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The Chaise.

CALAIS.

I PERCEIVED that something darken'd the passage more than myself, as I stepped along it to my room; it was effectually Mons. Dessein, the master of the hôtel, who had just returned from vespers, and, with his hat under his arm was most complaisantly following me, to put me in mind of my wants. I had wrote myself pretty well out of conceit with the Desobligeant; and Mons. Dessein speaking of it, with a shrug, as if it would no way suit me, it immediately struck my fancy that it belonged to some innocent traveller, who, on his return home, had left it to Mons. Dessein's honour to make the most of. Four months had elapsed since it had finish'd its career of Europe in the corner of Mons. Dessein's coachyard; having sallied out from thence but a vampt up business at the first, though it had been twice taken to pieces on Mount Sennis, it had not profited much by its adventures—but by none so little as the standing so many months unpitied in the corner of Mons. Dessein's coach-yard. Much indeed was not to be said for it—but something

with which they left Bond-street, or the purlieus of St. James's---nor bring over a mind thrown into much confusion by a few gallicisms far beyond the sphere of their compreension.

Compliments.

might—and when a few words will rescue misery out of her distress, I hate the man who can be a churl of them.

-Now was I the master of this hôtel, said I, laying the point of my fore-finger on Mons. Dessein's breast, I would inevitably make a point of getting rid of this unfortunate Desobligeant-it stands swinging reproaches at you every time you pass by it.

Mon Dieu! said Mons. Dessein-I have no interest-Except the interest, said I, which men of a certain turn of mind take, Mons. Dessein, in their own sensations-I'm persuaded, to a man who feels for others as well as for himself, every rainy night, disguise it as you will, must cast a damp upon your spirits-You suffer, Mons. Dessein, as much as the machine—

I have always observed, when there is as much sour as sweet in a compliment, that an Englishman is eternally at a loss within himself, whether to take it, or let it alone: a Frenchman never is: Mons. Dessein made me a bow.

C'est bien vrai, said he-But in this case I should only exchange one disquietude for another, and with loss: figure to yourself, my dear Sir, that in giving you a chaise which would fall to pieces before you had got half way to Parisfigure to yourself how much I should suffer, in

The Bargain.

giving an ill impression of myself to a man of honour, and lying at the mercy, as I must do, d'un homme esprit.

The dose was made up exactly after my own prescription; so I could not help taking it-and returning Mons. Dessein his bow, without more casuistry we walk'd together towards his Remise, to take a view of his magazine of chaises.

IN THE STREET.

CALAIS.

IT must needs be a hostile kind of a world, when the buyer (if it be but of a sorry postchaise) cannot go forth with the seller thereof into the street to terminate the difference betwixt them, but he instantly falls into the same frame of mind, and views his conventionist with the same sort of eye, as if he was going along with him to Hyde-Park Corner to fight a duel. For my own part, being but a poor swords-man, and no way a match for Mons. Dessein, I felt the rotation of all the movements within me, to which the situation is incident-I look'd at Mons. Des

* In all ages flattery has found its way to the human heart, and when it is delicately applied with the point of a feather, not even the philosopher is proof against its power, and in this art the French seem to excel every nation.

The Lady.

sein through and through-ey'd him as he walk'd alone in profile--then, en face-thought he look'd like a Jew-then a Turk---disliked his wigcursed him by my gods-wished him at the devil

-And is all this to be lighted up in the heart for a beggarly account of three or four louis d'ors, which is the most I can be over-reach'd in ?-Base passion! said I, turning myself about, as a man naturally does upon a sudden reverse of sentiment-base, ungentle passion! thy hand is against every man, and every man's hand against thee-Heaven forbid! said she, raising her hand up to her forehead, for I had turned full in front upon the lady* whom I had seen in conference with the monk-she had followed us unperceived-Heaven forbid indeed! said I, offering her my own-she had a black pair of silk gloves open only at the thumb and two forefingers, so accepted it without reserve-and I led her up to the door of the Remise.

Mons. Dessein had diabled the key above fifty times before he found out he had come with a

* The manner in which Sterne presents as it were a picture to the imagination is intirely his own, and this is not a little aided by the contrast of sentiment he makes use of, it is one of those peculiar beauties in which he so much abounds.

Conversation.

wrong one in his hand: we were as impatient as himself to have it open'd; and so attentive to the obstacle, that I continued holding her hand almost without knowing it; so that Mons. Dessein left us together with her hand in mine, and with our faces turned towards the door of the Remise, and said he would be back in five minutes.

Now a colloquy of five minutes, in such a situation, is worth one of as many ages, with your faces turned towards the street: in the latter case, 'tis drawn from the objects and occurrences without-when your eyes are fixed upon a dead blank-you draw purely from yourselves. silence of a single moment upon Mons. Dessein's leaving us, had been fatal to the situation-she had infallibly turned about-so I begun the conversation instantly.

A

-But what were the temptations, (as I write not to apologize for the weaknesses of my heart in this tour, but to give an account of them)shall be described with the same simplicity with which I felt them.

THE REMISE DOOR.

CALAIS.

WHEN I told the reader that I did not care to

get out of the Desobligeant because I saw the

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