has a greater proportion of impertinence. He has been vastly lavish

of erudition, of smut, and insipid raillery. An agreeable tale of

two pages is purchased at the expense of whole volumes of nonsense.

There are but few persons, and those of a grotesque taste, who

pretend to understand and to esteem this work; for, as to the rest

of the nation, they laugh at the pleasant and diverting touches

which are found in Rabelais and despise his book. He is looked upon

as the prince of buffoons. The readers are vexed to think that a