Out of Town Page #3

"Out of Town" is a lesser-known work by Charles Dickens, written in 1851. It is a travel narrative that depicts a journey through the English countryside, capturing the sights, sounds, and experiences encountered along the way. The text reflects Dickens' keen observations and his love for the rural landscape, as well as his thoughts on social issues of the time. Through vivid descriptions and engaging character interactions, Dickens invites readers to appreciate the beauty and charm of the natural world, while also highlighting the contrasts between urban and rural life.

• Short story

								

comes, and begins to flutter and stir.  When the little shallow waves
creep in, barely overlapping one another, the vanes at the mastheads
wake, and become agitated.  As the tide rises, the fishing-boats get into
good spirits and dance, the flagstaff hoists a bright red flag, the
steamboat smokes, cranes creak, horses and carriages dangle in the air,
stray passengers and luggage appear.  Now, the shipping is afloat, and
comes up buoyantly, to look at the wharf.  Now, the carts that have come
down for coals, load away as hard as they can load.  Now, the steamer
smokes immensely, and occasionally blows at the paddle-boxes like a
vaporous whale-greatly disturbing nervous loungers.  Now, both the tide
and the breeze have risen, and you are holding your hat on (if you want
to see how the ladies hold their hats on, with a stay, passing over the
broad brim and down the nose, come to Pavilionstone).  Now, everything in
the harbour splashes, dashes, and bobs.  Now, the Down Tidal Train is
telegraphed, and you know (without knowing how you know), that two
hundred and eighty-seven people are coming.  Now, the fishing-boats that
have been out, sail in at the top of the tide.  Now, the bell goes, and
the locomotive hisses and shrieks, and the train comes gliding in, and
the two hundred and eighty-seven come scuffling out.  Now, there is not
only a tide of water, but a tide of people, and a tide of luggage—all
tumbling and flowing and bouncing about together.  Now, after infinite
bustle, the steamer steams out, and we (on the Pier) are all delighted
when she rolls as if she would roll her funnel out, and all are
disappointed when she don’t.  Now, the other steamer is coming in, and
the Custom House prepares, and the wharf-labourers assemble, and the
hawsers are made ready, and the Hotel Porters come rattling down with van
and truck, eager to begin more Olympic games with more luggage.  And this
is the way in which we go on, down at Pavilionstone, every tide.  And, if
you want to live a life of luggage, or to see it lived, or to breathe
sweet air which will send you to sleep at a moment’s notice at any period
of the day or night, or to disport yourself upon or in the sea, or to
scamper about Kent, or to come out of town for the enjoyment of all or
any of these pleasures, come to Pavilionstone.
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