yself,
and after several hours' useless walking, weary, fainting with hunger and
thirst, I entered a peasant's hut, which had not indeed a very promising
appearance, but was the only one I could discover near me. I thought it
was here, as at Geneva, or in Switzerland, where the inhabitants, living
at ease, have it in their power to exercise hospitality. I entreated the
countryman to give me some dinner, offering to pay for it: on which he
presented me with some skimmed milk and coarse barley--bread, saying it
was all he had. I drank the milk with pleasure, and ate the bread, chaff
and all; but it was not very restorative to a man sinking with fatigue.
The countryman, who watched me narrowly, judged the truth of my story by
my appetite, and presently (after having said that he plainly saw I was
an honest, good--natured young man, and did not come to betray him)
opened a little trap door by the side of his kitchen, went down, and
returned a moment after with a good brown loaf of pure wheat, the remains
of a well-flavored ham, and a bottle of wine, the sight of which rejoiced
my heart more than all the rest: he then prepared a good thick omelet,
and I made such a dinner as none but a walking traveller ever enjoyed.

When I again offered to pay, his inquietude and fears returned; he not
only would have no money, but refused it with the most evident emotion;
and what made this scene more amusing, I could not imagine the motive of
his fear. At length, he pronounced tremblingly those terrible words,
"Commissioners," and "Cellar-rats," which he explained by giving me to
understand that he concealed his wine because of the excise, and his
bread on account of the tax imposed on it; adding, he should be an undone
man, if it was suspected he was not almost perishing with want. What he
said to me on this subject (of which I had not the smallest idea) made an
impression on my mind that can never be effaced, sowing seeds of that
inextinguishable hatred which has since grow up in my heart against the
vexations these unhappy people suffer, and against their oppressors.
This man, though in easy circumstances, dare not eat the bread gained by
the sweat of his brow, and could only escape destruction by exhibiting an
outward appearance of misery!--I left his cottage with as much
indignation as concern, deploring the fate of those beautiful countries,
where nature has been prodigal of her gifts, only that they may become
the prey of barb