is ambition
becoming romantic, could not help fancying himself another conqueror of
the isle.

He was not, however, long amused by these vain chimeras, which soon
vanished before other reflections of more importance and solidity. His
imagination, it must be owned, was at all times too chaste to admit those
overweening hopes, which often mislead the mind of the projector. He had
studied mankind with incredible diligence, and knew perfectly well how
far he could depend on the passions and foibles of human nature. That he
might now act consistent with his former sagacity, he resolved to pass
himself upon his fellow-travellers for a French gentleman, equally a
stranger to the language and country of England, in order to glean from
their discourse such intelligence as might avail him in his future
operations; and his lacquey was tutored accordingly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SOME ACCOUNT OF HIS FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.

Those who had taken places for the coach, understanding the sixth seat
was engaged by a foreigner, determined to profit by his ignorance; and,
with that politeness which is peculiar to this happy island, fixed
themselves in the vehicle, in such a manner, before he had the least
intimation of their design, that he found it barely practicable to
insinuate himself sidelong between a corpulent quaker and a fat Wapping
landlady, in which attitude he stuck fast, like a thin quarto between two
voluminous dictionaries on a bookseller's shelf. And, as if the pain and
inconvenience of such compression was not sufficient matter of chagrin,
the greatest part of the company entertained themselves with laughing at
his ludicrous station.

The jolly dame at his left hand observed, with a loud exclamation of
mirth, that monsieur would be soon better acquainted with a buttock of
English beef; and said, by that time they should arrive at their
dining-place, he might be spitted without larding. "Yes, verily,"
replied Obadiah, who was a wag in his way, "but the swine's fat will be
all on one side."--"So much the better for you," cried mine hostess, "for
that side is all your own." The quaker was not so much disconcerted by
the quickness of this repartee, but that he answered with great
deliberation, "I thank thee for thy love, but will not profit by thy
loss, especially as I like not the savour of these outlandish fowls; they
are profane birds of passage, relished only by the children of vanity,
like thee."

The plum