have touched, I have not failed to consult the best authorities, even
in matters, which, however trifling in themselves, acquire a relative
importance, from being illustrative of some of the many-coloured
effects of a revolution, which has humbled the pride of many,
deranged the calculations of all, disappointed the hopes of not a
few, and deceived those even by whom it had been engendered and
conducted.

Yet, whatever pains I have taken to be strictly impartial, it cannot
be denied that, in publishing a work of this description at a time
when the self-love of most men is mortified, and their resentment
awakened, I run no small risk of displeasing all parties, because I
attach myself to none, but find them all more or less deserving of
censure. Without descending either to flattery or calumny, I speak
both well and ill of the French, because I copy nature, and neither
draw an imaginary portrait, nor write a systematic narrative. If I
have occasionally given vent to my indignation in glancing at the
excesses of the revolution, I have not withheld my tribute of
applause from those institutions, which, being calculated to benefit
mankind by the gratuitous diffusion of knowledge, would reflect
honour on any nation. In other respects, I have not been unmindful of
that excellent precept of TACITUS, in which he observes that "The
principal duty of the historian is to rescue from oblivion virtuous
actions, and to make bad men dread infamy and posterity for what they
have said and done."[2]

In stating facts, it is frequently necessary to support them by a
relation of particular circumstances, which may corroborate them in
an unquestionable manner. Feeling this truth, I have some times
introduced myself on my canvass, merely to shew that I am not an