A. WHY does it seem good to most people to stay two days or three at Lyons? I, having entered upon a journey once, do not rest, till I come whither I designed.

B. Nay I wonder that any one can be got from thence.

A. What for at length? B. Because there is the place, from whence the companions of Ulysses could not be drawn away; there are the Sirens. Nobody is treated better at his own home, than there in an inn.

A. What is done?

B. Some woman stood by the table always to divert the company with wit and drollery. First, the good woman of the house came to us, who saluted us, bidding us be merry, and take in good part what was set before us. The daughter succeeded her, a neat woman, of humour and tongue so merry, that she might divert Cato himself. Nor do they talk as with

unknown guests, but as with people formerly known to them, and familiar friends.

A. I perceive the civility of the French nation.

B. But because they could not be present always, because the business of the house was to be minded, and the rest of the guests to be saluted, a certain girl stood by constantly furnished for all jests. She alone was sufficient to receive all their darts: she kept up the farce, till the daughter returned; for the mother was elderly.

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A. But what was your provision at last? for the belly is not filled with tales.

B. Truly dainty, that I wonder they can entertain guests so cheap: again the feast being ended, they treat a man with pretty stories lest any thing of weariness should creep upon him. I seemed to myself to be at home, not abroad.

A. What was done in the chambers?

B. There were some

girls every where, laughing, wantoning, playing: of their own accord they asked us, if we had any foul clothes, they washed them, and gave us them again. What needs many words? we saw nothing there besides girls and women, but in the stable, although the girls broke in too hither frequently. They embrace men departing, and dismiss them with so much affection, as if they all were their brothers, or of near relation.

A. Perhaps those manners become the French: The manners of Germany please me more, as being masculine.

B. It never happened to me to see Germany: wherefore, I pray you, do not think much to relate, after what manner they entertain a guest.

a

A. I know not whether there be every where the same manner of treatment. I will tell what I have seen. Nobody salutes a man upon his coming, lest they should seem to court guest. For they think that mean, and unworthy of the German gravity. When you have called a long time, at last some body puts his head through the window of a stove-room (for they live in them almost till the summer sol

stice) no otherwise than a snail looks out of its shell. He is to be asked whether you may inn there. If he does not refuse, you understand a place is allowed you. He shows with his hand moved to those that ask where the stable is. There you may manage your horse after your manner. For no servant puts to a hand. If it be a famous inn, there a servant shows the stable, and also a place not at all convenient for a horse. For they keep the more convenient for those that are to come, especially noblemen. If you find fault with any thing, you hear presently, if it do not please you, seek another inn. They afford you hay in the cities with difficulty, and very sparingly, nor do they sell it for much less than oats them

selves. When provision is made for your horse, you go altogether into a stoveroom with your boots, baggage and dirt. That is one common to all.

B. Among the French they show people chambers, where they may strip themselves, wipe, warm themselves, or rest too, if they please.

Á. Here's no such thing. In the stove-room you put off your boots, put on shoes. If you will you change your

shirt; you hang up your clothes, wet with rain, nigh the stove, you place your self by it that you may dry. There is also water ready, if you please, to wash your hands; but so clean for the most part, that other water is to be sought by you, with which you may wash off that washing.

B. I commend the men effeminated with no delicacies.

A. But if you arrive at the fourth hour after noon, yet you will not sup before the ninth, and sometimes the tenth.

B. What for?

A. They provide nothing, unless they see all, that they may serve all with the same trouble.

B. They seek the shortest way.

A. You have it. Wherefore frequently eighty or ninety meet in the same stove-room, footmen, horsemen, tradesmen, sailors, coachmen, husbandmen, boys, women, sound folks, sick folks.

B. That is really living in

common.

formerly in the tower of Babel. But if they see any one of a foreign nation, who makes show of something of dignity by his dress, all are intent upon him, viewing him with their eyes fixt, as if some new kind of animal was brought out of Africa. So that after they have sat down, they look at him continually, with their face turned backward: nor do they take off their eyes, being unmindful of their

meat.

B. At Rome, Paris, and Venice, nobody wonders at any thing.

A. In the mean time it is unlawful for you to call for any thing. When now it is late in the evening, and no more are expected to come, an old servant comes out with a hoary beard, shorn head, grim look, mean clothes.

B. It behoved such to be cup-bearers to the Roman Cardinals.

A. He having cast about his eyes, reckons silently how many there are in the stove-room: by how much the more he sees present, by so much the more viclently the stove is heated, altho' otherwise the sun be troublesome by his heat. This is the greatest part of good treatment, if all run down with sweat. If any one not accustomed to the Y

heat, open a chink of a window, lest he be stifled, immediately he hears, shut it. If you answer I cannot endure, you hear, seek then another inn.

B. But nothing seems more dangerous than that so many should take in the same vapour, especially the body being open, and here take meat, and stay several hours. For now I omit garlic belches, and the blast of the belly, stinking breaths. There are many, who are troubled with secret diseases, and every distèmper has its infection. Certainly most have the Spanish pox, or, as some call it, the French, though it be common to all nations, I think there is not much less danger from these than lepers. Now do you guess, how much danger there is in the plagues.

A. They are stout fellows, they laugh at, and neglect those things.

B. But in the mean time they are stout at the hazard of many.

A. What can you do? So they have been used, and it is the part of a constant mind not to depart from old

customs.

B. But twenty-five years ago, nothing was more common amongst the Brabanti, than public baths; those now are out of use every

where: for the new pox has taught us to abstain.

A. But hear the rest. Afterwards that bearded Ganymede returns, and spreads the tables with cloths, as many as he thinks to be sufficient for that number. But O immortal God! how far from being fine! you would say they were canvass taken down from the sail-yards. For he designed at least eight guests for every table. Now they to whom the country custom is known, sit down where it pleases every one. For there is no difference betwixt a poor man and a rich, betwixt a master and a servant.

B. This is that old equality, which now tyranny has removed out of life. So I believe Christ lived with his disciples.

A. After all are seated, again that grim Ganymede comes out, and over again counts his companions. By and by returning, he sets before each a wooden dish, and a spoon made of the same silver, then a glass, and a little after bread. That every man cleans for himself at his leisure, whilst the pulse are boiling. Sq they sit sometimes almost the space of an hour.

B. Does none of the guests call for the meat the mean time?