"How so?" he said, quickly. "No papist hath been burnt in this country."
"No, sir," I answered; "but a store of them have been hanged and cut to pieces whilst yet alive."
"Nay, nay," he cried, "not for their religion, but for their many treason."
"Sir," I answered, "their religion is made treason by unjust laws, and then punished with the penalties of treason; and they die for no other cause than their faith, by the same token that each of those which have perished on the scaffold had his life offered to him if so he would torn Protestant."
In the heat of this argument I had forgot prudence; and some unkindly ears and eyes were attending to my speech, which this young stranger perceiving, he changed the subject of discourse—I ween with a charitable intent—and merrily exclaimed, "Now I have this day transgressed a wise resolve."
"What resolve?" I said, glad also to retreat from dangerous subjects.
'"This," he answered: "that after my return I would sparingly, and not without entreaty, relate my journeys and observations."
"Then, sir," I replied, "methinks you have contrariwise observed it, for your observations have been short and pithy, and withal uttered at mine entreaty."
"Nothing," he said, "I so much fear as to resemble men—and many such I have myself known—who have scarce seen the lions of the Tower and the bears of Parish Garden, but they must engross all a table in talking of their adventures, as if they had passed the Pillars of Hercules. Nothing could be asked which they could not resolve of their own knowledge."
"Find you, sir," I said, "much variety in the manners of French people and those you see in this country?"