The Argosy — page 340: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

324 Letters from Majorca. But all grows faint and fainter still, and we turn the point, and Palma is altogether lost. Night comes, and H. C. does not remain on deck. The pigs are too much for him. The drivers are actively moving about, and if an unfortunate animal attempts to lie down, it is immediately prodded on to its legs again. The grunting that goes on incessantly banishes sleep. H. C.’s poetical enya is ruffled, and my sensitive nerves are disturbed. But the morning comes also, and at seven o’clock we reach Barcelona, Our miseries are over ; we shall land now and forget the night. Not at all. Before we are allowed to leave, the pigs must be attended to. Place aux cochons ; they must be landed first. Our luggage is in the hold and we are helpless, They will not give it up to us. As to the pigs, of course they insist upon going every way but the right way. It is such a scene as I never saw before, and never wish to see again. Men are shouting, pigs are grunting and squealing. Their ears are pulled, and their tails also; in many instances it is a fact that they are landed without the latter, like the sheep of Little Bo-peep. Added to all this, the bahny air of Palma isa thing of the past. A cold aud cutting wind is blowing. We shiver, and long for blankets ; rugs ; anything that will keep out this chilling blast. But we have to endure it for three hours and a half. At 10.30 the last animal is landed ; the ‘oat steams across the harbour, and now at last we are permitted to land also. But this is a barbarous proceeding, a shameful injustice ; and it ought to be shown up, and it ought to be remedied. As we leave the steamer, our very last link with Palma falls to the ground. Mallorca, fair and beautiful, becomes a vision to us, but a vision that shall not pass away. (To be continued. ) comicbooks.com