If God delights so much in variety, as all things animate and inanimate sufficiently prove, no wonder that man should do so too: and I have now been so accustomed to move, though slowly, that I intend to creep on to my _journey's end_, by which means I may live to have been an inhabitant of every town almost in Europe, and die, as I have lately (and wish I had always) lived, a free citizen of the whole world, slave to no sect, nor subject to any King. Yet, I would not be considered as one wishing to promote that disposition in others; for I must confess, that it is in England alone, where an innocent and virtuous man can sit down and enjoy the blessings of liberty and his own chearful hearth, in full confidence that no earthly power can disturb it; and the best reason which can be offered in favour of Englishmen visiting other kingdoms, is, to enable them, upon their return, to know how to enjoy the inestimable blessings of their own.
For what should I cross the streight which divides us, though it were but _half_ seven leagues? we should only meet to part again, and purchase pleasure, as most pleasures are purchased, too dearly; I have dropt some heavy tears, (ideally at least) over poor BUCKLE'S[J] grave, and it is all one to a man, now with GOD! on what King's soil such a _tribute as that_ is paid: had some men of all nations known the goodness of his heart as we did, some men of all nations would grieve as we do. When I frequented _Morgan's_[K] I used him as a touch-stone, to try the hearts of other men upon; for, as he was not rich, he was out of the walk of knaves and flatterers, and such men, who were moot prejudiced in his favour at first sight, and coveted not his company after a little acquaintance, I always avoided as beings made of base metal. It was for this reason I despised that ***** ****, (you know who I mean) for you too have seen him _snarl_, _and bite_, _and play the dog_, even to BUCKLE!
Our Sunday night's tea club, round his chearful hearth, is now for ever dissolved, and SHARPE and RYE have administered their last friendly offices with a potion of sorrow.
Were I the hermit of _St. Catharine_, I would chissel his name as deeply into one of my pine-heads, as his virtues are impressed on my memory. Though I have lost _his guinea_, I will not lose his name; he looked down with pity upon me when here; who can say he may not do so still? I should be an infidel, did not a few such men as he _keep me back_.