I must add amiable, society of religieux. Upon my first inquiry about their price for board, lodging, washing, cloaths, and in short, every thing the children did, or might want, they required a sum much beyond the limits of my scanty income to give; but before we left them, they became acquainted with some circumstances, which induced them to express their concern that the price I had offered (not half what they had demanded) could not be taken. We therefore retired, and had almost fixed the children in a cheaper convent, but much inferior in all respects, within the town, when we received a polite letter from the Lady Abbess, to say, that after consulting with her sister-hood, they had come to a resolution to take the children at our own price, rather than not shew how much they wished to oblige us. Upon this occasion, we were all admitted within the walls of the convent; and I had the pleasure of seeing my two daughters joined to an elegant troop of about forty genteel children, and of leaving them under the care of the same number of religieux. And yet these good people knew nothing of us, but what we ourselves communicated to them, not being known, nor knowing any person in the town.—The Lady-Abbess of this convent is a woman of high rank, about twenty-four years of age, and possesses as large a share of beauty as any reasonable woman, even on the outside of a convent, could wish for.

Auxerre is a good town, pleasantly situated, and in a plentiful and cheap country.

From Auxerre to Ioigni is five leagues. The Petit bel Vue on the banks of the river is very pleasantly situated, but a dreadful one within side, in every respect, being a mixture of dirt, ignorance, and imposition; but it is the only inn for travellers, and therefore travellers should avoid it. In order to put my old hostess in good humour, I called early for a bottle of Champaigne; and in order to put me into a bad humour, she charged me the next day for two; but I charged her with Mons. Le Connetable, who behaved like a gentleman, though I think he was only a marchand de tonneau: but then he was a wine not beer cooper, who hooped the old Lady's barrel.

Where-ever I was ill-used or imposed upon, I always sent a pretty heavy packet by the post, after I had run down a hundred miles or two, by way of draw-back, upon my host, and recompence to the King's high road; for in France,

"Like the Quakers' by-way, 'Tis plain without turnpikes, so nothing to pay"

An old witch, who had half starved us at Montpellier, for want of provisions, when we went, and for want of fire to dry us, when we came back, left a piece of candle in my budget, which I did not omit to return by the post, well packed up, lest it should grease other packets of more importance, by riding an hundred leagues; besides this it was accompanied by a very civil letter of advice, under another cover.



LETTER LI.

The next town of any note is Sens, a large, ragged, ancient city; but adorned with a most noble Gothic cathedral, more magnificent than even that of Rheims, and well worthy of the notice of strangers; it is said to have been built by the English: With the relicks and custodiums of the host, are shewn the sacerdotal habits, in which Archbishop Becket (who resided there many years) said mass, for it was his head-quarters, when he left Britain, as well as Julius Caesar's before he went there. The silver hasps, and some of the ornaments of these garments, are still perfect, though it has undergone so many darnings, as to be little else.

Becket was a very tall man; for though it has many tucks in it, yet it is generally too long for the tallest priest in the town, who constantly says mass in it on St. Thomas's day.

How times and men are changed! This town, which resisted the arms of Caesar for a considerable time, was put in the utmost consternation by Dr. Smollett's causing his travelling blunderbuss to be only fired in the air, a circumstance "which greatly terrified all the petit monde!" It is very singular, that the Doctor should have frightened a French nobleman of Burgundy, by shaking his cane at him, and even made him assist in the most servile offices; and in the next town, terrify all the common people, by only firing a blunderbuss in the air!

I would not willingly arraign a dead man with telling two fibbs so close upon the back of each other; but I am sure there was but that single French nobleman, in this mighty kingdom, who would have submitted to such insults as the Doctor says he treated him with; nor any other town but Sens, where the firing of a gun would have so terrified the inhabitants; for, drums, guns, and noise of every sort, seem to afford the common French people infinite pleasure.

I spent in this town a day or two, and part of that time with a very agreeable Scotch family, of the name of Macdonald, where Lieutenant Colonel Stuart was then upon a visit.

I have some reason to think that Sens is a very cheap town. Several English, Scotch, and Irish families reside in it.

From Sens to Port sur Yonne is three leagues, and from Yonne to Foussart the same distance.

At the three Kings at Foussart, suspecting there was a cat behind the bed in wait for my bird, I found, instead thereof, a little narrow door, which was artfully hid, and which opened into another room; and as I am sure the man is a cheat, I suspect too, that upon a good occasion, he would have made some use of his little door.

Foussart is a small place, consisting only of three or four public houses. From thence to Morret, is three leagues, on which road is erected a noble pillar of oriental marble, in memory of the marriage of Lewis the XVth. Soon after we passed this monument, we entered into the delightful forest of Fontainbleau; and passing three leagues to the center of it, we arrived at that ancient royal palace: it stands very low, and is surrounded by a great many fine pieces of water, which, however, render the apartments very damp. The King and royal family had been there six weeks, and were gone but ten days, and with them, all the furniture of the palace was also gone, except glasses, and a few pictures, of no great value. In a long, gallery are placed, on each side of the wall, a great number of stags' heads, carved in wood, and upon them are fixed the horns of stags and bucks, killed by the late, and former Kings; some of which are very outre, others singularly large and beautiful.

Fontainbleau is a good town, stands adjacent to the palace; and as the gardens, park, &c. are always open, it is a delightful summer residence. We staid a few days there, to enjoy the shady walks, and to see the humours of a great annual fair, which commenced the day after we arrived. All sorts of things are sold at this fair; but the principal business is done in the wine way, many thousand pieces of the inferior Burgundy wine being brought to this market.

We made two little days' journey from Fontainbleau to Paris, a town I entered with concern, and shall leave with pleasure.—As I had formerly been of some service to Faucaut who keeps the Hotel d'York, when he lived in Rue de Mauvais Garcon I went to this famous Hotel, which would have been more in character, if he had given it the name of his former street, and called it, L'Hotel de Mauvais Garcon for it is an hospital of bugs and vermin: the fellow has got the second-hand beds of Madame Pompadour, upon his first floor, which he modestly asks thirty louis d'ors a month for! All the rest of the apartments are pigeon-holes, filled with fleas, bugs, and dirt; and should a fire happen, there is no way of escaping. Nothing should be more particularly attended to in Paris than the security from fire, where so many, and such a variety of strangers, and their servants, are shut up at night, within one Porte Cochere.



LETTER LII.

PARIS.

I found no greater alteration in Paris, after ten years' absence from it, than the prodigious difference of expence; most articles, I think, are one-third dearer, and many double; a horse is not half so well fed or lodged at Paris as at London; but the expence is nearly a guinea a week, and a stranger may drive half round the city before he can lodge himself and his horses under the same roof.[F]

[F] Paul Gilladeau who lately left the Silver Lion, at Calais, has, I am informed, opened a Livery Stable at Paris, upon the London plan, in partnership with Dessein, of the Hotel d'Angleterre at Calais: a convenience much wanted, and undertaken by a man very likely to succeed.

The beauties, the pleasures, and variety of amusements, which this city abounds with, are, without doubt, the magnets which attract so many people of rank and fortune of all nations to it; all which are too well known to be pointed out by me.—To a person of great fortune in the hey-day of life, Paris may be preferable even to London; but to one of my age and walk in life, it is, and was ten years ago, the least agreeable place I have seen in France.—Walking the streets is extremely dangerous, riding in them very expensive; and when those things which are worthy to be seen, (and much there is very worthy) have been seen, the city of Paris becomes a melancholy residence for a stranger, who neither plays at cards, dice, or deals in the principal manufacture of the city; i.e. ready-made love, a business which is carried on with great success, and with more decency, I think, that even in London. The English Ladies are weak enough to attach themselves to, and to love, one man. The gay part of the French women love none, but receive all, pour passer le tems.—The English, unlike the Parisian Ladies, take pains to discover who they love; the French women to dissemble with those they hate.

It is extremely difficult for even strangers of rank or fortune, to get among the first people, so as to be admitted to their suppers; and without that, it is impossible to have any idea of the luxury and stile in which they live: quantity, variety, and show, are more attended to in France, than neatness. It is in England alone, where tables are served with real and uniform elegance; but the appetite meets with more provocatives in France; and the French cuisine in that respect, certainly has the superiority.

Ten years ago I had the honour to be admitted often to the table of a Lady of the first rank. On St. Ann's-day, (that being her name-day) she received the visits of her friends, who all brought either a valuable present, a poesy, or a compliment in verse: when the dessert came upon the table, which was very magnificent, the middle plate seemed to be the finest and fairest fruit (peaches) and I was much surprized, that none of the Ladies, were helped by the gentlemen from that plate: but my surprize was soon turned into astonishment! for the peaches suddenly burst forth, and played up the Saint's name, (St. Ann) in artificial fire-works! and many pretty devices of the same kind, were whirled off, from behind the coaches of her visitors, to which they were fixed, as the company left the house, which had a pretty effect, and was no indelicate way of taking a French leave.

There is certainly among the French people of fashion an ease and good-breeding, which is very captivating, and not easily obtained, but by being bred up with them, from an early age; the whole body must be formed for it, as in dancing, while there is the pliability of youth; and where there is, as in France, a constant, early, and intimate correspondence between the two sexes. Men would be fierce and savage, were it not for the society of the other sex, as may be seen among the Turks and Moors, who must not visit their own wives, when other men's wives are with them. In France, the Lady's bed-chamber is always open, and she receives visits in bed, or up, with perfect ease. A noble Lord, late ambassador to this country, told me, that when he visited a young and beautiful woman of fashion, (I think too it was a first visit after marriage) she received him sitting up in her bed; and before he went, her fille de chambre brought his Lordship Madame le Comtesse's shift elegantly festooned, which his Lordship had the honour to put over the Lady's head, as she sat in bed!—nor was there, by that favour, the least indecency meant; it was a compliment intended; and, as such only, received. Marks of favour of that sort, are not marks of further favours from a French Lady.

In this vast city of amusements, among the other arts, I cannot help pointing out to your particular notice, Richlieu's monument in the Sorbonne, as an inimitable piece of modern sculpture[G] by Girardeau; and Madame la Valliere's full-length portrait by le Brun: She was, you know, mistress to Lewis the XIVth, but retired to the convent, in which the picture now is, and where she lived in repentance and sorrow above thirty years.[H]

[G] VOLTAIRE says, this monument is not sufficiently noticed by strangers.

[H] MADAME VALLIERE, during her retirement, being told of the death of one of her sons, replied, "I should rather grieve for his birth, than his death."

The connoisseurs surely can find no reasonable fault with the monumental artist; but they do, I think, with le Brun; the drapery, they say, is too full, and that she is overcharged with garments; but fulness of dress, adds not only dignity, but decency, to the person of a fine woman, who meant (or the painter for her) to hide, not to expose her charms.

If fulness be a fault, it is a fault that Gainsborough, Hoare, Pine, Reynolds, and many other of our modern geniuses are guilty of; and if it be sin, the best judges will acquit them for committing it, where dignity is to be considered.

Madame Valliere appears to have been scattering about her jewels, is tearing her hair, crying, and looking up to the heavens, which seem bursting forth a tempest over her head. The picture is well imagined, and finely executed.

I found upon the bulk of a portable shop in Paris, a most excellent engraving from this picture,[I] and which carried me directly to visit the original; it is indeed stained and dirty, but it is infinitely superior to a later engraving which now hangs up in all the print shops, and I suppose is from the first plate, which was done soon after the picture was finished. Under it are written the following ingenious, tho' I fear, rather impious lines:

Magdala dam gemmas, baccisque monile coruscum Projicit, ac formae detrahit arma suae: Dum vultum lacrymis et lumina turbat; amoris Mirare insidias! hac capit arte Deum.

[I] In the possession of Mr. GAINSBOROUGH.

Shall I attempt to unfold this writer's meaning? Yes, I will, that my friend at Oxford may laugh, and do it as it ought to be done.

I.

The pearls and gems, her beauty's arms, See sad VALLIERE foregoes; And now assumes far other charms Superior still to those.

II.

The tears that flow adown her cheek, Than gems are brighter things; For these an earthly Monarch seek, But those the KING of Kings.

This seems to have been the author's thought, if he thought chastely.—Shall I try again?

The pearls and gems her beauty's arms, See sad VALLIERE foregoes: Yet still those tears have other charms, Superior far to those: With those she gained an earthly Monarch's love: With these she wins the KING of Kings above.

Yet, after all, I do suspect, that the author meant more than even to sneer a little at poor Madam Valliere; but, as I dislike common-place poetry, (and poetry, as you see, dislikes me) I will endeavour to give you the literal meaning, according to my conception, and then you will see whether our joint wits jump together.

While MAGDALENE throws by her bracelets, adorned with gems and pearls, and (thus) disarms her beauty: while tears confound her countenance and eyes,

With wonder mark the stratagems of love, With this she captivates the GOD above.

The impious insinuation of the Latin lines, is the reason, I suppose, why they were omitted under the more modern impression of this fine print, and very middling French poetry superseding them.



LETTER LIII.

PARIS.

If you do not use Herreis' bills, I recommend to you at Paris, a French, rather than an English banker; I have found the former more profitable, and most convenient. I had, ten years since, a letter of credit on Sir John Lambert, for L300, from Mess. Hoares. The Knight thought proper, however, to refuse the payment of a twenty pound draft I gave upon him; though I had not drawn more than half my credit out of his hands. Mons. Mary, on whom I had a draft from the same respectable house, this year will not do such things; but on the contrary, be ready to serve and oblige strangers to the utmost of his power: he speaks and writes English very well, and will prove an agreeable and useful acquaintance to a stranger in Paris. His sister too, who lives with him, will be no less so to the female part of your family. His house is in Rue Saint Sauveur.

The English bankers pay in silver, and it is necessary to take a wheel-barrow with you to bring it away; a small bag will do at the French bankers'.

There is as much difference between the bankers of London and bankers in Paris, as between a rotten apple and a sound one. You can hardly get a word from a London banker, but you are sure of getting your money; in Paris, you will get words enough, and civil ones too. Remember, however, I am speaking only of the treatment I have experienced. There may be, and are, no doubt, English bankers at Paris of great worth, and respectable characters.

It is not reckoned very decent to frequent coffee-houses at Paris; but the politeness of Monsieur and Madame Felix, au caffe de Conti, opposite the Pont neuf, and the English news-papers, render their house a pleasant circumstance to me; and it is by much the best, and best situated, of any in Paris, au vois le monde.

I am astonished, that where such an infinite number of people live in so small a compass, (for Paris is by no means so large as London) that they should suffer the dead to be buried in the manner they do, or within the city. There are several burial pits in Paris, of a prodigious size and depth, in which the dead bodies are laid, side by side, without any earth being put over them till the ground tier is full; then, and not till then, a small layer of earth covers them, and another layer of dead comes on, till by layer upon layer, and dead upon dead, the hole is filled with a mass of human corruption, enough to breed a plague; these places are enclosed, it is true, within high walls; but nevertheless, the air cannot be improved by it; and the idea of such an assemblage of putrifying bodies, in one grave, so thinly covered, is very disagreeable. The burials in churches too, often prove fatal to the priests and people who attend; but every body, and every thing in Paris, is so much alive, that not a soul thinks about the dead.

I wish I had been born a Frenchman.—Frenchmen live as if they were never to die. Englishmen die all their lives; and yet as Lewis the XIVth said, "I don't think it is so difficult a matter to die, as men generally imagine, when they try in earnest."

I must tell you before I leave Paris, that I stept over to Marli, to see the Queen; I had seen the King nine years ago; but he was not then a King over eight millions of people, and the finest country under the sun; yet he does not seem to lay so much stress upon his mighty power as might be expected from so young a prince, but appears grave and thoughtful. I am told he attends much to business, and endeavours to make his subjects happy. His resolution to be inoculated, immediately after succeeding to such a kingdom, is a proof of his having a great share of fortitude. In England such a determination would have been looked upon with indifference; but in France, where the bulk of the people do not believe that it secures the patient from a second attack; where the clergy in general consider it unfavourable, even in a religious light; and where the physical people, for want of practice, do not understand the management of the distemper, so as it is known in England; I may venture to say, without being charged with flattery, that it was an heroic resolution: add to this, the King knowing, that if his subjects followed his example, it must be chiefly done by their own surgeons and physicians, he put himself under their management alone, though I think Sutton was then at Paris.

The Queen is a fine figure, handsome, and very sprightly, dresses in the present gout of head dress, and without a handkerchief, and thereby displays a most lovely neck.

I saw in a china shop at Paris, the figure of the King and Queen finely executed, and very like, in china: the King is playing on the harp, and the Queen dropping her work to listen to the harmony. The two figures, about a foot high, were placed in an elegant apartment, and the toute ensemble was the prettiest toy I ever beheld: the price thirty guineas.

I shall leave this town in a few days, and take the well-known and well-beaten route Anglois for Calais, thro' Chantilly, Amiens, and Boulogne, and then I shall have twice crossed this mighty kingdom.



LETTER LIV.

CALAIS.

I am now returned to the point from whence I sat out, and rather within the revolution of one year; which, upon the whole, though I met with many untoward circumstances, has been the most interesting and entertaining year of my whole life, and will afford me matter of reflection for the little which remains unfinished of that journey we must all take sooner or later, a journey from whence no traveller returns.—And having said so much of myself, I am sure you will be glad to change the subject from man to beast, especially to such a one as I have now to speak of.

I told you, when I set out, that I had bought a handsome-looking English horse for seven guineas, but a little touched in his wind; I can now inform you, that when I left this town, he was rather thin, and had a sore back and shoulder; both which, by care and caution; were soon healed, and that he is returned fair and fat, and not a hair out of its place, though he drew two grown persons, two children, (one of thirteen the other ten years old) a very heavy French cabriolet, and all our baggage, nay, almost all my goods, chattels, and worldly property whatever, outward and homeward, except between Cette and Barcelona, going, and Lyons and this town returning! I will point out to you one of his day's work, by which you will be able to judge of his general power of working: At Perpignan, I had, to save him, hired post-horses to the first town in Spain, as I thought it might be too much for him to ascend and descend the Pyrenees in one day; beside sixteen miles to the foot of them, on this side, and three to Jonquire on the other; but after the horses were put to, the post-master required me to take two men to Boulou, in order to hold the chaise, and to prevent its overturning in crossing the river near the village. Such a flagrant attempt to impose, determined me to take neither horses nor men; and at seven o'clock I set off with Callee (that is my houyhnhnm's name) and arrived in three hours at Boulou, a paltry village, but in a situation fit for the palace of AUGUSTUS!

So far from wanting men from Perpignan to conduct my chaise over the river, the whole village were, upon our arrival, in motion after the JOB. We, however, passed it, without any assistance but our own weight to keep the wheels down, and the horse's strength and sturdiness, to drag us through it. In about three hours more we passed over the summit of this great chain of the universe; and in two more, arrived at Jonquire: near which village my horse had a little bait of fresh mown hay, the first, and last, he eat in that kingdom. And when I tell you that this faithful, and (for a great part of my journey) only servant I had, never made a faux pas, never was so tired, but that upon a pinch, he could have gone a league or two farther; nor ever was ill, lame, physicked, or bled, since he was mine; you will agree, that either he is an uncommon good horse, or that his master is a good groom! Indeed I will say that, however fatigued, wet, hundry, or droughty I was, I never partook of any refreshment till my horse had every comfort the inn could afford. I carried a wooden bowl to give him water, and never passed a brook without asking him to drink.—And, as he has been my faithful servant, I am now his; for he lives under the same roof with me, and does nothing but eat, drink, and sleep.—As he never sees me nor hears my voice, without taking some affectionate notice of me, I ventured to ask him tenderly, whether he thought he should be able to draw two of the same party next year to Rome? No tongue could more plainly express his willingness! he answered me, in French, indeed, we-we-we-we-we, said he; so perhaps he might not be sincere, tho' he never yet deceived me. If, however, he should not go, or should out-live me, which, is very probable, my dying request to you will be, to procure him a peaceful walk for the remainder of his days, within the park-walls of some humane private gentleman; though I flatter myself the following petition will save you that trouble, and me the concern of leaving him without that comfort which his faithful services merit.



To SIR JAMES TYLNEY LONG, Bart.

A Faithful Servant's humble Petition,

SHEWETH,

That your petitioner entered into the service of his present master, at an advanced age, and at a time too, that he laboured under a pulmonic disorder, deemed incurable; yet by gentle exercise, wholesome food, and kind usage, he has been enabled to accompany his master from Calais to Artois. Cambray, Rheims, St. Dezier, Dijon, Challons, Macon, Lyons, Pont St. Esprit, Pont du Garde, Nismes, Montpellier, Cette, Narbonne, Perpignan the Pyrenees Barcelona, Montserrat, Arles, Marseilles, Toulouse, Avignon, Aix, Valence, Paris, and back to Calais, in the course of one year: And that your petitioner has acquitted himself so much to his master's satisfaction, that he has promised to take him next year to Rome; and upon his return, to get him a sine-cure place for the remainder of his days; and, as your petitioner can produce a certificate of his honesty, sobriety, steadiness, and obedience to his master; and wishes to throw himself under the protection of a man of fortune, honour and humanity, he is encouraged by his said master to make this his humble prayer to you, who says that to above three hundred letters he has lately written, to ask a small boon for himself, he did not receive above three answers that gave him the pleasure your's did though he had twenty times better pretensions to an hundred and fifty. And as your petitioner has seen a great deal of the world, as well as his master, and has always observed, that such men who are kind to their fellow-creatures, are kind also to brutes; permit an humble brute to throw himself at your feet, and to ask upon his return from Rome a lean-to shed, under your park-wall, that he may end his days in his native country, and afford a repas, at his death, to the dogs of a Man who feeds the poor, cloaths the naked, and who knows how to make use of the noblest privilege which a large fortune can bestow,—that of softening the calamities of mankind, and making glad the hearts of those who are oppressed with misfortunes.—Your petitioner, therefore, who has never, been upon his knees before to any man living, humbly prays that he may be admitted within your park-pail, and that he may partake of that bounty which you bestow in common to your own servants, who, by age or misfortunes are past their labour; in which request your petitioner's master impowers him to use his name and joint prayer with

CALLEE.

I do hereby certify, that nothing is advanced in the above petition, but what is strictly true, and that if the petitioner had been able to express himself properly, his merits and good qualities would have appeared to much greater advantage, as well as his services; as he has omitted many towns he attended his master to, besides a variety of smaller journies; that he is cautious, wary, spirited, diligent, faithful, and honest; that he is not nice, but eats, with appetite, and good temper, whatever is set before him; and that he is in all respects worthy of that asylum he asks, and which his master laments more on his account than his own, that he cannot give him.

PHILIP THICKNESSE.

Calais, the 4th of Nov. 1776.



LETTER LV.

CALAIS.

On our way here, we spent two or three days at Chantilly, one, of fifty Chatteaus belonging to the PRINCE OF CONDE: for, though we had visited this delightful place, two or three times, some years ago, yet, beside its natural beauties, there is always something new. One spot we found particularly pleasing, nay flattering to an Englishman; it is called l'Isle d'Amour, in which there are some thatched cottages, a water-mill, a garden, shrubbery, &c. in the English taste, and the whole is, in every respect, well executed. The dairy is neat, and the milkmaid not ugly, who has her little villa, as well as the miller. There is also a tea-house, a billiard-room, an eating-room, and some other little buildings, all externally in the English village stile, which give the lawn, and serpentine walks that surround them, a very pastoral appearance. The eating-room is particularly well fancied, being covered within, and so painted as to produce a good idea of a close arbor; the several windows, which are pierced through the sides, have such forms, as the fantastic turn of the bodies of the painted trees admit of; and the building is in a manner surrounded with natural trees; the room, when illuminated for the Prince's supper, has not only a very pleasing effect, but is a well executed deception, for the real trees falling into perspective with those which are painted, through the variety of odd-shaped windows, has a very natural, and consequently a very pleasing effect; but what adds greatly to the deception, is, that at each corner of the room the floor is opened, and lumps of earth thrown up, which bear, in full perfection, a great variety of flowers and flowering shrubs. We had the honour to be admitted while the Prince of Conde, the Duke and Duchess of Bourbon, the Princess of Monaco, and two or three other ladies and gentlemen were at supper; a circumstance which became rather painful to us, as it seemed to occasion some to the company, and particularly to the Prince, who inquired who we were, and took pains to shew every sort of politeness he could to strangers he knew nothing of. The supper was elegantly served on plate; but there seemed to me too many servants round the table. The conversation was very little, and very reserved. I do not recollect that I saw scarce a smile during the whole time of supper.

The Prince is a sprightly, agreeable man, something in person like Lord Barrington; and the Duke of Bourbon so like his father, that it was difficult to know the son from the father.

The Duchess of Bourbon is young, handsome, and a most accomplished lady.

During the supper, a good band of music played; but it was all wind instruments. Mr. Lejeune, the first bassoon, is a most capital performer indeed.

After the dessert had been served up about ten minutes, the Princess of Monaco rose from the table, as did all the company, and suddenly turning from it, each lady and gentleman's servant held them a water glass, which they used with great delicacy, and then retired.

The Princess of Monaco is separated from the Prince her husband; yet she has beauty enough for any Prince in Europe, and brought fortune enough for two or three.

The Duchess of Bourbon had rather a low head-dress, and without any feather, or, that I could perceive, rouge; the Princess of Monaco's head-dress was equally plain; the two other ladies, whose rank I do not recollect, wore black caps, and hats high dressed. There were eight persons sat down to table, and I think, about twenty-five servants, in and out of livery, attended.

The next day, we were admitted to see the Prince's cabinet of natural and artificial curiosities; and as I intimated my design of publishing some account of my journey, the Prince was pleased to allow me as much time as I chose, to examine his very large and valuable collection; among which is a case of gold medallions,(72) of the Kings of France, in succession, a great variety of birds and beasts, ores, minerals, petrifactions, gems, cameos, &c. There is also a curious cabinet, lately presented to the Prince by the King of Denmark; and near it stood a most striking representation, in wax, of a present said to be served up to a late unfortunate Queen; it is the head and right hand of Count Struensee, as they were taken off after the execution; the head and hand lie upon a silver dish, with the blood and blood vessels too, well executed; never surely was any thing so sadly, yet so finely done. I defy the nicest eye, however near, to distinguish it (suppose the head laid upon a pillow in a bed) from nature; nor must Mrs. Wright, or any of the workers in wax I have ever yet seen, pretend to a tythe of the perfection in that art, with the man who made this head.—Sad as the subject is, I could not withstand the temptation of asking permission to take a copy of it; and fortunately, I found the man who made it was then at Paris,—nor has he executed his work for me less perfect than that he made for the Prince.—I have been thus particular in mentioning this piece of art, because, of the kind, I will venture to say, it is not only deadly fine, but one of the most perfect deceptions ever seen.

When you, or any of the ladies and gentlemen who have honoured this poor performance of mine with their names, or their family or friends, pass this way, I shall be happy to embrace that occasion, to shew, that I have not said more of this inimitable piece of art, than it merits; nor do I speak thus positively from my own judgment, but have the concurrent opinion of many men of unquestionable judgment, that it is a master-piece of art; and among the rest, our worthy and valuable friend Mr. Sharp, of the Old Jewry.

Before we left Chantilly, we had a little concert, to which my train added one performer; and as it was the only string instrument, it was no small addition.

The day we left this charming place, we found the Prince and all his company under tents and pavilions on the road-side, from whence they were preparing to follow the hounds.

At Amiens, there is in the Hotel de Ville, a little antique god in bronze, which was found, about four years ago, near a Roman urn, in the earth, which is very well worthy of the notice of a connoisseur; but it is such as cannot decently be described; the person in whose custody it is, permitted me to take an impression from it in wax; but I am not quite so good a hand at waxwork as the artist mentioned above, and yet my little houshold-god has some merit, a merit too that was not discovered till three months after it had been fixed in the Hotel de Ville; and the discovery was made by a female, not a male, connoisseur.

It is said, that a Hottentot cannot be so civilized, but that he has always a hankering after his savage friends, and dried chitterlins; and, that gypsies prefer their roving life, to any other, a circumstance that once did, but now no longer surprizes me; for I feel such a desire to wander again, that I am impatient till the winter is past, when I intend to visit Geneva, and make the tour of Italy; and if you can find me cut a sensible valetudinarian or two, of either sex, or any age, who will travel as we do, to see what is to be seen, to make a little stay, where the place, or the people invite us to do so, who can dine on a cold partridge, in a hot day, under a shady tree; and travel in a landau and one, we will keep them a table d'hote, that shall be more pleasant than expensive, and which will produce more health and spirits, than half the drugs of Apothecary's Hall.

If God delights so much in variety, as all things animate and inanimate sufficiently prove, no wonder that man should do so too: and I have now been so accustomed to move, though slowly, that I intend to creep on to my journey's end, by which means I may live to have been an inhabitant of every town almost in Europe, and die, as I have lately (and wish I had always) lived, a free citizen of the whole world, slave to no sect, nor subject to any King. Yet, I would not be considered as one wishing to promote that disposition in others; for I must confess, that it is in England alone, where an innocent and virtuous man can sit down and enjoy the blessings of liberty and his own chearful hearth, in full confidence that no earthly power can disturb it; and the best reason which can be offered in favour of Englishmen visiting other kingdoms, is, to enable them, upon their return, to know how to enjoy the inestimable blessings of their own.



LETTER LVI.

For what should I cross the streight which divides us, though it were but half seven leagues? we should only meet to part again, and purchase pleasure, as most pleasures are purchased, too dearly; I have dropt some heavy tears, (ideally at least) over poor BUCKLE'S[J] grave, and it is all one to a man, now with GOD! on what King's soil such a tribute as that is paid: had some men of all nations known the goodness of his heart as we did, some men of all nations would grieve as we do. When I frequented Morgan's[K] I used him as a touch-stone, to try the hearts of other men upon; for, as he was not rich, he was out of the walk of knaves and flatterers, and such men, who were moot prejudiced in his favour at first sight, and coveted not his company after a little acquaintance, I always avoided as beings made of base metal. It was for this reason I despised that ****** ****, (you know who I mean) for you too have seen him snarl, and bite, and play the dog, even to BUCKLE!

[J] WILLIAM BUCKLE, Esq.

[K] MORGAN'S Coffee-House, Grove, BATH.

Our Sunday night's tea club, round his chearful hearth, is now for ever dissolved, and SHARPE and RYE have administered their last friendly offices with a potion of sorrow.

Were I the hermit of St. Catharine, I would chissel his name as deeply into one of my pine-heads, as his virtues are impressed on my memory. Though I have lost his guinea, I will not lose his name; he looked down with pity upon me when here; who can say he may not do so still? I should be an infidel, did not a few such men as he keep me back.

And now, my dear Sir, after the many trifling subjects in this very long correspondence with you, I will avail myself of this good one, to close it, on the noblest work of GOD, AN HONEST MAN. The loss of such a friend, is sufficient to induce one to lay aside all pursuits, but that of following his example, and to prepare to follow him.

If you should ever follow me here, I flatter myself you will find, that I have, to the best of my poor abilities, made such a sketch of men and things on this side of the water, that you will be able to discover some likeness to the originals. A bad painter often hits the general features, though he fall ever so short of the graces of Titian, or the Morbidezza of Guido. I am sure, therefore, you and every man of candour, will make allowances for the many inaccuracies, defects, &c. which I am sensible these letters abound with, tho' I am incapable of correcting them. My journey, you know was not made, as most travellers' are, to indulge in luxury, or in pursuit of pleasures, but to soften sorrow, and to recover from a blow, which came from a mighty hand indeed; but a HAND still MORE MIGHTY, has enabled me to resist it, and to return in health, spirits, and with that peace of mind which no earthly power can despoil me of, and with that friendship and regard for you, which will only cease, when I cease to be

PHILIP THICKNESSE.

Calais, Nov. 4, 1776.

P.S. I found Berwick's regiment on duty in this town: it is commanded by Mons. le Duc de Fitz-James, and a number of Irish gentlemen, my countrymen, (for so I will call them.) You may easily imagine, that men who possess the natural hospitality of their own country, with the politeness and good-breeding of this, must be very agreeable acquaintance in general: But I am bound to go farther, and to say, that I am endeared to them by marks of true friendship. The King of France, nor any Prince in Europe, cannot boast of troops better disciplined; nor is the King insensible of their merit, for I have lately seen a letter written by the King's command from Comte de St. Germain, addressed to the officers of one of these corps, whereby it appears, that the King is truly sensible of their distinguished merit; for braver men there are not in any service:—What an acquisition to France! what a loss to Britain!

As the Marquis of Grimaldi is retired from his public character, I am tempted to send you a specimen of his private one, which flattering as it is to me, and honourable to himself, I should have withheld, had his Excellency continued first minister of Spain; by which you will see, that while my own countrymen united to set me in a suspicious light, (though they thought otherwise) the ministers politeness and humanity made them tremble at the duplicity of their conduct; and had I been disposed to have acted the same sinister part they did, some of them might have been reminded of an old Spanish proverb,

"A las malas lenguas tigeras"

"Muy S^or. mio. Por la carta de I^o del corr^te. veo su feliz llegada a esta ciudad, en donde habia tomado una casa, y por las cartas que me incluye, y debuelbo, reconosco los terminos honrados y recomendables con que ha efectuado su salida de Inglaterra, cosa que yo nunca podria dudar.

"Deseo que a V.S. le va' ya muy bien en este Reyno, y espero que me avifara el tiempo que se propusiere detener en Barcelona, y tambien quando se verificara su yda a Valencia: cuyo Pais se ha creydo el mas propio para su residencia estable, por la suavidad del clima y demas circunstantias.—V.S. me hallara pronto a complacerle y sevirle en lo que se le ofrezca: que es quendo en el dia puedo decirle, referiendome ademas a mis cartas precedentes communicadas por medio de ... Dios quiere a V.S. M^o c^o d^o S^r el 14 Nov^re. de 1775.

"B L.M. en. S. Su mayor fer^or. El Marq^s de GRIMALDI, A Don Felipe Thickness."

A Madame THICKNESSE.

Voila, Madame, quelques amusemens de ma plume, vous avez paru les desirer, mon empressement a vous obeir sera le merite de ces legeres productions; la premiere a eu assez de succes en France, je doute qu'elle puisse en avoir un pareil en Angleterre, parce que le mot n'a peut-etre pas la meme signification ce que nous appellons Grelot est une petite cochette fermee que l'on attache aux hochets des enfans pour les amuser; dans le sens metaphysique on en fait un des attributs de la folie: Ice je l'employe comme embleme de gaiete et d'enfance. Le Pritems est une Epitre ecrite de la campagne a un de mes amis; j'etois sous le charme de la creation, pour ainsi dire; les vers en font d'une mesuretres difficile.

La description de Courcelles est celle d'une terre qu'avoit ma mere, et ou j'ai passe toute ma jeunesse; enchantee de son paysage, et de la vie champetre que j'aime passion, je l'adressois a un honnete homme de Rheims que j'appellois par plaisanterie mon Papa: ce que j'ai de meilleur dans mon porte-feuille, ce sont des chansons pour mon mari; comme je l'aime parfaitement mon coeur m'a servi de muse: mais cette tendresse toujours si delicieuse aux interesses ne peut plaire a ceux qui ne le sont pas. Quand j'auri l'honneur de vous revoir, Madame, je vous communiquerai mon recueil, et vous jugerez. Recevez les hommages respectueux de mon mari, et daignezfaire agreer nos voeux a Mons. Tiennerse; je n'ai point encore recu les jolies poches, je pars demain pour la campagne, et j'y resterai quinze jours; nous avons des chaleurs cruelles, Messrs. les Anglois qui sont ici en souffrent beaucoup, j'ai l'honneur d'etre avec le plus inviolable attachement,

Madame, Votre tres humble et tres obeissante servante, De Courcelles Desjardins. 28 Juillet, 1776.

Epitre au Grelot.

De la folie aimable lot Don plus brillant que la richesse, Et que je nommerai sagesse Si je ne craignois le fagot, C'est toi que je chante o Grelot! Hochet heureux de tous les ages L'homme est a toi des le maillot, Mais dans tes nombreux appanages Jamais tu ne comptas le sot: De tes sons mitiges le sage En tapinois se rejouit Tandis que l'insense jouit Du plaisir de faire tapage. Plus envie que dedaigne Par cette espece atrabilaire Qui pense qu'un air refrogne La met au dessus du vulgaire, La privation de tes bienfaits Seule fait naitre sa satyre; Charmante idole du Francois Chez lui reside ton empire: Tes detracteurs font les pedans, Les avares et les amans De cette gloire destructive Qui peuple l'infernale rive, Et remplit l'univers d'exces. L'ambitieux dans son delire N'eprouve que de noirs acces, Le genre-humain seroit en paix, Si les conquerans savoient rire. Contre ce principe evident C'est en vain qu'un censeur declame, Le mal ne se fait en riant. Si de toi provient l'epigrame, Son tour heureux ne'est que plaisant Et ne nuit jamais qu'au mechant Que sa conscience decele. Nomme t-on la rose cruelle Lorsqu'un mal-adroit la cueillant Se blesse lui-meme au tranchant De l'epine qu'avec prudence Nature fit pour sa defense. Tes simples et faciles jeux Prolongent dit-on notre enfance Censeur, que te faut-il de mieux! Des abus, le plus dangereux, Le plus voisin de la demence Est de donner trop d'importance A ces chimeres dont les cieux Ont compose notre existence Notre devoir est d'etre heureux A moins de frais, a moins de voeux De l'homme est toute la science. Par tes sons toujours enchanteurs Tu fais fuir la froide vieillesse Ou plutot la couvrant de fleurs Tu lui rends l'air de la jeunesse. Du temps tu trompes la lenteur, Par toi chaque heure est une fete Democrite fut ton Docteur Anacreon fut ton Prophete; Tous deux pour sages reconnus, L'un riant des humains abus Te fit sonner dans sa retraite L'autre chantant a la guingette Te donna pour pomme a Venus Apres eux ma simple musette T'offre ses accens ingenus Charmant Grelot, sur ta clochette Je veux moduler tous mes vers, Sois toujours la douce amusette Source de mes plaisirs divers Heureux qui te garde en cachette Et se passe l'univers.

Le Printems.

Epitre a Mons. D——

Deja dans la plaine On ressent l'haleine Du leger Zephir; Deja la nature Sourit au plaisir, La jeune verdure A l'eclat du jour Oppose la teinte Que cherit l'amour Fuyant la contrainte, Au pied des ormeaux; Ma muse naive Reprend ses pipeaux; Sur la verte rive Aux tendres echos Elle dit ces mots.

Volupte sure Bien sans pareil! O doux reveil De la nature! Que l'ame pure Dans nos guerets Avec yvresse Voit tes attraits; De la tendresse Et de la paix Les doux bienfaits Sur toute espece Vont s'epandant, Et sont l'aimant Dont la magie Enchaine et lie Tout l'univers L'homme pervers Dans sa malice Ferme son coeur A ces delices, Et de l'erreur Des gouts factices Fait son bonheur La noire envie Fille d'orgueil, Chaque furie Jusqu'au circueil, Tisse sa vie. Les vains desirs Les vrais plaisirs Sont antipodes; A ces pagodes Culte se rend, L'oeil s'y meprend Et perd de vue Felicite, La Deite La plus courue La moins connue Simple reduit Et solitaire Jadis construit Par le mystere Est aujourd'hui Sa residencei La bienveillance. Au front serein De la deesse Est la Pretresse; Les ris badins Sont sacristains, Joyeux fidelles, De fleurs nouvelles Offrent les dons. Tendres chansons Tribut du Zele, Jointes au sons De Philomele, De son autel Sont le rituel Dans son empire Telle est la loi, "Aimer et rire De bonne foy." Cet Evangile Peu difficile Du vrai bonheur Seroit auteur Si pour apotre Il vous avoit; En vain tout autre Le precheroit. La colonie Du double mont Du vraie genie Vous a fait don, Sans nul caprice Entrez en lice, Et de Passif Venant actif Pour la Deesse Enchanteresse Qui dans ces lieux Nous rend heureux Donnez moi rose Nouvelle eclose: Du doux Printems Hatez le tems Il etincelle En vos ecrits, Qu'il renouvelle Mes Esprits. Adieu beau Sire, Pour ce delire Le sentiment Est mon excuse. S'il vous amuse Un seul moment, Et vous rapelle Un coeur fidelle Depuis cent ans, Comme le votre En tous les tems N'ai desir autre.



FABLE

Les Aquilons et l'Oranger.

De fougeux Aquilons une troupe emportee Contre un noble Oranger exhaloit ses fureurs Ils soufflerent en vain, leur rage mutinee De l'arbre aux fruits dores n'ota que quelques fleurs.

MADRIGAL

Du tumulte, du bruit, des vaines passions Fuyons l'eclat trompeur: a leurs impressions Preferons les douceurs de ce sejour paisible, Disoit un jour Ariste a la tendre Delos. Soit, repart celle-ci; mais las! ce doux repos N'est que le pis-aller d'une ame trop sensible.

QUATRAIN

Telle que ce ruisseau qui promene son onde Dans des lieux ecartes loin du bruit et du monde Je veux pour peu d'amis exister desormais C'est loin des faux plaisirs que l'on trouve les vrais.

REVERIE SUR UNE LECTURE.

Aux froids climats de l'ourse, et dans ceux du midi, L'homme toujours le meme est vain, foible, et credule, Sa devise est partout Sottise et Ridicule. Le celebre Chinois, le Francois etourdi De la raison encore n'ont que le crepuscule Jadis au seul hazard donnant tout jugement, Par les effets cuisans du fer rougi qui brule On croyoit discerner le foible et l'innocent; A Siam aujourd'hui pareille erreur circule, Et l'on voit meme esprit sous une autre formule: Quand quelque fait obscur tient le juge en suspens On fait aux yeux de tous a chaque contendant D'Esculape avaler purgative pillule, Celui dont l'estomac repugne a pareil mets Est repute coupable et paye tous les frais. Du pauvre genre-humain telles sont les annales: Rome porta le deuil de l'honneur des vestales, Du Saint Pere a present, elle baise l'ergot: Plus gais, non plus senses dans ce siecle falot Nous choisissons au moins l'erreur la plus jolie: De l'inquisition, le bal, la comedie Remplacent parmi nous le terrible fagot; Notre legerete detruit la barbarie Mais nous n'avons encore que change de folie.

ENVOI A MON MARI.

Tandis, mon cher, que tes travaux Me procurent ce doux repos. Et cette heureuse insouciance But incertain de l'opulence; Mon ame l'abeille imitant Aux pays d'esprit elancee Cueille les fleurs de la pensee Et les remet aux sentiment. Mais helas! dans ce vaste champ En vain je cherche la sagesse, Pres de moi certain Dieu fripon Me fait quitter l'ecole de Zenon Pour le charme de la tendresse; "L'homme est cree pour etre bon Et non savant, dit il, qu'il aime, Du bonheur c'est le vrai systeme" Je sens, ma foi, qu'il a raison.



DESCRIPTION

De la terre dans laquelle j'habitois, adressee a un homme tres respectable que j'appellois mon Papa.

Que vous etes aimable, mon cher Papa, de me demander une description de ma solitude. Votre imagination est genee de ne pouvoir se la peindre. Vous voulez faire de Courcelles une seconde etoile du matin, et y lier avec moi un de ces commerces d'ames reserves aux favoris de Brama. Votre idee ne me perdra plus de vue, j'en ferai mon genie tutelaire. Je croirai a chaque instant sentir sa presence, ah! elle ne peut trop tot arriver, montrons lui donc le chemin.

Quittant votre cite Rhemoise, Ville si fertil en bons Vins, En gras moutons, en bons humains, Apres huit fois trois mille toises Toujours suivant le grand chemin, On decouvre enfin le village Ou se trouve notre hermitage. La rien aux yeux du voyageur Ne presente objet de surprise, Petit ruisseau, des maisons, une Eglise Tout a cote la hutte du Pasteur; Car ces Messieurs pour quelques Patenotres. Pour un surplis, pour un vetement noir En ce monde un peu plus qu'en l'autre Ont droit pres du bon dieu d'etablir leur manoir.

Ce debut n'est pas fort seduisant; aussi ne vous ai-je rien promis de merveilleux. Je pourrois cependant pour embellir ma narration me perdre dans de brillantes descriptions, et commencer par celle de notre clocher; mais malheureusement nous n'en avons point; car je ne crois pas que l'on puisse appeller de ce nom l'endroit presque souterrain ou logent trois mauvaises cloches. Elles m'etourdissent par fois au point que sans leur bapteme, je les enverrois aux enfers sonner les diners de Pluton et de Proserpine.

On appercoit pres de l'Eglise, entre elle et le cure, une petite fenetre grillee, ceci est une vraie curiosite; c'est un sepulcre bati par Saladin d'Anglure, ancien Seigneur de Courcelles il vivoit du tems des croisades, et donna comme les autres dans la manie du siecle. Il ne fut pas plus heureux que ses confreres. Son sort fut d'etre prisonnier du vaillant Saladin dont il conserva le surnom. Sa captivite l'ennuyant, il fit voeu, si elle finissoit bientot, de batir dans sa Seigneurie un sepulcre, et un calvaire a meme distance l'un de l'autre qu'ils le sont a Jerusalum. C'est aussi ce qu'il fit.

Quand par une aventure heureuse, Des fers du Vaillant Saladin Il revint chez lui sauf et sain; Mais la chronique scandaleuse Qui daube toujours le prochain, Et ne se repait que de blame Pretend que trop tot pour Madame, Et trop tard pour le Pelerin Dans son Chatel il s'en revint. Ce fut, dit on, le lendemain, La veille, ou le jour que la Dame, Croyant son mari tres benin Parti pour la gloire eternelle Venoit de contracter une hymenee nouvelle.

La tradition etoit en balance sur ces trois dates; mais la malignite humaine a donne la preference a la derniere, ensorte qu'il paroit tres sur que l'Epoux n'arriva que le lendemain.

Quel affront pour un chef couronne de lauriers! Tel est pourtant le sort des plus fameux guerriers; Ceux d'aujourd'hui n'en font que rire Mais ceux du tems passe mettoient la chose au pis, Ils n'avoient pas l'esprit de dire Nous sommes quitte, et bons amis.

Pendant que vous etes en train de visiter nos antiquites courcelloises, il me prend envie de vous faire entrer dans notre reduit.

Quoique du titre de chateau, Pompeusement on le decore, Ne vous figurez pas qu'il soit vaste ni beau. Tel que ces Grands que l'on honore Pour les vertus de leurs ayeux Pour tout merite il n'a comme eux Qu'un nom qui se conserve encore.

Ainsi pour vous en former une juste idee, ne cherchez votre modele ni dans les romans, ni dans les miracles de feerie. Ce n'est pas meme un vieux chateau fort, comme il en existe encore quelques uns dans nos entours.

Point, on n'y voit fosse ni bastion Ni demi-lune ni Dongeon, Ni beaux dehors de structure nouvelle, Mais bien une antique Tourelle Flanquant d'assez, vieux batimens Dont elle est l'unique ornement.

Un Poete de nos cantons a dit assez plaisamment en parlant de ceci.

Sur les bords de la Vesle est un chateau charmant N'allez pas chicaner, Lecteur impertinent) (Le batiment a part, la Dame qui l'habite Par ses rares vertus en fait tout le merite. Vous verrez tout-a l'heure s'il avoit raison.

Je ne m'arreterai point a vous peindre la ferme quoi qu'elle tienne au chateau, ni l'attirail des animaux de toute espece qu'elle renferme.

Ces spectacles vraiment rustiques Offrent pourtant plus de plaisirs A des regards philosophiques, Que ce que l'art et les desirs De notre insatiable espece Inventent tous les jours aides par la mollesse.

Je vous ferai entrer tout de suite dans une grande cour de gazon ou effectivement je voudrois bien vous voir. Deux manieses de Perrons y conduisent, l'un aux appartemens, l'autre a la cuisine. Commencons par ce dernier quoique ce ne soit pas trop la coutume.

La chaque jour, tant bien que mal, On apprete deux fois un repas tres frugal, Mais que l'appetit assaisonne. Loin, bien loin, ces bruyans festins, Toujours suivis des medecins Ou le poison dans cent ragouts foisonne Nous aimons mieux peu de mets bien choisis De la Sante, moins de plats, plus de ris.

Voila notre devise, mon cher Papa, je crois qu'elle est aussi la votre; notre rez de chaussee consiste en cuisine, office, salle a manger, chambre et cabinets, rien de tout cela n'est ni elegant ni commode.

Nos devanciers fort bonnes gens N'entendoient rien aux ornemens Et leurs desirs ne passoient guere Les bornes du seul necessaire.

Ils etoient plus heureux et plus sages que nous, car la vraie sagesse n'est autre chose que la moderation des desirs. D'apres cette definition on pourroit, je crois, loger tout notre siecle aux petites maisons. Ce qu'il y a de plus agreable dans la notre est la vue du grand chemin.

De ce chemin ou chacun trotte Ou nous voyons soirs et matins Passer toute espece d'humains; Tantot la gent portant calote, Et tantot de jeunes plumets, Les ruses disciples d'Ignace Puis ceux de la grace efficace, Des pietons, des cabriolets Tant d'Etres a deux pieds, sots, et colifichets, Enfin cent sortes d'equipages Et mille sortes de visages.

Ce tableau mouvant est par fois fort recreatif, il me paroit assez plaisant d'y juger les gens sur la mine, et de deviner leur motif, et le sujet de leurs courses.

Mais, Papa, qu'il est consolant Voyant leurs soins et leur inquietude De jouir du repos constant Qu'on goute dans la solitude.

A dire vrai, le spectacle du grand chemin, est celui qui m'occupe le moins; j'aime mille fois mieux nos promenades champetres; avant de yous y conduire, il faut en historien fidelle vous rendre compte de notre chaumiere.

Vous croyez peut-etre trouver un premier etage au dessus de la facade dont je vous ai parle? Point du tout. Ne vous ai-je pas dit que nos peres preferoient l'utile a l'agreable: aussi ont ils mieux aime construire de grands greniers que de jolis appartemens; mais en revanche ils out jette quantite de petites mansardes sur un autre cote du logis. Ce dernier donne sur un verger qui fait mes delices, il est precede d'un petit parterre, et finit par un bois charmant.

Une onde toujours claire et pure Y vient accorder souo murmure Au son melodieux de mille et mille oiseaux Que cachent en tous tems nos jeunes arbrisseaux.

C'est la que votre fille se plait a rever a vous, mon cher Papa, c'est dans ce reduit agreable qu'elle s'occupe tour a tour de morale et de tendresse.

Epictete, Pope, Zenon.

Et Socrate, et surtout l'ingenieux Platon, Viennent dans ces lieux solitaires Me preter le secours de leurs doctes lumieres: Mais plus souvent la soeur de l'enfant de Cypris Ecartant sans respect cette foule de sages

Occupe seule mes esprits En y gravant de mes amis Les trop seduisantes images.

Je n'entreprendrai pas de vous peindre nos autres promenades, elles sont toutes charmantes; un paysage coupe, quantite de petits bosquets, mille jolis chemins, nous procurent naturellement des beautes auxquelles l'art ne sauroit atteindre.

La Vesle borde nos prairies Sur sa rive toujours fleurie Regne un doux air de bergerie Dangereux pour les tendres coeurs. La, qui se sent l'ame attendrie S'il craint de l'amour les erreurs Doit vite quitter la partie.

Quittons la donc, mon cher Papa; aussi bien ai-je seulement oublie de vous montrer la plus piece de l'hermitage. C'est un canal superbe. Il a cent vingt toises de long sur douze de large, une eau courante et crystalline en rend la surface toujours brillante, cest la digne embleme d'un coeur ami, jugez si cette vue me fait penser a vous.

De grands potagers terminent l'enclos de la maison. Si j'etois mechante je continuerois ma description, et ne vous ferois pas grace d'une laitue, mais je me contenteraide vous dire que le ciel fit sans doute ce canton pour des Etres broutans. Si les Israelites en eussent mange jadis, ils n'auroient ni regrette l'Egypte ni desire la terre promise.

Voila mon cher Papa une assez mauvaize esquisse du pays Courcellois.

L'air m'en seroit plus doux et le ciel plus serein Si quelque jour, moins intraitable Et se laissant flechir, le farouche Destin Y conduisoit ce trio tant aimable Que j'aime, et cherirai sans fin Mais las! j'y perds tout mon latin, Et ce que de mieux je puis faire Est d'esperer et de me taire

* * * * *

I should have stopt here, and finished my present correspondence with you by leaving your mind harmonized with the above sweet stanzas of Madame des Jardins, but that it may seem strange, to give a specimen of one French Lady's literary talents, without acknowledging, that this kingdom abounds with many, of infinite merit.—While England can boast only of about half a dozen women, who will immortalize their names by their works, France can produce half an hundred, admired throughout Europe, for their wit, genius, and elegant compositions.—Were I to recite the names and writings only of female authors of eminence, which France has produced, since the time of the first, and most unfortunate Heloise, who died in 1079, down to Madame Riccoboni, now living, it would fill a volume. We have, however, a CARTER, and a BARBAULD, not less celebrated for their learning and genius than for their private virtues; and I think it may, with more truth be said of women, than of men, that the more knowledge, the more virtue; the more understanding, the less courage. Why then is the plume elevated to the head? and what must the present mode of female education and manners end in, but in more ignorance, dissipation, debauchery and luxury? and, at length, in national ruin. Thus it was at ROME, the mistress of the world; they became fond of the most vicious men, and such as meant to enslave them, who corrupted their hearts, by humouring and gratifying their follies, and encouraging, on all sides, idleness and dissolute manners, blinded by CAESAR's complaisance; from his almsmen, they became his bondmen; he charmed them in order to enslave them. When the tragedy of Tereus was acted at ROME, Cicero observed, what plaudits the audience gave with their hands at some severe strokes in it against tyranny; but he very justly lamented, that they employed their hands, only in the Theatre, not in defending that liberty which they seemed so fond of.