ole individual history;
diverges into anecdotes about his relations, pulls out his watch, and
under the cover shews you the hair of his mistress, apostrophizes the
curl--opens his pocket-book, insists upon your reading his letters to
her, sings you the song which he composed when he was _au desespoir_ at
their parting, asks your opinion of it, then whirls off to a discussion
on the nature of love; leaves that the next moment to philosophize upon
friendship, compliments you, _en passant_, and claims you for his
friend; hopes that the connection will be perpetual, and concludes by
asking you _to do him the honour of telling him your name_. In this
manner he is perpetually occupied; he has a part to act which renders
serious thought unnecessary, and silence impossible. If he has been
unfortunate, he recounts his distresses, and in doing so, forgets them.
His mind never reposes for a moment upon itself; his secret is to keep
it in perpetual motion, and, like a shuttlecock, to whip it back and
forward with such rapidity, that although its feathers may have been
ruffled, and its gilding effaced by many hard blows, yet neither you nor
he have time to discover it.

Nothing can present a stronger contrast between the French and English
character, and nothing evinces more clearly the superiority of the
French in conversation, and the art of amusement, than the scenes which
take place in the interior of a French diligence. They who go to France
and travel in their own carriages are not aware of what they lose.--The
interior of a French diligence, if you are tolerably fortunate in your
company, is a perfect epitome of the French nation.--When you enter a
public coach in England, it is certainly very seldom that, in the course
of the few hours you may remain in it, you meet with an entertaining
companion. Chance, indeed, may now and then throw a pleasant man in your
way; but these are but thinly sown amongst those sour and silent
gentlemen, who are your general associates, and who, now and then eyeing
each other askance, look as if they could curse themselves for being
thrown into such involuntary contiguity.

The scene in a French diligence is the most different from all this that
can be conceived. Every thing there is life, and motion, and joy.--The
coach generally holds from ten to twelve persons, and even then is
sufficiently roomy.--The moment you enter you find yourself on terms of
the most perfect familiarity with the whole