The Argosy — page 220: what you’re looking at

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

Letters from Majorca. 203 and one has to pay for all this display and self indulgence. That is quite true, and travelling has now become a costly pleasure, and sometimes almost a sinful. But in Palma de Mallorca, one’s luxuries are restricted; and, fortu- nately, there is a corresponding limit to the charges when your bill is presented. As yet we have had no bill, but I write with the ‘‘ authority of the speaker:” no less a personage than the good and amiable landlord himself, who, on our arrival, volunteered several exchequer items we did not ask for, but were willing to learn. Here we have no painted ceilings or carpeted floors. Our rooms are tiled or paved; and in spite of a very charming atmosphere, your first sensation on rising in the morning, when your feet come into contact with the cold stone, 1s decidedly thrilling. I shall never forget my introduction to this emotion ; for though you are supposed to have a small bedside carpet or a mat, this, like your slippers, or your match-box, is certain to have mysteriously gone astray during the night. I am persuaded that my room is haunted. A mouse could not squeak or a pin fall without waking me; I have retired with every- thing in its place ; I have passed an undisturbed night: and yet the next morning I have found my carpet in the further corner of the outer room, looking very much ruffled and demoralised. Not only must my room be haunted, but these Palma ghosts must have a special affection for bedside carpets. Possibly they were denied these luxuries in life, and are now taking out their revenge. I have asked H. C. whether his experience 1s the same as mine, but he only stares vacantly ; doesn’t know whether he has a carpet or not ; doesn’t care ; doesn’t see how anyone could care. Of course, a poet must have a soul above carpets. My room is divided into two compartments, and I make one com- partment my bedroom, the other my reception-room. I have held levées since I came here, but they have, happily, been levées of imagination only; peopled with ghosts of the dead-and-gone, and recollections of all the living who make our world. The doors of the rooms are peculiar. They have no handles to them, like the ordinary christian doors of a civilised country. If you are at home, you must lock yourself in ; and if any one knocks you must rise and open. Thus when Francisco comes every morning with hot water, and to generally constitute himself my groom of the chambers, I have to perform the undignified office of getting up to admit him, and hasten- ing back to my couch to escape the dangers of a sudden chill. He brings up the water in a small tea-kettle with a narrow spout— another Mallorcan peculiarity, so far, at any rate, as this fonda is concerned. It takes quite ten minutes to pour out, by which time the water has cooled down to an agreeable temperature of some ten degrees below freezing point. I one day tried to remove the lid, and pour the hot stream in a small cataract, but the lid refused to come COMICOOOKS.c©