Lest, however, you should only throw your eyes carelessly over these lines and not adventure far into the detail of my sorrows, I take this early opportunity of saying that I am living here on credit,--that I have n't five shillings left to me,--that my shoemaker lies in wait for me in the Juden-Gasse, and my washerwoman watches for me near the church. Schnaps, snuff, and cigars have encompassed me round about with small duns, and I live in a charmed circle of petty persecutions, that would drive a less good-tempered man half-crazy. Not that I am ungrateful to Providence for many blessings; I acknowledge heartily the great advantage I possess in knowing nothing whatever of the language, so that I am enabled to preserve my equanimity under what very probably may be the foulest abuse that ever was poured out upon insolvent humanity.
My wardrobe is dwindled to the "shortest span." I have "taken out" my great-coat in Kirschwasser, and converted my spare small-clothes into cigars. My hat has gone to repair my shoes; and as my razors are pledged for pen, ink, and paper, I have grown a beard that would make the fortune of an Italian refugee, or of a missionary speaker at Exeter Hall!
My host of the "Rue Garland" hasn't seen a piece of my money for the last fortnight; and now, for the first time since I came abroad, am I able to say that I find the Continent cheap to live in. Ay, Tom, take my word for it, the whole secret lies in this,--"Do with little, and pay for less," and you 'll find a great economy in coming abroad to live. But if you cannot cheat yourself as well as your creditors, take my advice and stay at home. These, however, are only spare reflections; and I'll now resume my story, taking up the thread of it where I left off in my last.
It is really all like a dream to me, Tom; and many times I am unable to convince myself that it is not a dream, so strange and so novel are all the incidents that have of late befallen me, so unlike every former passage of my life, and so unsuited am I by nature, habit, and temperament for the curious series of adventures in which I have been involved.
After all, I suppose it is downright balderdash to say that a man is not adapted for this, or suited to that. I remember people telling me that public life would n't do for me; that I was n't the kind of man for Parliament, and so on; but I see the folly of it all now. The truth is, Tom, that there is a faculty of accommodation in human nature, and wherever you are placed, under whatever circumstances situated, you 'll discover that your spirit, like your stomach, learns to digest everything; though I won't deny that it may now and then be at the cost of a heartburn in the one case as well as the other.