well of whom they have been speaking, as I do the gentlemen who spoke of him. As for riding over other men’s corn, to my knowledge he hath not been on horseback these two years. I never heard he did any injury of that kind; and as to making reparation, he is not so free of his money as that comes to neither. Nor did I ever hear of his taking away any man’s gun; nay, I know several who have guns in their houses; but as for killing game with them, no man is stricter; and I believe he would ruin any who did. You heard one of the gentlemen say he was the worst master in the world, and the other that he is the best; but for my own part, I know all his servants, and never heard from any of them that he was either one or the other.” — “Aye! aye!” says Adams; “and how doth he behave as a justice, pray?”—“Faith, friend,” answered the host, “I question whether he is in the commission; the only cause I have heard he hath decided a great while, was one between those very two persons who just went out of this house; and I am sure he determined that justly, for I heard the whole matter.”—“Which did he decide in favour of?” quoth Adams.—“I think I need not answer that question,” cried the host, “after the different characters you have heard of him. It is not my business to contradict gentlemen while they are drinking in my house; but I knew neither of them spoke a syllable of truth.”—“God forbid!” said Adams, “that men should arrive at such a pitch of wickedness to belye the character of their neighbour from a little private affection, or, what is infinitely worse, a private spite. I rather believe we have mistaken them, and they mean two other persons; for there are many houses on the road.”— “Why, prithee, friend,” cries the host, “dost thou pretend never to have told a lye in thy life?”—“Never a malicious one, I am certain,” answered Adams, “nor with a design to injure the reputation of any man living.”—“Pugh! malicious; no, no,” replied the host; “not malicious with a design to hang a man, or bring him into trouble; but surely, out of love to oneself, one must speak better of a friend than an enemy.”—“Out of love to yourself, you should confine yourself to truth,” says Adams, “for by doing otherwise you injure the noblest part of yourself, your immortal soul. I can hardly believe any man such an idiot to risque the loss of that by any trifling gain, and the greatest gain in this world is but dirt in comparison of what shall be revealed hereafter.” Upon which the host, taking up the cup, with a smile, drank a health to hereafter; adding, “He was for something present.”—“Why,” says Adams very gravely, “do not you believe another world?” To which the host answered, “Yes; he was no atheist.”—“And you believe you have an immortal soul?” cries Adams. He answered, “God forbid he should not.”—“And heaven and hell?” said the parson. The host then bid him “not to profane; for those were things not to be mentioned nor thought of but in church.” Adams asked him, “Why he went to church, if what he learned there had no influence on his conduct in life?” “I go to church,” answered the host, “to say my prayers and behave godly.”—“And dost not thou,” cried Adams, “believe what thou hearest at church?” —“Most part of it, master,” returned the host. “And dost not thou then tremble,” cries Adams, “at the thought of eternal punishment?”—“As for that, master,” said he, “I never once thought about it; but what signifies talking about matters so far off? The mug is out, shall I draw another?”

Whilst he was going for that purpose, a stage-coach drove up to the door. The coachman coming into the house was asked by the mistress what passengers he had in his coach? “A parcel of squinny-gut b—s,” says he; “I have a good mind to overturn them; you won’t prevail upon them to drink anything, I assure you.” Adams asked him, “If he had not seen a young man on horseback on the road” (describing Joseph). “Aye,” said the coachman, “a gentlewoman in my coach that is his acquaintance redeemed him and his horse; he would have been here before this time, had not the storm driven him to shelter.” “God bless her!” said Adams, in a rapture; nor could he delay walking out to satisfy himself who this charitable woman was; but what was his surprise when he saw his old acquaintance, Madam Slipslop? Hers indeed was not so great, because she had been informed by Joseph that he was on the road. Very civil were the salutations on both sides; and Mrs. Slipslop rebuked the hostess for denying the gentleman to be there when she asked for him; but indeed the poor woman had not erred designedly; for Mrs. Slipslop asked for a clergyman, and she had unhappily mistaken Adams for a person travelling to a neighbouring fair with the thimble and button, or some other such operation; for he marched in a swinging great but short white coat with black buttons, a short wig, and a hat which, so far from having a black hatband, had nothing black about it.

Joseph was now come up, and Mrs. Slipslop would have had him quit his horse to the parson, and come himself into the coach; but he absolutely refused, saying, he thanked Heaven he was well enough