See Thrale’s grey widow with a satchel roam,
And bring in pomp laborious nothings home.
_The Baviad._
“Potter hates Potter, and Poet hates Poet,”--so runs the wisdom of
the ancients,--but tourist hates tourist with a cordial Christian
animosity that casts all Pagan prejudices in the shade. At home we
tolerate--sometimes we even love--our fellow creatures. We can see
large masses of them in church and theatre, we can be jostled by them
in streets, and be kept waiting by them in shops, and be inconvenienced
by them at almost every turn, without rancorous annoyance or ill will.
But abroad it is our habit to regard all other travellers in the light
of personal and unpardonable grievances. They are intruders into our
chosen realms of pleasure, they jar upon our sensibilities, they lessen
our meagre share of comforts, they are everywhere in our way, they are
always an unnecessary feature in the landscape.