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Charles Dickens'
The Uncommercial Traveller

Sketches from All the Year Round

The Uncommercial Traveller - A collection of essays written by Charles Dickens in the 1860s

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Uncommercial Traveller
Leaving the Morgue from Travelling Abroad - by G.J. Pinwell

A series of sketches written by Dickens for his weekly magazine All the Year Round in the 1860s. 17 of these sketches were collected in a single volume in 1861. Eleven more sketches were added when The Uncommercial Traveller was included in the Cheap Edition of Dickens' works in 1865. Eight more were added in the Illustrated Library Edition of 1874 and one additional sketch was included in the Gadshill Edition of the collection in 1898 bringing the total to 37 (Schlicke, 1999, p. 578). The stories sometimes ramble aimlessly, not unlike the Traveller himself. The Uncommercial Traveller in Wikipedia.

Abbreviations: UT - Uncommercial Traveller     ATYR - All the Year Round

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I - His General Line of Business

II - Shipwreck

III - Wapping Workhouse

IV - Two Views of a Cheap Theatre

V - Poor Mercantile Jack

VI - Refreshments for Travellers

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VII - Travelling Abroad

VIII - The Great Tasmania's Cargo

IX - City of London Churches

X - Shy Neighborhoods

XI - Tramps

XII - Dullborough Town

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XIII - Night Walks

XIV - Chambers

  • XV - Nurse's Stories

    XVI - Arcadian London

    XVII - The Italian Prisoner

    XVIII - The Calais Night Mail

    XIX - Some Recollections of Mortality

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    XX - Birthday Celebrations

    XXI - The Short-Timers

    XXII - Bound for the Great Salt Lake

    XXIII - The City of the Absent

    XXIV - An Old Stage-Coaching House

    XXV - The Boiled Beef of New England

    XXVI - Chatham Dockyard

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    XXVII - In the French-Flemish Country

    XXVIII - Medicine Men of Civilisation

    XXIX - Titbull's Alms-Houses

    XXX - The Ruffian

    XXXI - Aboard Ship

    XXXII - A Small Star In the East

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    XXXIII - A Little Dinner in an Hour

    XXXIV - Mr Barlow

    XXXV - On an Amateur Beat

    XXXVI - A Fly-Leaf in a Life

    XXXVII - A Plea for Total Abstinence

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     Uncommercial Traveller
    Further Information

    The Queer Small Boy

    From Travelling Abroad

    Charles Dickens meets his childhood self on the road. The exchange recalls a scene from his past when he and his father would walk by Gads Hill Place.

    So smooth was the old high road, and so fresh were the horses, and so fast went I, that it was midway between Gravesend and Rochester, and the widening river was bearing the ships, white sailed or black-smoked, out to sea, when I noticed by the wayside a very queer small boy.

    'Holloa!' said I, to the very queer small boy, 'where do you live?'

    'At Chatham,' says he.

    'What do you do there?' says I.

    'I go to school,' says he.

    I took him up in a moment, and we went on. Presently, the very queer small boy says, 'This is Gads-hill we are coming to, where Falstaff went out to rob those travellers, and ran away.'

    'You know something about Falstaff, eh?' said I.

    'All about him,' said the very queer small boy. 'I am old (I am nine), and I read all sorts of books. But DO let us stop at the top of the hill, and look at the house there, if you please!'

    'You admire that house?' said I.

    'Bless you, sir,' said the very queer small boy, 'when I was not more than half as old as nine, it used to be a treat for me to be brought to look at it. And now, I am nine, I come by myself to look at it. And ever since I can recollect, my father, seeing me so fond of it, has often said to me, "If you were to be very persevering and were to work hard, you might some day come to live in it." Though that's impossible!' said the very queer small boy, drawing a low breath, and now staring at the house out of window with all his might.

    I was rather amazed to be told this by the very queer small boy; for that house happens to be MY house, and I have reason to believe that what he said was true (Uncommercial Traveller, p. 61-62).


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    Paris Morgue

    From Travelling Abroad

    Whenever I am at Paris, I am dragged by invisible force into the Morgue. I never want to go there, but am always pulled there (Uncommercial Traveller, p. 64).


    Condition of the Great Tasmania

    From The Great Tasmania's Cargo

    I believe the sick could as soon have eaten the ship, as the ship's provisions (Uncommercial Traveller, p. 81).


    Covent Garden

    From Night Walks

    Covent-garden Market, when it was market morning, was wonderful company. The great waggons of cabbages, with growers' men and boys lying asleep under them, and with sharp dogs from market-garden neighbourhoods looking after the whole, were as good as a party. But one of the worst night sights I know in London, is to be found in the children who prowl about this place; who sleep in the baskets, fight for the offal, dart at any object they think they can lay their their thieving hands on, dive under the carts and barrows, dodge the constables, and are perpetually making a blunt pattering on the pavement of the Piazza with the rain of their naked feet (Uncommercial Traveller, p. 133-134).


    London's Shabbiness

    From The Boiled Beef of New England

    The shabbiness of our English capital, as compared with Paris, Bordeaux, Frankfort, Milan, Geneva—almost any important town on the continent of Europe—I find very striking after an absence of any duration in foreign parts. London is shabby in contrast with Edinburgh, with Aberdeen, with Exeter, with Liverpool, with a bright little town like Bury St. Edmunds. London is shabby in contrast with New York, with Boston, with Philadelphia (Uncommercial Traveller, p. 250).


    Foul Language

    From The Ruffian

    The blaring use of the very worst language possible, in our public thoroughfares—especially in those set apart for recreation—is another disgrace to us, and another result of constabular contemplation, the like of which I have never heard in any other country to which my uncommercial travels have extended (Uncommercial Traveller, p. 305).


    Charlatan Preachers

    From A Fly-Leaf in a Life

    All sorts of people seemed to become vicariously religious at my expense. I received the most uncompromising warning that I was a Heathen: on the conclusive authority of a field preacher, who, like the most of his ignorant and vain and daring class, could not construct a tolerable sentence in his native tongue or pen a fair letter. This inspired individual called me to order roundly, and knew in the freest and easiest way where I was going to, and what would become of me if I failed to fashion myself on his bright example, and was on terms of blasphemous confidence with the Heavenly Host (Uncommercial Traveller, p. 355).


    Alcohol Consumption

    From A Plea for Total Abstinence

    Now, I have always held that there may be, and that there unquestionably is, such a thing as use without abuse, and that therefore the total abolitionists are irrational and wrong-headed (Uncommercial Traveller, p. 361).

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