Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 60, No. 373, November 1846Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 60, No. 373, November 1846
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
I quitted Babylon, now nearly eleven weeks ago, for this said sweet
mysterious solitude. London I dearly, dearly love--except during the
months of August, September, and October, when it goes to sleep, and
lies utterly torpid. When I quitted it very early in August, London life
was, as it were, at dead-low water-mark. I was myself somewhat jaded
with a year's severe exertion in my lawful calling, (what that may be,
it concerns none of your readers to know,) and my family also were in
want of change of air and scene; so that, when the day of departure had
arrived, we were in the highest possible spirits. _Our_ house would--we
reflected--within a few hours put on the dismal, dismantled appearance
which almost every other house in the street had presented for several
weeks, and we, whirling away to ----; but first of all it occurred to me
to lay in a stock of our good friend Lee's port and sherry, (for where
were we to get drinkable wine at ----?)--ditto, in respect of six pounds
of real tea--not _quasi_ tea, _i.e._, raisin-stalks and
sloe-leaves--three bottles of whisky; four of Anchovy sauce; and four of
Reading or Harvey's sauce; two pounds of mustard, and some cayenne and
curry-powder: having an eye, in respect of this last, to--hot crab! a
delicious affair! Arrangements these which we are resolved always to
make hereafter, having repeatedly experienced the inconvenience of not
doing so. Having packed up every thing, and given special orders for the
_Times_ to be provided daily, and the _Spectator_ weekly, away we
go--myself, wife, three hostages to fortune, and three other persons,
and--bless him!--Tickler; Timothy Tickler--that sagacious, quaint,
affectionate, ugly-beautiful Skye terrier, which found its way to me
from you, my revered friend--and is now lying gracefully near me,
pretending--the little rogue--to be asleep; but really watching the
wasps buzzing round him, and every now and then snapping at them
furiously, unconscious of the probable consequences of his
success,--that,
"If 'twere _done_, when 'tis done,
_Then_--'twere well it were done quickly!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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