A sentimental journey

" When I had fished my dinner, and drank the King of France's health, to satisfy my mind that I bore him no spleen, but, on the contrary, high honour for the humanity of his temper, I rose up an inch taller for the accommodation. No said I the Bourbon is by no means a cruel race : they may be misled, like other people ; but there is a mildness in their blood. As I acknowledged this, I felt a suffusion of a finer kind upon my cheek more warm and friendly to man, than what Burgundy (at least of two livres a bottle, which was such as I had been drinking) could have produced.
Just God ! said I, kicking my portmanteau aside, what is there in this world's goods which should sharpen our spirits, and make so many kind- hearted brethren of us fall out so cruelly as we do by the way ? .