I must tell you before I leave Paris, that I stept over to Marli, to see the Queen; I had seen the King nine years ago; but he was not then a King over eight millions of people, and the finest country under the sun; yet he does not seem to lay so much stress upon his mighty power as might be expected from so young a prince, but appears grave and thoughtful. I am told he attends much to business, and endeavours to make his subjects happy. His resolution to be inoculated, immediately after succeeding to such a kingdom, is a proof of his having a great share of fortitude. In England such a determination would have been looked upon with indifference; but in France, where the bulk of the people do not believe that it secures the patient from a second attack; where the clergy in general consider it unfavourable, even in a religious light; and where the physical people, for want of practice, do not understand the management of the distemper, so as it is known in England; I may venture to say, without being charged with flattery, that it was an heroic resolution: add to this, the King knowing, that if his subjects followed his example, it must be chiefly done by their own surgeons and physicians, he put himself under their management alone, though I think Sutton was then at Paris.

The Queen is a fine figure, handsome, and very sprightly, dresses in the present gout of head dress, and without a handkerchief, and thereby displays a most lovely neck.

I saw in a china shop at Paris, the figure of the King and Queen finely executed, and very like, in china: the King is playing on the harp, and the Queen dropping her work to listen to the harmony. The two figures, about a foot high, were placed in an elegant apartment, and the toute ensemble was the prettiest toy I ever beheld: the price thirty guineas.

I shall leave this town in a few days, and take the well-known and well-beaten route Anglois for Calais, thro' Chantilly, Amiens, and Boulogne, and then I shall have twice crossed this mighty kingdom.


LETTER LIV.

Calais.

I am now returned to the point from whence I sat out, and rather within the revolution of one year; which, upon the whole, though I met with many untoward circumstances, has been the most interesting and entertaining year of my whole life, and will afford me matter of reflection for the little which remains unfinished of that journey we must all take sooner or later, a journey from whence no traveller returns.—And having said so much of myself, I am sure you will be glad to change the subject from man to beast, especially to such a one as I have now to speak of.

I told you, when I set out, that I had bought a handsome-looking English horse for seven guineas, but a little touched in his wind; I can now inform you, that when I left this town, he was rather thin, and had a sore back and shoulder; both which, by care and caution; were soon healed, and that he is returned fair and fat, and not a hair out of its place, though he drew two grown persons, two children, (one of thirteen the other ten years old) a very heavy French cabriolet, and all our baggage, nay, almost all my goods, chattels, and worldly property whatever, outward and homeward, except between Cette and Barcelona, going, and Lyons and this town returning! I will point out to you one of his day's work, by which you will be able to judge of his general power of working: At Perpignan, I had, to save him, hired post-horses to the first town in Spain, as I thought it might be too much for him to ascend and descend the Pyrenees in one day; beside sixteen miles to the foot of them, on this side, and three to Jonquire on the other; but after the horses were put to, the post-master required me to take two men to Boulou, in order to hold the chaise, and to prevent its overturning in crossing the river near the village. Such a flagrant attempt to impose, determined me to take neither horses nor men; and at seven o'clock I set off with Callee (that is my houyhnhnm's name) and arrived in three hours at Boulou, a paltry village, but in a situation fit for the palace of Augustus!

So far from wanting men from Perpignan to conduct my chaise over the river, the whole village were, upon our arrival, in motion after the job. We, however, passed it, without any assistance but our own weight to keep the wheels down, and the horse's strength and sturdiness, to drag us through it. In about three hours more we passed over the summit of this great chain of the universe; and in two more, arrived at Jonquire: near which village my horse had a little bait of fresh mown hay, the first, and last, he eat in that kingdom. And when I tell you that this faithful, and (for a great part of my journey) only servant I had, never made a faux pas, never was so tired, but that upon a pinch, he could have gone a league or two farther; nor ever was ill, lame, physicked, or bled, since he was mine; you will agree, that either he is an uncommon good horse, or that his master is a good groom! Indeed I will say that, however fatigued, wet, hundry, or droughty I was, I never partook of any refreshment till my horse had every comfort the inn could afford. I carried a wooden bowl to give him water, and never passed a brook without asking him to drink.—And, as he has been my faithful servant, I am now his; for he lives under the same roof with me, and does nothing but eat, drink, and sleep.—As he never sees me nor hears my voice, without taking some affectionate notice of me, I ventured to ask him tenderly, whether he thought he should be able to draw two of the same party next year to Rome? No tongue could more plainly express his willingness! he answered me, in French, indeed, we-we-we-we-we, said he; so perhaps he might not be sincere, tho' he never yet deceived me. If, however, he should not go, or should out-live me, which, is very probable, my dying request to you will be, to procure him a peaceful walk for the remainder of his days, within the park-walls of some humane private gentleman; though I flatter myself the following petition will save you that trouble, and me the concern of leaving him without that comfort which his faithful services merit.