The author, who
had travelled in England, returns to France a complete "Jacques
Rot-de-Bif." He then visits Holland, the Low Countries, Constantinople,
Italy, Spain, Portugal, and England a second time. He finds that the
charm has vanished, and that the English are no better than their
neighbours. It is a cynical little book, abounding in such sayings as.
"Make acquaintances, not friends; intimacy breeds disgust;" "The best
fruit of travelling is the justification of instinctive dislikes."
Monbron, like Byron, ridicules the traveller's passion for collecting
broken statues and antiques.]
* * * * *
189.--To R. C. Dallas.
Newstead Abbey, Sept. 17, 1811.
I can easily excuse your not writing, as you have, I hope, something
better to do, and you must pardon my frequent invasions on your
attention, because I have at this moment nothing to interpose between
you and my epistles.
I cannot settle to any thing, and my days pass, with the exception of
bodily exercise to some extent, with uniform indolence, and idle
insipidity. I have been expecting, and still expect, my agent, when I
shall have enough to occupy my reflections in business of no very
pleasant aspect. Before my journey to Rochdale, you shall have due
notice where to address me--I believe at the post-office of that
township. From Murray I received a second proof of the same pages, which
I requested him to show you, that any thing which may have escaped my
observation may be detected before the printer lays the corner-stone of
an _errata_ column.
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