The Argosy . next month ? If so, better re-main at home and endure theills we knew of, as Shakespearesays; for we cannot do wrongin following his advice. Rainday after day at sea is one ofthose ills that give rise to suicidal tendencies. To begin with, we were rather late in starting. This was possiblydue to the aforementioned depression, which lowers ones principleof action; but more probably due to the innumerable small obstruc-tions which rise up at the last moment, causing one for at leastthe sixth time to unstrap and reopen ones luggage, with a growingirritability that at last verges upon
The Argosy . next month ? If so, better re-main at home and endure theills we knew of, as Shakespearesays; for we cannot do wrongin following his advice. Rainday after day at sea is one ofthose ills that give rise to suicidal tendencies. To begin with, we were rather late in starting. This was possiblydue to the aforementioned depression, which lowers ones principleof action; but more probably due to the innumerable small obstruc-tions which rise up at the last moment, causing one for at leastthe sixth time to unstrap and reopen ones luggage, with a growingirritability that at last verges upon dementia. Whereto, sir? said the head porter of the Hotel Metropole,where we had been staying for a few days, in sight and sound of theclassical old Thames on one side and the lions of Trafalgar Squareon the other. Liverpool Street, was the reply, almost inaudible from exhaustionand suppressed rage. What! For the P. and O. steamer ? Sharp work, that, sir!You are at least twenty-five minutes late in A Modern Ruth. 48 On Board the ** Batavia But I suppose we shall do it ? •• Depends on the traffic, sir. The consequence of this gratuitous alarm was to induce a constanturging of the fiery, untamed steed upon which our fate now of course also raised a feverish commotion in our bosoms,which Dickens has well and wisely called * an unnecessary wear andtear of the nervous system. When we reached Liverpool Street we had twenty minutes tospare : and we felt that the head porter of the Metropole was hence-forth our deadly enemy. There was a good deal of stir and bustle at Liverpool StreetStation. At the Confusion of Tongues, when the Tower of Babelcame to grief, everyone called for his sack. At Liverpool Streetthis morning everyone seemed to be calling for his lost baggageand to be wildly hunting for it: finding it at last in the hands of adreamy porter, and receiving the usual exasperating formula : I waslooking for you, sir! In other words, they were having
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