hear without reluctance,
that in these curious and costly articles Paris is superior to London;
since the opulence of the French capital arises from the defects of
its government and religion. In the absence of Louis XIV. and his
successors, the Louvre has been left unfinished: but the millions which
have been lavished on the sands of Versailles, and the morass of Marli,
could not be supplied by the legal allowance of a British king. The
splendour of the French nobles is confined to their town residence; that
of the English is more usefully distributed in their country seats;
and we should be astonished at our own riches, if the labours of
architecture, the spoils of Italy and Greece, which are now scattered
from Inverary to Wilton, were accumulated in a few streets between
Marylebone and Westminster. All superfluous ornament is rejected by the
cold frugality of the protestants; but the catholic superstition, which
is always the enemy of reason, is often the parent of the arts. The
wealthy communities of priests and monks expend their revenues in
stately edifices; and the parish church of St. Sulpice, one of the
noblest structures in Paris, was built and adorned by the private
industry of a late cure. In this outset, and still more in the sequel of
my tour, my eye was amused; but the pleasing vision cannot be fixed by
the pen; the particular images are darkly seen through the medium of
five-and-twenty years, and the narrative of my life must not degenerate
into a book of travels.

But the principal end of my journey was to enjoy the society of a
polished and amiable people, in whose favour I was strongly prejudiced,
and to converse with some authors, whose conversation, as I fondly
imagined, must be far more pleasing and instructive than their writings.
The moment was happily chosen. At the close of a successful war the
British name was respected on the continent.

Clarum et venerabile nomen
Gentibus.

Our opinions, our fashions, even our games, were adopted in France, a
ray of national glory illuminated each individual, and every Englishman
was supposed to be born a patriot and a philosopher. For myself, I
carried a personal recommendation; my name and my Essay were already
known; the compliment of having written in the French language entitled
me to some returns of civility and gratitude. I was considered as a man
of letters, who wrote for amusement. Before my departure I had obt