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Group Title: Mrs. Follen's twilight stories ;, 7
Title: Travellers' stories
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00027050/00001
 Material Information
Title: Travellers' stories
Series Title: Mrs. Follen's twilight stories
Physical Description: 96 p. : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Follen, Eliza Lee Cabot, 1787-1860
Lee and Shepard ( Publisher )
Lee, Shepard & Dillingham ( Publisher )
Boston Stereotype Foundry ( Electrotyper )
Publisher: Lee and Shepard
Lee, Shepard and Dillingham
Place of Publication: Boston
New York
Manufacturer: Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry
Publication Date: 1873
 Subjects
Subject: Brothers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Parent and child -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Description and travel -- Juvenile fiction -- Europe   ( lcsh )
Hand-colored illustrations -- 1873   ( local )
Travelogue storybooks -- 1873   ( local )
Bldn -- 1873
Genre: Hand-colored illustrations   ( local )
Travelogue storybooks   ( local )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
United States -- New York -- New York
 Notes
General Note: Baldwin Library copy illustrations are hand-colored: probably by young owner.
Statement of Responsibility: by Mrs. Follen ; illustrated with engravings.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00027050
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: notis - ALH0121
oclc - 60404810
alephbibnum - 002229786

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Full Text





,


UNIVERSITY
OF FLORIDA
LIBRARIES


The Baldwin Library
Iml9 d I


- ----- --- -----











MRS. FOLLETS TWil HT STliRIEm .


1.- TRUE STORIES ABOUT DOGS AND CATS.
2.- MADE-UP STORIES.
3.- THE PEDLER OF DUST STICKS.
4.- THE OLD GARRET. PART I.
5.- THE OLD GARRET. PART II.
6.- THE OLD GARRET. PART III.
7. TRAVELLERS' STORIES.
s. WHAT THE ANIMALS DO AND SAY.
9.- MAY MORNING AND NEW YEAR'S EVE.
10. CONSCIENCE.
11. PICCOLISSIMA.
12. LITTLE SONGS.












7~








TRAV3ELLERW~





0 i-"AF


BY MRS.


Fk&; Le A ,
F 0 L LE N.


BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEWV YORK:
LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.
1873.

























Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by

WmITTEMORE, NILES, AND HALL,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.


ELEOTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.











TRAVELLERS' STORIES.













IT is the pleasant twilight hour, and Frank
and Harry Chilton are in their accustomed
seat by their mother's side in the old sofa,
that same comfortable old sofa, which might
(5)







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


have.listened to many pleasant and interesting
stories that will never be told.
Mother, said Frank, you have often prom-
ised us that some time you would tell us about
your travels in Europe. This is a good stormy
evening, and no one will come in to interrupt
you; so please, dear Mother, tell us all you can
remember.
It is now, boys, five years since my return
from Europe. Much that I did and saw while
there I forget. However, as I have been lately
looking over my hasty journal, I will see what
I can remember.
On the first of August I set sail in the
steamer Caledonia for England. At four o'clock
in the afternoon, we were out of sight of land;
one by one, we had taken leave of every ob-
ject which could be seen from the departing






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


vessel; and now nothing was visible to us but
the sky, th3 ocean meeting it in its wide, un-
broken circle the sun gradually sinking in the
west, and our small but only house, the ship.
How strange, how sublime the scene was! so
lonely, so magnificent, so solemn At last the
sun set, gilding the clouds, and looking, to my
tearful eyes, as if that too said farewell! Then
the moon appeared; and the long, indefinite
line of light from where her rays first touched
the waters to our ship, and the dancing of the
Waves as they crossed it, catching the light as
they passed, were so beautiful that I was unwill-
ing to leave the deck when the hour for rest
arrived.
The wind was against us, and we did not get
on\very fast; but I enjoyed the novel scene
the next day, and passed all my time on deck,






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


watching the sailors and the passengers, and
noticing the difference between Englishmen
and Americans.
On Sunday it was very cold, and the wind,
still contrary, rose higher and higher; it was
impossible to set any sail, but I still kept on
deck, and thus avoided sickness. Soon after
breakfast I saw a white foam rising in different
places occasionally, and was told that it was
whales spouting; I saw a great number, arid
enjoyed it highly. Presently some one called
out, "An iceberg!" and, far off against the
sky, I saw this floating wonder. It was very
beautiful; such a dazzling white, so calm and
majestic, and so lonely; it was shaped, as I
thought, like an old cathedral, but others
thought like a sleeping lion, taking what I
called the ruined tower for his head and mane.






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


Soon after this, the man on the lookout
cried, Steamship America;" and in a few mo-
ments more we saw her coming swiftly towards
us with her sails all set, for the wind was fair
.for her. Captain Leitch then told me that he
should stop his vessel and send a boat on board,
and that ie would send a letter by it if I would
write one quickly; to others he said the same
thing. In a moment the deck was* cleared,
and in a few more moments all had returned
with their letters; and never was there a more
beautiful sight than these two fine steamers
manoeuvring to stop at a respectful distance
from each other; then our little boat was
lowered, and 0, how pretty it was to see her
dancing over the rough waves to the other
steamer! We sent to the America the sad
news of the loss of the Kestrel. After what






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


seemed to us a long time, the boat returned
and brought papers, &c., but no important
news; and in a few moments the two steamers
courtesied to each other, and each went on her
way.
After six days, the waves had risen to a ter-
rible height; the wind was all but a gale; the
ocean, as far as one could see, was one roaring
foam; one after another the angry billows rose
to the height of twenty or thirty feet, and
rolled on, curling over their green sides, and
then broke with a voice of thunder against
our vessel.
I crawled out of the cabin, assisted by two
gentlemen, and from the lower deck saw the
sublime commotion over the bulwarks, when
the ship rolled over on the side where I was
sitting. The sea broke over our vessel repeat-







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


edly; it went over the top of, the smoke-pipe,
and struck the fore-topsail in the .middle, but
did not hurt either of them. The fourth offi-
" cer was washed out of his berth by a sea when
he was asleep. One of the paddles broke, but
in a very short 'time was replaced. One of the
wheels was often entirely out of water, but no
harm was done us by any of these disasters;
and on we went safe through the troubled
waters.
At night, when we were planning how we
should secure ourselves from rolling about the
cabin, there came a sudden lurch of the ship,
and every thing movable was sent slam Ubng
on one side of the cabin; and such a crash of
crockery in the pantry! A few minutes after
came a sound as if we had struck a rock.
What is that ?" I asked of the stewardess.







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


"Only a sea, ma'am," she replied. In my
heart I holed we should not have another
such box on the ear.
We had .a horrid night, but the next day it
grew quieter, though it was still rough, and
the wind ahead. Soon after, it grew fair, and
the captain promised us that on Monday, be-
fore twelve o'clock, we should see Ireland;
and sure enough it was so. I was on deck
again just at twelve; the sun came out of the
clouds, and the mate took an observation.
"That is worth five pounds," said he; "now
I know just where we are."
Then the captain went up on the wheel-box,
and we heard the welcome sound, "Tory
Island." We were then greatly rejoiced; this
was the twelfth day of our voyage. At night,
for one hour, the wind blew a .gale, and the






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


ship rocked in a very disagreeable manner;
but at six o'clock on Tuesday morning we were
on deck, and there was the beautiful Welsh
coast, and Snowdon just taking off his night-cap;
and soon we saw England, that precious stone
set in a silver sea."
Next to the thought of friends whom we
had parted from for so long a time, my mind
during the voyage was occupied with the idea
of Columbus. When I looked upon the rude,
boundless ocean, and remembered that when
he set out with his little vessel to go to a land
that no one knew any thing of, not even that
there was such a land, he was guided altogether
by his faith in its existence; that he had no
sympathy, but only opposition; that he had no
charts, nothing but the compass, that sure but
mysterious guide,-the thought of his sublime







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


courage, of his patient faith, was so present to
my mind, that it seemed as if I was actually
sometimes in his presence.
The other idea was the wonderful skill dis-
played in the construction of the small, but
wonderfully powerful and beautifully arranged
and safe home, in which we were moving on
this immense and turbid ocean, carrying within
her the great central fire by which the engine
was moved, which, in spite of winds and waves,
carried us safely along; then the science which
enabled the master of this curious nutshell of
man's contriving to know just in what part of
this waste of trackless waters we were. All
these things I knew before, and had often
thought of them, but was never so impressed
with them; it was almost as if they were new
to me.







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


Before I quit the ocean, I must tell you of
what I saw for which I cannot account, and,
had not one of the gentlemen seen it too, I
should almost have doubted my senses. When
we were entirely out of sight of land, I saw a
white butterfly hovering over the waves, and
looking as if he were at home. Where the
beautiful creature came from, or how he lived,
or what would become of him, no one could
tell. He seemed to me to be there as a sym-
bol and a declaration that the souls of those
whose bodies lay in the ocean were yet living
and present with those they had loved.
When we arrived at Liverpool, we found a
very dear friend, whom we had known in
America, on the wharf ready to' receive us.
He took us to his house, and we felt that we
were not, after all, in a strange land. Love







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


and kindness are the home of all souls, and
show us what heaven must be.
The thing that impressed me most was the
dim light. of the English day, the soft, un-
defined shadows, compared with eur brilliant
sunshine and sharply defined shade then
the coloring of the houses, the streets, the
ground, of every thing; no bright colors, all
sober, som% very dark, the idea of age,
gravity, and stability. Nobody seems in a hur-
ry. Our country seems so young and vehe-
ment; this so grave and collected!
Now I will tell you something about my visit
to my dear friend Harriet Martineau, whose
beautiful little books, Feats on the Fiord,"
" The Crofton Boys," and the others, you love
so much to read. She lives at Ambleside, in
what is called the Lake Country. Ambleside







TRlAVELLERS' STOPTLS


is a beautiful country town in the valley of
the Rotha, and not far from Lake Windermere.
Around the town rise high hills, which perhaps
may be called mountains. These mountains
2 '






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


are not, like many of ours, clothed to the sum-
mit with thick wild forests, but have fewer
trees, and are often bare at the summit. The
mixture of gray rock and green grass forms such
a beautiful coloring over their graceful and
sometimes grotesque outline that you would
not have-them other than they are. *
The Ambleside houses are of dark-gray
stone, and almost all of them have ivy and
flowers about them. One small house, the old-
est in the village, was several hundred years
old; and out of all the crevices between the
stones hung harebells and other wild flowers;
one side of it and much of the roof were cov-
ered with ivy. This house was only about ten
feet square, and it looked to me like a great
rustic flower pot.
I should like some time to read you a de-






R. RAVELLERS ;TORIES. 19

* scription of this lovely place, written by Miss
Martineau herself. Then you will almost hear
the murmuring sound of the Brathay and the
Rotha, and breathe the perfume of the wild
heather, and catch the freshness of the morn-
ing breeze, as she offers you these mountain
luxuries in her glowing words.
Miss Martineau lives a little out of the vil-
lage. You drive up to the house through a
shrubbery of laurels, and roses, and fuschias,
and other plants,- young trees and flowers,
to the -beautiful little porch, covered with
honeysuckles and creeping plants. The back
of the house is turned to the road, and the
front looks out over the loveliest green mead-
ows, to the grand, quiet hills, sometimes clear
and sharp in their outline against the blue sky,
and at other wreathed with mist; and one






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


might sit for hours at the large bay window
in the parlor, watching these changes, and ask-
ing no other enjoyment.
It was also a great pleasure to witness the
true and happy life of my friend. I saw
there the highest ideas of duty, usefulness,
and benevblence carried into daily practice.
Miss Martineau took us one morning to see
the poet Wordsworth. He lived in a low, old-
fashioned stone house, surrounded by laurels,
and roses, and fuschias, and other flowers and
flowering shrubs. The porch is all covered
with ivy. We*found the venerable man in his
low, dark parlor. He very kindly showed us
his study, and then took us over his grounds.
When we took our leave, I asked him to
give each of us a leaf from a fine laurel tree
near him; this he did very kindly, and smiled






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


as kindly at my effort at a compliment, in say-
ing to him something about one who had
received so many laurels having some to spare
to others. I thanked him for his goodness in
giving me so much of his time, and bade the
venerable man good by, very much pleased
with my visit, and very grateful to the kind
friend who had introduced me to him, and in-
sured me a welcome. I shall never forget
that day.
Ambleside is a very fashionable place for
travellers to visit in the summer months, and
we saw there many distinguished and agree-
able people.
I had a conversation with an intelligent lad
of fourteen years of age, which impressed me
very much. He was talking with me about
our country and finding faults with it of vari-







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


ous kinds. While I could, I defended it. He
thought our revolution was only a rebellion.
I told him that all revolutions were only suc-
cessful rebellions, and. that we bore with the
tyranny of his country as long as we could.
"I don't like the Americans," said he; he
blushed as he thought of the discourtesy of
saying this to me, and then added, they are
so inconsistent; they call themselves repub-
licans, and then hold slaves, and that is so
wicked and absurd." He went on to say all
he thought and felt about the wickedness of
slavery. I heard him to the end, and then
said, "There is nothing you have said upon
that subject that I do not. agree to entirely.
You cannot say too much against slavery; .but
I call myself an abolitionist, and while I live, I
mean to say and do all I can against it. There






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


are many people in America, also, who feel as
I do, and we hope to see it abolished."
While we were in Westmoreland, we made
an excursion of four days among the, beautiful
lakes. Miss Martineau was our guide and
companion. She knows the name of every
mountain, every lake, every glen and dale,
every stream and tarn, and her guidance lent
a new charm to the scenes of grandeur and
beauty through which she conducted us.
We took a vehicle which the people call a'
jaunting car; it is a square open carriage with
two side seats and a door behind; and is
drawn by one horse. Two easy steps and-a
door easily opened let you in and out when
you please. The car holds four persons. The
driver has a seat in front, and under it he tied
our carpet bag.







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


Never did four solds enjoy themselves more
than we on this little excursion. I could not
give you an adequate idea of-what we saw, or
of the pleasure we took. Think of coming
down from one of these beautiful hills into
Eskdale, or Ennesdale, of walking four miles
on the banks of Ullswater, of looking with
your living eyes on Derwent Water, Grass-
mere, Windermere, and many other lovely
spots of which you have seen pictures and
read descriptions; and of being one in the
pleasantest party in the world, as you think,
stopping where, and when, and as long as any
one pleases.
It was on this journey that I first saw a
real ruin. The ruins of Calder Abbey I had
never heard of; but the impression it made
upon me I can never forget; partly, perhaps,







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


that it was the first ruin upon which I ever gazed.
One row of the pillars' of the great aisle re-
mains standing. The answering row is gone.
Two tall arches of the body of the main building
remain also, and different pieces of the walls.
It is of sandstone; the clusters of columns in
the aisle look as if they were almost held to-
gether by the ivy and honeysuckles that wave
around their mouldering capitals with every
motion of the wind. In every crevice, the
harebell, the foxglove, and innumerable other
flowers peep forth, and swing in the wind.
On the tops of the arches and walls large
flowering shrubs are growing; on the highest
is a small tree, and within the walls are oak
trees more than a century old. The abbey
was built seven hundred years ago; and the
ruins that are now standing look as if they






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


might stand many centuries longer. The
owner of the place hls made all smooth and
nice around it, so that you may imagine the
floor of the church to look like green velvet.
It seems as if. the ivy and the flowers were
caressing and supporting the abbey in its beau-
tiful old age.
As I walked under the arches and upon the
soft green turf, that so many years ago had
been a cold rough stone pavement, trodden
by beings like myself; and felt the flowers and
vines hanging 'from the mouldering capitals
touchmy face; and saw, in the place where
was once a confessional, an oak tree that had
taken centuries to grow, and whose top
branches mingled with the smiling crest of
flowers that crowned the tops of the highest
arches,- the thought of the littleness and the






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


greatness of man, and the everlasting beauty
of the works of the Creator, almost over-
whelmed me ; and I felt that, after all, I was
not in a 'decaying, ruined temple, but in an
everlasting church, that would grow green and
more beautiful and perfect as time passes on.
There is a fine old park around these lovely
ruins; and, not far off, a beautiful stream of
water, with a curious bridge over it. The old
monks well knew how to choose beautiful places
to live in. All harmonizes, except-I grieve
to tell of it-a shocking modern house, very
near, very ugly, and, I suppose, ridiculously
elegant and comfortable inside." From this
hideosity you must resolutely turn away; hnd
then you may say, as I did, that your mortal
eyes have never rested on any thing so lovely
as the ruins of Calder Abbey.







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


Sometimes Miss Martineau would tell us
some pretty legend, or some' good story.
This was one of the legends: Near the bor-
ders of the Ullswater is the beautiful Ara
Force, one of the most lovely falls I have seen
in England. One may stand below, and look
up. at the rushing stream, or above, on the top
of the fall. Here, long ago, in the time of the
crusades, stood a pair of lovers; and here
grows an old oak which was their trysting tree.
The lady was of noble birth, and lived in a
castle near by; and her true knight used to
come at the still hour of evening to meet her
at the Ara Force.
At length the lover was called away to the
Holy Land. As he left his lady, he vowed to
be her true knight, and to return and wed her.
Many long days passed away, and the lady






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


waited in vain for her true knight. Though
she heard often from others of his chivalrous
deeds in the East, yet no word came from him
to tell her he was faithful; and she began to
fear that he was no longer true to her, but
was serving some other lady. Despair at last
came upon-her; and she grew wan and pale,
and slept no longer soundly: but, when the
world was at rest, she would rise in her sleep,
and wander to the trysting tree, and pluck off
the green oak leaves, and throw them into the
foaming water.
The knight was all this time faithful, but
was not able to send word to his lady love.
At last, he returned to England, and hastened
towards the castle where she lived.
It was late at night when he came to the
Ara Force; and he sat him down under the






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


trysting tree to wait for the morning. When
he had been there a long time, he saw a figure
approach, all in white, and pluck off the oak
leaves, and fling them into the stream. Angry
to see the sacred tree thus injured, he rose to
prevent it. The figure started and awoke.
In a moment he knew his beloved-lady. She
was now on the frail bridge. The sudden
shock, and the roar of the Force below, had
made her giddy. He leaped forward to em-
brace and save her. Alas too. late. Her foot
slipped, and she fell. It was all over. The
water tumbling far down into the rocky
chasm beneath told the story of death.
The knight was .inconsolable. He retired
from the world forever, and built a monastery
near by, on the borders of the lake, where
he died.






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


The frail bridge is now gone, and a strong
plank, with a railing,- supplies its place. IIut
the water still roars down the rock as on the
fatal night; and the foam and spray look as if
the. white garments of the fair lady were still
fluttering over the deep below.
From Ambleside I went with some friends
to visit Dr. Nichol at Glasgow. We took coach
first, and then the railroad. For the sake of
economy we took. a second class carriage. The
second class carriages, on the English railroad,
are, in fact, boxes with small holes for windows,
from which you may, if you are not very short,
see something of the world you are flying
through, but not much. Good, honest, hard
boards are on the floor, sides, tops, and seats;
in short, all around you. The backs are not
slanted at all. You must sit bqlt upright, or






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


not sit at all. Now and then, these vehicles
have a thin leather on the seats not often.
Nothing can be more luxurious than a first
class carriage. The floors are nicely carpeted,
the seats and backs are all stuffed; each seat
is a very nice easy chair. You can sleep in
them almost as well as in a bed; but these
carriages are very expensive; and on this ac-
count many of the gentry take those of-the
second class, hard as they are.
We arrived at Glasgow at eight o'clock in
the evening, and were unfortunate enough, to
have a driver to the vehicle we took, who did
not know where the Observatory was. We knew
that it was three miles from the city, and not
much more. We were advised by a gentleman,
who was in the same railroad box with us, to
take a noddy, or a minibus, to the Observatory.







TRAVELLERS' STORIES. 33

What these things were, of course, we'could
only guess, and we did not care much, so we
could only get out of our wooden box. We
came *to the conclusion that we could sympa-
thize tolerably well with poor Box Brown.
We, as we had been advised, took a noddy.
A minibus is only a small omnibus. A noddy
is a contrivance that holds four, and has a door
at the end, and only one horse, very like a
Yankee cab.
Glasgow, as every one knows, is one of the
greatest manufacturing cities in the world.
Before we arrived, we were astonished at the
great fires from the iron works in the environs;
and, as the streets were well lighted, our eyes
were dazzled and delighted with the whole
scene, and we were so pleased with the com-
fort of our noddy, that we did not at first feel
3







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


troubled at the fact that neither our driver nor
we knew where Dr. Nichol's house was. Pres-
ently we found ourselves left in the middle of
the street, and saw our noddy man, in a shop
as bright as day, poring over a directory. All
he could learn was what we had already told
him, and so on he went, not knowing whether
right or wrong, giving us a fine opportunity of
seeing the city in the evening. At last, he
came to the bridge over the Clyde, and there
the tollman directed us to the Observatory.
After a long drive, evidently over not a very
good road, the driver stopped, and told us that
here was Dr. Nichol's house. He began to
take off our luggage. We insisted upon his
inquiring, first, if .that was Dr. Nichol's. He
took off our trunk, and would have us go in;.
we resisted; and after, a while he rang the







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


bell, and the answer was, Dr. Nichol lives in
the next house." Still higher we had to climb,
and at last stopped at the veritable Observa-
tory, where our friend, who was expecting us,
lived. Nothing could exceed the hospitality
with which we were received.
Early, one misty, smoky morning, I embarked
in one of the famous little Clyde steamers, and
set out on a Highland tour. I had heard of
old Sco.tia's barren hills, clothed with the pur-
ple heather and the yellow gorse, of her deep
glens, of her romantic streams; but the reality
went far beyond the description, or my imagina-
tion. The hills are all bare of trees, but their
outline is very beautiful and infinitely varied.
Picture to yourself a ridge of hills or mountains
all purple with the heather, relieved with the
silver-gray of the rocks and with patches of the






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


bright yellow gorse, and all this harmony of
color reflected in the green sea water which
runs winding far in among the hills. As the
light changes, these colors are either brought
out more strongly, or mingle into one soft
lilac color, or sometimes a sort of purple-gray.
Your eye is enchanted, and never weary of
looking and admiring. I would not have any
trees on the Scotch hills; I would not have
them other than they are. If I were dying
I could look at them with joy; they are
lovely beyond words to tell.
I was on all the most celebrated and beauti-
ful lakes. I was rowed in an open boat, by
two Highland youths, from one end of Loch
Katrine to the other, and through those beau-
tiful, high, heather, rocky banks at one end
of the lake, called the Trosachs. These ex-






TRAVELLERS' STORIES. 6i





















quisite rocks are adorned, and every crevice
fringed and festooned with harebells, heather,
gorse, and here and there beautiful evergreen
trees. We passed by "Ellen's Isle," as it is






38 TRAVELLERS' STORIES.

called, the most exquisite little island ever
formed, a perfect oval, and all covered with
the purple heather, the golden gorse, and all
sorts of flowers and exquisitely beautiful trees.
0, what a little paradise it is! A number
of little row-boats, with fine-looking Highland
rowers and gay companies of ladies and gen-
tlemen, were visiting the island as we passed.
They show the oak tree to which they say
Ellen fastened her boat. It was beautiful to
see the glancing of the sunlight on the oars of
these boats, and the bright colors of the shawls
and bonnets of the ladies in them, and to wit-
ne.ss this homage to nature and genius which
they were paying in their visit to Ellen's Isle.
I was glad to join them, and do reverence too.
The heather is usually not more than two feet
high, sometimes higher, but often shorter;





TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


but on Ellen's Isle it grows to the height of
four and five feet.
Just before we came to Oban, we passed the
estate of Lord Heigh, where we heard the fol-
lowing story. The origin of his name and
rank is this: When King Kenneth ruled, in
Scotland, he was beaten in a great battle by
the Danes, and his army scattered among the
hills, while the enemy was marching home
in triumph. A man in the Scottish army said
that he knew a pass through which the victor
must go, where one man might stop a thousand,
and offered himself and his two sons to defend
it. He came to the pass armed only with an
ox-yoke, but made such use of his weapon
that the Danes were kept at bay, till the
Scots rallied and cut them to pieces. When
Kenneth reached the pass, he found his brave


. 39






40 TRAVELLERS' STORIES.

subject lying in truth quite exhausted. He
raised him up, and inquired his name; the
fainting man could only gasp, "Heigh-ho,
high From that moment he was called the
Lord of Heigh, and the king gavy him as much
land as an eagle could fly over without alight-
ing. The family arms are an eagle on the
wing over an ox-yoke.
At Edinburgh, I went to see the Regalia,
which are kept in a small room in the castle, in
which they were found after being buried there
for more than a century. It is a small room,
not more than twelve feet square. On one
side is the iron chest in which the Regalia were
found; and in the middle of the room is a
marble table, entirely white, surrounded by an
iron grating, on which is the crown which
Robert Bruce had made for himself, the sword






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


of James the First, the signet ring of Charles
the First, and other jewels that had belonged
to some of the Scottish kings. Around these
and the other insignia of their former. royalty
the lamps are always burning. This is an altar
sacred to Auld Lang Syne.
I arrived in York at half past two o'clock at
night. All was dark in the city, save the lights
in the large station, where we were let out of
our boxes with our lh'-:'.ie. We had con-
trived occasionally to lie down on the hard
wooden seats, resting our heads on our carpet
bags, and, by a little entreaty, had secured a
box to ourselves, so that we were not quite so
weary as we might have been, and were in
good spirits for what was before us, which was
to hunt up a lodging place for the remainder
of the night, for all the inns were closed.






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


After a while, we got a porter to take the
luggage. After some hard knocking we roused
an innkeeper, and by three o'clock we were
all in as good beds as mortals could desire.
At nine o'clock we breakfasted, and at ten
my delighted eyes rested on the real, living
York Minster; the dream of my youth was
realized, and I stood in its majestic presence.
I entered; the service had just begun; the or-
gan was playing, they were chanting. You
could not tell from whence the. music came.
It was every where; it enters your soul like a
beautiful poetic thought, and you know not
what possesses you. Only your whole soul is
full of worship, peace, and joy. I could hardly
keep from falling on my knees. Look at the
fine engravings, and study it all out as well as






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


you can; still you can form no adequate idea
of the effect of those endless arches, of the
exquisite carving in stone, of the flowers,
strange figures, and in short every wild, every
grotesque thing that you can or cannot im-
agine., Well' has it been called a great poem
in stone,- such grace, such aspiration, such
power, such harmony. 0, it was worth cross-
ing the Atlantic, that first impression.
After the service, I took a guide and went
all over this miracle of beauty and genius,
and read the inscriptions and saw the curi-
osities.
During my second stay in Liverpool, my
friend took me to Chester, that wonderful old
city, just on the.borders of Wales. If you can
imagine the front rooms of the second story






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


of a row of houses taken out, and in their place
a floor put over the lower story and a ceiling
under the upper story, and shops in the back
rooms, you will form some idea of Chester.
All the streets, nearly, are made in this way.
The carts and horses go in the narrow streets
. between the houses, but foot passengers walk
in this curious sort of piazzas, put into the
houses instead of being added to them. The
most elegant shops are here in thesQ back
rooms, and you walk for whole long streets
under cover, with the dwellings of the inhabit-
ants over your heads and under your feet.
Often the upper story shelves over the third,
so that you almost wonder why the house does
not tumble over.
A friend, whom I had never seen, did me the
honor to invite me to her hospitable mansion






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


in Manchester. It was indeed a great privi-
lege to be allowed to make a part of the fam-
ily circle, and sit with them by their fireside,
and be made to feel at home so far from one's
native land; and this I experienced all the
time I was in England.
I was- prepared for the appearance of Man-
chester. So I was not astonished at the num-
ber of tall chimneys, nor at the quantity of
smoke that issued from them. And I could
quite enter into the feelings of the friend who
told me that nothing was more melancholy
than to see a clear atmosphere over the town;
the blacker it looked the more prosperity was
indicated, and the more cause for rejoicing.
My kind friend took me to one of the great
print factories. My principal wish for going
was to see how the factory people looked,







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


__ AA


whether they seemed well and happy. I ob-
served them; they were well dressed, and were
cheerful in their appearance. There were a
few children employed, who looked healthy
*







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


and happy. There was at this factory a read-
ing room, nicely warmed and perfectly com-
fortable, where the workman, by subscribing a
0 penny or two a week, could obtain the right
to spend his leisure hours and see the period-
icals and newspapers. Each one had a vote in
deciding what these papers should be, as they
were paid for by the subscription money of
the laborers. The proprietors paid a certain
sum towards the. support of the reading room.
Of course, seeing one prosperous factory
and the fortunate workmen in it, in Manches-
ter, cannot enable one to form any adequate
judgment of the condition of the working
people.
I visited the Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb,
which appeared to me to have an admirable
teacher. One of his best aids is a young man






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


who was his pupil. The teacher desired me to
ask of this young man the meaning of some
word that had an abstract meaning. I asked
him what he understood by intelligence. He ,
put his +iand to his head, and thought for some
time, before he attempted to reply; then he
nearly covered the slate with his definition.
He evidently saw the difference between intel-
ligence and learning or knowledge, but had to
use many words to express his idea; but I
thought he had as clear a thought as any of
us. After he had given the best definition he
could, he added, There is another meaning to
the word : it means news, sometimes."
There was, at this Asylum, a little girl,
about twelve years old, who was blind, as well
as deaf and dumb. She was a very interesting
child from her countenance and manner, apart







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


from her infirmity. Her face was far more
beautiful than Laura Bridgman's; her head
Good, but not so fine at present, not so well
developed. Her eyes were closed, and her
long, dark lashes rested on her cheeks with a
mournful expression. The teacher was just
getting into communication with her, but had
to make many efforts, such as pressing her
head, her .heart, and shoulders, as well as her
hands. When he tried to tell her that Laura
Bridgman, in America, was in the same state
that she was, and that she had learned a great
deal, and had sent her love to all the deaf and
dumb, by a lady who had -come to see her, she
raised.her head, and looked as if trying to see
or hear, and then put out her hand. I took it,
and then told the teacher how Dr. Howe and
others communicated with Laura Bridgman







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


by moving their fingers, and making certain
impressions on the palm of her hand. As I
told him, I imitated the motions with my
fingers on the palm of her hand. She gave
one of those peculiar screams which Laura
Bridgman does, at times, when she is excited,
and her white face glowed with "pleasure and
strong emotion.
Her teacher told me I had put myself into
communication with her; but my heart- ached
to think I could do no more.
In a few moments we left her. She told
her teacher to tell me to give her love to
Laura Bridgman, and sat down again upon
her little bench, in the solitude of her perpet-
nal silence and blindness.
When I had been over the institution, and
seen the admirable work of the inmates, and







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


was about leaving, I had to pass near this
lovely child again. When I was within three
or four feet of her, she put out her hand and
took hold of me. It seemed as if she knew
me from the rest of the party, after I had thus
by chance spoken to her imprisoned soul. No
one will wonder that I could not keep the tears
out of my eyes.
I visited another collection of children, who
might have been still more unfortunate than
these but for the wise charity of the people of
Manchester. The Swinton Union School is a
large, noble building, in the outskirts of Man-
chester. The school is a fine looking place,
surrounded by nice gardens and grounds. It
can contain one thousand children; there were
then in it six hundred and fifty. They have a
fine, large, well-ventilated school room. They







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


have a large place to wash themselves, with
a sufficient number of separate, fixed basins,
arranged to admit and let off water, a towel
and piece of soap for each child; and they are
obliged to wash their faces and hands three
times a day. There are great tanks where
they are all bathed twice a week.
They have a fine infant school for the little
ones, most admirably managed. The large
girls are taught to wash, and iron, and do house-
work. The boys are, some of them, taught the
tailor's trade, and some the shoemaker's, and
others the baker's. It was a pretty sight to
see the little fellows sitting on their legs,
making their own jackets and trousers, and
laughing together, and looking as happy a.s
boys can look; and just so with the little shoe-
makers. They work only four hours, and then






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


another ket take their place. The room was
large and airy, and perfectly comfortable. I
saw the clothes they had made, all nicely
pressed and put away in their storerooms,
ready for wear. So with the shoes; they
mended their old shoes and their old clothes
themselves.
I saw those of the children who were not at
work, at play; for the school hours were past.
I saw their happy faces, their clean, tidy clothes,
and their long rows of nice, clean beds, for I
went into every part of the house, and a beau-
tiful sight it all was. In the kitchen some
girls were making up the bread, and most ex-
cellent bread it was, and a good, large, thick
slice there was for every one. I saw the dining
hall, and all that belonged to that part of the
concern, and all was just what it ought to be.






04: TRAVELLERS' STORIES.

Now, you must know that these are, all, the
children of paupers-children who have no
earthly parents, children that the public muct
take care of, or they would live or die in the
streets. All the different parishes have erected
this building, and put in the best teachers, and
furnished it as I have related to you, and there
placed these poor children, who were growing
up in vice and, misery. Here they are taught
habits of order, industry, and obedience, and
learn a way of supporting themselves honestly,
and are kept till they are old enough to be
put apprentice to some good person who will
treat them well. So, instead of six hundred
and fifty ignorant, reckless vagrants, the com-
munity receives that number of well-instructed,
well-brought-up individuals,. who can support
themselves decently and respectably.






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


An English country home, where education,
high breeding, easy circumstances, old trees,
room enough, and a merry family circle, make
life beautiful this had always been one of
my dreams of earthly happiness. All this was






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


realized at Mrs. C-'s, at Chobham, where I
stopped for a visit on my way to London.
Every day my kind friends devised some lit-
tle plan for my amusement, beyond the con-
stant pleasure of the every-day life. One day
they took me to Windsor, which, you know, is
one of the queen's country palaces. We ap-
proached it through the famous avenue of
elms in the park. The effect of the castle,
seen through that long, long vista, is very fine.
The English elm, though not so graceful as
ours, is more grand and stately, and better for
architectural effects. There were many deer
in the park, which added much to its beauty.
At last we were at the castle; it is a fine build-
ing, but would be far more picturesque in ruins
than in its present perfect state. We went
first into the chapel; this is exquisitely beauti-







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


ful. The Gothic clusters. of pillars springing
up from the floor rise unbroken to the roof,
and spread oiit like palm trees. The embla-
zoned coats of arms of the knights of the gar-
ter hanging all around on the pillars of the
chapel, the beautiful carved ornaments like lace-
work, and many other rare*and lovely objects,
make the royal chapel 'very magnificent. There
was a horrible old woman who went screeching
about the room, showing the pictures, &c. She
was particularly apropos in calling us, when she
found we were Americans, into a corner of the
chapel to show us the tomb of Lord Harcourt,
who is there represented receiving the sword
of some unfortunate American general, and
shrieked out with her cracked voice, I thought
this might interest you."
After feasting my eyes long enough upon the






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


chapel, I went into the castle, and joined one of
those batches of human beings which are driven
through the state apartments by the guide.
The rooms are magnificent. One contains a
beautiful collection of pictures by Vandyke.
We saw the grand malachite vase, presented
to Victoria by the Emperor of Russia, large
enough to hold one or two men. After seeing
the rooms, we ascended the tower, whence is a
fine view. We then walked on the terrace,
and went to join the rest of our party, who
had gone before- us to the hotel.
We then went to get a look at the famous
Eton school, about a mile distant. The Eton
boys amused me much. They go there very
young, and remain there a long while, till they
are ready to enter the universities. Their
dress indicates their advancement in age and






TRAVELLERS' STORIES. Oy

standing. First comes a jacket, then a little
suspicion of a tail, which gradually lengthens
and widens as maturity comes on, till, at last,
it is a perfect tail coat. I saw specimens in
these various stages of growth.
After one of the happiest weeks that ever
mortals passed, I said a reluctant farewell, and
departed for London, where more kind friends,
whom I had never seen, were expecting my
arrival. I can now, in my mind's eye, see all
the dear family on the steps or in the hall
door, giving us their parting blessing, and the
old comfortable-looking gentlemanly butler, ar-
ranging my luggage. One of the dear family
accompanied me to the railroad, and saw me
fairly on my way to London. 0
- In London we again enjoyed the great
pleasure of being received like old friends, not







IOU TRAVELLERS' STORIES.
*





















on account of our real merits, for we were per,
sonally2strangers, but for other reasons, which
made us feel the same sort of gratitude we do
for the blessed sunshine, or any of the other
gifts of the good God.






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


The first of the wonders of London which I
visited was Westminster Abbey. There was
in my soul an intense feeling of worship, Wvor-
ship of that unseen Presence to whom the
building had been erected. The graceful col-
umns and arches, springing up from the
ground, .and seeming to aspire to heaven; the
painted windows, with their mystical figures;
the dim, religious light; the marble statues, in
the distance looking like ghosts; the historical
recollections; the sound of your footsteps, as
you tread silently the "long-drawn aisles ;" the
chilly air; all awakened within me a sense of
awe and solemn pleasure such as I had never
before felt. York Minster, glorious as it is, has
not such a voice as Westminster Abbey.
On both of the Sundays that I was in Lon-
don, I was present at the afternoon service, and






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


heard there truly divine music. There is no
describing and no forgetting the effect of one
of those sublime religious -strains that seem to
burst forth from you know not where, and
swell and grow fuller and louder, and then
more and more distant, and fainter and fainter,
till you think it dying in the distance, and
then gush out with an overwhelming fulness
of harmony-and beauty. One feels as if he
would hear such strains at the hour of death.
Our next object was St. Paul's. How differ
ent! how very different! In a Gothic building,
you think that the artist, who designed it; had
in mind the idea of the solemn forest where
the crossing branches produce all those beauti-
ful lines and forms, which so delight your eye,
and where the dim, mysterious light awakens
and accords with the religious sentiment; but






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


the effect of the great dome, which suggests
the open sky, is entirely opposite. The effect
upon your mind of standing in the middle of
St. Paul's is very impressive; but what moved
me most was the sound of the people without
the walls. No one of our party spoke, and the
noise of the busy multitude without was like the
waves of the ocean. I had heard the voice of
many waters while coming over the-Atlantic, and
there is no exaggeration; it is just such a sound,
such an ebbing and flowing, and yet such a full
and constant roar, as the waves make after con-
tinued high winds. It was truly sublime, this
concentrated sound of this living multitude of
human beings, these breathing and hearings
of the heart of the mighty monster, London.
We were shown all over the cathedral; we
first ascended to the inside gallery, and walked






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


around, looking down upon the whole interior;
we then visited the clock, and we heard and
felt the. quiver of its tremendous voice. We
next entered the famous whispering gallery,
which is made around the base of the dome
inside. The faintest whisper is heard at the
point opposite that whence it comes. Then
we went outside, and walked some time around
the dome; gazing about with great delight.
Then we ascended to the Golden Gallery, as it
is called from the fact that the balustrade is
gilded. It runs around the top of the dome.
From here, you see London all spread out like
a map before you, its towers, its spires, all
its multitudinous abodes, lie beneath your eye.
One little thing remained. The ball was yet
above us. The gentlemen of our party went
up various perpendicular ladders, and at last






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


pulled themselves through a small hole into
the ball. There is room, I think, there for a
dozen people, if well packed, not to stand, walk,
or sit, however'; these things the nature of the
place forbids. It is. a strange feeling, they say,
to crouch in this little apartment and hear the
wind roaring and shaking the golden cross
above. The whole ball shakes somewhat, and
by a sudden movement one can produce quite
a perceptible motion.
We descended the infinity of stairs, and en-
tered the crypt, as it is called, under the church.
There were many grand tombs there. Nelson's
occupies the centre, and is a fine work. But
what impressed me most was the tomb of Sir
Christopher Wren himself; a simple tablet
marks his tomb, with this inscription, which is
repeated above in the nave :-
5







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


Subtus conditur
Hujus Eeclesiam et Urbis Conditor,
CHRISTOPHERUS WREN;
Qui vixit annos ultra nonaginta,
Non sibi, sed bono public.
Lector, si monumentum requires,
Circumspice.
Obiit.25 Feb. MDCCXXIII., Vatat. XCI.*


We subjoin a translation of this inscription for our
young friends: -
Underneath lies buried Christopher Wren, the builder
of this church and city; who lived beyond the age of ninety
years, not for himself, but for the public good. Reader,
if you ask for his monument, look around you. He died
on the 25th of February, 1723, aged 91."
He is called the builder of the city, as well as of the
church ; for Sir Christopher Wren was the architect of
more than fifty of the churches in London.







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


One morning, our friend, Miss S., was kind
enough to accompany us to Greenwich, where,
you know, is the Hospital for disabled sailors
of the British navy. The day was warm and
lovely, like what we call the Indian summer
in America. We took an omnibus to London
Bridge; from thence we proceeded by railway,
and in a few minutes were in Greenwich.
We entered the magnificent- old Park, and
wandered about for a long time, to our hearts'
content, among the venerable old trees, ad-
miring the graceful deer that were enjoying
themselves all around us. At last we came
to the top of a charming hill, where we sat
down to rest and look at the river. Sev-
eral of the sailors had .arranged spy glasses
of various sizes for the accommodation of
visitors, and for the good to themselves of a







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


few pence.. We patronized one of these, and
then descended to the Hospital, which is the
main object of interest. It was just time for
the old sailors' dinner, and we went into one
of their dining rooms, where there were about
three hundred seated at an excellent meal,
plain, but wholesome and plentiful A very
pleasant sight it was; they were chatting, tell-
ing good old stories, and laughing merrily, and
evidently enjoying themselves highly. There
were, at that time, more than seven hundred
of these veterans in the building. Those who
chose carried their dinners to their rooms.
The place for the sailors' sleeping rooms
was a long hall, with small rooms on one side
and large windows on the other. The rooms
were just large enough for a bed, a bureau, a
little table, and, I think, two chairs. There






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


were shelves around the room, except on the
side that looked into the Hall, where was the
door and a window. On these shelves were
ranged little keepsakes, books and various arti-
cles of taste, often beautiful shells; there were
hanging up around the rooms profiles of
friends, perhaps the dearest that this life can
give us. I could not help thinking that many
a touching story might be told by those si-
lent but eloquent memorials. We were much*
amused with looking at a card put in one of
the windows of these little comfortable state
rooms, 6n which was written these words: "Anti-
poke-your-nose-into-other-folks'-business Socie-
ty. 5000 reward annually to any one who
will really mind his own business; with the
prospect of an increase of 100, if he shall
abstain from poking his nose into other folks'






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


business." We returned to London in a
steamer.
Now you must suppose you are walking
with me in Paris, on a bright Sunday morning
in spring. We will go first to the Place Ven-
dome. It is an oblong square with the corners
cut off The buildings are all of the- same
beautiful cream-colored stone, and of the same
style of architecture, a basement story, very
pretty and simple, and upper stories ornament-
ed with Corinthian pilasters and gilded balco-
nies. There are high, pointed roofs with -pretty
luthern windows. The Place is four hundred
and twenty feet by four hundred and fifty.
Two large handsome streets, opposite to each
other, the Rue de la Paix, and the Rue Casti-
glione,, opcn out of the Place; these alone
break the range of handsome buildings that






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


surround this beautiful spot. In the centre is
the magnificent column, made in imitation of
the column of Trajan, and surmounted by
a bronze statue of Napoleon in his military
dress. At first he was placed there in his
imperial robes; but when he fell, so did his
statue, and it was-melted up to help make an
equestrian statue of Henry IV. In 1833, the
present statue was erected; and the people
are very proud of the Little Corporal, as they
call him, as he stands up there, looking over
their glorious city, as if born to lead men to
conquest, and to govern the world. Inside the
column is a spiral staircase by which you ascend
to the top of the column. You are well paid
for the fatigue of mounting these one hundred
and seventy-six steps, when you get your
breath and look down upon Paris glittering






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


in the sunlight. What pleases me most, how-
ever, is the scene immediately below. All the
people are in the streets. Sunday in Paris is a
holiday. Whole families leave work, care,-
all their troubles, and come into the public
places to enjoy themselves. There is no swear-
ing, no drunkenness, no rudeness, no noise; the
old folks seats themselves in chairs, and the
children run about. Some have been to mass,
and some have not, but all are in the spirit of
enjoyment. Nothing can be more enlivening
than the aspect of the French people. You
cannot resist their cheerful looks. The ap-
pearance of the Place Vendome is truly en-
chanting.
Now let us go down, and take a nearer look
at what is going on below. At the foot of the
column you will see a group of children col-






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


elected round a man with a large basket of
little tin carriages which are constructed in
such a way that they will go with the wind on
a smooth place. For some- distance round
the column is laid the asphaltum pavement.
These little tin carriages run well across this
wide platform; and you might imagine that
the tin horses carried them. It is a pleasant
thing to see the delight of the children, and a
lesson in good nature and good manners, to
see how carefully all the passers by turn aside,
so as not to interrupt the progress of these
pretty toys.
Look up at the beautiful bas reliefs in bronze,
on this noble column, giving the history of so
many fierce battles and so much bloodshed,
and at the military hero on the top, and then
at these laughing, merry children at the foot,






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


running after the tin carriages that go with
the wind. Is it not a strange and moving con-
trast ? Does it not tell a story that all of us
hope may be one day true; when war shall
belong only to history, and when peace shall
possess the earth ?
Around the base of this beautiful column
many of those who served under Bonaparte,
or who remember him with affection, hang
wreaths and garlands as expressions of their
tender remembrance. This is still done; these
memorials are ever there. At one time this
was forbidden by the government, but to no
purpose.' At last, an officer was stationed at
the foot of the column with a water engine,
and with orders to play it upon any one who
should bring any votive offerings to the fallen
hero. A lady, whose love and admiration






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


could not be so intimidated, came the next
day in her carriage, which she filled with
wreaths of flowers, and stopd up in it, and
threw wreath after wreath at the foot of the
column, crying out, as each one fell, Will
you play your engine upon me ?" But not a
drop of water was sent at her, and she depos-
ited all her offerings, and went away unharmed.
I suppose a Frenchman would sooner have
been shot than have done any thing to quench
the enthusiasm of this heroic woman.
One thing struck me much in Paris, and most
agreeably, and that is the good appearance of
the children. This is not confined to the rich;
you will see a very poor woman leading her
child, really well dressed. You never see boys
idling in the streets; you never hear them
swearing and quarrelling. If you ask a boy






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


to show you the way, his manner of doing it
would grace a drawing room. I am told that
the French are never severe, with their chil-
dren; that the French nature will not bear it;
that strong excitement makes the children ill;
that the law of love is the only one they will
bear.
Stop with me now on our walk, at this little
low cart, just by the sidewalk; it is as you
see larger than a common handcart, and much
lower, and on four small wheels; it is full of
china, all marked 13 sous. See how pretty
these cups and, saucers are. After your look-
ing at all the pieces, the owner would say,
"Bon jour," very kindly to you, if you took
nothing, but we will take this pretty cup and
saucer; as a remembrance of his little cart.
As we walk along, we shall see many others,
containing every thing you can imagine.






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


I bought many things in the streets, -
combs, saucepans, clothes-brushes, &c. Look
into this shop window; see these lovely flow-
ers, and, in the midst of them, a small fountain
is playing all the time to keep them fresh.
Look at those immense bunches in the windows,
- of pansies, violets, hyacinths of all colors,
ixias, wall flowers, tulips, geraniums, narcissus;
and 0, this is not half the variety of flowers!
look into the shop; there are bushels of them
and other flowers, all ranged round the wall;
the perfume salutes the most insensible passer-
by; it tells of the songs of birds, and of the
delights of summer time. You cannot resist
its influence. Let us go in and look at the
flowers. The person who keeps the shop has
the manners of a lady; she wishes you good.
morning; and, if you do not behave just as






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


you would if you entered a lady's parlor, you
are set down as an American or Englishman,
who does not know how to behave. When
you leave the shop also, you must remember
to say, "Bon jour," or you commit an offence.
How kindly the lady who keeps this flower
shop shows us all her flowers! how she seems
to love them, as if they were her children!
We must get a bouquet to show our gratitude
for her kindness, though she would.not demand
it. At every street corner is a woman with a
basket of violets and evergreens. She offers
them in such a pretty way, taking care that
you shall take their perfume. You cannot
resist them.
Now, suppose we were taking a walk, some
other morning. Before us is the "Place de la
Concorde," all glistening in the spring sunlight.







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


See, there, in the centre, is the Obelisk a
monument of the time of Sesostris, King of
Egypt, erected by him before the great temple
of Thebes more than three thousand years ,
ago, or fifteen hundred and fifty years before
Christ. This enormous stone, all of one piece,
seventy-two feet high, seven feet and a half
square at the base, of red granite, and covered
with hieroglyphic inscriptions, was given to the
French government by the Viceroy of Egypt,
in consideration of an armed and naval estab-
lishment which that government had helped
him to form at Alexandria. Eight hundred
men struggled for three months in Egypt, in
the midst of all manner of hardships, building
a road and constructing machinery to drag the
obelisk, completely cased in wood, down to the
Nile. It cost two millions of francs to place






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


this monument where it now stands. This was
done with great pomp and ceremony in Octo-
ber, 1836, the royal family and about a hundred
and fifty thousand other people looking on.
Now try to place yourself in imagination
at the foot of this great Obelisk of Luxor,
mounted up as it is upon a single block of gray
granite of France, covered all over with gilded
engraving of the machinery used in placing
the great thing where it is. The Place de la
Concorde itself, which surrounds you, is eight
sided; and if the excavations around it were
filled with water, it would be an island, seven
hundred feet or so across, and connected with
the main land by four elegant little bridges.
But instead of water, these "diggings" are
beautifully filled with flower gardens. At the
eight corners of the island are eight pavilions,







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


as they are called; or great watch houses, of
elegant architecture, occupied by the military
or the police, as occasion requires. Each of
these forms the base of a gigantic statue, repre-
senting one of the principal cities of France.
It is as if the whole eight were sitting in
friendly council for the good of Paris. How
beautiful they are, with their grand expression-
less faces, and their graceful attitudes, and
their simple antique drapery. They are all
sitting in their mural crowns, the fortified
cities on cannons, the commercial ones on
bales of goods. Strasburg alone seems full of
life. She has her arm akimbo, as if braving
Germany, to which she once belonged. Look,
north from the Obelisk, up the Rue de la
Concorde, and the splendid church of the
Madeleine bounds your sight. On your right
6







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


are the Gardens of the Tuilleries; on your
left are the Champs Ely.-.% ; behind you is
the Chamber of Deputies. Both before and
behind you, in the Place itself, you have a
splendid fountain, each being a round basin,
fifty feet in diameter, in which stands a smaller
basin, with a still smaller above it, supported
and surrounded by bronze figures of rivers,
seas, genii of fruits, flowers, and fisheries, and
all manner of gods of commerce and naviga-
tion, all spouting water like mad.
See the famous marble horses from Marly.
HoW impatient they look to break. away from
the athletic arm which holds them! what life
and spirit they show how beautiful they are !
Take one look now at the Arc de Triomphe;
it is nearly two miles off, but looks very near.
Now turn; and directly opposite, at some dis-


t







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


tance, you see what James Lowell calls .the
"Front door of the Tuilleries."
The gardens are full of beautiful children.
Their mothers or nurses are sitting under the
trees, while the children run about at will.
There are thousands playing at ball, driving
hoops, jumping ropes, shouting, laughing, merry
as children will be and ought to be.
Let us take a stroll in the Champs Elysees.
You have never seen any thing so beautiful, so
captivating, as the scene. It seems like en-
chantment. All the world is here young
and old, poor and rich, fashionable and un-
fashionable. -All for their amusement. Let us
see what this group are looking at so earnestly.
A number of wooden ponies are wheeled
round and round, and each has a rosy-cheeked
boy upon it. Here is another in which they






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


go in boats; another in chairs. This amuse-.
ment costs only two or three sous apiece to
the children. The parents or the nurses stand
around enjoying it almost as much as the chil-
dren. Let us walk on. See that little foun-
tain gleaming through the tender green of the
young leaves as you see them in the pretty
wood that forms a background to the picture.
All along in the road you observe fine equi-
pages .of all sorts standing in waiting, while the
gay world, or the poor invalids whom they
brought to this place of enchantment, are
walking about or sitting in chairs, courting
health and amusement. Here is something
still prettier than any thing you have seen-
a beautiful little carriage that can hold four
children and a driver, drawn by four white
goats, with black horns and beards.







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


The French are peculiarly kind to animals.
No law is necessary in France for the protec-
tion of animals from the cruelty of their mas-
ters. You meet men and women, very respec-
tably dressed, leading dogs with the greatest
care; and in the fashionable drives, every
tenth carriage (it seemed to me) had a dog
lying on the seat, or standing on his hind
legs, looking out of the window. A friend told
me that, when present at a grand review
where there was a great crowd, she saw a
woman, who could not get near enough to see
the show, hold up her dog over the heads of
the people, that he might at least have the
pleasure of seeing what was going on.
I must tell you about the ceremony of
making an archbishop, which we had the good
fortune to witness. It took place at Notre
Dame.






TRAVELLERS' STORIES


The nave of the church was full. Around
the altar, all the priests and dignitaries of the
church were seated; the officiating archbishop
in a high seat, and an empty chair by his side






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


for the new archbishop when finished and pre-
pared for the honor. All the priests were in
full dress. Their garments were stiff with
gold and silver. My eyes were dazzled with
their splendor.
Perfect silence prevailed, and the ceremony
commenced. The priest, who was to be made
into a bishop, had all sorts of things done to
him. He knelt, he_ prayed, he was prayed
over, he was read to, he had hands laid upon
him, he was crossed; incense was thrown up,
the organ played, and all the priests and bish-
ops knelt and rose from their knees, and knelt
and rose again, and again; high mass was said,
and the show was very remarkable.
Once the poor mortal, who was to be conse-
crated, knelt, and'a large book was .put upon
him, like a saddle. Finally they took him and





TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


tied napkins upon his arms and his neck, and
then led him to a knot of priests a little out
of my sight. In a few moments, he reap-
peared with all his canonicals on, except the
mitre. Now he was brilliant indeed, loaded
with gold ornaments, stiff with splendor. His
face, I noticed, was very. red, and he looked
weary. I did not quite understand the tum-
bled towels; whether these were to catch the
consecrating oil that they poured on his head,
or whether they were emblematic of the filthy
rags of this world, which he laid aside for the
new and shining garments of perfect holiness,
I could not find out. Now the new archbishop
knelt again before the old archbishop, and the
old one put the mitre upon the head of the
new one. Then the old archbishop embraced
and kissed the new, and after that all the







TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


other bishops, who, as the French say, assisted
at the ceremony, performed the same act on
both sides of his face. After this, the new
archbishop and his holy brother walked side
by side, followed by all the other bishops and
priests, down from the altar among the 'audi-
ence; and the new dignitary gave his blessing
to all the people.
I wish I could carry you with me to the
palace at Versailles. The magnificent eques-
trian statue of Louis XIV., which you can see
afar off as you approach, the noble statues in
the grand court ,yard, and the ancient regal
aspect of the whole scene, with its countless
fountains and its seven miles of pictures, are
beyond all description. As I stood lost in
wonder and admiration, my friend, who intro-
duced me to this world of wonders, pointed to






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


a window in one corner of the building; there,
she said, Louis XVI. passed much of his time
making locks; and there, from that balcony,
Marie Antoinette appeared with her children
and the king, when she addressed the wild,
enraged Parisian mob. We saw the private
apartments of the unhappy queen, and the
small door through which she escaped from the
fury of the soldiers. We went to see the little
Trianon which she had built for her amuse-
ment; a lovely place it is. Here she tried to
put aside state and the queen, and be a happy
human being.
Here Marie Antoinette had a laiterie, a milk
house, where she is said to have made butter
and cheese. Here she caused to be built
twelve cottages after the Swiss fashion, "and
filled them with poor families whom she tried
to make happy.






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


We went into her dairy. It was fit for a
queen to make butter in. In the centre of
the beautifully shaped room was a large ob-
long, white marble table; on each side were
places -for admitting the water, and under
them beautiful marble reservoirs in the shape
of shells, and, underneath, large slabs of white
marble. All is still, all so chaste, so beautiful,
all as it once was, and she, the poor sufferer,
what a story of blighted hope and bitter sor-
row See her the night before her trial, which
she knew would end in death, mending her
,own old shoes, that she might appear more
decently. The solemn realities of life had
come to her unsought.
I left Paris and travelled through Belgium to
Cologne. The day I arrived was some holiday;
so there was grand mass in the cathedral, and






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


', 10iil








such music !- the immense building was filled
with the sound. The full organ was played,
and some of the priest singers took part.
Never did music so overcome me. The sub-






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


lime piece, as I thought of Beethoven's,
surely of some great composer, performed
in this glorious old cathedral, was beyond all
that I had ever dreamt of. It seems to me
that I might think of it again in my dying
hour with delight. I felt as if it created a
new soul in me. Such gushes of sweet sound,
such joyful fulness of melody, such tender
breathing of hope, and love, and peace, and
then such. floods of harmony filling all those
sublime arches, ascending to the far distant
roof and running along through the dim aisles
- 0, one must hear, to have an idea of the
effect of such music in such a place.
At Bonn we took the steamer; the day was
perfect, and our pleasure was full. You must
see one of these fine old castles on the top of
the beautiful hills you must yourself see






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


the blue sky through its ruined arches -you
must see the vines covering every inch of the
mountain that is not solid rock, and witness
the lovely effect of the gray rock mingling
with the tender green -you must hear the
wild legend of the owner of the castle in his
day of power, and feel the passage of time
and civilization that has changed his fastness
of strength and rapine to a beautiful adorn-
ment of this scene of peace and plenty, its
glories all humbled, its terrors all passed away,
and its great and only value the part it plays
in a picture, and the lesson it preaches, in its
decay, of the progress of justice and humanity.
From Coblentz to Bingen is the glory of the
Rhine scenery; old castles looking down over
these lovely hills covered with vines and corn-
fields; little villages nestled in between them;






TRAVELLERS' STORIES.


beautiful spires of the prettiest churches you
can imagine, looking as if they gathered the
houses of the villages under their protecting
wings. Your soul, in short, is full of unutter-
able delight. It was a sort of relief to laugh
at the legend as we passed the little island on
which is the Mouse Tower, so named from the
history of Bishop Hatto, who it is said was
eaten up by rats because he refused corn in a
time of :..:i'>y to the starving poor, when he
had a plenty rotting in his storehouses.
When I was obliged at last to turn away
from all these glories, the words of Byron were
* in my heart: -


Adieu to thee again; a vain adieu;
There can be no farewell to scenes like thine.
The mind is colored by thy every hue,





V0 TRAVELLERS' STORIES.

And if reluctantly the eyes resign
Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine,
'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise.
More mighty spots may rise, more glaring shine,
But none unite in one attracting maze
The brilliant, fair, and soft, the glories of old
days,
The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom
Of summer ripeness, the white cities' sheen,
The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom,
The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between
The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been,
In mockery of man's art."










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