pended the effects of the Droits d'aubaine1 my shirts, and black pair of silk breeches portmanteau and all must have gone to the King of France - even the little picture which I have so long worn, and so often have told thee, Eliza, I would carry with me into my grave, would have been torn from my neck.Ungenerous! to seize upon the wreck of an unwary passenger, whom your subjects had beckon'd to their coast― by heaven! SIRE, it is not well done; and much does it grieve me, 'tis the monarch of a people so civilized and courteous, and so renowned for sentiment and fine feelings, that I have to reason with ———— ion But I have scarce set foot in your domin Calais W 'HEN I had finish'd my dinner, and drank the King of France's health, to satisfy my mind that I bore him no spleen, but, on the contrary, high honour for 1 All the effects of strangers (Swiss and Scotch excepted) dying in France, are seized by virtue of this law, though the heir be upon the spot the profit of these contingencies being farmed, there is no redress. -No said I the Bourbon is by no means a cruel race: they may be misled like other people; but there is a mildness in their blood. As I acknowledged this, I felt a suffusion of a finer kind upon my cheek - more warm and friendly to man, than what Burgundy (at least of two livres a bottle, which was such as I had been drinking) could have produced. - Just God! said I, kicking my portmanteau aside, what is there in this world's goods which should sharpen our spirits, and make so many kind-hearted brethren of us fall out so cruelly as we do by the way? When man is at peace with man, how much lighter than a feather is the heaviest of metals in his hand! he pulls out his purse, and holding it airily and uncompress'd looks round him, as if he sought for an object to share it with. In doing this, I felt every vessel in my frame dilate-the arteries beat all chearily together, and every power which sustained life, performed it with so little friction, that 't would have confounded the most physical precieuse in France with all her materialism, she could scarce have called me a machine |