Round the world in any number of days

If the world of romance be divided into provinces, each having its capital, Plymouth is certainly the capital of that region in the romantic world of England which concerns the sea. And the last twenty years, which have made such fearful havoc among so much which was characteristically English, have spared Plymouth. Plymouth still smiles over the Sound--between the luxuriant wooded hills of Mount Edgecombe and the forts of Statton Heights, crowned in the distance by the blue rim of Dartmoor. Little cutters, with their spotless sails, are racing in the Sound; two torpedo destroyers are dressed because it is Coronation Day; a German liner has arrived from New York. Everything is just the same as it used to be thirty years ago.

Just before sunset a real Devonshire shower comes on, veiling the hills in a gray mist, but the sun, only half hidden, silvers the waters. Then the rain drifts away, and the sun sets in a watery glory of gold and silver, and as the twilight deepens, threatening and cloudy, all the lights begin to twinkle on the Hoe.

There are always a lot of lights in Plymouth, but there are more than usual to-night, because the city is illuminated. We steam past the breakwater. The Eddystone Light appears and vanishes intermittently far ahead, and behind us Plymouth is twinkling and gleaming and flashing.

“Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder lie the ships, Wi’ sailor lads a-dancin’ heel-an’-toe, An’ the shore-lights flashin’, an’ the night-tide dashin’, He sees it arl so plainly, as he saw it long ago.”

These lines of Newbolt’s, from his poem, “Drake’s Drum,” ring in my memory and seem now and to-night intolerably appropriate. It begins to drizzle once more, and I feel the well-known smell of the West Country rain all about me, and the years slip by, and the past rises from its tomb, sharp and vivid as the present.... I see it all so plainly as I saw it long ago.

All at once forward in the steerage, a party of Welsh emigrants start singing a wailing Celtic chorus, piercingly melancholy, alien and strange, and this chases away the dream, and reminds me that I am on a liner bound for Australia, and that it’s raining, and I determine to seek the smoking-room.

These books would contain that particular information which you need at particular times and seasons, but which you cannot bear to have imparted to you at any other time. Information about the conditions of life on board different liners, for instance. If somebody begins to tell you about this when you are not going on a journey and he has just returned, you withdraw your attention and think of Tom Thumb, as Dr. Johnson did when people talked of the Punic Wars; or, if you are on familiar terms with the informant, you tell him to dry up. But when you are yourself starting on a journey, that is just what you want, in choosing your line and your steamer, and just what you can’t get. Nobody knows. It appears to be a dead secret. I am not going to give a particle of that information here,--I know the result too well. Any digression on any general subject, say the claims of Christian Science, or the merits of Harry Lauder’s songs, would be tolerated, but not that; because those things are topics, and this other thing is instruction. Neither children nor grown-up people can bear to be instructed. Children have to submit to it, until the general Children’s Strike occurs. Grown-up people needn’t and don’t, and if people insist on instructing them, they either kill them, as the Greeks killed Socrates, who was a schoolmaster abroad if ever there was one; or they put them in Coventry and isolate them by not listening, as the House of Commons did to Burke and Macaulay; or they damn them by saying, “So-and-so knows a lot, but he is a bore.” It need only be said once. The man is done for. He has quaffed an invisible and intangible poison more deadly than hemlock. He is a social leper. His approach is like a bell. Wherever he goes, he makes a desert. He can call it peace, if he likes.

That is why I shall say no word about the arrangements, the huge qualities and advantages, of the steamers of the Orient line.

But to go back to the Series of Books by Bores for People who Really Want to Know: I would suggest the following subjects:--

A Book telling you (A) whom to give tips to, and how much, in country-houses and hotels in all the countries of the world.

And (B) how much to public men, men of business, and like officials, anywhere.

Section (B) would be good reading if written by an expert, because the art of tipping or bribing a Prime Minister is no doubt a delicate one, and though one hears so much about the terrible bribery and corruption in many countries, one so rarely meets any one who has actually himself tipped or bribed either a rich Banker, a Magistrate, a General, an Archbishop, or a Minister for Foreign Affairs.

Naples: June 29

One often hears people say that Naples is “disappointing.” The disappointment depends on what you expect, on your standard of comparison, and on the nature of the conditions under which you see Naples.

There was once upon a time an Englishwoman who came out to Rome to live there. She was the wife of a scholar. She was asked by one of her compatriots whether she liked Rome. She said it was a great come-down after what she had been used to.

“And where,” asked the second Englishwoman, “used you to live in England?”

“Surbiton,” she answered.

Have you ever seen Surbiton? It is a small suburban town on the Southwestern Railway, about half an hour’s distance by rail from London.

Well, if you go to a place like Naples and you expect to find a place like Sheerness, you will be disappointed.

Then as to the conditions. These depend on the weather; and I know by experience that the weather at Naples can make disappointment a certainty. The first time I went there it rained. That was in spring. The second time I went there it snowed. That was in winter. The third time I went there I chose the month of May so as to insure good weather. There was a thick fog the whole time. You couldn’t even see Vesuvius. Nevertheless I persevered and went there a fourth time, and was rewarded. This time I found the proper weather for Naples. It is broiling hot, with just a slight sea-breeze.