A Traveller's Week.* DOVER. MONDAY.-Roused out of a dreary dose—the fruits of last night's surfeit of tough mutton and brandy port-by the waiter, with the intelligence that the Steam-boat was just going off.Started from bed, in an agony of nervous hurry-Put a posse of porters, waiters, and chambermaids, in requisition to bundle me off.― Rushed down to the pier, with the whole clan at my heels, and every eye in the town turned on my flight—reached the shore time enough to see the packet under easy sail.— Paid half the passage for a boat to take me five hundred yards, and was at last trundled on board unshaved and half-dressed, “unanointed and unaneled," to cool my pores in a raw, foggy breeze. The deck crowded with spruce Londoners and their ladies, feathered and flounced for a water-party.Chagrined to the soul, and attempting to get rid of my discomfort by contempt of the whole set. Took out my pencil, and attempted a caricature-sketched an alderman and a half-pay officer in strong dispute on the National debt-fine contrast of figure, pursy pride, and meagre pertinacity; fat, contented ignorance, and ignorance neither the one nor the other-turtle beside ration soup. The Prior and the Laybrother in the Duenna; Lambert and Romeo's seller of mandragora.-Weather delightful.—Sea smooth as my lady's mirror.-Wondered that I had not been bred to the navy.-Began to think of a course of voyages for the next dozen years.-Undetermined whether to commence with the east or the west, Botany Bay or Buenos-Ayres, China or Chili-determined on China as the longest voyage. Reprobated the folly of looking for the north-west passage, as tending to shorten the indulgence of living on shipboard.-Waited half an hour for passengers-Cursed, in the fervour of my delight, *This Sketch which was published in Blackwood, for September, 1823, is chiefly noticeable for its rapidity of incident, concentration of expression, and constant interweaving of personal and political allusions into the mere narrative.-M. the wretched habit of lingering till the last moment—and resolved in future to rise with the sun.-Dover Castle magnificent -tints of time, silvery lights, verdurous clothing; heard a Cockney compare it to an old woman wrapped up in a rug. Cast a look at the fellow that ought to have annihilated him. The Castle certainly not unlike an old woman, after all. Resumed my caricature, and put the Cockney into the group. * * * * Completely at sea-the Castle sinking-a breeze-pearly fringe in the surge-groans from below, with frequent calls for the steward. Determined not to be sick. Saw several of the dead and wounded brought up for fresh air, and several of the living suddenly plunged into the cabin.-Those detestable steam-vessels roll worse than a sailing boat-they bore the surge instead of sliding over it—a heavy sea-postponed my caricature-doubted whether a peculiar native configuration of stomach, a something differing from that of a being born to live on land, as much as webbed feet are from human toes, a sort of amphibious or fishy interior, is not to be found on dissection in "able seaman." every Surrounded by sufferers drooping over the sides of the vessel like fowls in a coop-endeavoured to hum a song of Dibdin's confounded nonsense, a sea song under any circumstancesas well dance quadrilles in an hospital-dare not look at the deck, nor at the sky, nor at the water. Determined to go to China by land-more variety of scenery, Tartary, the Great Wall, &c.-shun Euxines and Caspians-and wait till Wolgas and Dniepers were frozen over. — -A merciless brute ordered his lunch close at my side-ham, brandy, and biscuit—a meal for Alecto, Megæra, and Tisiphone-How the devil can any body think of eating or enjoyment on board a packet? The ship tossing and jumping from side to side like an unbroke horse— desperately sick-torture-red-hot grappling irons-cantharides-soup, &c. DIEPPE. THE port in sight-windmills sprawling like gigantic spiders -churchspires with saints impaled upon their tops-yellow VOL. II.-12 roofs spreading below them, ragged and dingy, like a gipsy's encampment—all squalidness, stench, and clamour. Flung up on the pier, roped into an enclosure like negroes at market to prevent intercourse with the native smugglers. Surrounded and surveyed in all our abomination by all the loungers of the place, in full dress and high merriment-marched under the yoke to the Custom-house to be searched for lace, veils, ribbons, &c.-A battle with a virago to prevent my valise from being clawed away under pretence of porterage.—The Custom-house-the whole party passed deliberately under the seculra arm—every cranny of my costume keenly probed by a veteran official, who must have been bred a thief. Surprise expressed at my pocket-handkerchief-which was handed up to the Chef de Douane, to ascertain its use- a family arrested for having a pair of salt-spoons in their baggage-supposed a cover for conspiracy-nothing of the kind having been seen in France before-passports demanded-mine forgotten in my hurry at -ordered under surveillance—marched to a hotel by a gendarme-the crowd honouring me with an escort—and the appellations of " Traitre ! —Monstre !—Coquin-Anglais," &c. Dover Too sick to dress-determined on seclusion and books for the day-looked over the bill of fare-a bill of mortalitybile and indigestion under a hundred shapes-puzzled with vapid superfluity-left the choice to the waiter-fell into a dose, with my elbows on the table-roused by the coming in of dinner felt stiff, cold, benumbed from head to foot-the solitary lord of a dozen dishes, that might have been so many compilations of boiled cats and ass skin no appetite-the soup hot water and horse-beans-the fowl tough, rancid, and impregnable the parsley and butter hemlock and oil-the tarts lard, saw-dust, and blackberries - the parmesan granite and sand-stone-the fruits green and griping-the wine last year's vinegar.-"Bah! La cuisine Française."-Went to bed-bed and blankets a bale of horse-hair, covered with sheep-skin-lay down in submission to my fate, and prepared for suffocation. Arrival of the Paris diligence-every quadruped and biped in the house and the street in sudden commotion-sleep impossible -sprang out of bed on the stone-floor-chilled as if I had jumped into a cold bath-shivering from head to foot-slunk into bed again, and tried to recover my dose. The diligence going off-another uproar of dogs, waiters, chambermaids, donkeys, passengers clamouring for drams and great-coats, &c.The diligence moving off with the heave and rattle of an earthquake-Feverish and restless-incapable of sleep; and fretting myself still more by the miserable old-woman tricks for alluring it counting a thousand, humming some air hackneyed by boarding-schools and barrel-organs-recounting the signs of the inns-repeating one of Sir J.'s stories, &c.-Morningthe sun rising frowsy as a Frenchwoman before breakfastdropped into a dose-haunted by recollections of the voyagesea-sickness, Custom-house officers, Cockneys, and conger-eels, rushing round my defenceless head in full cry, mouthing, and moving on wings, fins, and claws-"Griffons dire."-Wake late in the day-hot, cold, comfortless, irritable in every pore -attempted to scold the waiter for breakfast in his own tongue -miserable work-the man obsequious; but frequently adjourning outside the door to laugh.-Called for the newspapers -French too small-contains nothing-English, a huge hotchpotch, a mass of heavy absurdities—politics and pomade; reviewing and robbery; Parliamentary debates and Doctor Solomon ;t-jokes from Joe Millar; and wit, honesty, and patriotism, from the Whigs-Threw it away in disgust-Liberty of the press-liberty of nonsense! The size of an English newspaper, like the size of St. Luke's, a monstrous libel on the common sense of the nation. Overhauled my valise-my best suit utterly undone - saturated with sea-water, that has dyed the "blue one red," and more or less incarnadined every inch of my wardrobe-Sent for a scourer, tailor, laundress, &c. all lingering till I lost the fragment that remained of the day, and all coming togetherinhuman confusion of tongues-headach-sent for a doctorwas visited by a spruce practitioner in Brutus' head, a rose * Sir James Macintosh.-M. + Inventor of a quack medicine called: "Solomon's Balm of Gilead." It was eau de vie, neatly sweetened and spiced-a dram in disguise, in factand the Doctor realized a large fortune by its sale.-M. coloured coat, a pair of white gloves, and smelling all over of jonquille, attar, and other sickening and overpowering essences -gave myself up to be drenched with raisin ptisannes and rhubarb soup-prohibited to eat or drink-called for a book one brought after vexatious delay, and the exhaustion of all my French in the entreaty-that one the French Calendar for the year, containing the titles of the reigning family at full length, with their ancestry from Pharamond-Dragged over its pages-wondered what folly could induce a man of any brains to quit his fireside for foreign noise, solitude, dirt, and discomfort. -Roused by a thunder of the Cathedral bells, followed by all the minor cloches of the town,-hoped that there was a general insurrection, or general conflagration,-thrust my head out of the window-those cursed casements, that one can scarcely open, and can never shut;-the night bitter as a blast from an ice-house-a spout over my head suddenly let loose, and playing away like a fountain,-a dozen lights twinkling down the street-lamps in a sepulchre-whips cracking, dogs baying, postilions sacre-dieuing. His Serene Highness-die Furstof some German village, was entering the gates of this fortunate town, and was coming to honour this still more fortunate hotel with his presence.-I determined to quit my lodgings by daybreak. TUESDAY.-Winter in all "its virgin fancies;" wind, cold, fog, and rain. Chained to the house-A fete-The bells discharging regular volleys throughout the day- All the waiters occupied, either in attending his Serene Highness, or in looking at those who did-The hope of breakfast consequently "a hope deferred"— At length succeeded in tearing down my bell-cord -No resource but to roar from the stairs, in the midst of a rush of moist, penetrating air, that might have turned a mill-Fortunate enough, when in the extremity of famine, to rouse the attention of one of the subordinate monsters of the kitchen, a "fat, foolish scullion," directly transferred from Mr. Shandy's scullery-My breakfast administered by this naked-legged Hebe, a moving heap of rags and repulsion of every kind.Weather thickening-called for my bill-astonished by its exaction-resolved the sooner to escape its authors-sallied out |