friend declared was more refreshing to him than the purest air under heaven.

Dinner was soon after brought in, which consisted of a profusion of meat, ill dressed, and served up in a slovenly style. This, however, was a country dinner, and people were not to be nice in the country. So we sat, enjoying the pleasures of the country, amidst the steams of greasy broth, rusty ham, and stinking mutton: our ears delighted with the jingle of bells, and the hallooing of guests in the stair-case, which were very ineffectually answered by the bustle of an awkward waiter, and a fat hoyden of a chambermaid.

When the table-cloth was removed, our conduc tor, who said he found himself much the better for his dinner, called for the landlord, and desired him to send in a particular sort of wine, the flavour of which he highly commended. An old proverbial recipe was cited to him, by a red-faced gentleman at the bottom of the table, which signifies, that a man should drink a bottle to-day, as a cure for the effects of two or three drank yesterday. It was a prescription very much suited to the inclination of my friend, who declared, after having drank a bottle of it, that he never was better in all his life. Nobody mentioned the evening being a proper time for walking; so we sat till our carriages were at the door, and till we dispatched four last bottles after their arrival. The post-boys, whose patience needed some cordial to maintain it, were busy in their way below; so that, when at last we got into the chaises, they were as drunk.......................as drunk as we were. The carriage in which another gentleman and I were placed was over-turned about a mile from town: I escaped with a sprained ankle; but my friend had his collar-bone broke.

Now, Mr. Mirror, I incline to think, that a man may find a bad dinner, and get drunk after it, just

as well in town as in the country; and, in the first case, he will have the advantage of saving his bones, the chaise hire, and the tax upon post-horses.

V

I am, &c.

GIVIS.

No. LVII. TUESDAY, AUGUST 10.

NO thinking man will deny, that travelling into foreign countries is, in certain situations, attended with many and great advantages. It polishes the manners of the courtier, enlarges the views of the statesman, and furnishes the philosopher with a more extensive field of observation, and enables him to form more certain conclusions with regard to the nature and character of man. At the same time, I have often been disposed to doubt, how far it is an eligible thing for a private gentleman, without talents and inclination for public life, to spend much of his time abroad, to acquire a relish for foreign manners, and a taste for the society of a set of men, with whom neither his station nor his fortune entitles him to associate in the after part of his life. The following letter on this subject may perhaps be acceptable to my readers.

SIR,

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE MIRROR.

MOST of your predecessors have favoured the public with speculations on travelling; and they have been at pains to point out the abuses of it that from time to time have prevailed among us. In the Spectator, the absurdity of a fond mother and mother's own son going together to make the tour

of Europe, in order to learn men and things, is exposed in a very masterly manner. If I have not been misinformed, that admirable essay was the production of a young man, who afterwards, by his great talents and eminent virtues, added dignity to the highest office in the law of England, which he filled many years with the entire approbation of all good men.

In the World, the folly of sending an ignorant booby to travel, who looked with contempt on the French and the Italians, because they did not speak English, is held up to ridicule in a vein of wit, and with an elegance of expression, that mark the compositions of the Earl of Chesterfield.

A correspondent in your own paper has pointed out the fatal effects of a practice, unknown until within these few years, of sending boys to foreign schools, or academies, where, according to his account of the matter, they learn nothing but vice and folly.

Although travelling has proved equally fatal to me, my case is very different from any of those I have mentioned; I shall, therefore, take the liberty to give an account of myself, from which you and your readers will be best able to judge, whether making what is called the grand tour, be an advisable thing for persons in my circumstances and situation.

I am the only son of a gentleman of fortune and family. My father, who was himself a man of letters, wished to give me a liberal education, and was desirous to unite the solidity of the ancient system with that ease and grace, which, of late, have been cultivated so much, and which, by some, have been thought the most essential of all acquirements. Soon after my twentieth year my father died, leaving me possessed of a family estate of a thousand pounds a-year, and (I hope I may say it without vanity) with as great a share of knowledge as any of

my contemporaries could boast of. The tour of Europe was the only thing wanting to complete my education. Intimately acquainted with the celebrated characters of antiquity, and an enthusiastic admirer of their virtues, I longed to visit Italy, to see the spot where Scipio triumphed, where Cæsar fell, where Cicero harangued. Full of these ideas, I set out on my travels; and, after passing some time in France, I proceeded to Rome. For a while, antiquity was my great object, and every remain of Roman greatness attracted my attention. Afterwards music, of which I had always been a lover, and painting, for which I acquired a taste in Italy, occupied much of my time; but, whilst engaged in these favourite pursuits, I did not neglect any opportunity of mingling in society with the natives, and of observing their manners and customs. I lived too on the most intimate footing with the British at the different courts I visited; and I doubted not that the friendships I then formed with men of the first distinction in my own country, would be as lasting as they appeared to be warm and sincere. If the pleasures in which we indulged, and which, by degrees, came to occupy almost the whole of my time, sometimes bordered on the licentious, they were at least attended with an elegance, which, in some measure disguised the deformity of vice.

Various reasons, which it is needless now to mention, at length constrained me to return home. As I approached my seat in the county of............. I felt a tender satisfaction at the thought of revisiting those scenes where I had spent so many happy days in the "early morn of life," and of seeing again the companions of my youthful sports, many of whom I knew had settled in the country, and lived, on their estates in my neighbourhood. My arrival was no sooner known than they flocked to welcome me home. The friends of my father, and their

sons, my old companions, were equally sincere and warm in their compliments; but, though I was pleased with their attachment, I could not help being disgusted with the blunt plainness of their manners. Their conversation usually turned on subjects in which I could not possibly be interested. The old got into keen political debate, or dissertations on farming; and the young talked over their last fox chace, or recited the particulars of their last debauch. If I attempted to give the conversation a different turn, they remained silent, and were altogether incapable to talk of those subjects on which I had been accustomed to think and to speak. If I mentioned the Gabrielli, or the Mignotti, they were as much at a loss as I was when they joined in praising the notes of Juno or of Jowler; if the proportions of the Venus of Medicis were talked of, one would perhaps ask, what a dead beauty was good for? another would swear, that, in his mind, Polly ............ was a better made girl than any heathen goddess, dead or alive.

By degrees my neighbours gaye me up altogether. They complained that I was a strange fellow, who hated company, and had no notion of life. I confess I was rather pleased with their neglect, and in my own preferred solitude to such society: but solitude at length become irksome, and I longed again to mingle in society. With that view I went to the races at Edinburgh, where I was told I should meet with all the polite people of this country. The night I arrived I accompanied to the assembly a female relation, almost the only acquaintance I had in town. If you, Mr. Mirror, be a frequenter of public places, I need not tell you how much I was struck on entering the room. Dark, dirty, mean, offensive to every sense, it seemed to resemble a large barn, rather than a room allotted for the reception of polite company. I had no sooner en