Published by Good Press, 2019

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      EAN 4057664132475

Table of Contents

       I HIS GENERAL LINE OF BUSINESS

       II THE SHIPWRECK

       III WAPPING WORKHOUSE

       IV TWO VIEWS OF A CHEAP THEATRE

       V POOR MERCANTILE JACK

       VI REFRESHMENTS FOR TRAVELLERS

       VII TRAVELLING ABROAD

       VIII THE GREAT TASMANIA’S CARGO

       IX CITY OF LONDON CHURCHES

       X SHY NEIGHBOURHOODS

       XI TRAMPS

       XII DULLBOROUGH TOWN

       XIII NIGHT WALKS

       XIV CHAMBERS

       XV NURSE’S STORIES

       XVI ARCADIAN LONDON

       XVII THE ITALIAN PRISONER

       XVIII THE CALAIS NIGHT MAIL

       XIX SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF MORTALITY

       XX BIRTHDAY CELEBRATIONS

       XXI THE SHORT-TIMERS

       XXII BOUND FOR THE GREAT SALT LAKE

       XXIII THE CITY OF THE ABSENT

       XXIV AN OLD STAGE-COACHING HOUSE

       XXV THE BOILED BEEF OF NEW ENGLAND

       XXVI CHATHAM DOCKYARD

       XXVII IN THE FRENCH-FLEMISH COUNTRY

       XXVIII MEDICINE MEN OF CIVILISATION

       XXIX TITBULL’S ALMS-HOUSES

       XXX THE RUFFIAN

       XXXI ABOARD SHIP

       XXXII A SMALL STAR IN THE EAST

       XXXIII A LITTLE DINNER IN AN HOUR

       XXXIV MR. BARLOW

       XXXV ON AN AMATEUR BEAT

       XXXVI A FLY-LEAF IN A LIFE

       XXXVII A PLEA FOR TOTAL ABSTINENCE

I

       HIS GENERAL LINE OF BUSINESS

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      Allow me to introduce myself—first negatively.

      No landlord is my friend and brother, no chambermaid loves me, no waiter worships me, no boots admires and envies me. No round of beef or tongue or ham is expressly cooked for me, no pigeon-pie is especially made for me, no hotel-advertisement is personally addressed to me, no hotel-room tapestried with great-coats and railway wrappers is set apart for me, no house of public entertainment in the United Kingdom greatly cares for my opinion of its brandy or sherry. When I go upon my journeys, I am not usually rated at a low figure in the bill; when I come home from my journeys, I never get any commission. I know nothing about prices, and should have no idea, if I were put to it, how to wheedle a man into ordering something he doesn’t want. As a town traveller, I am never to be seen driving a vehicle externally like a young and volatile pianoforte van, and internally like an oven in which a number of flat boxes are baking in layers. As a country traveller, I am rarely to be found in a gig, and am never to be encountered by a pleasure train, waiting on the platform of a branch station, quite a Druid in the midst of a light Stonehenge of samples.

      And yet—proceeding now, to introduce myself positively—I am both a town traveller and a country traveller, and am always on the road. Figuratively speaking, I travel for the great house of Human Interest Brothers, and have rather a large connection in the fancy goods way. Literally speaking, I am always wandering here and there from my rooms in Covent-garden, London—now about the city streets: now, about the country by-roads—seeing many little things, and some great things, which, because they interest me, I think may interest others.

      These are my chief credentials as the Uncommercial Traveller.

II

       THE SHIPWRECK

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