Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog): Illustrated, 1889 edition

by Jerome K. Jerome

THREE MEN IN A BOAT (to say nothing of the dog) 1889 J. W. Arrowsmith

Three Men in a Boat 1889 novel by Jerome K. Jerome Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog), published in 1889, is a humorous account by English writer Jerome K. Jerome of a two-week boating holiday on the Thames from Kingston upon Thames to Oxford and back to Kingston. The book was initially intended to be a serious travel guide, with accounts of local history along the route, but the humorous elements took over to the point where the serious and somewhat sentimental passages seem a distraction to the comic novel. One of the most praised things about Three Men in a Boat is how undated it appears to modern readers – the jokes have been praised as fresh and witty. The three men are based on Jerome himself (the narrator Jerome K. Jerome) and two real-life friends, George Wingrave (who would become a senior manager at Barclays Bank) and Carl Hentschel (the founder of a London printing business, called Harris in the book), with whom Jerome often took boating trips. The dog, Montmorency, is entirely fictional but, "as Jerome admits, developed out of that area of inner consciousness which, in all Englishmen, contains an element of the dog". The trip is a typical boating holiday of the time in a Thames camping skiff. Following the overwhelming success of Three Men in a Boat, Jerome later published a sequel, about a cycling tour in Germany, titled Three Men on the Bummel (also known as Three Men on Wheels, 1900). The story begins by introducing George, Harris, Jerome (always referred to as "J."), and Jerome's dog, Montmorency. The men are spending an evening in J.'s room, smoking and discussing illnesses from which they fancy they suffer. They conclude that they are all suffering from "overwork", and need a holiday. A stay in the country and a sea trip are both considered. The country stay is rejected because Harris claims that it would be dull, and the sea-trip after J. describes bad experiences his brother-in-law and a friend had on previous sea-trips. The three eventually decide on a boating holiday up the River Thames, from Kingston upon Thames to Oxford, during which they will camp, notwithstanding more of J.'s anecdotes about previous mishaps with tents and camping stoves.

edition

“premonitory symptoms,”

invidious

invidious /inˈvidēəs/ I. adjective 1. (of an action or situation) likely to arouse or incur resentment or anger in others • she'd put herself in an invidious position. 2. (of a comparison or distinction) unfairly discriminating; unjust • it seems invidious to make special mention of one aspect of his work. II. derivatives 1. invidiously /inˈvidēəslē / adverb 2. invidiousness /inˈvidēəsnəs / noun – origin early 17th cent.: from Latin invidiosus, from invidia (see envy).

Then I wondered how long I had to live.

I had walked into that reading-room a happy, healthy man. I crawled out a decrepit wreck.

I had the symptoms, beyond all mistake, the chief among them being “a general disinclination to work of any kind.”

Referee

referee /ˌrefəˈrē/ I. noun 1. an official who watches a game or match closely to ensure that the rules are adhered to and (in some sports) to arbitrate on matters arising from the play. 2. a person appointed to examine and assess for publication a scientific or other academic work. 3. (Brit.) a person willing to testify in writing about the character or ability of someone, especially an applicant for a job. II. verb [with obj.] —act as referee for •the man who refereed the World Cup final •[no obj.] refereeing for medical journals. A referee may also be: One who engages in scholarly peer review One who provides a reference In law, a special referee, a judge who acts on matters of fact only A gamemaster for a role-playing game

baccy.

baccy /ˈbakē/ noun (chiefly Brit.) informal term for tobacco.

corncrake

corncrake /ˈkôrnˌkrāk / corn crake noun a secretive Eurasian crake inhabiting coarse grasslands, with mainly brown streaked plumage and a distinctive double rasping call. Also called land rail. [Crex crex, family Rallidae.] corn crib /ˈkôrn ˌkrib / corncrib

the pleasant chat goes round in musical undertone; while, in the pauses of our talk, the river, playing round the boat, prattles strange old tales and secrets, sings low the old child’s song that it has sung so many thousand years—will sing so many thousand years to come, before its voice grows harsh and old—a song that we, who have learnt to love its changing face, who have so often nestled on its yielding bosom, think, somehow, we understand, though we could not tell you in mere words the story that we listen to.

To hang about a stable, and collect a gang of the most disreputable dogs to be found in the town, and lead them out to march round the slums to fight other disreputable dogs, is Montmorency’s idea of “life;”

Harris said he’d had enough oratory for one night, and proposed that we should go out and have a smile,

That’s Harris all over—so ready to take the burden of everything himself, and put it on the backs of other people.

“Oh, you can give it up! I’ve found it myself now. Might just as well ask the cat to find anything as expect you people to find it.”

charwoman’s corns,

Charwoman Article Talk Language Download PDF Watch Edit Not to be confused with chairwoman. Learn more This article needs additional citations for verification. (December 2013) A charwoman (also chargirl, charlady or char) is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. A charwoman might work independently, often for cash in hand, or might come through an employment agency. A 1943 photograph of a charwoman in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States Before 1960, the term "charwoman" was used as an official job title by government agencies in the United States, including municipal and state governments and by federal agencies such as the Department of Commerce and Labor, the Bureau of the Census, and the Bureau of Immigration. Charwomen have also sometimes been referred to as "scrubwomen". The word has the same root as "chore woman", one hired to do odd chores around the house. In British English, "cleaner" is now used much more often. In American English, the term "maid" is often used for any woman who cleans a home or hotel, whether she lives there or not.[1]

“You know we are on a wrong track altogether. We must not think of the things we could do with, but only of the things that we can’t do without.”

I call that downright wisdom, not merely as regards the present case, but with reference to our trip up the river of life, generally.

oh, heaviest, maddest lumber of all!—the dread of what will my neighbour think, with luxuries that only cloy, with pleasures that bore, with empty show that, like the criminal’s iron crown of yore, makes to bleed and swoon the aching head that wears it!

days of yore A time in the past or of a bygone era, especially one remembered nostalgically. Can be used ironically to mock such sentiment. In days of yore, people had to rely on their own hands for the food on their table, not the massively processed food we get from the supermarket nowadays. Many people long for a time gone past when societal roles were clearly defined. They fail to remember, though, that in such days of yore, horrible inequality was rife. See also: days, of, yore of yore old-fashioned Of the ancient past; of long ago. In times of yore, before telephones and the Internet, we relied on our family and neighbors for nearly every aspect of our lives. See also: of, yore

Throw the lumber over, man! Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need—a homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends, worth the name, someone to love and someone to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink; for thirst is a dangerous thing.

everything has its drawbacks, as the man said when his mother-in-law died, and they came down upon him for the funeral expenses.

“No, not exactly himself like; but he knew some fellows who had, and it was easy enough;” and Harris and I were weak enough to fancy he knew what he was talking about, and that three respectable young men, without position or influence, and with no experience in washing, could really clean their own shirts and trousers in the river Thames with a bit of soap.

methylated spirit stove.”

Can you use methylated spirits in a burner? The spirit burner is intended for alcohol based fuels only (such as methylated spirit). Alternative safe fuels are other alcohols based on Methanol or Ethanol e.g., Surgical Spirits or Wood Alcohol. A minimum of 70 % alcohol will work.

Cheese, like oil, makes too much of itself. It wants the whole boat to itself.

a cab. It was a ramshackle affair, dragged along by a knock-kneed, broken-winded somnambulist, which his owner, in a moment of enthusiasm, during conversation, referred to as a horse.

Gladstone

gladstone noun glad·​stone ˈglad-ˌstōn chiefly British -stən often capitalized : a suitcase with flexible sides on a rigid frame that opens flat into two equal compartments called also gladstone bag

There is nothing does irritate me more than seeing other people sitting about doing nothing when I’m working.

Kyningestun!

Kingston upon Thames (hyphenated until 1965, colloquially known as Kingston) is a town in the Royal Borough of Kingston upon Thames, southwest London, England. It is situated on the River Thames and 10 miles (16 km) southwest of Charing Cross. It is notable as the ancient market town in which Saxon kings were crowned and today is the administrative centre of the Royal Borough of Kingston upon Thames. Kingston upon Thames History The National Gazetteer of Great Britain and Ireland - 1868 KINGSTON-UPON-THAMES, a parish, post and market town, and municipal borough, in the first division of the hundred of Kingston, county Surrey, 10 miles from Vauxhall Bridge, 10 from Hyde Park Corner, and 12 S.W. of London. It is a station on the South-Western railway. A railway diverging from the Windsor line at Twickenham also runs into the Old Town. It is situated at the junction of the New-Mill river, formerly called Hogsmill or Ewell, with the Thames. It was called by the Saxons Moreford, but subsequently took the name of Kyningestun, from its having been held in royal demesne, and the place in which many of the Saxon kings were crowned, among whom were Athelstan, Edwin, Ethelred, Edward the Elder, Edmund, Edward the Martyr, and Eldred. Near to the assize court is the coronation stone of the above kings, which is 3½ feet long. It was newly railed in 1850, when coins of the same kings were placed therein. Kingston of late has greatly increased in population, and contains many handsome villas, the residences of merchants and tradesmen residing in London. The town is well paved, lighted with gas, and well supplied with water, partly by pumps and partly from a conduit on Combe-hill, the water of which is conveyed by pipes under the river Thames, laid down by Cardinal Wolsey for the supply of Hampton Court Palace. The streets have been much widened and improved, and near the station of the South-Western railway an entirely now town has been formed. The noble five-arched bridge of Portland stone connecting Hampton Wick with Kingston was completed in 1828, at a cost of £40,000, in lieu of a wooden one built prior to the reign of Henry III. In connection with this bridge we may mention a curious petition still extant in the Public Record Office, of the king's footmen to Charles II. praying a grant of the fines which may he imposed on the bailiffs of Kingston (they prosecuting the suit at their own charges), for pulling down a part of Kingston Bridge, purposely to raise a benefit for the bailiffs there by the use of ferry boats to convey passengers, in consequence of which abuse, no watch being kept at the bridge, two children were drowned in the night. There are malt houses, corn, flax, and oil mills, with breweries and a distillery. The public buildings are, the townhall, house of correction, now used for the barracks of the county militia, county court, gas works, corn and cattle market, union poorhouse, burial board, and police station. Kingston is governed by a mayor, 8 aldermen, and 24 councillors, and is divided into four wards, each ward returning six members. A county court is held every fourth Tuesday for the parishes in Kingston hundred, and petty sessions are held every Thursday for the county, and every Wednesday for the borough. The quarter sessions are held in October. The Lent assizes are also held here. It is a polling place for East Surrey, and was once a parliamentary borough, returning members to the parliaments from 4 Edward II. to 47 Edward III.

“What Ferry, ho! Gadzooks, gramercy.”

What Ferry, Ho! Gadzooks, gramercy." Many of the old houses, round about, speak very plainly of those days when Kingston was a royal borough, and nobles and courtiers lived there, near their King, and the long road to the palace gates was gay all day with clanking steel and prancing palfreys, and rustling silks and velvets, and fair faces. The large and spacious houses, with their oriel, latticed windows, their huge fireplaces, and their gabled roofs, breathe of the days of hose and doublet, of pearl-embroidered stomachers, and complicated oaths. They were upraised in the days "when men knew how to build." The hard red bricks have only grown more firmly set with time, and their oak stairs do not creak and grunt when you try to go down them quietly. Speaking of oak staircases reminds me that there is a magnificent carved oak staircase in one of the houses in Kingston. It is a shop now, in the market-place, but it was evidently once the mansion of some great personage. A friend of mine, who lives at Kingston, went in there to buy a hat one day, and, in a thoughtless moment, put his hand in his pocket and paid for it then and there. The shopman (he knows my friend) was naturally a little staggered at first; but, quickly recovering himself, and feeling that something ought to be done to encourage this sort of thing, asked our hero if he would like to see some fine old carved oak. My friend said he would, and the shopman, thereupon, took him through the shop, and up the staircase of the house. The balusters were a superb piece of workmanship, and the wall all the way up was oak-panelled, with carving that would have done credit to a palace. From the stairs, they went into the drawing-room, which was a large, bright room, decorated with a somewhat startling though cheerful paper of a blue ground. There was nothing, however, remarkable about the apartment, and my friend wondered why he had been brought there. The proprietor went up to the paper, and tapped it. It gave forth a wooden sound. "Oak," he explained. "All carved oak, right up to the ceiling, just the same as you saw on the staircase." "But, great Caesar! man," expostulated my friend; "you don't mean to say you have covered over carved oak with blue wall-paper?" "Yes," was the reply: "it was expensive work. Had to match-board it all over first, of course. But the room looks cheerful now. It was awful gloomy before." I can't say I altogether blame the man (which is doubtless a great relief to his mind). From his point of view, which would be that of the average householder, desiring to take life as lightly as possible, and not that of the old-curiosity-shop maniac, there is reason on his side. Carved oak is very pleasant to look at, and to have a little of, but it is no doubt somewhat depressing to live in, for those whose fancy does not lie that way. It would be like living in a church. No, what was sad in his case was that he, who didn't care for carved oak, should have his drawing-room panelled with it, while people who do care for it have to pay enormous prices to get it. It seems to be the rule of this world. Each person has what he doesn't want, and other people have what he does want. Married men have wives, and don't seem to want them; and young single fellows cry out that they can't get them. Poor people who can hardly keep themselves have eight hearty children. Rich old couples, with no one to leave their money to, die childless. Then there are girls with lovers. The girls that have lovers never want them. They say they would rather be without them, that they bother them, and why don't they go and make love to Miss Smith and Miss Brown, who are plain and elderly, and haven't got any lovers? They themselves don't want lovers. They never mean to marry. It does not do to dwell on these things; it makes one so sad. There was a boy at our school, we used to call him Sandford and Merton. His real name was Stivvings. He was the most extraordinary lad I ever came across. I believe he really liked study. He used to get into awful rows for sitting up in bed and reading Greek; and as for French irregular verbs there was simply no keeping him away from them. He was full of weird and unnatural notions about being a credit to his parents and an honour to the school; and he yearned to win prizes, and grow up and be a clever man, and had all those sorts of weak-minded ideas. I never knew such a strange creature, yet harmless, mind you, as the babe unborn. Well, that boy used to get ill about twice a week, so that he couldn't go to school. There never was such a boy to get ill as that Sandford and Merton. If there was any known disease going within ten miles of him, he had it, and had it badly. He would take bronchitis in the dog-days, and have hay-fever at Christmas. After a six weeks' period of drought, he would be stricken down with rheumatic fever; and he would go out in a November fog and come home with a sunstroke. They put him under laughing-gas one year, poor lad, and drew all his teeth, and gave him a false set, because he suffered so terribly with toothache; and then it turned to neuralgia and ear-ache. He was never without a cold, except once for nine weeks while he had scarlet fever; and he always had chilblains. During the great cholera scare of 1871, our neighbourhood was singularly free from it.

oriel,

oriel /ˈôrēəl/ I. noun 1. a projection from the wall of a building, typically supported from the ground or by corbels. 2. (also oriel window) — a window in an oriel. – origin late Middle English: from Old French oriol ‘gallery,’ of unknown origin; compare with medieval Latin oriolum ‘upper chamber.’

It seems to be the rule of this world. Each person has what he doesn’t want, and other people have what he does want. Married men have wives, and don’t seem to want them; and young single fellows cry out that they can’t get them. Poor people who can hardly keep themselves have eight hearty children. Rich old couples, with no one to leave their money to, die childless. Then there are girls with lovers. The girls that have lovers never want them. They say they would rather be without them, that they bother them, and why don’t they go and make love to Miss Smith and Miss Brown, who are plain and elderly, and haven’t got any lovers? They themselves don’t want lovers. They never mean to marry.

Such is life; and we are but as grass that is cut down, and put into the oven and baked.

Will rows of our willow-pattern dinner-plates be ranged above the chimneypieces of the great in the years 2000 and odd? Will the white cups with the gold rim and the beautiful gold flower inside (species unknown), that our Sarah Janes now break in sheer light-heartedness of spirit, be carefully mended, and stood upon a bracket, and dusted only by the lady of the house?

The river affords a good opportunity for dress. For once in a way, we men are able to show our taste in colours, and I think we come out very natty, if you ask me. I always like a little red in my things—red and black. You know my hair is a sort of golden brown, rather a pretty shade I’ve been told, and a dark red matches it beautifully; and then I always think a light-blue necktie goes so well with it, and a pair of those Russian-leather shoes and a red silk handkerchief round the waist—a handkerchief looks so much better than a belt.

the less taste a person has in dress, the more obstinate he always seems to be.

Margate nigger,

The term "Margate nigger" is a derogatory phrase that has been used historically in the UK. It's a racially offensive term that was once used to refer to holidaymakers or day-trippers who visited Margate, a seaside town in Kent, England. The term was used to mock these visitors, often from London, who would return from the beach with tanned skin.It's important to note that this term is considered highly offensive and racist. The use of such language reflects historical attitudes and prejudices that are no longer acceptable in modern society. It's crucial to approach discussions around such terms with sensitivity and an understanding of their harmful impact. From Harvard Law Review : Abstract: It’s "the nuclear bomb of racial epithets," a word that whites have employed to wound and degrade African Americans for three centuries. Paradoxically, among many black people it has become a term of affection and even empowerment. The word, of course, is nigger, and in this candid, lucidly argued book the distinguished legal scholar Randall Kennedy traces its origins, maps its multifarious connotations, and explores the controversies that rage around it. Should blacks be able to use nigger in ways forbidden to others? Should the law treat it as a provocation that reduces the culpability of those who respond to it violently? Should it cost a person his job, or a book like Huckleberry Finn its place on library shelves? With a range of reference that extends from the Jim Crow south to Chris Rock routines and the O. J. Simpson trial, Kennedy takes on not just a word, but our laws, attitudes, and culture with bracing courage and intelligence.

They were both beautifully got up—all lace and silky stuff, and flowers, and ribbons, and dainty shoes, and light gloves. But they were dressed for a photographic studio, not for a river picnic. They were the “boating costumes” of a French fashion-plate. It was ridiculous, fooling about in them anywhere near real earth, air, and water.

Kensal Green Cemetery,

Kensal Green Cemetery is a cemetery in the Kensal Green area of North Kensington in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea in London, England. Inspired by Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, it was founded by the barrister George Frederick Carden.[1] The cemetery opened in 1833 and comprises 72 acres (29 ha) of grounds, including two conservation areas, adjoining a canal. The cemetery is home to at least 33 species of bird and other wildlife. This distinctive cemetery has memorials ranging from large mausoleums housing the rich and famous to many distinctive smaller graves and includes special areas dedicated to the very young. It has three chapels and serves all faiths.[2] It is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries in London.

Bow

Finchley Churchyard,

The church was established sometime in the 12th century. There is reference to a church here in 1274, and evidence of a building even before then. By 1356 it was dedicated to St Mary.[2] The building has been altered many times since its foundation and the oldest parts, the north wall and the tower (which seems to have had a steeple during the 16th and 17th centuries), date from the reign of King Henry VII. There is an ambry, now in the north wall, and a font bowl, rescued in the 19th century from the rectory grounds, having been buried there during the English Civil War. They are both Norman.[2][3] In 1872 the church was enlarged. In 1878 Henry Willis & Sons provided the church with its current organ.[3] Bombing during the London Blitz of 1940 led to the substantial rebuilding of the church in 1953. The east end was largely destroyed and the stained glass had to be replaced. Caroe and Partners provided a new altar, reredos, parclose screen and pulpit. The organ was in a poor state after the bombing and moved to the west end. Major restoration work to the organ was completed in 2011.[3] The church has been a grade II* listed building since 1949.[4] To commemorate the current millennium, in 2000 a special wall hanging was made which now hangs in the church. It depicts all the various groups involved in the life of St Mary-at-Finchley at the end of the twentieth century. There is a key to the symbols on the wall beside the hanging.[3] The oldest monument is a brass plate to Richard Prate (d. 1487), and there is a marble effigy of Alexander King (d. 1618) and his wife. Another brass, of Thomas Sanny, dated 1509, unusually reproduces part of his will. Other notable monuments include those of the Allen family, owners of Finchley's Manor House.[2] In the churchyard are the graves of Thomas Payne, the radical and bookseller, and Major John Cartwright, the political reformer.

We played morceaux from the old German masters.

Morceaux de fantaisie (French for Fantasy Pieces; Russian: Пьесы Фантазии, Pyesy Fantazii), Op. 3, is a set of five piano solo pieces composed by Sergei Rachmaninoff in 1892. The title reflects the pieces' imagery rather than their musical form, as none are actual fantasies. The set was dedicated to Anton Arensky, his harmony teacher at the Conservatory.

Herr Slossenn Boschen

antimacassars

antimacassar /ˌan(t)ēməˈkasər/ I. noun ‹chiefly historical› a piece of cloth put over the back of a chair to protect it from grease and dirt or as an ornament. – origin mid 19th cent.: from anti- + Macassar.

“He’s got ’em on,”

And pouncy little singers who to entertain us try By dressing up like women and by singing far too high And who on close observance must be either stoned or pissed I don't think they'd be missed I'm sure they not be missed Chorus: He's got them on the list He's got them on the list And then none of them be missed And none of them be missed There's the beggars who write letters From the inland revenue And the gossip columnist I've got him on the list All critics and comedians and opera singers too And none of them be missed And none of them be missed All traffic wardens, bankers, Men who sell Venetian blinds All advertising chappies And Australians of all kinds And nasty little editors whose papers are the pits Who fill their rags with gossip And huge and floppy... ritz. And girls who sell the stories Of the Tories they have kissed But you must have got the gist 'Cause none of them be missed Chorus: You may put them on the list You may put them on the list And then none of them be missed And none of them be missed Original song by: Gilbert and Sullivan New lyrics by: Eric Idle

’Arrys and ’Arriets,

The reception by critics varied between lukewarm and hostile. The use of slang was condemned as "vulgar" and the book was derided as written to appeal to "'Arrys and 'Arriets" – then common sneering terms for working-class Londoners who dropped their Hs when speaking. Punch magazine dubbed Jerome "'Arry K. 'Arry". Modern commentators have praised the humour, but criticised the book's unevenness, as the humorous sections are interspersed with more serious passages written in a sentimental, sometimes purple, style.

How good one feels when one is full—how satisfied with ourselves and with the world! People who have tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a full stomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained. One feels so forgiving and generous after a substantial and well-digested meal—so noble-minded, so kindly-hearted.

It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think, unless our stomach wills so.

After eggs and bacon, it says, “Work!” After beefsteak and porter, it says, “Sleep!” After a cup of tea (two spoonsful for each cup, and don’t let it stand more than three minutes), it says to the brain, “Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tender; see, with a clear eye, into Nature and into life; spread your white wings of quivering thought, and soar, a god-like spirit, over the whirling world beneath you, up through long lanes of flaming stars to the gates of eternity!” After hot muffins, it says, “Be dull and soulless, like a beast of the field—a brainless animal, with listless eye, unlit by any ray of fancy, or of hope, or fear, or love, or life.” And after brandy, taken in sufficient quantity, it says, “Now, come, fool, grin and tumble, that your f...

We are but the veriest, sorriest slaves of our stomach. Reach not after morality and righteousness, my friends; watch vigilantly your stomach, and diet it with care and judgment. Then virtue and contentment will come and reign within your heart, unsought by any effort of your own; and you wil...

“Steady, old man; ’ware wheat.”

I think "'ware wheat" means "beware of calluses". "'ware" = "beware" "wheat" = "wheat" = "corn", but also "corn" = "callus" (so, this is some kind of pun