At Albenga, in Piedmont, Jackson arrived one night, tired, hungry, and drenched with rain.  Intending to put up at the ’Albergo di San Dominico,’ which he had been informed was the best inn, he went by accident to the convent of the same name, and entering, called loudly to be shewn to a private room.  ’Instead of telling me I was wrong,’ he says, ’the young brethren looked waggish, and began to laugh:  when a man is cold and hungry, he can ill brook being the sport of others;’ so accordingly—­peppery again—­he shook his stick angrily at the young monks.  And at last one of the most courteous and demure of the number, coming forward, said that although theirs was not exactly a public-house, still the stranger was heartily welcome to walk in, rest, and refresh himself.  Discovering his mistake, Jackson of course lost no time in making his bow, his apologies, and acknowledgments.

He returned to England by way of France, having but six sous in his pockets when he reached Bordeaux, where an English merchant, a total stranger, advanced him a few pounds.  On the road, he was frequently taken for an Irishman, and not seldom for an Irish priest; under which impression, many civilities were paid him by the simple inhabitants of the country he traversed.  Ultimately he landed at Southampton, with just four shillings in his possession; his once black coat having turned a rusty brown, his hat shovel-shaped by ill-usage, and his whole aspect so comical, that the mob hooted him, under the belief that he was a Methodist preacher.  Proceeding inland on foot, in the direction of Southampton, he overtook a poor man walking along the road whose looks of unutterable misery induced our traveller to stop and inquire what ailed him.  He told Jackson he had a son and daughter dying of a disorder apparently contagious, and that no physician would attend them, as he was too poor to pay the fees.  Jackson at once offered his services, which were gratefully accepted.  He saw his patients, and prescribed for them, and his heart was touched by their simple expressions of gratitude.  ’Their thankfulness,’ he says, ’for a thing that would perhaps do them no good, gave me more pleasure than a fee of, I believe, twenty guineas, much in need of it as I was.’  The night had gathered in before he reached Winchester, where, at a respectable inn, he partook of such refreshment as his means afforded, and then desired to be shewn to his bedroom.  The answer was, that the house contained no bedroom for such as he, and he was finally driven out with the coarsest abuse into the streets.  The hour was ten o’clock, the month December, and the severity of the weather may be guessed from the fact, that the snow lay deep on the ground.  After wandering about for some time, he at last obtained shelter in a small house in the outskirts of the city.  The next day he fared little better.  ’On Sunday morning,’ he relates, ’I was sixty-four miles from London, and had only one shilling in my