AMERICAN LETTERS FROM EUROPE. LETTER I. Outset, from Paris-Route, through Champagne-Description of Basil. Basil, August 1st. 1801. MY DEAR FRIENDS, E staid three months at Paris, in WE daily expectation of that intelligence from Philadelphia which should have induced our immediate return, if any thing had occurred at home that might have rendered it necessary. But our letters were unaccountably mislaid at Lon don; and my Wife's health, though greatly improved by our residence in the South of France, demanded for the approaching winter the genial warmth of an Italian climate. The flames of war, by which the fairest Countries in Europe had so long been desolated, were now happily extinguished by the treaty of Luneville; our inclination to see Rome revived; and the respectable Banking House of Perregaux and Company, which has maintained private credit amidst National bankruptcy, had offered, with obliging confidence, to furnish a passing Stranger with the necessary letters of credit. Our old post-chariot, the running gear of which had been sadly dislocated by the the stony ruts of the Bourdeaux road, was therefore again fitted up, on the presumption that it might hold together as far as Basil; where it would be no longer wanted: for post horses are not to be had in Switzerland; and it is next to impossible to convey a carriage over the Alps. On the 17th. of July we set out from our gay lodgings, on the Boulevards de Paris, for Rome-perhaps for Naples. An excursion which my dear B——— had Bpromised herself, in youthful reveries, however unlikely to have been realized by the Daughter of a Jersey Farmer." We • In America the word Farmer does not indicate the Tenant of a Manor-under the control of a Landlord or his Bailiff: but an independent Yeoman that cultivates his own groundskeeps a hofpitable table-may be in the commiffion of the peace--and occafionally represents his County in the Affembly of the State. We drove off, full tilt, a la mode de France; and, having happily missed running over any body in the crowded Rue St. Denis, or upon the busy Pont Neuf, we rattled along the pavé toward Fontainebleau, at a rate that would infallibly have lodged us there that night.—But French carriages, French roads, and French Post Boys, conspire against expedition; and our rapid career would have come to a full stop at the first village on the road, if an honest Wheel-wright had not, in pure compassion, furnished les Voyageurs Etrangers with a pair of old shafts-at double the price of new ones; our own having completely gone to pieces, though repaired but the day before, by one of the first Coachmakers in Paris. At At the second town a disinterested Blacksmith, who gave his advice like a friend, persuaded me to let him put a clamp upon the tire of one of the wheelsAt the third, a Brother of the trade convinced me it would be better to take it off again. By this time it was almost night, and, being now sufficiently humbled by repeated vexations, we were glad to take up with meaner lodgings than might have been expected in the neighbourhood of a Palace. Next day however we reached Fontainebleau, time enough to ramble in the Royal gardens. They were planted by Francis the First (the rival of Harry the Eighth at tilt and tourney) in quincunxes 1 |