in the yard, had often put their noses into it, I concluded it was put down for their food, not mine, till I saw a dirty girl patting it up into round balls, and two children, the eldest of them not above three years old, slavering in and playing with it, one of whom, to lose no time, was performing an office that none could do for her.  I asked the maid what she was about, and what it was she was so preparing? for I began to think I had been mistaken, till she told me it was spinnage;—­not for me, I hope, said I,—­’oui, pour vous et le monde.’  I then forbad her bringing any to my table, and putting the little girl off her center, by an angry push, made her almost as dirty as the spinnage; and I could perceive her mother, the hostess, and some French travellers who were near, looked upon me as a brute, for disturbing la pauvre enfant; nevertheless, with my entree came up a dish of this delicate spinnage, with which I made the girl a very pretty Chapeau Anglois, for I turned it, dish and all, upon her head; this set the house in such an uproar, that, if there had not come in an old gentleman like Bourgeois of Paris, at that instant, I verily believe I should have been turned out; but he engaged warmly in my defence, and insisted upon it that I had treated the girl just as he would have done, had she brought such a dirty dish to him after being cautioned not to do so; nor should I have got any supper, had I not prevailed on this good-natured man, who never eat any, to order a supper for himself, and transfer it to me.  He was a native of Lyons, and had been, for the first time after thirty years absence, to visit his relations there.  My entertainment at this house, outward-bound, was half a second-hand roasted turkey, or, what the sailors call a twice-laid dish, i.e. one which is done over a second time.

I know the French in general will not like to see this dirty charge, brought even against an aubergiste, and much less to hear it said, that this disregard to cleanliness is almost general in the public inns; but truth justifies it, and I hope the publication may amend it.

A modern French anonymous traveller, who I conclude by the company he kept in England, is a man of fashion, gives in general a just account of the English nation, their customs and manners; and acknowledges, in handsome terms, the manner he was received by some of the first families in England.  He owns, however, he does not understand English, yet he has the temerity to say, that Gulliver’s travels are the chef d’oeuvre of Dean Swift; but observes, that those travels are greatly improved by passing through the hands of Desfontaines.—­This gentleman must excuse me in saying, that Desfontaines neither understood English, nor Dean Swift, better than he does.  He also concludes his first