- Knowledge In Most Of Its Branches,
And In Most Affairs, Is Like Music In An Italian Street, Whereof
Those May Partake Who Pay Nothing.
- But there is no nation under
heaven - and God is my record (before whose tribunal I must one day
Come and give an account of this work) - that I do not speak it
vauntingly, - but there is no nation under heaven abounding with
more variety of learning, - where the sciences may be more fitly
woo'd, or more surely won, than here, - where art is encouraged, and
will so soon rise high, - where Nature (take her altogether) has so
little to answer for, - and, to close all, where there is more wit
and variety of character to feed the mind with: - Where then, my
dear countrymen, are you going? -
We are only looking at this chaise, said they. - Your most obedient
servant, said I, skipping out of it, and pulling off my hat. - We
were wondering, said one of them, who, I found was an Inquisitive
Traveller, - what could occasion its motion. - 'Twas the agitation,
said I, coolly, of writing a preface. - I never heard, said the
other, who was a Simple Traveller, of a preface wrote in a
desobligeant. - It would have been better, said I, in a vis-a-vis.
- As an Englishman does not travel to see Englishmen, I retired to
my room.
CALAIS.
I perceived that something darken'd the passage more than myself,
as I stepp'd along it to my room; it was effectually Mons.
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