description of
one French town on the Sunday will serve for all which we have seen.
They are every day sufficiently filthy, but on Sunday, from the
concourse of people, more than commonly so. They never have a pavement
to fly to for clean walking, and for safety from the carriages. If you
are near a shop, a lane, or entry when a carriage comes along, you may
fly in, if not, you must trust to the civility of the coachman, who, if
polite, will only splash you all over. On Sundays, their markets are
held the same as on other days, and nearly all the shops had their doors
open, but _their windows shut_. Thus they cheat the Devil, and, as they
think, render sufficient homage to him who hath said, on that day "thou
shalt do no manner of work." Yet while all this is going on, the
churches are open, and those who are inclined go in, and take a minute,
a quarter, half an hour, or an hour's devotion, as they think fit. We
entered the nearest of these churches, and saw, what is always to be
seen in them, a great deal, at least, of the outward shew of religion,
and something in a few individuals of the congregation which looked like
real devotion. After church, we went to the convent of St Mary, and were
all admitted, both ladies and gentlemen. The nuns there are not, by any
means, strictly confined; they are of that description who go abroad and
attend the sick. Their pensioners (chiefly children from four to
sixteen) are allowed to go and see their friends; and they were all
presented to us. They are taught to read, write, work, &c. and are well
fed and clothed. This convent was very neat and clean. The building
formed a complete square, and the ground in the interior was very
beautifully laid out as a garden. The cloisters were ornamented with
pots of roses and carnations in full bloom, with the care of which the
young pensioners amused themselves. They have a very pretty small
chapel, over the outer door of which is written, [5]"Grand silence;" and
over the inner this inscription; whose menacing promises is so ill
suited to the spirit and temper of its conclusion: "Ah, que ce maison
est terrible, c'est la maison de Dieu, et la porte du ciel." The holy
sisters were of all ages, and many of them pretty--one, the handsomest
woman I have seen in France.

The ladies are just returned from a longer walk, and report the town to
be ugly, and the streets insufferably dirty. Its manufactures are china,
glass, and enamelled goods; toys o