People
run abroad in quest of adventures, and traverse Spain or Portugal
on mule or on horseback; whereas there are ten times more
adventures to be met with in England than in Spain, Portugal, or
stupid Germany to boot. Witness the number of adventures narrated
in the present book--a book entirely devoted to England. Why,
there is not a chapter in the present book which is not full of
adventures, with the exception of the present one, and this is not
yet terminated.
After traversing two or three counties, I reached the confines of
Lincolnshire. During one particularly hot day I put up at a
public-house, to which, in the evening, came a party of harvesters
to make merry, who, finding me wandering about the house a
stranger, invited me to partake of their ale; so I drank with the
harvesters, who sang me songs about rural life, such as -
"Sitting in the swale; and listening to the swindle of the flail,
as it sounds dub-a-dub on the corn, from the neighbouring barn."
In requital for which I treated them with a song, not of Romanvile,
but the song of "Sivory and the horse Grayman." I remained with
them till it was dark, having, after sunset, entered into deep
discourse with a celebrated ratcatcher, who communicated to me the
secrets of his trade, saying, amongst other things, "When you see
the rats pouring out of their holes, and running up my hands and
arms, it's not after me they comes, but after the oils I carries
about me they comes;" and who subsequently spoke in the most
enthusiastic manner of his trade, saying that it was the best trade
in the world, and most diverting, and that it was likely to last
for ever; for whereas all other kinds of vermin were fast
disappearing from England, rats were every day becoming more
abundant.
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