d-up business at
first, though it had been twice taken to pieces on Mount Sennis, it had
not profited much by its adventures, but by none so little as the standing
so many months unpitied in the corner of Monsieur Dessein's coachyard.
Much, indeed, was not to be said for it--but something might--and when a few
words will rescue misery out of her distress, I hate the man who can be a
churl of them."

_Le tour est fait!_ Paillasse has tumbled! Paillasse has jumped over the
_desobligeant_, cleared it, hood and all, and bows to the noble company.
Does anybody believe that this is a real Sentiment? that this luxury of
generosity, this gallant rescue of Misery--out of an old cab, is genuine
feeling? It is as genuine as the virtuous oratory of Joseph Surface when
he begins, "The man who," &c. &c., and wishes to pass off for a saint with
his credulous, good-humoured dupes.

Our friend purchases the carriage--after turning that notorious old monk to
good account, and effecting (like a soft and good-natured Paillasse as he
was, and very free with his money when he had it), an exchange of
snuff-boxes with the old Franciscan, jogs out of Calais; sets down in
immense figures on the credit side of his account the sous he gives away
to the Montreuil beggars; and, at Nampont, gets out of the chaise and
whimpers over that famous dead donkey, for which any sentimentalist may
cry who will. It is agreeably and skilfully done--that dead jackass; like
M. de Soubise's cook, on the campaign, Sterne dresses it, and serves it up
quite tender and with a very piquante sauce. But tears, and fine feelings,
and a white pocket-handkerchief, and a funeral sermon, and horses and
feathers, and a procession of mutes, and a hearse with a dead donkey
inside! Psha! Mountebank! I'll not give thee one penny more for that
trick, donkey and all!

This donkey had appeared once before with signal effect. In 1765, three
years before the publication of the _Sentimental Journey_, the seventh and
eighth volumes of _Tristram Shandy_ were given to the world, and the
famous Lyons donkey makes his entry in those volumes (pp. 315, 316):--

"'Twas by a poor ass, with a couple of large panniers at his back, who had
just turned in to collect eleemosynary turnip-tops and cabbage-leaves, and
stood dubious, with his two forefeet at the inside of the threshold, and
with his two hinder feet towards the street, as not knowing very well
whether he was to go in or no.

"Now 'tis