and, with the concurrence of my wife, resolved to set up an alehouse, where you are heartily welcome; and so my service to you; and may the squire, and all such sneaking rascals, go to the devil together.”—“O fie!” says Adams, “O fie! He is indeed a wicked man; but G— will, I hope, turn his heart to repentance. Nay, if he could but once see the meanness of this detestable vice; would he but once reflect that he is one of the most scandalous as well as pernicious lyars; sure he must despise himself to so intolerable a degree, that it would be impossible for him to continue a moment in such a course. And to confess the truth, notwithstanding the baseness of this character, which he hath too well deserved, he hath in his countenance sufficient symptoms of that bona indoles, that sweetness of disposition, which furnishes out a good Christian.”—“Ah, master! master!” says the host, “if you had travelled as far as I have, and conversed with the many nations where I have traded, you would not give any credit to a man’s countenance. Symptoms in his countenance, quotha! I would look there, perhaps, to see whether a man had the small- pox, but for nothing else.” He spoke this with so little regard to the parson’s observation, that it a good deal nettled him; and, taking his pipe hastily from his mouth, he thus answered: “Master of mine, perhaps I have travelled a great deal farther than you without the assistance of a ship. Do you imagine sailing by different cities or countries is travelling? No.

Cælum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt.

I can go farther in an afternoon than you in a twelvemonth. What, I suppose you have seen the Pillars of Hercules, and perhaps the walls of Carthage. Nay, you may have heard Scylla, and seen Charybdis; you may have entered the closet where Archimedes was found at the taking of Syracuse. I suppose you have sailed among the Cyclades, and passed the famous straits which take their name from the unfortunate Helle, whose fate is sweetly described by Apollonius Rhodius; you have passed the very spot, I conceive, where Dædalus fell into that sea, his waxen wings being melted by the sun; you have traversed the Euxine sea, I make no doubt; nay, you may have been on the banks of the Caspian, and called at Colchis, to see if there is ever another golden fleece.”—“Not I, truly, master,” answered the host: “I never touched at any of these places.”—“But I have been at all these,” replied Adams. “Then, I suppose,” cries the host, “you have been at the East Indies; for there are no such, I will be sworn, either in the West or the Levant.”—“Pray where’s the Levant?” quoth Adams; “that should be in the East Indies by right.”—“Oho! you are a pretty traveller,” cries the host, “and not know the Levant! My service to you, master; you must not talk of these things with me! you must not tip us the traveller; it won’t go here.”—“Since thou art so dull to misunderstand me still,” quoth Adams, “I will inform thee; the travelling I mean is in books, the only way of travelling by which any knowledge is to be acquired. From them I learn what I asserted just now, that nature generally imprints such a portraiture of the mind in the countenance, that a skilful physiognomist will rarely be deceived. I presume you have never read the story of Socrates to this purpose, and therefore I will tell it you. A certain physiognomist asserted of Socrates, that he plainly discovered by his features that he was a rogue in his nature.

A character so contrary to the tenour of all this great man’s actions, and the generally received opinion concerning him, incensed the boys of Athens so that they threw stones at the physiognomist, and would have demolished him for his ignorance, had not Socrates himself prevented them by confessing the truth of his observations, and acknowledging that, though he corrected his disposition by philosophy, he was indeed naturally as inclined to vice as had been predicated of him. Now, pray resolve me—How should a man know this story if he had not read it?”—“Well, master,” said the host, “and what signifies it whether a man knows it or no? He who goes abroad, as I have done, will always have opportunities enough of knowing the world without troubling his head with Socrates, or any such fellows.”—“Friend,” cries Adams, “if a man should sail round the world, and anchor in every harbour of it, without learning, he would return home as ignorant as he went out.”—“Lord help you!” answered the host; “there was my boatswain, poor fellow! he could scarce either write or read, and yet he would navigate a ship with any master of a man-of-war; and a very pretty knowledge of trade he had too.”—“Trade,” answered Adams, “as Aristotle proves in his first chapter of Politics, is below a philosopher, and unnatural as it is managed now.” The host looked stedfastly at Adams, and after a minute’s silence asked him, “If he was one of the writers of the Gazetteers? for I have heard,” says he, “they are writ by parsons.”—“Gazetteers!” answered Adams, “what is that?”—“It is a dirty newspaper,” replied the host, “which hath been given away all over