We soon tire of things which we visit merely by way of
spectacle, and with which we have no real and permanent connection. In
such cases we very quickly wish the spectacle to be taken away, and
another substituted; at all events I do not care about seeing anything
more of the English lakes for at least a year.
Perhaps a part of my weariness is owing to the hotel-life which we lead.
At an English hotel the traveller feels as if everybody, from the
landlord downward, united in a joint and individual purpose to fleece
him, because all the attendants who come in contact with him are to be
separately considered. So, after paying, in the first instance, a very
heavy bill, for what would seem to cover the whole indebtedness, there
remain divers dues still to be paid, to no trifling amount, to the
landlord's servants,--dues not to be ascertained, and which you never can
know whether you have properly satisfied. You can know, perhaps, when
you have less than satisfied them, by the aspect of the waiter, which I
wish I could describe, not disrespectful in the slightest degree, but a
look of profound surprise, a gaze at the offered coin (which he
nevertheless pockets) as if he either did not see it, or did not know it,
or could not believe his eyesight;--all this, however, with the most
quiet forbearance, a Christian-like non-recognition of an unmerited wrong
and insult; and finally, all in a moment's space indeed, he quits you and
goes about his other business.
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