petit-maître.It gives me pleasure to believe it would not, and I am determined never to make the trial.

F- never appeared so perfectly amiable.

B called and supped with me the same evening. I was too full of the adventure of Fanchon and Dubois not to mention it to him, with all the particulars of the marquis's behaviour.This F of yours, said he, is an honest fellow. Do-contrive to let us dine with him to-morrow.- -By the bye, continued he after a little pause, are not those Fs originally from England? I think I have heard of such a name in Yorkshire. Adieu.

LETTER XVI.

Paris.

I

AM uneasy when I hear people assert, that mankind always act from motives of self-interest. It creates a suspicion that those who maintain this system, judge of others by their own feelings. This conclusion, however, may be as erroneous as the general assertion; for I have heard it maintained (perhaps from affectation) by very disinterested people, who, when pushed, could not support their argument without perverting the received meaning of language. Those who perform generous or apparently disinterested actions, say they, are prompted by selfish motives by the pleasure which they themselves feel. There are people who have this feelmg so strong, that they cannot pass a miserable object without endeavouring to assist him-Such people really relieve themselves when they relieve the wretched.

All this is very true: but is it not a strange assertion, that people are not benevolent, because they cannot be otherwise ?

Two men are standing near a fruit-shop in St. James's Street. There are some pine-apples within the window, and a poor woman, with an infant crying at her empty breast, without. One of the gentlemen walks in, pays a

guinea for a pine apple, which he calmly devours; while the woman implores him for a penny, to buy her a morsel of bread-and implores in vain: not that this fine gentleman values a penny; but to put his hand in his pocket would give him some trouble;the distress of the woman gives him none. The other man happens to have a guinea in his pocket also; he gives it to the woman, walks home, and dines on beef-steaks, with his wife and children.

Without doing injustice to the taste of the former, we may believe that the latter received the greater gratification for his guinea. You will never convince me, however, that his motive in bestowing it was as selfish as the other's.

Some few days after the adventure I mentioned in my last letter, I met F and B at the opera. They had become acquainted with each other at my lodgings two days before, according to B-'s desire.—It gave me pleasure to see them on so good a footing.

Finvited us to go home and sit an hour with him before we went to bed :-to which we assented.

The marquis then told us, we should have the pleasure of seeing Fanchon in her best gown, and Dubois with his new leg-for he had ordered his valet to invite them, with two or three of his companions, to a little supper.

While the marquis was speaking, his coach drove up to the door of the opera-where a well-known lady was at that moment waiting for her carriage.

B seemed to recollect himself of a sudden, saying, he must be excused from going with us, having an affair of some importance to transact at home.

The marquis smiled-shook B- by the handsaying, c'est apparemment quelque affaire qui regarde la constitution; vivent les Anglois pour l'amour patriotique!

When we arrived at the marquis's, the servants and their guests were assembled in the little garden behind the hotel, and dancing, by moonlight, to Dubois's music.

He and Fanchon were invited to a glass of wine in the

marquis's parlour.-The poor fellow's heart swelled at the sight of his benefactor. He attempted to express his gratitude; but his voice failed, and he could not articulate a word.

Vous n'avez pas à faire à des ingrats, monsieur le colonel, said Fanchon. My husband, continued she, is more affected with your goodness, than he was by the loss of his leg, or the cruelty of my relations. She then, in a serious manner, with the voice of gratitude, and in the language of nature, expressed her own and her husband's obligations to the marquis; and, amongst others, she alluded to twenty louis which her husband had received de sa part that very afternoon. You intend to make a saint of a sinner, my dear, said the marquis, and to succeed the better, you invent false miracles. I know nothing of the twenty louis you mention. But I know a

great deal; for here they are in my pocket, says Dubois. -The marquis still insisted they had not come from him. The soldier then declared, that he had called about one o'clock to pay his duty to Monsieur de F; but not finding him at home, he was returning to his lodgings, when, in the street, he observed a gentleman looking at him with attention, who soon accosted him, demanding if his name was not Dubois? If he had not lost his leg at Corsica? and several other questions: which being answered in the affirmative, he slipped twenty louis into his hand, telling him that it would help to furnish his house.--Dubois in astonishment had exclaimed-Mon Dieu! voilà encore Monsieur de F-. Upon which the stranger had replied:-Yes, he sends you that by me and immediately he turned into another street, and Dubois saw no more of him.

We were all equally surprised at the singularity of this little adventure. On inquiring more particularly about the appearance of the stranger, I was convinced he could be no other than B-.

I remembered he had been affected with the story of

Dubois when I told it him. You know B—— is not one of those, who allow any emotions of that nature to pass unimproved, or to evaporate in sentiment. He generally puts them to some practical use.-So having met Dubois accidentally in the street, he had made him this small present, in the manner above related; and on his understanding that Dubois and Fanchon were at F-'s, he had declined going, to avoid any explanation on the subject.

Had our friend B — been a man of system, or much reflection, in his charity, he would have considered, that as the soldier had already been taken good care of, and was under the protection of a generous man, there was no call for his interfering in the business; and he would probably have kept his twenty guineas for some more pressing occasion.

There are men in the world, (and very useful and most respectable men no doubt they are), who examine the pro's and the con's before they decide upon the most indifferent occasion; who are directed in all their actions by propriety, and by the generally received notions of duty. They weigh, in the nicest scales, every claim that an acquaintance, a relation, or a friend may have on them; and they endeavour to pay them on demand, as they would a bill of exchange. They calculate their income, and proportion every expense; and hearing it asserted every week from the pulpit, that there is exceeding good interest to be paid one time or other, for the money that is given to the poor, they risk a little every year upon that venture. Their passions and their affairs are always in excellent order; they walk through life undisturbed by the misfortunes of others. And when they come to the end of their journey, they are decently interred in a churchyard.

There is another set of men, who never calculate; for they are generally guided by the heart, which never was taught arithmetic, and knows nothing of accounts.

Their heads have scarcely a vote in the choice of their acquaintances; and without the consent of the heart, most certainly none in their friendships. They perform acts of benevolence (without recollecting that this is a duty) merely for the pleasure they afford; and perhaps forget them, as they do their own pleasures, when past.

As for little occasional charities, these as are natural to such characters as breathing; and they claim as little merit for the one as for the other, the whole seeming an affair of instinct rather than of reflection.

That the first of these two classes of men is the most useful in society; that their affairs will be conducted with most circumspection; that they will keep out of many scrapes and difficulties that the others may fall into; and that they are (if you insist upon it very violently) the most virtuous of the two, I shall not dispute: Yet for the soul of me I cannot help preferring the other; for almost all the friends I have ever had in my life, are of the se

cond class.

1

LETTER XVII.

Paris.

CONSIDERING the natural gaiety and volatility of the French nation, I have often been surprised at their fondness for tragedy, especially as their tragedies are barren of incident, full of long dialogues, and declamatory speeches;-and modelled according to the strictest code of critical legislation.

The most sprightly and fashionable people of both sexes flock to these entertainments in preference to all others, and listen with unrelaxed gravity and attention. One would imagine that such a serious, correct, and uniform amusement, would be more congenial with the phlegm and saturnine dispositions of the English, than with the gay, volatile temper of the French.

An English audience loves show, busle, and incident,