th all my powers. Were I to see Burke now it would kill me.' So
much was he accustomed to consider conversation as a contest, and such
was his notion of Burke as an opponent.

Next morning, Thursday, March 21, we set out in a post-chaise to pursue
our ramble. It was a delightful day, and we rode through Blenheim
park. When I looked at the magnificent bridge built by John Duke of
Marlborough, over a small rivulet, and recollected the Epigram made upon
it--

'The lofty arch his high ambition shows,
The stream, an emblem of his bounty flows:'

and saw that now, by the genius of Brown, a magnificent body of water
was collected, I said, 'They have DROWNED the Epigram.' I observed to
him, while in the midst of the noble scene around us, 'You and I,
Sir, have, I think, seen together the extremes of what can be seen in
Britain:--the wild rough island of Mull, and Blenheim park.'

We dined at an excellent inn at Chapel-house, where he expatiated on
the felicity of England in its taverns and inns, and triumphed over the
French for not having, in any perfection, the tavern life. 'There is no
private house, (said he,) in which people can enjoy themselves so
well, as at a capital tavern. Let there be ever so great plenty of
good things, ever so much grandeur, ever so much elegance, ever so much
desire that every body should be easy; in the nature of things it cannot
be: there must always be some degree of care and anxiety. The master of
the house is anxious to entertain his guests; the guests are anxious to
be agreeable to him: and no man, but a very impudent dog indeed, can as
freely command what is in another man's house, as if it were his own.
Whereas, at a tavern, there is a general freedom from anxiety. You are
sure you are welcome: and the more noise you make, the more trouble
you give, the more good things you call for, the welcomer you are. No
servants will attend you with the alacrity which waiters do, who are
incited by the prospect of an immediate reward, in proportion as they
please. No, Sir; there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man,
by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn.'* He
then repeated, with great emotion, Shenstone's lines:--

'Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn.'

* Sir John Hawkins has preserved very f