The Argosy — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

Letters from Majorca. 31 can do more than he can do!” I fear that you will sometimes say he might have done a great deal less. With this gentle warning, I dismiss all further apology, and begin at the beginning. This beginning, as you know, was the g.4o0 train from Charing Cross for Folkestone and Boulogne. How many times have I not travelled that route, under all sorts and conditions of weather, bound for some fair spot in La belle France, which to you and to me happens to possess the additional charm and association of home and birthland! Every step of the way is full of happy recollections in the past, and, I hope, of experiences in the future. That 9.40 train was, to some extent, a leap in the dark. You are aware how impossible it seemed to find out anything in London about the Balearic Islands, either as to their more prominent features or the best way of getting to them. One knew of boats running from Barcelona and Valencia, but how often, and on what days, could not be discovered. Even at the office of Messrs. Cook and Co., those ereat Purveyors of the Picturesque to the Public, no information was forthcoming. ‘They did all in their power ; were, as usual, polite and painstaking ; hunted up books and time tables; yet without result. One clerk, indeed, suggested that the P. and O. boats ran regularly to Gibraltar, making it somewhat hard work to keep up a becoming dignity. The visit ended in nothing more than a suggestion that I should telegraph to the British Consul at Barcelona, asking him as a favour to telegraph back the days of departure for Palma. This was done, and the reply carefully franked. None was forthcoming. Like Poe’s raven, ‘¢ Not the least obeisance made he, Not a moment stopped or stayed he.” I confess that I was surprised, though I thought it probable that the explanation lay with the telegraph officials. So it proved: for on calling on Mr. Wooldridge at Barcelona, who received me with every courtesy, he said that he had duly telegraphed the informa- tion—and this, owing to carelessness in Spain or England, I had not received. Thus, having done my best and failed, there was nothing for it but to take this first step in the dark, and trust to chance. The event proved that we could not have acted more apropos. H. C. was my travelling companion, and revelled in the idea of crossing the Channel, that mauvais quart d’heure to the larger portion of mankind. I see you smiling, but assure you that I mean nothing personal. At Folkestone he thought the sea looking deliciously calm. I knew better, but it is wiser to let people find out things for themselves. Even in the harbour, we found no very steady foot- hold. Once outside, the sea was disagreeable and choppy—one of the unpleasantest motions I ever remember. It was bitterly cold, ECOnnicboooks (CO