THE WIG. PARIS. WHEN the barber came, he abfolutely refused to have any thing to do with my wig: 'twas either above or below. his art: I had nothing to do, but to take one ready made of his own recommendation. -But I fear, friend! faid I, this buckle won't ftand.-You may immerge it, replied he, into the ocean, will ftand ་ and it What a great scale is every thing upon in this city! thought I-The utmost stretch of an English periwig-maker's ideas could have gone no further than than to have "dipped it into a pail of water"- What difference! 'tis like time. to eternity. my I confefs I do hate all cold conceptions, as I do the puny ideas which engender them; and am generally fo ftruck with the great works of nature, that for 1 own part, if I could help it, I never would make a comparifon lefs than a mountain at leaft. All that can be faid against the French fublime in this inflance of it, is this—that the grandeur is more in the word; and less in the thing. No doubt the ocean fills the mind with vaft ideas; but Paris being fo far inland, it was not likely I fhould run poft a hundred miles out of it, to try the experiment-the Parisian barber meant nothing. The pail of water ftanding befides the great deep, makes certainly but a forry I forry figure in fpeech-but 'twill be faid it has one advantage-'tis in the next room, and the truth of the buckle may be tried in it without more ado, in a fingle moment. In honeft truth, and upon a a more candid revifion of the matter, The French expreffion profeffes more than it performs. I think I can fee the precife and diftinguifhing marks of national characters more in these nonfenfical minutia, than in the most important matters of state; where great men of all nations talk and ftalk fo much alike, that I would not give ninepence to chufe amongst them. I was fo long in getting from under my barber's hands, that it was too late of thinking of going with my letter to Madame Madaine R that night: but when a man is once dreffed at all points for going out, his reflections turn to little account, fo taking down the name of the Hotel de Modene where I lodged, I walked forth without any determination where to go-I fhall confider of that, faid I, as I walk along. THE PULSE. PARIS. HAIL ye finall fweet courtefies of life, for fmooth do ye make the road of it! like grace and beauty which beget inclinations to love at first fight; 'tis ye who open this door and let the stranger in. -Pray, Madame, faid I, have the goodness to tell me which way I muft turn to go to the Opera comique:Moft willingly, Monfieur, faid fhe, laying afide her work I had given a caft with my eye into half a dozen fhops as I came along in fearch of a face not likely to be difordered by fuch an interruption; till at last, this hitting my fancy, I had walked in. She |