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 obtrusive, are not within the notice of a
temporary resident.

It is not therefore extraordinary, that I, who have been domesticated
some years in France, who have lived among its inhabitants without
pretensions, and seen them without disguise, should not think them quite
so polite, elegant, gay, or susceptible, as they endeavour to appear to
the visitant of the day. Where objects of curiosity only are to be
described, I know that a vast number may be viewed in a very rapid
progress; yet national character, I repeat, cannot be properly estimated
but by means of long and familiar intercourse. A person who is every
where a stranger, must see things in their best dress; being the object
of attention, he is naturally disposed to be pleased, and many
circumstances both physical and moral are passed over as novelties in
this transient communication, which might, on repetition, be found
inconvenient or disgusting. When we are stationary, and surrounded by
our connections, we are apt to be difficult and splenetic; but a literary
traveller never thinks of inconvenience, and still less of being out of
humour--curiosity reconciles him to the one, and his fame so smooths all
his intercourse, that he has no plea for the other.

It is probably for these reasons that we have so many panegyrists of our
Gallic neighbours, and there is withal a certain fashion of liberality
that has lately prevailed, by which we think ourselves bound to do them
more than justice, because they [are] our political enemies. For my own
part, I confess I have merely endeavoured to be impartial, and have not
scrupled to give a preference to my own country where I believed it was
due. I