We halted at a small ale-house on the road-side, where the saddler stopped to drink and talk, and from whence he was in no haste to depart.  He had the generosity and honour, however, to pay my share of the reckoning, because, as he said, he had brought me hither.

At no great distance from the house we came to a rising ground, where my philosophical saddler made me observe a prospect, which was perhaps the only one of the kind in England.  Below us was a hollow, not unlike a huge kettle, hollowed out of the surrounding mass of earth; and at the bottom of it a little valley, where the green meadow was divided by a small rivulet, that ran in serpentine windings, its banks graced with the most inviting walks; behind a small winding, there is just seen a house where one of the most distinguished inhabitants of this happy vale, a great philosopher, lives retired, dedicating almost all his time to his favourite studies.  He has transplanted a number of foreign plants into his grounds.  My guide fell into almost a poetic rapture as he pointed out to me the beauties of this vale, while our third companion, who grew tired, became impatient at our tediousness.

We were now led by a steep road to the vale, through which we passed, and then ascended again among the hills on the other side.

Not far from Tideswell our third companion left us, as he lived in a neighbouring place.  As we now at length saw Tideswell lying before us in the vale, the saddler began to give me an account of his family, adding, by way of episode, that he never quarrelled with his wife, nor had ever once threatened her with his fist, much less, ever lifted it against her.  For his own sake, he said, he never called her names, nor gave her the lie.  I must here observe, that it is the greatest offence you can give any one in England to say to him, you lie.

To be called a liar is a still greater affront, and you are A damned liar, is the very acme of vulgar abuse.

Just as in Germany, no one will bear the name of a scoundrel, or knave, or as in all quarrels, the bestowing such epithets on our adversary is the signal for fighting, so the term of a liar in England is the most offensive, and is always resented by blows.  A man would never forgive himself, nor be forgiven, who could bear to be called a liar.

Our Jackey in London once looked at me with astonishment, on my happening to say to him in a joke, you are A liar.  I assure you I had much to do before I could pacify him.

If one may form a judgment of the character of the whole nation, from such little circumstances as this, I must say this rooted hatred of the word liar appears to me to be no bad trait in the English.

But to return to my travelling companion, who further told me that he was obliged to earn his livelihood, at some distance from home, and that he was now returning for the first time, for these two months, to his family.