VERSAILLES.

thren should be able to write that to the world, which stains thy face with crimson, to copy even in thy study.

2 But this is nothing to my travels So I twicetwice beg pardon for it.

CHARACTER.

VERSAILLES.

AND how do you find the French? said the Count de B****, after he had given me the passport.

The reader may suppose, that after so obliging a proof of courtesy, I could not be at a loss to say something handsome to the enquiry,

Mais passe, pour cela-Speak frankly, said he; do you find all the urbanity in the French which the world give us the honour of?-I had found every thing, I said, which confirmed itVraiment, said the Count-les François sont polis-To an excess, replied I.

The Count took notice of the word excesse ; and would have it I meant more than I said. I defended myself along time as well as I could against it—he insisted I had a reserve, and that I would speak my opinion frankly.

CHARMS OF URBANITY.

I believe Mons, le Count, said I, that man has a certain compass as well as an instrument; and that the social and other calls have occasion by turns for every key in him; so that if you begin a nate too high or too low, there must be a want either in the upper or under part, to fill up the system of harmony.

The Count de B*** did not understand music, so desired me to explain it some other way. A po, lished nation, my dear Count, said I, makes every one its debtor › and besides, urbanity itself, like the fair sex, has so many charms, it goes against the heart to say it can do ill; and yot, I believe there is but a certain line of perfection, that man, take him altogether, is impowered to arrive at if he gets beyond, he rather exchanges qualities than gets them. I must not presume to say how far this has affected the French in the subject wę are speaking of but should it ever be the case of the English, in the progress of their refine, ments, to arrive at the same polish which distin guishes the French, if we did not loose the polis tesse du cœur, which inclines men more to humane actions, than courteous ones- we should at least Jose that distinct varity and originally of character, which distinguishes them, not only from each other, but from all the world besides.

I had a few king William's shillings, as smooth as glass, in my pocket; and foreseeing they would

VERSAILLES.

be of use in the illustrations of my hypothesis, I had got them into my hand, when I had proceeded so far

See, Mons. le Count, said I, rising up and Jaying them before him upon the table-by jingling and rubbing one against another for seventy years together, in one body's pocket or another's, they are become so much alike, you can scarce distinguish one shilling from another.

The English, like ancient medals, kept more apart, and passing but few people's hands, preserve the first sharpness which the fine hand of Nature has given them-they are not so pleasant to feel-but, in return, the legend is so visible, that, at the first look, you see whose image and But the French, superscription they bear. Mons. le Count, added I, wishing to soften what I had said, have so many excellencies, they can the better spare this-they are a loyal, a gallant, a generous, an ingenious, and good tempered people as is under heaven-if they have a faultthey are too serious.

Mon Dieu! cried the Count, rising out of his chair.

Mois vous plaisantez' said he, correcting his exclamation.-I laid my hand upon my breast, and with earnest gravity assured him it was my most settled opinion.

The Count said he was mortified-he could not

THE TEMPTATION,

stay to hear the reasons, being engaged to, go that moment to dine with the duc de C****.

But if it is not too far to come to Versailles to eat your soup with me, I beg before you leave France, I may have the pleasure of knowing you retract your opinion-or, in what man. ner you support it. But if you do support it, Mons. Anglois, said he, you must do it with all your powers, because you have the whole world against you. I promised the Count I would do myself the honour of dining with him before I set out for Italy-so took my leave.

THE TEMPTATION.

PARIS.

WHEN I alighted at the hotel, the porter told me a young woman with a band-box had been that moment inquiring for me. I do not know, said the porter, whether she is gone away or no. I took the key of my chamber of him, and went up stairs; and when I had got within ten steps of the top of the landing before my door, I met her coming easily down.

It was the fair fille de chambre I had walked along the Quai de Conti with-Madame de R** had sent her on some commissions to a mer

PARIS.

chande des modes, within a step or two of the hotel de Modene; and as I had failed in waiting upon her, had bid her inquire if I had left Paris; and, if so, whether I had not left a letter addressed to her.

As the fair fille de chambre was so near my door, she returned back, and went into the room with me for a moment or two, whilst I wrote a card.

It was a fine still evening, in the latter end of the month of May--the crimson window-curtains (which were of the same colour as those of the bed) were drawn close-the sun was setting, and reflected through them so warm a tint into the fair fille de chambre's face-I thought she blushed-the idea of it me made me blush myself —we were quite alone; and that superinduced a second blush before the first could get off.

There is a sort of pleasing half-guilty blush, where the blood is more in fault than the manit is sent impetuous from the heart, and virtue flies after it not to call it back, but to make the sensation of it more delicious to the nerves -it is associated.

But I will not describe it-I felt something at first within me, which was not in strict unison with the lesson of virtue I had given her the night before--I sought five minutes for a card-I knew I had not one--I took up a pen—I laid it down again-my hand trembled-the devil was in me.