The Bed-Book of Happiness: Being a colligation or assemblage of cheerful writings brought together from many quarters into this one compass for the diversion, distraction, and delight of those who lie abed,—a friend to the invalid, a companion to the sleepless, an excuse to the tiredBegbie, Harold
General
The Bed-Book of Happiness: Being a colligation or assemblage of cheerful writings brought together from many quarters into this one compass for the diversion, distraction, and delight of those who lie abed,—a friend to the invalid, a companion to the sleepless, an excuse to the tired
Begbie, Harold
Literature -- Collections
"Hôtel Dessin!" (but in this one case it is not a vocal cry; it is but a
bright lustre in the eyes of the cheery representative of that best of
inns). "Hôtel Meurice!" "Hôtel de France!" "Hôtel de Calais!" "The Royal
Hotel, sir, Anglaishe 'ouse!" "You going to Parry, sir?" "Your baggage,
registair free, sir?" Bless ye, my Touters; bless ye, my
commissionaires; bless ye, my hungry-eyed mysteries in caps of military
form, who are always here, day or night, fair weather or foul, seeking
inscrutable jobs which I never see you get! Bless ye, my Custom-house
officers in green and grey; permit me to grasp the welcome hands that
descend into my travelling-bag, one on each side, and meet at the bottom
to give my change of linen a peculiar shake-up, as if it were a measure
of chaff or grain! I have nothing to declare, Monsieur le Douanier,
except that, when I cease to breathe, Calais will be found written on my
heart. No article liable to local duty have I with me, Monsieur
l'Officier de l'Octroi, unless the overflowing of a breast devoted to
your charming town should be in that wise chargeable. Ah! see at the
gangway by the twinkling lantern my dearest brother and friend, he once
of the Passport Office, he who collects the names! May he be for ever
changeless in his buttoned black boat-surtout, with his note-book in his
hand, and his tall black hat surmounting his round, smiling, patient
face! Let us embrace, my dearest brother. I am yours _à tout
jamais_--for the whole of ever.
Calais up and doing at the railway-station, and Calais down and dreaming
in its bed; Calais with something of "an ancient and fish-like smell"
about it, and Calais blown and sea-washed pure; Calais represented at
the Buffet by savoury roast fowls, hot coffee, cognac, and Bordeaux; and
Calais represented everywhere by flitting persons with a monomania for
changing money--though I never shall be able to understand, in my
present state of existence, how they live by it; but I suppose I should,
if I understood the currency question; Calais _en gros_ and Calais _en
détail_, forgive one who has deeply wronged you,--I was not fully aware
of it on the other side, but I meant Dover.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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