was likely to be its own reward, as it open’d no further track of glory to him—he retired à ses terres, and lived comme il plaisoit à dieu—that is to say, upon nothing.

—And so, quoth Wisdome, you have hired a drummer to attend you in this tour of your’s through France and Italy! Psha! said I, and do not one half of our gentry go with a hum-drum Compagnon du voyage the same round, and have the piper and the devil and all, to pay besides? When a man can extricate himself with an equivoque in such an unequal match—he is not ill off—But you can do something else, La Fleur? said I—O qu’oui!—he could make spatterdashes,4 and play a little upon the fiddle—Bravo! said Wisdome—Why, I play a bass myself, said I—we shall do very well. You can shave, and dress a wig a little, La Fleur?—He had all the dispositions in the world—It is enough for heaven! said I, interrupting him—and ought to be enough for me—So supper coming in, and having a frisky English spaniel on one side of my chair, and a French valet, with as much hilarity in his countenance as ever nature painted in one, on the other—I was satisfied to my heart’s content with my empire; and if monarchs knew what they would be at, they might be as satisfied as I was.


As La Fleur went the whole tour of France and Italy with me, and will be often upon the stage, I must interest the reader a little further in his behalf, by saying, that I had never less reason to repent of the impulses which generally do determine me, than in regard to this fellow—he was a faithful, affectionate, simple soul as ever trudged after the heels of a philosopher; and notwithstanding his talents of drum- beating and spatterdash-making, which, tho’ very good in themselves, happen’d to be of no great service to me, yet was I hourly recompensed by the festivity of his temper—it supplied all defects—I had a constant resource in his looks in all difficulties and distresses of my own—I was going to have added, of his too; but La Fleur was out of the reach of every thing; for whether ’twas hunger or thirst, or cold or nakedness, or watchings, or whatever stripes of ill luck La Fleur met with in our journeyings, there was no index in his physiognomy to point them out by—he was eternally the same; so that if I am a piece of a philosopher, which Satan now and then puts it into my head I am—it always mortifies the pride of the conceit, by reflecting how much I owe to the complexional philosophy of this poor fellow, for shaming me into one of a better kind. With all this, La Fleur had a small cast of the coxcomb—but he seem’d at first sight to be more a coxcomb of Nature, than of Art; and before I had been three days in Paris with him—he seem’d to be no coxcomb at all.


The next morning, La Fleur entering upon his employment, I delivered to him the key of my portmanteau, with an inventory of my half a dozen shirts and silk pair of breeches; and bid him fasten all upon the chaise—get the horses put to—and desire the landlord to come in with his bill.

C’est un garçon du bonne fortune, said the landlord, pointing through the window to half a dozen wenches who had got round about La Fleur, and were most kindly taking their leave of him, as the postilion was leading out the horses. La Fleur kissed all their hands round and round again, and thrice he wiped his eyes, and thrice he promised he would bring them all pardons from Rome.

The young fellow, said the landlord, is beloved by all the town, and there is scarce a corner in Montriul where the want of him will not be felt: he has but one misfortune in the world, continued he, “he is always in love”—I am heartily glad of it, said I—’twill save me the trouble every night of putting my breeches under my head. In saying this, I was making not so much La Fleur’s eloge, as my own, having been in love with one princess or another almost all my life, and I hope I shall go on so till I die, being firmly persuaded, that if ever I do a mean action, it must be in some interval betwixt one passion and another: while this interregnum lasts, I always perceive my heart lock’d up—I can scarce find in it to give Misery a sixpence, and therefore I always get out of it as fast as I can; and the moment I am rekindled, I am all generosity and good will again, and would do any thing in the world either for, or with any one, if they will but satisfy me there is no sin in it.

  By PanEris using Melati.

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