public monuments of every kind:--it is not only a representation of
the general aspect of the country, as to its picturesque
appearances--but it is an extended, minute, though occasionally
inexact, account of public and private libraries; with reflections
upon certain customs of the country, and upon the character of those
who inhabit it. It is in short the personal history of the author,
throughout the whole length of his journey. Not the smallest incident,
however indifferent, but what has a place in the letters of the
Bibliographer. Thus, he mentions every Inn where he stops: recommends
or scolds the landlord--according to his civility or exaction. Has the
author passed a bad night? the reader is sure to know it on the
following morning. On the other hand, has he had a good night's rest
in a comfortable bed? [dans un lit _comfortable_?] We are as sure to
know this also, as soon as he awakes:--and thus far we are relieved
from anxiety about the health of the traveller. Cold and heat--fine
weather and bad weather--every variation of atmosphere is scrupulously
recorded.

What immediately follows, is unworthy of M. Licquet; because it not only
implies a charge of a heinous description--accusing me of an insidious
intrusion into domestic circles, a violation of confidence, and a
systematic derision of persons and things--but because the French
translator, exercising that sense and shrewdness which usually distinguish
him, MUST have known that such a charge _could_ not have been founded in
FACT. He must have known that any gentleman, leaving England with those
letters which brought me in contact with some of the first circles on the
Continent, MUST have left it without leaving his character _behind_ him;
and that such a character could not, in the natural order of things--seen
even through the sensitive medium of a French critic--have been guilty of
the grossness and improprieties imputed to me by M. Licquet. I treat