ting for an answer. In the midst of our rapture we had a message
from Shortland, who seemed to be afraid that we should be so near him,
and yet out of his power, that if we did not hasten our march on to
Plymouth, he would have us brought back to prison. At the sound of his
hateful name, and the idea of his person, we started off like so many
wild Zebras. We, however, stepped a little out of the road to an
eminence, to take another, and a last look of the Dartmoor depot of
misery, when we saw waving over it, the _American flag_, like the
colors _sans tache_, waving over the walls of Sodom and Gomorrha. We
gave three cheers, and then resumed our road to Plymouth, where we
soon after arrived.

While dining at the inn, an old man, in the next room, hearing we were
Americans, came in and asked us if we knew his son who lived in
America, and mentioned his name. "Yes," said one of my companions; "he
is a mechanic; I think a carpenter--I know him very well, and he is a
very clever fellow." The old man caught hold of him, and shook him by
the hand as if he would shake his arm off. "Yes, yes, you are right,
my son is a ship carpenter, and it almost broke my heart when he went
off to seek his fortune in a far country." In the fulness of his
heart, the poor old man offered to treat us with the best liquor the
house afforded; but we all excused ourselves and declined his
generosity. This would have been carrying the joke too far, for
neither of us ever had any knowledge of his son. We felt happy; and we
thought, if we thought at all, that we would make the old man happy
also. The English and Americans are equally addicted to _bantering_,
_hoaxing_, _quizzing_, _humming_, or by whatever ridiculous name we
may denote this more than ridiculous folly. I never heard that the
French, Germans, Spaniards, or Italians, were addicted to this
_unbenevolent_ wit, if cowardly imposition can merit that name.

As we strolled through Plymouth, we gazed at every thing we saw, as if
we had just fallen into it from the moon. In staring about we lost
our way, and accosted a grave looking, elderly man, who directed us.
As we asked him several questions, he thought he had a right to ask
one of us; when, to our surprise, he asked us _if we had any gold to
sell?_ We now perceived that we had taken for our director one of the
sons of Abraham, whose home is no where; and that he took us to be
either privateersmen or pick-pockets. Piqued at this, we thought