manners in general: he considers all their politesse as impertinence, and receives their civilities as a prelude to the picking of his pocket.

He and I went this forenoon to a review of the footguards, by Marshal Biron. There was a crowd; and we could with difficulty get within the circle so as to see conveniently. An old officer of high rank touched some people who stood before us, saying,-Ces deux messieurs sont des étrangers; upon which they immediately made way, and allowed us to pass.-Don't you think that was very obliging? said I.-Yes, answered he: but by heavens, it was very unjust.

We returned by the Boulevards, where crowds of citizens, in their holiday dresses, were making merry; the young dancing cotillons, the old beating time to the music, and applauding the dancers, all in a careless oblivion of the past, thoughtless of the future, and totally occupied with the present. These people seem very happy, said I.-Happy! exclaimed B; if they had common sense or reflection, they would be miserable, Why so? -Could not the minister, answered he, pick out half a dozen of them, if he pleased, and clap them into the Bicetre? That is true indeed, said I; that is a catastrophe which, to be sure, may very probably happen, and yet I thought no more of it than they.

We met, a few days after he arrived, at a French house where we had both been invited to dinner. There was an old lady of quality present, next to whom a young officer was seated who paid her the utmost attention.-He helped her to the dishes she liked, filled her glass with wine or water, and addressed his discourse particularly to her. What a fool, says B-, does that young fellow make of the poor old woman! If she were my mother, d—n me, if I would not call him to an account for it.

Though B understands French, and speaks it better than most Englishmen, he had no relish for the conversation, soon left the company, and has refused all in

vitations to dinner ever since. He generally finds some of our countrymen who dine and pass the evening with him at the Parc Royal.

After the review this day, we continued together; and being both disengaged, I proposed, by way of variety, to dine at the public ordinary of the Hôtel de Bourbon. He did not like this much at first.-I shall be teased, says he, with their confounded ceremony:-But on my observing, that we could not expect much ceremony or politeness at a public ordinary, he agreed to go.

Our entertainment turned out different, however, from my expectations and his wishes: A marked attention was paid us the moment we entered; every body seemed inclined to accommodate us with the best places. They helped us first, and all the company seemed ready to sacrifice every little conveniency and distinction to the strangers; For next to that of a lady, the most respected character at Paris is that of a stranger.

After dinner, B and I walked into the gardens of the Palais Royal.

There was nothing real in all the fuss those people made about us, says he.

I can't help thinking it something, said I, to be treated with civility and apparent kindness in a foreign countryby strangers who know nothing about us, but that we are Englishmen, and often their enemies.

But their politeness consists in trifles, said he.-In what consists any body's politeness? rejoined 1.-The utmost a Frenchman will do for you, added he, is to endeavour to amuse you, and make your time pass agreeably while remain in his country. And I think that no trifle, you answered I.-There are so many sources of uneasiness and vexation in this life, that I cannot help having a good will, and even gratitude, to all those who enable me to forget them :- For such people alleviate my pain, and contribute to my happiness.

But these Frenchmen, rejoined he, do not care a farthing for you in their hearts.-And why should I care a far

thing for that? said I. We have nothing to do with their hearts. You do not expect a friend in every agreeable acquaintance.

But they are an interested set of people; and even those among them who pretend to be your friends, do it only for some selfish end.

This is only an assertion, said I, but no proof. If you stood in need of pecuniary assistance, they would not advance you a louis to save you from a jail, continued he,

I hope never to be perfectly convinced of that, said I;-but if we were to cultivate friendship from the idea of assistance of that nature, it would be doing exactly what you accuse them of: besides, continued I, the power and opportunity of obliging our acquaintances and friends by great, and, what are called, essential services, seldom occur; but those attentions and courtesies, which smooth the commerce between man and man, and sweeten so cial life, are in every body's power, and there are daily and hourly occasions of displaying them,-particularly to strangers. Curse their courtesies, said he,they are the greatest bore in nature. I hate the French.-They are the enemies of England, and a false, deceitful, perfidious-But as we did not come over, interrupted I, to fight them at present, we shall suspend hostilities till a more convenient season; and in the meantime, if you have no objection, let us go to the play.

He agreed to this proposal, and here our conversation ended.

You know B is as worthy a fellow as lives; and, under a rough address, conceals the best disposition in the world, His manner, I imagine, was originally assumed from a notion, which he has in common with many people, that great politeness, and apparent gentleness of behaviour, are generally accompanied with falsehood and real coldness;—even inhumanity of character,—as if human nature, like marble, took a polish proportionable to its hardness.

This idea is certainly formed without an accurate ex

amination, and from a superficial view of mankind. As a boorish address is no proof of honesty, so is politeness no indication of the reverse ;—and if they are once reduced to an equality in this particular, it is evident that the latter is preferable in every other respect.

But to return to the French; I am clearly of opinion, that a stranger may fairly avail himself of every conveniency arising from their obliging manners, although he should be convinced that all their assiduity and attention are unconnected with any regard to him, and flow entirely from vanity and self-love. He may perceive that his Parisian friend, while he loads him with civilities, is making a display of his own proficiency in the science of politeness, and endeavouring to thrust himself forward in the good opinion of the company, by yielding the preference on a thousand trifling occasions.-Though he plainly sees, that all his stooping is with a view to conquer, why should he repine at a victory which is accompanied with so many conveniences to himself? why quarrel with the motive while he feels the benefit of the effect?

If writers or preachers of morality could, by the force of eloquence, eradicate selfishness from the hearts of men, and make them in reality love their neighbours as themselves, it would be a change devoutly to be wished. But until that blessed event, let us not find fault with those forms and attentions which create a kind of artificial friendship and benevolence, which for many of the purposes of society produce the same effects as the true.

People who love to amuse themselves with play, and have not ready money, are obliged to use counters. You and I, my friend, as long as we cut and shuffle together, shall never have occasion for such a succedaneum ;-I am fully persuaded we are provided, on both sides, with a sufficient quantity of pure gold.

LETTER XIL

Paris.

WHEN B― and I went to the playhouse, as was mentioned in my last, we found a prodigious crowd of people before the door: We could not get a place till after a considerable struggle. The play was the Siege of Calais, founded on a popular story, which must needs be interesting and flattering to the French nation.

You cannot conceive what pressing and crowding there is every night to see this favourite piece, which has had the same success at Versailles as at Paris.

There are some few critics, however, who assert that it is entirely devoid of merit, and owes its run to the popular nature of the subject, more than to any intrinsic beauty in the verses, which some declare are not even good French.

When it was last acted before the king, it is said, his majesty, observing that the duc d'Ayen did not join in applauding, but that he rather shewed some marks of disgust, turned to the duke and said, Vous n'applaudissez pas? Vous n'êtes pas bon François, monsieur le duc :To this the duke replied,-à Dieu ne plaise que je ne fusse pas meilleur que les vers de la pièce.

Obedient to the court in every other particular, the French disregard the decisions pronounced at Versailles in matters of taste. It very often happens that a dramatic piece, which has been acted before the royal family and the court, with the highest applause, is afterwards damned with every circumstance of ignominy at Paris. In all works of genius the Parisians lead the judgment of the courtiers, and dictate to their monarch,

In other countries of Europe, it has happened, that some prince of superior talents has, by the brightness of his own genius, enlightened the minds of his subjects, and dispelled the clouds of barbarism from his dominions.

Since the commencement of this century a great em