THERE is not a town in all _France_ which, in my opinion, looks better
in the map, than MONTREUIL;——I own, it does not look so well in the
book of post-roads; but when you come to see it—to be sure it looks
most pitifully.
There is one thing, however, in it at present very handsome; and that
is, the inn-keeper’s daughter: She has been eighteen months at
_Amiens_, and six at _Paris_, in going through her classes; so knits,
and sews, and dances, and does the little coquetries very well.——
—A slut! in running them over within these five minutes that I have
stood looking at her, she has let fall at least a dozen loops in a
white thread stocking——yes, yes—I see, you cunning gipsy!—’tis long and
taper—you need not pin it to your knee—and that ’tis your own—and fits
you exactly.——
——That Nature should have told this creature a word about a _statue’s
thumb!_
—But as this sample is worth all their thumbs—besides, I have her
thumbs and fingers in at the bargain, if they can be any guide to
me,—and as _Janatone_ withal (for that is her name) stands so well for
a drawing——may I never draw more, or rather may I draw like a
draught-horse, by main strength all the days of my life,—if I do not
draw her in all her proportions, and with as determined a pencil, as if
I had her in the wettest drapery.——
—But your worships chuse rather that I give you the length, breadth,
and perpendicular height of the great parish-church, or drawing of the
façade of the abbey of Saint _Austreberte_ which has been transported
from _Artois_ hither—every thing is just I suppose as the masons and
carpenters left them,—and if the belief in _Christ_ continues so long,
will be so these fifty years to come—so your worships and reverences
may all measure them at your leisures——but he who measures thee,
_Janatone_, must do it now—thou carriest the principles of change
within thy frame; and considering the chances of a transitory life, I
would not answer for thee a moment; ere twice twelve months are passed
and gone, thou mayest grow out like a pumpkin, and lose thy shapes——or
thou mayest go off like a flower, and lose thy beauty—nay, thou mayest
go off like a hussy—and lose thyself.—I would not answer for my aunt
_Dinah_, was she alive——’faith, scarce for her picture——were it but
painted by _Reynolds_—
But if I go on with my drawing, after naming that son of _Apollo_, I’ll
be shot——
So you must e’en be content with the original; which, if the evening is
fine in passing thro’ _Montreuil_, you will see at your chaise-door, as
you change horses: but unless you have as bad a reason for haste as I
have—you had better stop:—She has a little of the _devote:_ but that,
sir, is a terce to a nine in your favour——
—L— help me! I could not count a single point: so had been piqued and
repiqued, and capotted to the devil.