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 we would be even with him, and we asked him if his name was not _Shortland_? He said no. We asked him if he had no relations of that name. He enquired if "dit Shortland vas Jew or Christian?" We told him he was neither one nor the other. "Den," said Moses, "he must be _Turk_; for dere be but three sort of peoples in the world;" and this set us a laughing at the expense of the despised Israelite, until we lost him in some of the dirty alleys of this noisy seaport. I slept that night at the Exchange Coffee House. It was so long since I had been cut off from the decencies of life, that I could hardly be said to enjoy them. I could not, at first, reconcile myself to the civil attention of servants and waiters. At the hour of sleep, I was shown to such a bed as I used to sleep on in my father's house. But who would believe it, that my predominant misery during this night, was a _feather bed_ and a _pillow_, rendered uneasy because it was soft as down! Yes, astonished reader! I felt about as uneasy in a feather bed, as Mr. Beasly, or any other fine London gentleman would, at laying on a plank, or the ballast of a transport. Such is the power of habit, and such the effect of custom.