. But enough of this. When I know my own mind, for
hitherto I have settled no plan for my summer, I will come to you.
Adieu!

_ANGLOMANIE IN PARIS--HORSE-RACING._

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

STRAWBERRY HILL, _Dec._ 1, 1776.

I don't know who the Englishwoman is of whom you give so ridiculous a
description; but it will suit thousands. I distrust my age continually,
and impute to it half the contempt I feel for my countrymen and women.
If I think the other half well-founded, it is by considering what must
be said hereafter of the present age. What is to impress a great idea of
us on posterity? In truth, what do our contemporaries of all other
countries think of us? They stare at and condemn our politics and
follies; and if they retain any respect for us, I doubt it is for the
sense we have had. I do know, indeed, one man who still worships us, but
his adoration is testified so very absurdly, as not to do us much
credit. It is a Monsieur de Marchais, first Valet-de-Chambre to the
King of France. He has the _Anglomanie_ so strong, that he has not only
read more English than French books, but if any valuable work appears in
his own language, he waits to peruse it till it is translated into
English; and to be sure our translations of French are admirable things!

To do the rest of the French justice, I mean such as like us, they adopt
only our egregious follies, and in particular the flower of them,
horse-racing![1] _Le Roi Pepin_, a racer, is the horse in fashion. I
suppose the next shameful practice of ours they naturalize will be the
personal scurrilities in the newspapers, especially on young and
handsome women, in which we certainly are originals! Voltaire, who first
brought us into fashion in France, is stark mad at his own success. Out
of envy to writers of his own nation, he cried up Shakspeare; and now is
distracted at the just encomiums bestowed on that first genius of the
world in the new translation. He sent to the French Academy an
invective that bears all the marks of passionate dotage. Mrs. Montagu
happened to be present when it was read. Suard, one of their writers,
said to her, "Je crois, Madame, que vous etes un peu fache de ce que
vous venez d'entendre." She replied, "Moi, Monsieur! point du tout! Je
ne suis pas amie de Monsieur Voltaire." I shall go to town the day after
to-morrow, and will add a postscript, if I hear any news.

[Footnote 1: "A rage for adopting English fashions (Anglomanie, as it
was c