Chapter C: H a P. I

NOW I hate to hear a person, especially if he be a traveller, complain that we do not get on so fast in _France_ as we do in _England;_ whereas we get on much faster, _consideratis considerandis;_ thereby always meaning, that if you weigh their vehicles with the mountains of baggage which you lay both before and behind upon them—and then consider their puny horses, with the very little they give them—’tis a wonder they get on at all: their suffering is most unchristian, and ’tis evident thereupon to me, that a _French_ post-horse would not know what in the world to do, was it not for the two words * * * * * * and * * * * * * in which there is as much sustenance, as if you give him a peck of corn: now as these words cost nothing, I long from my soul to tell the reader what they are; but here is the question—they must be told him plainly, and with the most distinct articulation, or it will answer no end—and yet to do it in that plain way—though their reverences may laugh at it in the bed-chamber—full well I wot, they will abuse it in the parlour: for which cause, I have been volving and revolving in my fancy some time, but to no purpose, by what clean device or facette contrivance I might so modulate them, that whilst I satisfy _that ear_ which the reader chuses to _lend_ me—I might not dissatisfy the other which he keeps to himself.

——My ink burns my finger to try——and when I have——’twill have a worse consequence——It will burn (I fear) my paper.

——No;——I dare not——

But if you wish to know how the _abbess_ of _Andoüillets_ and a novice of her convent got over the difficulty (only first wishing myself all imaginable success)—I’ll tell you without the least scruple.