An American girl abroad


Material Information

An American girl abroad
Physical Description:
245, 8 p., 6 leaves of plates : ill. ; 18 cm.
Trafton, Adeline, b. 1845
Humphrey, Lizbeth Bullock, b. 1841 ( Illustrator )
Lee and Shepard ( Publisher )
Lee, Shepard, and Dillingham ( Publisher )
Boston Stereotype Foundry ( Electrotyper )
John Andrew & Son ( Engraver )
Lee and Shepard
Lee, Shepard, and Dillingham
Place of Publication:
New York
Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Girls -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Kings and rulers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Death -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Sailing -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Friendship -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Travelogue storybooks -- 1872   ( local )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1872   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1872
Travelogue storybooks   ( local )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
United States -- New York -- New York


Statement of Responsibility:
by Adeline Trafton ; illustrated by Miss L. B. Humphrey.
General Note:
Illustrations engraved by John Andrew & Son after Humphrey.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 002238675
notis - ALH9197
oclc - 58533330
System ID:

Full Text
iliI A~~ ?

9 The Baldwin LibraryUniversityof.B Florid&

*- *r .^ -V *-c -I1*~ ~*;*- ^N'p* 4*i *i ^ ;

/'<77/r-~l-,1/s^/ /' i i. ,,"" " 7 / "I/V\ '' ^ /.-"^ ^.47 ^ / ^ ~/ ^/t^~2c/Pp-~~q9p &f~"~~~~cr.i- r- a4"' G k/1^


Ri -7" At night we descended into the depths of the steamer to worship p with the steerage passengers." lYage2


Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1872,BY LEE AND SHEPARD,In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.PAGEI."At night we descended into the depths of the steamer to wor-ship with the steerage passengers." FRONTISPIECE.II."A dozen umbrellas were tipped up; the rain fell fast upon adozen upturned, expectant faces." 57III."At the word of command they struck the most extraordinaryattitudes." 157IV."Frowsy, sleepy, cross, and caring nothing whatever for thesun, moon, or stars, we stood like a company of Bedlamites,ankle deep in the wet grass upon the summit." 176V."Evidently the little old woman is going a journey." 196VI."Together we stared at him with rigid and severe counte-nances." .240


CONTENTS.CHAPTER I.ABOARD THE STEAMER.We two alone.- " Good by."--" Are you the captain of thisship ?" Wretchedness. The jolly Englishman and theYankee. A sail! The Cattle-man. The Jersey-man whosebark was on the sea.- Church services under difficulties.-The sweet young English face.- Down into the depths toworship. " Beware! I stand by the parson." Singingto the fishes.--Green Erin.--One long cheer.- Farewell,Ireland. 13CHAPTER II.FIRST DAYS IN ENGLAND.Up the harbor of Liverpool. We all emerge as butterflies.-The Mersey tender. Lot's wife. " Any tobacco ?" -"Names, please." St. George's Hall. The fashionablepromenade. The coffee-room. The military man whoshowed the purple tide of war in his face. --The railway-carriage. The young man with hair all aflame. Englishvillages. London.- No place for us. --The H. house. -The Babes in the Wood. The party from the country. Weare taken in charge by the Good Man. The Golden Cross.-Solitary confinement. Mrs. B.'s at last. 277-

8 CONTENTS.CHAPTER III.EXCURSIONS FROM LONDON.Strange ways. -" The bears that went over to Charlestown." -The delights of a runaway without its dangers. -Flowershow at the Crystal Palace. Whit-Monday at Hampton.Court.- A queen baby. " But the carpets ? "- Poor NellGwynne. Vandyck faces. Royal beds. Lunch at theKing's Arms. -0 Music, how many murders have been com-mitted in thy name! Queen Victoria's home at Windsor. -A new "house that Jack built." The Round Tower.- StokePogis. Frogmore. The Knights of the Garter. Thequeen's gallery.- The queen's plate.- The royal mews.-The wicker baby-wagons.- The state equipages. 4CHAPTER IV.SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON.The Tower. -The tall Yankee of inquiring mind. Our guidein gorgeous array. War trophies.- Knights in armor.--A professional joke.- The crown jewels The room wherethe little princes were smothered.- The "Traitor's Gate." -The Houses -of Parliament.- What a throne is like.- The"woolsack."- The Peeping Gallery for ladies. WestminsterHall and the law courts.--The three drowsy old women. -The Great Panjandrum himself. Johnson and the pump.-St. Paul's. Wellington's funeral car. The WhisperingGallery. The bell. 55CHAPTER V.AWAY TO PARIS.The wedding party. The canals. New Haven. Around thetea-table. Separating the sheep from the goats. " Will it

CONTENTS. 9be a rough passage ? "- Gymnastic feats of the little steamer.-O, what were officers to us ? -" Who ever invented ear-rings ? "- Dieppe. Fish-wives. Train for Paris. Fellow-passengers. Rouen. Babel. Deliverance. 68CHAPTER VI.THE PARIS OF 1869.The devil.- Cathedrals and churches.- The Louvre.- Mod-ern French art.-The Beauvais clock, with its droll, littlepuppets.- Virtue in a red gown.- The Luxembourg Palace.- The yawning statue of Marshal Ney. Gay life by gas-light.- The Imperial Circus. The Opera How the em-peror and empress rode through the streets after the riots. -The beautiful Spanish woman whose face was her fortune. -Napoleon's tomb. 76CHAPTER VII.SIGHTS IN THE BEAUTIFUL CITY.The Gobelin tapestry. How and where it is made. Pere La-Chaise. Poor Rachel! The baby establishment. " NowI lay me."-- The little mother. The old woman who livedin a shoe. The American chapel. Beautiful women ,andchildren. The last conference meeting.- "I'm a proof-reader, I am." .90CHAPTER VIII.SHOW PLACES IN THE SUBURBS OF PARIS.The river omnibuses. Sevres and its porcelain. St. Cloud asit was. The crooked little town. Versailles. Eugenie's" spare bedroom." The queen who played she was a farmer'swife. Seven miles of paintings.- The portraits of the presi-dents. 100

10 C CONTENTS.CHAPTER IX.A VISIT TO BRUSSELS.To Brussels. The old and new city. -The paradise and purga-tory of dogs. The H6tel de Ville and Grand Place. St.Gudule. The picture galleries. Wiertz and his odd paint-ings.- Brussels lace and an hour with the lace-makers.-How the girls found Charlotte Bronte's school. The sceneof " Vllette." 109CHAPTER X.WATERLOO AND THROUGH BELGIUM.To Waterloo. Beggars and guides. The Mound. ChateauHougomont. Victor Hugo's " sunken road." -Antwerp. -A visit to the cathedral. A drive about the city. An ex-cursion to Ghent. The funeral services in the cathedral. -"Poisoned ? Ah, poor man "- The watch-tower. TheFriday-market square. The nunnery.-- Longfellow's pil-grims to the belfry of Bruges." 122CHAPTER XI.A TRIP THROUGH HOLLAND.Up the Meuse to Rotterdam.- Dutch sights and ways.--Thepretty milk-carriers. The tea-gardens. Preparations forthe Sabbath. -An English chapel. -" The Lord's barn." -From Rotterdam to the Hague. The queen's " House in theWood." Pictures in private drawing-rooms. The bazaar.- An evening in a Dutch tea-garden.- Amsterdam to astranger. The " sights." The Jews' quarter. The familywhose home was upon the canals. Out of the city. Thepilgrims. 134

CONTENTS. 11CHAPTER XII.THE RHINE AND RHENISH PRUSSIA.First glimpse of the Rhine.--Cologne and the Cathedral.-"Shosef in ter red coat." St. Ursula and the eleven thou-sand virgins.-Up the Rhine to Bonn.-The German stu-dents. Rolandseck. A search for a resting-place. -OurDutch friend and his Malays. The story of Hildegund. -A quiet Sabbath. Our Dutch friend's reply. Coblentz. -The bridge of boats. Ehrenbreitstein, over the river. Ascorching day upon the Rhine. Romance under difficulties.- Mayence. Frankfort. Heidelberg. The ruined castle.-Baden-Baden.--A glimpse at the gambling.--The newand the old " Schloss." The Black Forest.- Strasbourg. -The mountains. 147CHAPTER XIII.DAYS IN SWITZERLAND.The.Lake of Lucerne. Days of rest in the city. An excur-sion up the Righi.--The crowd at the summit.--Dinner atmidnight.--Rising before "the early worm."-The "sun-rise " according to Murray. Animated scarecrows. Off fora tour through Switzerland. The lake for the last time. -Griitlii. William Tell's chapel. Fluellen. Altorf. Swisshaymakers. An hour at Amsteg. The rocks close in.-The Devil's Bridge.--The dangerous road. "A carriage hasgone over the precipice "- Andermatt. Desolate rocks. -Exquisite wild flowers. The summit of the Furka. A de-scent to the Rhone glacier. Into the ice. Swiss villages. -Brieg. The convent inn. The bare little chapel on the hill.- To Martigny. .168S* p

12 CONTENTS.CHAPTER XIV.AMONG THE EVERLASTING HILLS.The quaint inn.- The Falls of the Sallenches, and the Gorgede Trient.-Shopping in a Swiss village.--A mule ride toChamouni. Peculiarities of the animals. Entrance to thevillage. Egyptian mummies lifted from the mules. Rainydays. Chamois. The Mer de Glace. " Look out of yourwindow." Mont Blanc. Sallenches. A diligence ride toGeneva. Our little old woman. The clownish peasant. -The fork in the road. " Adieu." .189CHAPTER XV.LAST DAYS IN SWITZERLAND.Geneva. Calvin and jewelry. Up Lake Leman. Ouchy andLausanne. -" Sweet Clarens."- Chillon.- Freyburg.-- Sight-seers.- The Last Judgment.- Berne and its bears.- Thetown like a story. The Lake of Thun. Interlaken. Overthe Wengern Alp. The Falls of Giessbach. The BrunigPass.- Lucerne again. 201CHAPTER XVI.BACK TO PARIS ALONE.Coming home. The breaking up of the party.- We startfor Paris alone. Basle, and a search for a hotel. Thetwilight ride.- The shopkeeper whose wits had gone "awool-gathering."-- "Two tickets for Paris." What can bethe matter now ? Michel Angelo's Moses. Paris at mid-night. The kind commissionaire. The good French gentle-man and his fussy little wife.- A search for Miss H.'s.-"Come up, come' up."-- "Can women travel through Europealone ?" A word about a woman's outfit. 220

ANAMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.CHAPTER I.ABOARD THE STEAMER.We two alone. 1' Good by." " Are you the captain of thisship?"-Wretchedness. The jolly Englishman and theYankee. A sail! The cattle-man. The Jersey-man whosebark was on the sea. Church services under difficulties. -The sweet young English face. Down into the depths toworship. "Beware! I stand by the Parson." Singingto the fishes.- Green Erin.- One long cheer.-- FarewellIreland,W E were going to Europe, Mrs. K. and I-alone, with the exception of the ship's com-pany unprotected, save by Him who watches overthe least of his creatures. We packed our one trunk,upon which both name and nationality were conspicu-ously blazoned, with the necessaries, not luxuries, of awoman's toilet, and made our simple preparations fordeparture without a shadow of anxiety. "They whoknow nothing, fear nothing," said the paterfamilias,but added his consent and blessing. The lain pouredin torrents as we drove down to the wharf: But13

14 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.floods could not have dampened our enthusiasm. Awild Irishman, with a suggestion of spirituous things inhis air and general appearance, received us at the footof the plank, one end of which touched earth, the otherthat unexplored region, the steamer. We followed thedirection of his dirty finger, and there fell from oureyes, as it were, scales. In our ignorance, we had ex-pected to find vast space, elegant surroundings, glass,glare, and glitter. We peered into the contracted quar-ters of the ladies' cabin. One side was filled withboxes and bundles; the other, with the prostrate formof an old lady,-her head enveloped in a mammoth ruf-fle. We explored the saloon. The purser, with a wenand a gilt-banded cap on his head, was flying about likeone distracted. An old gentleman similarly attired,with the exception of the wen, the surgeon as we af-terwards learned,--read a large book complacently inone corner, murmuring gently to himself. His upperteeth lacked fixity, so to speak; and as they fell withevery word, he had the appearance of gnashing themcontinually at the invisible author. There was a hurry-ing to and fro of round, fiesh-faced stewards in shortjackets, a pushing and pulling of trunks and boxes, thesudden appearance and disappearance of nondescriptindividuals in slouched hats and water-proofs, the stir-ring about of heavy feet upon the deck above, the rat-tling of chains, the 'yo-ing' of hoarse voices, as thesailors pulled at the ropes, and, with it all, that sicken-ing odor of oil, of dead dinners of everything, so in-describable, so never-to-be-forgotten. Somewhat sad-dened, and considerably enlightened upon the subjectof ocean steamers, we sought our state-room. It

ABOARD THE STEAMER. 10boasted two berths (the upper conveniently gained bymounting the stationary wash-stand), and a velvet-cov-ered sofa beneath the large, square window, which lastwe learned, months later, when reduced to a port-holefor light and air, to appreciate. A rack and half adozen hooks against the wall completed its furniture.The time of departure arrived. We said the twolittle words that bring so many tears and heartaches,and ran up on the deck with the rain in our faces, andsomething that was not all rain in our eyes, for onelast look at our friends; but they were hidden fromsight. There comes to me a dim recollection of at-tempting to mount to an inaccessible place: ofclinging to wet ropes with the intention of seeing thelast of the land; of thinking it, after a time, a senselessproceeding, and of resigning ourselves finally to ourberths and inevitable circumstances. Eight bells andthe dinner bell; some one darkened our doorway.'' What's this ? Don't give it up so. D'ye hear thedinner bell?"" Are are you the captain of this ship ? " gaspedMrs. K., feebly, from the sofa."To be sure, madam. Don't give it up so."Mrs. K. groaned. There came to me one last gleamof hope. What if it were possible to brave it out! Ina moment my feet were on the floor, but whether myname were McGregor, or not, I could not tell. I madean abortive attempt after the pretty hood, preparedwith such pleasant anticipations, and had a dim con-sciousness that somebody's hands tied it about myhead. Then we started. We climbed heights, we de-scended depths indescribable, in that short walk to the

16 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.saloon; and there was a queer feeling of having a wind-mill, instead of a head, upon my shoulders. A numberof sympathizing faces were nodding in the' most re-markable manner, as we reached the door, and-thetables performed antic evolutions."Take me back! " and the berth and the little roundstewardess received me. There followed a night ofmisery. One can form no idea, save fiom experience,of the horrors of the first night upon an ocean steamer.There are the whir, and buzz, and jar, and rattle, andbang of the screw and engine; the pitching and rollingof the ship, with the sensation of standing upright fora moment, and then of being made to rest comfortablyupon the top of your head; the sense of undergoing in-ternal somersaults, to say nothing of describing everyknown curve externally. You study physiology invol-untarily, and doubt if your heart, your lungs, or indeedany of your internal organs, are firmly attached, afterall; if you shall not lose them at the next lurch ofthe ship. Your head is burning with fever, your handsand feet like ice, and you feel dimly, but wretchedly,that this is but the beginning of sorrows; that there area dozen more days to come. You are conscious of avague wonder (as the night lengthens out intermina-bly) what eternity can be, since time is so long. Thebells strike the half hours, tormenting you with calcula-tions which amount to nothing. Everything withinthe room, as well as without, swings, and rolls, andrattles. You are confident your bottles in the rackwill go next, and don't much care if they do, thoughyou lie and dread the crash. You are tormentedwith thirst, and the ice-water is in that same

ABOARD THE STEAMER. 17rack, just beyond your reach. The candle in its silvercase, hinged against the wall, swings back and forthwith dizzy motion, throwing moving distorted shad-ows over everything, and making the night like asickly day. You long for darkness, and, when at lastthe light grows dim, until only a red spark remainsand the smoke that adds its mite to your misery,long for its return. At regular intervals you hear thetramp, tramp, overhead, of the relieving watch; and,in the midst of fitfil slumbers, the hoarse voices ofthe sailors, as the wind freshens and they hoist the.sails, wake you from frightful dreams. At the first graydawn of light come the swash of water and the tric-kling down of the stream against your window, with thesound of the holy-stones pushed back and forth uponthe deck. And with the light--O0, blessed light!-came to us a dawn of better things.There followed days when we lay contented upon thenarrow sofa, or within the contracted berths, but lift our heads was woe. A kind of negative blessed-ness absence fiom misery. We felt as if we had lostour heart, our conscience, and almost our immortalsoul, to quote Mark Twain. There remained to usonly those principles and prejudices most firmlyrooted and grounded. Even our personal vanity leftus at last, and nothing could be more forsaken and ap-propriate than the plain green gown with its one row ofmilitary buttons, attired in which, day after day, I idlywatched the faces that passed our door. "Thlat's likeyou Americans," said our handsome young Irish doc.tor, pointing to these same buttons. "You can't leaveyour country without taking the spread-eagle with you!"-2

18 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.Our officers, with this one exception, were English.Our captain, a living representative of the traditionalEnglish sailor. Not young, save in heart; simple,unaffected, and frank in manner, but with a naturaldignity that prevented undue familiarity, he sang aboutthe ship from morning till night, with a voice thatcould carry no air correctly, but with an enjoyment de-lightfid to witness always a song suggested by exist-ing circumstances, but with" Cheer, boys, cheer; my mother's sold her mangle,"when everything else failed. He was forward amongthe men on the deck with an eye to the wind, downbelow bringing fruit and comfort to the sick in thesteerage, dealing out apples and oranges to the chiLdren, with an encouraging word and the first line ofasong for everybody.The life of the ship was an Englishman, with thefresh complexion almost invariably seen upon Eng-lishmen, and forty years upon a head that lookedtwenty-five. He was going home after a short tourthrough the United States, with his mind as full ofprejudices as his memorandum-book was of notes. Hechanced, oddly enough, to room with the genuineYankee of the company- a long, lean, good-natured in-dividual from one of the eastern states, "close on terVarmont," who had a way of rolling his eyes fearfully,especially when he glared at his food. He representeda mowing machine company, and we called him "theMowing Machine Man." He accosted us one day, si-dling up to our door, with, " How d'ye do to-day ?""Better, thank you," I replied from the sofa.

ABOARD THE STEAMER. 19"That's real nice. Tell ye what, we'll be glad to seethe ladies out. How's yer mar?" nodding towardsthe berth from which twinkled Mrs. K.'s eyes. Ilaughed, and explained that our relations were of affec-tion rather than consanguinity. His interest increasedwhen he found we were travelling alone. He gave ushis London address, evidently considering us in the lightof Daniels about to enter the lions' den. "Ef ye haveany trouble," said he, as he wrote down the street andnumber,1 "there's one Yankee'll stand up for ye." Heamused the Englishman by calling out, " Hullo. D'yefeel good this morningS" "No," would be the reply,with a burst of laughter; "I feel awful wicked; thinkI'll go right out and kill somebody."There was a shout one morning, "A sail! See thestars and stripes!" I had not raised my head fordays, but staggered across the floor at that, and cliig-ing to the frame, thrust my head out of the window.Yes, there was a ship close by, with the stars andsstripes floating from the mast-head, I found, when theroll of the steamer carried my window to its level." Seems good ter see the old rag!" I looked up to findthe Mowing Machine Man gazing upon it with eyes allafloat. "I'd been a thinking," said he, "all them fel-lers have got somebody waiting for 'em over there," -our passengers were mostly English,-" but therewasn't nobody a waiting for me. Tell ye what,"- andhe shook out the folds of a red and yellow handker-chief,-" it does my heart good ter see the old flag."There was a bond of sympathy between us from thatmoment.We had another and less agreeable specimen of

20 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.this free ]people--a tall, tough western cattle dealer,who quarrelled if he could find an antagonist, sworeoccasionally, drank liquor, and chewed tobacco l:rpc;t-ually, wore his trousers tucked into his long boots, hishands tucked into his pockets, and, to crown theseattributes, believed in Andrew Johnson !--a middle-gced man, with soft, curling brown hair above afTce that could be cruelly cold and hard. His hairshould have been wire; his blue eyes were steel. Buthard as was his face, it softened and smoothed itself alittle at sight of the sick women. He paused besideus one day with a rough attempt to interest andamuse by displaying a knife case containing a dozendifferent articles. "This is ter take a stun out of ahoss's huf, and this, d'ye see, is a tooth-pick;" puttingit to immediate use. by way of explanation. At thetable he talked long and loud upon the rinderpest, andother kindred and appetizing topics. "I've been abutcher myself," he would say. "I've cut up hundredso' critters. What part of an ox, now, d'ye think thatwas taken from?" pointing to the joint before him,and addressing a refined, delicate-faced old gentlemanacross the table, who only stared in silent horror.But even the " Cattle Man" was less marked inhis peculiarities than the "Jersey Man," a melancholy-eyed, curly-wigged individual from the Jersey shore,who wore his slouched hat upon one side of his head,and looked as though he were doing the rakish loverin some fifth-rate theatre; who was "in the musicalline myself; Smith and Jones's organs, you know;that's me;" and who, being neither Smith nor Jones, wenaturally concluded must be the organ. He recited

ABOARD THE STEAMER, 1poetry in a loud tone at daybreak, and discussed politicsfor hours together, arguing in the most satisfactorymanner with the principles, and standing most will-ingly upon the platform, of everybody. He assumed apatronizing air towards the Mowing Machine Man." Well, you are a green Yankee," he would say; "luckyfor you that you fell in with me;" to which the latteronly chuckled, " That's so." He had much to tell ofhimself, of his grandmother, and of his friends generally,who came to see him off; "felt awfully, too," which wecould hardly credit; rolled out snatches of sentimentalsongs, iterating and reiterating that his bark was onthe sea,-and a most disagreeable one we found it;wished we had a piano on board, to which we mur-mured, "The Lord forbid;" and hoped we should soonbe well enough to join him in the " White Squall." Hewas constantly reminding us that we were a veryhappy family party, so " congenial," and evidentlyagreed with the Mowing Machine Man, who said,"They're the best set of fellows I ever see. They'lltell ye anything."We numbered a clergyman among us, of course."Always a head wind when there's a parson aboard,"say the sailors. So this poor dyspeptic little manbore the blame of our constant adverse winds. Noth-ing more bigoted, more fanatical than his religious be-lief could be imagined. You lead the terrors of theLord in his eye; and yet he won respect, and some-thing more, by his consistency and zeal. Earnestnesswill tell. "The parson will have great influence overthe Cattle Man," the captain said, Sabbath morning,as we were walking the deck. "The Cattle Man ?"

22 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD."Yes, the parson will get a good hold of him." Justthen, as if to prove the old proverb true, that hissatanic majesty is always in the immediate neighbor-hood when his character is under discussion, the.C:t-tle Man and Jersey, came up the companion-way. "Ifyou please, captain," said the former, "we are a com-mittee to ask if the parson may preach to the steeragepeople to-night." " Certainly," was the reply ; "I willattend myself." They thanked him, and went below,leaving me utterly amazed. They were the last menupon the ship whom one would have selected as acommittee upon spiritual things!The church service for the cabin passengers was heldin the saloon. A velvet cushion upon one end of thelong table constituted the pulpit, before which the min-ister stood, holding fast to the rack on either side, andbracing himself against the captain's chair in the rear.Even then he made, involuntarily, more bows than anyritualist, and the scripture, " What went ye out for tosee ? A reed shaken by the wind ? " would present itself.The sailors in their neat dress filed in and rangedthemselves in one corner. The stewards gatheredabout the door, one, with face like an owl, mostconspicuous. The passengers filled their usual seats,and a delegation from the steerage crept shyly intothe unoccupied space women with shawls overtheir heads and babies in their arms, shock-headedmen and toddling children, but all with an evident at-tempt at appropriate dress and manner. Among themwas one sweet young English face beneath an oldcrape bonnet. A pair of shapely hands, which theshabby black gloves could not disguise, held fast a lit-

ABOARD THE STEAMER. 23tie child. Widowhood and want in the old world;what was waiting her in the new ? Thle captain readthe service, and all the people responded. Thewomen's eyes grew wet at the sound of the familiarwords. The little English widow bent her face overthe head of the child in her lap, and something glis-tened in its hair. Our sympathies grew wide, and wejoined in the prayer for the queen, that she might havevictory over her enemies, and even murmured a re-sponse to the petition for Albert Edward and the no-bility, dimly conscious that they needed prayers. Thegood captain added a petition for the president of theUnited States, to which the Mowing Machine Man andI said, "Amen." Then the minister, having poisedhimself carefully, read a discourse, sulphurous but sin-cere; the Mowing Machine Man thrusting his elbowinto my side in a most startling manner at every par-ticularly blue point. We were evidently in sympathy;but I could have dispensed with the expression of it.We closed with the doxology, standing upon ourfeet and swaying back and forth as though it had beena Shaker chant, led by an improvised choir and theJersey Man.At night we descended into the depths of the steam-er to worship with the steerage passengers. It waslike one of Rembrandt's pictures the darkness, thewild, strangely-attired people, the weird light from thelanterns piercing the gloom, and bringing out groupafter group with fearful distinctness; the pale, earnestfhce of the preacher, made almost unearthly by the glareof the yellow light a face with its thin-drawn lips, itseyes like coals of fire such as the flames of martyrdom lit

24 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.once, I imagine. Close beside him stood the CattleMan, towering like Saul above the people, and with anair that plainly said, " Beware-I stand by the parson."" There is a land of pure delight,"repeated the minister; and in a moment the words rolledout of the Cattle Man's mouth while he beckoned withhis long arm for the people to rise. Throwing backhis head, he sang with an unction indescribable, verseafter verse, caught doubtless at some western camp-meeting, where he had tormented the saints. One afteranother took up the strain. Clear and strong came thetones from every dark corner, until, like one mightyvoice, while the steamer rolled and the waves dashedagainst its sides, rose the words" Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,Shall fright us from that shore."A great stillness fell upon the people as the ministergave out his text, and began his discourse. He hadlacked freedom in the saloon, but here he forgot every-thing save the words given him; hard words theyseemed to me, containing little of the love of God. Iglanced at the Mowing Machine Man, who had made aseat of half a barrel under the stairs. He winked in afearful manner, as though he would say, "Just see howhe's a goin' on!" But the people received it gladly.One after another of the sailors crept down the stairsand stood in tha shadow. I watched them curiously.It may be that this stern, hard doctrine suited thessstern, hard men. It made me shudder.But the record of all these days would have no end.How can I tell of the long, happy hours, when more

ABOARD THE STEAMER. 25than strength, when perfect exhilaration, came to us;when existence alone was a delight? To sit upon the lowwheel-house, with wraps and ribbons and hair flying inthe wind, while we sang,-" O, a life on the ocean wave! "to admiring fishes; to watch the long, lazy swell of thesea, or the spray breaking from the tops of the whitecaps into tiny rainbows; to walk the rolling deck forhours with never a shadow of weariness; to cling to theflag-staff when the stern of the ship rose in the air thendropped like a heavy stone into the sea, sending thespray far over and above us; to count the stars at night,watching the other gleaming'phosphorescent stars thatseemed to have fallen from heaven upon the long wakeof the steamer, -all this was a delight unspeakable.One morning, when the land seemed a forgottendream, we awoke to find green Erin close beside us.All the day before the sea-gulls had been hoveringover us beautiful creatures, gray above and whitebeneath, clouds with a silver lining. Tiny land birds,too, flew about us, resting wearily upon the rigging.The sea all at once became like glass. It seemed likethe book of Revelation when the sun shone on it,--the sea of glass mingled with fire. For a time the landwas but a line of rock, with martello towers perchedupon the points. On the right, Fastnet Rock rose outof the sea, crowned with a light-house,; then the graybarren shore of Cape Clear Island, and soon the sharp-pointed Stag Rocks. It is a treacherous coast. "I'vebeen here many a night," said the captain, as liegave us his glass, "when I never expected to see

26 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.morning." And all the while he was speaking, the seasmiled and smiled, as though it could never be cruel.We drew nearer and nearer, until we could seethe green fields bounded by stone walls, the white,winding roads, and little villages nestling among thehills. Towards noon the lovely harbor of Queens-town opened before us, surrounded and almost shutin by rocky islands. Through the glass we couldsee the city, with its feet in the bay. We were nolonger alone. The horizon was dotted with sails.Sometimes a steamer crossed our wake, or a ship boredown upon us. We hoisted our signals. We dippedour flag. The sailors were busy painting the boats,and polishing the brass till it shone again. Now thetender steams out from Queenstown. The steeragepassengers in unwonted finery, tall hats and unearthlybonnets, and one in a black silk gown, are runningabout forward, shaking hands, gathering up boxesand bundles, and pressing towards the side which thetender has reached. There are the shouting of orders,the throwing of a rope, and in a moment they arecrowding the plank. One long cheer, echoed fromthe stern of our steamer, and they are off.All day we walked the deck; even the sick crawled upat last to see the panorama. We still lingered whennight fell, and we had turned away from the land to strikeacross the channel, and the picture rests with me now;the purple sky with one long stretch of purple, hazycloud, behind which the sun went down; the long, lowline of purple rock, our last glimpse of Ireland, andthe shining, purple sea, with not a ripple upon its sur-face.

FIRST DA S IN ENGLAND. 27CHAPTER II.FIRST DAYS IN ENGLAND.Up the harbor of Liverpool. We all emerge as butterflies. -The Mersey tender. Lot's wife. " Any tobacco ? "-"Names, please." St. George's Hall.-The fashionablepromenade.- The coffee-room. The military man whoshowed the purple tide of war in his face. The railwaycarriage. The young man with hair all aflame -Englishvillages. London. -No place for us. The H. house. -The Babes in the Wood. The party from the country. -We are taken in charge by the Good Man. The GoldenCross. Solitary confinement. Mrs. B.'s at last.II E steamed up the harbor of Liverpool the nextmorning. New Brighton, with its green ter-races, its Chinese-pagoda villas, spread out upon oneside; upon the other that solid wall of docks, the barri-cade that breaks the constant charges of the sea, withthe masts of ships fi'om every land for an abattis. Thewraps and shapeless garments worn so long were laidaside; the pretty hood which had, like charity, coveredso. many sins of omission, hidden, itself, at last, thesoft wool stiffened with the sea spray, the bright colorsdimmed by smoke, and soot, and burning sun. We creptshyly upon the deck in our unaccustomed finery, asthough called at a moment's notice to play another

28 AN AMIERICAN GIRL ABROAD.woman's part, half-learned. Not in us alone was thetransformation. The girl in blue had blossomed into aa bell-a blue bell. The Cattle Main, his hands re-leased at last fi-om the thraldom of his pockets, stalkedabout, funereal, in wrinkled black. A solferino neck-tieand t:ll hat of a pre Adamite formation transmogrifiedour Mowing Machine fiend. Nondescripts, that hadlain about the deck wrapped in cocoons of rugs andshawls, emerged suddenly -butterflies! A painfulcourtesy seized us all. We had doffed the old familiarintercourse with our sea-garments. We gathered inknots, or stood apart singly, mindful at last of ourdignity.The Mersey tender (a tender mercy to some) puffedout to meet us, and we descended the plank as thosewlo turn away fi'om home, leaving much of ourthoughts, and something of our hearts, within theship. It had been such a place of rest, of blessedidleness! Only when our feet touched the wharf didwe take up the burden of life again. There were themeeting of.firiends, in which we had no part; the mael-strom of horses, and carts, and struggling humanity, inwhich we found a most unwilling place; and then w'followed fast in the footsteps of the Mowing MachineMan, who in his turn followed a hair-covered trunkupon the shoulders of a stout porter, our destination thecustom-house shed close by. For a moment, as wewere tossed hither and thither by the swaying mass,our desires followed our thoughts to a certain shelterednook, upon a still, white deck, with the sunbeamsslanting down through the furled sails above, with thel:zy, lapping sea below, and only our own idle thoughtsfor company. Then we remembered Lot's wife.

FIRST DAYS IN ENGLAND. 29There was a little meek-faced custom-house officerin waiting, with a voice so out of proportion to hissize, that he seemed to have hired it for the occasion,or come into it with his uniform by virtue of his office."Any tobacco ?" he asked, severely, as we lifted thelid of our one trunk. We gave a virtuous and indig-nant negative. That was all. We might go our sev-eral ways now unmolested. One fervent expression ofgood wishes among oul little company, while we makefor a moment a network of clasped hands, and then wepass out of the great gates into our new world, and intothe clutches of the waiting cabmen. By what strokeof good fortune we and our belongings were consignedto one and( the same cab, in the confusion and terrorof the moment, we did not khow at the time. It wasclearly through the intervention of a kind fellow-pas-senger, who, seeing that amazement enveloped us likea garment, kindly took us in charge. The dazed, aswell as the lame and lazy, are cared for, it seems. Bywhat stroke of good fortune we ever reached our desti-nation, we knew still less. Our cab was a triumph ofimpossibilities, uncertainties, and discomfort. Our at-tenuated beast, like an animated hoop skirt, whosebones were only prevented, by the encasing skin,from flying off as returned the corners, experiencedhardly less difficulty in drawing his breath than indrawing his load. We descended at the entrance tothe hotel as those who have escaped from imminentperil. We mounted the steps--two lone, but by nomeans lorn, damsels, two anxious, but by no meansaimless females,-knowing little of the world, less oftravelling, and nothing whatever of foreign ways. Our

30 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.very air, as we entered the door, was an apology forthe intrusion."Names, please," said the smiling man in waiting,opening what appeared to be the book of fate. Weadded ours to the long list of pilgrims and strangerswho had sojourned here, dotting our i's and crossingour t's in the most elegant manner imaginable. If anyone has a doubt as to our early advantages, let him ex-amine the record of the Washington Hotel, Liverpool.Thie heading, "Remarks," upon the page, puzzled us.Were they to be of a sacred or profane nature ?I Of anautobiographical character? Were they to thedear Ilnd we had just left? Through some politicalthroes she had just brought forth a ruler. Should weadd to the U. S. against our names, "As well as couldbe expected"? We hesitated, and wrote notlhiig.Up the wide stairs, past the transparency of Washing-ton -in the bluest of blue coats, the yellowest of topboots, and an air of making the best of an unsoughtand rather ridiculous position -we followed the doilyupon the head of the pretty chambermaid to our wide,comfortable room, with its formidable, high-curtainedbeds. The satchels and parcels innumerable werepropped carefully into rectitude upon the dressingtable, under the impression t1ht the ship would givea lurch ; and then, gazing out through the great plateglass windows upon the busy square'below, we endeav-ered to compose our perturbed minds and gather ourscattered wits.It is not beautiful, this great city of Liverpool, creep-ing up from the sea. It has little to interest a stranger-side from its magnificent docks and warehouses.

FIRST DA TS IN ENGLAND. 31There are mammoth truck horses from Suffolk, withfeet like cart wheels; there is St. George's Hall, thepride of the people, standing in the busy square of thesame name, with a statue of the saint himself- a ter-ror to all dragons -just before it. It is gray, many col-umned, wide stepped, vast in its proportions. Do youcare fbr its measurement? Having seen that, you areready to depart; and, indeed, there is nothing to detainone here beyond a day of rest, a moment to regaincomposure after the tossing of the sea. There are somesubstantial dwellings, for commerce has its kings,--and some fine shops, for commerce also has itsqueens, and one fine drive, of which we learned toolate. The air of endurance, which pervades the wholecity, as it does all cities in the old world, impresses onegreatly; as though they were built for eternity, nottime; the founders having forgotten that here we areto have no continuing city. In the new world, mantears down and builds up. Every generation mouldsand fashions its towns and cities after its own desires,or to suit its own means. Man is master. In the oldworld, one generation after another surges in and outof these grim, gray walls, leaving not so much as tlhemark the waves leave upon the rocks. Unchanged,unchanging, they stand age after age, time only soften-ing the hard outlines, deepening the shadows it hascast upon them, and so bringing them into a likenessof each other that they seem to have been the designof one mind, the work of one pair of hands, and hardlyof mortal mind or hands at that. They seem to say toman, "We have stood here ages before you were born.We shall stand here ages after you are forgotten."

32 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.They must be filled with echoes, with ghosts, andhaunitino memories.Bold Street, a tolerably narrow and winding way, inwhich many are found to walk, contrary to all prece-dent,- boasts the finest shops. Here the Lancashi'ewitches, as the beauties of the county are called, walk,and talk, and buy gewgaws of an afternoon. It wassomething strange to us to see long silken skirts en-tirely destitute of crinoline, ruffle, or flounce, trailedhere through mud and mire, or raised displayinglow Congress gaiters, destitute of heels. For our-selves, if we had been the king of the Cannibal Islands,we could hardly have attracted more attention thanwe did in our plain, short travelling suits and high-heeled boots. It grew embarrassing, especially whenour expression of unqualified benevolence drew afterus a train of beggars. They crossed the street to meetus. They emerged from every side street and alley,thrusting dirty hands into our faces, and repeatingtwice-told tales in our ears, until we were thankfulwhen oblivion and the shadow of the hotel fellupon us.We dined in the coffee-room, that comfortable andoften delightfully cosy apartment fitted with littletables, and with its corner devoted to books, to papersand conversation,- that combination of dining, tea andreading-room unknown to an American hotel,- sacredto the sterner sex from all time, and only opened to uswithin a few years,-the gates being forced then, Iimagine, by American women, who will not consent tohide their light under a bushel, or keep to some far-away corner, unseeing and unseen. English women,

FIRST DA 1S IN ENGLAND. 33as a rule, take their meals in their own private parlors,Perhaps because English men generally desire the flow-ers intrusted to their fostering care to blush unseen.It may be better for the gardeners; it may be better forthe flowers--I cannot tell; but we dined in the coffee-room, as Americans usually do. One of the clergymen,who attend at such places, received our order. It wasnot so very formidable an affair, after all, this goingdown by ourselves; or would i not have been, if the big-eyed waiter, who watched our every movement, wouldhave left us, and the military man at the next table,who showed "the purple tide of war," or somethingelse, in his face, and blew his nose like a trombone,ceased to stare. As it was, we aired our most eleganttable manners. We turned in our elbows and turnedout our toes,- so to speak,- and ate our mutton with agrace that destroyed all appetite. We tried to appearas though we had frequently dined in the presence ofa whole battalion of soldiery, under the scrutiny of in-numerable waiters, and failed, I am sure. Withverdure clad" was written upon every line of ourfaces. The occasion of this cross fire we do not knowto this day. Was it unbounded admiration? Was itspoons ?Having brushed off the spray of the sea, havingbalanced ourselves upon the solid earth, having seenSt. George's Hall, there was nothing to detain uslonger, and the next morning we were on our way toLondon. We had scrutinized our bill, which mighthave been reckoned in pounds, ounces, and penny-weights, for aught we knew to the contrary,-- and in-formed the big-eyed waiter that it was correct. We3

34 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.had also offered him imploringly our largest piece ofsilver, which he condescended to accept; and havingbeen presented with a ticket and a handful of silverand copper by the porter who accompanied us to thestation across the way, in return for two or three goldpieces, we shook off the dust of Liverpool from ourfeet, turned our eyes from the splendors of St. George'sHall, and set our faces steadfastly towards our destina.tion. There was a kind of luxury, notwithstanding ourprejudices, in this English railway carriage, with itscushions all about us, even beneath our elbows; a rest-fulness unknown in past experience of travel, in theability to turn our eyes away from the flying landscapewithout, to the peaceful quiet, never intruded upon,within. We did not miss the woman who will insistupon closing the window behind you, or opening it, asthe case may be. Not one regret had we for the"B-o-s-t-o-n papers!" nor for the last periodical or novel.The latest fashion gazette was not thrown into our laponly to be snatched away, as we became interest-ed in a plan for rejuvenating our wardrobe; nor werewe assailed by venders of pop corn, apples, or giftpackages of candy. Even the blind man, with hisoffering of execrable poetry, was unknown, and theconductor examined our tickets from outside the win-dow. Settling back among our cushions, while wementally enumerated these blessings of omission, therecame a thought of the perils incurred by solitary fe-males locked into these same comfortable carriageswith madmen. If the danger had been so great forone solitary female, what must it be for two, wethought with horror. We gave a quick glance at our

FIRST DA TS IN ENGLAND. 35fellow-passenger, a young man with hair all aflame.Certainly his eyes did roll at that moment, but it wasonly in search of a newsboy; and when he exclaimed,like any American gentleman, "Hang the boy!" webecame perfectly reassured. He proved a most agree-able travelling companion. We exchanged questionsand opinions upon every subject of mutual interest,from the geological formation of the earth to theAlabama claims. I can hardly tell which astonishedus most, his profound erudition or our own. Now, Ihave not the least idea as to whether Lord John Rus-sell sailed the Alabama, or the Alabama sailed of itself;spontaneously; but, whichever way it was, I am con-vinced it was a most iniquitious proceeding, and sothought it safe to take high moral ground, and assurehim that as a nation we could not allow it to go un-punished. You have no idea what an assistance it is,when one is somewhat ignorant and a' good deal ata loss for arguments, to take high moral ground.When we were weary of discussion, when knowl-edge palled upon our taste, we pulled aside the littleblue curtain, and gave ourselves up to gazing upon thepicture from the window. I doubt if any part of Eng-land is looked upon with more curious eyes than thatlying between Liverpool and London. It is to so manyAmericans the first glimpse of strange lands. Spreadout in almost imperceptible furrows were the velvetturfed meadows, the unclipped hedges a mass oftangled greenness between. For miles and miles theystretched away, with seldom a road, never a solitaryhouse. The banks on either side were tufted withbroom and yellow with gorse; the hill-sides in the

36 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.distance, white with chalk, or black with the heatherthat would blossom into purple beauty with the sum-mer. We rushed beneath arches festooned, as for agala-day, with hanging vines. Tiny gardens bloomedbeside the track at every station, and all along thewalls, the arched bridges, and every bit of stone uponlthe wayside, was a mass of clinging, glistening ivy.Not the half-dead, straggling tling we tend and shieldso carefully at home, with here and there a leaf putforth for very shame. These, bright, clear-cut, deep-tinted, crowded and overlapped each other, and ranriot over the land, transforming the dingy, mildewycottages, bits of imperishable ugliness, into things ofbeauty, if not eternal joys. Not in the least picturesqueor pleasing to the eye were these English villages;straggling rows of dull red brick houses set amidst.the fields dirty city children upon a picnic with afoot square garden before each door, cared for possibly,possibly neglected. A row of flower-pots upon thestone ledge of every little window, a row of chimney-pots upon the slate roof of every dwelling. Sometimesa narrow road twisted and writhed itself from one toanother, edged by high brick walls, hidden beneath aweight of ivy; sometimes romantic lanes, shaded byold elms, and green beyond all telling. The townswere much the same, outgrown villages. And theglimpse we caught, as we flew by, so far above theroofs often that we could almost peep down upon thehearths through the chimney tops, was by no meansinviting.Dusk fell upon us with the smoke, and mist, and driz-zling rain of London, bringing no anxiety; for was there

FIRST DATS IN ENGLAND. 37not, through the thoughtfulness of friends, a placeprepared for us ? Our pleasant acquaintance of thegolden locks forsook his own boxes, and bundles, andinnumerable belongings to look for our baggage, andsaw us safely consigned to one of the dingy cabs inwaiting. I trust the people of our own country repayto wanderers there something of the kindness whichAmerican women, travelling alone, receive at the handsof strangers abroad. It was neither the first nor thelast courtesy proffered most respectfully, and receivedin the spirit in which it was offered. There is a dealof nonsense in the touch-me-not air with which manygo out to see the world, as there is a deal of folly inthe opposite extreme. But these acquaintances of aday, the opportunity of coming face to face with thepeople in whose country you chance to be, of hearingand answering their strange questions in regard toour government, our manners and custonis, as well as indisplaying our own ignorance in regard to their insti-tutions, in giving information and assistance when it isin our power, and in gratefully receiving the samefrom others, all this constitutes one of the greatestpleasures of journeying.Our peace of mind received a rude shock, when,after rattling over the pavings around the little parkin Queen's Square, and pulling the bell at Mr. B.'sboarding-house, we found that we were indeed ex-pected, but indefinitely, and no place awaited us. Wehad forgotten to telegraph. It was May, the Lon-don season, arnd the hotels full. "X. told us youwere coming," said the most lady-like landlady, lead-ing us into the drawing-room from the dank darkness

38 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.of the street. There was a glow of red-hot coals inthe grate, a suggestion of warmth and comfort in thebright colors and cosy appointments of the room -but no place for us. " I'm very sorry; if you had tele-graphed but we can take you by Monday certainly,"she said. I counted my fingers. Two days. Ah!but we might perish in the streets before that. Every-thing began to grow dark and doleful in contemplation.Some one entered the room. The landlady turned tohim: " O, here is the good man to whose care you wereconsigned by X." We gave a sigh of relief, as wegreeted the Good Man, for all our courage, like theimmortal Bob Acres's, had been oozing from our fingerends. And if we possess one gift above another, itis an ability to be taken care of. "Do you knowX.?" asked another' gentleman, glancing up from hiswriting at the long, red-covered table. "We trav-elled with him," nodding towards his daughter, whosefeet touched the fender, " through Italy, last winter.""Indeed-"" I'll just send out to a hotel near by," interruptedkind Mrs. B., " and see if you can be accommodated aday or two." How very bright the room became! Theworld was not hollow, after all, nor our dolls stuffedwith sawdust. Even the cabman's rattle at theknocker, and demand of an extra sixpence for waiting,could not disturb our serenity. The messenger re-turned. Yes; we could be taken in (?) at the H. house;and accepting Mrs. B.'s invitation to return and spendthe evening, we mounted to our places in the littlecab, as though it had been a triumphal ear, and werewhizzed around the corner at an alarming pace by theimpatient cahmnan.

FIRST DA S IN ENGLAND. 39I should be sorry to prejudice any one against theH. house which I might perhaps say is not the at all; I hardly like to compare it to a whitedsepulchre, though that simile did occur to my mind.Very fair in its exterior it was, with much plate glass,and ground glass, and gilding of letters, and shiningof brass. It had been two dwelling-houses; it wasnow one select family hotel. But the two dwelling-houses had never been completely merged into one;never married, but joined, like the Siamese twins.There was a confusing double stairway; having as-cended the right one, you were morally certain to de-scend the wrong. There was a confusing double hall,with doors in every direction opening everywhere butupon the way you desired to go. We mounted to thetop of the house, followed by two porters with our lug-gage, one chambermaid with the key, another to ask- if we would dine, and two more bearing large tin cansof hot water. We grew confused, and gasped, "We- we believe we don't care for any more at present,thank you," and so dismissed them all. The furniturewas so out of proportion to the room that I think itmust have been introduced in an infant state, and grownto its present proportions there. The one windowwas so high that we were obliged to jump up to lookout over the mirror upon the bureau-a gymnastic featwe did not care to repeat. The bed curtains weregray; indeed there was a gray chill through the wholeplace. We sat down to hold a council of war. Weresolved ourselves into a committee of ways andmeans, our feet upon the cans of hot water. "Pleas-ant," I said, as a leading remark, my heart beginnnig

40 AN AMERICAN GIRL warm under the influence of the hot water. " Pleasant?" repeated Mrs. K.; "it's enough to make ornhomesick. We can't stay here." But," I interposed,supposee we leave here, and can't get in anywh'ercelse ?" A vision of the Babes in the Wood rose be-fore me. There was a rap at the door; the fourthchambermaid, to announce dinner. We finished ourconsultation hurriedly, and descended to the parlor,where wewere to dine. It was a small room, alreadyoccupied by a large table and a party from the country;an old lady to play propriety, a middle-aged person ofsevere countenance to act it, and a pair of incipientand insipid lovers. He was a spectacled prig in awhite necktie, a clergyman, I suppose, though lie lookedamazingly like a waiter, and she a little round combi-nation of dimples and giggle.He. "Have you been out for a walk this morn-ing ? "She. "No; te-he-he-he."lHe. "You ought to, you know."She. " Te-hehe-he yes.""Hc. "You should always exercise before dinner."She. " Te-he-he-he"Here the words gave out entirely, and, it being re-:markably droll, all joined in the chorus. " We mustgo somewhere else, if possible," we explained to Mrs.B., when, a little later, we found our way to her door."At least we shall be better contented if we make theattempt." The Good Man offered his protection; wefound a cab, and proceeded to explore the city, askingadmittance in vain at one hotel after another until atlast the Golden Cross upon the Strand, more charitable

FIRST DA TS IN ENGLAND. 41than its neighbor, or less full, opened its doors, and thegood landlady, of unbounded proportions, made us bothwelcome and comfortable. Quite palatial did our neatbed-room, draped in white, appear. We were the proudpossessors, also, of a parlor, with a round mirror overthe mantel, a round table in the centre, a sofa, of whichPharaoh's heart is no comparison as regards hardness,a row of stiff, proper arm-chairs, and any amount of or-namentation in the way of works of art upon the walls,and shining snuffers and candlesticks upon the mantel.Our bargain completed, there remained nothing to beedone but to remove our baggage from the other house,which I am sure we could never have attemptedalone. Think of walking in and addressing the land-lady, while the chambermaids and waiters peeped frombehind the doors, with, " We don't like your house,madam. Your rooms are tucked up, your beds uninvit-ing, your chambermaids frowsy, your waiters stupid,and your little parlor an abomination." How couldwe have done it? The Good Man volunteered. "Butdo you not mind?" "Not in the least." Is it notwonderful? How can we believe in the equality ofthe sexes ? In less than an hour we were temporarilysettled in 'our new quarters, our rescued trunks con-signed to the little bed-room, our heart-felt gratitudein the possession of the Good Man.We took our meals now in our own parlor, tryingthe solitary confinement system of the English duringour two days' stay. It seemed a month. Not a sign oflife was there, save the landlady's pleasant face behindthe bar and the waiter who answered our bell, with theexception of a pair of mammoth shoes before the next

42 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.door, mornings, and the bearded face of a man that star-tied us, once, upon the stairs. And yet the house wasfull. It was a relief when our two days of banishmentwere over, when in Mrs. B.'s pretty drawing-room,.andaround her table, we could again meet friends, and real-ize that we were still in the world'.40IS.:'x

EXCURSIONS FROM LONDON. 43CHAPTER III.EXCURSIONS PROM LONDON.Strange ways.- " The bears that went over to Charlestown."-The delights of a runaway without its dangers.--Flowershow at the Crystal Palace. Whit-Monday at HamptonCourt. A queen baby. " But the carpets ? " Poor NellGwynne. Vandyck faces. Royal beds. Lunch at theKing's Arms. 0 Music, how many murders have been com-mitted in thy name Queen Victoria's home at Windsor. -A new " house that Jack built."- The Round Tower. StokePogis. Frogmore. The Knights of the Garter. Thequeen's gallery. The queen's plate. The royal mews. -The wicker bUaby-wagons. The state equipages.WE bought an umbrella,- every one buys anumbrella who goes to London, and this, inits alpaca glory, became our constant companion. Wepurchased a guide-book to complete our equipment;but so disreputable, so yellow-covered, was its outwardappearance, so suggestive of everything but facts, thatwe consigned it to oblivion, and put ourselves underthe guidance of our Boston friends, the Good Man andhis family.For two busy weeks we rattled over the flat pavingsof the city in the low, one-horse cabs. We climbedtowers, we descended into crypts, we examined tomb-

44 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.stones, we gazed upon mummies. Everything wasnew, strange, and wonderful, even to the little boys inthe street, who, as well as the omnibus drivers, weredecked out in tall silk hats a piece of absurdity inone case, and extravagance in the other, to our minds.The one-horse carriages rolled about upon two wheels;the occupants, like cross children, facing in every direc-tion but the one they were going, and everybody, con-trary to all our preconceived ideas of law and order,turned to the left, instead of to the right,--to saynothing of other strange and perplexing ways thatcame under our observation. We had come abroadupon the same errand as the bears who "went over toCharlestown to see what they could see," and so staredinto every window, into every passing face, as thoughwe were seeking the lost. We became known as thewomen who wanted a cab; our appearance within theiron posts that guard the entrance to Queen's Squarefrom Southampton Row being the signal for a per-feet Babel of unintelligible shouts and gesticulationsdown the long line of waiting vehicles, with the char-ging down upon us of the first half dozen in a highlydangerous manner. Wisdom is sometimes the growthof days; and we soon learned to dart out in an un.expected moment, utterly deaf and blind to everythingand everybody but the first man and the first horse,and thus to go off in triumph.But if our exit was triumphant, what was our entryto the square, when weary, faint with seeing, hearing,and trying in vain to fix everything seen and heard inour minds, we returned in a hansom! English ladiesdo not much affect this mode of conveyance, but Amer

EXCURSIONS FROM LONDON. 45ican women abroad have, or take, a wide margin in-matters of mere conventionality,- and so ride in han-som cabs at will. They are grown-up baby perambu-lators upon two wheels; the driver sitting up behind,where the handle would be, and drawing the reins ofinterminable length over the top of the vehicle. Pic-ture it in your mind, and then wonder, as I did, whatpower of attraction keeps the horse upon the ground;what prevents his flying into the air when the driversettles down into his seat. A pair of low, foldingdoors take the place of a lap robe; you dash throughthe street at an alarming rate without any visibleguide, experiencing all the delights of a runawaywithout any of its dangers.FLOWER SHOW AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE.A ride by rail of half an hour takes one to Syden-ham. It is a charming walk from the station throughthe tastefully arranged grounds, with their shrubberies,roseries, and fountains, along the pebble-strewn paths,crowded this day with visitors. The palace itself is solike its familiar pictures as to need no description.Much of the grandeur of its vast proportions within islost by its divisions and subdivisions. There arecourts representing the various nations of the earth, -America, as usual, felicitously and truthfully shown upby a pair of scantily attired savages under a palmtree; there are the courts of the Alhambra, of Nin-eveh, and of Pompeii; there are fountains, and statues,and bazaars innumerable, where one may purchase al-most anything as a souvenir; there are caf6s whereone may refresh the body, and an immense concert

46 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.Ihall where one may delight the soul,-- and how muchmore I cannot tell, for the crowd was almost beyondbelief; and a much more interesting study than Egyp-tian remains, or even the exquisite mass of perfumedbloom, that made the air like summer, and the wholeplace a garden. They were of the English middleclass, the upper middle class, bordering upon the no-bility,-these rotund, fine-looking gentlemen in whitevests and irreproachable broadcloth, these stout, red-faced, richly-attired ladies, with their soft-eyed, angulardaughters following in their train, or clinging to theirarms. We listened for an hour to the queen's ownhand in scarlet and gold, and then came back to town,meeting train after train filled to overflowing with ex-pensively arrayed humanity in white kids, going outfor the evening.A DAY AT HAMPTON COURT.It was Whit-Monday,- the workingman's holiday,--a day of sun and shower; but we took our turnupon the outside of the private omnibus chartered forthe occasion, unmindful of the drops; our propellingpower, six gray horses. By virtue of this private es-tablishment we were free to pass through Hyde Park,- that breathing-place of aristocracy, where no publicvehicle, no servant without livery, is tolerated. It wasearly, and only the countless hoof prints upon RottenRow suggested the crowd of wealth and fashion thatwould throng here later in the day. One solitaryequestrian there was; perched upon a guarded saddle,held in her place by some concealed band, serenelycontent, rode a queen baby in long, white robes. A

EXCURSIONS FROM LONDON. 47groom led the little pony. She looked at us in gravewonder as we dashed by, born to the purple 1 I can-naot begin to describe to you the rising up of Londontor this day of pleasure; the decking of itself out inholiday attire; the garnishing of itself with paper flow-ers; the smooth, hard roads leading into the country,"all alive; the drinking, noisy crowd about the doorof every pot-house along the way. It was a delightfuldrive of a dozen or more miles, through the mostcharming suburbs imaginable, past lawns, and gar-dens, and green old trees shading miniature parks;past "detached" villas that had blossomed into win-dows; indeed, the plate glass upon houses of mostmodest pretension was almost reckless extravagancein our eyes, forgetting, aA we did, the slight duty tobe paid here upon what is, with us, an expensiveluxury. No wonder the English are a healthfulpeople, the sun shines upon them. I like their man-ner of house-building, of home-making. They set upfirst a great bay-window, with a room behind it, whichis of secondary importance, with wide steps leading upto a door at the side. They fill this window with therarest, rosiest, most rollicksome flowers. Then, if thereremain time, and space, and means, other rooms areadded, the bay-windows increasing in direct propor-tion; while shades, drawn shades, are a thing un-known. "But the carpets ? They are so foolish asto value health above carpets.It was high noon when we rolled up the wide ave-nue of Bushey Park, with its double border of giganticchestnuts and limes, through Richmond Park, with itsvast sweep of greensward flecked with the sunbeams,

18 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.dripping like the rain through the royal oaks, pastRichmond terrace, with its fine residences looking outupon the Thames, the translucent stream, pure and beau-tiful here, before going down to the city to be defiled -like many a life. We dismounted at the gates to thepalace, in the rambling old village that clings to itsskirts, and joined the crowd passing through its wideportals.It is an old palace thrown aside, given over to poorrelatives, by royalty,- as we throw aside an old gown;a vast pile of dingy, red brick that has straggled overacres of Hampton parish, and is kept within bounds bya high wall of the same ugly material. It has pusheditself up into towers and turrets, with pinnacles andspires rising from its battlenwented walls. It has thrustitself out into oriel and queer little latticed windows thatpeep into the gardens and overhang the three quad-rangles, and is with its vast gardens and park, with itswide canal and avenues of green old trees, the mostdelightfully ugly, old place imaginable. Here kingsand queens have lived and loved, suffered and died,from Cardinal Wolsey's time down to the days ofQueen Anne. It is now one of England's show places;one portion of its vast extent, with the grounds, beingthrown open to the public, the remainder given to de-ciyed nobility, or wandering, homeless representativesof royalty, a kind of royal almshouse, in fact. Acurtained window, the flutter of a white hand, were tous the only signs of inhabitation.Through thirty or more narrow, dark, bare rooms, -bare but for the pictures that crowded the walls,--wewandered. There were two or three halls of stately

EXCURSIONS FROM LONDON. 49proportions finely decorated with frescoes by Verrio,and one or two royal stairways, up and down whichslippered feet have passed, silken skirts trailed, andheavy hearts been carried, in days gone by. Thepictures are mostly portraits of brave men and lovelywomen, of kings and queens and royal favorites,-poor Nell Gwynne among them, who began life byselling oranges in a theatre, and ended it by selling vir-tue in a palace. The Vandyck faces are wonderfullybeautiful. They gaze upon you through a mist, a gold-en haze, -like that which hangs over the hills in theIndian summer, from out deep, spiritual eyes; adream of fair women they are.There were one or two royal beds, where uneasyhave lain the heads that wore a crown, and half adozen chairs worked in tapestry by royal fingers,-whether preserved for their questionable beauty, or be-cause of the rarity of royal industry, I do not know.We wandered through the shrubberies, paid a penny tosee the largest grape vine in the world, and wishedwe had given it to the heathen, so like its less distin-guished sisters did the vine appear,-and at last lunchedat the King's Arms, a queer little inn just outside thegates, edging our way with some difficulty through thenoisy, guzzling crowd around the door-the crowd that,having reached the acme of the day's felicity, was fastdegenerating into a quarrel. In the long, bare roomat the head of the narrow, winding stairs, we found,omparative quiet. The tables were covered with jointsof beef, with loaves of bread, pitchers of ale, and theubiquitous cheese. A red-faced young man in tightnew clothes like a strait-jacket occupied one end4

50 AN AMII;CAN GIRL ABROAD,of our table with his blushing sweetheart. A bandof wandering harpers harped upon their harps to thecrowd of wrangling men and blowsy women in theopen court below; strangely out of tune were the harps,out of time the measure, according well with the spiritof the hour. A loud-voiced girl decked out in tawdryfinery, with face like solid brass, sang "Annie Laurie"in hard, metallic tones, O Music, how many murdershave been committed in thy name!--then passed acup for pennies, with many a jest and rude, bold laugh.We were glad when the day was done, glad whenwe had turned away from it all.QUEEN VICTORIA'S HOME AT WINDSOR,The castle itself is a huge, battlemented structure ofgray stone, a fortress as well as a palace, with ahome park of five hundred acres, the private groundsof Mrs. Guelph, and, beyond that, a grand park of eigh-teen hundred acres. But do not imagine that she liveshere with only her children and servants about her,--this kindly Gernian widow, whose throne was once inthe hearts of her people. Royalty is a complicatedaffair, a wheel within a wheel, -and reminds us ofnothing so much as " the house that Jack built."This is the Castle of Windsor.This is the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.These are the ladies that 'tend on the queen thatlives in the Castle of Windsor.These are the pages that bow to the ladies that'tendon the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.These are the lackeys that wait on the pages thatbow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives inthe Castle of Windsor.

EXCURSIONS FROM LONDON. 51These are the soldiers, tried and sworn, that guardthe crown from the unicorn, that stand by the lackeysthat wait on the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tendon the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.These are the "military knights" forlorn, founded byEdward before you were born, that outrank the sol-diers, tried and sworn, that guard the crown fiom theunicorn, that stand by the lackeys that wait on thepages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queenthat lives in the Castle of Windsor.These are the knights that the garter have worn,with armorial banners tattered and torn, that lookdown on the military knights forlorn, founded by Ed-ward before you were born, that outrank the soldiers,tried and sworn, that guard the crown from the unicorn,that stand by the lackeys that wait on the pages thatbow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives inthe Castle of Windsor.This is the dean, all shaven and shorn, with thecanons and clerks that doze in the morn, that installthe knights that the garter have worn, with armorialbanners tattered and torn, that look down on the mili-tary knights forlorn, founded by Edward before youwere born, that outrank the soldiers, tried and sworn,that guard the crown from the unicorn, that stand bythe lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the la-dies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle ofWindsor.And so on. The train within the castle walls thatfollows the queen is endless.We passed through the great, grand, state apart-ments, refurnished at the time of the marriage of the

52 AN AMERICAN GIRL A ROAD.Prince of Wales, for the use of the Danish family.We mounted to the battlements of the Round Towerby the hundred steps, the grim cannon gazing downupon us from the top. Half a dozen visitors were al-ready there, gathered as closely as possible about theangular guide, listening to his geography lesson, andlooking off upon the wonderful panorama of park, andwood, and winding river. Away to. the right rose thespire of Stoke Pogis Church, where the curfew still"tolls the knell of parting day." To the left, in thegreat park below, lay Frogmore, where sleeps PrinceAlbert the Good. Eton College, too, peeped out fromamong the trees, its gardens touching the Thames, andin the distance, beyond the sleeping villages tuckedin among the trees, the shadowy blue hills heldup the sky.St. George's Chapel is in the quadrangle below. It isthe chapel of the Knights of the Garter. And now, whenyou read of the chapels, or churches, or cathedrals in theold world,-and they are all in a sense alike,--praydon't imagine a New England meeting-house with adouble row of stiff pews and a choir in the gallery sing-ing "Antioch"! The body of the chapel was a great,bare space, with tablets and elaborate monumentsagainst the walls. Opening from this were alcoves,--also called chapels, each one containing the tombs andmonuments of some family. As many of the inscriptionsare dated centuries back, you can imagine they areoften quaintly expressed. One old knight, who diedin Catholic times, desired an open Breviary to remainalways in .the niche before his tomb, that passersmight read to their comfort, and say for him an orison.

EXCURSIONS FROM LONDON. 53Of course this would never do in the days when thechapel fell into Protestant hands. A Bible was sub.stituted, chained into its place; but the old inscription,cut deep in the stone, still remains, beginning "Wholeyde thys book here ?" with a startling appropriate.ness of which the author never dreamed. Over an-other of these chapels is rudely cut an ox, an N, and abow, the owner having, in an antic manner, hardlybefitting the place, thus written his name Oxenbow.You enter the choir, where the installations takeplace, by steps, passing under the organ. In thechancel is a fine memorial window to Prince Albert.On either side are the stalls or seats for the knights,with the armorial banner of each hanging over his place.Projecting over the chancel, upon one side, is what ap-pears to be a bay-window. This is the queen's gallery,a little room with blue silk hangings, for blue is thecolor worn by Knights of the Garter,- where she sitsduring the service. Through these curtains sle lookeddown upon the marriage of the Prince of Wales. Thinkof being thus put away from everybody, as though onewere plague-stricken. A private station awaits herwhen she steps from the train at the castle gates. Aprivate room is attached to the green-houses, to theriding-school in the park, and even to the privatechapel. A private photograph-room, for the taking ofthe royal pictures, adjoins her apartments. It must bea fine thing to be a queen,-- and so tiresome! Eventhe gold spoon in one's mouth could not offset the wea-riness of it all, and of gold spoons she has an unbound-ed supply; from ten to fifteen millions of dollarsworth of gold plate tor her majesty's table being guard-ed within the castle! Think of it, little women who

54 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.set up house-keeping with half a dozen silver tea-spoons and a salt-spoon!We waited before a great gate until the striking ofsome forgotten hour, to visit the royal mews. Youmay walk through all these stables in slippers and inyour daintiest gown, without fear. A stiff young manin black-a cross between an undertaker and an in-cipient clergyman in manner-acted as guide. Otherparties, led by other stiff young men, followed orcrossed our path. Thera weie stalls and stalls, uponeither side, in room after room,---for one could notthink of calling them stables, filled by sleek bays forcarriage or saddle. And the ponies!-- the dear littleshaggy browns, with sweeping tails, and wonderfuleyes peeping out from beneath moppy manes, the milk-white, tiny steeds, with hair like softest silk,--theywon our hearts. Curled up on the back of one, fhstasleep, lay a Maltese kitten; the "royal mew" someone called it. The carriages were all plain and dark,for the ordinary use of the court. In one corner a prlinrow of little yellow, wicker, baby-wagons attracted ourattention, like those used by the poorest mother in theland. In these the royal babies have taken their firstairings.The state equipages we saw another day at Bucking-ham Palace, the cream-colored horses, the carriagesand harnesses all crimson and gold. There they stand,weeks and months together, waiting for an occasion.The effect upon a fine day, under favoring auspices, -the sun shining, the bands playing, the crowd of gazers,the prancing horses, the gilded chariots, -must almostequal the triumphal entry of a first class circus into aNew Engoland town!

k i m .. I' i I ,,~// /'I A-'-//" A dzen umbrellas were tipped up; the rain fell fast upon a dozenupturned, expectant facess" Page 57.

4 4I/4>-

SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON. 55CHAPTER IV.SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON.The. Tower. The tall Yankee of inquiring mind. Our guidein gorgeous array. War trophies. Knights in armor. -A professional joke. The crown jewels. The house wherethe little princes were smothered. The " Traitor's Gate."-The Houses of Parliament. -- What a throne is like. Tlhe"woolsack." The Peeping Gallery for ladies. WestminsterHall and the law courts. The three drowsy old women. -The Great Panjandrum himself. Johnson and the pump. -St. Paul's. Wellington's funeral car. --The WhisperingGallery. The bell.THE TOWER.IT is not a tower at all, as we reckon towers, youmust know, but a walled town upon the banks ofthe Thames, in the very heart of London. Hundredsof years ago, when what is now this great city was onlymoor and marsh, the Romans built here a castle,perhaps. Only a bit of crumbling wall, of moulderingpavement, remain to tell the story. When, the Nor-mans came in to possess the land, William the Con-queror erected upon this spot a square fortress, withtowers rising from its four corners. Every succeedingmonarch added a castle, a tower, a moat, to strengthenits strength and extend its limits, until, in time, it cov-ered twelve acres of land, as it does to this day. Here

56 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.the kings and queens of England lived in comfortlessstate, until the time of Queen Elizabeth, having needto be hedged about with something more than royaltyto insure safety. Times have changed; swords. havebeen beaten into ploughshares; and where the moatonce encircled the tower wall, flowers blossom rnow.The dungeons that for centuries held prisoners of statedo not confine any one to-day; and the strongholdsthat guarded the person of England's sovereign keepin safety now the jewels and the crown. There areround towers, and square towers, and, for anything Iknow, three-cornered towers, each with its own historyof horrors. There are windows from which peoplewere thrown, bridges over which they were dragged,and dark holes in which they were incarcerated.To appreciate all this, you should see it- as we didone chilly May morning. We huddled about the stovein the waiting-room upon the site of the old royalmenagerie, our companions a round man, with a limpgingham cravat and shabby coat, a little old womanin a poke bonnet, and half a dozen or more school-boys from the country. A tall Yankee of inquiringmind joined us as we sallied from the door, led by aguide gorgeous in ruff and buckles, cotton velvet andgilt lace, and with all these glories surmounted by ablack hat, that swelled out at the top in a wonderfulmanner. Down the narrow street within the gates,over the slippery cobble-stones, under considerablemental excitement, and our alpaca umbrella, we fol-lowed our guide to an archway, before which he paused,and struck an attitude. The long Yankee darted for-ward. "Stand back, my friends, stand back," said the

SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON. 57guide. " You will please form a circle." Immediatelya dozen umbrellas surrounded him. He pointed to anarrow window over our heads; a dozen umbrellaswere tipped up; the rain fell fast upon a dozen up-turned, expectant faces. "In that room, Sir "(I could not catch the name) " spent the night beforehis execution, in solemn meditation and prayer."There was a circular groan of sympathy and approvalfiom a dozen lips, the re-cant of a dozen drippingumbrellas, and we pattered on to the next point ofinterest, following our leader through pools of blood,figuratively speaking,--literally, through pools of wa-ter, our eyes distended, our cheeks pale with horror.Ah, what treasures of credulity we must have been tothe guides in those days! Time brought unbelief andhardness of heart.We mounted stairs narrow and dark; we descendedstairs dark and narrow; we entered chambers gloomyand grim. The half I could not tell--of the roomsfilled with war trophies scalps in the belt of the na-tion -from the Spanish Armada down to the Sepoyrebellion; the long hall, with its double row of lumber-ing old warriors encased in steel, as though they hadstepped into a steel tower and walked off, tower andall, some fine morning; the armory, with its stackedarms for thirty thousand men. " We may have occa-sion to use them," said the guide, facetiously, makingsome reference to the speech of Mr. Sunner, just thenacting the part of a stick to stir up the British lion.The Yankee chuckled complacently, and we, too, re-fused to quake. There was a room killed with instru-ments of torture, diabolical inventions, recalling the

58 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.days of the Inquisition. The Yankee expressed a de-sire to " see how some o' them things worked." Open-ing from this was an unlighted apartment, with wallsof stone, a dungeon indeed, in which we were made tobelieve that Sir Walter Raleigh spent twelve years ofhis life. No shadow of doubt would have fallen uponour unquestioning minds, had we been told that heamused himself during this time by standing upon hishead. "Walk in, walk in," said the smiling guide, aswe peered into its darkness. We obeyed. "Now,"said he, "that you may appreciate his situation, I willstep out and close the door." The little old womanscreamed; the Yankee made one stride to the opening;the guide laughed. It was only a professional joke;there was no door. We saw the bare prison-room,with its rough fireplace, the slits between the stonesof the wall to admit light and air, and the initials ofLady Jane Grey, with a host more of forgotten names,upon the walls. Just outside, within the quadrangle,where the grass grew green beneath the summer rain,she was beheaded,-poor little innocent,-who hadno desire to be a queen! In another tower close by,guarded by iron bars, were the royal jewels and'thecrown, for which all this blood was shed -pretty bau-bles of gold and precious stones, but hardly worth somany lives.You remember the story of the princes smotheredin the Tower by command of their cruel uncle ? Therewas the narrow passage in the wall where the murder-ers came at night; the worn step by which they enteredthe great, bare room where the little victims slept;the winding stairs down which the bodies were

SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDO 59throw-n. Beneath the great stone at the foot they weresecretly buried. Then the stairway was walled up,lest the stones should cry out; and no one knewthe story of the burial until long, long afterwards- only a few years since when the walled-upstairway was discovered, the stones at the foot dis-placed, and a heap of dust, of little crumbling bones,revealed it. A rosy-faced, motherly woman, the wifeof a soldier quartered in the barracks here, answeredthe rap of the guide upon the nail-studded door open-ing fiomn one of the courts, and told us the old story."The bed of the princes stood just there," she said,pointing to one corner, where, by a curious coincidence,a little bed was standing now. She answered the ques-tion in our eyes with, "My boys sleep there." But doyou not fear that the murderers will come back somenight by this same winding way, and smother them ?"How she laughed! And, indeed, what had ghosts to dowith such a cheery body!Down through the " Traitors' Gate," with its spikedportcullis, we could see the steps leading to the water.Through this gate prisoners were brought fiom trialat Westminster. It is said that the Princess Elizabethwas dragged up here when she refused to come of herown wil, knowing too well that they who entered hereleft hope behind. A little later, with music and thewaving of banners, and amid the shouts of the people,she rode out of the great gates into the city, the Queen ofEngland.THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.Though they have stood barely thirty years, alreadythe soft gray limestone begins to crumble aw-- t1-

60 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.elements, with a sense of the fitness of things, strivingto act the part of time, and bring them into a likenessof the adjoining abbey. There is an exquisite beautyin the thousand gilded points and pinnacles that piercethe fog, or shine softly through the mist that veils thecity. Ethereal, shadowy, unreal they are, like the spiresof a celestial city, or the far away towers and turretswe see sometimes at sunset in the western sky.Here, you know, are the chambers of the Houses ofLords and Commons, with the attendant lobbies, libra-ries, committee-rooms, &c., and a withdrawing-room forthe use of the queen when she is graciously pleased toopen Parliament in person. The speaker of the House ofCommons, as well as some other officials, reside her6- anovel idea to us, who could hardly imagine the speakerof our House of Representatives taking up his abodein the Capitol! Parliament was not in session, and wewalked through the various rooms at will, even to therobing-room of the noble lords, where the peg uponwhich Lord Stanley hangs his hat was pointed out;and very like other pegs it was. At one end of thechamber of the House of Lords is the throne. It is asimple affair enough--a gilded arm-chair on a littleplatform reached by two or three steps, and with crim-son hangings. Extending down on either sidevre thecrimson-cushioned seats without desks. In the centreis a large square ottoman, the woolsack, whichmight, with equal appropriateness, be called almostanything else. Above, a narrow gallery offers a loun-ging-place to the sons and friends of the peers; andat one end, above the throne, is a high loft, a kind ofuplifted amen corner, for strangers, with a space where

SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON. 61women may sit and look down through a screen of lat-tice-work upon the proceedings below. It seems a rem-nant of Eastern customs, strangely out of place in thisWestern world, and akin to the shrouding of ourselvesin veils, like our Oriental sisters. Or can it be that thenoble lords are more keenly sensitive to the distractinginfluence of bright eyes than other men ?WESTMINSTER HALL AND THE LAW COURTS.Adjoining the Houses of Parliament is this vast oldhall. For almost five hundred years has it stood, itscuriously carved roof unsupported by column or pillar.Here royal banquets, as well as Parliaments, have beenheld, and more than one court of justice. Here wasthe great trial of Warren Hastings. It was emptynow of everything but echoes and the long line ofstatuary on either side, except the lawyers in theirlong, black gowns, who hastened up and down itslength, or darted in and. out the three baize doors uponone side, opening into the Courts of Chancery, CommonPleas, and the Exchequer. Our national curiosity wasaroused, and we mounted the steps to the second,which had won our sympathies from its democraticn ame.There were high, straight-backed pews of familiarappearance, rising one above the other, into the last-ofwhich we climbed, a certain Sunday solemnity stealingover us, a certain awkward consciousness that we werethe observed of all observers, since we were the onlyspectators a delusion of our vanity, however. In thehigh gallery before us, in complacent comfort, sat threefat, drowsy old women (?) in white, curling wigs, and

62 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.voluminous gowns, asking all manner of distractingquestions, and requiring to be told over and over again,- after the manner of drowsy old women, to the ut-ter confusion of a poor witness in the front pew,, whoclung to the rail and swayed about hopelessly, whilehe tried to tell his story, as if by this rotary motion hecould churn his ideas into form. Not only did he losethe thread of his discourse,- he became hopelessly en-tangled in it. Scratch, scratch, scratch, went the pensall around him. Every word, as it fell from his lips,was pounced upon by the begowned, bewigged, be-wildering judges, was twisted and turned by the law-yers, was tossed back and forth throughout the court-room, until there arose a question in our minds, as towho was telling the story. All the while the lawyerswere glaring upon him as though he was peijuringhimself with every word as who would not be, underthe circumstances? And such lawyers They dottedthe pews all around us. The long, black gowns were notso bad; they hid a deal of awkwardness, I doubt not.But the wigs! the queer little curly things, perchedupon every head, and worn with such a perverse de-light in misfits! the small men being invariably hid-den beneath the big wigs, and the large men struttingabout like the great Panjandrum himself with thelittle round button at the top! The appearance of one,whose head, through some uncommon development,rose to a ridge-pole behind, was surprising, to say theleast. It was not alone that his wig was too small, thata fringe of straight, black hair fell below its entirewhite circumference; it was not alone that it was partedupon the wrong side, or that, being mansard in form,

SIGHT-SEEING. IN LONDON. 63and his head hip-roofed, it could never, by any process,have been shaped thereto; but I doubt if the wearingof it upside down, -added to all these little drawbacks,could conduce to the beauty or dignity of any man.Unmindful of this reversed order of nature, its happypossessor skipped about the court-room, nodding to hisbrethren with a blithesome air, to the imminent perilof his top-knot, which sustained about the same rela-tion to his head as the sword to that of Damocles. Hespeered down upon the poor witness. He pretendedto make notes of dreadful import with a screamingquill, and, in fact, comported himself with an airyunconsciousness delightful to see.In regard to the proceedings of the court, I onlyknow that the point under discussion concerned oneJohnson, and a pump; and Mr. Pickwick's judge satupon the bench. WThether he was originally round,red-faced, with gooseberry eyes, I do not remember;but all these pleasing characteristics he possessed atthis present time, as well as a pudgy forefinger, withwhich to point his remarks."You say," he repeated, with a solemnity of whichmy pen is incapable, and impressing every word uponthe poor man in the front pew with this same forefin-ger, " that Bunsen went to the pump ?"" Johnson, my lord," the witness ventured to cor-rect. him, in a low tone."t It makes no difference," responded the judge, irate," whether it is Bunsen or Jillson. The question is,Did Jillson go to the pump ? "Whom the gods destroy they first deprive of theirfive senses. Four, at least, of the poor man's had de-

64 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.parted some time since. The fifth followed. "John-son went, my lord," he replied, doggedly. Havingfound one point upon which his mind was clear, heclung to it with the tenacity of despair."Johnson! who's Johnson ?" gasped the bewilderedjudge, over whose face a net of perplexed lines spreaditself upon the introduction of this new character. Inthe confusion of denials and explanations that followed,we descended fiom our perch, and stole away; nor arewe at all sure, to this day, as to whether Johnson didor did not really go to the pump.ST. PAUL S.Imagine our surprise, one day, when admiring apretty ribbon upon a friend, to be told that it camefrom St. Paul's Churchyard. Hardly the place for rib-bons, one would think; but the narrow street whichencircles the cathedral in the form of a bow and itsstring goes by this name, and contains, besides thebookstores and publishing houses, some fine "silkmercers'" establishments.The gray surface of the grand edifice is streakedwith black, as though time had beaten it with stripes,and a pall of smoke and dust covers the statues in thecourt before it. Consecrated ground this is, indeed.From the earliest times of the Christian religion,through all the bigotry and fanaticism of the ages thatfollowed, down to the present time, the word of Godhas been proclaimed here in weakness often, in bit-terness many times that belied the spirit of its mes-sage; by a priesthood more corrupt than the people;by noble men, beyond the age in which they lived, and

SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON. 65whom the flames of martyrdom could not appall. Un-der Diocletian the first church was destroyed. It wasrebuilt, and destroyed again by the Saxons. Twicehas it been levelled to the ground by fire. But neithersword nor flame could subdue it, and firm as a rock itstands to-day, as it has stood for nearly two hundredyears, and as it seems likely to. stand for ages to come.The sacred stillness that invests the place was rudelybroken, the morning of our visit, by the blows from thehammers of the workmen, resounding through the domelike a discharge of artillery. A great stage, and seatsin the form of an amphitheatre, were being erected inthe nave for a children's festival, which prevented ourdoing more than glance down its length. We readsome of the inscriptions upon the monuments,.that one,so often quoted, of Sir Christopher Wren, among them- " Do you seek his monument ? Look around you;"glanced into the choir, with its Gothic stalls, where theservice is performed, and then descended into the cryptbeneath all this, that labyrinth of damp darknesswhere so many lie entombed. Here is the funeral carof Wellington, with candles burning around it, castfrom the conquering cannon which thundered victo-ry to a nation, but sorrow and death to many a home.Shrouded with velvet it is, as are the horses, in imi-tation of those which bore him to his rest. Allaround were marble effigies, blackened, broken, as theysurvived the burning of the late cathedral, at the timeof the great fire. Tombstones formed the pavement." Whose can this be ?" I said, trying to follow with thepoint of my umbrella the half-worn inscription beneathmy feet. It was that of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Strange4t 9

I.y66 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.enough it seemed to us, coming from a country sonew as to have been by no means prolific in greatmen, to find them here lying about under our feet.Having explored the crypt, we prepared to mountthe endless winding stairs, whose final termination isthe ball under the cross that surmounts the whole.Our ambition aimed only at the bell beneath theball. We paid an occasional sixpence for the priv-ilege of peeping into the library, a most tidy andput-to-rights room, with a floor of wood patchwork,- and for the right to look down upon the geo-metrical staircase which winds around and clings tothe wall upon one side, but is without any visible sup-port upon the other. The " whispering gallery " wasreached after a time. It is the encircling cornice with-in the dome, surrounded by a railing, and forming anarrow gallery. " I will remain here," said the guide,"while you pass around until you are exactly opposite;wait there until I whisper." Had we possessed thespirit of Casabianca, we should at this moment be sit-ting upon that narrow bench against the wall, with ourfeet upon the gas-pipes. We waited and listened, andlistened and waited; but the sound of the blows fromthe hammers below reverberated like thunder aroundus. We could not have heard the crack of doom. Be-coming conscious, after a time, that our guide had dis-appeared, we came out and continued our ascent. Mrs.K.'s curiosity, if not satisfied, was at least quenched,and she refused to go farther. My aspirations stillpointed upward. There was another sixpence, anotherdizzy mount of dark, twisting stairs, with strength,ambition, and even curiosity gradually left behind, and

SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON. 67with only one blind instinct remaining-- to go on.There was a long, dingy passage, through which ghost-ly forms were flitting; there were more stairs, withtwists and turns, forgotten now with other torments;there was the mounting of half a dozen rickety wood-en steps at last, for no object but to descend shakilyupon the other side, and then we found ourselves in alittle dark corner, peering over a dingy rail, with agreat, dusky object filling all the space below. Andthat was the bell! "Well, and what of it?" I don'tknow; but we saw it!

68 AN AIERICAN GIRL ABROAD.CHAPTER V.AWAY TO PARIS.The wedding party. The canals. New Haven. Around thetea-table. Separating the sheep from the goats. " Will itbe a rough passage? "- Gymnastic feats of the little steamer.- 0, what were officers to us?- "Who ever invented ear-rings !" Dieppe. Fish-wives. Train for Paris. Fellow-passengers. Rouen. Babel. Deliverance.T was the last week in May, and means the"merry, merry month of May" had we found it.Not only' was the sky weighed down with clouds, butthey dripped upon the earth continually, the sun show-ing his ghastly, white, half-drowned face for a momentonly to be swept from sight again by the cloud waves.A friend was going to Paris. Would we shake thedrops from our garments, close our umbrellas, and gowith him? We not only would, we did. We gath-ered a lunch, packed our trunk, said our adieus, anddrove down to the station in the usual pouring rain,the tearful accompaniment to all our movements. Butone party besides our own aivaited the train upon theplatform--a young man with the insignia of bliss inthe gloves of startling whiteness upon his hands, and amiddle-aged woman of seraphic expression of counte-nance, clad in robes of spotless white, her feet encased

A 1WA T TO PARIS. 69in capacious white slippers. In this airy costume, oinhand grasping a huge bouquet devoid of color, the otherthe arm of her companion, she paced back and forth, tothe great amusement of the laughing porters, castingupon us less fortunate ones, who shivered meekly inour wraps, glances of triumphant pity indescribable."Weddin' party, zur," explained the guard, touchinghis cap to our friend. "Jus' come down in fly." Theylooked to us a good deal more as if they were just go-ing up in a "fly." The train shrieked into the station,and we were soon rushing over the road to New Ha-ven, from which, in an evil moment, we had plannedto cross the Channel. There was little new or strange inthe picture seen from our window. The cottages werenow of a dull, clay color, instead of the dingy red wehad observed before, as though they had been erected insudden need, without waiting for the burning of thebricks. There were brick-yards all along the way, an-swering a vexed question in my mind as to where allthe bricks came from which were used so entirely intown and village here, in the absence of the wood soplentiful with us. The canals added much to thebeauty of the landscape, winding through the meadowsas if they were going to no particular place, and werein no haste to reach their destination. They turnedaside for %a clump of willows or a mound of daisy-crowned earth; they went quite out of their way topeep into the back doors of a village, and, in fact, strolledalong in a lazy, serpentine manner that would havecrazed the proprietor of a Yankee canal boat.It was five o'clock when we reached New Haven,having dropped our fellow-passengers along the way,

70 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.the blissful couple among them. Through some errorin calculation we had taken an earlier train than weneed have, and found hours of doleful leisure awaitingus in this sleepy little town, lying upon an arm of thesea. Its outer appearance was not inviting. Herewere the first and last houses of wood we saw inEngland,-high, ugly things, that might have beenbuilt of old boats or drift wood, with an economy-thatprecluded all thought of grace in architecture. Thetrain, in a gracious spirit of accommodation, instead ofplunging into the sea, as it might have done, pausedbefore the door of a hotel upon the wharf. There, in alittle parlor, we improvised a home for a time. Ourfriend went off to explore the town. We took posses-sion of the faded red arm-chairs by the wide windows.Down below, beyond the wet platform, rose the well-colored meerschaum of the little French steamer, whoselong-boats hung just above the edge of the wharf.Through the closed window stole the breath of the saltsea, that, only a hand-breadth here, widened out belowinto boundlessness, bringing visions of the ocean and athrill of remembered delight. The rain had ceased.The breeze rolled the clouds into snow-balls, pure whiteagainst the blue of the sky. Over the narrow streamcame the twitter of birds, hidden in the hawthornhedge all abloom. Everything smiled, anti beamed,and glistened without, though far out to sea the whitecaps crowned the dancing waves. When night fell,and the lights glimmered all through the town, wedrew the heavy curtains, lighted the candles in the shin-ing candlesticks, whose light cast a delusive glow overthe dingy dustiness of the room, bringing out cheer.

A WA TO PARIS. 71fully the little round tea-table in the centre, with itsbright silver and steaming urn, over which we lingereda long hour, measuring and weighing our comfort, tales, seeing visions, and dreaming dreams ofhom e.The clock struck nine as we crossed the plank tothe Alexandra, trying in vain to find in its toy appoint-ments some likeness to our ocean steamer of delightfulmemory. The train whizzed in from London, bringingour fellow-voyagers. The sheep were separated fromthe goats by the officer at the foot of the plank, whoasked each one descending "First or second cabin ?"-sending one to the right, the other to the left. Ther wind swept in from the sea raw and cold. The foot-square deck was cheerless and wet. Even a diagonalpromenade proved short and unsatisfactory, and in de-spair we descended the slippery, perpendicular stairsbetween boxes and bales, and down still another flight,to the. cabin. A narrow, cushioned seat clung to its foursides, divided into lengths for berths. "Will it be arough night?" we carelessly asked the young stew-ardess. "0, no!" was the stereotyped reply, thoughall the while the wicked waves were dancing beneaththe white caps just outside. We divested ourselves ofhats, and wraps, and useless ornaments, reserving onlythat of a meek and quiet spirit, which, under a name-less fear, grew every moment meeker and more quiet.We undid the interminable buttons of our Americanboots, and prepared for a comfortable rest, with an ig-norance that at the time approximated bliss. Therewas leisure for the working out of elaborate schemes,Something possessed the tide. Whether it was high

72 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.or low, narrow or wide, I do not know; but there atthe wharf we were to await the working of its ownwill, regardless of time. Accordingly we selected ourplaces with a deliberation that bore no proportion tothe time we were to fill them, advising with the stew-ardess, who had settled herself comfortably to sleep.We tried our heads to England and our feet to the foe,and then reversed the order, finally compromising bytaking a position across the Channel. But the loadingof the steamer overhead, with the chattering of our fel-low-passengers below,--two English girls, a prettybrunette and her sister, banished sleep. At threeo'clock our voyage began the succession of quiveringleaps, plunges, and somersaults .which miraculouslylanded us upon the French coast. I can think of nowords to describe it. The first night upon the oceanwas paradise and the perfection of peace in comparison.To this day the thought of the swashing water, beat-en white against the port-hole before my eyes, issickening. A calm to me, of utter prostration -fell upon us long after the day dawned, only to bebroken by the stewardess, when sleep had brought par-tial forgetfulness, with, "It's nine o'clock; we're atDieppe, and the officers want to come in here." Wetried to raise our heads. Officers! What officers?Had we crossed the Styx? Were they of liglitor darkness? We sank back. 0, what were officersto us!"But you must get up!"-and she began an awk-ward attempt at the buttons of those horrible boots.That recalled to life. American boots are of this world,and we made a feeble attempt to don some of its van-

A WAT TO PARIS. 73ities. 0, Iow senseless did the cuffs appear that wenton upside down! the collar which was fastened underone ear!--the ribbons that were consigned to ourpockets! Making blind stabs at our ears, "Goodheavens!" we ejaculated, "who ever invented ear-rings? Relics of barbarism!" We made hasty thrustsat the hair-pins, standing out from our heads in everydirection like enraged porcupine quills; being pulled,and twisted, and scolded by the stewardess all the while;hearing the thump, thump, upon our door as one pairof knuckles after another awoke the echoes, as onestrange voice after another shouted, "Why don'tthose ladies cdme out ?" 0 the trembling fingers thatrefused to hold the pins!-the trembling feet thatstaggered up the ladder-like stairs as we were thrustout of the cabin out of the cruel little steamer totake refuge in one of the waiting cabs! 0 the blessed-ness of our thick veils and charitable wraps!I recall, as though it were a dream, the narrow,roughly-paved street of Dieppe; a latticed windowfilled with flowers, and a dark-eyed maiden peepingthrough the leaves; the fish-wives in short petticoatsand with high white caps, clattering over the stones intheir wooden sabots, wheeling barrows of fish to themarket near the station, where they bartered, and bar-gained, and gossiped. Evidently it is a woman's rightin Normandy to work -to grow as withered, and hard,and old before the time as she chooses, or as she hasneed; for to put away year after year, as do these poorwomen, every grace and charm of womanhood, cannotbe of choice.At the long table in the refreshment-room of the sta,

74 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.tion we drank the tasteless tea, and ate a slice from theroll four feet in length. The English-speaking girl whoattended us found a place-rough enough, to be sure--where in the few moments of waiting we could completeour hasty toilets. Beside us at the table, our fellow-voyagers, were two professors from a Connecticut col-lege of familiar name, whom we had met in London.They joined us in the comfortable railway carriage, andadded not a little to the pleasant chat that shortenedthe long day and the weary journey to Paris. Ournumber -for the compartment held eight -was com-pleted by a young American gentleman, and a French-man of evil countenance, who drank wine and madelove to his pretty Lizette in an unblushing manner,strange, and by no means pleasing, to us, demonstratingthe annoyance, if nothing worse, to which one is oftensubjected in these compartment cars. It needed but oneglance from the window to convince us that we were nolonger in England. To be sure, the sky is blue, thegrass green, in all lands; but in place of the levelsweep of meadow through which we had passed acrossthe Channel, the land swelled here into hills on everyside. Long rows of stiff poplars divided the fields,or stretched away in straight avenues as far as theeye could reach. The English remember the beautyof a curved line; the Freich, with a painful rectitude,describe only right angles. Scarlet poppies blushedamong the purple, yellow, and white wild flowers& alongthe way. The plastered cottages with their high,thatched roofs, the tortuous River Seine with its greenislands, as we neared Paris, the neat little stations alongthe way like gingerbread houses made for us a new

A WA 1 TO PARIS. 75anl1 charming panorama. Hanging over a gate at oneof these stations was an old man, white-haired, blind;his guide, an old woman, who waited, with a kind ofwondering awe stealing over her withered face, whilehe played some simple air upon a little pipe thus ask-ing alms. So simple was the air, the very shadow ofa melody, that the scene might have been amusing, hadit not been so pitiful.At noon we lunched in the comfortless waiting-roomat Rouen, while the professors made a hasty visit tothe cathedral during our stay of half an hour. We stillsuffered from the tossing of the sea, and cathedrals pos-sessed no charms in our eyes. It was almost nightwhen we reached Paris, and joined the hurrying crowddescending from the train. It was a descent into Pan-demonium. There was a confusion of unintelligiblesounds in our ears like the roll of a watchman's rattle,bringing no suggestion of meaning. The calmness ofdespair fell upon our crushed spirits, with a sense ofpowerlessness such as we never experienced before orsince. A dim recollection of school-days of Ollen-dorff- rose above the chaos in our minds. "Has thephysician of the shoemaker the canary of the carpen-ter?" we repeated mechanically; and with that ourminds became a blank.Deliverance awaited us; and when, just outside theclosed gates, first in the expectant crowd, we espiedthe face of a friend, peace enveloped us like a garment,Our troubles were over.

76 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.CHAPTER VI.THE PARIS OF 1869.The devil. Cathedrals and churches. -The Louvre. -Mod-ern French art.-- The Beauvais clock, with its droll littlepuppets. Virtue in a red gown. The Luxembourg Palace.--The yawning statue of Marshal Ney. Gay life by gas-light. The Imperial Circus. The Opera. How theemperor and empress rode through the streets after theriots. The beautiful Spanish woman whose face was lerfortune. Napoleon's tomb.T may be the City of Destruction, the very gate.way to depths unknown; but with its fair, whitedwellings, its fair, white streets, that gleamed almostlike gold beneath a summer sun, it seemed much morea City Celestial. It may be, as some affirm, that thedevil here walks abroad at midday; but we saw neitherthe print of his hoofs upon the asphaltum, nor theshadow of his horns upon the cream-like Caen stone.We walked, and rode, and dwelt a time within itslimits; and but for a certain reckless gayety that gaveto the Sabbath an air of Vanity Fair, but for themallet of the workman that disturbed our Sundayworship, we should never have known that we werenot in the most Christian of all Christian cities. It isby no means imperative to do in Rome as the Ro.

THE PARIS OF 1869. 77mans do, and one need not in Paris drink absinthe orvisit the Jardin Mabille.Our first expedition was to the banker's and to theshops, and having replenished our purse and ward-robe, we were prepared to besiege the city. There wasa day or two of rest in the gilded chairs, cushionedwith blue satin, of our pretty salon, whence we peepeddown upon the street below between the yellowsatin curtains that draped its wide French window;or rolled our eyes meditatively to the delicately tintedceiling, with its rose-colored clouds skimmed by tiny,impossible birds; or made abortive attempts to' pen-etrate the secrets of the buhl cabinets, and to guessat the time fiom the pretty clocks of disordered or-ganism; or admired ourselves in the mirrors whichgazed at each other from morning till night, for ourapartments in the little Hotel Friedland we foundmost charming.You will hardly care for a description of the dozen,more or less, churches, old, new, and restored, withwhich we began and ended oiur sight-seeing in Paris,where we looked upon sculptured saints without num-ber, and studied ecclesiastical architecture to morethan our hearts' content. There was St. GermainL'Auxerrois, the wicked old bell of which tolled thesignal for the massacre of St. Bartholomew. Westood with the bonnes and babies under the trees ofthe square before it, gazing up at the belfry with mostsevere countenances,-and learned, afterwards, thatthe bell had been long since removed! There wasthe Madeleine of more recent date, built in the form ofa Greek temple, and interesting just now for having

t[ AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.been the church of Father Hyacinthe, to which wecould for a time find no entranCe. We shook the irongate; we inquired in excellent English of a Frenchshopkeeper, and found at last an open gateway, alittle unlocked door, beyond which we spent a timeof search and inquiry in darkness, and among wood,and shavings, and broken chairs, and holy dust-pans,before passing around and entering the great bronzedoors. There were the Pantheon and St. Sulpice,grand and beautiful, erected piously from the proceedsof lotteries. There was St. Etienne du Mont, andwithin one of its chapels the gilded tomb of the patronsaint of Paris-St. Genevieve. Who she was, orwhat she did to gain this rather unenviable position, Ifailed to learn. Her name seems to have outlived herdeeds. Whether she was beautiful and beloved, andput away earthly vanities for a holy life, or old andugly, and bore her lot with a patience that won saint-ship, I do not know. I can only tell that tapers burnalways upon her tomb, and if you buy one it will burna prayer for you. So we were told. There is one oldchurch, St. Germain des Pris, most beautifully coloredwithin. Its pictures seem to have melted upon thewalls. But admired above all is the Sainte Chapelle,in the Palais de Justice, a chapel fitted up by the fa.natical St. Louis, when this palace of justice, whichholds now the courts of law, was a royal residence.Of course all its brightness was dimmed long ago. Itsglories became dust, like its founder. But it has re-cently been restored, and is a marvel of gilt, well-blended colors, and stained glass. A graceful spiresurmounts it, but the' old, cone-capped towers, rising

THE PARIS OF 1869. 79from another part of the same building, possessed fargreater interest in our eyes; for here was the Concier-gerie, where were confined Marie Antoinette and somany more victims of the reign of terror.On the "isle of the city," in the Seine, where, underthe Roman rule, a few mud huts constituted Paris,stands the church of Notre Dame, which was three hun-dred years in building. With its spire and two squaretowers, it may be seen fiom almost any part of thecity. I wish you might look upon the relics and thevestments which the priests wear upon occasions ofceremony, hidden within this church, and displayedupon the payment of an extra fee. I did not wonderthat the Sisters of Charity, who went into the littleroom with us, gazed aghast upon the gold and silver,and precious stones.Every one visits the galleries of the Louvre, ofcourse. A little, worn shoe, belonging once to MarieAntoinette, and the old gray coat of the first emperor,were to us the most interesting objects among therelics. From out the sea of pictures rise Murillo'sMadonna, the lovely face with a soul behind it, shiningthrough, and the burial of the heroine of Chateau-briand. Do you know it? The fair form, the sweepinghair of Attila, and the dark lover with despair in hisface? As for the Rubens gallery,- his fat, red, un-draped women here among the clouds, surrounded bypuffy little cherubs, had for us no charms. Rubens inAntwerp was a revelation. We wandered through roomafter room, lighted from above, crowded with paintings.To live for a time among them would be a delight;to glance at them for a moment was tantalization. All

80 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.around were the easels of the artists who come hereto sketch -sharp-featured, heavy-browed men, withunkempt hair and flowing beards, and in shabby coats,stood before them, pallet and brushes in hand; andwomen by the score,- some of them young and pleas-ing, with duennas patiently waiting near by;- but moreoften they were neither young nor beautiful, and withan evident renunciation of pomps and vanities. Weglanced at their, copies curiously. Sometimes theyseemed the original in miniature, and sometimes, ahwell, we all fail.We looked in upon the annual exhibition of picturesat the Palais de l'Industrie one day, and were particu-larly impressed with the nu(dite of the modern schoolof French art. Pink-tinted flesh may be very beautiful,but there must be something higher! We saw there,too, another day, the clock on exhibition for a time be-fore being consigned to its destined place at Beauvais.It was even more wonderful than the one so famousat Strasbourg. This was of the size of an ordinarychurch organ, and of similar shape; a mass of giltand chocolate-colored wood; a mass of dials, great andsmall -of time tables, and, indeed, of tables for com-puting everything earthly and heavenly, with dials toshow the time in fifty different places, and everythingelse that could, by any possible connection with time,be supposed to belong to a clock. Upon the top,Christ, seated in an arm-chair, was represented asjudging the world, his feet upon the clouds; on eitherside kneeling female figures adored him. Just below,a pair of scales bided their time. On every peakstood little images, while fifty puppets peeped out of

THE PARIS OF 1869. 81fifty windows. Just below the image of the Saviotlr,a figure emerged through an open door at the strikingof every quarter of an hour, coming out with a slideand occasional jerk by no means graceful. We had anopportunity of observing all this in the three quartersof an hour of waiting. We viewed the clock uponevery side, being especially interested in a picture atone point representing a rocky coast, a light-house, anda long stretch of waves upon which labored two shipsattached in some way to the works within. Theypitched back and forth without making any progresswhatever, in a way very suggestive to us, who hadlately suffered from a similar motion. A dozen priestsseated themselves with us upon the bench before theclock as the hand approached the hour. They worethe long black robes and odd little skull-caps, that fitso like a plaster, and which are, I am sure, kept inplace by some law of attraction unknown to us. One,of a different order, or higher grade, in a shorter robeand with very thin legs, encased in black stockingsthat added to their shadowy appearance, shuffled upto his place just in time to throw back his head andopen his mouth as the clock struck, and the last judg-ment began. The cock upon the front gave a prelim-inary and weak flap of his wings, and emitted threefeeble, squeaky crows, that must, I am sure, have con-vulsed the very puppets. Certainly they all disap-peared from the windows, and something jumped intotheir places intended to represent flames, but whichlooked so much like reversed tin petticoats, that wesupposed for a moment they were all standing ontheir heads.. All the figures upon the peaks turned6

82 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.their backs upon us. The image of Christ began towave its hands. The kneeling women swayed backand forth, clasping their own. Two angels raised totheir lips long, gilt trumpets, as if to blow a blast;then dropped them; then raised them a second time,and even made a third abortive attempt. From oneof the open doors Virtue was jerked out to be judged,Virtue in a red gown. The scales began to dance upand down. An angel appeared playing a guitar, andVirtue went triumphantly off to the right, to slow andappropriate music, an invisible organ playing mean-while. Then Vice appeared. I confess he excited myinstant and profound pity. Such a poor, naked,wretched-looking object as he was! with his handsto his face, as though he were heartly ashamed to comeout in such a plight. I venture to say, if he had beendecked out like Virtue, he might have stolen off to theright, and nobody been the wiser. Good clothes do agreat deal in Paris. As it was, the scales danced upand down a moment, and then the devil appeared witha sharp stick, and drove him around the corner to theleft, with very distant and feeble thunder for an ac-companiment. That ended the show. All the littlepuppets jumped back into all the little windows, andwe came away.Speaking of picture galleries, we spent a pleasanthour in the gallery of the Luxembourg -a collectionof paintings made up from the works of living artists,and of those who have been less than a year deceased.It is sufficiently small to be enjoyable. There is some-thing positively oppressive in the vastness of many ofthese galleries. You feel utterly unequal, to them; as

THE PARIS OF :869. 83though the finite were about to attempt the comlpre-hension of the infinite. One picture here, by AryScheffer, was exhibited in America, a few years since.It is the head and bust of a dead youth in armor -a youth with a girlish face. There are others byHenri Scheffer, Paulin Guerin, and a host more Iwill not name. One, a scene in the Conciergerie,"Reading the List of the Condemned to the Pris-oners," by Muller, haunted me long after the doorshad swung together behind us. The palace of theLuxembourg, small, remarkable for the beauty of itsarchitecture and charming garden, built for that grace-less regent, Marie de Medici, is now the residence ofthe president of the Senate; and indeed the Senateitself meets here. We were shown through the roomsopen to the public, the private apartments of Marie deMedici among them, in one of which was a bustof the regent. The garden, like all gardens, is filledwith trees and shrubs, flowers and fountains, but yetwith a certain charm of its own. The festooning ofvines from point to point was a novelty to us, as wasthe design of one of the fountains. Approaching it fromthe rear, we thought it a tomb,- perhaps the tombof Marshal Ney, we said, whose statue we were seek-ing. It proved to be an artificial grotto, and within it,sprinkled with the spray of the fountain, emboweredin a mass of glistening, green ivy, reclined a pair ofpretty, marble lovers; peering in upon them fromabove, scowled a dreadful ogre a horrible giant.The whole effect, coming upon it unexpectedly, wasstartling.We had a tiresome search for this same statue of

84 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.Marshal Ney. We chased every marble nymph in thegarden, and walked and walked, over burning pebblesand under a scorching sun, until we almost wished hehad never been shot. At last, away beyond the .gar-den, out upon a long avenue, longer and hotter if pos-sible than the garden paths, we found it, erectedupon the very spot where he was executed. Hestands with arm outstretched, and mouth opened wide,as though he were yawning with the wearisomenessof it all. It is a pity that he should give way to hisfeelings so soon, since he must stand there for hun-dreds of years to come. The guide-books say he isrepresented in the act of encouraging his men. Theymust have been easily encouraged.Of the out-door gay life by gas-light, we saw lessthan we had hoped to see in the French capital. The sea-son was unusually cold and wet, and most of the time itwould have required the spirit of a martyr to sip coffeeupon the sidewalk. One garden concert we did attend,and found it very bright and fairy-like, and all the otheradjectives used in this connection. We sat wrappedin shawls, our feet upon the rounds of the chair beforeus, and shivered a little, and enjoyed a great deal.We went one night-in most orthodox company--to the Cirque de l'Imperatrice, a royal amphitheatrewith handsome horses, pretty equestriennes, and a.child balanced and tossed about on horseback, showinga frightened, painful smile, which made of the man whoheld her a Herod in our eyes. A girl very rich inpaint and powder, but somewhat destitute in otherparticulars, skipped and danced upon a slack rope ina most joyous and airy manner. When we came out, a

THE PARIS OF 1869. 85haggard woman, with an old, worn face, was crouchingin a little weary heap by the door that led into the sta-bles, wrapped in an old cloak; and that was our dancinggirl!We went to the opera, too; it was Les Huguenots.To this day I cannot tell who were the singers. Inever knew, or thought, or cared. And the bare shoul-ders flashing with jewels in the boxes around us, theclaqueurs in the centre, hired to applaud, clapping theirhands with the regularity of clock-work, the emptyimperial box, were nothing to the sight of Parisportrayed within itself You know the familiar opern:;do think how strange it was to see it in Paris; tolook upon the stage and behold the Seine and the towersof Notre Dame; the excited populace rising up toslay and to be slain, with all the while this same fickleFrench people serenely smiling, and chatting, and look-ing upon it the people who were even then ready at'aword to reenact the same scenes for a different cause.Just outside, only a day or two before, something ofthe same spirit, portrayed here for our amusement,had broken out again in the election riots. And we re-membered that, as we drove around the corner to theopera house, mounted soldiers stood upon either side,while every other man upon the street was the eye, andear, and arm of the emperor, who knew that tlie veryground beneath his fair, white city tottered and reeled.WVe saw the emperor and empress one day, afterhaving looked for them long and in vain upon theChamps Elysees, and in the Bois de Boulogne wheregay Paris disports itself. It was the morning after theriot, when they drove unattended, you will remember,

86 AN AMERICAN GIRL A HR OAD.through the streets where the rioters had gathered;We were in one of the shops upon the Rue de Rivoli.Just across the way rose the Tuileries from the side-walk. A crowd began to collect about the open arch-way through the palace, which affords entrance andegress to the great square around which the palace isbuilt. "What is it?" we asked of the volubleFrenchman who was gradually persuading us thatbrass was gold. " L'Empereur," he replied; which sentus to the sidewalk, and put from our minds all thoughtsof oxidized silver and copper-colored gold. Just with-in the arch paced a lackey in livery of scarlet and gold,wearing a powdered wig and general air of importance.On either side, the sentries froze into position. Thegendarmes shouted and gesticulated, clearing thestreets. A mounted attendant emerged from the arch-way; there followed four bay horses attached to a plain,dark, open carriage; upon the front seat were two gen-tlemen, upon the back, a gentleman with a lady by hisside. His hair was iron gray, almost silvery. Heturned his face from us as he raised his hat gravely tothe crowd, displaying a very perceptible bald spot uponthe back of his head as he was whizzed around the cor-ner and down the street. And that was NapoleonIII. We saw no American lady in Paris dressed sosimply as the empress. Something of black lace drapedher shoulders; a white straw bonnet, trimmed with black,with a few pink roses resting upon her hair, crowned herhead. She bowed low to the right and left, with a pe-culiar, graceful motion, and a smile upon the face a littleworn and pale, a little faded,- but yet the face we allknow so well. Beautiful Spanish woman, whose face

THE PARIS OF 1869. 87was your fortune, though you smiled that day upon thepeople, your cheeks were pale, your eyes were full oftears.There is nothing more wonderful in Paris than thetomb prepared to receive the remains of the first Na-poleon, in the chapel of the Hotel des Invalides; fitting,it would seem to be, that he should rest here among hisold soldiers. We left the carriage at the gateway, andcrossed the open court, mounted the wide steps, fol-lowed the half dozen other parties through the opendoors, and this was what we saw. At the farther endof the great chapel or church, an altar, approached bywide, marble steps; gilt and candles embellished it, anda large, gilt cross upon it bore an image of the crucifiedLord. All this was not unlike what we had seen manytimes. But four immense twisted columns rose fromits four corners columns of Egyptian marble, writh-ing like spotted serpents. They supported a canopyof gold, and the play of lights upon this, through thestained windows above and on either side, was indescrib-able. As we entered the door, darkness enveloped it,save where an invisible sun seemed to touch the roofof gold and rest lightly upon the pillars; an invisiblesun, indeed, for, without, the sky was heavy withclouds. As we advanced, this unearthly light touchednew points- the gilded candlesticks, the dying Saviour,but. above all the writhings of these monster ser-pents, until the whole seemed a thing of life, a some-thing which grew and expanded every moment, and wasalmost fearful to look upon. Filling the centre of thechapel was a circular marble wall breast-high. Do youremember, in going to the old Senate chamber at

88 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.Washington, after passing through the rotunda, thegreat marble well-curb down which you could look intothe room below ? This was like that, only more vast.Over it leaned a hundred people, at least, gazing down"upon what ? A circular, roofless room, a crypt to holda tomb; each pillar around its circumference was thecolossal figure of a woman; between these hung thetattered tri-colors borne in many a fierce conflict, be-neath the burning suns of Egypt and over the drearysnows of Russia, with seventy colors captured from theenemies of France. A wreath of laurel in the mosaicfloor surrounded the names Austerlitz, Marengo,' Fried-land, Jena, Wagram, Moscow, and Pyramids, and in thecentre rose the sarcophagus of Finland granite, pre-pared to hold the body of him whose.ambition knew nobounds. The letter N upon one polished side was theonly inscription it bore. He who wrote his name inblood needed no epitaph. The entrance to this crypt isthrough bronze doors, behind the altar, and gained bypassing under it. On either side stood a colossal figurein bronze; kings they seemed to be, giant kings, in longblack robes and with crowns of black upon their heads.One held, upon the black cushion in his hands,a crown of gold and a golden sword; the other,a globe crowned with a cross and a golden sceptre.They were so grand, and dark, and still, theygazed upon us so fixedly fiom out their great, graveeyes, that I felt a chill in all my bones. They guardhis tomb. They hold his sword and sceptre whilehe sleeps. I almost expected the great doors toswing open at the touch of his hand, and to see himcome forth. Over these doors were his own words:

THE PARIS OF 1869. S9"I desire that my ashes may repose upon the banks ofthe Seine, in the midst of the French people I haveloved so well." On either side, as we came out, we readupon the tombs the names of Bertrand and Duroc, -faithful in death! We wondered idly whose remainswere guarded in the simple tomb near the door. It wassurrounded by an iron railing, and. bore no inscription.Who can it be, we said, that is nameless here amongthe brave? Little did we imagine at the time thathere rested the body of the great Napoleon, as it wasbrought from St. Helena; but his spirit seemed to per-vade the very atmosphere, and we came out into thegloom of the day as though we had, indeed, come fromthe presence of the dead.

90 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.CHAPTER VII.SIGHTS IN THE BEAUTIFUL CITY.The Gobelin tapestry. How and where it is made. Pere la-Chaise. Poor Rachel !- The baby establishment. " NowI lay me." The little mother. The old woman who livedin a shoe. The American chapel. Beautiful women andchildren. The last conference-meeting. " I'm a proof-reader, I am."B Y no means least among the places of interest inParis is the manufactory of the Gobelin tapestrywhich serves to adorn the walls of the palace salons.0, these long, tiresome salons, which must be visited,though your head is ready to burst with seeing,your feet to drop off with sliding and slipping overthe polished floors. The wicked stand upon slipperyplaces, and nothing so convinced us of the demoral-izing effect of foreign travel as our growing abilityto do the same. When you have seen one ortwo, you have seen all. There may be degrees ingorgeous splendor, but we were filled with all theappropriate and now-forgotten emotions at sight ofthe first, and one cannot be more than full. Many ofthe old palace apartments are dull and dingy beyondbelief, by no means the marble halls of our dreams;but of the others let me say something once for all.

SIGHTS IN THE BEAUTIFUL CITY. 91Under your feet is the treacherous, bare floor of darkwood, laid in diamonds, squares, &c.; over your head,exquisite frescoes of gods and goddesses, and all man-ner of unearthly and impossible beings enveloped inclouds by the bale, -usually an apotheosis of someking or queen, or both, and, as a rule, of the mostwicked known at that time. The Medici were es-pecially glorified and raised above the flesh, andthey had need to be. On every side pictures in Gobelintapestry, framed into the walls, often so large as tocover the entire space from corner to corner, from cor-nice to within a few feet of the floor, and in this latterspace doors, formed of a panel sometimes, for the en-trance and egress of servants. Imagine, with all this,the gilt, and stucco, and wood-carving ; the flowers,and arabesques, and entwined initials; the massivechandeliers, with glittering pendants; the mantels ofrare marbles, of porphyry, and malachite; the cabinets,and tables, and escritoires of marqueterie and mosaic;the gilded chairs, stiff and stark, richly covered; thebronzes, vases, and curious clocks: and over all theair of having never been used from all time, and ofcontinuing to be a bare show to all eternity,-and youhave a faint conception of the salons of half thepalaces.As for the tapestry, pray don't confound it with theworsted dogs and Rebekahs-at-the-Well with which wesometimes adorn (?) our homes, since one would neverin any way suggest the other. In these every delicateline is faithfully reproduced, and the effect exactly thatof an oil painting. After long years the colors fade;and we were startled sometimes, in the old palaces, to4

O92 AN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.come upon one of these gray shadows of pictures, outirom which, perhaps, a pair of wonderful eyes alonewould seem to shine. In old times the roughly wallsof the grim prison palaces were hung with tapestrywrought by the fair fingers of court ladies, the designsof tournament and battle being rudely sketched by gaygallants. Many a bright dream was worked into thecanvas, I doubt not, never found upon. the pattern;many a sweet word said over the task that beguiledthe dull hours, and kept from mischief idle hands.But in the reign of Louis XIV. the art of weavingtapestry was brought from Flanders, and a manufac-tory established on the outskirts of Paris which stillremains. To visit it a pass is required. Accordinglywe addressed a note of solicitation to some high official,and in due time came a permit for Madame K. andfamily; and an ill-assorted family we must have ap-peared to the official at the gate. There were therooms, hung with specimens of the tapestry, for whichwe. did not care, and then the six devoted to the weav-ing; long, low, and narrow they were, with hand-loomsranged down one side. Through the threads of thewarp we could see the weavers sitting behind theirwork, each with his box of worsteds and pattern be-side him. The colors were wound upon quills, num-bers of which hung, each by its thread, from the half-completed work. Taking one of these in one hand,the workman dexterously separated the threads of thewarp with the other, and passed the quill through,pressing down the one stitch thus formed with itspointed end. You can imagine how slow this workmust be. How tiresome a task it is to delight the eyes

SIG TS IN THE BEAUTIFUL C1TT. 9.3.of princes! The making of carpets, which has beenrecently added, is equally tiresome. This, too, is handwork, they being. woven in some way over a roundstick, and then cut and trimmed with a pair of shears.To make one requires from five to ten years, and theircost is from six to twenty thousand dollars. About sixhundred weavers are said to be here, though we sawbut a small proportion of that number. They receiveonly from three to five hundred dollars a year, with apension of about half as much if they are disabled.From the Gobelins we drove across the Seine again,and out to Pare la-Chaise, where stood once the house ofthe confessor of Louis XIV., from whom the cemeterytakes its name, the Jesuit priest through whose influ-ence the edict of Nantes was revoked. A kind ofghastly imitation of life it all seemed the narrowhouses on either side of the paved streets, that were nothouses at all, hung with dead flowers and corpse-likewreaths, stained an unnatural hue. We peered throughthe bars of the locked gate opening into the Jews'quarter, trying to distinguish the tomb where lie theashes of a life that blazed, and burned itself out. PoorRachel! Through the solemn streets, among the quietdwellings of the noiseless city, whence comes no soundof joy or grief, where they need no candle, neitherlight of the sun, we walked a while, then plucked aleaf or two, and came away.One day, when the sun lay hot upon the whitestreets of the beautiful city, we searched among theshops of the crooked Faubourg St. IIonor for a nun-ber forgotten now, and the Creche, where the workingmothers may leave their children during the day. In