Dickens, Charles – The Uncommercial Traveller

it to account was to read these sermons and these poems, enclosed,

and written and issued by my correspondent! I beg it may be

understood that I relate facts of my own uncommercial experience,

and no vain imaginings. The documents in proof lie near my hand.

Another odd entry on the fly-leaf, of a more entertaining

character, was the wonderful persistency with which kind

sympathisers assumed that I had injuriously coupled with the so

suddenly relinquished pursuit, those personal habits of mine most

obviously incompatible with it, and most plainly impossible of

being maintained, along with it. As, all that exercise, all that

cold bathing, all that wind and weather, all that uphill training –

all that everything else, say, which is usually carried about by

express trains in a portmanteau and hat-box, and partaken of under

a flaming row of gas-lights in the company of two thousand people.

This assuming of a whole case against all fact and likelihood,

struck me as particularly droll, and was an oddity of which I

certainly had had no adequate experience in life until I turned

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Dickens, Charles – The Uncommercial Traveller

that curious fly-leaf.

My old acquaintances the begging-letter writers came out on the

fly-leaf, very piously indeed. They were glad, at such a serious

crisis, to afford me another opportunity of sending that Postoffice

order. I needn’t make it a pound, as previously insisted

on; ten shillings might ease my mind. And Heaven forbid that they

should refuse, at such an insignificant figure, to take a weight

off the memory of an erring fellow-creature! One gentleman, of an

artistic turn (and copiously illustrating the books of the

Mendicity Society), thought it might soothe my conscience, in the

tender respect of gifts misused, if I would immediately cash up in

aid of his lowly talent for original design – as a specimen of

which he enclosed me a work of art which I recognized as a tracing

from a woodcut originally published in the late Mrs. Trollope’s

book on America, forty or fifty years ago. The number of people

who were prepared to live long years after me, untiring benefactors

to their species, for fifty pounds apiece down, was astonishing.

Also, of those who wanted bank-notes for stiff penitential amounts,

to give away:- not to keep, on any account.

Divers wonderful medicines and machines insinuated recommendations

of themselves into the fly-leaf that was to have been so blank. It

was specially observable that every prescriber, whether in a moral

or physical direction, knew me thoroughly – knew me from head to

heel, in and out, through and through, upside down. I was a glass

piece of general property, and everybody was on the most

surprisingly intimate terms with me. A few public institutions had

complimentary perceptions of corners in my mind, of which, after

considerable self-examination, I have not discovered any

indication. Neat little printed forms were addressed to those

corners, beginning with the words: ‘I give and bequeath.’

Will it seem exaggerative to state my belief that the most honest,

the most modest, and the least vain-glorious of all the records

upon this strange fly-leaf, was a letter from the self-deceived

discoverer of the recondite secret ‘how to live four or five

hundred years’? Doubtless it will seem so, yet the statement is

not exaggerative by any means, but is made in my serious and

sincere conviction. With this, and with a laugh at the rest that

shall not be cynical, I turn the Fly-leaf, and go on again.

CHAPTER XXXVII – A PLEA FOR TOTAL ABSTINENCE

One day this last Whitsuntide, at precisely eleven o’clock in the

forenoon, there suddenly rode into the field of view commanded by

the windows of my lodging an equestrian phenomenon. It was a

fellow-creature on horseback, dressed in the absurdest manner. The

fellow-creature wore high boots; some other (and much larger)

fellow-creature’s breeches, of a slack-baked doughy colour and a

baggy form; a blue shirt, whereof the skirt, or tail, was puffily

tucked into the waist-band of the said breeches; no coat; a red

shoulder-belt; and a demi-semi-military scarlet hat, with a

feathered ornament in front, which, to the uninstructed human

vision, had the appearance of a moulting shuttlecock. I laid down

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