I can’t help thinking it something, said I, to be treated with civility and apparent kindness in a foreign country—by strangers who know nothing about us, but that we are Englishmen, and often their enemies. But their politeness consists in trifles, said he.—In what consists any body’s politeness? rejoined I.—The utmost a Frenchman will do for you, added he, is to endeavour to amuse you, and make your time pass agreeably while you remain in his country. And I think that no trifle, answered I.—There are so many sources of uneasiness and vexation in this life, that I cannot help having a good will, and even gratitude, to all those who enable me to forget them:—For such people alleviate my pain, and contribute to my happiness. But these Frenchmen, rejoined he, do not care a farthing for you in their hearts.—And why should I care a farthing for that? said I.—We have nothing to do with their hearts.—You do not expect a friend in every agreeable acquaintance. But they are an interested set of people; and even those among them who pretend to be your friends,—do it only for some selfish end. That is only an assertion, said I, but no proof.—If you stood in need of pecuniary assistance, they would not advance you a louis to save you from a jail, continued he. I hope never to be perfectly convinced of that, said I;—but if we were to cultivate friendship from the idea of assistance of that nature, it would be doing exactly what you accuse them of: Besides, continued I, the power and opportunity of obliging our acquaintances and friends by great, and, what are called, essential services, seldom occur; but those attentions and courtesies, which smooth the commerce between man and man, and sweeten social life, are in every body’s power, and there are daily and hourly occasions of displaying them,—particularly to strangers.—Curse their courtesies, said he, they are the greatest _Bore_ in nature.—I hate the French.—They are the enemies of England, and a false, deceitful, perfidious—But as we did not come over, interrupted I, to fight them at present, we shall suspend hostilities till a more convenient season; and in the mean time, if you have no objection, let us go to the play. He agreed to this proposal, and here our conversation ended. You know B—— is as worthy a fellow as lives; and, under a rough address, conceals the best disposition in the world. His manner, I imagine, was originally assumed from a notion, which he has in common with many people, that great politeness, and apparent gentleness of behaviour, are generally accompanied with falsehood and real coldness;—even inhumanity of character,—as if human nature, like marble, took a polish proportionable to its hardness.