notion that the English were so civilised; they were so well bred,
and the very duddiest of them spoke such a fine style of language,
that when I looked around on the country, I thought myself in the
land of Canaan. But it's extraordinary what a power of drink the
coachmen drink, stopping and going into every change-house, and yet
behaving themselves with the greatest sobriety. And then they are
all so well dressed, which is no doubt owing to the poor rates. I
am thinking, however, that for all they cry against them, the poor
rates are but a small evil, since they keep the poor folk in such
food and raiment, and out of the temptations to thievery; indeed,
such a thing as a common beggar is not to be seen in this land,
excepting here and there a sorner or a ne'er-do-weel.

When we had got to the outskirts of London, I began to be ashamed of
the sin of high places, and would gladly have got into the inside of
the coach, for fear of anybody knowing me; but although the
multitude of by-goers was like the kirk scailing at the Sacrament, I
saw not a kent face, nor one that took the least notice of my
situation. At last we got to an inn, called The White Horse,
Fetter-Lane, where we hired a hackney to take us to the lodgings
provided for us here in Norfolk Street, by Mr. Pawkie, the Scotch
solicitor, a friend of Andrew Pringle, my son. Now it was that we
began to experience the sharpers of London; for it seems that there
are divers Norfolk Streets. Ours was in the Strand (mind that when
you direct), not very far from Fetter-Lane; but the hackney driver
took us away to one afar off, and when we knocked at the number we
thought was ours, we found ourselves at a house that should not be
told. I was so mortified, that I did not know what to say; and when
Andrew Pringle, my son, rebuked the man for the mistake, he only
gave a cunning laugh, and said we should have told him whatna