Part 53 (2/2)

_B._ Let your style be flowery--I should say florid--never mind a false epithet or two in a page, they will never be observed. A great deal depends upon the first two pages--you must not limp at starting; we will, therefore, be particular. Take your pen.

[_Barnstaple muses for a little while and then continues._

”A severe cough, which refused to yield even to the balmy influence of the genial spring of 18--, and threatened a pulmonary complaint, induced me to yield to the reiterated persuasions of my physicians to try a change of air, as most likely to ward off the threatened danger. Where to direct my steps was the difficult point to ascertain. Brighton, Torquay, Cromer, Ilfracombe, had all been visited and revisited. At either of these fas.h.i.+onable resorts I was certain to fall in with a numerous acquaintance, whose persuasions would have induced me to depart from that regularity of diet and of rest, so imperiously insisted upon by my medical advisers. After much cogitation, I resolved upon a journey up the Rhine, and to escape the ruthless winter of our northern clime in the more genial land of history.”

_A._ Land of history--I presume you mean Italy; but am I to go there?

_B._ No, you may recover, and come back again to skate upon the Serpentine, if you please. You observe, Ansard, I have not made you a fellow with 50 in his pocket, setting out to turn it into 300 by a book of travels. I have avoided mention of Margate, Ramsgate, Broadstairs, and all common watering-places; I have talked of physicians in the plural; in short, no one who reads that paragraph, but will suppose that you are a young man of rank and fortune, to whom money is no object, and who spends hundreds to cure that which might be effected by a little regularity, and a few doses of ipecacuanha.

_A._ I wish it were so. Nevertheless, I'll travel _en grand seigneur_--that's more agreeable even in imagination, than being rumbled in a ”_diligence_.”

_B._ And will produce more respect for your work, I can a.s.sure you. But to proceed. Always, when you leave England, talk about _hospitality_.

The English like it. Have you no relations or friends in whose opinion you wish to stand well? Public mention in print does wonders, especially with a copy handsomely bound ”from the author.”

_A._ Really, Barnstaple, I do not know any one. My poor mother is in c.u.mberland, and that is not _en route_. I have a maternal uncle of the name of Forster, who lives on the road--a rich, old, miserly bachelor; but I can't say much for his hospitality. I have called upon him twice, and he has never even asked me to dinner.

_B._ Never mind. People like being praised for a virtue which they do not possess--it may prove a legacy. Say, then, that you quitted the hospitable roof of your worthy and excellent-hearted relation, Mr Forster, and felt----

_A._ Felt how?

_B._ How--why you felt, as he wrung your hand, that there was a sudden dissolution of the ties of kindred and affection.

_A._ There always has been in that quarter, so my conscience is so far clear.

_B._ You arrive at Dov_o_r (mind you spell it Dov_o_r)--go to bed tired and reflective--embark early the next morning--a rough pa.s.sage----

_A._ And sea-sick, of course?

_B._ No, Ansard, there I'll give you a proof of my tact--you sha'n't be sea-sick.

_A._ But I'm sure I should be.

_B._ All travellers are, and all fill up a page or two with complaints, _ad nauseam_--for that reason sick you shall not be. Observe--to your astonishment you are not sea-sick: the other pa.s.sengers suffer dreadfully; one young dandy puffs furiously at a cigar in bravado, until he sends it over the side, like an arrow from the blow-pipe of a South American Indian. Introduce a husband with a pretty wife--he jealous as a dog, until he is sick as a cat--your attentions--she pillowed on your arms, while he hangs over the lee gunwale--her grat.i.tude--safe arrival at Calais--sweet smiles of the lady--sullen deportment of the gentleman--a few hints--and draw the veil. Do you understand?

_A._ Perfectly. I can manage all that.

_B._ Then when you put your foot on sh.o.r.e, you must, for the first time, _feel sea-sick_.

_A._ On sh.o.r.e?

_B._ Yes; reel about, not able to stand--every symptom as if on board.

Express your surprise at the strange effect, pretend not to explain it, leave that to medical men, it being sufficient for you to state the _fact_.

_A._ The fact! O Barnstaple!

_B._ That will be a great hit for a first chapter. You reverse the order of things.

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