The Desultory Man: Collection of Ancient and Modern British Novels and Romances. Vol. CXLVII.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Desultory Man: Collection of Ancient and Modern British Novels and Romances. Vol. CXLVII.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Fiction
Get into the stage-coach, which journeyeth diurnally between London
and Southampton; enjoy the smoothness of the road, bless Mr. M'Adam,
put up at the Dolphin, and yield yourself to the full delights of an
English four-post bed, for no such sweets as stage-coach, smooth road,
or four-post bed, shall you know from the moment you set your foot on
board the steam-boat for Havre, till the same steam-boat, or another,
lands you once more on the English strand.
Supposing you then arrived at Havre--get out of it again as fast as
you can; rush across the river to Honfleur; from Honfleur dart back to
Caen; and after you have paused five minutes to think about William
the Conqueror, put yourself into the diligence for St. Maloe, and when
you have travelled just twelve leagues and a half, you will come to a
long steep hill, crowned by a pretty airy-looking town, whose
buildings, in some parts gathered on the very pinnacle, in others
running far down the slope, seem as if coquetting with the rich
valleys that woo them from below.
Go to bed; and should you bathe your feet
beforehand--which if you are of our faction you will do--walk over the
tiled floor of the inn bed-room, that you may have a fit opportunity
of abusing tiled floors, and of relieving yourself of all the spleen
in your nature before the next morning. Then, if both your mood and
the day be favourably disposed, sally forth to the eastern corner of
the town, and you will have a fair view over one of the loveliest
valleys that nature's profuse hand ever gifted with beauty; the soft
clear stream of the Vire too, is there, winding sweetly along between
the green sloping hills and the rich woods, and the fields and
chateaux, and hamlets, and the sunshine catching upon all its
meanderings, and the birds singing it their song of love, as its calm
waters roll bountifully by them. Look upon it, and you will not find
it difficult to imagine how the soul, even of an obscure artisan in a
remote age, warmed into poetry and music in the bosom of that valley,
and by the side of that stream.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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