An inference from the above remarks is
that what one brings from a church depends very much on what he carries
into it.
The next place to visit could be no other than the Cafe Procope. This
famous resort is the most ancient and the most celebrated of all the
Parisian cafes. Voltaire, the poet J. B. Rousseau, Marmontel, Sainte
Foix, Saurin, were among its frequenters in the eighteenth century. It
stands in the Rue des Fosses-Saint Germain, now Rue de l'Ancienne
Comedie. Several American students, Bostonians and Philadelphians,
myself among the number, used to breakfast at this cafe every morning. I
have no doubt that I met various celebrities there, but I recall only
one name which is likely to be known to most or many of my readers. A
delicate-looking man, seated at one of the tables, was pointed out to me
as Jouffroy. If I had known as much about him as I learned afterwards, I
should have looked at him with more interest. He had one of those
imaginative natures, tinged by constitutional melancholy and saddened by
ill health, which belong to a certain class of poets and sentimental
writers, of which Pascal is a good example, and Cowper another.
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