lves among the number, have been
for some time a burthen on the generosity of the republic, and that for
this reason we are permitted to embark as soon as we can find the means.
This is neither true, nor very gallant; but we are too happy in quitting
the republic, to cavil about terms, and would not exchange our
pauper-like passports for a consignment of all the national domains.

I have been busy to-day in collecting and disposing of my papers, and
though I have taken infinite pains to conceal them, their bulk is so
considerable, that the conveyance must be attended with risk. While I
was thus employed, the casual perusal of some passages in my letters and
notes has led me to consider how much my ideas of the French character
and manners differ from those to be found in the generality of modern
travels. My opinions are not of importance enough to require a defence;
and a consciousness of not having deviated from truth makes me still more
averse from an apology. Yet as I have in several instances varied from
authorities highly respectable, it may not be improper to endeavour to
account for what has almost the appearance of presumption.

If you examine most of the publications describing foreign countries, you
will find them generally written by authors travelling either with the
eclat of birth and riches, or, professionally, as men of science or
letters. They scarcely remain in any place longer than suffices to view
the churches, and to deliver their letters of recommendation; or, if
their stay be protracted at some capital town, it is only to be feted
from one house to another, among that class of people who are every where
alike. As soon as they appear in society, their reputation as authors
sets all the national and personal vanity in it afloat. One is polite,
for the honour of his country--another is brilliant, to recommend
himself; and the traveller cannot ask a question, the answer to which is
not intended for an honourable insertion in his repertory of future fame.

In this manner an author is passed from the literati and fashionable
people of one metropolis to those of the next. He goes post through
small towns and villages, seldom mixes with every-day life, and must in a
great degree depend for information on partial enquiries. He sees, as it
were, only the two extremes of human condition--the splendour of the
rich, and the misery of the poor; but the manners of the intermediate
classes, which are less