oud,
on the road to Versailles, and which is, indeed, a noble monument of
his munificence. It is a very large building, both commodious and
magnificent, where a great number of artists are employed, and where
this elegant superfluity is carried to as great perfection as it ever
was at Dresden. Yet, after all, I know not whether the porcelain made
at Chelsea may not vie with the productions either of Dresden, or St.
Cloud. If it falls short of either, it is not in the design, painting,
enamel, or other ornaments, but only in the composition of the metal,
and the method of managing it in the furnace. Our porcelain seems to be
a partial vitrification of levigated flint and fine pipe clay, mixed
together in a certain proportion; and if the pieces are not removed
from the fire in the very critical moment, they will be either too
little, or too much vitrified. In the first case, I apprehend they will
not acquire a proper degree of cohesion; they will be apt to be
corroded, discoloured, and to crumble, like the first essays that were
made at Chelsea; in the second case, they will be little better than
imperfect glass.

There are three methods of travelling from Paris to Lyons, which, by
the shortest road is a journey of about three hundred and sixty miles.
One is by the diligence, or stagecoach, which performs it in five days;
and every passenger pays one hundred livres, in consideration of which,
he not only has a seat in the carriage, but is maintained on the road.
The inconveniences attending this way of travelling are these. You are
crouded into the carriage, to the number of eight persons, so as to sit
very uneasy, and sometimes run the risque of being stifled among very
indifferent company. You are hurried out of bed, at four, three, nay
often at two o'clock in the morning. You are obliged to eat in the
French way, which is very disagreeable to an English palate; and, at
Chalons, you must embark upon the Saone in a boat, which conveys you to
Lyons, so that the two last days of your journey are by water. All
these were insurmountable objections to me, who am in such a bad state
of health, troubled with an asthmatic cough, spitting, slow fever, and
restlessness, which demands a continual change of place, as well as
free air, and room for motion. I was this day visited by two young
gentlemen, sons of Mr. Guastaldi, late minister from Genoa at London. I
had seen them at Paris, at the house of the dutchess of Douglas. They
c