But I Love It Still More Tenderly,
As The Scene Of All My Interesting Connexions; As The Habitation
Of My Friends, For Whose Conversation, Correspondence, And
Esteem, I Wish Alone To Live.
Our journey hither from Lyons produced neither accident nor
adventure worth notice; but abundance of little vexations, which
may be termed the Plagues of Posting.
At Lyons, where we stayed
only a few days, I found a return-coach, which I hired to Paris
for six loui'dores. It was a fine roomy carriage, elegantly
furnished, and made for travelling; so strong and solid in all
its parts, that there was no danger of its being shaken to
pieces by the roughness of the road: but its weight and solidity
occasioned so much friction between the wheels and the axle-tree,
that we ran the risque of being set on fire three or four times a
day. Upon a just comparison of all circumstances posting is much
more easy, convenient, and reasonable in England than in France.
The English carriages, horses, harness, and roads are much
better; and the postilions more obliging and alert. The reason is
plain and obvious. If I am ill-used at the post-house in England,
I can be accommodated elsewhere. The publicans on the road are
sensible of this, and therefore they vie with each other in
giving satisfaction to travellers. But in France, where the post
is monopolized, the post-masters and postilions, knowing that the
traveller depends intirely upon them, are the more negligent and
remiss in their duty, as well as the more encouraged to insolence
and imposition.
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