Then a man entered who seemed to be a stranger, but who evidently knew the Masonic sign, for he soon fell into conversation with them. He was evidently what we call a "drummer," but had none of the jollying manner of the guild as we know it, for there were long pauses in the conversation. Then entered a man who was evidently quite at home, and felt himself to be of some importance. He immediately began to lay down the law on every subject mentioned, to which the others submitted meekly. But not the drummer! He too had his opinions, and was willing to have them known, and, encouraged by the landlord, plucked up spirit and began to give as well as take. I now anticipated some interesting talk, and was not disappointed. The dominating man had ordered whiskey and soda, or rather it had been prepared by the landlord as if he were familiar with his customer's taste. As he slowly sipped it he looked at me, as much as to say: "My friend, I shall make short work of you when I am ready." But I was saved by the drummer. He began by explaining some of the inconveniences to which a stranger, such as he, is subjected in a strange town, and rashly suggested that provincial England would be improved by the establishment of places of "Convenience," such as every traveller on the Continent is familiar with. This is what the village doctor--for such I now learned he was--was waiting for. He took high moral ground and proved to his own satisfaction--and I think carried the house with him--that this would be the beginning of the end of English morality. "Did the gentleman mean to suggest that England should become as France?" The gentleman "meant to suggest nothing of the sort," and rather cleverly shifted the ground from the moral to the physical. But here, of course the doctor was too much for him, remarking with a complacent smile: "I think I may be allowed to speak with a little authority on that aspect of the question, being a medical man myself." I do not know how great his authority may have been, but I can answer for his dogmatism! How often the two are confused! If you were not temporarily blind and so dependent upon Miss Fuller to read your letters, I would repeat the conversation which followed in full. Not that there was anything improper in it. The disputants were as solemn as if they were discussing religion, only they "called a spade a spade." But we have grown so squeamish, or so unmoral, that we hide "Tom Jones" under the sofa-cushion and place "The Visits of Elizabeth" on the parlor table. But rural England, I learned that day, while it has changed superficially, is still the England of Fielding. Squire Westons can still be found in certain counties--indeed Dogberry is not unknown in remote villages.