Chapter C: H a P. XCII

THERE is not a town in all _France_ which, in my opinion, looks better in the map, than MONTREUIL;——I own, it does not look so well in the book of post-roads; but when you come to see it—to be sure it looks most pitifully.

There is one thing, however, in it at present very handsome; and that is, the inn-keeper’s daughter: She has been eighteen months at _Amiens_, and six at _Paris_, in going through her classes; so knits, and sews, and dances, and does the little coquetries very well.——

—A slut! in running them over within these five minutes that I have stood looking at her, she has let fall at least a dozen loops in a white thread stocking——yes, yes—I see, you cunning gipsy!—’tis long and taper—you need not pin it to your knee—and that ’tis your own—and fits you exactly.——

——That Nature should have told this creature a word about a _statue’s thumb!_

—But as this sample is worth all their thumbs—besides, I have her thumbs and fingers in at the bargain, if they can be any guide to me,—and as _Janatone_ withal (for that is her name) stands so well for a drawing——may I never draw more, or rather may I draw like a draught-horse, by main strength all the days of my life,—if I do not draw her in all her proportions, and with as determined a pencil, as if I had her in the wettest drapery.——

—But your worships chuse rather that I give you the length, breadth, and perpendicular height of the great parish-church, or drawing of the façade of the abbey of Saint _Austreberte_ which has been transported from _Artois_ hither—every thing is just I suppose as the masons and carpenters left them,—and if the belief in _Christ_ continues so long, will be so these fifty years to come—so your worships and reverences may all measure them at your leisures——but he who measures thee, _Janatone_, must do it now—thou carriest the principles of change within thy frame; and considering the chances of a transitory life, I would not answer for thee a moment; ere twice twelve months are passed and gone, thou mayest grow out like a pumpkin, and lose thy shapes——or thou mayest go off like a flower, and lose thy beauty—nay, thou mayest go off like a hussy—and lose thyself.—I would not answer for my aunt _Dinah_, was she alive——’faith, scarce for her picture——were it but painted by _Reynolds_—

But if I go on with my drawing, after naming that son of _Apollo_, I’ll be shot——

So you must e’en be content with the original; which, if the evening is fine in passing thro’ _Montreuil_, you will see at your chaise-door, as you change horses: but unless you have as bad a reason for haste as I have—you had better stop:—She has a little of the _devote:_ but that, sir, is a terce to a nine in your favour——

—L— help me! I could not count a single point: so had been piqued and repiqued, and capotted to the devil.

C H A P. XCIII

ALL which being considered, and that Death moreover might be much nearer me than I imagined——I wish I was at _Abbeville_, quoth I, were it only to see how they card and spin——so off we set.

[33]_de Montreuil a Nampont - poste et demi de Nampont_ a Bernay - - - - - - poste de Bernay a Nouvion - - - - - poste de Nouvion a ABBEVILLE poste ——but the carders and spinners were all gone to bed.

[33] Vid. Book of French post-roads, page 36. edition of 1762.

C H A P. XCIV

WHAT a vast advantage is travelling! only it heats one; but there is a remedy for that, which you may pick out of the next chapter.