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THE 
 
 YANKEE BOY FROM 1J03IE. 
 
 3^ '^ ^ ' • osapi^. . 
 
 "Jamais jo n'al tant pcnse, tant existo, tant v6ca, tant 6t^ mol, si j'ose 
 aicuil dire, qae dans Ics voyages que j'ai faits seal, ct 4 i>ie(L'' 
 
 J. J. Eousseat:. 
 
 XEW YORK: 
 JOHN F. TROW, PRINTER, 50 GREEXE STREET. 
 
 1863. 
 
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 THE ACTBOB, 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 THE AUTHOE TO THE BOOK. 
 
 Now that the time has come when you are to strike 
 out alone into a public life, perhaps a few words of 
 honest talk between us may not be amiss. 
 
 But, firstly, it must be understood that our connec- 
 tion is broken ; and you, in venturing from obscurity into 
 an open field of criticism and remark, do so wholly at 
 your own responsibility. Whatever opinions you may 
 advance are yours only ; whatever of sentiment you 
 may show is yours entirely. Because I may have agreed 
 with you yesterday, you do not know at all that I would 
 do so to-day. You go, I repeat, you go alone, relying 
 on yourself for position and character. 
 
 I know very well that you are willing to venture 
 thus. Strong in your youth, you believe yourself able 
 to catch the world by its forelock, and sustain yourself 
 always with a vigorous arm. Others like yourself, you 
 say, have vigorously attempted, and surely won an easy 
 success. " Why not I ? The world of to-day is tlie 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 same as that of yesterday. I know its turnings ; young 
 though I be, I have often grappled with it, always to 
 make it do my will. I laugh at it ; I defy it ; or, I reach 
 toward it the hand of friendship, with a warm word. 
 The result is the same. The world is my friend, has 
 always been, shall always be." 
 
 Ah ! my foolish book ; foolish in your wisdom ; 
 more foolish in your folly ! If you get any hold, to help 
 you, upon the world you speak of, it must be always 
 maintained by the power that comes from prosperity, 
 or, better yet, that which comes from real worth. 
 Whatever influence you have seen in the sphere you 
 have moved in, has come, I fear, all come from the 
 first; I tell you that prosperity may fail you at any 
 moment; is almost sure to fail you, when you will 
 almost as surely get borne into the current and drown- 
 ed. But of this you run your own risk. I will say 
 no more. 
 
 Well, you are going into the world, the varying world, 
 and there, — I trust now to the power of your arrogance, — 
 you will be taken, perchance, among others, by the girl of 
 riches and of fashion, who indolently yawns through a 
 lingering day, and sighs for the waltz of the evening, that 
 alone can arouse her worthless fancies. Tell her that her 
 life is a wretched farce ; tell her that she herself is a mis- 
 erable failure ; a pitiful substitute for a girl, to become 
 a yet more pitiful substitute for a woman. The press 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 of her hand is a mockery ; the touch of her waist a 
 sorrowful jest/ The bloom of her youth, both in mind 
 and in body, has been blighted by its contact with a 
 fashionable mother's boudoir; by the following of a 
 fashionable city boarding-school education. It was Sir 
 Walter Scott, I think, that said, " There were none truly 
 vulgar but the rich." This young woman of inexcusable 
 uselessness shall surely win the prize of extreme vul- 
 garity. 
 
 Tell her once more, that there are homes of sick- 
 ness and sorrow, within ten minutes' walk of her ; that 
 by a single effort she can carry to them priceless com- 
 forts, and in one short hour change herself into a minis- 
 tering angel of good ; a lovely, loving, Christian woman. 
 
 You shall be handled, — still do I trust to the power 
 of your arrogance, — ^by the girl of wealth, who throws 
 herself constantly and zealously into every frivolity, and 
 yet does not, because she caimot, quite surrender all the 
 rights of her soul. She floats in golden beauty through 
 luxurious halls. In haughty pride she reigns wherever 
 she is, the queen of the day, the belle of the night. 
 Softly falls the robe of her dress upon velvet floors ; 
 chastely glitter the pearls, brilliantly sparkle the dia- 
 monds about her person. 
 
 Perhaps she will take you to her own room, — I trust 
 now to the power of your passion, — and let you lie upon 
 her lap as she tosses your leaves. Tell her that you 
 
Vm PREFACE. 
 
 think so rich and pretty a girl as she ought to wear a 
 very pretty petticoat. She may frown at you, but I 
 think she will not. There are hours when such a maid- 
 en lays aside all frowns ; moments when she lets the 
 fondest wishes of her heart be realized in girlhood's 
 dreams. Do thou whisper, while she dreameth ; that 
 truth is true, that honesty is true, that charity is true, 
 that goodness is true, and that she was right when she 
 attempted to assert it yesterday, — love is true. 
 
 But from the silent re very of her room she will arise 
 to disrobe herself for the night. The haughty conscious- 
 ness of her beauty shall return. With the scorn of 
 many triumphs on her lips, will she unloosen her costly 
 jewels ; with the stern pride of a conquering belle, will 
 she unfasten her rich dresses. Thy seeming want of 
 consciousness shall now protect thee rarely. When 
 one after another of her garments has yielded to her 
 fair hands ; w^hen covered with the thin drapery of night 
 she sleepeth ; do thou whisper of an ardent lover, bold 
 enough to dare to woo, and impudent enough to expect, 
 as a matter of course, to win her for his bride. 
 
 Thou shalt be read, — I trust now to the power of thy 
 sympathy, — thou shalt be read by the country maiden 
 of healthy thoughts and loving heart. The apple that 
 hangs froni her garden tree cannot show a brighter color 
 than her cheeks; the waving fields of rye cannot be 
 more pliant than her graceful form. I know her 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 laugh, it is always hearty. I know her smile, it is 
 always cheery. The pressure of her hand is a joy for- 
 ever. Her waist never gets held in the waltz, but 
 lingering where the brooks flow, will she roguishly yield 
 to a lover's arm ; hesitating where the berries ripen, she 
 never chides a lover's kiss. An honest girl, she gives an 
 honest heart. With the old song will I exclaim : 
 
 " Lightsome be her care." 
 
 Thou wilt be looked at, — I trust now to the influ- 
 ence of your information, — thou wilt be looked at by 
 the man of business. Practically he will turn thy 
 leaves, wondering at thy want of business faculty. A 
 shiftless book ! — he will go to exclaim. But do thou 
 be true to thy principles. Tell him, you would rather 
 have the love of the girl, that he left years ago among 
 the clover fields upon her farm, than all the wealth he 
 has since gained. 
 
 An independent mind is all that we want; with 
 wealth should that chance be, or e'en with poverty : 
 
 " On braes when we please, then, 
 We'll sit and sowth a tune ; 
 Syne rhyme till 't, we'll time till 't. 
 And sing 't when we hae done." 
 
 Thou wilt be read, perhaps, by the college boy, — I 
 trust now to the power of thy sympathy, — robust in 
 
X PEEFACE. 
 
 youth ; strong in passion. Tell him that the years he 
 lives now are the heartiest of liis life. Bid him to strive 
 in studies, if that be his delight ; or let him fling care 
 away, and in the ardor of youth take its amusements. Full 
 of frolic, his laugh and his joke are always ready among 
 his class. His heart, an honest one, never quails. To 
 the picnic he goes, to win and to enjoy ; at the dance he 
 comes the boldest. 'Tis a strong hand he gives to lead, 
 and his eye flashes on the girl that he bears through the 
 hall. Jealousy he scorns; what others do he never 
 questions : but, I know it well, Nelly felt her hand press- 
 ed a dozen times before that cotillon ended, and she 
 wonders on her pillovr that night if he could have 
 thought she pressed back. Oh ! the world was all so 
 bright, it seemed so queer anybody should ever be sad. 
 She yields her head close to the pillow, and sleeps, — 
 a smile upon her cheek, and a tear within her eyelids. 
 
 Tell the college boy to use well the strong arm of 
 his manhood. Let him be true to his mother's love ; let 
 him be careful of his Nelly's heart. And hope shall 
 always keep with him to tell of days of happiness ; and 
 the world shall offer no obstacle that his bold spirit will 
 not conquer. 
 
 It may be, — I trust to the power of thy fancy, — it 
 may be thou wilt be glanced at by the child of tender 
 years ; the sweet young girl that floats about our streets 
 in summer, in light garments, softly as a thistle down, 
 
PEEFACE. XI 
 
 and chastely as a beautiful cloud : or, the growing boy, 
 that begins now first to dream of his manhood, and to 
 slight sometimes, I fe:ir, the counsels of his home. Tell 
 them both, — it is a great truth, grand for a child to 
 hear, — that the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom. 
 Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and 
 thy neighbor as thyself. 
 
 Childhood is an ever-pleasing theme. We love to 
 think of it when we grow dull from useless thoughts ; we 
 love to watch it when our hearts would grow heavy 
 from fading hopes. The child is prone to slight the 
 future and the past ; it rejoices in the moments that go, — 
 as the swallow that flies on restless wing, as the bobo- 
 link that w^arbles in constant song. Gathering dande- 
 lions or plucking sweet peas, is equally a delight. The 
 girl is the happiest of matrons with her little tea-set : 
 the most exacting; of mothers with her doll. And the 
 boy never shall know a greater freedom than he feels 
 with his feet bare for the first time in early summer. 
 Then, the proud consciousness of owning a fish pole, or of 
 being able to go on skates ; of shooting with a bow and 
 arrows, that you bargained for from a genuine squad of 
 dusky Indians, who came roving through the country ! 
 How carefully we used to fashion and paste the kite, 
 that should fly so far up in the blue heavens, and receive 
 there from along the bending twine the dusty pasteboard 
 messengers ; or, trusted with a gun, how perseveringly 
 
Xll PEEFACE. 
 
 we used to roam through a dozen woods in search of 
 squirrels ; and, whilst you rested upon some friendly rock, 
 then a boy, as often since a man, did you dream, keeping 
 for you a wondrous quiet connection with the always 
 sober and reflecting heavens. 
 
 'Tis the fault of thy race, Sir Book, to grow prosaic. 
 Is it mine, or yours, here in the preface 1 
 
 Go thou and win the child's esteem. A generous 
 soul will surely do it ; if you cannot show that, heaven 
 forbid to thee a longer life ! 
 
 Thou wilt be received, — I trust now to the tendency 
 thou hast ever shown to confide in a woman's love,— 
 thou wilt be received by the matron of ripe years and 
 motherly care. In the nature of her soul, for she cannot 
 help it, she will be kind to thee, whenever in sincerity 
 thou demandest it as thy right or as thy hope. How- 
 ever useless has been your life ; however far have been 
 your wanderings ; however great may have been your 
 sins; they will all be forgotten by her, that moment 
 that you come to her as a child cometh, or as a man, 
 strong-willed and self-reliant but wanting a woman's 
 sympathy. She may have spoken of thy worthlessness 
 yesterday ; she has forgotten it to-day. No arguments 
 can unshake the new-born hopes she has in thee. Ah ! 
 mayst thou grow worthy of this latest friend ! 
 
 Perhaps, by a curious chance, thou wilt be taken up 
 by the aged. Trembling in years must they wonder at 
 
PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 thy boyish folly. Eternity to them is nearer than the 
 pleasures of their youth ; you, I fear, have thought little 
 of its endless space. Well, I do not mean to preach a 
 sermon ; time shall do that far better than I. And I 
 will leave you now to the months just before you. 
 
 'Tis a brave heart that never fliints ; tis a wondrous 
 wit that always jests ; 'tis a strong man that tires not, 
 a curious one that is ever successful : may yours be 
 that part. Go, earn thy living on a busy world ; go, win 
 a wreath to crown thy Jessie's bower ; go, little book, 
 and carelessly — mayst thou have great Victory. 
 
INTEODUCTIOlsr. 
 
 " V^rmoimt State ; 'tis a mountaynioue place, but there's a stiff soil, 
 and it's pretty ruucli wooded ■with beech and maple." 
 
 We've got a baby at our house. If you have got 
 one too, you know what a serious article it is, always 
 looking upon the earnest side. Ours, although one of 
 the prettiest of babies, will disfigure its baby face oc- 
 casionally with a mournful twist, which foretelleth a 
 squall. 
 
 " That child will have enough to answer for," said 
 John the other day at supper, when the baby protested 
 more energetically than usual against the difficulties of 
 life. 
 
 " That child is my niece," I replied half earnestly. 
 " She doesn't know what sin is yet. There is no vanity 
 upon her soul ; no frivolity about her brow ; no long- 
 continued, unnatural denial of her Creator to be an- 
 swered for." I paused, when some new thoughts came 
 to me, and I continued : " By the way, I am going to 
 New York to-morrow." 
 
 " For a wife? " said John. 
 
 " She were better found here," I replied. 
 
XVI INTEODUCTION. 
 
 " Found here as well as anywhere ! you'll never 
 be married." 
 
 " Sha'n't I ? " 
 
 " Never. You are a dreamer, besides being as fickle 
 as a humming bird." 
 
 " ' I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, 
 With vassals and serfs by my side, — ' 
 
 And that makes me think, — I want a cup of tea." 
 
 At the Trov House, Troy. ) 
 May 18, 1863. J 
 
 Left home at fifteen minutes to one, stopping an 
 
 instant to see S , to leave with him a subscription 
 
 paper, with a dollar yet uncollected. The engine whis- 
 tled as we tarried, and a little shower appeared to go 
 with us to the depot. 
 
 Moving over the road, not as they used to come, 
 do fancies come upon me, but I like it — the change — 
 although it is a gloomy day of dreary showers, and 
 although a dim sense of things not done that I ought 
 to do, or of thoughts conceived that I ought not to 
 meddle with, intensifies within me the gloom that reigns 
 without. 
 
 As we wind through the valley of Otter Creek, we 
 notice the tops and branching limbs of many trees bent 
 off", the result of a great ice storm last winter. A sleepy 
 pen cannot paint at all the changing beauties of Green 
 Mountain scenery. There are meadow lands to lie along 
 its rivers ; there are rolling uplands, and deep made 
 valleys, to diversify its mountains. I saw the most 
 closely in passing a ledge of woods, where in pro- 
 
mTKODTJCTION. XVU 
 
 fusion white trilium bloomed, and honeysuckles fell. 
 Shadblows and wild cherries were also, the whole dis- 
 tance, mixed in with the woods, or edges of woods. 
 
 Very much of the extreme mountain scenery, fully 
 Alpine in its look, that lies near to the railroad, between 
 Rutland and North Bennington, is unusually perfect. 
 One place especially suggested itself to me, as the 
 " sweet Auburn " of all this region — Arlington — a single 
 street with handsome dwellings, and a stone church that 
 had a very English look. We passed one other co- 
 quettish valley with a single farmhouse in it, just after 
 leaving Bennington ; then came to the distant view in 
 New York State, from above Lansingburg. 
 
 May 19. Steamboat Armenia. ) 
 Alongside the Wharf at Albany. J* 
 
 I fear Miss Jessie won't get on this morning. It's 
 a great mistake of hers. If any girl ought to go to 
 New York to-day, it's Jessie ; her mother should have 
 known it, and those thin dresses of hers, that were 
 all ready for a little sun, and a good deal of flirtation, 
 should have been packed for a Spring vacation. 
 
 Later. — Our company gathers fast. Among them 
 are two of Jessie's cousins, and, as I write, the Calliope 
 is playing a well known negro melody. 
 
 " I guess I'll stay up here." 
 
 It's Jessie, by George, just come, that says it ; as 
 she bids good-by to her cousins. I guess I'm glad 
 of it. 
 
 The last bell strikes, like the first bell of a Sunday 
 morning ; to follow it, the Calliope starts a new melody, 
 that might be a dance, or a Methodist hymn. Yet an- 
 
XVlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 other tune — I like it ! My thoughts float splendidly 
 away over the hills of boyhood, to linger where fancies 
 were the fondest. 
 
 O Jessie, Jessie ! the Jessie of memory and song ! 
 
 The boat bell tolls. I hear the hissing of steam. 
 It wants two minutes of nine. We shall be off shortly. 
 Jessie has just sat down near me. Heaven forgive the 
 look I gave her, if there were any sin in it. She's gone 
 off now, through the cabin to the front, and we get an- 
 other tune from the Calliope — Jessie's March by Von 
 Weber. 
 
 The engine flings itself, and we go — the Calliope, I, 
 and Jessie, down the river. I think I will step out to 
 see Albany. 
 
 Albany we have left upon its hills, together with 
 the summer houses that lie near to it. Back again upon 
 the sofa in the cabin, I will sketch Jessie ; who has also 
 returned, and sits on an opposite sofa to mine. She has 
 sandy hair — all Jessies have — and red lips, and a pretty 
 tongue that she keeps nibbling, and a pretty foot that 
 just jDceps out from beneath her dress. Her form 
 rounds handsomely ; and she herself is as well looking 
 as any Jessie need to be. Now comes the dress : a 
 checkered lawn, is it ? or gingham, white and black and 
 gray, with large checks ; and a checkered shawl, all wool, 
 rather small checks ; and a pair of slate color (I hope, 
 for the sake of truth) kid gloves ; and a largish bonnet, 
 brown, with some lace facings, and a blue bow, with a 
 bit of artificial grass inside. Her parasol is underneath 
 her dress. She keeps reading, whilst I sketch ; I hope 
 she isn't mad about it. 
 
INTEODUCTION". XIX 
 
 In eight of "West Point. 
 
 There may be, I guess there is, some very handsome 
 scenery about, but Jessie's gone ; she got off at New- 
 burgh. Before she got off, she told me we were just 
 coming to the finest scenery, and that it was very fine. 
 But if so, why did she get off at Newburgh? There's 
 something wrong ; evidently there's something wrong ; 
 it's all wrong. By Jove, vt] Ata, — that's classical, a 
 sort of guide post that used to appear in Xenophon, — 
 it's as bad as it can be. I guess I never shall be mar- 
 ried, if all the Jessies stop at Newburgh. I'll go and 
 talk to this Scotch woman — I think she is, by her accent. 
 
 Un re/our. Sitting-room of boat. ) 
 One hour from New York, Thursday evening, j 
 
 When the time is fully come for the steamer to 
 depart, we often read how there alway appears some 
 wandering man, with floating bundles and a heavy 
 valise. He drifts upon the dock, and hurriedly asks a 
 little boy that assaults him w^ith the evening paper, 
 and half a dozen Irish women that surround him with 
 oranges, " Six for a quarter, sir," and a hackman who 
 persistently offers a hack for the city : Where is the 
 leaving boat? Perhaps partly answered, he wheels 
 about, catches sight of the w^ell filled decks and moving 
 planks, and, with one final rally, rushes on board. 
 
 There was just such a character to-night. In every 
 way he well sustained the known vagaries of his friends. 
 He appeared at twenty minutes past six (boat adver- 
 tised to sail at six). He had, in addition to the usual 
 basfiraire, a lar^e collection of verbenas. He L;oked 
 tired ; he looked hot ; he looked painfully perplexed ; 
 
XX IKTEODrCTIOlT. 
 
 but he felt mad. I know how he felt ; I may as well 
 admit it, — the late fellow to-night was myself. This 
 being so, I am able to give his afternoon's preparation. 
 
 At half-past four, in Thirteenth street, enjoying the 
 harmony of a dentist's file, as he slowly polished the 
 afternoon's work. 
 
 " Most done, Doctor 1 " 
 
 "I could expend a little more time profitably, in 
 smoothing this last filling ; it's smooth now, but it's 
 a nice job, and I like to finish it nicely," — hanging to 
 the tooth and reaching for another file. 
 
 "Doctor, is there danger of its coming ouf?" 
 
 "No, that isn't possible; it is perfectly smooth, 
 only I can polish." 
 
 " Only I can't wait." 
 
 "When I was in the street again, the houses faded 
 by me, as though I rode in an express train, until I had 
 entered No. 50 Greene street. If I gave a lingering 
 glance toward one house in Clinton Avenue, to forget 
 the busy life always before me, it was doubtless as a 
 dreamer — hey, Jessie ! 
 
 " You are not going to leave me, are you % " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "What are all those fixings on your sleeve for?" 
 I asked years ago, in our choir, of a girl that was always 
 beautiful. 
 
 " For you to look at," she replied, with a delicious 
 smile that bothered me for weeks. 
 
 At twenty minutes past five, the arrangements for 
 the publication of the book were completed ; twenty 
 minutes later, I bent over my valise in Brooklyn. 
 
 " Why, Joe, you are not going to-night 1 " 
 
INTKODUCTION. XXI 
 
 " Yes, I am." 
 
 " But you can't, it's too late." 
 
 But I can, time enough, always time enough ; there, 
 we are packed, if the thing will shut. Where's your 
 mother? Tell her I am going. Confound this lock! 
 Click 1 Voila! 
 
 It was seventeen minutes past six when we com- 
 menced the little run, down Liberty street, that brought 
 us to the wharf. One of the boats was gone, but the 
 other still w^aited for passengers to Albany. 
 
 Oh, dear ! I'm sleepy. Are the stars shining, I 
 "wonder 1 It is ten minutes past nine. There are two 
 Jessies within as many feet of me — somebody's Jessies, 
 looking over books ; and a little girl on my right says : 
 " I had a bowl of milk, and I gave a spoonful of milk 
 to the dog." 
 
 Monday Evening. ? 
 At Home. \ 
 
 Moonlight among the Highlands we had, as our 
 boat came up the river, and the moon for quite a dis- 
 tance rolled like a ball of fire along the mountain edge. 
 The lights upon Cozzens' Hotel glittered down upon us. 
 The dark outline of mountains then faded into the low- 
 lands that border the river above the Highlands. 
 
 From Albany to Whitehall, through Saratoga, there 
 is but little pleasing to the eye, unless it pleases from its 
 dreariness, and sullen lack of cultivation. Saratoga itself 
 comes, in its gaiety and jauntiness, a relief. At White- 
 hall we commence the tour of Lake Champlain. To 
 you, w^ho are merely a traveller of pleasure, making a 
 summer trip, the ride is only one of handsome farm 
 and mountain scenery, that perfects itself into a picture 
 
XXll mXKODUCTIOK. 
 
 of most wondrous beauty, when you near the broad 
 lake. To me, who have been so much a wanderer, it 
 comes in its home influences to chasten, and I do not 
 care that there shall be beauteous outlines ; I watch the 
 small white birches that shiver their leaves close over 
 the lake ; I look upon some lazy cows that stand half 
 leg deep in the water ; on sheep picking their living on 
 the already browned pastures : it makes no difference 
 what I see, the effect is the same. I love every inch of 
 that land ; thank God, I love it as I did in my boyhood. 
 A little drift of low mountain shows now dimly, till 
 the whole eastern range lies lingering in the mist. My 
 hand clasps the railing, just as though it held a young 
 girl's hand. There they are, the mountains of my 
 home; yes, there they are, always the same. Years 
 with me have blighted many a hope, have dimmed 
 many a boyish dream, have taken from the fresh aspi- 
 rations (I am sorry for it, but I fear it's true) of child- 
 hood all their rosy tinge, but our mountains catch the 
 clouds, or rest in sunlight ; as they did when I was a boy. 
 
 " I wad hae putten on a cap, sir," said Jeanie, " but 
 your honor kens it isna the fashion of my country for 
 single women; and I judged, that, being sae mony 
 hundred miles frae hame, your grace's heart wad warm 
 to the tartan," loolcing at the corner of her plaid. 
 
 " You judged quite right," said the duke. " I know 
 the full value of tlie snood ; and MacCullim ore's heart 
 will be as cold as death can make it, when it does not 
 warm to the tartan," 
 
 As we glide along the well Imown shore, each land- 
 ing place lingers like some flxding dream, as if I had not 
 yet left it nor lived the last few years. 
 
INTEODUCTION. XXIU 
 
 " Hurrah for the Adirondac school-marm ! " cried 
 Fred, upon yon height, as we returned from a college 
 vacation trip among the Adirondacs, now five years 
 ago. 
 
 Aye, three cheers for the gold curls that fell upon 
 her low-neck dress, and three times three for our own 
 mountains once more, with the girls they nourish — 
 yours, Fred, and mine ! " 
 
 The broad lake — Burlington — five hours delay, — 
 we leave in the night train, arriving home at eleven. 
 
 Branching away with the warm fragrance of this 
 summer afternoon, my thoughts float to our mountains, 
 to close with another song to their memory. 
 
 Come to the green woods, come with me, 
 Sweet Bertha, daughter of the North ; 
 
 My little girl that roguishly 
 Used always with me wander forth, 
 
 To pick gay flowers, or berries red, 
 
 Or silent take kisses instead. 
 
 The lassie's caught her bonnet brown, 
 
 That hung against the cottage wall ; 
 She's tied her wayward curls all down, 
 
 And with her light dress gently fall- 
 ing round her form ; in pleased delight 
 She leads, and says she's ready quite. 
 
 On through the pasture fields the^ move, 
 That deck so fair New England hills ; 
 
 By sheep and cows that lazy rove. 
 Until they reach the quiet rills, 
 
 Where timorous violets dare to show • 
 
 Their little flowers, 'midst grass that grow. 
 
XXIV mTPvODTJCTION. 
 
 Here first I thought the eager eyes 
 Of girlhood trembled pensively ; 
 
 Here first I thought some timorous sighs 
 Dared rise in haste, and carelessly ; 
 
 As reaching o'er to pick, she said, 
 
 How beautiful these flowers were made. 
 
 '» 
 
 How beautiful these flowers were made, 
 To chastely deck a rustic field ; 
 
 No blossoms of a richer shade 
 
 Could bonny grace more artless yield ; 
 
 The yiolets bright were made for me, 
 
 I love them for their modesty. 
 
 I love them for their timorous worth, 
 I love them for their beauty bright ; 
 
 I love them for their lonely birth, 
 I love them for their pensive light ; 
 
 I love them for their chastity, — 
 
 I love them for their constancy. 
 
 The cool stream flows in smoothness by, 
 Reflecting shades, reflecting sky ; 
 
 Reflecting all the touching bushes, 
 Reflecting now the maiden's blushes, 
 
 So bashfully that dared to rise 
 
 Beneath the trembling of her eyes. 
 
 Full many an hour, an evening hour, 
 When stars are brightly in the sky, 
 
 Beguiled by their entrancing power. 
 Will lovers linger in the rye ; 
 
 But now, with day above, below, 
 
 You're right, my girl, 'twill never do. 
 
 But when they reached the beechen wood, 
 That gently swelled the mountain side, 
 
 The maiden loosed a smile she could 
 Or cared not longer now to hide ; 
 
 And raised her dress from off the moss. 
 
 And did it with a pretty toss 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 Of her young head, that carelessly 
 
 Rested again, till modestly 
 She glided through the tangled briers. 
 
 Though crimsoning hues, from love -lit fires, 
 Came o'er her face in wandering flush. 
 To gather in a lovely blush. 
 
 Now blushes come from many a cause, 
 
 From sudden start, or awkward pause ; 
 From look too quick, or word too free, 
 
 Or some fair limb shown suddenly ; 
 But when they come like this, I know 
 The girl thinks that she would not show. 
 
 And then she looked so curiously 
 
 Upon the ground, that soberly 
 Lay softened in the shaded light, 
 
 And darkened by the mimic night 
 Of sinking ferns, and rising wood, 
 Of leafy boughs, and solitude. 
 
 Within that mountain wood all nigh, 
 
 A mountain stream went drifting by ; 
 The pebbles of its bed below 
 
 Were smoothly white as crystal snow ; 
 Its waters, cold, wet mosses lined, 
 And dark high hemlocks intertwined. 
 
 Near to its bank, on sullen rock. 
 
 Then gently fell the maiden's frock ; 
 All full of life she sitteth there. 
 
 The riplets sweeping o'er her hair, 
 Luxuriant that fell below 
 Upon her neck of spotless snow. 
 
 As billows to the storm's low call. 
 
 Her bosom's rise, her bosom's fall ; 
 Her blue eye clear, triumphant roams. 
 
 Success her bold young spirit crowns, 
 And her fair foot goes peeping out. 
 To watch the touching ferns about. 
 
XXTl INTEODIJCTION. 
 
 It was a pretty foot, no doubt, 
 To show itself in that wild route ; 
 
 She was a roguish maid, I ween, 
 To flirt so with the forest green ; 
 
 Hers was a waist that you might hold, 
 
 Were you her lover warm and bold ! 
 
 Ah, yes, perhaps ! — The rock that lies 
 All bare upon the mountain side, 
 
 Beneath the blue, the bright blue skies, 
 Or shaded by dark clouds that glide ; 
 
 Looks down upon the lovers now, — 
 
 Looks down upon the world below : 
 
 On rising hill, on feathery wood, 
 On gurgling rill, on gloomy road, 
 
 On softened fields, on bending river, 
 On shining lake, on homes that ever 
 
 Clothe themselves in bright array 
 
 Spring, Summer, Fall, or Winter day. 
 
 But one among them doubly bright, 
 Lies nestled in the mountain shade ; 
 
 And plants serene, and flowers light 
 Are opening in its fragrant glade ; 
 
 And beauty, mirth, and passion dwell 
 
 Here, with the girl they love so well : 
 
 Here with the girl they love, but now 
 She lingers on the mountain wild ; 
 
 And lone winds kiss her arching brow 
 Whilst she delayeth as a child, — 
 
 Or is it as a vain coquette, 
 
 That, thoughtlessly, she lingers yet ? 
 
 She lingers through a dying day, 
 She lingers in the soft twilight ; 
 
 Oh ! seldom from her home away 
 Doth she thus wander ; and the night. 
 
 With twinkling stars and crescent moon, 
 
 Shall fall upon these dark woods soon. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXVll 
 
 Ail ! well I fear, the lover old, 
 
 Whom iu respect she used to know ; 
 To whom a child she always told 
 
 Each coming joy, each fancied woe ; 
 Hath found her only fonder grown, 
 By fleeting years that since have flown. 
 
 Ah ! well I fear, the rugged flush. 
 
 That watcheth ever o'er her cheek, 
 Is lost now in the deeper blush 
 
 Of love ; that rises with the freak 
 Of massive cloud, to summer sky, 
 "Where it long resteth gorgeously. 
 
 Ah ! well I fear, few doubts she knows 
 
 Tor him who roams with her to-day ; 
 Ah ! well I fear, he rudely throws 
 
 His arm around her ; and doth say 
 Unmeaning words of tenderness. 
 With rough embrace, and rude, rude kiss. — 
 
 Birdie, come home ! we wait the hour, 
 That brings thee back again once more, 
 
 To govern iu thy silent power 
 
 Our hearts that love thee ; now, before 
 
 The shades of night triumphant roam, 
 
 From mountain haunt, — Birdie, come home ! 
 
 Birdie, come home ! unquiet we rest. 
 
 We're watching for thy footstep free ; 
 We wait the girl that we love best, 
 
 We're waiting, dearest child, for thee, 
 And tremble at the wind's low tone, 
 Fearing for thee, — Birdie, come home ! 
 
XXVlll INTEODIJCTION. 
 
 Birdie, come home ! swift, swift is the evening, 
 Bringing ten thousand gay stars to the skies ; 
 
 Doubtless thou'rt safe beneath their bright gleaming, 
 Forever coquetting with thy laughing eyes ; 
 
 But lonesome are we, love, whenever you roam, 
 
 Then away from their praises, dear Birdie, come home ! 
 
 Away from their praises, from their flashes too eager, 
 Bold, bold do they grow, in the deep shaded night ; 
 
 More frequently kissing the beautiful Bertha, 
 Coquetting, they think, she'll soon yield to them quite ; 
 
 Coquetting they'll find she'll soon leave them alone. 
 
 To laugh at their kisses again at her home. 
 
 For thou knowest, my Bertha, that long might you rove 
 Ere contentment so pure should again to thee come, 
 
 Or the smiles of thy life so happy should prove, 
 As the smiles of the past have been in thy home ; 
 
 Loving everything bright, thou passest each day, 
 
 Loving everything right, thy life goes away. 
 
 And yet if thou wishest a lover to gain, 
 
 To hold thee his darling, to call thee his wife ; 
 
 If loving as lovely, thou 'dst aye be his ain. 
 
 Through the fond rolling years of a gathering life ; 
 
 Success will I wish thee, howe'er long you roam. 
 
 But success having crowned thee, come back to thy home ! 
 
 A footfall presses on the rye. 
 Treading it down destructively ; 
 
 A footfall lingers on the rye, 
 
 Breaking it down most ruthlessly ; 
 
 A footfall trembles on the rye. 
 Bending it down uncaringly. 
 
 Bertha cometh through the rye, 
 'Neath the starlight haltingly ; 
 
INTEODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 Bertha glideth through the rye, 
 
 'Neath the starlight pensively ; 
 Bertha floateth through the rye, 
 
 'Neath the starlight quietly. 
 
 Doth the glow upon the rye 
 
 Keflect dimly, 
 Do the waves upon the rye 
 
 Sweep silently. 
 Doth the stream among the rye 
 
 Sound dreamily ; 
 
 In the night, my Birdie ? 
 
 Doth thy ankle 'mongst the rye 
 
 Kest charmingly, 
 And thy dress o'er the rye 
 
 Float triumphantly, 
 And thy foot upon the rye 
 
 Press wantonly ; 
 
 In the night, my Birdie ? 
 
 An arm 's around thy waist, 
 
 Take care. Bertha ! 
 Will he dare to taste 
 
 Thy lip. Bertha ? j 
 Hath he dared to press 
 
 Thy hand, Bertha ? 
 
 The dress above thy breast 
 
 Is very thin, Birdie ; 
 The light, the cool starlight, 
 
 Is very dim, Birdie ; 
 The world, the wicked world. 
 
 Is prone to sin, Birdie ; 
 beware ! 
 
XXX INTEODUCTIOi;r. 
 
 He tells you that he loves you, 
 Does he not, Bertha ? 
 
 You think his words are true, 
 Do you not, Bertha? 
 
 You have said you loved him, too. 
 Have you not. Bertha ? 
 
 Was he always bold and honest. 
 Are you sure, Bertha? 
 
 Was he always kind and thoughtful, 
 Dost remember. Bertha ? 
 
 Will he surely rule himself 
 At all times. Bertha ? 
 
 You have given him your troth ! 
 
 So I thought, Birdie ; 
 And will soon be his wife ! 
 
 So I feared. Birdie ; 
 A loving, useful wife ! 
 
 So I hope. Birdie ; 
 Yes, I hope : 
 
 TThen may a happy peace arise, 
 Above a new formed home ; 
 
 And may a hopeful life, in guise 
 
 . Of Christian virtue, come ; 
 
 May years float on unconsciously. 
 In joy and comfort given ; 
 
 Till God in Christ triumphantly 
 Shall raise you both to Heaven. 
 
CONTEN^TS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGH 
 
 Liverpool — Paris — Musee de Sevres — Tapestry Manufactory — 
 
 Versailles, 5 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Paris to Tours — Tours, Walks near— Peasant Houses— Grape 
 
 Vines— Trees— Flowers— Fall of Fort Sumter, ... 8 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Tours — Blois — Moulins — Orleans — Festival of Jeanne d'Arc — 
 Lyon — Geneva, "Walks near — News from home — Mont 
 Blanc— Country Dance, 15 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Geneva, continued — Villeneuve — Hotel Byron — Lausanne — 
 American Friends — Salleuche — Chamounix — Excursions 
 near — Flegere — Cascade du Dard — Glacier des Bossons, 
 Jardins — Kate of Chamounix— Chamounix to Milan, by 
 Martigny and over the Simplon — Milan to Zurich, by the 
 Splugen Pass and Lake of Wallenstadt, .... 25 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Zurich — Mount Rigi — Great Land Slide — Sunset — Panorama 
 View of Switzerland — Lucerne — Lake of Lucerne — Fluelen 
 — "William Tell's Valley — Hospital — Furca Pass — Grimsel 
 Hospice — Falls of Handek — Interlaken — Wengern Alp — 
 Jung Frau — Avalanche — Thun — Berne — Departure of 
 Friends — Lake Neuchatel— Geneva — Lyon — Marseilles — 
 Nismes—Montpellier— Toulouse, . , , ♦ , 82 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Pyrenees— Luchon — Pori de Yenasque— Venasqne — Eng- 
 lish Compauions — Feminine Grit — Port de Picard, . . 44 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Luchon — Lac d'Oo — Rain — Pyreucan Valleys — Val d'Aure — 
 Arreau — Grip — Bareges — Luz — Pic des Bergous — Mount 
 Perdre — Briche do Roland — Cirque de Gavarnie — Pierfitte 
 — Indian Corn, 53 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Pan, Walks near — Place Royale — French Papers — Scotch 
 Gathering — Spanish Girls — Carnival — Tarbes — Bordeaux 
 — Tours — Le Mans — Sevres — Paris, 64 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Start from Paris — Kancy— Strasburg — Baden Baden— Heidel- 
 berg — Eberstadt — Frankfort — Mayence — The Rhine — 
 Coblentz — Seven Mountains, View from — Bonn — Amster- 
 dam — Rotterdam — Hull — York, Races at — Boro' Bridge — 
 Londonderry — Price of Travelling — Churches — Brignal 
 Banks — Barnard Castle — Hotel at Bishop Auckland — Dur- 
 ham — \Yashington — Newcastle-on-Tyne — Churches — Pley- 
 el's Hymn, 79 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Otterburn — Inn at Balsey — Flaxen-haired Lassie — Moors — 
 Stowe — Melrose — Jedburgh — Edinburgh, Churches at — 
 Dr. Hanna— Dr. Guthrie— Calton Hill— Company at Hotel, 89 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Abbey Craig — Alloa— Sterling— Jessie of Dunblane — Callander, 
 Fall near — The Trossuchs — Glen Finlass — Prices at Hotels 
 — Home News — Loch Lomond — Ellen's Isle — Braes of Bal- 
 quhidder — Loch Tay — Ben Lawers — Hand Weaving — Ken- 
 more — Free Church — Established Church — Communion — 
 Large Estate— Tay River, 97 
 
CONTENTS. 6 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dunkeld— Pass of Eilliecrankie — Wild Scenery — Inverness — 
 Heleue — Loch Ness — A Scotch Public House — Falls of 
 Fo3-ers — Blueberry Bushes — Fort Augustus — Fort William 
 — Highlaud Pastor — Celtic Hospitality — Ben Nevis — Ben 
 MoDhui, ' .... 110 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Oban — Picnic — Highland Wedding — lona — Staffa — Fingal's 
 Cave — Tayuault, Frolic at — Loch Awe — Inverary — Tem- 
 perance Hotels — Yorkshireman — Mary of Argyle — Wild 
 Flowers, Shrubs and Trees — Loch Lomond — Ben Lomond 
 — Glasgow, 124 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Glasgow, continued — Glasgow Fair — Canadians — Largs — Call 
 upon Friends — Boat Ride — Arrau Island — Ayr — Ayr River 
 — Bonnie Doon — Burns's Cottage — Departure from Ayr — 
 Walk along the Seashore — Stranraer, .... 139 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Ireland — Belfast — Giant's Causeway — Irish Peasants — Lim- 
 erick, 151 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Dublin — Visit to U. S. Gunboat Tuscarora — Killarney, Excur- 
 sions near — County Wicklow — Katie Chamounix, . . 165 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Wales, History of, 174 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Holyhead — Bangor — Carnarvon, Lodgings at — Snowden — The 
 Eisteddfod — Bets-y-coed — Tramp over the Hills — Conway 
 —Curls— Chester, 185 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 London — Great Exhibition — Harrogate, Lodgings at — English 
 
 Newspapers, Scenery, and Life, 201 
 
4: CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Harrogate, continued — Pussy — London, continued — British 
 Museum — National Gallery — Tunnel — Call upon American 
 Friends — Maple Sugax and Star-Spangled Banner, . . 214 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 La Station a Dieppe — ^French Reminiscence — Rouen, . . 224 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 Paris, Lodgings at — Expenses of Living — Theatre — Louise- 
 Musings of Home, 232 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 Whisperings of an Old Pine, No. 1, 244 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Whisperings of an Old Pine, No. 2, 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXY. 
 Whisperings of an Old Pine, No. 8, 258 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Whisperings of an Old Pine, No. 4, 268 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 Paris, continued— Christmas — Trimming at Church, . . 280 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Liverpool — Washington Hotel— On board Ship — Passengers — 
 
 Arrival at Boston— Home, 288 
 
THE YMKEE BOY FROM HOME. 
 
 I. 
 
 Wateeloo Hotel, Liverpool, England, ) 
 October 27, 1860. > 
 
 Sailed from New York two weeks ago, and 
 arrived here this morning. 
 
 Paeis, January 22, 1861. 
 
 Settled here for three months, now more than 
 half gone. This morning, with the sen of Mr. 
 McClintock, the American clergyman, I visited the 
 Musee de Sevres, or Imperial Porcelain Establish- 
 ment. "We had written for and received tickets 
 last week, but were nnable to get permission to vis- 
 it the workshops. The paintings on the porcelains 
 are very elegant. I priced one picture made on 
 porcelain at 40,000 francs. Some very fine though 
 nearly plain china plates were $5 each ; and some 
 of the same size, with pictures, $25 each. These 
 pictures are all painted on the crockery, and baked 
 in ; could we have visited the workshops I should 
 
6 THE TANXEE EOT 
 
 have doubtless been as nmcli interested as in the 
 Tapestry Manufactory. Tliere I visited a few days 
 since, and was more interested than in anything I 
 had before seen. The portraits and pictures, 
 wrought in the carpeting, seem ahnost better 
 than the j)aintings themselves. Among others, 
 were as many as four of the Empress. The work 
 is all done by hand, the workmen having their 
 models by them, with the woollen colors wanted, 
 on small spools near, so arranged that they can se- 
 lect easily which they please. The warp is double, 
 and placed vertically ; into this the workman, who 
 stands behind, weaves the worsted which forms the 
 painting. Some of these pieces take from five 
 to ten years in the making. I^one of them are 
 sold ; they are kept for p*ublic and private palaces. 
 There are employed in the establishment about 
 one hundred and twenty workmen. They earn 
 from 1,500 to 2,500 francs each a year, and secure 
 pensions of from 600 to 1,000 francs if unable to 
 work. 
 
 After finishing at the Sevres Museum, we 
 walked through the park of St. Cloud to the Em- 
 peror's summer palace, and returned by an om- 
 nibus. Yesterday I went to the Hotel des Inva- 
 lides and the tomb of JSTapoleon. We are looking 
 anxiously for the next arrival from home. By the 
 last dispatch the Brooklyn had been sent to enter 
 Charleston Harbor. I would suggest that South 
 Carolina weigh herself against her shadow. 
 
FEOM HOME. 
 
 Tuesday evening^ Febmiary 5. — I made my 
 trip to.-day to Yersailles, starting this morning at 
 nine. I bad two hom-s, before tbe palace "was 
 opened, in looking over tbe parks and gardens. 
 This was to me tbe pleasantest part. Tbe ever- 
 greens, trimmed so as to grow in tbe shape of 
 pyramids and cones, were slightly covered with 
 frost, and looked, at a little distance, like haystacks 
 in winter. The ponds near the palace were frozen, 
 and a few skaters were npon them. 
 
 Thns ends my last trip at Paris. I believe I 
 have seen about all that one pretends to see — a 
 good deal more than I had any real desire to. To- 
 morrow I shall be busy packing and making other 
 preparation for a dej^arture. 
 
8 THE TAUKEE BOT 
 
 n. 
 
 TouES, Saturday eveninpr, February 9, ) 
 Geand Hotel dv 'Faisan. J 
 
 In coining from Paris here, I have come 
 through a country almost wholly flat, and, to a 
 large extent, especially after passing Orleans, cul- 
 tivated with grapes. About Blois the lands look 
 handsomely. The Loire seemed to me like the 
 Mohawk before it enters the Hudson ; its valley, 
 exce]3t that it is wider, like that of the Connec- 
 ticut. 
 
 Disembarking at Tours, I got into a hotel car- 
 riage, called that of the Grand Hotel du Faisan. 
 The landlord was at his small office, that opens 
 upon the cour, With him I bargained for my 
 room — one looking down from the third story 
 f upon the business street of the place. Sitting now 
 in it a wood fire flings its heat at me ; French 
 books, with an English Bible to guard them, lie 
 on the large centre table where I write. Above 
 the mantel, handsomely framed, is a girl's photo- 
 graph that I bought at Paris — a fancy sketch I 
 
FROM HOME. 9 
 
 take it to be. Opposite I have another, from tlie 
 tableau of a girl at prayer. Parisian-like, she has 
 thrown off the waist of her dress, and girl-like, she 
 sinks her face low upon the connterpane. Of 
 Tours itself I like the looks mnch better than I 
 expected, for it appears wholly neat. The Hue 
 Koyale, or business street, has a decided American 
 apj)earance. 
 
 February 17. — I have just returned from a 
 long wall^ in the country. Near to the city I was 
 a good deal interested in the low houses in which 
 the peasants live, and with the small gardens about 
 them. Of the most fertile soil, these are separat- 
 ed from each other by the slightest of scantling 
 fences, interlaced with grape vines ; whilst in the 
 corners are a number — one at least — of pear trees. 
 Striking from the river on to the level above, I 
 kept on, until, leaving all houses behind me, I was 
 alone among the meadows of Touraine. The day 
 is like an April day, mild, mostly clear, but slight- 
 ly gusty. Many of the fields are green, with cattle 
 grazing in them. The grape vines, that cover so 
 large an extent of the country, are about three feet 
 apart, and trimmed completely to the trunk, with 
 but one to three sprouts for bunches. The trim- 
 mings are gathered and sold for wood. Hedges 
 mostly are used for fences. 
 
 February 23. — Another walk I have had, in 
 another direction. If possible, the richness and 
 cultivation of the soil appeared yet greater. Tou- 
 1* 
 
10 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 raine is rightly called the garden of France. The 
 whole looks like a garden. Every rood of it is 
 highly cultivated ; no fences where I w^as this af- 
 ternoon — not even hedges, for miles. For trees 
 there were many apple, yonng and thrifty. Be- 
 sides these, bordering the road, is often a sort of 
 willow, or poplar, which are all trimmed down to 
 the trunk, excepting the last one or two years^ 
 shoots. The trunks are from one to two feet in 
 diameter. Occasionally there is a chateau in 
 sight, and always, near by, more or less of woods. 
 From where I stood when furthest away to-day, I 
 could see three chateaux. There are, besides, the 
 houses where the peasants live. All of them ar© 
 plastered, of one story, and look tolerably com- 
 fortable — some of them new and quite nice, though, 
 perfectly devoid of grace in themselves and in. 
 their surroundings. Their little yards may have 
 flowers in, but, if so, they are concealed from the 
 road by a wall that might have protected an an- 
 cient city. 
 
 March 3. — Saw some plum trees in blossom, 
 but %hey were in an especially warm place. 
 
 March 10. — The whole week past has been 
 perfect in its weather. Yesterday and to-day es- 
 pecially were bright and beautiful. The trees are 
 fast blooming ; the fields already green, as in sum- 
 mer. To add to the charm of my walk this after- 
 noon, I met a bevy of school-girls. Most of them 
 were wee things yet, gay enough, chasing each 
 
FEOM HOME. 11 
 
 other, and skimming all ways like so many bntter- 
 flies. Besides the girls, I went by several fine 
 carriages, and also by several of the French scows, 
 that were being pushed up the river, a la Fran- 
 gaise^ that is, in the most shiftless manner. Across 
 the river the land is level for several miles. For 
 a long way np there is a row of poplars. Toss 
 into the stream one or two considerable islands 
 partly overgrown with low shrubbery, and, with 
 the city, that soon lay in the distance back of me, 
 you can get the view pretty much as I got it. 
 
 MciTcli 24. — I have taken my longest walk to- 
 da}^, in chase of a steeple. Over the river, up the 
 hill, and off in the country from amongst some trees, 
 it rises. After the same unhedged, level country 
 for miles, I passed down a hill, to where a clear 
 stream was running, and thence ascending slight- 
 ly through the first wood I had yet met, and over 
 a stone bridge where another and larger brook 
 was going under, I came to houses that seemed 
 the outskirts of a village street. Directly I en- 
 tered a village, having in it a charity institution 
 with fine grounds, and in them the steeple I was 
 chasing. There was also a good-looking inn. As 
 most of the weather lately has been stormy and 
 cool, the trees have not advanced rapidly. How- 
 ever, I saw one apple tree in full blow, and all 
 fully budded. A number of birds felt quite gay 
 about it. 
 
 March 31. — The peas about are some three 
 
12 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 inches in height — tlie early field flowers in bloom. 
 E"eYerthcless the weather the last week lias been 
 chilly, with tremendous winds up the river. 
 
 April 7. — The shad trees are dripping with 
 flowers. Kear some where I stopped this after- 
 noon the birds sang merrily, and my thoughts 
 floated as easily as the clouds that hung around. 
 Below me, a few feet, one of the railroad tracks 
 that centre here, crossed. Its banks were lined 
 with young trees. The track itself looks tidy as a 
 flower bed. A guide post told me that it was six 
 K. to Tours, and twice as far to another village, 
 if I turned at the forks. 
 
 April 14. — This afternoon I had a stroll on the 
 Bayonne road, south, that goes across the river 
 Cher. Yesterday, too, I went the same, turning 
 off to the left, and coming into something of a vil- 
 lage. The shads have faded, but the birds chirped 
 as merrily to the leaves as to the flowers. I 
 thought, perhaps they were pleased with the dan 
 delions, that begin to blossom very thick. Per- 
 haps it was with the daisies, or wild tulips, with 
 which alternately the fields are white and yellow. 
 Dandelions are the same as with us ; daisies a 
 third smaller, and less comely. 
 
 April 28. — Our days grow long very fast. It 
 is nearly seven, but no call for lights. I can 
 hardly realize that May is close upon us. This 
 morning I went to the reading rooms, very much 
 desiring full reports from Fort Sumter, which, we 
 
FKOai HOME. 13 
 
 learned by telegraph yesterday, had collapsed. I 
 was disappointed enough to find no further par- 
 ticulars ; with contempt passed over the Polish 
 news ; left the rooms without even a word for Ceci^ 
 who, with her new apron again, sat demurely read- 
 ing, and made the straightest course to the post 
 office. Here it was all right with a letter and pa- 
 per from home. 
 
 I have just been standing an instant by my 
 window. Being Sunday night, an unusually large 
 throng is going by, though every evening the 
 street is filled with promenaders. These French 
 voices are musical. To stand on the Rue Royale 
 at this hour, one would think Tours a mighty city. 
 
 I often stand thus by my window and gaze, 
 equally with a sunny-haired girl over the way, 
 that wears a blue dress, and dares to look as pretty 
 as she pleases. With nothing else to do, I guess 
 I'll write her a song. By Jove, I believe I am 
 right in the vein of it, with that blue dress flutter- 
 ing before my eyes. 
 
 I call her mine, tlie girl I see, 
 The girl I see, that's o'er the way ; 
 Lingering by her window still, 
 Lingering fondly every day : 
 Thinking of her, she notes me too ; 
 Coqnettishly she rests in \iew ; 
 Koguishly she's smiling ever, — 
 Confound the road that dares us sever. 
 
14: THE YANKEE BOY. 
 
 A bright-eyed lass, with sunny hair ; 
 Red, red and ripe, her young lips are ; 
 Full is her waist, her shoulder bright, 
 Reflecting waves of mellow light : 
 Her gaiter small, from skirts let free, 
 Mocks in its impudence at me ; 
 Or, languishing, entices ever, — 
 Alas I the road that doth us sever. 
 
FEOM HOME. 15 
 
 III 
 
 Blois, Frakce, Tuesday evening, ) 
 May 7, 1861. ) 
 
 This morning— I had finished packing last 
 night — I went over to the reading rooms, stop- 
 jDing, as I came out, for a word with Ceci, who 
 declared with emphasis that Tours was just begin- 
 ning to be pleasant, and that the conntrj was 
 charming in the snmmer. 
 
 I left Tonrs at half past eleven. From the cars 
 I looked my good-by to the place, almost with sor- 
 row when I crossed the walk by the canal, where I 
 have been so much. For some distance along the 
 river I recognized the different objects that I had 
 passed in my rambles, but when these were gone, 
 and the cathedral tower got lost in the distance, I 
 thought that to me it was Tours no more. 
 
 From the cars we had a good view of the cha- 
 teau at Amboise. At one o'clock we reached 
 Blois, where I had determined to stop. From the 
 depot I came to the hotel, and have since looked 
 over the town, with a walk into its suburbs. 
 
16 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 JfouUns, or, to go back, Orleans ; — where 1 
 reached yesterday afternoon, finding an immense 
 crowd gathered for the festival of Jeanne d'Arc ; 
 every hotel was full ; with the offer of five francs, 
 however, I obtained a room in a private family. 
 I then walked down the street, following the 
 crowd, and drew np at a small enclosure, where 
 seemed an honest opportunity of spending some 
 money. Leaving half a franc at the door, I en- 
 tered. Tliere was a very handsome flower-show, 
 connected with the agricultural fair of this de- 
 partment, which is being held here during the 
 week of the festival. Afterward I entered the 
 main grounds of the fair. There was pretty much 
 ever^^thing that we have at our fairs, excepting 
 horses. 
 
 After supper I looked more at the city. From 
 the tower of the large cathedral there is a fine 
 view over the fertile plains, that lie on all sides 
 level to the horizon. I was on top just at sunset 
 — rather a hazy sunset, when the sun is very red ; 
 but it corresponded well with the great stretch of 
 level valley around me, and the rather obscure 
 recollections 1 had of Orleans, and Jeanne d'Arc. 
 
 This morning, after breakfast, I took the cars 
 again for Lyon. Learning that I could not arrive 
 until the morning, I determined to stop some- 
 where ; consulting the railroad guide, I selected 
 this place for the night. Here, then, I am just up 
 from dinner, excessively sleepy. They tell me the 
 
FEOM HOME. 17 
 
 old place has 25,000 people. One might well judge 
 it had the same number of years. From Orleans 
 here the country has been repellent in its dryness 
 and want of cultivation. I might perhaps except 
 the last thirty miles. 
 
 Geneva, Switzeeland, May 13. 
 
 Friday morning I left Moulins. Being market 
 day the peasants were in from the country with 
 their merchandise. They look entirely different, 
 and are dressed entirely different, from those of 
 Tours and Orleans. You would think them an- 
 other people. Between Moulins and Lyon the 
 country differs much ; at first low, uninviting 
 plains, then, when you reach La Palisse hills, 
 there occasionally would be a choice picture view. 
 JSTearing JRoanne^ a valley stretched off to the left, 
 bounded by a low range of mountains, which we 
 soon reached, and from St. EtienriQ we were push- 
 ing through immense barren rocks, with the most 
 forlorn-looking villages and cities upon and under 
 them. Saturday morning I looked over Lyon. 
 To a great extent it lies built upon a steep side- 
 hill. The centre streets are wide and handsome, 
 lined with six-story stone buildings. I left for 
 Geneva at half past one, the railroad keeping near 
 to a stream, that flows among high barren moun- 
 tains, nearly the whole distance. As we neared 
 Geneva we got a glance of Mont Blanc, and had 
 glimpses, too, of little valleys slumbering sweetly 
 where they had fallen. 
 
18 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 Here, at Geneva, I stop temporarily at tlie 
 Hotel des Bergues^ and find three letters for com- 
 pany. 
 
 May 19. — Kiglit opposite the Hotel des Ber- 
 gueSy in tlie third story, fronting on the lake, I 
 have engaged me a room for a month. I can see 
 the swans sailing about throughout the day ; in the 
 evening have the music of a band on the- island in 
 front of me. 
 
 June 2. — Have had a long walk this evening 
 along the lake shore. 'Tis a charming walk, com- 
 mencing from below my window, and leaving the 
 city almost directly. There are scattered the 
 whole way many handsome and some elegant 
 dwellings, with grounds before and about them. 
 The birds were musical, the lake quiet, the sun 
 setting over the Jura mountains, with a large mass 
 of cloud rolling along them. 
 
 June 9. — Sunday again, and a cloudy day. 
 At the French church this morning, we had a 
 great crowd to hear a distinguished preacher. 
 The church, which was formerly a Catholic cathe- 
 dral, is very large. The exercises through, I 
 walked around by the avenue of trees above the 
 gardens, to the post office, and thence, across the 
 river, to the English church, in time for the 
 hymns and sermon. This wxek I have had two 
 magnifique walks, both in the same direction. 
 Turning from the lake shore on to a little hill 
 there is, and keeping, perhaps three miles, on the 
 
FEOM HOME. 19 
 
 higLer grounds, witli the lake on one side below, 
 and the Mont Blanc range on the other. An ele- 
 gant sunset added to the charm, as well, also, the 
 fragrance of fresh cut hay. Aside from the effect 
 of mountains and valleys, a most noticeable feature 
 of all these walks near Geneva is the garden-like 
 aspect of the country. 
 
 Tuesday evening^ July 2. — Yesterday and to- 
 day, again, were fine, after two weeks' rain and 
 storm. The air still remains cool. This afternoon I 
 made quite a walk along by the railroad. After 
 the rains, the gardens and fields are looking for- 
 ward. I see tomatoes in abundance about town — 
 whether brought from the south or raised in hot- 
 beds, I do not know. 
 
 July 21 — And the Sunday going ; French ser- 
 vice, then English this morning, and a little 
 American news. This afternoon somebody had 
 my seat at the English church, as, indeed, happens 
 every week. I take it pretty good-naturedly, al- 
 though turned out twice myself when comfortably 
 seated in Sir Robert P — 's. To-day I took the 
 first bench just inside the door, where sat a pretty 
 damsel, light hair and blonde, rosy cheek and 
 blithe. 
 
 Last night I had a nice walk above the Rhone, 
 near where the Arve empties in. The land is per- 
 fectly flat, with cabbages and cabbage huts, very 
 like to the region as you go out from Albany, or 
 Troy on the Lansingburg side. I have also this 
 
20 THE YAITKEE BOY 
 
 week attended a concert in a small village six 
 miles out. I make two notes. The concert was 
 poor, very poor ; the peasants attending plain and 
 stupid in looks — very plain and very stupid. 
 Here though at Geneva, I see many intelligent 
 men and women, and Swiss girls that reflect most 
 prettily in the dark blue waters of the Rhone. 
 
 July 28. — A fine day it is ; we have had sev- 
 eral of them this last week, with a perfect sight of 
 the Mont Blanc range. We get letters to the 
 Paris newspapers from America of the 13th, but 
 no private letters to-day, nor any IN'ew York 
 Times at the hotel. From the correspondence of 
 the London Times we learn quite truly the state 
 of affairs. Russell is not enough of a man, or a 
 traveller, to throw aside his prejudices, but in the 
 main appears tolerably well. The New York cor- 
 respondent is a zealous advocate for the right. 
 The correspondent of the Illustrated News is 
 mightily pleased with our steamboats. He sends 
 a sketch of the New World on the Hudson. It 
 looks to me like an old friend. 
 
 July 31. — Received two letters this morning, 
 at the office, and with them in my hand, and the 
 city passed, my coat over my arm, il a fait tree- 
 chaiid aujourdlnii^ I struck off up the hills south- 
 east toward the Little Saleve. 'Twas a road I had 
 not been on before. It gave a fine view of the 
 Jura range in France, with the gap through which 
 the Rhone passes. It gave also a fine view of the 
 
FEOM HOME. 21 
 
 pretty hedges tliat lined it, and the Swiss cottages 
 that frowned upon it — smiled, if yon prefer. There 
 were, too, the rij^ening fields of rye, blossoming 
 potatoe-vines, and newly mowed meadows, so 
 that, beguiled by the pretty stories they kept tell- 
 ing me, I kept on. and on, with the letters still in 
 my hand. This is the fanciful view ; but, in truth, 
 I was all the time looking for a stone, more or less 
 big, under some shady tree, where I could sit, 
 muse and read, with no fears from dampness. 
 
 At last, coming to a broad tree near the hedge, 
 I threw my coat down upon the grass in place of 
 a stone, and opened the letters. The first told of 
 strawberrying, and I stopped to think about 
 strawberries, but my thoughts diverged. That's 
 rather a pretty girl coming, at least looks well 
 from here — shall see her better pretty quick ; 
 guess I'll be reading my letter : " I got there 
 about five, finding them eagerly at it, on the 
 ground to the north a little of — " that word's un- 
 usually tough. 
 
 " BonjouT^ mademoiselle^ 
 
 " Bonjour, monsieur^ 
 
 She is very pretty, and what a walk she's got ; 
 head up. Oh yes, it rained yesterday, or day be- 
 fore, and with such a nice Sunday skirt, and so 
 pretty a gaiter, there can be no doubt of the pro- 
 priety. Of course I like you the better for it. 
 There was a dash of genius in it. " Me dites vous 
 qu'ime fille, avec un petit pied comma cela ne 
 
22 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 puisse faire son cliemin clans le moncle?" — ''To 
 the nortli a little of — " tliere slie goes in that yard 
 gate like the river snow-flakes. " A little of — " 
 somebody's race course. 
 
 August 7. — ^Though the rain has continued in 
 storms, we have had some very pleasant weather 
 this week, and fine views of Mont Blanc. Mon- 
 day I made my longest and one of the pleasantest 
 walks, going on the Swiss side of the lake, as far 
 as the Kothschild's summer mansion, which is on 
 the highest point of ground, near and above the 
 lake, facing toward Mont Blanc. The gardens 
 and fields look finely after the rains. Coming to 
 a shady spot on the side-hill, where a big stone 
 was alone, I lay down on it, and passed a dreamy 
 hour, with the Savoy and Piedmont mountains 
 and valleys in full view before me. It was a curi- 
 ous thought that I was here alone in Switzerland, 
 close over the lake to which atlases impart a pe- 
 culiar fascination in a school-boy's fancies. 
 
 Monday I went again the tour that I before 
 described, on to the hill above the south side of 
 the lake. This is the highest ground of the can- 
 ton. I trespassed upon a man's meadow to get on 
 the summit. The sun took its position on Mount 
 Jura, more properly Mount Dole of the Jura. I 
 suppose he had the better view. The great valleys 
 this side of the Mont Blanc mountains seemed as 
 if they had not finished their Sunday, so very quiet 
 were they gathering iu the evening shadows, and 
 
FEOM HOME. 23 
 
 the snow of Mont Blanc, withont even a shadow 
 to spot it, was lovely as a yonng girl. I kept on 
 in my walk to a small village, wliicli I found gaily 
 trimmed for a fete, with a bevy of lassies gathered 
 outside on a rough temporary platform for a dance. 
 I will do them justice : one or two of them should 
 have been called very pretty ; the whole made a 
 fair selection for Delicates. 
 
 THE AMERICAN GIRL'S SONG TO HER FLAG. 
 
 See, see, our Flag ! see, see, our Flag ! 
 
 How softly it cloth fly ; 
 Its stars and stripes, its stars and stripes, 
 
 Are on the evening sky. 
 
 How clear it waves ! how clear it waves ! 
 
 Nor thinks of sorrows past ; 
 But bravely strives, and always strives, 
 
 For victory at last. 
 
 My brother died, my brother died, 
 
 Beneath that banner bright ; 
 For Freedom's cause, her righteous cause, 
 
 He perished in the fight. 
 
 My lover died, my lover died. 
 
 Beneath that banner bold ; 
 With bloody wounds, with cruel wounds, 
 
 His life was sadly told. 
 
 Kg brother now, no lover now. 
 
 Young Ellen's heart grows sad ; 
 Both dear to her, both true to her, 
 
 And they were all she had. 
 
24 
 
 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 See, see, my Flag ! see, see, my Flag ! 
 
 How sweetly it dotli fly ; 
 Its stars and stripes, its stars and stripes. 
 
 Lie on the golden sky. 
 
 (Geneva, August 12, 1861.) 
 
FEOM HOME. 25 
 
 IV. 
 
 CHAMO0NIX, August 24, 1861. 
 
 TRAVELLiNa leaves little time for writing. A 
 week ago Saturday I left Geneva on the lake boat. 
 As we came near Lausanne a storm came on, so 
 that I gave up the idea of stopping, and, with the 
 other passengers, passed the fine scenery, eating 
 dinner in the cabin. The rain, however, stopped 
 shortly before we reached Yilleneuve. I went to 
 the Hotel Byron, and remained there over Sunday. 
 Saturday night, and also Sunday night, we had 
 beautiful sunsets over the Jura, with the lake 
 far extending in front ; mountains both wooded, 
 rocky, and snow-covered, at the side and behind us. 
 Shortly after, the moon came over the high hills 
 — a full moon. A party of us from the yard 
 watched it through my spy-glass, counting the 
 leaves, on the hill, of the trees that were in the 
 way. 
 
 Monday morning, by the first boat, I went to 
 Lausanne. A clear day gave me the beauty of 
 the lake ride, and of Lausanne itself, that, from a 
 2 
 
26 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 most perfect position, looks toward the lake, ver} 
 mucli as Burlington, Yermont, ^toward Lake 
 Cliamplain. Walking to the Tillage, I left my 
 bag at the hotel, and then went on to the hill 
 back, that is called the " Signal." The view from 
 here approaches that from the Dole^ the highest 
 of the Juras. It lacks only the back view off into 
 France, and the valley between the Jura range 
 and the lake. I left Lausanne by the three o'clock 
 boat. Before we reached Geneva, I made the ac- 
 quaintance of an American and his wife from 
 Springfield, Mass. They soon persuaded me, that 
 I would best join them in a tour through Switzer- 
 land, and this properly commenced in a new start 
 from Geneva on Wednesday morning, at seven. 
 We left the Hotel de Metropole^ my ticket bought 
 to Sallenche, theirs through to Chamounix. At 
 Sallenche was the stop for dinner, and also a 
 change from the large diligence to light wagons. 
 There remained eighteen miles to Chamounix, 
 which I had determined to walk. The first four 
 miles being level, I was left behind. Here I 
 passed many Swiss cottages, high up on the moun- 
 tain slopes, with small gardens and vineyards 
 close about them. When we came to the hills, 
 long and steep, I had the advantage. With four 
 hours and a half to Chamounix, I kept the coaches 
 back, and engaged rooms for our party at the Ho- 
 tel d'Angleterre. Through all this ride from Ge- 
 neva we were in constant view of Mont Blanc. 
 
FEOM HOME. 27 
 
 The Arve, by which we go the first part of the 
 way, comes a muddy, glacier-fed river. 
 
 Thursday, Mrs. C ■ being somewhat unwell, 
 
 Mr. C and myself walked on to the Flegere. 
 
 "With om' glass we watched for some time a party 
 of twelve making the ascent of Mont Blanc. 
 Mont Blanc lies directly opposite. We conld 
 easily follow their course, and see the line of the 
 path nearly to the summit. Refreshed with bread 
 and milk, that we found in the chalet there, we 
 made a much more easy descent back again to the 
 hotel. The day was one of the finest ever known 
 at Chamounix ; so reported the guides of the Mont 
 
 Blanc pai'ty. Friday, also a fine day, Mrs. C 
 
 still slightly unwell, Mr. C- and myself had 
 
 another walk to the Cascade du Dard, and thence 
 to the Glacier des Bossons, which we crossed nearly 
 where they commence the ascent of Mont Blanc. 
 "We took our time in our walk, refreshing, as be- 
 fore, with strawberries and milk, from another 
 chalet. In the woods we found fine whortleberry 
 picking. The Glacier des Bossons juts out nearly 
 in the centre of the Chamounix valley, and so 
 gives a perfect view of it in both directions. The 
 valley is narrow enough to have been the former 
 bed of a river. It was six o'clock w^hen we got 
 back to the hotel. 
 
 Yesterday I was up at five, and commenced 
 with a good breakfast. At half past six, with six 
 others, and a guide, I started for the Jardins. 
 
28 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 This is sometimes called one of tlie finest trips 
 among the Alps. One of onr party was Irish ; 
 the rest, except myself, English. At first we went 
 to the Montanvert or Mer de Glace. This took 
 us nearly an honr and a half, and here we stopped 
 for provisions to take with us, and a porter to car- 
 ry them. Again on our way, the path lies along 
 by the Mer de Glace for half an hour, with an 
 hour to follow on the Mer de Glace, crossing it 
 obliquely. In crossing this, our party got sepa- 
 rated, two going on with one of the guides, the rest 
 of us hanging back to look up crystals. My own 
 interest geologically being limited, the magnetism 
 of the crystals soon gave way with me, and I held 
 on alone after the first half of our party, following 
 the path I had seen them take. My Irish friend, 
 who sits by me now, talking to a very pretty Eng- 
 lish girl, says he was two hours and a half only to 
 the Jardins from the Montanvert. When I came, 
 he, with his comrade and guide, was on a big rock 
 enjoying the best of our dinner, though they de- 
 clared themselves disgusted with the view. With- 
 out underrating this, which at least excelled in 
 dreariness, I was fully prepared to defer to the 
 dinner. A half hour passed. The other party 
 hove in sight, reached the rocks and the remnants 
 of the meal. . Big clouds, that had threatened all 
 day, were sinking lower. The ambitious Irishman 
 bade others take their time, but as for him, he said, 
 it was " en avant." The guide that had come first 
 
FEOM HOME. 29 
 
 caiiglit the spirit. Two hours and a quarter 
 brought us back again to the Montanvert ; thirty- 
 eight minutes more rushed us to the foot of the 
 mountain near thu lioteh One word upon the 
 Jardins. It is wholly a glacier view, larger, per- 
 haps, and more desolate, but little different from 
 that of the Mer de Glace. Its interest lies in its 
 utter solitude. 'No sounds but falling avalanches ; 
 nothing in sight but fields of upheaved ice, 
 hemmed in, on all sides, by grim pointed rocks of 
 enormous size and height. And one word more 
 for the little beauty upon the sofa by me. She is 
 assez petite, w^ith bright eyes and bright dimples. 
 I have just told her I was writing about her. She 
 seems to think it's a pretty good subject, and 
 Tv^ants to know what I am saying. She laughs, 
 too, beautifully. It's all in vain, I cannot write 
 in thinking of this girl. 
 
 3fa?/, 1863. — Chamounix to Milan, Milan to 
 Zurich. The notes that I took are lost. Looked 
 back upon, across two years of time, the impres- 
 sions that worded themselves into a dozen pages, 
 bid fair to condense into one. 
 
 Chamounix, the Tete Noire, mountains, val- 
 leys, mules, German students, German girls, Al- 
 pine stocks, and one miserable waterfall, that a 
 Swedish gentleman advised us half a mile out of 
 our way to see, the w^ide, long extending valley 
 of the upper Ehone, and Martigny. To here, I 
 
80 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 recollect, I came on foot, my friends on mules. 
 Here also we had some dinner and some tea. 
 From here we came by cars to Sion ; by dili- 
 gence to Lenky Bad, where we ascended the 
 Torrenthorn, and the next day, in a carriage that 
 we hired, passed down the valley of the Rhone 
 to the Simplon Pass, which, on the second 
 day, we crossed into the snltry yalleys of Italy, 
 as far as Milan. The Sunday was passed at 
 Milan. The succeeding four days gave us some 
 fair sails upon the Italian lakes ; carried us over 
 the Splugen Pass, down into German Switzerland, 
 and by the lake of Wallenstadt to Zurich. 'Twas 
 the time of a calm sunset that we came to the 
 margin of fair Zurich's waters. By the cars we 
 had skirted the southern shore of the lake of 
 "Wallenstadt, that lay belted in by enormous 
 mountains. Where the line ended, at Lake Zuricli, 
 we tarried long enough to get a dinner, at a small 
 restaurant hotel, built in the form of a Swiss cot- 
 tage, near to the lake shore. Two very pretty 
 demoiselles acted the part of waitresses, one of 
 them dressed in the Swiss costume. The northern 
 shore of Lake Zurich, that we sailed aloug that 
 evening, swelled into a long gently rising upland, 
 that in its look and cultivation reflected any New 
 England State. 
 
 Tlie Splugen Pass pleased me more than the 
 Simplon. I liked the spruces that flourished about 
 
FEOM HOME. 31 
 
 it, and I likedj especially, tlie beautiful wide val- 
 ley that it came down into on tlie Swiss side. For 
 the first half of the pass we fortunately secured 
 coupe seats, three of us ; so we fitted exactly in 
 the coiii:)e. 
 
32 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 V. 
 
 Lton, September 15, 1861. 
 
 It is Sunday again. I wrote last at Zuricli. 
 We came into Zuricli Friday niglit, and, after first 
 having walked tlirougli ttie village, left in good 
 season Saturday morning. Zuricli is a cliarming 
 place. I should say that it was by far the prettiest 
 place to live in, in Switzerland. Our course from 
 here was to the Rlgi mountain above the lake of 
 Lucerne. There was an elegant diligence ride be- 
 tween Lake Zurich and Lake Zug ; a rolhng coun- 
 try, fertile and home-like. On Lake Zug we took 
 again the steamboat to the foot of the Kigi. Two 
 English girls on board were sketching the scene. 
 I noticed this difference between us : they looked 
 at the scene, but I looked at them. The height 
 of the Higi is 5,900 feet ; from it is one of the 
 most celebrated views of Switzerland. We landed 
 at Arth and made the ascent, Mr. C and my- 
 self on foot, Mrs. C on horseback. A mostly 
 
 clear day we had, and, in going up, many a fine 
 glimpse of Lake Zug and its shores. We could 
 
FEOM HOME. 83 
 
 see, too, tlie Rossberg Mountain, that slants now 
 like the roof of a house. It was a part of this, that 
 in 1806, splitting off, overv^^helmed three villages, 
 and filled up a part of a small lake several miles 
 distant. Beside a great amount of property, this 
 slide destroyed 450 lives. 
 
 Sunset on the Rigi ! There were clouds about 
 that covered the highest Alps of the Bernese chain, 
 but there remained a magnificent panorama view 
 of Switzerland. This is not at all, as from the 
 Torrenthorn, confined to mountains. From three 
 sides the country looks a grazing land, and is dot- 
 ted with lakes and villages. The Jura range 
 bounds to the west, l^ortheast, with the glass, I 
 could distinguish a large body of water, that I 
 supposed the lake of Constance. Lake Zug, with 
 its rounded shores, lies below. It seemed looking 
 at the sunset as well as ourselves, but the sun bade 
 it good night before us, and the shadows were lying 
 all over its quiet w^aters whilst we yet saw the 
 sun's rim over the Jura. The lake of Lucerne is 
 so directly under the body of the mountain tliat 
 we see but little of it. The small unique valley 
 of Lowertz lies easterly. Southwesterly, over the 
 hills, I had with my glass a glimpse of Zurich. 
 
 This was to be our last bird's-eye view of Swit- 
 zerland. I had had now three very complete ones, 
 from the Dole, the Torrenthorn, and the Rigi. 
 That from the Dole and the Rig7 may be com- 
 pared ; they both embrace mountain and valley 
 
34 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 On the Torrentliom you but stand in tlie centre 
 of a circumference of mountains. As to the 
 views from the Dole and from the Rigi, that 
 from the Eigi should be most beautiful, as it looks 
 upon a choicer part of Switzerland ; but from the 
 former you see Mont Blanc magnificently, and 
 have, too, the whole lake of Geneva stretching 
 below, like Lake Champlain, as seen from Bertha 
 Mountain in Yermont. Both views have their 
 beauty. I am glad to have seen both. 
 
 There is a large hotel on the summit of the 
 Kigi. Here we stopped over the night till the 
 sound of the horn bade us search for sunrise. 
 It proved rather a difiicult search. The wind blew 
 so furiously, one could hardly stand in its way. 
 Immense curtains of cloud and fog hung in the 
 valleys toward the east. However, we waited 
 patiently, some two hundred of us, till finally a 
 perfect hurricane swept the clouds for an instant 
 away, and showed us the sun about half an hour 
 up in the heavens. The women were delighted, 
 everybody was satisfied and went to breakfast. I 
 swung my glass around once or twice, but the 
 wind blew cold, besides blowing strong : it didn't 
 pay. 
 
 Breakfast over, our party started to catch the 
 nine o'clock boat to Lucerne. A tremendous rain 
 came on that washed us down the mountain, land- 
 ing us in a comic Swiss hotel to dry. The boat 
 was somewhat late. Whilst waiting and drying, 
 
FEOM HOME. 35 
 
 we were engaged in buying old coin and wooden 
 images, of a good-looking Swiss girl, that spoke 
 Enorlish. She had learned it from her brother, 
 who had been in England. She herself had long 
 wanted to go to America, and meant to, she said, 
 when she had saved money enough. 
 
 Smiday we passed at Lucerne, at the Schweit- 
 zer Hoff. Lucerne is a very different city from 
 Zurich — old, and every way uninteresting except 
 in its situation. From a hill back we got the 
 beauty of this Sunday ; the weather again was 
 clear and fine. Monday we left at five, to make 
 the trip of the lake by steamer. The first part 
 of the ride was to me the finest, the bay of Uri 
 uninteresting in the extreme. For its mountain 
 scenery it does not compare with the lake of 
 IVallenstadt, or of Thun, or of Brienz. At Flue- 
 len, at the other end of the lake, we took the dili- 
 gence to go as far as Hospital, on the St. Gothard 
 route. I rode only to Amity. This was through 
 "William Toll's Yalley, and is one of the prettiest 
 and grandest rides we have had, being more nearly 
 to us, than anything before, what Americans think 
 Switzerland to be. From Amity to Hospital is 
 much less interesting. Mostly up hill, I walked 
 it. Shortly after crossing the so called Devil's 
 Bridge, we reach Andermatt, and thence, in one 
 mile and a half. Hospital. A bread and milk din- 
 ner, a bargain for a horse, and we are off for Furca 
 Inn, the halfway station of the Furca Pass, that 
 
36 THE YANKEE BOT 
 
 runs from the St. Gothard to Grimsel, thence to 
 Meyringen, near the lake of Brienz. It is onlj 
 practicable for those on foot, or on horseback, and 
 is, at its summit, 8,250 feet above the sea. The 
 whole way it is through a barren region ; large 
 rocks for mountains, and, in the valleys, stunted 
 rocks, and stunted goats. Patches of snow, or 
 glaciers, lie everywhere above us, and send down 
 numerous streams, muddy and spunky, that find 
 their way to the Keuss, which empties into the 
 lake of Lucerne. 
 
 The shades of night were falling fast, as a large 
 St. Bernard dog welcomed me to the little inn at 
 Furca. I say at Eurca, because it is the Furca 
 Inn. There is, though, no other hut to make a 
 village. The dog welcomed me, and I shouted 
 back at the dark valley. An answering short 
 told that some of the party were not far down. 1 
 told the dog these were some friends of mine, an 
 American and his wife. They would want his best 
 bed, T should want the next, and then, if there 
 were any left, there were a couple of Englishmen 
 coming. An half hour after we were all about the 
 suj)per table, hungry enough, and tired enough. 
 
 The next morning, up at six, we had intended 
 to go to Meyringen, thirty miles ; but to the star- 
 ry night had succeeded a cloudy morning. Mist 
 wrapped the mountain tops, or sank low in the 
 valley, and various little rain drops were lying on 
 the window panes. There is quite a fine view up 
 
FKOM HOME. 37 
 
 here in clear weather ; so the guide says. There 
 is very little view this morning. Somewhat mood- 
 ily we sit down to breakfast. " II pleiit," says the 
 landlord, coming in from out the door. Nino 
 o'clock, " il pleut encore." But we have umbrellas, 
 and I suggest to the madame that it may be better 
 to go on, than to wait for an Alpine storm to go 
 by. She is like-minded. Yie order the horse, and 
 with our umbrellas to guard against the drizzling 
 fog, set out for the Grimsel hospice, ten miles oif. 
 In our course we passed by the Rhone glacier, 
 where is the source of the Rhone. It is one of the 
 largest and finest glaciers we have seen. Passing 
 round its base, the mountain of the Grimsel rises 
 before us, about 1,200 feet to ascend. The guide 
 and the horse go ahead ; we go more slowly, stop- 
 ping occasionally to pick whortleberries. Once on 
 the top, there is a wonderfully fine view of cloud 
 and mist, and a strong, biting wind whirling it 
 onward. At the foot of this mountain is the Grim- 
 sel hospice, a building of stone, with very thick 
 walls, and now, as we arrive, a dining-room com- 
 fortable from the well made fire. We get again 
 some bread and milk, and rest the horse. Mean- 
 while the rain has ceased actively, though the 
 clouds are still low. Leaving the Grimsel, we 
 wind down the Aar until we arrive at its cele- 
 brated falls at Handek. A strong, turbulent, 
 glacier stream, it has been jumping all the way 
 since we met it, and now throws itself into a dark 
 
38 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 cliasm, ninety feet deep. Anotlier little stream 
 jumps in from tlie left, at tlie same point, adding, 
 perhaps, to tlie eflect. The scenery everywhere is 
 Alpine — high rocks, with a few miserable trees. 
 The fall, then, has no charm from graceful foliage 
 about it. Its effects must come from its own merit. 
 As a graceful and copious sheet of water, it is cer- 
 tainly fine, but the eye does not like to be satis- 
 fied w4th this alone, and perhaps is a little disap- 
 pointed. Passing this fall, there is no other point 
 of special interest on the route. About six we 
 came to a little Tillage — the first since Hospital — 
 and here, at a tolerably poor inn, w^e spent the 
 nio-ht. The next morn ins: was still threatenins:, 
 so that, when we reached Meyringen, a short two 
 hours from wdiere w-e stopped, we concluded to 
 alter our plan, and go by Brienz to Interlaken. 
 We had intended going by the greater Scheideck 
 direct to Grindelwald. By the lake route we 
 reached Interlaken about dusk. It was too cloudy 
 to see the lake w^ell, its mountain tops being whol- 
 ly covered, but it seemed to us that it must be one 
 of the most beautiful of the Swiss lakes. We caught 
 a glimpse of the fall of Brienz, as it came down a 
 high mountain slope, under low underbrush. 
 
 At Interlaken overnight, and Thursday morn- 
 ing early, there being a clear sky, and the clouds 
 flying, we started, en voiture, to make the tour of 
 the Wengern Alp. The cool air gave zest to the 
 morning drive. The drive itself is a very hand- 
 
FEOM HOME. 39 
 
 some one, by the fertile fields near Interlaken, into 
 the gorge that leads np to the Jungfrau, and the 
 other Bernese Alps. "We left our carriage at 
 Lauterbrunnen, to be taken round by the char- 
 
 road to Grindelwald. Mr. and Mrs. C then 
 
 took the horses, with saddles, and I followed on 
 foot. The commencement of the ascent is steep ; 
 we had soon extended views of the valley and its 
 Swiss homes. "We see, also, on the further sider, 
 the Stau?jbach fall, that is, we see from where it 
 comes, l)ut it gets so small, we are not sure where 
 it goes. Before and above, white, like our wintry 
 snow drifts, tliat curve so beautifully, is the Jung- 
 frau. It lies in sight the whole time, till three 
 hours' steady march has brought us to the height 
 of the Wengern Alp. JSTow we might throw stones 
 at it. "We sit outside of the little inn, and watch 
 and listen for falling avalanches. The fresh wind 
 that comes from the snows, has a wintry tone ; 
 the atmosphere, after the rains, is very clear ; a 
 large herd of cows is grazing below us in the 
 field. Tliey all wear Alpine bells, and the tink- 
 ling sounds very prettily among these valleys. 
 Suddenly there is a grumbling noise, that in- 
 creases to a roar like thunder. Coming down the 
 side of the Jungfrau we see a white mist of snow. 
 Tills is the avalanche. "While we stopped there 
 were two more — one of them very loud and very 
 perfect, coming from near the top, and falling, 
 several times, from one landing place to another, 
 
4:0 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 until it was lost in the green valley. It looked 
 very miicli like a foaming waterfall. From tlie 
 top there is another three hours' walk to Grindel- 
 wald, passing under several of the highest of the 
 Bernese Alps. About half way down we were 
 entertained with Swiss songs from an elderly dame 
 and her daughter. In fact, some sort of entertain- 
 ment had been prepared for us all the morning, at 
 every turn, till a little pocketful of sous, that I 
 started with, were all spent. First there was a 
 man with a horn, which he blew furiously, then 
 doffed his hat. "We paid him pretty handsomely, 
 BO that he kept blowing till we were out of sight. 
 But the next turn brought another man with a 
 bigger horn, a third turn mineralogical specimens, 
 then a third horn, with this time a' really fine 
 echo. In coming up the mountain there was a 
 boy to be satisfied at every gate, and a dish of 
 strawberries to be eaten at every cot. At Grin- 
 delwald we had om* dinner, put the horses again 
 to the carriage, and returned to Interlaken about 
 seven, thus finishing one of the longest and finest 
 days' tours we have made. 
 
 From Interlaken, the next day, we sailed over 
 the fair lake of Tliun, to Thun. We dodged about 
 Thnn desperately, during the short interval there 
 was before the cars left for Berne. Beween Thun 
 and Berne lies a farming country, pleasant to the 
 eye. At Berne we had a fine sunset view from the 
 cathedral tower, both of the city, of the country, 
 
FROM HOME. 41 
 
 and of the lofty Bernese Alps. Berne is a com- 
 pact, ancient-looking city, with parallel streets. 
 From the cathedral we went back to our hotel, to 
 pass a lingering evening over a large mnskmelon. 
 The next morning we were to separate. I bade 
 good-by to the Yankee companions, after fonr 
 weeks' very agreeable acquaintance. I guess we 
 were all a little sober ; however, personally, I feel 
 again, now, about the same as of yore, and am 
 glad the tour of Switzerland is well made. 
 
 At ^ye o'clock Saturday morning I left Berne, 
 passed around Lake Neuchatel, and came again 
 to Geneva, at about one. Here I had two hours, 
 and looked in at the post office, but received noth- 
 ing. The old town was very natural. At half 
 past four we left for Lyon, going over the same 
 route that I had come. We reached here about 
 ten. "With my sack I w^alked on, through the city, 
 to the Hotel de Collet, a first-class hotel, where I 
 secured an upper bedroom for two francs, tout 
 compris, 
 
 Toulouse, September 19. 
 
 I left Lyon Monday for Marseilles. The road 
 goes w^ithin sight of the Rhone, as far as Ter as- 
 con. The valley of the Ehone is not handsome, 
 nor did it seem especially fertile. There are 
 mountains in sight on both sides nearly all the 
 way — dry, disagreeable hills they are. "Were our 
 mountains like many of these in Europe, my love 
 for them would die speedily, if it had ever had 
 
42 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 birtli. The view of tlie Mediterranean, before 
 reaching Marseilles, is very fine, a blue sea, to 
 counteract the eifect of snow and rock, that we 
 have had so long among the Alps. 
 
 Marseilles 1 was disgusted with. It is a dirty, 
 dusty, windy, disagreeable city, with the poorest 
 hotels, and the most exorbitant charges. The 
 streets smell so badly, you can scarcely walk 
 through them. I went on to the hill south of the 
 town. The wind blew furiously from the north, 
 a hurricane sweeping over this parched and dreary 
 land. All the view is uninteresting, excepting 
 that toward the sea. The harbor, a little inlet 
 from the bay, is very small, though perfectly pro- 
 tected. There is now another artificial one. I 
 left at four Tuesday afternoon, returning as far as 
 Terascon, and thence directly on to Nismes for the 
 night. The next day I looked over the Roman 
 ruins, tlie amphitheatre, that is externally better 
 preserved than the Coliseum at Rome, and a quite 
 prettily shaped building with fine Corinthian col- 
 umns, now used as a museum. There were also 
 some old bath arrangements, within a very pretty 
 modern garden. By the twelve o'clock train I 
 went to Montpellier. The whole way between is 
 a luxuriant field, covered with vineyards, bending 
 with most elegant clusters of grapes. It seemed 
 to me all as fertile as Touraine. At Montpellier 
 I had an hour and a half, and went upon the 
 PeyroUj after inquiring at the post oflice. There 
 
FEOM HOME. 43 
 
 is a long, extended view. Tlie whole country 
 looks ricli ; the town itself handsome. On one 
 side there are high hills in the distance, and on the 
 other the sea. 
 
 I should give, too, a marked preference to the 
 race that live at Montpellier, at Kismes, and at 
 Toulouse, over any I have seen before in France. 
 The next train left Montpellier at half past three ; 
 we arrived at Toulouse, after several opportunities 
 for lunch, at half past eleven. 1 have found here 
 two letters. As I see it, I like the city well. It 
 seems a busy city. My trunks I have forwarded 
 to Pan, and intend leaving myself to-morrow, 
 through the level fields of Languedoc, for Luchon, 
 in the Pyrenees. 
 
44 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 VI. 
 
 Luz, Feance, September 12, 18G1. 
 
 I HAVE made tlie tour of tlie Pyrenees on foot, 
 commenced Monday and finislied to-day. Let no 
 one say I haven't seen half of them. I've seen all 
 I mean to, and a good many more than I wish I 
 had. I have been np over seven thonsand feet four 
 different times. Eely on this : v/lien I start again, 
 I'll have a good horse mider me. 
 
 To-day I came from Grip in five and a half 
 hom-s — the easiest day I have had. I shonld have 
 gone on the Pic du Midi de Bigorre, making four 
 hours longer, but the weather seemed too threat- 
 ening, the Pic being covered v/ith clouds and snow 
 when I came to the place where they turn off to 
 ascend. I reached here at three, and found a let- 
 ter and paper. It was a treat to get some news 
 again, after so much tramping. I ordered a beef- 
 steak, with some rich milk for drink, and, with the 
 letter spread before me, ate and read alternately. 
 
 Saturday niglit. — In spite of what I vrrote last 
 night, I've been up another mountain and got 
 
 ( 
 
FEOM HOME. 46 
 
 down again — that's the best part — all on foot and 
 alone. The day was so very fine that the tempta- 
 tion was too great. Instead of taking a^horseback 
 ride to Gavarnie, I went np the Pic des Ber- 
 gons, which is called in the guide book one of the 
 finest points of view among the Pyrenees. It did 
 not begin to be as fine as where I went Tuesday. 
 ISTevertheless it was good, and wuth my sj^y glass I 
 could see so perfectly the valley, the cirque, and 
 the waterfalls at Gavernie, that I shall not go 
 there at all, but, instead, shall leave here Monday 
 morning for Pan. 
 
 Put to go back. Toulouse, and on the top of 
 the diligence you have me started through the fer- 
 tile fields of LangLiedoc, given mostly to grain and 
 grass. The Pyrenees form a distant outline in 
 front a long way off, and then a shorter way ofi", 
 till when we stopped to breakfast, at one o'clock, 
 the arms which the main chain flings out continu- 
 ally into the valley were but a short distance ahead. 
 The meal — I can hardly do it justice now, but I 
 did at the time — the meal over, and the little vil- 
 lage of Saint somebody, where we ate, passed, 
 there came a slope to be gone down, and from the 
 top a beautiful picture of the nearest hill, covered 
 all over on the France side with a low green for- 
 est, so evenly that it seemed carpeted with the 
 richest grass. And here I would remark that this 
 is the finest piece of wood I have seen in all the 
 Pyrenees. At the side of this, on the right, was 
 
y 
 
 46 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 the valley of tlie Garonne, and further on another 
 hill more barren and less handsome, with a curi- 
 ons-looking village and big chm'cli perched npon 
 it. St. Bernard is its name. We left it at our 
 right, and groped along into the valley. My beau- 
 tiful mountain I found on the back side, spotted 
 with dry grass and barren rocks. Thus often 
 ■ — but I haven't time. To the left of us we left 
 the Yal d'Aran, from which comes the Garonne, 
 and went ourselves up the valley of the Arboust, 
 as beautiful as any I have met, and giving one a 
 fine first impression of the Pyrenees. 
 
 The torrent that goes through the valley, 
 whether dashing or tranquil, is clear, like our 
 mountain streams. We see here no more the dirty 
 water that comes from the muddy glaciers of Swit- 
 zerland. Then the valley is greener, its sides 
 handsomer, its houses, though poor enough, neater 
 than what you find in the mountain regions of 
 Switzerland and Savoy ; and the peasants whom 
 we meet, w^hether male or female, as they seemed 
 at Montpellier and Toulouse, are a strong, well 
 formed, handsome race. Nearly to the extremity 
 of the valley, in a flat and rather disagreeable 
 basin, is Luchon. Our postilion feels that he is 
 coming where people live ; he cracks his whip 
 with the most brilliant success. You can hard- 
 ly conceive the amount of noise he gets from 
 the lash. We dash into a street lined its whole 
 extent with a double row of branching trees, and 
 
FROM HOME. 47 
 
 a double row of well made buildings, mostly of 
 one or two stories, neatly painted, and all claim- 
 ing to be hotels, or liaving apartments to let. The 
 street itself is filled with a gay collection of folk, 
 some on foot and some on donkeys ; two pretty 
 girls, with black eyes and red flannel petticoats, 
 are galloping through on horseback. Your true 
 French damsel likes a jauntie dress, red and 
 orange and blue. You see them all through the 
 street, and displayed profusely in the shops, — 
 " Souvenirs de Luchon." 
 
 Luchon is a French watering place, as much 
 so as Saratoga is a Yankee one. It puts on airs 
 accordingly, l^ow the season is a little passed. 
 In another week it will be gone. But let us leave 
 Luchon for Luchon's hotels. Somebody had told 
 me the place to stop at was the Hotel d' Angleterre. 
 I went there. It proved a good-enough hotel, 
 only there was neither sitting room, piano, or news- 
 paper. Saturday morning I left it for the Hotel 
 de Londres, where all of these existed. A rainy 
 Saturday and a pleasant Monday followed. Sun- 
 day afternoon I made a three-hours' walk into the 
 Yal de Lys, which diverges from the Luchon val- 
 ley to the right. The road to it goes up hill by 
 a clear, pretty stream. The lower part of the 
 mountains on each side is overgrown with trees, 
 balsam and beech principally. In about three 
 miles you come out from the trees into cleared 
 mountain slopes, with a very narrow valley, a 
 
4S THE YAXKEE BOY 
 
 verv little villago, a small waterfall at the foitlier 
 end, sheep, iroatj>, and cows, 
 
 Moudav luorninir at six, with a firtiide that I 
 had secured the night hetore, I lett Luchon to 
 pa*^ through the Port de Yenasque on to 'S'^e- 
 iiasque in Spain. The morning had opened hrill- 
 iantJv, clear, and sliirhtlv cool, just enouirh so. AVe 
 to<Ji: with ns a bottle of wine, some cold meat and 
 bread, for a limch. 'We were to moke the trip 
 afoot. It commences np the Taller from Luchon 
 two miles, till tou cx^me to where thev turn off for 
 the Talley of Lys. Ilere, turning to the left, the 
 road begins to ascend through a handsome gorge, 
 with a l^ur beech wood to line it, and moimtains, 
 high, rising over it. The beech wood on this 
 side, and the balsams on the other, go about halt- 
 way up the mountains : then come clear grounds, 
 with picturing, and the tops, as I looked down on 
 them afterward, are large sloping fields, filled with 
 sheep and goats. On those easy of asc*ent there 
 are c-ows. The road, hitherto good for carriages, 
 ends with the vallev seven miles fix>m Luchon. 
 There is here a small hospnc-e, used both as an hos- 
 pice and inn. From this commences the ascent 
 of the mountain that leads to the Port de Ve- 
 nasque. It is a senii-ctrcular mountain or huge 
 wall, barren to the eve, and tousrh in the ascent. 
 However, we mounted it, and that ahead of an 
 English rector and his daughter, who, on horse- 
 back, had passed ns in the valley below. The 
 
feo:m home. 49 
 
 Port is siiriply a crevasse^ a curiouB one, to be 
 Bure, shaped Bomething like a door, in the semi-cir- 
 cular wall. It is itself 7,917 feet above the Bca, 
 whilst on each side rise huge cliffs of rock i'ar 
 above it. Passing through, before us, on the other 
 side, across an intervening valley, rises the wliole 
 bulk of the Maladetta, the loftiest of the Pyrenees 
 (11,420 feet). Toward its summit is a large curved 
 basin of snow. The mountain itself is an ugly, 
 scowling concern, well named the Accursed; and 
 BO all the valley on the Spanish side that we look 
 at is surrounded by a disagreeable series of rocky 
 hills. 
 
 A few minutes suffice for the view. " A short 
 Avay ahead we shall find water for our luncheon," 
 said the guide. The English rector and his 
 daughter passed us again ; we pressed on in 
 descent. My bottle of wine, that I had been 
 counting on so much for the luncheon, made a 
 descent at the same time from the guide's pocket 
 to a little rock there was ; it didn't linger long 
 enough to tell its color. The spring, too, that we 
 were going to, was dried up. We had to descend 
 to the foot of the mountain, where was another 
 hospice, horribly wretched, even for Spain. But 
 beyond this there was a clear stream ; on its gi^assy 
 bank, shaded by a large rock, we took our lunch- 
 eon. From here to Yenasque is about ten miles, 
 a stony mulepath running tlie whole way near 
 the same stream, which soon grew into quite a 
 S 
 
50 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 river, by wliicli we had our dinner. Yenasqiie, 
 the first Spanish town I had seen, is a most filthy 
 phice ; all the Spanish villages of this part are 
 said to be the same. Its hotel is intolerable. You 
 enter through the stable. Still, it was the best 
 accommodation we could find. We could go no 
 farther that night. The only point was to learn 
 the charges. The woman spoke Spanish, which 
 the guide translated. Her price was nine francs 
 for supper, bed, and breakfast, for myself alone. I 
 made short work of this, that I would give no such 
 price, and finally engaged a bed and breakfast for 
 four francs. There was enough left from the lunch 
 for a good supper. The guide took care of him- 
 self. In about half an hour the rector came. He 
 did hardly as well as I, but got off two francs from 
 the nine. 
 
 It was now about four o'clock. The girl, an_ 
 other instance of feminine ambition, thought she 
 must go and see the town. There couldn't have 
 been a meaner sight, I thought ; apparently the 
 rector felt the same. He advised that she go to 
 bed, but the look that she gave -stopped all that, 
 and carried him as far as his hat. From the win- 
 dow I saw them disappearing among the pigs, the 
 girl, with her skirt in the most improved English 
 style, eying each hovel, and the rector dodging 
 the donkeys and the porkers. I myself soon fol- 
 lowed as far as the outskirts of the town, where I 
 came to a cleanly stone arch, that spanned a still 
 
FROM H03IE. 51 
 
 more cleanly river. Tlie bridge had wide stone 
 walls. On one of tliem I lay down, watcliing the 
 water roaming beneath, or rising enough to see 
 the fields beyond, green in spite of their Spanish 
 occupants. Lofty hills and mountains bounded 
 them on all sides. There was much that was beau- 
 tiful about it. Another little Spanish town, that 
 was upon a mountain hill, some three miles in 
 front of me, gave a fine background. Over all 
 was the soft verdant tinge that comes from the 
 Southern clime, and lies like a mantle above the 
 Pyrenees. 
 
 Well, here I sat upon the bridge, with the 
 general softness about, until the dumb animals 
 thought I was a part of the edifice, and quite a 
 respectable donkey came and proposed to rub 
 himself against my leg. I up with my foot and 
 let him have it, right in the face ; then I got 
 down and made my way back to the dirty hotel. 
 Soon the rector and the girl came. I asked her 
 if she had seen the town. She said, ''Yes ; a very 
 curious old place." After the supper we had a 
 long evening, with political discussions. 
 
 The next day, Tuesday, we were up at six, but 
 the Spanish breakfast was not ready till nearly 
 eight. There were some trout, that went very 
 well. Our return lay for the first ten miles as 
 we had come. Passing the hospice, we turned 
 to the right, and went along under the Maladetta 
 up a high mountain opposite it, that was a contin- 
 
52 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 nation of the ridge on wliicli is the Port de Ye- 
 nasqne. Something over eight thonsand feet np 
 we reached another Port, that penetrated the main 
 ridge. Going throngh this there are two paths, 
 one rnnning down the mountain into the Yal 
 d'Aran, where the source of the Garonne is, the 
 other mounting again to the left, up quite a height, 
 to the Port de Picard, that lies a little to the 
 northeast of the Port de Yenasque. The first of 
 these routes the rector went. We took the other, 
 and soon stood upon the height, looking down 
 upon the paths we had left, and the mountains 
 stretching far and wide. The view was fine, but 
 near us on the right was the height of one of the 
 two cliffs that formed the Port. I told the guide 
 we would go on this ; so we did. I think it must 
 have been over nine thousand feet. The sio:ht 
 from it was magnificent, with a clear atmosphere. 
 I was satisfied it must be about the best point of 
 view to see the Pyrenees themselves. That from 
 the Maladetta would slightly excel it. As on 
 the Torrenthorn in Switzerland, we were surround- 
 ed by mountains, except one small opening, that 
 looked off on the level plains of France. The 
 highest of all the Pyrenees, the Maladett'a, lay ap- 
 parently within a stone's throw, over the valley. 
 Directly below us was the valley of Aran, one of 
 the most beautiful in the Pyrenees, with the infant 
 Garonne floating through it. On all sides moun- 
 tains and valleys are thrown in together, and 
 
FKOM HOME. 63 
 
 all are covered with some kind of vegetation ; tlie 
 high mountains mostly with a withered sort of 
 grass, in itself not handsome, but still it gave that 
 soft tinge I spoke o:', which you have not at all in 
 the Alps, but which here suffuses the w^hole, 
 and gives a charm to the Pyrenees peculiar to 
 themselves. The little valley that we came up the 
 day before, lay opposite to the Yal d'Aran. Its 
 sides, that had seemed high mountains, looked 
 now like hills fringed below with woods, and ris- 
 ing into table lands, where flocks were grazing. 
 Quite a number of villages in the different valleys 
 were in sight, and many a little stream searching 
 for the Garonne. 
 
 These little streams, I might add, acted like so 
 many magnets on us. It has been very dry in the 
 Pyrenees all the summer — both dry and hot — so 
 that all the springs are withered, and all the low^ 
 glaciers melted ; we had come many a trying 
 mile, finding no water. The guide, who had ap- 
 parently been considering why we came up this 
 last hill, pointed to the table land below us, and 
 said there was a very fine spring there. He waited 
 for the effect. It came. 
 
 " Allons." 
 
 With a writer's license I change the scene to a 
 rock from which, or under which, came a cool and 
 limpid jet of water. I will not tell of the bread and 
 cheese I ate, or how many times I held the leath- 
 er cup to the cold water ; but when I have the 
 
54 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 Cliamoimix English girl, wlio draws so well, make 
 me a picture of the Pyrenees, she's going to put 
 this rock in the foreground, with the reflection of 
 herself in the spring beside it. 
 
FBOM HOME. 55 
 
 VII. 
 
 PAir, October 13, 1S61. 
 
 Wednesday morning at Luchon I was up de 
 hon matin., and found many clouds, thick and 
 damp, covering tlie mountains, and settling down 
 into the valleys. However, I made my breakfast, 
 slung the knapsack on my back over one shoulder, 
 the spyglass and shawl over the other, and recom- 
 menced touring. I followed a valley road that 
 leads off toward Arreau and the baths of Bigorre. 
 The hedges, that are in part covered by blackber- 
 ry bushes, diverted me into one or two halts; 
 otherwise I kept on steadily, through a grazing 
 valley, with high unhandsome-looking hills about 
 it, three hours, to a small, ill-formed village, where 
 a mule path leaves the carriage road, and passes 
 through the village of Oo, on, an hour and a half's 
 farther walk, to the Lake d'Oo. This is one of the 
 few small lakes among the Pyrenees. To see this 
 lake was part of the day's work. I turned off, ac- 
 cordingly, down a liill-sloj^e on which the dirty 
 village was, throngh some meadows lined with 
 
56 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 hedges, a mile to tlie village d'Oo. There was 
 here a pretty mountain stream passing, and near 
 its bank, jnst before reaching a bridge that crossed 
 it, a small house, enclosed by a large high wall, 
 and on the wooden gate to the wall it said, " Ici on 
 sert a boire et a manger." 
 
 Mr. C. said in Switzerland he had noticed I 
 never passed a restanrant. "With pleasing fancies 
 of the good things within, I drew up to this. 
 Alas ! the big gate was closed, fermee a la clef. 
 T tried it repeatedly, and, remembering how I had 
 failed once at Westport, I pulled as well as pnshed. 
 " II n'y a personne," said a bright-looking dam- 
 sel, that came along then on a mule, " la madame 
 est allee au champ." This was conclusive. I was 
 fain to leave — that is, leave the provision I had 
 hoped to take, and take the sack I had hoped to 
 leave. 
 
 I crossed the bridge. For some hours the 
 clouds had been creeping farther down the hill- 
 tops, and now, as if all things were arranged, the 
 raindrops began to fall, small, wet, and active. I 
 raised my umbrella. The dripping of the rain 
 upon its top, and the stream below plashing on 
 I the boulders, was all the company I had through 
 the dreary valley and up the climb of four thou- 
 sand feet that ended it. To tell how I felt would 
 make a long history, but I can tell v/hat I saw in 
 about three lines. There were mountains on two 
 sides, entirely covered with clouds. There was a 
 
FEOM HOME. 57 
 
 long valley below, running off to the fourth side, 
 pretty much covered with clouds. There was a 
 flock of sheep apparently somewhere between the 
 valley and the mountains, but it was so mist}^ I 
 couldn't w^ell place them. Then, on top of the 
 mountain where I had reached, was a small rude 
 inn ; the people inside told me, that directly in 
 front, only a few rods off, was the lake d'Oo. It 
 seemed very probable, as I had noticed the mist 
 in that direction was thicker than anywhere else. 
 Within the inn was one French party and one 
 English, that had come, as I did, for pleasure. 
 They had a wood fire arranged in the large fire- 
 place. By it they were drying themselves, whilst 
 waiting for the lunch. The Englishman growled 
 to see a newcomer, whilst the Frenchman upset 
 almost everything about him in trying to give 
 me a place. I assured him I was neither cold 
 nor wet, didn't wish to get any nearer the fire 
 than the dinner table, and here, after unstrapping 
 my baggage, I sat me down. 
 
 For my limch I got precisely what I wanted : 
 a large pitcher of new milk, with bread and 
 peaches. When I had finished I looked again out 
 the door. The clouds had lifted ; such as it was, 
 the little lake was before me. It is but a small 
 round pond, a quarter of a mile, perhaps, across. 
 1 could see but little of the mountains that hem- 
 med it in. It was now two o'clock. There was no 
 hotel until I reached Arreau, and to Arreau it 
 3* 
 
58 THE YAI^KEE BOY 
 
 would take at least six hours. The way was back 
 to the village cl'Oo, then by a short cut through 
 the fields to the highway, and after that, " tout 
 droit." The short cut proved but fifteen minute-s 
 long, when the highway, though somewhat mud- 
 dy, made good walking. In crossing from one 
 valley into the other, it crosses a mountain spur 
 of six thousand feet, by a continuous succession of 
 zigzags. The road is macadamized and thorough- 
 ly built, as much so as those in the Alps. Occa- 
 sionally the clouds would sweep out from the val- 
 ley, showing a clear bright stream in the centre, 
 lined by rich green meadows, where droves of cat- 
 tle and sheep were feeding. It is wholly — all the 
 valleys of the Pyrenees — a grazing land. You see 
 no vineyards, but sheep, cows, and horses in the 
 fields, with, occasionally, patches of wheat, of oats, 
 and of Indian corn. 
 
 By the time I had passed the summit and com- 
 menced the descent into the Yal d'Aure, the shades 
 of night were gathering, surely, if not fast, and 
 Arreau yet was so far away that to half the peas- 
 ants it was a myth. There were, though, in sight, 
 in this new valley, a half dozen villages. Prettily 
 enough they looked from the hill, with the ruins 
 of old castles about them ; old and dreary enough 
 they all proved when I passed through them, with 
 no hotel fit to be called such. The valley was 
 wider and larger than any I had seen, and would 
 doubtless have looked very handsomely in a clear 
 
FEOM HOME. 59 
 
 light. A strong young stream went tlirongh its 
 centre. This I crossed ; after that I conld but see 
 the way, growing less and less distinct, till, when 
 I. had arrived at Arreau, all the night was 
 black : the time between seven and eight. At 
 Arreau, a compact Frenchy town, I found a toler- 
 able hotel, where a dark-eyed girl showed me to 
 my room. 
 
 Thursday — Arreau to Grip. There is a car- 
 riage road all the way, but it has many zigzags, 
 and goes far out of the direct course. I went by 
 mulepaths over two mountain spurs. It rained in 
 showers ; large, beautiful black clouds above, or 
 breaking away, so as to leave nearly the whole 
 sky blue. Perhaps it was this that made all 
 things look so fresh, and gave to the wide valley 
 and its mountain borders a beauty I had not seen 
 in Switzerland. But you have not the Swiss lakes, 
 nor anywhere have I met so charming a spot for 
 a home as the Canton of Zurich, or the wide, large 
 valley where Coire is, as you descend from the 
 Splugen Pass. The valley I was in now is the 
 valley d'Aure. Yesterday I came down into it 
 from its upper end, and now left it from its lower. 
 The second mountain spur that I spoke of crossing 
 could hardly be called that. It was rather an ele- 
 vated plateau, rising a thousand feet from the val- 
 ley, and covered with pastures and ploughed land. 
 I passed one field where they were digging pota- 
 toes. The potatoes were large round white ones, 
 
60 THE YAITKEE BOY 
 
 the same tliat are common with ns. Some of the 
 fields of grass were watered by springs, and beau- 
 tifully green. On these were droves of sheep pas- 
 turing, which are abundant throughout the Pyi-e- 
 nees. Scattered everywhere were the peasants' 
 houses, the same that I used to see in the coun- 
 try near Tours — ^low, one story, rather long, and 
 plastered. Some of them looked quite neat, many 
 quite forlorn. From these table lands you come 
 down into the little vale where Grip lies. The 
 whole of it seems a green sward of the freshest 
 verdure ; through its centre, as through all these 
 valleys, is a trout stream. The length of the val- 
 ley must be five miles, and the width half a mile. 
 It, too, is filled with low houses. At Grip there 
 was no black-eyed girl, but I had, to console me, 
 some brook trout — and to bed. 
 
 Friday morning it was cold ; all the mountains 
 were covered with snow and large clouds, the 
 clearing up of the last two days' storm. I was to 
 go to Luz by another mulepath, over a mountain 
 of seven thousand feet. Snow was abundant on 
 each side of the summit, but fast melting in the 
 noonday. The route itself is mostly uninteresting, 
 soon losing sight of the valley of Grip. You de- 
 scend upon Bareges, quite a town, and watering 
 place for the sick. I stopped at a stand an instant 
 to buy some peaches and a tomato, and discovered, 
 after I had left the village an hour, that I had also 
 left my umbrella. 'Twas a good three miles up 
 
FEOM HOME. 61 
 
 liill for the chance of finding, but I went it with 
 success. The little girl that sold the fruit had it 
 laid aside. She was a bright, honest little girl. I 
 gave her half a franc, and should have given more, 
 but I thought I had had the hardest part. 
 
 From Bareges to Luz is about six miles, 
 through a narrow but handsome valley, and by a 
 stream that swells to quite a river. Saturday 
 there was a beautiful day. I have already written 
 how I went up the Pic des Bergons. ISTever mind, 
 here's to its memory again. It lies close by Luz, 
 is something over six thousand feet in height, and 
 is surrounded by many other peaks, some of them 
 still higher. Arrived at the top, I found numerous 
 sights ; the first and most agreeable, a slight cov- 
 ering of snow, with a little harvest of whortleber- 
 ries. I kept looking at these quite a long time. 
 Then a very immense flock of crows came and 
 looked at me, told all sorts of tales about who I 
 was, and where I came from, and seemed finally 
 to have concluded, by a union effort, to make 
 w^ar upon me, and wipe me into the gulf. I had 
 stood their attentions without a word, but when 
 it came to this, and they began to swoop in cir- 
 cles about my head, coming nearer each time, I 
 seized a couple of rocks, and waiting until they 
 were below me, mider the precipice of the moim- 
 tain, I flung them. The whole flock dodged into 
 each other, and retired, totally demoralized. The 
 exact loss of the enemy I cannot tell, but it must 
 
62 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 liave been very severe, probably between three 
 and four liundred, and among tliem a large num- 
 ber of officers. There was a little darky of an 
 angle worm by ns that thought they were all 
 killed, but he was too frightened to see straight. 
 Besides the snow, the whortleberries, and the 
 crows, there was the view ; this was of Luz valley 
 and of Luz ; of the valley that stretched out to 
 Gavarnie, near which is Mount Perdre and the 
 Briche de Roland. To the east is the Pic du Midi 
 de Bigorre. ISTorth you have a limited extent of 
 the plains of France. Mount Perdre is the second 
 in height of the Pyrenees, 11,168 feet, and is a 
 much handsomer-formed mountain, as seen from 
 this distance, than the Maladetta. It has, too, an 
 advantage in the mountains that surround it. The 
 Briche de Poland is a very curious square opening 
 in the mountain ridge, of about three hundred feet. 
 All through in this part of the range snow and 
 glaciers cover the tops. Palling down over the 
 wall at Gavarnie, I could see many streams com- 
 ing from the glacier above. 
 
 Sunday was another beautiful day. I could 
 hear of no Protestant worshij), and spent the day 
 mostly in my room. In the afternoon, however, 
 I made a short walk up the valley, to where a 
 new and very fine stone arch has been thrown 
 across the river, so as to connect St. Sauveur with 
 the road that leads from Luz to Gavarnie. Mon- 
 day another fair day ; by diligence I came down 
 
FROU H03IE. 63 
 
 the valley, out from the mountains, into the open 
 land that stretches off unbroken toward Tarbes, and 
 into the heart of France. The first part of the 
 way was through the most of a gorge that I had 
 seen amongst the Pyrenees. At Pierfitte the val- 
 ley widens handsomely into large fields of Indian 
 corn, and only low mountains in advance. Once 
 through these, we are again among the prairies. I 
 enjoyed the country from here to Tarbes. There 
 is a home look about it with the mountains close 
 behind us. Tarbes is an nninviting French chef- 
 lieu, a fourth-rate city. I nsed the time I had in 
 visiting a collection of stallions, kept here by the 
 Government. Amongst them were some fine 
 Arabians. Otherwise the collection, which was 
 chiefly of English blood, was greatly inferior to 
 ours, as we often see them at agricultural fairs. 
 
 Tarbes to Pan is quite a distance, but I had 
 mostly a night ride. What I saw was seen by 
 starlight — a good light to see a lassie in, but bad 
 for pictures. 
 
64 THE TANKEE BOY 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Pat;, November 3, 1S61. 
 
 I THINK, by my last, I left Pan, a lassie, and 
 the stars, mixed up together. We will leave the 
 lassie with the stars yet, but Pau I have seized, 
 and shall hold it np to talk abont. The pastor, 
 with whom I am now, and who is from Blois, de- 
 clares it is a ''vilaine ville." The yonnger chil- 
 dren, who have forgotten Blois, think differently, 
 and talk abont its charming promenades, and the 
 beanty of its mountain landscape. I, as having 
 been at both, am often appealed to, bnt with 
 finesse have thus far refrained from committing 
 myself. A happy thought, however, struck me at 
 dinner the other day, and I exclaimed, when a si- 
 lence came : 
 
 " J'aime beaucoup Blois." 
 
 " Bravo ! " shouted the pastor, and looked tri- 
 umphantly about him. 
 
 '' Oui, je I'aime beaucoup, parce que j'ai vu 
 dans la rue une petite demoiselle, tres jauntie." 
 
 The children laughed, the oldest girl smiled. 
 
FROM HOME. 65 
 
 and tlie j)astor told his wife, lie would take "im 
 petit pen de pommc de tcrre." 
 
 But to write descriptively, giving at the same 
 time an historical touch — '^ Pan, ancient capital 
 of the little kingdom of French Navarre and 
 Beam, now chef-lieu of the Dept. des Basses 
 Pyrenees, stands on a lofty ridge, forming the 
 right bank of the river, or Gave de Pan, and has 
 15,171 inhabitants." There you have it, arranged 
 by Murray, in a nutshell. We might add, gen- 
 erally, that it has a reputation for the dryness and 
 softness of its winter air ; hence several thousand 
 strangers, for the most part English, come here to 
 pass their winters. Its situation, too, has beauty 
 in it, combining wooded hills with prairies, and 
 lofty mountains. We will let farther description 
 come, in telling what I saw. As I said, it was night 
 w^hen I came. At the hotel where the diligence 
 stopped, I took a bed. The first thing, in the 
 morning, was the post office. This is toward the 
 centre of the principal business street, the Pue de 
 la Prefecture. Two letters ! and one short paid, 
 but 'twas in a dainty envelope, and I suggested 
 that it didn't appear very heavy. The postman 
 suggested that I go to Paris and have it weighed. 
 A lively idea this, and I left, thinking how viva- 
 cious these Frenchmen are. 
 
 Letters, if readable, are soon read. Mine were 
 very readable. I read them, perhaps reread them, 
 and again sought the open air in the streets of the 
 
6G THE YAl^KEE BOY 
 
 town. "Wliere sliall I take my apartment, and how 
 much of an apartment sliall it be ? These are try- 
 ing questions in a strange place, and require good 
 thought. This evidently is the main rue, I rumi- 
 nated, exploring more tiilly la Rue de la Prefec- 
 ture. If I take quarters upon its borders I shall 
 see a great deal, and hear a good deal more. A 
 neat street turned off to the left. I followed it. 
 A short distance brought me to a large church. A 
 little way from the church, hanging from the win- 
 dow of a stone building, was the wooden placard, 
 " Chambre garnie a loner." It was precisely the 
 chance I wanted, I knew by the looks, and en- 
 tered to make inquiries. I reached the upper 
 hall, but as I reached it a young girl was opening 
 the window, and leaning out enough to exj)Ose a 
 little her ankle, she seized, as her prize, the wooden 
 card I had called mine. I didn't know until she 
 turned how much I cared. 
 
 " Elle est louee ? " 
 
 " Oui, monsieur." 
 
 There was a bright color to her dress that w^as 
 very pretty, and a bright blush to her cheek that 
 was very becoming — but the chamber was let. 
 
 I think it was my ill success here that gave me 
 a serious turn, and drove me to the French pastor. 
 I found him tolerably disposed for a pensionnaire, 
 and so arranged for a month. He lived just at the 
 outskirts of the town, in the lower part of a large 
 maison, and is the pastor over r£'glue fraiigaise 
 
 i 
 
FEOM HOME. 67 
 
 Teforndee. His congregation meets in the Englisb. 
 clmrcli, and is small, but yet there is here another 
 French Protestant society, still smaller, called 
 VEcjlisG libre. There is very little difference be- 
 tween them ; it lies mostly in a tunic, and short 
 liturgy, that connect with the reformed, but not 
 with the free church. 
 
 To go back to Pan. There are in the village, 
 or about it, quite a number of promenades ; the 
 most frequented are the Park and Place Poyale. 
 From either of these we get the view of the Pyre- 
 nees. The park is one of the pleasantest I have 
 seen, with magnificent old beech trees. It lies on 
 a long ledge, that extends for a mile above the river. 
 The Place Royale is only a square w^ithin the city. 
 There are many seats about it, and, being so cen- 
 tral, it keeps lively with children and stragglers. 
 Here, too, every Thursday and Sunday afternoon, 
 is music by the military band. The music is re- 
 markably good, and Thursdays, if the day is fine, 
 there is, aside from the music, a handsome show of 
 good-looking carriages and well-dressed demoiselles. 
 
 To finish my sketches of Pau for this week, I 
 will follow one or two of the other walks that I 
 make most familiar. At the farther extremity of 
 the park you can, if you choose, by a few rods 
 across the meadow, strike into a wide diligence 
 route, that keeps a direct course, near the river, as 
 far as the eye looks. As yet I have only followed 
 it with the eye, for it's a dusty, dreary route ; but, 
 
68 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 branching from it, to the right, a bypath leads off, 
 Yery soon winds np the hill, nnder large chestnnt 
 trees, with a little ravine alongside, picks its way 
 through an acorn orchard, where pigs reside, and 
 then lines itself with hedges, and with fields, on 
 the level of the prairie lands. Here yon have the 
 mountain view again, with all its beauty and no 
 folk. But the handsomest borders, for a walk, are 
 on the other side of the river. Here are loftier 
 hills, with woods and brush about them. Once on 
 their top you can look to all sides, at Pan and its 
 long park, still covered with leaves drooping over 
 the river, or at the tranquil vales, that catch an 
 autumn hue, and the wide gaps, that darken 
 themselves within the Pyrenees. 
 
 JSfovemher 24. — I went to the Scotch church 
 this morning, and happened to reach the gate with 
 the pastor. I bade him the good morning, which 
 he returned, adding that he should be happy to 
 have me call on him, if I was to be here long. I 
 mean to do so, as, indeed, I had intended to do. I 
 closed my engagement with the French pastor this 
 week. I have rented me another chamber, into 
 which I am to move to-morrow. Since the day 
 before yesterday, I am taking my meals at a pen- 
 sion restaurant, at TO francs a month, vin coin^ris. 
 My room is in a large, well-built building, and well 
 furnished, but being in the third story, and it being 
 late in the season to rent, I get it for thirty francs a 
 month, or, if I stay, after two months, at twenty-five. 
 
FEOM HOME. 69 
 
 Decemler 1. — An annt of mine told me that I 
 should not write Sunday, but I can't find any- 
 thing better to do, and, aside from that, haven't 
 much other time to write. Je sids hien occupe 
 toiUc la semcdne. I consider neither of the excuses 
 to have any vahie, not near so good an explanation 
 as I made the little pastor, about my going into 
 the cafe Sunday. As soon as he could determine 
 the tone of voice, he said : 
 
 " Yous allez an cafe les dimanches, monsieur, 
 c'est tres mauvais." 
 
 " Je crois que oui, monsieur, bien mauvais, et 
 je fais beaucoup de mauvaises choses tons les 
 jours." 
 
 We are a good deal occupied this side with 
 Abram's success over the English merchantman. 
 It promises to cost dear, but that comes after. 
 The liberal French papers to-day show themselves 
 true to the starry flag, but the girls, les Mesdemoi- 
 selles Slidell, are just calculated to place the spirit 
 of gallantry against us. 
 
 Moved into, I am entirely pleased with my 
 new quarters. I have bought me near a quarter 
 of a cord of wood ; with the sawing and bringing 
 up, it cost me three dollars. I think it will last 
 me through the winter. Tliis week I have had 
 but one fire. Roses are yet plentiful in the 
 garden. 
 
 Decenribcr 13. — I take La Presse this month, 
 and get all my news from it. With the pastor I 
 
70 THE YANKEE BOY-' 
 
 had the Journal des Debats^ but after the first of 
 January I mean to take the Siecle^ which is the 
 most liberal of all the Paris papers, and, in the 
 threatened war with Great Britain, argues earn- 
 estly for the Kepublican cause. The Presse on 
 most points is a liberal paper, but it has shown all 
 the while a spleen against the United States. It 
 uses the affair of the Trent to vent its spleen, and 
 advocates that JN'apoleon should join with England 
 against us. I still hope that Lincoln, Chase, and 
 Seward will have yielded in the Trent affair, 
 where we were evidently in the wrong. It's hard 
 that at this time we must be saddled with such a 
 man as Welles ; that an immense nation must per- 
 ish, rather than that the feelings of a few weak 
 men should suffer. 
 
 We continue to have the pleasantest of weath- 
 er. I sit without overcoat, and both window^s 
 open. I noticed again to-day, roses, abundantly 
 in bloom, in the gardens of a chateau. In JLa 
 Presse, this evening, there is nothing readable but 
 Bright's speech in England. 
 
 Deceinber 30. — Had this week an invitation to 
 a Scotch gathering, and went to the same. I was 
 received, at first, almost as dubiously as Captain 
 Wilkes thought he was on board the Trent, when 
 searching the embodied despatches. However, 
 they found my temper unexceptionably good, and 
 whilst I declared that Captain Wilkes was as 
 brave as a lion. I didn't claim that he had occa- 
 
FROM HOME. 71 
 
 sioii to sliow liis bravery in the affair of tlie Trent. 
 In fact, in spite of several spirited attacks of elder- 
 ly ladies, I refused to commit myself on tliat ac- 
 tion, but said generally, what I still think must 
 prove true, that there was very little probability 
 of a war from it. Seeing I was a man of peace, 
 and not disposed for the present to vaunt Young 
 America, there was a relaxation in my favor. One 
 of the young misses felt enough interest in the 
 general subject, to ask quite good-naturedly from 
 what part I came. 1 assured her that I was from 
 'New England. 
 
 " Oh, that's in the South, is it not ? " 
 
 " No, not precisely ; rather more in the North. 
 In fact, it borders upon Canada." 
 
 '' I believe there are a great many handsome 
 lakes in Canada, are there not ? " 
 
 You will see she had got me again. I hardly 
 know what my answ^er was, but I've no doubt she 
 thinks yet that Canada is a land abounding in 
 soft lakes and orange blossoms. 
 
 January/ 5. — As an illustration of French man- 
 ner in a business matter : I subscribed for the 
 Slede, the 28tli December, at a news agent's here, 
 and it has not yet come. It was to commence the 
 1st. The 2d, I went to see why it had not come. 
 They were astonished that I had expected it so 
 quickly. There was always a delay of several days 
 here, and then again at Paris, so that it never 
 came in less than seven, or from that to fifteen 
 
72 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 days ; but they assured me that all back num- 
 bers would be sent, from the 1st. 
 
 I believe I have nothing new to report. I^one 
 of our girls are yet married, that I hear of. There 
 is a Spanish' girl here that looks like the pictures 
 of Eugenie. Her features are very fine, and she 
 herself thoroughly one's idea of that Spanish beau- 
 
 " The Seville girl, with auburn hair, 
 And eyes that might the world have cheated." 
 
 She has a younger sister, the shadow of herself, 
 but quite young yet : 
 
 " "We'll let her stand a year or twa." 
 
 January 12. — "We Americans are all well 
 pleased with Honest Abe's victory over the Eng- 
 lish, and don't hesitate to tell them their chance is 
 by, and when they call again on Brother Jon- 
 athan, they will find him in condition to send 
 them after the cow that jumped over the moon. 
 — For dinner to-day I had chicken boiled with the 
 French beans. Marv Anne assured me there was 
 but one legii7ne. 
 
 February 1. — ^The steamer this week is en re- 
 tard. At last reports Honest Abe had called a 
 cotillon, balanced partners, and Burnside's fleet 
 was leading down the centre. 
 
 March 5. — We have been having carnival yes- 
 terday and to-day, which I find they make much 
 
FEOM HOME. Y3 
 
 more of here than at Tours. Stores are closed, and 
 crowds strolling about the streets. What concerns 
 me more, mj Siecle of last night told me it wouldn't 
 come to-day. As regards carnival, yesterday there 
 was a mammoth parade of hideously decked wag- 
 ons, oxen, horses, " mayors and asses," followed 
 by a crowd, through all the streets, whilst all who 
 were not in the crowd looked out of the windows, 
 or leaned from balconies. The show was supposed 
 to be got ujD for the benefit of the poor, and the 
 carts arranged so that money cou^d be thrown into 
 them, as they passed. Also a horde of fantastic 
 ally dressed vagabonds followed, carrying long 
 poles, which they thrust into everybody's face, and 
 held there, till one put in, or pretended to put in, 
 some sous. These poles reached up easily to the 
 second story, but I, from the third, mocked at 
 them. To-day closes the farce, with all Pau prom- 
 enading through one of the longest streets, with 
 hands and pockets filled with corn, bouquets, 
 beans, and oranges, which every one flings into 
 every one else's face. The English and Americans 
 join in the frolic, especially from their houses, 
 and, indeed, from all the windows and balconies 
 showers of corn are continually falling. "When I 
 left, in many places the street was covered with 
 grain, which poor people were trying to gather 
 into baskets. We have had a beautiful day. This 
 morning, before the crowd had commenced, I took 
 a walk, soon coming among the fields. Yesterday 
 4 
 
74 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 it was stormy among the mountains, so to-day tliey 
 were newly whitened. The spring, too, advances, 
 grass begins to start, and yiolets to flower. 
 
 Taebes, March 11, 1862. 
 
 This morning I had intended to go to Aire, 
 fifty kilometres (abont thirty miles), by diligence, 
 and thence on to Bordeaux at ten p. m. This dili- 
 gence proved full, but I could take another for 
 Tarbes, and go on to-morrow at eight o'clock to 
 Bordeaux. I started at eleven o'clock, my seat in 
 the interior. Tlie interior is very like the hotel 
 stages with us, but in front there is the coupe for 
 three, and back another third-class apartment, for 
 four. To-day there were six — the full number — 
 in the interior. We reached here at half past three. 
 The afternoon was stormy ; much of the country, 
 that we passed, heaths, like whortleberry plats, 
 stretching afar. At times, however, we looked down 
 into the valley of the Garve de Pau, that varies 
 in width from a half mile to three miles, and lies 
 a meadow land, green with the advancing spring. 
 As we begin to sink from the height of land into 
 the Tarbes valley, the scene is one of the finest I 
 have met in France. As far as we could see to-day, 
 that is, some miles, against the clouds, was a great 
 inland vale, entirely level, like the flats of the 
 Connecticut river. Within it were several large 
 villages — Tarbes the largest. 
 
FEOH HOME. T5 
 
 IIoTKL DE Paris, a Bokdeatjs, Thursday afternoon. 
 
 Saturday morning, according to the j>lan, 1 left 
 Tarbes at something past eight o'clock. From 
 Tarbes to Aire the road runs in the valley of the 
 Ardour, and there are fine meadows, with a pleas- 
 ant enongh conntry. After leaving Aire, wdth 
 but one exception, there is not a feature pleasing 
 to the eye, till you reach Bordeaux. The view of 
 Mont cle Marsan is pretty ; I thonght it looked re- 
 markably so in the glimpse w^e had. Leaving this, 
 w^e enter the Departement des Landes, which 
 raises only pines, stunted, from the poverty of the 
 soil, and from having their trunks more or less 
 peeled, for the procuring of rosin. 
 
 '^ There are no homes in France." Many trav- 
 ellers that quote this remark may do so ignorant- 
 ly ; and yet an observing person cannot fail to see 
 that the morally aimless life in which a large part 
 of the nation lives, can never develop the manly, 
 honest, and thoughtful mind, from which alone 
 home pleasures can come. " "VYe keep our Sun- 
 days very badly ; there is very little religion in 
 France," said the Rev. Frederic Monod to me at 
 Paris. Here lies the trouble ; and until a more 
 enlightened education shall have brought the Bible 
 to the thirty millions that now read it not, the 
 generosity, frankness, and kindness of the French 
 will remain, as they are now, wdthered and con- 
 cealed by vices that flourish far more easily. 
 
 I reached here at half past four yesterday. This 
 
76 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 morning I liave looked over tlie city, and been 
 upon tlie cathedral, whence is the perfect view. 
 There is more appearance of shipping than I have 
 met before in France. Along the quay, I conld 
 think myself in South street, Kew York, with the 
 amonnt of masts that rise from the river. The 
 whole view did not please me so mnch as that 
 from Lyon. The centre of the city, thongh, is 
 fine ; the garden of plants handsome ; and the Ga- 
 ronne joins itself to the ocean, knowing it has 
 grown to be a broad river. I find two young 
 Americans here at the hotel ; we made together a 
 social evening last night. To-morrow I intend 
 going to Tours, by express through in nine hours. 
 
 Pakis, March 20. 
 
 There is no coimtry in France like Touraine ; 
 rich and fertile in its soil, neat and comely in its 
 appearance. From Bordeaux I came once more 
 to Tours, Friday night. The country through 
 which we passed was a pleasant farming district, 
 Poitiers the largest of its cities. Arrived at Tours, 
 I walked to the hotel where I had before board- 
 ed, and received from all a cordial recognition. 
 Ceci herself, the next day, when I entered the 
 reading rooms, brought to me the English paper, 
 and fair Touraine blushed, in its youthful spring, 
 at my eager regard. I stopped over the Sabbath. 
 Monday, through Le Mans, I came to Paris. At 
 Le Mans we had an hour. One of the best depot 
 
FEOM HOME. 77 
 
 restaurants supplied breakfast. The city, what 1 
 saw of it, looked very much like all French cities 
 of its size, (28,000 population.) All the way the 
 route was pleasing, till Versailles and Sevres, seen 
 before, bade us watch for Paris, and La Station de 
 Mont Parnasse. Through the city, afoot, with 
 my carpet bag, I played again the Yankee boy, in- 
 quiring prices at some half dozen hotels, until I 
 secured a room at one of the best. Hotel de Bade, 
 Eoulevart des Italiens, for two and a half francs 
 the night, service included. I still keep the room 
 
 " Did you see that telegrapliic despatch ? " 
 
 " JS^o ; what is it ? " 
 
 " Read it. If that's so, we'd better separate." 
 
 So much I hear from some near me, in the 
 American reading rooms, at Munro's, where I am 
 writing, and suppose we are defeated. Find, by 
 inquiry, that wliat frightened our friend is that 
 Lincoln was becoming abolitionized. That's bad, 
 but— 
 
 Hue de Ponthieu, Champs Ply sees. — I have 
 rented me a chamber in this pleasant locality, at 
 sixty francs the month, service included. 
 
 This week we have had some fine weather. 
 The trees are quite green. To enjoy the fine days, 
 I have taken several rides upon the omnibuses. 
 They all have half-price seats on top, and so, for 
 three cents, you can ride from one extremity of 
 the line to the other — two or more miles. By 
 taking different routes, you can in this way see all 
 
78 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 of Paris, its sli02:>s, its houses, and its people. 
 Our political news runs to tlie 15tli. An 
 Englisliman, wlio lias the next room, thinks the 
 Southerners a set of cowards. " The sad mistake 
 was, that they didn't march on "Washington after 
 the battle of Manassas. They could have taken 
 it," he says, and then he sighs. ^' I have quar- 
 relled with every d — d Englishman I have met, 
 since leaving Halifax," said a Boston merchant in 
 Munro's yesterday. 
 
FROM HOME. 79 
 
 IX. 
 
 Bonn, Petjssia, May 16, 1862. 
 
 It is now after eleven, and tlie train leaves at 
 a quarter past twelve for Amsterdam, where I go 
 to-day. I did not leave Paris till Tuesday morn- 
 ing, the 6th. R staid with me Monday night, 
 
 and came to the depot Tuesday morning. The 
 train left at twelve, and went as far as ISTancy^ 
 where a good hotel kept me, and nightingales 
 sang for me in its garden. Wednesday morning I 
 stopped at Strasburg, going on that night to Ba- 
 den Baden. The next day I had a pleasant 
 walk on the hill back of the town. Trees and 
 mountains diversify the view. That afternoon I 
 reached Heidelberg, and went to the castle ruins, 
 and from these on to the highest mountain near, 
 from which is one of the finest German landscape 
 views. 
 
 Friday I rode to Eberstadt, stopping to make 
 
 a call upon H 's wife, wlio had been for some 
 
 time learning German in a pastor's family near. 
 The town proved small, with a poor hotel. I 
 
80 THE YANKEE EOT 
 
 made tliem •anderstancl tliat I. wanted a room, and 
 witli the aid of wliat little German I conld re- 
 member, I inquired my way to the pastor's honse. 
 They were expecting me, and had prepared every- 
 thing so that I should stop with them. After a 
 little thought I consented, and removed my sack. 
 There were in the family the pastor and his wife, 
 who only si^oke German, one married daughter 
 with her husband, who spoke a little English, and 
 an unmarried girl, bright and pretty, who talked 
 English very well. That afternoon w^e took a 
 walk to see the farms near, and a field where turf 
 was prepared for fuel. The next day we had a 
 lonai: excursion to several old castles on the moun- 
 tains, and through a number of villages, in all at 
 least twelve miles of walking. The girls were ap- 
 parently as well equal to it as myself. Sunday, 
 
 with Mrs. R , I attended the village church. 
 
 Monday morning I prepared to start, but there 
 was so hard a general pressure to have me stop an- 
 other day, that I compromised by proposing a trip 
 to Frankfort. We made a nice trip, looked over 
 the paintings, the animals, statuary, and cemetery, 
 took our dinner at the hotel, and returned at eight 
 
 f o'clock. 
 Tuesday, with the cars, brought m^e to May- 
 ence, and, in the boat, down the Ehine to Coblentz. 
 Wednesday morning I went on the principal for- 
 tification, Ehrenbreitstein, built on a hill opposite 
 Coblentz, and commanding a fine view of the 
 
FROM HOME. 81 
 
 Klimo in botli directions. Here I became ac- 
 quainted with two young Prussians, who spoke 
 English easily. We all took the same boat down 
 the river, and stopped together to ascend one of 
 the Seven Mountains ; the one nearest the Rhine. 
 A magnificent view it was, but it suggested itself 
 to us all, that from another of the seven, that lay 
 several miles farther back from the river, the view 
 must be much more extended. Should we go ? 
 It was a good hour and a half's walk with a guide, 
 said the hotel keeper ; we might lose the night 
 boat : but what of that ? A cup of coffee to travel 
 on, a boy for a guide, — from the highest of the sev- 
 en mountains, whence is tlie most extensive view 
 along the Rhine, we looked to the setting sun. 
 Though the day was not clear, scarcely anything 
 in the line of prospect has charmed me so much 
 since leaving home. Church spires here again 
 grace the villages, farm houses look good, orchards 
 tell of home comforts, wood and trees grow natu- 
 rally, not trimmed down, as in France. The last 
 boat down the river was an hour late, so that we 
 ourselves in our return were in time,- and by it 
 sailed here to Bonn. 
 
 York, England, May 21. 
 
 After looking over the university buildings at 
 Bonn, I left by cars for Amsterdam, but from the 
 train's being late, failed to connect, and only got 
 as far as Ennnerich in Prussia. Here, at a com- 
 fortable hotel, I passed the night, had breakfast, 
 4* 
 
82 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 and at eight o'clock left again for Amsterdam, 
 which we reached at noon. I went to the Bible 
 Hotel. To go to Ilnll I learned I must take 
 the boat at Rotterdam, that sailed twice a week, 
 Wednesdays and Saturdays, leaving with the tide. 
 After a drive about the city, and a lunch, I came 
 through Harlaam and La Hague to Rotterdam. 
 Rotterdam I left at twelve o'clock with the steamer 
 for Hull. Sunday at ten we landed. I stopped 
 at the first good-looking hotel I saw, leaving this 
 morning for this place. 
 
 To-day I have been to see the races, but only 
 staid through the first, as it commenced raining. 
 This was enough to see how the whole thing was 
 done. The horses were ridden, the riders having 
 spurs. The track is covered with turf, and straight. 
 In this race thirteen horses ran, three of them 
 coming out almost evenly, though one of them 
 was declared winner. Betting was everywhere 
 going on, and people lounging about very much 
 as at a horse trot with us. Returning from the 
 race, I went to the reading rooms, finding news up 
 to the 10th in St. 
 
 I made a German's acquaintance last evening, 
 here at our hotel. He was from Bremen, and was 
 engaged in the cotton trade, exporting last year 
 many thousand bales, this year none at all. He 
 spoke, though, good-naturedly of the war, and was 
 well disj)Osed toward us. We looked over together 
 the cathedral, a most magnificent building. 
 
FEOM HOME. 83 
 
 BoEo' Bridge, seventeen miles from York, ) 
 Tuesday night, 9 o'clock, j" 
 
 I started from York yesterday, and made this 
 seventeen miles with my knapsack, sto]3ping sev- 
 eral times on the roadside to rest and read the 
 morning paper, that I bonght before starting. I 
 also stopped at an inn for some bread, butter, and 
 beer, wiiicli stood me in seven cents. At this 
 place, which was formerly the halfway station for 
 the post route from London to Edinburgh, there 
 are some eighteen inns or taverns. The one 
 where I am is a large, well-kept one, called the 
 Crown Inn. In old times it undoubtedly did a 
 large business, but now, like the rest, scarcely any. 
 To-day has been clear and fine, " Yery warm, 
 sir," as they have told me ever since landing at 
 Hull, though I find it necessary to keep on two 
 flannel shirts. We had quite a frost last week. 
 I should think it almost possible to-night. 
 
 Londonderry, fourteen miles from Boro' Bridge, » 
 
 May 2(5. j" 
 
 It is now just five o'clock. In a comfortable 
 inn at this small place, I am passing the night. I 
 did not leave Boro' Bridge till noon. I follow the 
 old post road from London to Glasgow, hence there 
 are " hinns " every three or four miles, pretty much 
 all of them small brick houses, " licensed to sell 
 ale, porter, beer, and spirituous liquors, to be drank 
 on the premises." At one of them to-day I had 
 some rye bread, milk, and butter, for three pence. 
 
84 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 The Sunday was more expensive, two dollars, 
 including an extra breakfast and two niglits' 
 lodging. At York tliey charged me $5.50 for 
 three days, without dinners. The day is windy. 
 Large clouds are driving about that threaten 
 showers ; as yet it has rained very little. Yester- 
 day, at Boro' Bridge, I attended in the morning a 
 well-built stone parish church. In the afternoon I 
 saw qnite a number of people going in anotlier di- 
 rection. I followed to an awkward-looking, two 
 storied, brick Methodist chapel. A young man, 
 seeing me near the door, asked me to his seat up 
 stairs, for, small as was the building, it had a gal- 
 lery around it. Both 'up stairs and down it was 
 well filled. Fortunately there was for the day a 
 very excellent preacher from Bipon. Both his af- 
 ternoon and evening sermons were superior. One 
 or two of the tunes sung I knew. The singing 
 was verv fair. After the afternoon service I took 
 quite a stroll toward the next village of Allbor- 
 ough. On the road I met a number of fine cows, 
 and saw many more in the fields ; an immense 
 improvement over the cattle I have been accus- 
 tomed to see in France. 
 
 Sitting down on a rock to study a maj) of Eng- 
 land, an honest-looking Englishman passed me. I 
 hailed him to inquire about distances, and told him 
 soon that I was American. He was very cordial, 
 and gave me a good deal of information, but was 
 emphatic on the point that England and France 
 
FROM HOME. 85 
 
 could enforce a peace in America, any moment 
 tliey wished. This was modest enough, and I 
 didn't object. 
 
 Barnaed Castle, May 23. 
 
 Yesterday morning I hardly made an early 
 start, or very fast travelling after starting. For 
 the night I stopped at a small roadside inn, seven 
 miles from Londonderry, and six before reaching 
 Greta Bridge. For supper I had bread and milk. 
 The milk was most excellent : making inquiries 
 about the cow, the landlord told me he owned 
 the place where he lived, having bought it the 
 year before. The wife suggested, perhaps I would 
 like to see the land. I assented willingly, and 
 made a comj)lete tour through the meadow and 
 j)asture, wheat and barley fields, and, after those, 
 the turnip and oat patch, in all forty acres of light 
 soil, besides a garden with fruit and berry bushes 
 in abundance. He had paid two hundred dollars 
 the acre. The house is an ordinary two-story old 
 stone house. With the exception of one other, his 
 w^as the only farm in the neighborhood owned by 
 the occupant. 
 
 Wednesday morning gave me a bread-and- 
 milk breakfast, with a bill of 75 cents. With an- 
 other clear day, I kept on my route to Greta 
 Bridge, along by the Rokeby grounds. I leaned 
 some time against the bridge, to feel the beauty 
 of the place, and hear the birds sing of E.ignal 
 banks and Greta woods. Making then a semicir- 
 
S6 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 cle, I came into Barnard Castle at just one o'clock. 
 There is here an old town, black and dismal, but 
 with a very homelike Temperance Hotel. After 
 dinner I went to see the castle, looked at its 
 ruined walls, and then mounted on its old tow^er 
 to see the beauties of the Tees, with the bluffs and 
 the moors to the north, and the hazy outlines of 
 the Cleveland hills to the south. Lying on the 
 ivy-coated top, with my glass I examined the high 
 railroad bridge that crossed the Tees two miles 
 above, and was built at an expense of $150,000. 
 
 Bishop Auckland, May 30. 
 
 I have left the old Glasgow route for a dash at 
 E"ewcastle. I hesitated some time to do it, but 
 I doubt whether in all England I could have found 
 a spot of more exquisite beauty than the Bishop 
 of Durham's grounds, that are situated here. I 
 passed on the road Kaby Castle, seat of the Duke 
 of Cleveland, a fine large old castle, with woods 
 and lawns for miles around it, and hundreds of 
 deer roaming in sight. 
 
 It is half past ten now. The weather to-day has 
 been misty, with a little drizzle, but mostly good 
 for walking ; distance from Barnard Castle fifteen 
 miles. This town has some four thousand people, 
 I should judge ; is old and cheerless, at least we 
 should think it so, though a great improvement 
 upon villages of the same size in France. I intend 
 writing to-morrow to Edinburgh, to have my let- 
 ters forwarded to Newcastle for the Sabbath. 
 
FKOM HOME. 87 
 
 Newcastle-on-Tyne, June 1. 
 
 "When I left Bishop Aiicldand, the little show- 
 ers came down upon the grass, but, in spite of 
 weather, I came in at Durham in time to look 
 over the cathedral, and to attend the afternoon 
 chants. 
 
 Durham — I saw it the next mornino: from the 
 height where the depot is — is a most curious place, 
 stretched out upon many hills, and the river Wear 
 comes down between them. The cathedral stands 
 like an old capitol, on the centre hill of the town. 
 Its grounds, sloping steeply to the river, are cov- 
 ered with green grass and trees. Almost wholly 
 built of brick, that have always lived where smok- 
 ing was allowed, the town can claim nothing for 
 beauty, but the beauty of its situation, or the 
 comeliness that a practical man can see in the 
 business character of perhaps every English city. 
 Yesterday it rained again, and roads were muddy. 
 I made the last of my week's courses by rail. 
 These second-class cars in England, at least a large 
 share of them, are a disgrace to the nation. With- 
 out cushions or blinds, scarcely so good, certainly 
 no better, than the third class in France, and not 
 so good as the third class in Switzerland. Not far 
 this side of Durham I noticed a place called Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 Monday evening, fourteen miles from Newcastle — 
 
 And the nicest little inn in old Eno^land. But 
 shall we not make a few straggling remarks about 
 
88 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 IN'ewcastle ? I stopped at Bell's Temperance Ho- 
 tel, tolerably well known, I believe, to Americans. 
 Mr. Bell knew me to be one, and interested 
 himself most politely in showing me the city. AVe 
 had at the hotel over the Sabbath two English 
 gentlemen, one engaged in the porcelain trade ; 
 the other in selling a patent fuse for powder 
 blasts. There was also a young man recently hail- 
 ing from Yirginia, though born in Scotland, and 
 now going home. 
 
 In the morning I glanced down to the river, 
 and so on to one end of the city, which looked 
 more cleanly than I had expected — a compact 
 business place. I also entered an Independent 
 church. A young man of rather poor ability 
 preached, in place, I was told, of the pastor, tem- 
 porarily absent. The hour for evening meeting 
 coming on, we found, by mutual, inquiry, that, of 
 the two Englishmen at the hotel, one was a Con- 
 gregationalist, the other a Methodist. Proposing 
 that ^Ye should all attend church together, my 
 vote decided which ; we went to the second Con- 
 gregational church, where a young man, newly 
 settled, claiming the genteel name of Stewart, pre- 
 sided. The church was handsome, the congrega- 
 tion full and well formed, the organ lowly jDlayed, 
 with a full choir, and the sermon, though not 
 given in the strongest manner, good and well sus- 
 tained. We closed with Pleyel's Hymn. 
 
FKOM HOME. 89 
 
 X. 
 
 Otterbtjkn, England, June 3, 1862. 
 
 Thirty-five miles from E^ewcastle, and twenty- 
 six from Jedbur2:li in Scotland, Tuesday eveninof, 
 six o'clock, with a stauncli rain outside and a coal 
 fire within — a bunch of narcissus on the table for 
 fragrance — I'm finding to-night another inn, alto- 
 gether tfdy, in a little place of some dozen or 
 twenty houses. 
 
 You have seen that I left iSTewcastle yesterday 
 morning, Mr. Bell coming two miles with me to 
 point out a coal pit, and then to give me a 
 glimpse, as he claimed, of Scotland, from the 
 height of land above K'ewcastle. Parting cordially 
 with him, I passed for seven miles by a good farm- 
 ing country, with an occasional park ground, to a 
 villasre called Penteland, and thence six miles to 
 the inn at Balsey. Tliis village was a curious lit- 
 tle place, the buildings large, all of stone, built by 
 a landholder who yet lives in a park near by, at 
 the good age of eighty-fom\ A nice little flaxen- 
 haired lassie directed me to the inn. I asked her 
 
90 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 if it was a good inn. She said she thought it was 
 a good inn, bnt she didn't know much aboun it. 
 
 This morning there was a long hard shower. I 
 did not start till eleven. Over the hills I have 
 come, all over the dreary moors ; it was a long 
 trudge, with but a small village and two inns. 
 Perhaps for six miles after my start I kept where 
 moors used to be, but where now are good hay 
 and grazing fields. Then, as we rose, I and my 
 sack, higher on the hills, they had a bleak look, 
 and for some six miles more were covered with 
 furze. All along, the road was indicated for win- 
 ter by high posts. Two dismal stone buildings on 
 the hillside were all I saw ; but long-woolled sheep, 
 with black legs and faces, abounded, and seemed 
 to think it was a very nice country. Some three 
 miles back — making my day's walk fifteen — the 
 road reached the height of ground, though to the 
 north, partly covered with clouds, were hills, the 
 Cheviot hills, that appeared much higher. I am 
 now down quite a bit again in the valley, where 
 grain and grass grow ; amidst the cluster of 
 houses about us I see a pretty chapel, doubtless 
 the parish church. There is no mail from here till 
 Saturday's to Newcastle. 
 
 Stowe, June 6, 25 miles from EDiNBrrRGH. 
 
 It rains outside — it rains always, as the French 
 say in Bretagne — ^but I have been coming on 
 since I wrote last. The truth is, I made a little 
 
FROM HOME. 91 
 
 leap by the cars from Jedburgli to Melrose, fifteen 
 miles. This was yesterday afternoon. Last night 
 I looked over the Abbey ruins, and then strolled 
 a little in the valley near Melrose — the sweetest 
 spot to live in I have seen since leaving home. 
 The valleys, and the hills, thns far in Scotland, 
 are to me more than fancy had painted them ; 
 every village that I meet vies with New England 
 in Pm-itan neatness and character. The old villao;e 
 of Melrose is neat enough, the new street hand- 
 some, with houses of stone, and pretty flower 
 yards. I was tempted to introduce myself at one 
 of these, and claim a social evening with a cluster 
 of friends again. 
 
 My walk to-day has been fourteen miles, the 
 last six in a rain that is now steady and increasing. 
 Stowe is a small old place that has a railway sta- 
 tion, and keeps me at the Kailway Hotel. I 
 should not object to some fire — the coldest June 
 tlius far I have ever met. 
 
 From Otterburn my first stage was a long 
 stretch over moors, and up hills, too, that would 
 have been respectable among the Alps ; moun- 
 tains as far as one could see, treeless, and used for 
 pasture lands, but, for all that, good big moun- 
 tains. The weather was roughish, as the moors- 
 men call it, that is, sleet and drizzle all day, with 
 a wind strong enough to snap a pine. I stopped 
 just over the Carter-fell hills on the Scottish bor- 
 der. Passing down the Scottish side the next day, 
 
92 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 I struck the Jed river, and followed dowii its val- 
 ley, one of great beauty, to Jedburgh. The storm 
 now without holds on, with no signs of clear 
 weather. I got at Melrose a daily Edinburgh pa- 
 per, and so have the latest news. I have found-, 
 too, a musical book of Scotch songs at 'this hotel, 
 very well arranged. This morning I wrote to 
 London, for letters to be forv/arded to Edinburgh. 
 I shall direct Brown, Shipley & Co. to forward 
 those now coming to Glasgow, from which place I 
 can order them to meet me at my Sunday's rest. 
 
 Edinbtjbgh, June 8. 
 
 I came on yesterday by cars, on account of 
 the storm, which kept up the rain till near noon ; 
 after that a tremendous wind, with showers 
 thrown iu, some of them very hard. I arrived at 
 two in the afternoon, and came to the Waverley 
 Temperance Hotel, on Princess' street, the fash- 
 ionable business street in the new city, and front- 
 ing upon the old town. The charges of the hotel 
 won't overgo $1.50 per day for all. 
 
 ^Notwithstanding showers, I looked about the 
 city yesterday afternoon ; almost everybody else 
 was engaged in the same way. The streets 
 were filled with well-dressed people, the girls pre- 
 dominating in spite of the wind. For that matter, 
 these Scotch girls are as like our own as two horse- 
 chestnuts, to 
 
 " Tilt their coats aboun the knee, 
 And follow their love through the water," 
 
FPwOM HOME. 93 ' 
 
 1 found lit the post office a home letter of 
 May 22cl, just from Liverpool. It speaks of the 
 
 garden, progress of the pa.rks, of 's marriage. 
 
 A very complete letter. Saturday I strolled more 
 in the new town ; heard at one place a street 
 preacher and singer, a converted Hindoo, assisted 
 in his hymn by his two young children — a touch 
 of Christian romance in this latter day of foreign 
 missions. 
 
 Monday morning^ June 9. — Showery still. 
 Yesterday I heard Dr. lianna in the morning, in 
 the afternoon Dr. Guthrie. I think Dr. Guthrie 
 had a well-prepared sermon, so that I could judge 
 well of his powers. It was strongly tinctured 
 with republicanism, as well as with the spirit of 
 the Covenanters ; thoroughly Scotch, rather the 
 spirit which was in !New England than that which 
 is. He appealed to the fears, and. denounced 
 judgments ; admitted the pleasures of sin, in which 
 the wicked flourished for a time ; but O their 
 end, their dreadful end ! 
 
 After supper I walked on one of the hills 
 which overlook the town, not one of the high 
 ones, but close in the city (Calton Hill). It was 
 cold and windy, and still somewhat cloudy, so that 
 I could not see far, but I received a good impression 
 of the city and the beauty of its situation. On 
 the high bluffs opposite me, and in the valleys 
 below them, there were numbers of people ram- 
 bling for a Sunday walk, but fewer doubtless than 
 
94 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 in ffood weatlier. Close by me was the monument 
 to Dugald Stewart, and the one commenced for 
 Waterloo ; below were the jail buildings, and in 
 the city I noticed the University buildings, and 
 Free Church College, the beautiful monument to 
 Walter Scott, and several handsome churches. 
 The Frith and harbor were away to the right, with 
 but very little shipping to be seen. 
 
 We had a social evening in the sitting room at 
 the hotel — an American and his son, a boy, from 
 "New York, two young ladies, one or two Scotch- 
 men, and several Englishmen. Our New York 
 friend had good American stories, was staunch 
 for the Union, and appeared w^ell. This morning 
 we have further news of Banks' ill-fortune, and 
 the further enlistment of men. McClellan looks 
 sure. 
 
 J'une 11. — ^With a cold storm hanging over 
 us, I cannot promise when I may go. I have 
 my shopping to do for the trip, to close up what 
 was omitted at Paris. I have got an excellent map 
 of Scotland ; a travelling map I prefer to a guide. 
 It is well got up on cloth, and bound, has the 
 heights of mountains, the roads, streams, villages, 
 inns, rivers, abbeys, churches, and is sold for 
 $1.75. The guide for Scotland is but thirty-seven 
 and a half cents more. I have laid in a stock of 
 medicine, a flask of brandy, an extra pair of draw- 
 ers — everybody is wearing overcoats to-day — a 
 pair of light shoes, and am looking at a w^ater- 
 
FEOM HOME. 95 
 
 proof overcoat, almost indispensable wliere there 
 is so mncli rain and wind. To-morrow I tliink I 
 shall be fully prepared for the north. We have 
 to-day news from home to May 30. 
 
 June 13. — I have bonght my rubber coat and 
 shoes, and, notwithstanding the rain, which still 
 continues, mean to start in the morning. Beside 
 the shopping, I have looked at the library and mu- 
 seum of the College, and, what I found more inter- 
 esting, attended one of the lectures on natural his- 
 tory, which commenced while I was there. The 
 room was not large, but was well filled ; the lec- 
 ture I thought very good ; the students gave it 
 occasionally a cheer, the first at the mention of 
 Professor Wilson's name. 
 
 I'm interrupted by the conversation about me ; 
 half a score of male competitors against a pair of 
 young ladies from Newcastle. The style of the 
 brighter one is familiar. 
 
 " Oh, I'm shocked if you talk so ; that's 
 
 swearing:." 
 
 " But the London people say so." 
 
 " And the London people say we at Newcastle 
 
 are 'osrs." 
 
 Twice this week I have had opportunity to try 
 the French. We have had here a French party 
 of four, two of them girls, and none of them 
 speaking English with ease. I admit the frank- 
 ness of their manners came like a gleam of sun- 
 shine, as strongly as I have seen sometimes a 
 
96 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 want of national honesty. Again, in buying the 
 shoes, I noticed the clerk's accent, and turned ab- 
 ruptly my English into French. I could appre- 
 ciate the pleasure with which he hailed the native 
 tongue, and had to stretch all my faculties to 
 catch the flood of French that followed. 
 
FltOM HOME. 97 
 
 XI. 
 
 Abbey Ceaig, Scotland, June 12, 1S62. 
 
 I AM two miles from Sterling. Yesterday 
 morning, coming down rather late, I found the 
 gay E^^orth Shields damsel reigning in the sitting 
 room, but only said " Good morning ; " turned 
 away by a couj)le of men at their breakfast, whom 
 I thought, and soon knew to be Americans. They 
 were from ^ew York State, they said, but the 
 oldest was born in St. Johnsbury, Yermont, grad- 
 uated at Dartmouth, in the class, I think, with 
 
 President L , of Middlebury College. He 
 
 had lived South some twenty years, engaged 
 in seminaries there, and is now President of a 
 newly founded female college at Poughkeepsie. 
 He handed me a pamphlet as his card, and asked 
 for mine ; said he knew the name well, and had 
 
 known formerly our family at N . Breakftist 
 
 over, I called at the post office, and found a letter 
 of May 29, just in time for the letter of the week. 
 
 I made my start at one, with, as usual in this 
 climate, a rainy afternoon ; my rubber overcoat 
 5 
 
08 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 came directly into use. Nine miles of brisk walk- 
 ing brouglit me to the Queen's Ferry over the 
 Frith. Sixpence set me across it ; ninepence more 
 gave me a lunch at a little inn by the water, and 
 then, through a lonesome rente near the Frith, I 
 made eleven miles farther, to a small place, hav- 
 ing a tolerable inn, called the Tied Lion. For a 
 ]3lain supper and breakfast there was seventy-five 
 cents to pay. I had again a rainy day, but my 
 road for the latter half of it was a pleasant one. 
 At Alloa, nine miles, I took a bread-and-milk din- 
 ner. From Alloa to Sterling is ten miles more ; 
 but seeing this little inn, close in sight of Sterling, 
 I looked in, saw everything unusually nice, and 
 stopped for the Sabbath. It looks as nice as in a 
 respectable family at home. I get the best rooms, 
 and shall be much more comfortable than in the 
 most expensive hotel at Sterling. I leave my 
 sack here in attending church to-morrow, and 
 have it in my way for my journey on Monday. 
 
 It seems a lovely valley here. I was just look- 
 ing out at our first clear sunset since leaving New- 
 castle. The "Wallace Monument, that is being 
 built, is right above the inn, with a mountain 
 range beyond it. Ben Lomond is in sight to the 
 west. Sterling Castle and Sterling are on the hill 
 to the south. A small, brown-haired girl, dressed 
 in black, with white stockings, has been standing 
 for more than an hour by one of the yard gates in 
 that direction ; God bless her. 
 
FEOM HOME. 90 
 
 Sunday evening. — Since supper — it is now after 
 eight — I have been reading an American Messenger 
 of August, 1861. I found it, ^Yitll a number of 
 Child's Pajpers^ at a religious book store at Edin- 
 burgh. I attended the Free Church this morning at 
 Sterling, and after the service looked over the ceme- 
 tery and castle grounds, in a fine clear air, though 
 with clouds about. Returned to the inn, I had 
 dinner, and then went up on the Craig, to where 
 the Wallace Monument is begun. From here the 
 view was more j)erfect than from the castle. 
 After returning, I walked on a mile and a half to 
 the Bridge of Allan, a quite handsome watering 
 place and mineral springs. The wells were closed, 
 so that I could get no water, and the churches were 
 closed for the day. 
 
 Once more at the Abbey Craig, I have done 
 good service to my meal, and will now close my 
 
 writing. I have to tell my friend S that I gave 
 
 one of his namesakes twopence halfpenny last 
 
 night, and put it down to him. Daniel S he 
 
 said his name was, and told me that he knew as 
 soon as he saw me that I was a gentleman. 
 
 New Teossachs Hotel, June 17. 
 
 Leaving Bridge of Allan, I went to see Jessie 
 of Dunblane. It was a beautiful day to see Jessie 
 in ; could I have met her I would have been 
 to her a new lover. Alas ! poor Jessie's blushes 
 glow no more. They may have faded in girlhood, 
 
100 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 or in womanhood, bnt, close by Allan Water, tlie 
 FloAver of Dunblane lies garnered noAv in the old 
 kirk yard. From on tlie hill, against the cathedral 
 ruins, I looked down at the village, or city, as an 
 honest Scotchman claimed it to be, a quiet place 
 sleeping in the hollow. The cathedral dates back 
 to David II, in the twelfth century. 
 
 Leaving Dunblane, I left Allan Water too, and, 
 going now more to the west, passed through 
 Donne, and on to Callander, at the foot of Ben 
 Ledi. 
 
 '' Lodgings," said a little board on the door of 
 a neat two-story house. 
 
 " You have lodgings, ma'am ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And for a single night ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you wish." 
 
 It was a neat room up stairs ; a plain tea 
 followed in the sitting room, where were various 
 pictures on the wall, and the Christian Penny 
 Magazine for literature. After tea, at the large 
 hotel at the village, I inquired as to the ascent of 
 Ben Ledi. They told me the walk was six miles. 
 The landlord was a civil Irishman from Limerick ; 
 learning I was an American, he was still in ore 
 cordial, showed me his hotel and garden ; wished 
 the l^orth and South again to unite and be a 
 match for the world. He told me, too, of a hand- 
 some falls a mile and a half from the villaire : 
 at nine o'clock, the twilight of the fairest day of 
 
FKOM HOME. 101 
 
 the seasoD, I struck off by a wild road, and over 
 the heather fiekls, to see them. Even more than 
 the day before I wished sweet Jessie with me to 
 trail those ferns, sighing, perhaps, more sweetly 
 than the wind, and hmghing with the reckless 
 waterfalL There was, too, a rnde stair over a 
 stone wall, where she would have needed help, 
 and a big rock to be got down, and a small bridge 
 with only half a railing to be crossed. I looked 
 back from below the rock, but Jessie did not 
 jump. I turned at the bridge, hut didn't jBnd her 
 hand. There was only the river throwing itself 
 against the cruel stones, and a dim wild vision 
 floated before me of a drowning girl. 
 
 Loch Lomond, Wednesday night. 
 
 Callander I left yesterday morning. Amidst 
 a most energetic rain I came as far as the New 
 Trossachs Hotel — you see I go faster than I WTite, 
 that's partly because I've been thinking too much 
 of Jessie — the last two thirds of the way with a 
 young party of three, two girls and their brother. 
 They were from Sunderland. They had started 
 to ascend Ben Ledi, but were caught by the rain. 
 The elder girl was quite pretty. 
 
 Stopped at the hotel — a large line one — I met a 
 young English chap from Manchester, that had been 
 to Meh'ose'in company with my friend from Pougli- 
 keepsie. We joined together, and after dinner 
 made a walk through Glen Finlass. At the end of 
 
102 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 the vale, at tlie foot of Ben Lecli, were a number of 
 sheplierd houses and some tolerable land. I asked a 
 braw Scotchman where his folks went to the kirk. 
 He pointed to a high mountain slope, and said they 
 went over that to the church near the Old Tros- 
 sachs Hotel. To finish our stroll, and see what 
 for a Sunday jog they had, we proposed to return 
 by the hill route. It proved a good specimen of 
 a Pyrenean Col, a rough climb of at least 1,200 
 feet. Then came the slope down to the inn and 
 kirk, and after, two miles back to the hotel. 
 
 To-day I have done a good bit of walking, 
 skirting the whole length of Loch Katrine, doub- 
 ling its western end, and by the road, coming five 
 miles more on here to the northern end of Loch 
 . Lomond. I hardly know that I have any com- 
 ments to add, only, these Highland hotels are 
 monstrously expensive. They stand alone, with 
 no villages, so there is no help but to get out of 
 .the way of them as soon as possible. I should 
 have stopped five miles back, but they asked 87|- 
 cents for a bed and service, and though there 
 wasn't a soul there, they refused less. Well, I left 
 them to their tranquillity, adding a pleasant addi- 
 tion to the day's tour. At Callander, where the 
 pine board offered me lodgings, I paid but 62| 
 cents for tea, bed, and breakfast. 
 
 I see two Americans from JSTew York were 
 here yesterday, and some from Boston last week. 
 No one to-night but myself, and, I protest, with 
 
FEOM HOME. 103 
 
 the sure prospect of a big bill, I make tliis house 
 move. 
 
 The daily paper tells me the Mississippi is 
 in our power, Fremont apparently worsted by 
 Jackson, and McClellan not over-fortunate in 
 the last fight. They wait this side impatiently 
 for a great battle. There can hardly be any in- 
 terference till it comes oil. If oar men at Wash- 
 ington were fully watchful against all contingen- 
 cies, they might have a fleet of iron ships ready, 
 enough to defy any interference whatever. By 
 to-day's despatches we learn that fifteen new gun- 
 boats are ordered. I hope that this is the idea. 
 Hurrah for the Mexicans ! 
 
 Ellen's Isle I did not go on to-day, but saw it 
 finely. The first two thirds of the lake walk was 
 charming, the last of it rough. At one point I 
 halted for a luncheon which I had brought ; at 
 another, to look through the spyglass at a return- 
 ing steamboat. Had I not intended to stop at the 
 inn back, I should have steered over the Braes of 
 Balquhidder, by my compass, to the extreme n.orth 
 end of Loch Lomond. There was no path, but I 
 should easily have made the cut, as there are no 
 trees. This is the great fault I find with this 
 Highland scenery, and v/hy it never can equal 
 kindred landscapes in America. There's a mag- 
 nificence in our original forests that nothing I 
 have seen in Europe can supply. The snow or 
 greatness of the Alps v;on't do it, nor the beauty 
 
104 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 of the Pyrenees, nor now again the heather-cov- 
 ered and fern-waving hills of Scotland. Would 
 that the day might never come when our moun- 
 tains shall lose their greenness, or America her 
 woods and forests ! 
 
 Near the Beaes of Balqtthiddeb, June 19. 
 " Will ye go, lassie, go, to the braes o' Balquhidder, 
 Where the blaeberries grow, 'mang the bonuie bloomin' heather ; 
 Where the deer and the rae, lightly bounding together. 
 Sport the lang summer day 'mang the braes o' Balquhidder ? " 
 
 I left the Loch Lomond Hotel, where I staved 
 for the night, by the first boat north, at eleven 
 o'clock. It was another morning " good for 
 ducks," but this afternoon has been mostly pleas- 
 ant. A ninepence took me to the head of the 
 lake. The mist was low so that we saw little ; 
 passengers few and dismal. Leaving the boat, 
 there were fourteen miles more around the big 
 Ben More, that stands watching the Braes of Bal- 
 quhidder. It is 3,817 feet high, or over 600 feet 
 higher than Ben Lomond. Its crest was partly 
 covered with fog, as I came round it, but quite a 
 bank of snow stretched some way down, and two 
 glacier streams came from it to a tarn at the foot. 
 The inn I am at, like all the Highland inns, stands 
 alone, solidly built of stone. I have passed no 
 village — except the hotels, hardly a sizable house, 
 since leaving Callander. 
 
 June 20. — Friday night, going to nine o'clock, 
 and at a small but most tidy inn on the south- 
 
FEOM HOME. 105 
 
 ern shore of Locli Tay. Eight opposite me is Ben 
 Lawers, 3,984 feet above the sea — a giant moun- 
 tain, an enormous sheep-pastm'e. To-day I have 
 come about fifteen miles, stopping to lunch at Kil- 
 len, on the southern end of Loch Tay. Ten miles 
 lie before me to Kilmore, at the northern end. I 
 find this a very handsome lake. I^othing since 
 I left the margin of fair Zurich's waters has 
 pleased me so much. It is quite difierent from 
 that lake, yet it throws over you the same feeling 
 of quietude, l^one of the rocks appear, that give 
 the grandeur sought for so much, but, though 
 their slopes are high, there is covering enough of 
 earth to make the banks look fertile ; even Ben 
 Lawers, as I said, looking a big sheep-pasture. 
 
 As regards temperature, I learn that the ther- 
 mometer here rarely exceeds seventy-five degrees ; 
 snow keeps upon the northern side of these 
 higher mountains to the middle of August. The 
 landlord, where I stayed last night, had known it 
 to lie through the season on Ben More. And he 
 said on Ben ITevis, which is not far ofl:' (height 
 4,400 feet), there has always been snow, though 
 one year they were obliged to protect it from the 
 sun, else their mountain would have lost its long- 
 worn crown. As to weather, to-night would indi- 
 cate Canadian furs. Since sittino; down to write, 
 I have been in the kitchen to warm me by the 
 fire. A single peony tries to blow in the garden. 
 
 There is something of a village about this inn, 
 5* 
 
106 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 less of pretension than at Glen Finlass, tlie last I 
 saw, where the dwellings or liiits of rongli stones 
 were whitewashed. Here they are laid withont 
 selection, like a pasture fence, and covered with 
 thatch. They could hardly be homelier, or small- 
 er, but yet are not repulsive. The Highlanders 
 themselves, as I see them, are sturdy, not large 
 men, thick and strong — the Rob Hoy rather than 
 the Fergus Mclvor figure. The women every- 
 where, as I saw them in England, work in the 
 fields ; all the young lassies go with bare legs. 
 A very pretty lass I saw this morning at Killen, 
 wdio w^ould have been ready in dress for the hallet 
 in Paris. 
 
 Passing by to-day one of those low hut-built 
 houses, I heard some kind of machinery going 
 within. I peeped at the window, but could see 
 little, and so peeped in at the door. It was a 
 hand-weaving establishment, with four different 
 looms in the room, though but one of them was at 
 work. The other weavers had gone a-fishing. I 
 watched the machine in operation, till I got a very 
 good idea of its working. The old man at work 
 said he could make from two shillings to half- 
 a-crown a day, getting fourpence a yard. He 
 was at work on a coarse, sack-looking cloth, that 
 sold, he said, now, for half-a-crown a yard ; but 
 in the other webs was very good pantaloon cloth, 
 worth much more, and an honest article it all seem- 
 ed to be. 
 
FKOM HOME. lOT 
 
 Kbnmork, June 21, Saturday night. 
 
 I am ten miles from my last night's place- 
 not a great distance^ bnt a very quiet, pleasant vil- 
 lage, and tlie only one in my route for the Sun- 
 day, — I mean the only one within reach to-night, 
 — so I pass the Sabbath here, with the choice of 
 either Free or Established Church. As to this 
 far-famed division, with an article I saw in a secu- 
 lar paper at Edinburgh, I am inclined to think 
 the rupture was a happy event. Perhaps I judge 
 too soon. The Kirk is even now a very strong 
 power, and was not likely to cherish the meekness 
 and charity that we love to connect with a true 
 Christianity. I think I see an aptitude for domi- 
 nation still in the pews. Religion is very respect- 
 able indeed in Scotland. May it always be, but 
 not to substitute the form for the life. 
 
 June 23. — Monday night, fifteen miles from 
 Kenmore, eight to Dunkeld. I have made a con- 
 venient stop, just in time to dodge a little rain. 
 We had a perfectly clear morning, and a charm- 
 ing day. The barometer talked of its being 
 " very dry," but is drifting about now to " very 
 stormy." The people agree we have an uncom- 
 monly wet June ; the wheat turns yellow ; farm- 
 ers fear for their crops, with so much rain and 
 no sun. 
 
 I found it the Communion day, yesterday, at 
 both the churches. The custom is to have a ser- 
 mon, and then the Communion, taking several 
 
108 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 hours ill their manner of dispensing it, the service 
 commencing at twelve, and ending after six. 
 There were over four hundred attending at the 
 Free Church yesterday, coming in from the coun- 
 try about for miles, nearly all of whom appeared 
 to be communicants. This shows religion to have 
 taken a firm hold of the humble classes, which is 
 not felt to be the case in England. 
 
 Returned from church yesterday, I met a well- 
 informed Englishman, stopping at our hotel. 
 Thoroughly English in all his notions, his sympa- 
 thies were with the South as respects our war ; 
 he yet thought the Southern chance a poor one, 
 and the energy of the Federal Government unpar- 
 alleled. A Scotch resident joined himself to us, 
 as we were outside of the hotel, and turned our 
 talk to local topics. The Marquis of Breadalbane, 
 who lives here, in one of the finest castle palaces I 
 have seen, owns all the country about, so that 
 from before I reached Loch Tay to six miles from 
 its northern eud, I was upon his grounds. This 
 would be some thirty-six miles ; but to the w^est, 
 in a direct line, his lands run ninety miles. Yery 
 much of this land is mountain and rock. On one 
 stretch of forty miles, that they call the Black 
 Forest, is a deer pasture, feeding some six thou- 
 sand deer. This forest is simply heather-covered 
 moorland ; but aside from the mountains and 
 deer runs, all the estate is rented, including farms 
 and villages, and yields about a hundred thousand 
 
FKOM HOME. 109 
 
 pounds. There are landed estates even larger in 
 tiie kingdom, and many more productive. 
 
 This morning I went on the hill that looks 
 down upon the village and park grounds. There 
 were deer about, plentiful as sheep in the pastures, 
 and in the wood I saw several. There were, too, 
 the church and little homes about it, and the 
 arched bridge over the river, that flows from the 
 lake, for one cluster ; and for another, yet more 
 unique, a small, round island with a bouquet of 
 trees. My enthusiasm was heightened for Loch 
 Tay. I find it partly sustained for the valley of 
 the Tay River, I am following now toward Dun- 
 keld. I ought perhaps to add that, since reaching 
 Loch Tay, park woods have been abundantly in- 
 terspersed ; hardly ever have I passed by a road 
 so handsomely lined with trees, or seen a river 
 bank fringed more prettily than this. 
 
 It is eleven o'clock now. The rain drips on 
 the window, and mingles with the Gaelic talk that 
 comes from the kitchen. All the peasants through 
 here speak the Gaelic more easily than the Eng- 
 lish. 
 
110 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 XIL 
 
 June 27, 1862.—" Came you by Atliol ? " I have 
 been to Dnnkeld, and now am passed tbrongli tbe 
 Pass of Killiecrankie, by Blair Athol, and eleven 
 miles farther to this inn, that stands pretty much 
 alone upon the moors. I have left for aye Loch Tay 
 and Tay River, with their many woods fast grow- 
 ing to forests. Down the river I went to Dnn- 
 keld, then up on the other side nearly to the 
 Logierait Inn again, where we turn oiF — the road 
 and railroad as well as myself — westerly and 
 northwesterly, to come by Athol. 
 
 I have little to say about Dunkeld, but gave a 
 day to the visit, and feed a guide to put me 
 through the Duke's grounds, and show me into 
 the so-called Ossian's Hermitage. There is one 
 souvenir of the valley I found after the guide left 
 me, I would if I could give to you. An old stone 
 bridge spans a deep chasm into which a little 
 river plunges. It was doubtless as a tired way- 
 farer that I liked so well to lie on the stone para- 
 
FROM HOME. Ill 
 
 pet and watch the mad little stream, dashing at 
 the bowlders, coming down for its dive. I was 
 very willing to rest, quite unwilling to get rested 
 in such a place, and would assure my friend Mrs. 
 
 C that she need not despair of me on scenery. 
 
 Yesterday, passing the coach at a large hotel 
 at Blair Athol, I had a bit of cliat with the pas- 
 sengers, and a few words with the landlord after- 
 ward, who politely offered me the daily paper, 
 just come. So I have seen the latest news — 
 Beauregard nowhere, Jackson everywhere. My 
 breakfast is now "getting ready at a very good old- 
 fashioned stage inn, quite jaiintie up stairs, at 
 two-and-sixpence for bed and attendance. The 
 landlord tells me that the whole stage route from 
 Dunkeld to Inverness is one hundred miles ; the 
 stage carries sixteen passengers, and makes the 
 distance, including stops, within ten miles an 
 hour. 
 
 Interness, Jane 28. 
 
 Saturday nighty and I left my girl this morn- 
 ing. I'd no business to do it, and deserved the 
 disappointment of not finding letters here at In- 
 verness. 'Twas for the letters I left her, other- 
 wise I should have passed the Sunday with her ; 
 but I left her standing on the door to wave me a 
 good-by, and now I've no letters and no girl. 
 
 Yesterday morning I walked on thirteen miles 
 to a large posting inn, where I had a bread-and- 
 milk dinner ; as I finished the stage came up. I 
 
112 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 thoiiglit it over : Friday, and sixty miles from In- 
 verness, wliere I liad expected to pass the Sab- 
 bath ! I liked, too, the idea of trying the big 
 coach, and it gained on me. I mounted the top, 
 and came on forty miles more or less. It rained 
 hard in showers ; in spite of the rubber coat, 
 the additional umbrellas were too mnch for me. 
 Dripping, then, and chilly, after ten at night, I 
 got down from the coach at the large farmhouse 
 inn I was booked for. I poked through the 
 hall, following a bit of light to a keyhole at the 
 farther end, and opened the door abruptly. The 
 fire w^as glowing, vieing, in its color, with the red 
 stockings of one of the two Scotch lassies that 
 stood before it. 
 
 " Can you give me a good bed ? " 
 
 They both spoke together in answer : '' Oh 
 yes, Sir, we can." 
 
 June 30. — Last night there came on, forwarded 
 from London, our village newspaper of June 11 — 
 its arrival the more welcome that I got no letters. 
 It seemed itself, when fairly uncovered, not a little 
 proud to meet a friend at Inverness. 
 
 Perhaps forgetting ^the Highland lassie, that I 
 left so prematurely, 
 
 " O qui me rendra mon Hel^ne ? " 
 
 I ought to give a touch of how the land looks be- 
 tween here and the Pass of Killiecrankie. At 
 first, for twenty miles, all was large mountains 
 
FEOM HOME. 113 
 
 standing every where, covered with the native 
 heather — not a tree, not a bush, thongh rocks 
 enough. The truth is, I begin to catch the spirit 
 of the heather, and to enjoy the wind whisthng 
 over these bleak hills, and to fancy the stones 
 rested upon them. As on the moors of Northum- 
 berland, long, coarse-wooUed sheep are grazing all 
 about ; a few rough cottages appear of those who 
 w^atch them. 
 
 When we come down into the valley of the 
 Spey, the country changes. Several old villages, 
 single long streets of stone cottages, mostly of one 
 story, are passed, and in the valley are large, 
 good-looking meadows, and on the hills larches 
 and Scotch pines again tell of some laird that's 
 living near. Leaving the Spey we get once more 
 rugged hills, and look clear back over the Spey 
 valley to those we have left, whitened yet on this 
 side in many spots with snow. All those that we 
 see, and have been through, are the Grampians. 
 
 Inverness I find looking comely enough, with 
 a fine view from its castle hill, and good walks, 
 very beautiful ones along its river banks. Three 
 different churches I attended yesterday, all of 
 them well filled ; the sermons were quite good, v/itli 
 a good bit of Scotch accent and manner mixed in 
 Avith them. To-day thus far I have been Avi'iting, 
 and shall not leave here till to-morrow, when I 
 see we have it July 1st, and I shall make here my 
 Ultima Thule. 
 
114 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 Head of Glen of Glencoe, July 4. 
 
 Inverness is eiglity miles to the north of me. 
 Since I wrote last onr travelling party has re- 
 sumed the road, my sack, umbrella, myself, and 
 spyglass. Tlie sack does all it promised to. Tlie 
 umbrella has had active service daily, and even 
 the spyglass, which has been snlky since leaving 
 
 its Helen at the Inn, near Inverness, saw 
 
 yesterday another lass, going alone through a 
 large field toward an especially pleasant-looking 
 farmhouse, that, by some trees under a hill, lay 
 half a mile perhaps from the road, and proposed 
 to stop and look at her. I thought, when it found 
 she was pretty, it grew better natured ; I hope it will 
 soon get over its pique about leaving the other. 
 
 Shall I speak of Loch Ness or of Independ- 
 ence ? You may be called to hear some patriot 
 politician on the latter subject, and so will excuse 
 me. Loch I^ess is the northernmost of the inland 
 waters connecting with the Caledonia Canal; a 
 
 fine lake, if not the finest. As old Mr. B 
 
 said of the Green Mountain range, as seen from 
 his house near Mount Independence, " It looks 
 handsome enousjh." I saw it first Mondav ni2:ht 
 
 O I/O 
 
 at Dores, where are a kirk and several houses about 
 it, forming the kirk-town, distant eight miles 
 from Inverness, at the lake's northern end. 
 
 The piiblio hoose, \ik.Q almost all of its kind, is 
 a low-lived grogshop, as uninviting as one of our 
 poorest beer-drinking groceries. However, it was 
 
FROM HOME. 115 
 
 ten miles to tlie Foyer's Inn. The toast and tea 
 proved of good flavor, and after a bit of conversa- 
 tion with mine host, and more with a cnstomer of 
 ]iis, I fonnd mj bed and sleep as desired. The 
 guest mentioned had been a traveller, had led a 
 chequered life, and was now, near the close of it, 
 broken down by drink. A Scotchman by birth, a 
 graduate of Edinburgh, he had gone to the l^ew 
 World, stayed eighteen years in the States, return- 
 ed, and after several years' interval had launched 
 off again, this time to Australia, where I think he 
 said he was nine years. How long since from 
 Australia I did not learn, but at present he was 
 returning on foot to his home in the north, from 
 the Exhibition at London. As I said, complete- 
 ly wrecked by drink ; perhaps never very well 
 balanced, he brightened up when talking of his 
 travels, and still gave interest to his stories. He 
 had once j^assed by Monticello, and called upon 
 Jefferson. His knock was not heard, but he 
 passed through the hall into a sitting room, where 
 was a young lady playing a piano ; she was too 
 much engaged to hear him, and he was compelled 
 to interrupt her and tell her his errand. It might 
 have been Jefferson's daughter — he didn't know 
 as to that ; she did not return again, but Mr. Jef- 
 ferson came in. He was always glad to have seen 
 the old gentleman ; he was very polite. At Edin- 
 burgh I had met an Englishman, a kind-hearted, 
 talkative man, who had lived many years in Mich- 
 
116 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 igan, tlie best perhaps of his life. His thoughts 
 were filled with frontier scenes ; with him Harri- 
 son and Cass were familiar names. But he had 
 still a home that cared for him. 
 
 Still July 4. — I find myself at another fublio 
 hoose^ and am sitting in the parlor, dining room, 
 and bed room of the concern. The landlord, an 
 honest-looking fellow, says they are to bnild him 
 a better-looking place next year. Tlie books, as 
 in nearly all Scotch inns, are mostly religions — in 
 this case but few — the Bible, Lives of Scotch Di- 
 vines, a volume of a Missionary Magazine, a 
 Gaelic Poem, two Bibles in the same language, 
 and, in English, a Life of Washington, a present, I 
 presume, from an emigrant relative. That's all 
 right ; only if the beds — there are two of them — 
 don't grow longer before bedtime, I shall stretch 
 out on the settee. Whilst I am writing, the wo- 
 men folk are doing the proud thing in the kitchen. 
 I hear them scrape the toast whilst the kettle 
 boils. — An hour later. The Avomen folk have 
 done the proud thing. If I've said anything re- 
 flecting against this inn or pnblic hoose, I take it 
 all back. That bed has grown several inches. 
 This parlor has an elegant picture on one side, a 
 young girl (the dress low neck and short sleeves), 
 a diadem on her brow, and a rosebud in her 
 bosom. Opposite is a splendidly framed design, 
 " Kitchie's Edinburgh Ales." 
 
 " You're nicely fitted up, I see ; is that carpet 
 
FEOM HOME. 117 
 
 Brussels ? " said an English gentleman, in point- 
 ing to a newly made rag carpet at an old inn, 
 where I stopped yesterday. When told not, he 
 maintained well the delusion. " It looks astonish- 
 ingly like Brussels." 
 
 The Falls of Foyers are the Falls of Scotland. 
 I found them 'ten miles from Dores. I passed a 
 large inn a mile before reaching them, but having, 
 from a milestone near, the promise of the White 
 Bridge Inn, seven miles beyond, I ran my chance 
 and went on for the picturesque. To say the falls 
 were all moonshine wouldn't be true, for they 
 were all water ; but to climb about auy glen so 
 wild and handsome as this, alone, is all moon- 
 shine ; and after vainly striving some time 
 to think a birch tree was the Jessie that came 
 with me, I gave it up, flung several stones at the 
 'noisy fall, that flung its spray at me, flung several 
 more over the arches below and across the deep 
 gorge, and left. But my thoughts went back a 
 few years to a fall at home, far more wild and 
 beautiful than these, where 
 
 July 5, Saturday^ at een. — I wrote two weeks 
 since, when I stopped to spend the Sabbath on 
 the shores of Loch Tay, that the estate of the Mar- 
 quis of Breadalbane extended in a straight line, in 
 one direction, ninety miles. I am told I have 
 struck that line in this quarter, and am squatted 
 again on that nobleman's territory. I spoke of his 
 castle palace and fine grounds in that location. 
 
118 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 Here we liave a nobleman's seat again repeated, 
 perhaps for the reason of the Hoosier, in separat- 
 ing his house from his barn, " On account of the 
 sloo between them, stranger ! " — but that is his 
 business. I have only to thank him for this most 
 comfortable hotel. They'll remember it in the 
 bill, I suspect, but I'm used to it. Besides, 
 that comes Monday. To-night let me doze by the 
 warm fire I have ordered, and enjoy the luxury 
 of a clean room. 
 
 I've walked twenty miles to-day, all through 
 Glencoe, a lone, barren glen that everybody goes 
 to see. But to get back to the Falls of Foyers, or 
 to the road that lies between them and the White 
 Bridge Inn : In the first place it veered off from 
 the lake to cross over a hill, and gave me a steep 
 climb for half an hour. Coming to the table 
 lands, for the first time I noticed blueberry ^ 
 bushes. The "White Bridge crosses the Foyers, 
 and just above, on the hill, a low, long, dirty- 
 looking building extended, which only could, be 
 an inn. Indeed, when near enough to read it, an 
 inscription, over the door warrants the fact. It 
 was nearly seven o'clock ; my first inquiry was 
 fully answered. A lady from Glasgow had writ- 
 ten to engage the only two beds. But. for some- 
 thing to eat. 
 
 " There is very little in the hoose." 
 
 " So I suppose ; you have milk, though ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
FKOM HOME. 119 
 
 " And bread ? " ' 
 
 " ]^o ; no bread, but oat cake." 
 
 " Yery well, milk and oat cake." The oat 
 cake was unnecessarily hard, but the milk was 
 sweet and good. It was now nine miles to Fort 
 AnOTstns. 
 
 o 
 
 Highlands of Scotland, July S, thirteen miles east of Oban. 
 
 Though I ought to commence at Fort Augustus, 
 I think I shall give a word to a pleasant cow that 
 I see in looking from the window. She grazes in a 
 field on some green grass, but beyond her there 
 appear to be potatoes, a hollow, and a mountain. 
 I have been watching, too, across the road, three 
 little girls amusing themselves with a wheelbar- 
 row in wheeling each other alternately. They 
 are some dozen or fonrteen years old ; two of 
 them, peasant children, have the natural panta- 
 lette ; the third, coming from the inn, doubtless, 
 has the Highland red stockings, that reach nearly 
 to the knee, and there leave the leg exposed a wee 
 by the short petticoat. 
 
 Fort Augustus stands at the sonthern end of 
 Loch ItTess. Besides the fort there were quite a 
 number of moderate houses, and two small inns. 
 At one of these I passed the night ; in the morning 
 restarted toward Fort William, about thirty-eight 
 miles farther down. For five miles I kept by the 
 canal — two steamboats passing by me, one each 
 way. Leaving the canal I skirted through woods 
 
120 THE YAKKEE BOY 
 
 some way with a country about me tliat made 
 me tliink of tlie neigliborhood of Ticonderoga, 
 J^ew York. This home look was heightened by a 
 sawmill. I hardly remember to have seen one in 
 operation before, since leaving home. I stopped 
 to admire the logs, to hear the going of the saw, 
 and to watch the pile of scantling, small though it 
 was. Leaving the sawmill I met a native, and 
 learned that I should have to turn half a mile 
 from my course for an inn, or else go on sixteen 
 miles farther, in all twenty-four miles from Fort 
 Augustus, with nothing to eat. There had been 
 formerly another inn, but it had been turned into 
 a shepherd house. Well, I turned off the half 
 mile, coming to an excellent large stone hotel that 
 stood in a fine position among these mountains. 
 Hardly anywhere had the Scotch firs showed more 
 handsomely, and I could hear the river thumping 
 the bowlders in the gorge below. Returned from 
 the inn, I crossed this stream by a stone arch, then 
 wound around what seemed park grounds, turned 
 through another fine wood, and came out by a 
 small dismal loch, one of the connecting links in 
 this chain of lakes. Its bank opposite me was a 
 high mountain, steep, but with grass grown to the 
 top, hence used as a sheep pasture. Beyond this 
 lake there was a bit of a village, with a Catholic 
 church, so one of the peasants told me. Then 
 came the shepherd house that had been an inn. 
 It was a forlorn-looking old place, but some land 
 
FP.OM noiiE. 121 
 
 near it seemed good for potatoes or grain, and the 
 shepherd, with his lad and lass, was hard at work 
 hoeing some small potatoes. 
 
 From the shepherd house to Stean Bridge Inn 
 was yet eight miles. I had gone abont one, and 
 began to feel a bit fagging, when an honest-look- 
 ing lad with a horse and cart overtook me. He 
 slackened and seemed ready for an arrangement, 
 but before I had settled in my mind on terms, he 
 asked me, and I think out of good feeling, if I 
 wouldn't '' get in." I got in, and slipj)ed a six- 
 pence in his hand, that he covered so thoroughly 
 I don't think his father will ever see it. The lad 
 was a bright lad, and had, he said, five sisters and 
 four brothers. His father watched the sheep on 
 this mountain, and his uncle on the hill beyond. 
 The sheep^ran out all winter picking up their own 
 living. At something less than two miles he was to 
 turn from the main road ; then, as if thinking that 
 the length of ride wasn't equal to the sixpence, he 
 said that he was coming back to go several miles 
 farther. This seemed pretty doubtful ; but I was 
 satisfied with the ride already taken, told him 
 'twas all right, and struck on again afoot. One 
 beautiful little dell I passed, lined with trees, and 
 a clear stream below going to the lake. Just be- 
 yond this was a very pretty cottage under a hill, 
 and a fine yard of trees before it. Had I been in 
 America, I should have claimed its hospitality for 
 the night. Another mile on I met a well-appear- 
 6 
 
122 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 ing Higliland gentleman just coming out of an- 
 other cottage, witli perhaps his wife. I stopped to 
 ask a word about the way. He had the true 
 Celtic manner of politeness in his answer, and 
 then, with the Celtic hospitality that I have met 
 with now several times, insisted that I should 
 come in and take a glass of wine, for he knew I 
 must have had a long walk. The parlor was very 
 cozy, and wdth the wine, which was most excel- 
 lent, and some cake, I passed half an hour. Of 
 course I let them know directly I was an Ameri- 
 can, and as such was full as kindly welcomed, 
 though it was admitted that in our war their na- 
 tion's sympathy tended toward the weaker side. 
 
 From the Highland cottage, with new zeal, I 
 soon walked the remaining three miles. I should 
 add that the lad I rode with passed by whilst I 
 was in the house. Shortly after setting out I met 
 him returning on horseback. The little fellow 
 was as pleased as could be to meet me, in fact 
 laughed all over, and I thought 'twas in part to 
 show me he had told the truth. 
 
 Stean Bridge Inn isn't a bad place for a night. 
 They showed me to their best room up stairs, and 
 gave nae there my supper. Close by it was a 
 very neat little bedroom. For rugs I noticed 
 here, as in many of tliese Highland hotels, deer 
 skins ; very becoming they look, spread out by a 
 window in the parlors or by the doors. Fort 
 William from Stean Bridge is about ' 
 
FROM HOME. 123 
 
 we skirt around the foot of Ben Xevis. The 
 height of Ben Nevis is 4,406 feet. Formerly it 
 was thouo^ht the his-hest mountain in Great Britain. 
 I^ow that claim is awarded to Ben McDlmi, that 
 shows so finely, with a range of snow-pointed 
 peaks about it, from where Helen lives. Between 
 these two rival mountains there is but several feet 
 difierence ; at each survey the palm of height is 
 changed, so that in fact no one knows which is 
 highest. Snow is yet plentifully lying on Ben 
 Nevis and the mountains near it. 
 
 Fort William is an old place in aj^pearance, 
 and an ugly one. I stayed but long enough to 
 take lunch, then passed on toward the next inn, 
 with drizzly rain to test the rubber coat. 
 
124 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Oban, July 9, Wednesday evening. 
 
 Place me now in the coffee room of a large 
 and well-conducted, but so-called second-class 
 Engiisli hotel ; five more young men in the room, 
 lounging indiscriminately, for there are no ladies. 
 If there were, they would be placed up stairs in 
 the parlor, by a rule of civilization. A large 
 wagon-load of girls, cm co?itraire, jnst passed the 
 window — the genuine article, ranging in years 
 from two to twenty. 
 
 I have seen them before. They were all at a 
 picnic, at an old castle ruin, half a mile across a 
 bay from the road I was passing. I had arranged 
 my spyglass to see the old castle, and distin- 
 guished a single female in a black riding-habit 
 and a pretty plumed hat. This beat the tail of 
 the comet seen by the philosopher in the comic 
 almanac, or, for that matter, the man in the moon. 
 She stood in the perspective, and, so far as I was 
 concerned, completely covered the castle. She 
 
FEOM HOME. 125 
 
 didn't seem to care for tlie castle or for its enyi- 
 rons — neither did I ; but she Avalked about the 
 lawn, and finally seated herself on the decline of 
 the grass. I mjsclF was lying on a bank of hea- 
 ther, some thirty feet above the road, my glass 
 resting upon its summit. After a solitary walk 
 this term of picket duty seemed no hardship. 
 Perhaps fifteen minutes passed, when the damsel 
 rose, gathered quickly her long robe, and com- 
 menced a rapid run down the green. My glass 
 moved with its object, and soon caught the forms 
 of two bright little girls coming to meet her. 
 Directly came a troop of them from a wood ; after 
 them the large wagon that has just passed by. 
 When the wagon stopped near the old ruins, they 
 all gathered about it ; baskets were handed out 
 and taken, and a shawl or two. I watched them 
 as they separated and as they lingered, until all 
 had climbed a fence there was, to disappear 
 around the corner for, I suppose, their picnic. 
 
 Some four miles from Fort William, following 
 the shore of the arm of the sea, which reaches it 
 and receives the canal, fishers' nets lining the 
 way, a horse and gig passed me, driven by such a 
 pleasant elderly gentleman as we hear of in those 
 favored parishes where the learned man keeps a 
 gig, and the people a minister. He reined up, for 
 he thought I must be tired. A second time, then, 
 I got a ride, and now for some six or eight miles, 
 and with the pleasantest of company, a kind and 
 
126 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 well-informed Highland pastor. "When I left liin/ 
 at his house, he asked me cordially to come in for 
 tea, but I tlionght best to decline, and left a 
 homelike group of houses and the church, facing 
 upon the beautiful bay, looking toward the misty 
 hills of Morven. 
 
 The two next miles had passed ; another was 
 to bring me to the inn, where I was to spend the 
 night, when something like music reached me 
 from behind ; shortly the firing of a gun, and then 
 a shout of voices followed, borne by the wind. 
 All along this quarter there is a border of good 
 land between the hills and the sea, and numbers 
 of peasants' huts are scattered along the road. I 
 turned and saw, some three quarters of a mile 
 across the field, at the rear of me, a crowd of 
 people near a group of cottages. Off went the 
 gun again, and then another shout. I mounted 
 the stone wall to get a better sight, and saw the 
 crowd now in motion and coming my way. The 
 notes of the music swelled more distinctly, coming 
 from a true Highland bagpipe in native melody 
 upon the air. On they came, following the lane 
 and then the road, still coming toward me ; girls, 
 women, and men, bagpipe and gun, with a nu- 
 merous following of children in the rear. As they 
 neared me, I made a signal of sympathy, and 
 swung my hat. This took well, and brought an 
 echo from the gun and a rousing cheer. I fell be- 
 hind, in rear of the children, and learned from 
 
FKOM HOME. 127 
 
 tliose outside at a cottage I passed that it was a 
 " wedding party ; " tliey were going to the inn to 
 get married, and if I hurried I might see the 
 affair. 
 
 The party stopped at the first inn. I crossed 
 the ferry to the second, which was a better one, 
 bnt returned and ordered tea, telling the landlord 
 I wished for a chance at the wedding while his 
 meal was preparing. He had doubts, but I pushed 
 him on, knowing that faint heart never won, and. 
 intending to slip in and observe in the crowd. 
 The landlord felt the importance of the meeting, 
 and, beckoning to one of the leading men, asked 
 for my name. I would have avoided ceremony, 
 but was led to the centre of the room, where stood 
 the clergyman. I conld only say to him that I 
 was an American traveller, and, seeing the gay 
 company, had ventured to follow in, and had asked 
 of the landlord to see a Highland wedding. The 
 clergyman gave me a hearty welcome ; I sat 
 down by an amiable lass, who pointed out to me 
 the pair to be married. The ceremony passed in 
 Gaelic, then the friends gathered to shake hands 
 with the hap2)y pair. I saw very little kissing, 
 but whiskey was brought in plentifully and passed 
 around to all, when seated, poured in a wine glass. 
 Waiting the opportunity, I added my good wishes 
 to those of their friends, wishing them as joyous a 
 life as they had commenced in their wedding, and, 
 after a few minutes more with the lass beside me, 
 
128 THE YANKEE EOY 
 
 who did her part exceedingly well, excused myself 
 to her, to look for my tea. 
 
 I found this in the room above, and was enjoy- 
 ing it qnietly when joined by the clergyman. He 
 was to cross the ferry after signing certain papers 
 which were expected. I waited his movement, 
 therefore, conversing with him or looking in npon 
 the dancing, which had commenced below. The 
 Highland reel was danced to the bagpipe by male 
 and female. At last the papers came, and the 
 clergyman was released. The boatman left the 
 dance to ferry ns over the river. 
 
 July 11. — Yesterday I had breakfast of tront, 
 and, at eight o'clock, started for the steamer that 
 goes about the island of Mull for Zona and Staffa. 
 A young Scotchman from the same hotel ofiered 
 for company ; so we took a second passage, and, se- 
 curing good seats at the front of the boat, did not 
 envy those who paid five shillings for hardly so 
 good a place. There was a beautifully blue dress, 
 that landed on the dock from an incoming steamer 
 as we went out, that my Scotch friend recognized 
 as one that he had ridden with the day before, 
 and found delightfully coquettish. A stiff breeze 
 blew on the sea, that made the blue waves dance 
 around us. The day was fair, the steamer stanch, 
 and fearlessly curved about the rocky coast of 
 Mull. 
 
 My companion proved quite universally a 
 pleasant fellow. He was in the midst of a yarn 
 
FEOM HOME. 129 
 
 as the boat stopped at lona. A small boat from 
 the shore made but a single trip for the number 
 who landed. A bit of village was before iis, of 
 one-stoiy stone houses, w^hitewashed ; signs of 
 ruins w^ere about, or fragments of wrought stone, 
 and most conspicnons, a little to the right of the 
 town street, the well-preserved remains of the 
 old cathedral. My friend and I lagged behind 
 the rest for a lunch. When ready for the tour of 
 the ruins, a flock of children, enough for the whole 
 island, closed about us in the way of trade. They 
 had saucers of shells and stones, and papers of 
 dried seaweed. 
 
 " Please buy, sir ! please buy, sir ! A six- 
 jpence for the lot." 
 
 " Please buy mine, sir ! only a three-pence for 
 the lot." 
 
 " Please buy mine, too, sir ! " 
 
 " But, my little girl, I've enough already." 
 
 " Please buy them, sir ! only a three-pence for 
 the lot." 
 
 Keleased once more, I proj^osed to my friend 
 to strike directly for a hill that seemed to com- 
 mand an extensive view. Throui>;li a wheat field, 
 up a ledge of rocks, we soon reached this, with its 
 panorama of the little island once so famous. It 
 is mostly pasture, with sheep and small cattle 
 about. In the west the Atlantic was unbroken. 
 The rock of Staflfa we could see to the north, other 
 small islands beyond it, and east the shores, all 
 6* 
 
130 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 mountainous and indented with bays, of Mull ; 
 one lofty jDeak u^Don it that ke^Dt covered with 
 clouds. Nearly all solitude it seemed ; no sound 
 for us hut the ocean's roar and the wind. 
 
 At a signal from the steamer we returned 
 aboard and headed for Staifa. Landed again by 
 a small boat, we w^alked on the basaltic columns 
 to the entrance of Fingal's Cave. The sea rushes 
 into the cave, rising or falling with the tide to its 
 upper end. The columns of basalt, in shape pil- 
 lars of cut stone or iron, line its sides and arch its 
 roof. On one side upon these one can walk to the 
 extremity, but just as I had reached there and 
 began to grow sullen with the sullen surf, there 
 came the order to go. We passed afterward on 
 to the height of this island — smaller and lonelier 
 it is than lona — which gave another beautiful 
 view of the bay in front of us, and a more ex- 
 tended one of the ocean. Continuing in our 
 course clear around the island of Mull, we reached 
 Oban at seven o'clock. 
 
 Shore of Loch Awe, Julj 12. 
 
 I left Oban yesterday at 2 p. m., taking a back- 
 ward route to Taynault, where I was three days 
 ago. It is a handsome route nearly the whole 
 way. An arm of the sea comes to Taynault, 
 which the road keeps in sight, and along the 
 shore of. The opposite shore is mountainous; 
 only in places, though, do the mountains come 
 directly from the water. I passed again by the 
 
FROM HOME. 131 
 
 picnic ruin, and by a long log that I knew, from 
 having lain and dozed upon it quite a time. At 
 the Taynault inn I took some bread and milk, and 
 watched a great frolic outside, of some lads and 
 lassies that were dncking each other with water. 
 One of the girls, that would have been the belle, 
 for she was very pretty, slipped into the kitchen, 
 got a whole pail of water, and, returning whilst 
 his back was turned, succeeded in pouring it all 
 on one of the young men. He shook himself 
 much as a ]N"ewfoundland dog, but then darted for 
 the girl. A few rods below, crossing the road, 
 was a clear stream. The lassie fought well for 
 perhaps ten minutes, but at last, completely tired 
 out, suffered herself to be carried, and was very 
 completely immersed in the cold water. 
 
 After leaving the inn the road goes down the 
 brae, crosses a stone arch, turns to the right tow- 
 ard Loch Awe ferry, pushing into the hills. These 
 are covered with a young growth of copse. It is 
 the twilight hour. The richest singing of birds 
 that I have heard meets me. The birds chieiiy 
 are what they call here thrushes, very much like 
 our robin, but not its equal. From the hilltop 
 where I met the first house, there was something 
 of a view. Three miles more, through the pasture 
 land, brought me to a village with a kirk and post 
 office, two old two-story honses, and a number of 
 small ones or huts. Leaving these, I overtook on 
 the road a peasant woman, and had a bit of con- 
 
132 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 versation. She had the honest Scotch manner ; 
 wanted to know if I was English ; I told her 
 American. That seemed a long way off. Then 
 came the war affair. She had seen by the 
 papers that it was conducted in the most crnel 
 manner. She stopped speaking for a few mo- 
 ments ; I knew she was thinking of the wars and 
 rumors of wars. As I left her at the gate of her 
 lowly home, she advised me as to the inns, of 
 wdiich there is one each side of the ferry. 
 
 It is now past noon ; a rain outside, but not a 
 hard one. I am twelve miles only from Inverary, 
 where I go for the Sunday. 
 
 Inveeaky, July 12, Saturday night. 
 
 Finding here a temperance hotel, I stop at it, 
 having uniformly found houses of its class com- 
 fortable and reasonable in charges. They are 
 more economically kept, generally much smaller 
 than the so-called first-class hotels. You find at 
 them the commercial or middle class of travellers, 
 that may prefer them for economy or comfort, and 
 some of them from principle. (A young man 
 enters as I write, whistling as industriously as a 
 small Yankee boy coming through a wood at 
 night.) At Newcastle the temperance houses were 
 large, and added the term '' commercial " to their 
 name. (Our wdiistling friend has rung the bell, 
 to order a cup of coffee with plain bread and 
 butter, but has recommenced to whistle.) Their 
 
FEOM HOME- 133 
 
 prices were about two thirds those of the first- 
 class, the entertainment as good, but no piano or 
 showy parlor. The same is true at Edinburgh 
 and other large towns. Style is costly ; those who 
 expect it, expect to pay. At Dnnkeld, as here or 
 in any small place, a temperance hotel is a private 
 house made public on a certain plan, and is more 
 or less comfortable as it may happen. This ap- 
 pears well. The sitting-room carpet should be a 
 bit cleaner, and the old Scotch gentleman, that 
 hangs against the w^all, might have been better 
 painted ; as for that matter, he would make a 
 handsomer decoration if he didn't look so much 
 like the herring he doubtless used to catch. The 
 long table on one side is covered with books and 
 papers — one of the former. The Ancient British 
 Church at lona. There are Temperance Tales, 
 Scotch Travels, Sermons, at the end a backgam- 
 mon board. My bedroom up stairs is all right, 
 with a good bed and a Bible on the bureau. 
 
 The wdiistler I j5nd is from Yorkshire. He 
 said at a glance that I w^as from London, and, 
 being of a sanguine temperament, disdains to in-, 
 quire if right. He thinks he has been sold in 
 crossing the ferry, and guesses he will inquire 
 about it to-morrow. He does not like to be sold. 
 He left a beautiful i^ipe, too, in the glen he came 
 through this afternoon ; a very beautiful glen* 
 called Hell Glen. " Only twenty-hve minutes in 
 crossing the ferry, for two shillings ; I don't like 
 to be sold." 
 
134 THE TAITKEE BOY 
 
 Monday morning at Inveeaet. 
 
 ** 'Twas thy voice, my gentle Mary, 
 And thy artless, winning smile, 
 That made the world an Eden, 
 Bonny Mary of Argyle." 
 
 Going on to the Duke of Argyle's grounds 
 yesterday suggested " Mary of Argyle." I no- 
 ticed fine lime trees in front of the castle ; in the 
 wood the largest firs and beeches I have met. 
 The oaks did not thrive well ; birches were in 
 plenty, but not our white birch. From the hill 
 that overlooks the castle there should be a fine 
 view of the other hills about, and the arm of the 
 sea that shoots up here. The castle itself, per- 
 fectly plain, looks to me exceedingly handsome 
 below, but at the second story the funds seem to 
 have given out ; in the box that is added on top 
 the whole effect is ruined. The duke is not 
 wealthy by his Highland estates, but opens his 
 beautiful grounds to the public, and is a sound 
 temperance man. 
 
 From Loch Awe we had tlie Highland scenery, 
 hill, heather, and sheep, with a sprinkling of small 
 old stone dwellings. But as July grows warmer 
 I find a flood of little plants and shrubs begin to 
 blossom. The bell heather, with a beautiful little 
 bell-shaped flower, flings a new shade on the hill- 
 sides. Of its delicate hue, I only think of one of 
 our wild flowers to compare it with, a small pur- 
 ple cluster that comes early in spring. I can 
 
FKOM HOME. 135 
 
 think Low it grows, and where it grows, but not 
 surely of its name. The bluebells here keep 
 more in the grass, but all along the roadside, the 
 stream sides, and the borders of the hills, the fox- 
 glove shoots out its stem, and fills it with its 
 showy pink flowers. When I see these by a 
 stream at a little distance, I think them the car- 
 dinal flowers, but find them difi'erently formed on 
 the stem and far less brilliant. Honeysuckle blos- 
 soms I saw in abundance, climbing up the bushes 
 near Loch Awe. A little white flower like pep- 
 per grass grows everywhere on the banks. But- 
 tercujDS flourish as with us, and, when I come to 
 the Lowlands, the daisy tells me there ought to be 
 strawberries. Besides these there are other little 
 flowers, less frequent or less forward, many of 
 them that I know, some that I do not. Golden 
 rod and everlasting I have not seen since leaving 
 home, nor the mullen, that guards our pastures 
 with so much care. Of trees I have seen no ma- 
 ples, nor hemlock, nor cedar, unless in gardens 
 here ; I think, not on the Continent. The ash and 
 mountain ash are both common here as with us ; 
 basswood I do not find ; butternut and hickory 
 are unknown. 
 
 Arrochae, two miles from Locn Lomonp, July 14. 
 
 I came in here last night from a walk of 
 eighteen miles through two fine glens, their sides 
 rising in high sloping sheep pastures, at least fif- 
 teen hundred feet. Less rocky and more fertile 
 
136 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 than usual, these were covered to the top with 
 grass, and not with heather. The sheep, too, were 
 white faced, liandsome, and finer than most I have 
 found. They looked only specks clear np toward the 
 top. All sheep and cattle run out in the High- 
 lands through the winter, and pick their own living. 
 The black-faced Highland breed, hardy, winter 
 without difficulty. The finer flocks occasionally suf- 
 fer severely. The cattle show a similat difference, 
 many of them coarse, with big heads and large 
 horns, and the countenance of bisons. I see, also, 
 many handsome, social-looking cows, which give, 
 I suppose, the sweet, rich milk I find so plenty. 
 
 I got, Saturday, reports from Charleston and 
 Richmond ; to-day, news to the 2d of July, when 
 McClellan stood tandem^ the right wing behind 
 the left. A Glasgow paper thinks the almighty 
 Yankee is in a position to run, but I don't quite 
 see where he is to run to. Other editorials of 
 papers I see, are in a better spirit than before the 
 battle. I think I shall be in Glasgow Thursday, 
 and shall find there letters and papers for the last 
 four weeks, the longest interval, except the first, I 
 have made. I have just thought that to-day is my 
 birthday, and I am twenty-three. McClellan, 
 they say, is thirty-eight. I make no complaint of 
 him ; but if Scott were at that age — 
 
 Glasgow, Wednesday oveuing. 
 
 Highlands no more. I bade them farewell to- 
 day from the top of Ben Lomond. It was not the 
 
FROM HOME. 137 
 
 best of days for this favorite view, but a fair one. 
 The distance got blended in the mist, but we had 
 the bcantifrd Loch Lomond itself, with its little 
 islands at the wider end below ; its high mountain 
 shores beside and opposite ns. Loch Katrine and 
 its mountains were at the northeast, and east, al- 
 most directly, was the fine valley that opens out on 
 Stirling and its castle, wdience Ben Lomond shows 
 so prominently. Ben Lomond itself rises thirty- 
 two hundred feet above the lake. It is matted to 
 the top with coarse grass tufts that furnish food 
 for countless sheep, and from springs it sends down 
 many a gay burn that widens as it goes. One of 
 these, starting directly below us, at the north- 
 east, a very w^ee thing, gets soon to be a bold biir- 
 nie and the eye follows it a long, long distance 
 winding through its own valley to the little Loch 
 Chou. 
 
 I overtook a party of English lads in making 
 the ascent. They were direct from Glasgow, and 
 brought the latest news of McClellan's tandem 
 movement. This was as favorable as I expected ; 
 I can yet keep a bold front with the Yankee flag 
 flying. By extracts from American papers, I have 
 seen how they take the English comments on But- 
 ler's demi-monde order. 
 
 Well, as I hoped, I have found here four let- 
 ters ; one of May 1, to London, was found and for- 
 warded at the second request, as is the home news- 
 paper whenever ordered. It was well done at the 
 
 >0 
 
138 THE TAXKEE BOY 
 
 'Metropolitan office ; tliey looked again. One by 
 one I read tlie letters as I leisurely ate my supper, 
 and afterward, throwing myself on a sofa, re-read 
 all, and followed with the home items of the news- 
 papers. The weather to-day is hot and sultry, the 
 first such of the season. But my pen begins to 
 doze ; Lock Lomond, and Ben Lomond, and Loch 
 Tay, and Lock Ness hover about me, in dreamy 
 confusion. 
 
FEOM HOME. 139 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Glasgow, July 19. 
 
 I STOP here at Glasgow, as at Edinburgh, at the 
 "Waverley Temperance Hotel. They are owned 
 by the same man. This is full at present ; among 
 the company are a number of Canadians, who 
 came over for the Exhibition, by the Quebec and 
 Glasgow line. 
 
 To-day appears to be what we should call in 
 France a fete. The stores chiefly are shut ; the 
 people out en nnasse for a holiday. Down town a 
 way the fair shows are going on, a crowd packing 
 the streets near, and gathered on the green by the 
 Clyde. A vigorous auctioneer, with the hammer, 
 claims attention, and assures you, in the crowd 
 that surrounds him, if you will not give a shil- 
 ling for his pair of suspenders you shall have them 
 for a sixpence. A man on the left makes the 
 same offer with a penknife. Further on, the beat 
 of a drum before a circus contends with the blast 
 of a trumpet before a menagerie, and the placards 
 of a concert with those of a theatre. Escaping the 
 
14:0 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 crowd, and turning another direction, a mile's 
 walk brought me to the cathedral, and, beyond 
 this, to the cemetery, where I stole a pink for my 
 solitary souvenir, and had a grand glimpse of the 
 city and its chimneys of manufactories. There 
 was a stiff breeze ; now and then a brisk shower. 
 
 Sunday nig/it.^—l had a nap this afternoon, 
 but, coming down to tea, passed the evening so- 
 ciably with a number of these Canadians. Tliere 
 was one girl American born, the rest were origin- 
 ally from Scotland. The evening passed not bad- 
 ly, but it provokes one to see these Island-horn 
 Canadians more jealous of us than if they had 
 lived always on this side. 
 
 I attended the morning service at church, and, 
 the Aveather being clear, walked afterward to the 
 West End of the city. I had heard so much of 
 the superior beauty of Edinburgh that I was sur- 
 prised_ to find the dwellings here far finer than I 
 had seen there. Commerce brings wealth, wealth 
 builds with solidity and beauty. From the West 
 End the view off toward the Clyde valley is very 
 charming. Altogether Glasgow is a great com- 
 mercial and manufacturing city. It shows capital 
 in the business and style of building of every 
 street. I can admire the whole of it for its life 
 and activity, and, as I hinted above, the West 
 End, or fashionable part, seemed to me in all re- 
 spects ecpal to any city I have seen this side the 
 sea. 
 
FEOM HOME. 141 
 
 Sc I close on Glasgow. Where next ? is now 
 tlie question. I conld sail more cheaply from here 
 than by any other route. The first cabin passage 
 is but sixty-six dollars to Montreal. But there is 
 Ireland yet, and my fancy hints of Wales and 
 perhaps a fashionable watering place. My watch 
 tells me it is time for bed. 
 
 Lakgs, Coast of Clyde, July 21. 
 
 Here again is a temperance hotel. Tliis day 
 went busily in the morning, getting a bundle done 
 up for Liverpool. It ended in landing me from 
 a moderate Scotch steamer, that runs from Glas- 
 gow down to Largs, and after to Millport. The 
 Clyde, for about fifteen miles from Glasgow, is 
 but a narrow river, with muddy water, that is 
 made brackish by the tide. In low water the av- 
 erage depth above Greenock is only ten feet, so 
 that large vessels do not ascend. Below Greenock 
 the river has widened out into the frith. I no- 
 ticed many large ships being built at Greenock. 
 High hills and handsome bays, along the shore, 
 and islands mingle in the scenery. A modest 
 young girl told me all about the country we pass- 
 ed ; she knew it all well. 
 
 July 22. — I have just finished a breakfast of 
 oatmeal porridge and milk. The wind seems gone 
 down as I look out of the window on the sea ; or, 
 rather, the sound lies almost smooth, and is dotted 
 with small boats, and, just as last night, there are 
 people strolling about the beach. Last night I 
 
142 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 walked up by the shore road, some three miles, 
 followed by and following parties of young folk 
 ranging like myself I ended my stroll on a 
 brown-colored rock by the shore; looked around 
 for shells, but did not find any ; and lay again to 
 hear the surf that moaned so sullenly. Return- 
 ing, I passed more of the holiday parties, one play- 
 ing a game of string, another dancing on the green, 
 many youths and their lassies, in the long day- 
 light, strolling about the beach. ^Nearly all the 
 girls looked modest and tidy, and were not more 
 familiar than one would expect them to be in the 
 land of Burns. The Glasgow fair extends over a 
 week at this season, as an old custom ; during 
 more or less of it the whole working city is releas- 
 ed from employment. The more worthless portion 
 keep about home, where the circuses and menage- 
 ries are in full tide. Those, who enjoy the country, 
 take which they please of the various coast steam- 
 ers that ply to the ports and islands of the neigh- 
 borhood. Rothesay, in the isle of Bute, is a fa- 
 vorite point ; there are others more attractive than 
 this, but scarcely any of them shows a crowd so 
 well assorted. 
 
 Ayr, Thursday, July 24. 
 
 From Largs to Ayr is not a great distance, but 
 I had a call to make on my friend, the Scotch pas- 
 tor from the Pyrenees. I had heard in the High- 
 lands that he had married and returned for the 
 Bummer. As I had heard nothing before, and seen 
 
FROM HOME. 143 
 
 nothing suspicions mjself, I was prepared for a 
 
 mistake. From Largs to is bnt three miles 
 
 along the coast. Mr. B 's honse is close bj 
 
 the shore, looking out on the bay, or frith. I 
 found the senior couple, as usual, at home. George 
 had gone to see a sister, but would be back at six. 
 But the bride was in : of course the marriao:e was 
 real, and was the great event, as much to the old 
 folks as to the young. And the lady was from our 
 French parish, a Swiss girl ; I must have seen her 
 at the rehearsals of the choir. I had lost two cous- 
 ins to Swiss girls at New York, but this whole 
 thing was new to me. I was obliged to admit a 
 want of memory for the foreign name, but for the 
 face I wondered which of the dozen it would prove. 
 
 Mr. B , senior, had, after a time, left the room ; 
 
 Mrs. B , who was a little deaf, was reading, 
 
 and did not notice the new bride's entrance. I 
 knew her face instantly. I had noticed it the first 
 time, or about the fii'st time, of my attending the 
 Scotch church at Pan. I recollect thinking of a 
 friend who would have chosen it amid the group, 
 — ^his style and this subject were special alike,— 
 but had not thought of the discrimination it was 
 inviting from the foreign, pasteur. The dignity 
 of the wife was just perceptibly veiling the shy- 
 ness of the child. She knew me, too, it was evi- 
 dent, and, reaching the table, looked toward the 
 mother-in-law. The good dame might have been 
 somewhere near the middle of Deuteronomv, with 
 the intention of finishing the book. 
 
144 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 " I know your face well, and voii must be Mrs. 
 
 B . There was no one at whom I should 
 
 have recognized sooner." 
 
 Bj this time the good dame had arranged her 
 mark, and looked np to find the interview begun 
 much in the usual way. So, also, passed the af- 
 ternoon, till the boat came with Monsieur B , 
 
 and afterward, shortly, the supper. The senior 
 
 Mrs. B is Highland born, thoughtful for all 
 
 others, thoughtless of herself; her Celtic courtesy 
 lends a grace of welcome to the stranger's stay. 
 After supper, the young people inviting a pair of 
 neighbors to the party, we had a boat-sail on the 
 frith. The scenery was very fine ; we had a long 
 and very pleasant ^ail. It seemed as though we 
 were on the lake, the islands -make so perfect an 
 opposite shore ; I thought no water scene had 
 pleased me more. The evening closed, after our 
 return, with singing a psalm and family prayers. 
 
 In the morning I took the boat for Arran 
 Island, going as far as Lam Loch, and returning 
 to Millport, opposite my starting place. As it 
 faces the frith, Arran throws up quite a handsome 
 chain of mountains. These prove mostly rock, as 
 you approach, with the genuine Highland glens 
 piercing them, so that the scenery is very much 
 what I have often described. I took the Ayr 
 steamer at five in the afternoon and reached here 
 about night. 
 
 Sunday evening^ July 28. — I intend leaving 
 
FEOM HOME. 145 
 
 here in the morning, have been to church twice 
 to-day, the first time going to a small chapel, and 
 the last to a large, new and very handsome church. 
 I might have gone again this evening, perhaj^s, if 
 I had not made too late a supper, and then got 
 sleepy. The fact is, I tumbled on the bed and 
 had a good nap. I am wondering how long a 
 stop my sister made here at Ayr, and if slie went 
 anywhere but to Burns's cottage. "Well, that's 
 enough ; you see pretty much all the lay of the 
 land. However, I enjoyed the walk, that I made 
 on Thursday, along the bank of the Ayr river, to 
 a handsome bridge I found several miles up, as 
 much as that of Friday to the Doon. I don't 
 know that I connected any memories with it, or, 
 in fact, very much with either, but 'twas a relief 
 of green fields and harvest from the city life of 
 Glasgow, and a change from the Highlands, and 
 Highland heather. The Ayr was swollen with a 
 big rain we had had, so that the tree branches on 
 either side were dragging in the water, getting 
 very wet. The water, because of the rain per- 
 haps, was thoroughly muddy. For a souvenir of 
 this walk I plucked a daisy — they have been 
 scarce in the Highlands ; I have got it pressing 
 now in my paper-covered edition of Burns's Songs, 
 with one of the legs of the bedstead on it, that 
 seem to have been made on purpose for this use, 
 broad at the bottom. 
 
 Friday was a more beautiful day for a stroll ; 
 7 
 
146 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 it was almost perfect, and I used it well. I en- 
 joyed it too ; positively mused along tlie banks of 
 Bonnie Doon, studied the relative proportions of 
 the old and new arches with a critical eye, won- 
 dered when the ivy that's clinging to the old one 
 began to cling, bethought myself of listening to 
 the chanting of the little birds, and then sought 
 along the banks and braes for the little flowers 
 that I knew bloomed there sae afresh and fair. 
 When I found one, I took it to pnt alongside my 
 daisy. 
 
 The Doon is not a big stream ; a man could 
 jump across it in three jumps, if he jumped well. 
 But it's a pretty stream — as you see it near the 
 bridges, a very pretty one. Of the country about 
 it, as of all that you see about Ayr, it's a hand- 
 some variation of farming land, with the sea in 
 sight on one side, with a long swell beyond Burns's 
 village, that might have been, or perhaps might 
 be called now, a heather hill, on another; but 
 only one or two points of low mountains in the 
 horizon, unless perhaps you except those on the 
 islands. Being alone, and so having a good deal 
 of extra . time, I wondered, among other things, 
 why Burns did not sing more of these islands, and 
 of the sea that had always been within his sight. 
 I suppose he did not get much of a chance with a 
 boat, when he worked on the farm ; didn't own a 
 boat, as some folks do ; any way, he seems to have 
 liked a ripple better than a wave, Bonnie Doon 
 
FEOM HOME. 147 
 
 better than a firtli, and a bonnie lassie better than 
 them alL 
 
 The monument was to me handsome in itself, 
 and appropriate ; the gromxls abont it richly 
 flowered, and neatly kept. Alloway Kirk is a 
 remarkably choice ruin, beautifully situated, and 
 might well have suggested a legend to one who 
 dearly loved the whole spot about with the at- 
 tachment that a warm heart ever feels to its home. 
 Burns's cottage is a very neat one of its kind, pret- 
 tily placed. With a family within, cheerful in 
 mutual kindness, happy with peaceful hearts, no 
 palace could offer a dearer home nor claim a 
 stronger love. 
 
 There remains old Ayr, which I feel the more 
 disposed to speak kindly of as I leave in the morn- 
 ing; but, to talk truth, it's a quaint old town 
 that never knew what beauty in itself was. At the 
 same time it has found out its effects, and knows 
 how to give these. "When you shall have passed 
 a few days in its almost, or quite obsolete streets, 
 and won, if you are capable of doing it, the re- 
 gards of the old low thatched houses, you will 
 most cheerfully and honestly repeat what the old 
 town is always ready to hear, — for such is van- 
 ity,— 
 
 " Old Ajr, wham ne'er a town surpasses 
 For honest men and bonnie lassies." 
 
148 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 Stranraee, Tuesday night, July 27. 
 
 And here do I close on Scotland. I have been 
 looking at the low-monntained coast of Ireland, as 
 it rose beyond the beautiful level of water, and took 
 the sweet blue hue that memory loves. I bethought 
 me of Fingal of old, of the days of Ossian, and the 
 wild phantasies, that he wove, connecting with this 
 coast. But aside from these it was the Emerald 
 Isle, the sweet Erin of song and memory, that 
 island which before all is the Isle of the Ocean ; I 
 welcomed it with as real a delight as though I too 
 could have sung, "Erin is my home." To-mor- 
 row I hope to be upon it, yet I could almost go 
 by and keep only the impressions I have from 
 this distant sight. 'Twould be impossible to have 
 a poetic ideal more fully realized. A low beau- 
 teous land rising from a calm sea, so far away 
 that I can but just distinguish it, though the day 
 has been a gala one of sunshine and cloudlet 
 shadows. 
 
 Yesterday and to-day have both been charm- 
 ing days. Yesterday you know I left Ayr. I left 
 it littling in the distance ; as I went by the cars it 
 littled rapidly. I kept by cars twenty-three miles 
 to Girvan, where the railroad ends. I don't think 
 that I have passed through any region that has so 
 much the native look ; and now, out of the route 
 of tourists, the hotels have a natural charge.\ 
 
 Girvan is an old fishing town, shaped like a 
 kite, with the church and buildings around it for 
 
FROM HOME. 149 
 
 the body, and one long street for the tail. This 
 street runs three quarters of a mile, lined for the 
 most part with low slate-roofed houses, made of 
 stone, and plastered. It abounds with dirty chil- 
 dren, who form an extended line of tangled tow- 
 heads on each side. They rested from their labors 
 of building castles in the dust, as I and my sack 
 passed down the centre, and doubtless were un- 
 distu.rbed again, till the daily stage to Stranraer 
 went through. 
 
 Once more in the open country, and near the 
 open sea, I had a long quiet walk pretty much to 
 myself. I had one rather full talk with two 
 fishermen, who were disentangling their nets upon 
 the shore. They told me that the seaweed, 
 that is thrown up all along, was left to ^' rote " a 
 year, then carted off to mix with the land for 
 manure, and that it was most excellent. They 
 told me too, — but I must first tell you, that, at the 
 toss of nine miles from the shore, along where I 
 was going, rises, heaved from the sea, Ailsa Craig, 
 an immense little mountain of rock ; it is nearly 
 three miles in circumference, and 1,110 feet in 
 height. I said it rose from tl^^e sea. It might 
 have been pitched in from above. For aught I 
 know it's the tail end of an ancient meteor that 
 got extinguished, by falling in so wet a frith. 
 However, comet tail, or island summit, there it is, 
 a large, uncouth, unnatural body, that suggests 
 itself, before everything else, to your eye, each 
 
150 THE TANKEE BOY 
 
 time you have winked. "Well, tlie very honest 
 fishermen told me it was the favorite resort of all 
 kinds of seafowl, who consider it a big Petra made 
 for laying eggs in, and just adapted to the moral 
 or physical developing of yonng sea-birds. These 
 fishermen also told me, that the eggs of these sea- 
 gulls are as large, as good for eating, as ducks' 
 eggs, and their feathers well worth the plucking. 
 
 I stopped for the night at Ballantrae, another 
 and smaller fishing town, that lies here away on 
 the coast, thirteen miles from Girvan. From Bal- 
 lantrae to Stranraer were yet seventeen miles. 
 The road, after eight miles across a neck of land, 
 where the bell heather again flourishes, comes to 
 Loch Ryan, then winds close about this loch to 
 Stranraer. Incident was scarce along here. There 
 was what seemed to be a small picnic party quite 
 a way ahead of me, but they turned off before I 
 could come up. The girls looked blythe and 
 saucy, and were prettily dressed. I was very 
 sorry they turned off so quickly, but — they did. 
 
FKOM HOME. 161 
 
 XV. 
 
 LoNDONDEBKY, Irelakd, Angust 8, 1862. 
 
 I AM in a hotel here that can have no recom- 
 mendation except that of cheapness, and that's 
 one you don't appreciate till the time comes to 
 settle the bill. I have been to Belfast, and I have 
 been to Port Rush, the Giant's Causeway, and am 
 now come to Londonderry. Belfast is a larger 
 city than I supposed, has a good deal of extra 
 boating in its harbor, with very much more busi- 
 ness than they have here at Londonderry. It has 
 one centre business street, with a branch from it, 
 that is quite well built, and looks city-like ; other- 
 wise, the buildings are mostly of brick, with but 
 little about them that is pleasing, so that, although 
 not a disagreeable city, it is one you would not 
 care to stop in long. Between Belfast and Cole- 
 raine, there is a long stretch of hue country. As 
 I saw it from the railway, it was hedged into 
 patches, hardly any of them larger than a good- 
 sized garden, whether they be used for potatoes, 
 flax, turnips, or as a pasture to the cows. A branch 
 
152 THE YANKEE EOT 
 
 railway goes from Colcraine to Port Rush, and 
 then to the Giant's Causeway there are seven 
 miles by wagon or foot. I left my sack at the 
 depot and started d pied. The road runs around 
 the harbor -SiVe miles, to a small village. Here 
 you can make a short cut across the beach, that, 
 with the tide out, lies before you a beautiful path 
 of compact sand. As usual lately I had no friend, 
 but I had an umbrella with a brass-pointed shaft ; 
 with it I wrote in the smooth sand a name. You 
 remember the Seville girl wrote a motto ; 
 
 " Her words were three, and not one more, 
 What could Diana's motto be ? 
 The Syren wrote upon the shore, 
 Death, not inconstancy." 
 
 "What a fool she was ! 
 
 Was she ? What a miserable doubter of truth 
 and goodness you are! She was a magnificent 
 girl. I do not care if she forgot on the morrow 
 the words she had written to-day, she was a mag- 
 nificent girl to have felt them in those few hesitat- 
 ing moments. 
 
 Over the beach and up the hill, there is a large 
 
 ^ hotel, it must be, though I didn't go in. Passed 
 
 this, commenced the attack of the infernals. One 
 
 line battered me geologically with stones ; the 
 
 other metaphysically with ideas. 
 
 " Pure Irish diamonds, your honor, rock crys- 
 tal, coral, and every variety of interesting stones. 
 
FEOM HOME. 153 
 
 Your honor shall have the whole collection for a 
 shilling." 
 
 " Here, your honor, is another box for a sax- 
 pence." 
 
 " Indade, your honor'll nade a guide, some one 
 to point out the particulars. You see, your honor 
 might go by some of the most entertaining points. 
 Indade, you'll want some one to point out the par- 
 ticulars. Yes, indade you will." 
 
 There is on the coast here a semicircular cliff 
 of rock and land, of, I should say, three hundred 
 feet or more in height. Between the foot of this 
 cliff, only the tv/o ends of which run to the sea, 
 and the water, you have the causeway ; but a part 
 of the cliff itself shows the sides of the same ba- 
 saltic columns, the tops of which rise from out 
 the water, forming, closely j)acked together, the 
 causeway that you can walk on, or that the giant 
 walked on. It is precisely the same sort of thing 
 as at Staffa, but far less interesting. Here there 
 is more causeway, but there you have a single 
 strange spot in the ocean, with its cave, where 
 these columns are, and where the sea is always 
 chanting its dirge of immortality. 
 
 I came back as I went, hoping, but failing to 
 catch the train, that I knew left somewhere near 
 eight for Londonderry. The name I left upon the 
 sand was yet perfect when I repassed. Yesterday 
 morning I came here. There w^asn't much of 
 scenery from the cars ; one side water, the other 
 not inviting. 7* 
 
154 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 Enniskillen, Imperial Hotel, Monday night. 
 
 I am swinging first class to-night, confonnd the 
 expense, but I opine, — English writers say that's 
 the way we speak in America, — I oj)ine that I've 
 saved enough yesterday to carry me through Ire- 
 land. II plenty il jpleut toujours^ comme il a jplu 
 aujonTWhid^ — since I left ISTewtown Stewart. 
 
 In haying time, when I was a boy, with us al- 
 ways worked two Irishmen. I have always known 
 them. One of them came from Newtown Stew- 
 art, the other from Port Arlington. To stop at 
 both of these places, and be able to report direct, 
 I make a part of my trip in Ireland. At half past 
 nine I took my ticket at Londonderry for ]^ew- 
 town Stewart. We followed a river most of the 
 way, went by Sion Mills, where a good-sized stone 
 spinning mill was, and Victoria Bridge, where an 
 unpretending stone arch bridge was. At I^ew- 
 town Stewart station I got out of the cars, left my 
 sack, and walked across the old stone bridge to the 
 village. It was market day, hence the country 
 people had brought in their stuff, and were selling 
 it in the street, making an unusual stir. I walked 
 up through. The street is a very wide one for a 
 small village ; wxU built for its size, that is, when 
 compared with any of the old towns you find over 
 here. Well, I walked to the end, and then, turn- 
 ing with the road to the left, kept by some small 
 old one-story dwelling houses, to where there are 
 thre.e narrow roads parting off toward " Bessy Bell 
 
FROM HOME. 155 
 
 Mountain." Here was one quite tidy place, with 
 two or three much smaller just beyond it. Com- 
 ing from one of these, and toward me, was an old 
 Irishman ; he had a pleasant face and honest eye. 
 I thought perhaps that he would remember those 
 that I knew from here, at any rate could tell me 
 something of the place ; I hailed him. 
 
 " Have you lived in this old town a long time, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Yes, for some time." 
 
 "I am an American, and stopped here from 
 the cars this morning, because it's the native place 
 of an Irish family I have known ever since I was 
 a boy." 
 
 " An American, are you ? I was born here, 
 lad, in that house you see there, and live now in 
 this one " (he pointed to the tidy place I spoke 
 of). Yesterday was my birthday. I was eighty 
 years old yesterday." 
 
 I don't think any one would have thought the 
 old man over sixty. He was walking vigorously. 
 His sight and hearing both seemed perfect. From 
 the moment I told my errand, or, in fact, that I 
 was an American, he was wholly interested in me. 
 He had had himself, he said, five children in Amer- 
 ica, though two of them were dead. He knew of 
 
 the family, but could not identify Patrick or 
 
 John, but thought they would remember him if 
 old enough. His name was Fatten \ he used to 
 keep a distillery in the village. He pointed out 
 
 * 
 
156 THE YANKEE EOT 
 
 to me tlie scenes about, the high mountains back, 
 the old castlo wall to the right of it, as also 
 the castle ruins in the village. Afterward we 
 walked down again to the town. I left him to get 
 dinner at the hotel. Coming out an hour after 
 the old man stood near by, hailed me, and joined 
 me again to go to the depot. 
 
 What would you think of being here in this 
 old Irish town to-night ? Enniskillen ! Did you 
 ever ponder the name in your geography ? And 
 then if you were here alone, or if you had been 
 wandering for almost two years ! It's a gloomy 
 night outside. The rain has come this afternoon 
 in torrents, "en versant," as we used to say in 
 France. Oh! it is a gloomy night outside, and 
 there's nothing pleasant inside but the ticking of 
 the clock. I would give a thousand worlds for a 
 Mother's kiss to-night : 
 
 " Eemote, unfriended, melancholy, slow." 
 
 But I would rather close for the night, curiously, 
 perhaps, in connection, with a Scotch verse : 
 
 " Oh, weel may the boatie row, 
 
 And "better may she speed ; 
 And weel may the boatie row 
 
 That wins the bairns' bread. 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows indeed ; 
 And happy be the lot o' a' 
 
 That wish the boatie speed." 
 
FEOM HOME. 157 
 
 Thursday evening. — Still at Enniskillen. 
 "They -say tlie Northerners have got the devil 
 knocked out of them this time." Coffee-room talk. 
 
 I have stopped over here to-day to see Lough 
 Erne. The steamer that should run on it has not 
 yet commenced, and so I started off this morning 
 afoot, kept along near, and on the shore of the 
 lake, for ten miles ; here there was an Irish " pub- 
 lic hoose," and I, and a couple of pigs, went in 
 and got some bread and eggs. Then we all came 
 out and looked at the lake, which was here at its 
 widest point ; as the pigs had often seen it before 
 they grunted off tow^ard the barn, leaving me 
 and the lake alone. The lake, at this point, is 
 simply a large fine sheet of water, with shores that 
 are handsomely divided beween turnips and pota- 
 toes. I waited for the mail van to Enniskillen, 
 and by this returned to x^ass another night. Both 
 times in passing I noticed a large stone quarry. 
 It was near this in the morning that I had the 
 first view of the lake, at, perhaps, its most hand- 
 some point, for there are three or four large islands 
 grouped together and covered with trees. 
 
 Wednesday morning. — I wTote but little last 
 night. There was too much talk going on in the 
 commercial room. There were three or four Irish- 
 men, one Scotchman, and one Englishman, from 
 Liverpool. They caught up of course eagerly 
 American rumors, that are said to have passed 
 through here, by telegraph, from Derry. Most of 
 
158 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 tlicni did not try to conceal tlicir satisfaction ; as 
 many as three made, and kept np for some time, 
 nncalled-for insnl(iiii2^ remarks. Bnt the English- 
 man, Avlu) liad shown all the eveniiig his sph^en 
 ;'i;*ainst the Yniikees, took now the otlier eonrse. 
 One Trishiiian, and by far the most intelligent, 
 sided strongly with ns. I left wdiat defence there 
 was to be m:uK\ (o him, only occasionally correct- 
 ed a statement; as, tlmt Iho !Sou11ummum-s seceded 
 because^ the North forced tliem to pay taxes on 
 their cotton as it passed tlu'ough Northern States 
 *\ to New York, to be shipped. One of them thonght 
 it was verv strange that no one had ever heard of 
 the i>tnitherners before this war. They had always 
 talked about the Yankees but you never heard of 
 the S(nithernei*s, though it seems they were a great 
 deal the stroni>:er nation. This was to him very 
 curious. 
 
 Kow for the reports that are circulating here, 
 and we shall have no daily paper to shape them 
 till half past twelve. First, then, that McClellan 
 has been cut up in an inunonse battle, and the 
 Southern army had advanced within thirty miles 
 o'i "New York. That Congress (adjourned, I be- 
 lieve, never mind I^ was debating whether or not 
 to give up the war. All the many rumors I have 
 traced down to these two. 
 
 Wednesday. Mx^t.i.iNO.vi? Sv.vtion", <iu;ntor to eight, p. m. 
 
 I jro hence to Athlone, leavins: here at twentv- 
 two minutes past nine. " Tii-st class waiting and 
 
FROM HOME. 159 
 
 refreshment room," it says over tlic door, where I 
 have just come in. Being first class it is well got 
 np, and has hesidc a fine array of refreshments a 
 hirge table here, crowned with an inkstand and a 
 phime — what a Yankee friend used to call, "A-dam 
 goosequill." I left Enniskillen this noon. Up to 
 that time the American canard, for so it proved, 
 thrived ; but the Beltjist papers had full despatches 
 from Derry, less this. A temporary relief at least, 
 and though prospects certainly are a little gloomy 
 on our side, I can hardly think the Southern army 
 to have suftered less in the late battles than our 
 own, or, that they are in a position for immediate 
 and successful attack. 
 
 This is a fine railroad station ; one of the finest 
 I have seen. It is on the Dublin and Galway 
 railway, where this northern route, that I have 
 come, joins it. The building itself is of stone ; so 
 have the smaller depots been that we have passed 
 to-day. I noticed, between Belfast and Port Bush, 
 a number of wooden ones, that looked very much 
 like our own. 
 
 A7e made one other stop to-day, of about three 
 hours, at Carraii. The village was a little way 
 from the depot. There was a number of these 
 Irish skeleton gigs waiting for a passenger. The 
 drivers were all very anxious that I should ride, 
 aiul ofiered great inducements in price. I walked 
 however up through one street, — oh, how forlorn 
 these poor people look, — and tlien I turned and 
 
160 THE YAITKEE BOY 
 
 came down another that joined it obliquely; it 
 proved the principal street of the place. Yer j gay 
 boards, A^ith large red letters, offered " entertain- 
 ment for man and horse." Others, more modest, 
 only talked of entertainment and refreshment, 
 whilst to aid them they had some eggs and bis- 
 cuits and candy in their windows. Afterward I 
 came to a three-story plastered hotel, the Globe 
 Hotel, with coffee and commercial rooms ; on 
 farther there was another hotel of the same size. 
 Here I went in. The dirt increased as I entered ; 
 toward the kitchen it was frightful ; but the com- 
 mercial room was comfortable enough, and the tea 
 and toast that I ordered were good. 
 
 LiMEEicK, Friday evening. 
 
 There's a national agricultural show going on 
 here at Limerick. I arrived this afternoon, with 
 a ha'penny in my pocket. The first point was to 
 find a hotel ; I did as I have often done, asked 
 the first honest, practical-looking, business man 
 I met, where was a good hotel that was reason- 
 able in charges. The second point was to go to 
 the banker's, the third to go to dinner, and then 
 with one of these Irish gigs I went off to the fair. 
 My gigman was not allowed to enter with his 
 vehicle, so I paid him for the course a sixpence ; 
 cheap enough. Another sixpence took me into 
 the show. There were long sheds of cattle, quite 
 a show of sheep, and, in another direction, a good 
 collection of machinery and agricultural imple- 
 
FEOM HOME. 161 
 
 ments. Afterward I came to tlie fowls, and a 
 long line of tubs with bntter, but in yain I looked 
 for the floral department ; there was none such ; 
 the idea of connecting it with an agricultural fair 
 seems here unknown. There were several richly 
 dressed girls out that had been *' highly recom- 
 mended," but she that took the first prize had 
 gone home. 
 
 Limerick to me compares well with Belfast ; 
 that is, the long centre street is w^ell built, and, 
 to-day being fair time, is full of people and gigs. 
 Perhaps to-morrow I shall find it quiet enough. 
 
 Last night I slept at Port Arlington. I went 
 there from Athlone by rail. I had intended going 
 by boat from Athlone down the Shannon to Lim- 
 erick, and so slept at Athlone to take the boat 
 advertised to sail in the morning. But when I 
 saw the boat — than wdiich there was none better 
 nor fleeter on this river — I began to ponder ; and 
 when I learned from the captain that he didn't 
 expect to get to Killaloe before ten the next day, I 
 began to back out. Picture to yourself the most 
 forlorn canal boat that ever rotted in one of the 
 bulrush bays of Lake Champlain, run into one end 
 of it a bit of smoke pipe — you will have the fac- 
 simile of the craft advertise'd, as a steamer, to run 
 on this river every other day. 
 
 It was two o'clock when I reached Port Ar- 
 lington. The depot was half a mile from the vil- 
 lage. The village, as I came into it, was a long 
 
162 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 street, lined with two and three story aristocratic 
 dwellings. Toward the end of the street was the 
 best hotel, called now the Matthews Hotel ; here 
 I stopped, and indulged in bread and milk with 
 strawberries. The lunch over, I walked out, and 
 down the street, to a small bookstore. I went in 
 to see if there might be a stereoscopic view of the 
 neighborhood. There was none ; but finding the 
 old man talkative and intelligent I explained to 
 him more fully my errand, and he came up the 
 street with me, to help set me on the right track to 
 
 find the friends of Mr. P , the Irishman that 
 
 had lived so long with us at home. He supposed 
 these to be two brothers of the name, that lived 
 three miles out. Luckily, at the head of the street, 
 in the old market place, was one of these brothers. 
 He pointed him out to me ; I went on alone. 
 Coming close, I knew, from family resemblance, he 
 must be the man I wanted. He was standing by 
 a load of turf, with three or four other laboring 
 men. I went up and asked if he had any rela- 
 tions in America. Yes, he had ; -there was Mag- 
 gie, but she'd got back ; and there was Maggie's 
 husband, but he'd got back too ; and then there 
 was Allie, and Harry, and Johnson. I told him I 
 thought I could give the last reports from them, 
 that Harry had lived with us fifteen years, and 
 that Allie lived close by. It was several minutes 
 before he comprehended all, or how I came here, 
 but when he did the thing was complete. " Great 
 
FEOM HOME. 163 
 
 God Almighty, you don't say tliat yon have seen 
 them ! " 
 
 I learned that he was the oldest brother, 
 and had a wife, and one daughter, Maggie ; 
 that Maggie was married, and had two chil- 
 dren, who lived with them ; that she, with her 
 Imsband, had been to America, to Long Island, 
 but had returned about a year ago. Then there 
 was another brother, younger, who lived a little 
 way beyond him, with a wife and seven or eight 
 children. There was also Johnson's sister living 
 on the way. I made arrangements directly to go 
 back with him, and so see them all. He was 
 going back as soon as he had sold his turf, and 
 would let me know at the hotel. In the course 
 of an hour he called. I had got a lot of candies 
 for the children. We kept on through the second 
 street beyond the market, over the stone bridge. 
 Here we both got into the cart, and so rode to the 
 spot that had long been to this humble family a 
 home. Entering, I found the " old woman " ac- 
 tive, and rather too sharp for me in wit. Some 
 of them hinted that perhaps I might have a wife. 
 She caught it up. 
 
 " Faith, and he'll be having several of them. 
 Do you think that a young gentleman like him 
 would be after travelling alone ? " 
 
 Everything inside was neat and in order, a 
 bright turf tire burning on the hearth. I noticed 
 a short whispered conversation between the old 
 folks, then it was suggested, if I was going on 
 
164: THE YAE^KEE BOY 
 
 to see tlie otlier brother I would best start. We 
 went tbrougli the turf fields, and I was to report 
 that the turf was all cut up to Jim Queen's old 
 place. Well, we kept on by this, over the bogs, 
 till we came to where the younger brother lived ; 
 another small place with a number of acres of 
 land about it, which, after the custom here, he 
 rented from year to year. Here, too, the hut 
 looked more comfortable inside than I had sup- 
 posed them to, but they are very small. There 
 were four little girls very ready to receive their 
 share of the candies. The younger brother was 
 fully as much pleased as the other to see me, and 
 hear about the friends on the other side ; but he 
 was disappointed that I knew nothing of !N"ew 
 Orleans, where he had a daughter from whom he 
 liad not heard now since the war. "We must have 
 talked here near an hour. Evidently both brothers, 
 for this country, were doing well. I left this one 
 standing by the oatfield hedge, and watching us a 
 long way across the fields. When we got back 
 to the first house, I saw tliere had been active 
 times in our absence ; on the table, near the turf 
 fire, was a large plate of pancakes, with some 
 hot rolls. Margaret, the daughter that had re- 
 turned from Long Island, was in, and appeared a 
 very tidy young woman. She thought she should 
 return with her husband as soon as the war was 
 over. The supper through, they insisted on hitch- 
 ing up the pony ; in the cart I rode back to the 
 hotel. 
 
FROM HOME. 166 
 
 XVI. 
 
 DiTBLiN, August 16, 1862, 
 
 " 'Tis pleasant to think that where'er -we rove, 
 
 We shall always find something blissful and dear ; 
 And when we are far from lips that we love, 
 
 "We Lave but to make love to lips that are near." 
 
 The day lias been very pleasant. I've im- 
 proved it by making, witli an Irisb gentleman I 
 met here at a hotel, a trip down the Dublin 
 liarbor to Kingstown, and tlience to the United 
 States gunboat Tuscarora, tliat lias been appear- 
 ing in print, on this side, since last fall, Avlien she 
 was watcbing the ^Nashville. Lately she has be- 
 come again conspicuous in looking after the 290, 
 and is, too, again unsuccessful. They intend, so 
 they told us, sailing from here to-night. We had 
 to-day a fine ride down the bay, and landing, went 
 directly by small boat, with a dozen others, to the 
 steamer. This lies about a mile from the shore, 
 and is being visited by a great number of pleasure 
 parties. There were half a dozen small boats wait- 
 ing near her when we came, Avhilst persons they 
 had brouglit looked the vessel over. Everything 
 on the ship was of course thoroughly in order. 
 
166 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 The ship itself, though only wood and not the 
 best of such, reflects with credit American ability. 
 The flag hung from the stern. An American girl 
 that came on board the other day walked under it, 
 exclaiming, 
 9 " Thank God, I am under my flag again." 
 
 I hardly walked there myself, but I jumped 
 into the vessel as I would into our kitchen at 
 home, for I knew the little ship was mine. Tlie 
 Doctor, who guided our party, was a young chap 
 from Philadelphia. He called, and introduced to 
 me, a midshipman from Vermont. He was about 
 my own age, and knew many persons that I knew. 
 All the midshipmen were much pleased with 
 Irish girls, several of whom, very pretty, were at 
 the time promenading the deck ; and this suggests 
 to me Killarney, with the Irish girl I left behind 
 me. I left her last night, with her aunt, in the 
 cars for Limerick. She supposed we shouldn't ever 
 meet again, and I supposed she would long re- 
 member Innisfallen, its ruins and its whispers. 
 Under the circumstances I could not have been 
 disappointed in Killarney. When Helena was 
 handsome the lakes must have been so. Every- 
 thing about them got tinged with her charming- 
 ness. But I got to Killarney Saturday night, and 
 I did not see Helena till Tuesday morning. The 
 fact is, after Tuesday morning I did not see any- 
 thing else — but before. 
 
 Killarney is neither well nor badly built for a 
 
FEOM HOME. 167 
 
 small town. It lias three long streets with a great 
 number of shops. Its streets are busy with guides, 
 and vans, and horses to let. Then there are many 
 small stands with poor fruit for sale, and groups 
 of ragged childi'en gathered at times about some 
 wandering minstrel. I stopped at a private 
 boarding house. Sunday I attended church at a 
 Methodist chapel, where there were not more than 
 a dozen folk ; after this I went into the Episcopal 
 chapel, which was well filled. Monday, unable to 
 find a comrade, I engaged a boat with boatmen to 
 row me through the lake, completing the visit, as 
 customary, by visiting the Gap of Dunlop. I had 
 my first view of the lower lake from the top of 
 Ross Castle, that lies at the Killarney extremity. 
 The islands, all wooded, group in finely, and with 
 the varied shores threw so much life into the pic- 
 ture, that you would think yourself looking at 
 Kate Kearney herself. The upj)er lake is much 
 smaller, almost narrow enough to be called a river. 
 It has the same mixture of islands, with far 
 more mountainous and desolate surroundings. It 
 too has the same charm of vitality. The middle 
 lake is very diff'erent, a single large, unbroken 
 stretch of water, with, for one shore, a mountain ; 
 an island, and stone bridge, and low slopes of rock 
 and land for the others. To me it was more 
 beautiful than the other two, just as a blonde is 
 more beautiful than a brunette. The bits of 
 rivers that connect the lakes, and the stone bridges 
 
168 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 that span the rivers, I ought to mention, for they 
 add very much to the beauty of the whole. The 
 stream, between the upper and the middle lakes, 
 is some four miles long, and has one quite swift 
 rapid under a bridge. In going, the boats, land- 
 ing their passengers, are pulled by. In returning, 
 you may stay in and be borne safely down. When 
 we returned, a very well-dressed j)arty stood upon 
 the stone arch to w^atch our descent. There come& 
 always the same effect — I noticed the girls were 
 the prettiest I had ever seen. The Gap of Dun- 
 lop may be said to be noted for its goat's milk ; 
 no less than six demoiselles passing their lives 
 there in retailing it. It was here, too, that I 
 bought a couple of crochet collars, because I 
 couldn't help myself. 
 
 Of the ride I took Tuesday, I should add a 
 word more. We went some twelve miles, stop- 
 ping at the Muckross Abbey, one of the finest 
 ruins I have met this side. It was here I wreath- 
 ed Lena's hat with ivy, the abbey had already 
 been wreathed with the same. Leaving the abbey, 
 we had on our route some exquisite views of the 
 lake, as well as some very perfect brushwood rid- 
 ing. But when we came under Magerton moun- 
 tain, I could have thought myself riding from In- 
 terlaken to the Jungfrau ; the mountain itself was 
 so very high, in the mist ; the mountain scenery 
 so very j^erfect. The Irish scenery, and this would 
 apply to the whole of Ireland, is far more as nature 
 
FROM HOME. 169 
 
 designed it than the English, or the Scotch, or the 
 Continentah That is, the country is less highly 
 cultivated^ There are more briers and brambles. 
 Unfortunately this is too true. There are no 
 pleasant farmhouses, neat gardens, and well- 
 drained fields, interspersed. Poverty meets you 
 everywhere, and true to itself, when it moves, it 
 is clothed in rags. 
 
 But to keep on by that mountain with its 
 briers and thistles. We made another stop at the 
 Tore waterfall, a fine fall of a fine stream, that 
 comes down the mountain, and is here, as it 
 should be, veiled with woods. From an open 
 spot above these falls w^e had our best view, of 
 the whole of the lower lakes, and their islands ; 
 hills lie beyond, and low mountains on the 
 horizon. 
 
 Killarney no longer. I have left it in the 
 wake as I did that golden l^ame upon the fickle 
 sand, — Molly Tribune. 
 
 Wednesday^ Aug. 20. — Again at Dublin, after 
 two days' jaunt into the county Wicklow. Mon- 
 day morning, by an excursion train, I went to 
 Bray. Bray is a village, flourishing from its 
 nearness to Dublin. I noticed two very large 
 stone hotels. There must have been four or five 
 hundred people on our excursion train. I stood 
 in the depot and watched them pass out, to sej)a- 
 rate into groups for a day's tramp into the coun- 
 try. Many were young, and some old ; the 
 8 
 
170 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 girls dressed airily for a hot sunny day. "When 
 nearly all had laughed by me I followed along up 
 the dusty road. A half mile Yv^alk brought me 
 to the post-office, where I threw in for home a 
 Macmillan's Magazine, with a very handsomely 
 written article from its American correspondent. 
 There, too, I got the direction, and kept on by the 
 Dargle river to Enni skerry. The day was one of 
 the few choice ones we have had, and the sun hot 
 enough to give the blackberry bushes a sultry 
 swing, and make the weeds wilt that grew near to 
 the dusty road, or flourished on the banks of the 
 river. At a very tolerable Irish hotel, at Ennis- 
 kerry, I stopped for dinner. Whilst waiting, I 
 reread the last letters from home, received at 
 Dublin, and when I had sat down had company 
 from several other gentlemen that came in. One 
 of them proved to be going the same way I was. 
 He was from Liverpool. We passed first to a 
 
 pleasant waterfall there is here, in Lord H 's 
 
 grounds. There were at the falls some hundred 
 or more people, just finishing a bountiful picnic. 
 I got a place on a high rock, under the fall, and 
 watched the aifair work ; old folks disposed to 
 group, young folks to ramble, though they con- 
 fined themselves to the vicinity. One adven- 
 turous young maid, with a handsome beau, per- 
 sisted in walking on the boulders to the verge 
 of the fall. 
 
 Descending from the rock, I had some talk 
 
FEOM HOME. 171 
 
 witli a number of gentlemen. Tliej told me that 
 the week before a young man was killed, by 
 falling, in trying to climb np the face of the rock. 
 There had been three killed previously. The rock 
 must be over a hundred feet and is nearly perpen- 
 dicular. Once more on our road we had nine 
 miles to Koundwood, a small village where we 
 were to pass the night. '' Take the first hotel to 
 the right on entering — comfortable and cozy tea." 
 That was what my directions said, that I had fi'oni 
 some Americans I met at Belfast. The tea went 
 well with the raspberry jam. The next morning 
 gave ns plain breakfast with eggs : bill four shil- 
 lings each. To Glendalough, or the Seven 
 Churches, from Roundwood, is about nine miles, 
 with, as the day before, pleasant, highly cultivated 
 valley scenery. Of course to make valleys there 
 are mountains, and here, as in the Highlands, 
 these are covered with heather, now beauteously 
 in bloom. The vale of the Seven Churches is 
 much like all the rest of these vales, unless in 
 having two small ponds, and a very perfect 
 old stone towei' — one of the watch-towers, for 
 whatever purpose they were bnilt, that remain 
 scattered throughout Ireland. I climbed up to 
 the only opening there is, a sort of window some 
 dozen feet from the ground. I could look in, and 
 see that the tower w^as holloAV, with the walls 
 smooth inside. They are built of coarse stone 
 with mortar. I should judge this eighty feet 
 
172 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 high, and thirty feet in circumference at the 
 base. 
 
 At the hotel, where we dined, we met several 
 agreeable travellers. There were an Irish gentle- 
 man and his wife going thence to Killarnej. There 
 was a Saxon-looking girl that passed several times 
 rather quickly through the hall. There was an- 
 other young girl in a party of three eating din- 
 ner, that seemed to fancy I was looking at her, 
 which I can honestly aver was a mistake (Fabord 
 though a fact en suite. She passed us on the 
 road afterward in a car ; we both involuntarily 
 smiled. But, after all these had gone, there came 
 a young man for his dinner, whose very handsome 
 features, and warm blue eyes, touched a stronger 
 chord of feeling with me than usually gets hit. 
 Perhaps it was because he looked so very like* 
 Katie Chamounix, so much so that I asked him if 
 he had a sister, whom I could have met last year 
 in Switzerland ; but he said no. 
 
 From Glendalouffh to Rathdrum we had an- 
 other nine mile walk, not to say anything about 
 tlie rain. There were one or two very choice bits 
 of scenery, but all these valleys are much the 
 same and the vale of Avoca would be but another 
 reflection of tliem. We did not go so far, but took 
 the train from Rathdrum back to Dublin. 
 
 Thursday afternoon. — I leave here this even- 
 ing directly for Holyhead. I must consider Dub- 
 lin one of the finest cities I have visited in 
 
FKOM HOME. 1Y3 
 
 Europe. Last evening 1 went to its Park. The 
 view from there pays well, as indeed it does from 
 almost everywlici'c yr>ii strike. The County Wick- 
 low mountains slio"\v from all points, and the bay 
 I know must be, as it is said to be, one of the 
 choicest in the world. Its complete beauty in- 
 cludes the County Wicklow mountains, but, look- 
 ed at so as to exclude them, that is when you face 
 it toward the sea, it still would be almost un- 
 rivalled. Dublin itself is principally built of 
 brick ; in no part is it showy, though almost 
 everywhere, where I have seen it, is respectably 
 neat. The old Parliament House is an extensive' 
 stone building, now used as the l^ational Bank. 
 The University buildings, also of stone, stand close 
 by, covering, with the grounds, a large space. The 
 river Liffey cuts the city into two, and is crossed 
 by numerous bridges, very much as the Seine at 
 Paris, only toward its mouth it is unobstructed, 
 and lined with shipping. The city by no means 
 excels in a business view. Belfast is more active. 
 There are, though, plenty of carriages and bustle 
 in the centre streets, and many fashionable stores. 
 On the whole Dublin is a good capital city, a large 
 one, and a pleasant one. 
 
174: THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 XVII. 
 
 'Nine days in Wales ! Of what in tliem I either 
 did or saw, I write, and, without apology, prefix 
 a short liistorical cliapter. For this I am to a 
 large extent indebted to a work, entitled " Welch 
 Sketches," published in London, in the year 1853, 
 and to a History of Wales, by the Rey. Mr. War- 
 rington. 
 
 Hoping, or, if yon please, affirming that it is 
 tolerably reliable, we proceed. 
 
 '• The Athenians asserted that their forefathers 
 sprang from the soil of Attica. And, whether 
 they did or not, the claim was simple, and straight- 
 forward, and, once admitted, saved a world of 
 trouble." The Welch, less wise, trace themselves 
 higher, and of numerous opinions the most popular 
 is, that by the successive movements of the Asiatic 
 tribes westward, the Isle of Britain, till then un- 
 inhabited, was finally reached, and that the tribe 
 thus first settling here was of those called the Cijn- 
 bric. There is another theory, also well sus- 
 
FEOM HOME. 175 
 
 tained, that the Gael preceded tlie Cimbri, and 
 were afterward driven by them into the High- 
 lands of Scotland, and the near islands of Ireland, 
 Man, and the Hebrides. 
 
 Xow of the history of these Cimbri ; for, wlie- 
 ther they were preceded by the Gael or not, all 
 admit that they came and occupied the English 
 and Welch part of Great Britain. 
 
 The earliest authentic history we have, is of 
 one Dyenwal Moehnud, who lived b. c. Ml, and 
 is styled in the Triads, " one of the three national 
 pillars of the Isle of Britain," because " he re- 
 duced to a system the laws, customs, maxims, and 
 privileges, appertaining to a country and nation." 
 Among his laws he says : " There are three things 
 which strengthen the tranquillity of the neigh- 
 boring country — equal privileges, a common form 
 of government, and the science of wisdom, under 
 the mutual protection of the neighboring country, 
 emanating from union and national right." This 
 alone would give a favorable idea of the civili- 
 zation of the Cimbri in this most distant period. 
 Between the date of this king and the conquest of 
 Britain by the Bomans, but little reliable is known ; 
 though it would appear, that the inhabitants were 
 divided into petty tribes among themselves, with 
 to each tribe a separate chieftain ; that when the 
 Romans made tlieir incursion, they joined together 
 to resist them ; but, as we knov\^, were finally 
 obliged to yield to the persevering power of Caesar, 
 
176 THE YAITKEE BOY 
 
 B. c. 64: — all excepting those who preferred to 
 live among, or now prepared to banish themselves 
 to the mountainous defiles of Cambria. And here, 
 j)erhaps, the separate Welch history may be said 
 to have commenced ; for although, in the more 
 than four hundred years that the Koman power re- 
 mained dominant in Britain, Wales became in a 
 great part subdued, and several fortresses were 
 built within its bounds, still the more difficult re- 
 gions of the momitainous country remained ever in 
 the possession of the roving Welchmen, who many 
 times desolated the Roman frontier, the same as 
 the Picts and Scots did from the northern Gram- 
 pian Hills. To the numerous contests that contin- 
 ued between these two distinct races, to the bra- 
 very, cruelty, or success of the Saxons, we can but 
 allude, in passing on, to that hero of British heroes, 
 the great and chivalrous Arthur. 
 
 Arthur was a son of the prince of the Silusian 
 Britons, whose country is now a part of South 
 Wales. His father had been chosen the head of a 
 confederacy of British chiefs against the Saxons. 
 Upon his death, Arthur was, by common voice, 
 elected his successor, and was crowned at Carleon, 
 A. D. 517. Arthur fought the Saxons, under Ce- 
 dric, twelve times. At the last battle, near Bath, 
 he gained a decisive victory, so as to be able to de- 
 clare his own terms of peace. There were three 
 fair ladies in King Arthur's court ; so the Triads 
 say. Alas, that ladies fair are often inconstant ! 
 
FROM HOME. 177 
 
 In this case, it might have been against her will, 
 but we read : " One wife was carried off by Melva, 
 king of Somersetshire, to Glastonbury. Arthur 
 collected his friends from Cornwall and Devon- 
 shire to the rescue. To avert bloodshed, the cler- 
 gy interposed. Their counsels were respectfully 
 listened to and followed ; Melva restored, and Ar- 
 thur received the abducted queen ; and so pleased 
 were both kings with the resnlt, that they liberally 
 rewarded the monks of Glastonbury for their op- 
 portune interference." Some time after this fortu- 
 nate restoration, Melrod, only son of Artlmr's sis- 
 i:er Anna, left as regent alone with, won the af- 
 fections of the queen, and passed with her — most 
 wrongfully we protest — a luckless night ; he then 
 joined himself, with the faction he controlled, to 
 the Saxons, and against his nncle. In a battle 
 that followed, Arthur was killed, a. d. 542. 
 
 With Arthur's death the British power yield- 
 ed more and more rapidly to the Saxons, nntil it 
 became wholly confined to the mountainous coun- 
 try of Wales, and the neighboring region that lies 
 between the Wye and the Severn. During the 
 centuries that followed, this district was divided 
 into six principalities, imder one king, who held 
 the chief authority. But in the year 843, Eoderic 
 the Great succeeded to the sovereignty, and he di- 
 vided the kingdom into three parts, l^orth and 
 South Wales and Penrys. These, during his life, 
 were ruled by princes under him ; at his death, 
 8* 
 
178 THE Y^VNKEE BOY 
 
 the J went to bis sods separately. Internal war 
 between tlie new kingdoms naturally followed, un- 
 til the year 94:0, when they were again united, un- 
 der Howell the Good. As the title would imply, 
 this king became renowned, not as a soldier, but 
 as a lawgiver. During his reigii he devoted him- 
 self, and with marked success, to the improvement 
 of the civilization and comfort of his nation. He 
 died A. D. 948. 
 
 Of the numerous kings after Howell, we read 
 of Gryffyd-ap Lly welyn, who began to reign a. d. 
 1027, and in three successive campaigns defeated 
 the English and the Danes. His after reign was 
 a continued war, and, from 1037 to 1055, a contin- 
 ued success. In 1069, Edward the Confessor gath- 
 ered his whole force to subdue the Welch. The 
 army, led by Harold, was irresistible. Lly welyn 
 was forced to sue for peace at Edward's terms, and 
 he paid the tribute which the English kings had 
 long claimed, but only by the force of arms suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining. 
 
 At the time of "William the Conqueror, the 
 Welch princes, awed by his name, submitted with- 
 out resistance to pay him homage, and take the 
 oath of allegiance. But the nationality of the 
 Cimbri was destined to have one more great de- 
 fender, Llywelyn ap Jo^weth, grandson of Owain 
 Grynedd, king of North Wales. This man, known 
 as Llywelyn the Great, so much sung by Welch 
 bards, so much esteemed by Welch people, became 
 
FUOM HOME. 179 
 
 king A. D. 1194 ; and in his long reign of forty- 
 six years, upheld faithfully the honor and prosperi- 
 ty of his nation. 
 
 There remains the history of Llywelyn ap 
 Gryffyd, the last acknowledged Welch king. Of 
 them all none can claim a highicr respect. The 
 grandchild of Llywelyn the Great, he commenced 
 reigning alone about the year 1255. A man of 
 peace, he desired peace above all ; but, a man of 
 honor, he could not see the honor of his country 
 invaded. He found himself forced into a contest 
 with the English. For ten years this contest was 
 maintained, and always, whilst the English were 
 under Henry III, with success on the part of the 
 Welch. At the end of this time, a treaty of peace 
 was made between them. In 1271 Henry died. 
 Edward I, upon being crowned, summoned Llyw- 
 elyn to do him homage. His summons was neg- 
 lected ; war followed, and Llywelyn, nov\r hard 
 pressed by the ability of Edward, was forced to 
 accept Edward's terms of peace. Severe enough 
 terms, we read, these were. 
 
 In the mean time, Llywelyn had fallen in love. 
 His lady was Eleanor de Montford, daughter of 
 the Earl of Leicester. They were betrothed, and 
 were to have been married years before, but Elea- 
 nor fell into Edward's powxr ; he detained her 
 a prisoner in his court. Peace concluded, she w^as 
 released. I fear the first blush of her cheek was 
 gone. Never mind; her lover did not tliink so. 
 
180 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 They were married, and whilst she lived she re- 
 strained Llywelyn's fiery temper. Alas ! the true 
 girl, who had waited so long for her lover, died in 
 childbed, two years after her marriage. The 
 daughter, Catharine, lived. Llywelyn sought 
 again the warrior's glory. He had cause enough. 
 Since the hist peace insult had been added to in- 
 sult, and the rights of his people trampled on by 
 the English nobles. Edward, always vigorous, 
 equipped a great army, and marched a second time 
 into Wales. This was in the spring of 1282. 
 Llywelyn skedaddled to the Snowden mountains ; 
 but from there so well did he direct his attacks, 
 that when fall came the skedaddlins; took a differ- 
 ent direction. Edward, with the remnants of his 
 army, retreated, " gloomy and depressed." Once 
 more against the fates we cry, Alas ! the end that 
 might have been so gay, is told most sadly in a 
 few words. December 12, 1282, Llywelyn was 
 killed in a skirmish in South Wales. He died, 
 and his nation died with him. Against the great 
 army of Edward, that came again the next sum- 
 mer, there was no leader. Wales, easily conquer- 
 ed, was now annexed to England ; to rivet his 
 power, Edward built in different places, and gar- 
 risoned, several strong fortresses. Then craftily 
 he sent his queen, Eleanor, whilst enceinte, to one 
 of these new castles, at Caernarvon, and the babe 
 there born (Edward of Caernarvon) he offered to 
 the Welch as the new Prince of Wales. Hence 
 
FROM HOME. 181 
 
 originated the title of the Prince of Wales, as ap- 
 plied to the first son of the rojal family. 
 
 To close here wonld make our paragraph as in- 
 complete as a girl's love letter without a postscript. 
 
 " Thou dost belie him, Percy ; thou dost belie him ; 
 He never did encounter with Glendower ; 
 I tell thee, 
 
 He durst as well have met the devil alone, 
 As Owen Glendower for an enemy." 
 
 Owen Glendyr, or, in English, Glendower, the 
 last Prince of Wales, was born about the year 1353. 
 As to the place of his birth, there is as much diffi- 
 culty in settling it as Goldsmith's town pauper had 
 in settling his. But that's all the same. He grew 
 up somewhere, a comely youth, fond of poetry, and 
 fond of the ladies ; we find him a young man inti- 
 mately connected with the Poyal Court at London. 
 During this time his profession was that of a lawyer. 
 To the day of his death he might have been a law- 
 yer still, had not private injury aroused the fiery 
 temper within him. Henry lY, meditating a pri- 
 vate expedition against the Scots, summoned Glen- 
 dower, who was a crown tenant, to his assistance. 
 Through the perfidy of Lord Grey de Ruthin, 
 Owen did not receive the summons until too late 
 to respond. The kiug, unmindful of the circum- 
 stance, forfeited his estates, and gave them to his 
 rival, the real oft'ender. Lord Grey de Kuthin. 
 But when Lord Grey attempted to take possession, 
 Glendower, with his tenants and friends, armed 
 
182 THE TA^'KEE BOY 
 
 for tlie occasion, met him ; both driving him oft' 
 and ravaging his own domains. 
 
 These dithculties occurred in the spring and 
 smnmer of 1400. On the 19th of September fol- 
 lowing, the king issued a proclamation, to gather 
 an army against Owen Glendower and the Welch- 
 men that supported him. Owen Glendower im- 
 mediately proclaimed himself the rightful Prince 
 'of "Wales, descended bv his mother Helena — a very 
 pretty name, that — from Catharine, only daughter 
 of the last Llvwelvn ; and, with the visror that al- 
 ways marked the man, he prepared directly, both 
 to defend his old property and his new title. How 
 strong their old an|:ipathies to the Saxons, and love 
 of their old nationality, still existed in the souls of 
 Welchmen, we can see ; for, no sooner had one of 
 their own chieftains boldly offered himself as their 
 leader, than there flocked about his standard '' the 
 farmer from the p»lough, the student from his 
 books, tlie artisan from his anvil.'- The history 
 of the contest that followed we have no time to 
 ffive. It lasted sixteen vears, until the death of 
 Owen : durino; that time armv after army of the 
 English were defeated, and driven back. 
 
 Owen Glendower, still unconquered, died Sep- 
 tember 20, 1416. AVe close, as we commenced, 
 with a quotation : 
 
 ^' Peace, Owen Glendyr did not, and could not, 
 give to his distracted country ; but he left her an 
 example to all time, of simple, honest, incorrupt- 
 
FrcO:M HOME. 183 
 
 ible patriotism. . . . Scotland glories in lier Wal- 
 lace; Switzeriand, in her William Tell. Wales 
 will not shrink from the comparison : she points, 
 with a glow of honorable pride, to her Owen Glen- 
 djr, and his true compatriots." 
 
 " Tlie vision of beauty and of glory passed, 
 Wales awoke from her dream of independence, 
 again to kiss the hand that smote her. Liberty 
 and loyalty are the two great master principles in 
 the minds of this heroic people ; to bear unchal- 
 lenged the title of ' Prince of Wales,' was enough 
 to win enduring affection, and command unswerv- 
 ing obedience. Three quarters of a century passed 
 into the gulf of time, and Wales had her reward : 
 she conquered her conquerors. From the loins of 
 Owen Tudor, of a royal tribe, came a line of sov- 
 ereigns who, for a hundred years or more, wielded 
 the British sceptre. Within that period moment- 
 ous changes were wrought, great deeds were done. 
 To Sir Khys ap Thomas, and the Abbot of Tayle, 
 Henry YII owed his crown. Henry YHI ap- 
 pears in the most favorable light, when viewed 
 from the Cambrian side ; to a spirited appeal from 
 the Welch nation, he feelingly and liberally re- 
 sponded, by causing an act of Parliament to be 
 passed, incorporating Wales with England, and 
 putting the natives of the principality on^n equal 
 footing with his English subjects. Edward Tudor 
 and Elizabeth Tudor advanced and completed the 
 work of the Peformation, To Marv Tudor belono^s 
 
184 
 
 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 tlie praise of having songlit to heal the breach, and 
 restore broken unity; though merciless was the 
 spirit in which the attempt was made, and, conse- 
 quently, fruitless the issue. In our present most 
 gracious Queen, Welchmen proudly recognize the 
 lineal representative of the royal blood of the 
 Cymry, through Gladwys, sole daughter of Llyw- 
 elyn the Great, united to the heir of the house of 
 Mortimer." — Welch Sketches, Zd Series, page 97. 
 
moM ho:me. 185 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Bangoe, North Wales, August 23, 1862. 
 
 When we sailed last night from Dublin, I had 
 little idea how, or where, I should go after reach- 
 ing Holyhead. We were from nine o'clock till 
 three in the morning. There was little to be seen 
 except the lights and lighthouses, as we left, and 
 the very brilliant light from the Holyhead light- 
 house, as we entered the harbor. This last varies 
 all the while, going out, and brightening again, 
 till it pains the eyes like the sun to look at it. 
 We landed, as I said, at three o'clock. I took 
 the first hotel I came to, and went to bed, sleep- 
 ing late in the morning. Breakfast over, I saw 
 the first thing to be done was to go on a hill 
 near Holyhead, that gives a complete view of the 
 whole coast and country about. The day was 
 beautifully clear for this climate, though not equal 
 to those we used to have in Touraine. The hill 
 was but a mile and a half's walk ; it gave me the 
 wdiole of the island county of Anglesey, a large 
 flat district, bounded some thirty miles off by the 
 
186 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 "Welch, mountains, that do not look nnlike the 
 Green Mountains of Yermont. Down from the 
 hill, in time for the six o'clock train, an hour's ride 
 brings me through the fertile fields of Anglesey, 
 oyer the tubular bridge of Menai Straits to Ban- 
 gor. 
 
 " "Which is the best Temperance Hotel ? " 
 I asked a policeman at the old depot, whose face 
 was a fine sample of Saxon honesty. He said 
 there were several, but they were all equally good, 
 and all just below near the station. I took the 
 second, and am writing in it now. It is every 
 way comfortable. There is a richness in the fur- 
 niture suggestive of first-class prices, but I've no 
 fear of anything imreasonable. Our English 
 friends, though they have not so fair a climate, 
 have more honesty — I am not sj)eaking now polit- 
 ically — than the French. To-day has been most 
 beautiful. Finding myself on a bit of a stroll this 
 morning, to be on the line of a more extensive one 
 often made from here, I crossed the Menai Straits, 
 at Grath Ferry, and kept on to Beaumaris, a small, 
 more or less fashionable summer resort, that com- 
 mands a fine view of the Beaumaris Bay and the 
 Menai Straits, with the rocky, and almost moun- 
 tainous coast on each side. Returning on the 
 same side of the straits, about five miles, to the 
 suspension bridge, I reci'ossed here, with three 
 miles more back to Bangor. The whole distance 
 there are fine houses, that might remind one of 
 
FROM HOME. 187 
 
 the banks of tlie Hudson, a few miles above "New 
 York. 
 
 Cakxaevon, Sunday evening. 
 
 Private lodgings witli a very excellent Welch 
 woman and " lier man ; " both of them at least sixty- 
 five. The old lady has a sister in Philadelphia, who, 
 she says, is as full of patriotism as a young volunteer. 
 I got here last night at ten, and came to these 
 lodgings, recommended from the Temperance Ho- 
 tel at Bangor. Tlie city I find old, packed together 
 in a lump, with the castle walls, almost entire, 
 commanding it. There was plenty of bustle in 
 the streets last night. To-day I have attended two 
 "Welch services ; in the morning at the Methodist 
 chapel ; in the afternoon in a tent, now raised 
 within the old castle walls, for the Eisteddfod, 
 that takes place here this week. The Methodist 
 church is a large squarish building — a sort of box 
 chicken-coop inside, with a roosting-place for the 
 pastor. It was remarkably welt filled for so lai'ge 
 a building. Of course I could understand nothing, 
 all being in the Welch language, but I noticed of 
 the singing that it was very good. The tunes were 
 minor, sung by the whole congregation ; but the 
 chords were finely struck. This afternoon there 
 was a large crowd at the tent ; the services also in 
 Welch. I had intended going to an English ser- 
 vice this evening, but finding on the table here a 
 little book of Mary Hewitt's, it detained me. 
 Since finishing this " Love and Monej^," I have 
 
188 THE YANKEE EOT 
 
 been looking over another, " Woman's Mission," 
 but no antliorsliip given. 
 
 This noon I took a small walk on the height 
 above the town. From it yon again see tlie flat 
 island of Anglesey, now over the river to the 
 west ; on the other side, within eight miles, is the 
 Snowden range of mountains, the loftiest of all in 
 Wales ; but after having viewed the Alps, or even 
 the Scotch Highlands, they do not look very fear- 
 ful. Snowden itself is 3,571 feet high. There is a 
 very pleasing extent of rolling upland between us 
 and the mountains. The Snowden valley, too, 
 makes a pretty gap. 
 
 I have been down to inquire about my route 
 to-morrow. The good woman and her man are 
 reading their Welch Bible. They are both of 
 them excellent Methodists, and were quite anxious 
 to-day to arrange my meals so that the girl could 
 go to meeting. It is a comfort to get among such 
 j)eople, though the home-made bread is unnecessa- 
 rily heavy. To write more or not ? That's the ques- 
 tion. " Shall we go, Lena ? " I asked, as we sat 
 alone together under a tree on sweet Innisfallen. 
 
 " Yes ! — no we won't either ; we won't go, only 
 when the rest come in sight you take your arm 
 away." 
 
 " Oh ! my Nora Creena dear, 
 My gentle, bashful Nora Creena." 
 
 Monday evening. — I thought this morning of 
 writing home for some one to go on Snowden 
 
FEOM HOME. 189 
 
 with me to-claj. The Eisteddfod doesn't com- 
 mence till to-moiTow ; hence to-day was to be 
 planned for, and I took a return ticket for the 
 hotel nnder Snowden. The day bade fine, so 
 arriving I had some sandwiches built, and struck 
 directly up the path for the summit. The little 
 Welch youngsters declared, " It would be impossi- 
 ble, sir, without a guide, sir ; " but the five frank 
 guide, that I j)ulled up the Jura mountains, in 
 Switzerland, has guided me ever since. To-day I 
 gave a little hero a penny-ha'-penny to start me 
 right, another ha'-penny to a young heroine, for 
 courtesying d la mode, and there, aside from sand- 
 wiches, the expense ended. Both my spyglass 
 and myself in our travels have learned how to 
 climb. To-day we went by a party of four, all 
 men ; then a Welch couple, man and wife prob- 
 ably. Passing these there was a long gap to 
 another pair, and further on still a mule party 
 were going, as the snail did, slow but sure. We 
 hardly intended to overtake the -mules. The spy- 
 glass knew they were a long way ahead ; but the 
 girl — surely we could do that. Fifteen minutes 
 and half an hour went by. By George ! that girl 
 was like the phantom shijD — never the nearer. Up, 
 up she went, not a bit of rest. 
 
 " It's now or never," said the spyglass, as Ave 
 came to the steepest climb. " If she reaches yonder 
 rock first, we shan't see her again." 
 
 " And if we never see any girl again, we 
 
190 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 couldn't throw another inch into an honr, up this 
 rock." 
 
 " She wavers," cried tlie spyglass. " See I she 
 wavers ! Hurrah, we'll have her now, the hussy 
 — ankles and a'." She looks at us, and she goes 
 again. ISTo ! you don't do it, my beauty, you 
 can't do it ! Yous etes trop fatiguee^ et fen suis 
 tien content. The spyglass was right ; the girl 
 faltered more and more, and then she stopped. 
 She stopped, and we went by shouting victory. 
 
 And the wind blew on the top so that all the 
 girls made short stays. (No pun intended.) The 
 day was fair, the near view good, giving us an ex- 
 cellent impression of the mountains of l^orth 
 Wales ; and adding to its beauty, with the exten- 
 sive plains of the Anglesey island, as "well as with 
 the ocean, or the valleys more near. The little 
 lake shows well in the valley of Llanberis ; and, 
 when going up or coming down, you see dug out, 
 some two thirds up the opposite mountains, the 
 slate quarries. 
 
 The spyglass says it did not try much ; but let 
 the truth be told, that girl beat us coming down. 
 For half a mile we saw her jump like a deer ; (as 
 she was — a pun intended.) She had a fine, frank, 
 merry face, and took it well when I told her she 
 was about the best walker I ever met. " How do 
 you do again \ " said she, when I met her after- 
 ward at the hotel. " We beat you coming down." 
 The drive to, and that back from Llanberis, 
 
FEOM HOME. 191 
 
 for my return ticket gave me tlie same, ^^as 
 among tlie j^leasantest of all the British scenery I 
 have seen. The cottages on the hill sides m.ade 
 me think of Switzerland. They are of stone here 
 and wood there; never mind— in the distance 
 tliey look alike. Then of the villages we went 
 throngh, or the little houses on the road that we 
 passed, almost all — though so small, many of them 
 with not more than two rooms — were so neat and 
 home-like, it was a comfort to be near them. 
 
 Wednesday, August 2T. — I am yet here at 
 Carnarvon. Yesterday I attended all day the 
 ^' Eisteddfod," and get a very complete idea of 
 its working. The succeeding days are substan- 
 tially a repetition of the first. A word of diver- 
 gence upon the history of the Eisteddfod. 
 
 The Eisteddfod simply means a session of bards 
 and minstrels. It arose naturally from the old 
 druidical customs, and would seem, at the decline 
 of " Druidism," to have taken the place of the 
 ^' Gorsedd." Pox3ularly, King Arthur is said to have 
 originated the " Eisteddfod ; " after him, there 
 are numberless sessions on record, from a. d. 540, 
 under the "Welch Prince MaelgwD, to those in 
 1524 and 1567, under the immediate auspices of 
 Henry YIII and Queen Elizabeth. The first of 
 these spoken of was held at Conway, the two last 
 at Caerwys. " Several Eisteddfodau w^ere held in 
 South "Wales during the seventeenth century. The 
 muses were to a great extent dormant from that 
 
192 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 time to the close of the eighteenth century, when 
 Eisteddfodau were revived, and have since been 
 held, with considerable success, in almost every 
 Welch town, in turn, and in Liverpool and Lon- 
 don. They have now become annual, movable 
 festivals, and have arrived at a high degree of 
 popularity." — Ca/rnarvon Herald^ Aug. 30. 
 
 It may surprise some of my readers, as much 
 as it did me, to fiud that here, all through Wales, 
 the people have retained so thoroughly their lan- 
 guage, not only talking it, but having a large 
 amount of literature written in it. They are, too, 
 all the while zealously striving to perpetuate 
 what they have, and to increase it. To do this, 
 the national convention, or Eisteddfod, is well 
 adapted ; and for doing it it is well sustained. 
 Liberal prizes are offered, varying in value from 
 one to sixty guineas, for the best compositions (in 
 Welch) in prose, poetry, and music ; and also 
 there are prizes for success in various objects of 
 art. The highest prize of sixty guineas was this 
 year for the best essay treating on Welch litera- 
 ture. Another large prize was for the best essay 
 on the best mode of teachine^ the Ens^lish lano:ua2:e 
 to Welch children, in day schools. The chairman 
 of the committee prefaced his award with his own 
 ideas upon the point. These were, that the true 
 way, and only way, was to teach them English 
 through the Welch ; for, he clairaed, Welch chil- 
 dren could never feel the inspiration necessary to 
 
FKOM HOME. 193 
 
 successful learning, unless talked to and instructed 
 in tlieir own language. This does not by any 
 means imply any present dislike toward the Eng- 
 lish nation ; far less any desire, supposing it could 
 possibly be done, to disunite themselves from Great 
 Britain. There is doubtless not the slightest of 
 any such feeling existing by itself. There may be 
 some of the same jealousy that you find so strong 
 in the Highlands, and in all Scotland ; but it is 
 very much modified. Of the Celtic hatred of the 
 Saxons, that pervades so large a part of Ireland, 
 there is none. Is it not curious then, that wdiilst 
 the Welch retain so pertinaciously their old cus- 
 toms and language, the Irish should allow theirs 
 to be, as they are fast being, irrecoverably lost in 
 the English ? 
 
 Of the exercises yesterday, more than two thirds 
 being in Welch, I could understand only their pur- 
 port. The large tent within the castle wall was 
 well filled ; every age well represented. The 
 evening concert commenced about six. The '' art- 
 ists " were all Welch professional musicians, well 
 known throughout the kingdom. A large pro- 
 portion of the songs were Welch songs, sever- 
 al of them national airs ; these, almost without 
 exception, were plaintive, either written in minor 
 keys, or abounding in minor chords. Several of 
 them were beautiful. Of the " artists, ^^ two old 
 harpists, with gray hair and trembling voices, that 
 sang in the morning, pleased me as much as any. 
 9 
 
194 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 There wasn't any attempt in their singing ; both 
 inlirm and old, they conld hardly have made it. 
 They sang because, from love of mnsic, they had al- 
 ways sung ; singing thus, of course they sang well. 
 In the evening, of four female singers, two sang 
 well, two poorly. The males did not excel sepa- 
 rately, but the choruses were all line. 
 
 Maentwkog, Sunday evening. 
 
 It was a beautiful night last night, as well as it 
 had been a beautiful day. I intended coming 
 here; but in coming down hill with the twi- 
 light, found myself squarely met by a large hotel 
 of stone, handsomely built, and partly concealed 
 by ivy. It suggested ease, and made me feel a 
 desire to see what was in it. So I went in, and 
 called for tea. The coifee room was large and 
 handsome. In it were an Englishman and his 
 wife, and a little girl, a Times^ tvNro days old, and 
 a Liverpool paper of the day before. Then, as I 
 sat down to my supper, there came a young man 
 and woman to theirs ; afterward four more men — 
 gentlemen, if you like — of the travelling world. 
 I am sorry to say the ladies left, but with the 
 rest conversation grew brisk, so that when I rose 
 from my suj)per and regained the road, the stars 
 above were brightly beaming. 
 
 I left Carnarvon at half past six Wednesday af- 
 ternoon. In a sultry, smoky evening, I walked on 
 about eight miles, passing through another Welch 
 
FEOM HOME. 195 
 
 village, and by numbers of those neatly-white- 
 washed stone farmhonses. To almost all of these 
 there are little yards, and with the warm night 
 the doors of most being open, I conld see in. In 
 all there was against the farther side a large side- 
 board, of light-colored wood, the low part given 
 to draw^ers, the upper to shelves, which w^ere fill- 
 ed with crockery. The order, arrangement, and 
 neatness of these showed, on a smaller scale to be 
 sure, the same sort of nice housewifery, that keeps 
 the kitchen floors of New England farmhouses so 
 clean. I am thinking as I write of one of those 
 where I used to go for apples when a boy. It 
 stands upon a long high ledge, with grain fields 
 upon one side, and a wood — such a one as you can 
 only find in America — covering the other. The 
 whole height comes up to me now as I found it 
 when I hunted for squirrels ; so in the glorious au- 
 tumn days when walnuts waited to be shook. The 
 last time I was there I was on horseback. My trip 
 over here was before me then ; my health poor, 
 my desire to learn great. I wondered, I remem- 
 ber it well, whether the first could sustain the 
 last, or if the last would destroy the first — a ques- 
 tion yet unsolved. 
 
 I have a long walk laid out for to-day. The 
 day itself is as fair as yesterday. Perhaps the 
 walk may prove so ; but I doubt it. There was 
 m.uch yesterday that was very beautiful, a combi- 
 nation of valley and rock that pleased nearly all 
 
196 THE YAITKEE BOY 
 
 tlie while. Late already, I must close to make my 
 
 start. 
 
 Sunday evening, at Bets-y-coed. 
 
 Being somewliat pressed for time, I shall be 
 obliged to abridge somewliat my Welch tour. I 
 hate to leave these beautiful valleys. The one 1 
 am in now is the Yale of Conway. Of the Yale of 
 Ffestiniog Mr. Lyttleton wrote : '' With the wo- 
 man one loves, with the friend of one's heart, and 
 with a good study of books, one might pass an age 
 in this vale, and think it a day." But however 
 fine Ffestiniog seems, it cannot equal this, as it 
 came before me yesterday, from the hill above — 
 mountain, rock, vale, and river, with green fields 
 to soften and trees to deck them. Why ! with the 
 girl I love — but she does not exist. 
 
 Settling with Mary Ann yesterday, who talked 
 her English in the same rich tones that all these 
 Welch girls do, I walked on up the vale to Ffes- 
 tiniog, and three miles by this village, to where 
 the road turns from the Bala one, going to the left. 
 A small public house below the road ofi'ered, per- 
 haps, the only chance for a lunch. I entered, and 
 asked for fresh milk. There was none. However, 
 I got bread and butter, both good, and with them 
 some excellent spring water. Turning to the left, 
 which was by a by-road, I came out to hills very 
 like the Highlands, or perhaps still more like the 
 Northumberland moors. All that were in sicfht 
 now were rocky mountains, with large plains of 
 
FKOM HOME. 197 
 
 bog and coarse grass lying under them. Some of 
 the distant hills, as the light struck them, were 
 purpled with the hell heather. Perhaps at two 
 miles from the turn v/as another public house. 
 Here I found milk. Both of these public houses 
 were about equal to the poorer class among the 
 Highlands. The food you get is eatable ; the cloth 
 spread on the table clean ; but the old stone floor- 
 ing wretchedly in want of sweeping, and the whole 
 house of cleaning — their business, and not mine. 
 I enjoyed the milk. 
 
 Here again I turned to the left, and now my 
 road was hardly more than a footpath, winding 
 under a stony mountain, where poor sheep were 
 getting scanty feed. In half a mile a brook began 
 to start ; a vale opened that it was to go through. 
 The vale emptied into a valley, where was a broad 
 road ; I might have come on all the way, had 
 I turned quick enough. At a little village in the 
 valley there was a large number of people, sej^ara- 
 ting from attending a Methodist meeting. The 
 Celtic countenance was very marked ; several that 
 I addressed could not understand a word of 
 English. I entered a store here, to examine the 
 wooden shoes that are worn almost altogether by 
 the children. Bordering the sole, which is entirely 
 of wood, is a narrow iron rim. The toes are 
 tipped with brass. The price of the pair I saw 
 was two shillings and threepence. They were made 
 at Manchester for the Welch market, and wear 
 
198 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 exceedingly well. The tops of them were coarse 
 leather. Wooden brogans, all wood, I knew 
 intimately in France. — There was nothing further 
 of interest nntil I came to the hill I spoke of. 
 Here was another inn, a plain Welch inn. I 
 went in, and ordered tea of a ruddy-cheeked 
 girl. She showed me from the kitchen to the 
 room at the side of it, not large but carpeted, and 
 trimmed, a la Welch custom, with all kinds of 
 pictures. Tea finished, I paid a shilling, looking 
 over the kitchen whilst I settled. There was the 
 usual sideboard, with drawers below and shelves 
 above. On the upper shelf, platters leaned in 
 rows, on the lower ones, plates ; tumblers and 
 cups thrown in the foreground. Then, let me see ! 
 there was a very large old fire place, where the 
 fire was dying that had cooked my tea. A man- 
 tel was above, as with us, and two benches 
 branching ofi" each side, with a very nice pussy 
 monopolizing one of them. An old-fashioned 
 high clock, the indispensable comrade here to a. 
 chest of dishes, filled up the corner. 
 
 When I left the inn I went down the hill ; I 
 crossed a bridge ; I passed a big hotel ; came to 
 the village, and stopped for the night at another 
 inn, very much like the one I have just described. 
 
 Chester, Monday. 
 
 To come from Bets-y-coed to Chester, you come 
 five miles by foot, or by stage, as you like, through 
 
FEOM HOME. 199 
 
 tlie Yale of Conway, to Conway. The route soon 
 leaves much of its more monntainous character, 
 and extends itself in a line farming valley, sided 
 with hills, and dotted with trees. Coming into 
 Conway the old castle shows finely. When v/e 
 came, there was a young girl near it, with some 
 stray gold curls, that showed more finely yet. 
 Conway to Chester I made by cars. The sea is 
 on one side and a farming country on the other. 
 Second class cars with us — no cushions on the 
 seat ; Liverpool paper with news of McClellan's 
 retreat, l^o poetry intended. 
 
 Yesterday I passed here at Chester, one of the 
 most curious old cities of England. Its walls are 
 yet entire; you can walk upon them the whole 
 round. The city is built almost wholly of brick. 
 The buildings are in almost every conceivable 
 shape and position. Some of the stores jut 
 over the sidewalks, resting on pillars, as in the 
 Italian cities ; and there are two long rows where 
 the sidewalk itself is raised up several feet, with 
 the body of the buildings projecting over, in the 
 sams way. 
 
 At the hotel here where I stop, I have made an 
 agreeable travelling acquaintance with a gentleman 
 from London and his son. I have found him one 
 of the most decided supporters of the iN'orth, as 
 regards our war, of any Englishmen I have met. 
 He speaks enthusiastically of the amount of power 
 we have already shown ; and, in spite of our 
 
200 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 evident mistakes, feels confident of our final success. 
 His name is Mr. John Saunders. I found out 
 incidentally tliat lie lias been for a long time, and 
 still is, connected with tlie London press. He is, 
 too, the author of a work entitled " Abel Drake's 
 Wife," lately republished in America by Harper 
 & Brothers. Judging from the conversation and 
 appearance of the man, I should think the work 
 might be well received by American readers. 
 
FEOM HOME. 201 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Private Lodgiags in Harrogate, North of England, 
 September 26, 1S62. 
 
 Harrogate isn't London. ]^ever mind ! I've 
 been there, if I did not write from there ; and will 
 tell a word about it, perhaps, before I finish. I 
 am now lodged here for a number of weeks, I 
 have reason to think with my usual good fortune ; 
 only I am in danger of forgetting my name, for 
 the good Yorkshire woman I am with gives it a 
 twist at each address. She varies from Bathelly 
 to Babcock ; anything that begins with B satisfies 
 her idea, if not mine. 
 
 London ! what shall I say about it ? Or, the 
 Exhibition ; what shall I say about it ? I'll tell 
 you, the Exhibition is a bore. All exhibitions 
 are ; only as this is a very big exhibition, it re- 
 solves itself into a very big bore. I looked it over 
 one long day, and saw '^ such a many things," as 
 they say here in Yorkshire. 
 
 I should divide the Exhibition into three 
 parts : first, the difierent courts, or depart- 
 9* 
 
202 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 ments, assigned to each, nation, for tlie show of 
 whatever they may bring. Then comes the pic- 
 tm'e gallery above ; and after, the machinery de- 
 partment below ; both of which are complete in 
 themselves. Of the courts, I will speak of the 
 two I looked at most— the French, and onr own. 
 
 The French have, perhaps, the finest position 
 set off to them, and have fitted it up with great 
 taste. Here is all the show of fancy work that 
 you see in the Boulevard windows at Paris. 
 Glass ware and brazen ware, musical instruments 
 and jewelry, silk goods and woollen goods, felt 
 hats, &c., are spread about in their separate show 
 cases, the same as in the Boulevards. Then there 
 is one case of fine fruit, in which " La France " so 
 much excels ; and above, in the gallery, a photo- 
 graphic display, in which again '' La France " so 
 much excels. 
 
 Our own court has but little, very little, and 
 yet the little speaks well for Yankee genius. The 
 statues of America and the Greek slave, as well 
 as Powers' California, that stands in another part 
 of the building, are unquestionably among the 
 finest of the statues; the same as our flag, in 
 mere point of beauty, is unquestionably the hand- 
 somest of all. Within the department — which by 
 the way is both very small and very far to one side 
 — 4he milking machine kept a crowd about it, and 
 is decidedly one of the sensation articles of the Ex- 
 hibition. There are, too, sewing machines, attend- 
 
FROM HOME. 203 
 
 ed by sewing girls. A fine "Western reaping 
 machine is attended by a medal. Two pianos, of 
 New York make, have gained the same attend- 
 ance, and were being highly complimented by 
 an English mnsician when I passed. Two skele- 
 ton wagons, as a novelty, attract some attention. 
 There were several other articles which had re- 
 ceived medals ; 7nccis foicblie, as my waiter at 
 Pan used to say, when some specialty I had order- 
 ed for breakfast couldn't be found when breakfast 
 came. 
 
 The picture galleries are well lighted, and 
 lengthy. The pictures themselves I hardly feel a 
 right to criticize. I took about the same interest 
 in them that Charivari gives the Englishman in 
 the Louvre, who gazing thought, and thinking, 
 asked his wife, if the oil used in the paintings was 
 the same as we put on the salad. 
 
 The department for machinery occupies a very 
 large space, and becomes one of the most inter- 
 esting, as well as important, features of the Exhibi- 
 tion. Much of the machinery knows how to work 
 as well as when at home ; and if curious, you 
 might spend a short life in watching its working. 
 I was glad to see here, that of the railroad engines, 
 one of the best, built at I^ewcastle, had Yankee- 
 tied itself in a substantial roofing above where 
 stand the engineer and firemen. The British 
 plan, as well as the Continental, makes a skeleton 
 of the engine, and so leaves fireman and engineer 
 entirely exposed to the weather. 
 
204: THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 Now for the best part of the show, the show 
 of folks — ^' que puis je dire " — of the forty thou- 
 sand that went the day I went, and lined all parts 
 with a moving lining of various hues. I can but 
 suggest this crowd and say, that, like myself, they 
 appeared to enjoy most the recess given to eating, 
 and looking at each other. 
 
 I ought to say something about London, al- 
 though I know it but imperfectly. More than any 
 other city it satisfies an American's craving for 
 bigness ; for this cause alone, I think, if uncalled- 
 for prejudices be dropped, it will honestly please 
 all Americans. Yery true, you have not the fine 
 atmosphere that we know at home, or that French- 
 men know at Paris. Yery true, the central city 
 in every way lacks beauty. The old brick build- 
 ings may be comfortable ; they are not handsome. 
 The fronts on the streets are unadorned except by 
 smoke, or worse yet, as in Eegent, the most fash- 
 ionable of all the business streets, by a plastered 
 imitation of stone. Then, of the buildings that are 
 meant to adorn — St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey, 
 or the Parliament Houses — the outside efi'ect is 
 almost or entirely lost, by their low position and 
 dismal surroundings. Still, the great fact of big- 
 ness remains, and with it the idea of wealth and 
 power. Apart too, from the central city, lie the 
 parks ; and here you have the charm of beaut}^, 
 a far-extending countrj^ scene of green grass, great 
 trees, and fijie flowers of many shades, and very 
 expensive residences bordering the sides. 
 
FEOM HOME. 205 
 
 Wednesday^ Oct. 1. — There is a chill in the 
 air to-day that tells of coming winter. It tells of 
 past winters too. A flood of memories have been 
 coming in npon me to-night — walnut trees with 
 the clubs I threw in them — fishing excursions 
 upon the mountain with Fred — sleigh rides with 
 the girls, and buffalo robes — skating from clear 
 back, when I tumbled off from one skate at every 
 push, to my very last attempt with the girls as 
 teacher. Let me see ! One of them told me, I 
 recollect, as the ice cracked beneath us, that she 
 didn't care if it did break — we should both go to- 
 gether. The beautiful flirt ! She has gone alto- 
 gether since : " Wooed and married and a'." 
 
 The woman I am with grows more and more 
 l^uzzled about my name. However, she's an excel- 
 lent-cook, and keeps my rooms very neat. I pay 
 ten shillings a week ; for this get a bedroom, the 
 use of a sitting room, with fire when needed, and 
 the cooking of whatever I want for my meals. 
 This is the English custom of lodgings. My food, 
 I find, costs me about ten shillings more ($2.50). 
 Everything is very dear here. Ham at twenty- 
 fi.ve cents the pound, mutton at sixteen, good but- 
 ter at thirty cents, veal eighteen, &c. 
 
 Tlie news of the Maryland battles is coming in 
 upon us this week. McClellan has done nobly. 
 If honest Abraham will do as well for us in the 
 Western Department, we sha'n't have a little siu-- 
 render item there each week. My English friends 
 
206 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 don't like McClellan ; lie is spoiling all tlieir fan. 
 On going to tlie sulpliur well this morning, I got 
 tlie Zeeds Mercury with the latest news. At the 
 well was an oldish gentleman, and a pretty girl, 
 that I presume to be his daughter. She dimpled 
 her chin with good effect in making faces at the 
 water, then in leaving they preceded me up the 
 sidewalk. Hather abruptly, perhaps, I addressed 
 the old gentleman, who like myself was reading 
 the morning paper : " It seems they have got 
 * away from us again, sir." 
 
 He stopped, as short as one of McClellan's 
 victories (hurrah for McClellan !), and looked at me 
 in astonishment. 
 ■ " "We had felt very sure to bag them all this 
 time, before they could recross the Potomac. 
 
 The old gentleman, making sure his pocketbook 
 was safe, yielded to a fixed fact in accepting the 
 conversation. 
 
 " They would appear to have made a very won- 
 derful retreat." 
 
 " They did well, no mistake ! but McClellan's 
 after them." 
 
 " I see the Federals have lost a great number 
 
 of officers. (Heading in the paper.) The loss of 
 
 * Federal officers is so great as to be unaccountable." 
 
 They'll hardly be in a position to follow up very 
 
 close. " 
 
 " I don't know ; McClellan appears to be a man 
 of great ability." 
 
FEOM HOME. 207 
 
 My gate, that we had reached, stopped the 
 talk. All this while the daughter had taken my 
 old position just behind, whilst I held hers by her 
 father. For the warm look, that my eyes gave 
 her, as she rubbed by, I got a very little bow. If 
 I see her again to want another, I may or I may 
 not tell about it. 
 
 Sunday Evening^ October 19. — It rains and 
 storms famously ; so in going to church this 
 evening, I took the first one, that always stands 
 down the hill, in. a pretty valley, a short quarter 
 of a mile from me. It belongs to the Established 
 Church, but I had noticed that it did not reflect 
 high churchism from without : I found it as quiet 
 and unpretending within, truly a place to worship 
 in, and I enjoyed the liturgy, appropriately read 
 by the clergyman, the chanting by the female 
 choir, and a most excellent discourse which fol- 
 lowed, upon the continued struggle between the 
 spirit and the lusts of the flesh. Probably owing 
 to the weather there was but a slim attendance, 
 but, as is often the case at such times, the clergy- 
 man preached remarkably well, with apparently 
 more than usual earnestness. This morning I 
 went as usual to the Congregational church. The 
 clergyman, as last Sunday, indulged whilst ]3reach- 
 ing in the luxury of kid gloves, which were well 
 sustained throughout the discourse. His choice of 
 hymns, though, was happy ; the tunes selected for 
 them were fine ; the singing of the congregation, 
 
■^ 
 
 208 THE TAl^KEE BOY 
 
 led by an organ, exceedingly well done. One of tlie 
 hymns eung I remember to have sung before, but 
 never felt its beauty : 
 
 " When gathering storms around I view." 
 Wednesday Evening^ October 22. — 'We have 
 been having a great storm, that still is going on. 
 It has both hailed, snowed, rained, and lightened 
 during the last few days, with a wind that has 
 blown down many ships, blown over many 
 chimneys, and blown some very deep blushes on 
 the cheeks of our best girls — but they would go 
 out. The Manchester paper, this morning, was 
 filled with accounts of shipwrecks. I like this 
 Manchester paper much : " The Manchester Ex- 
 aminer and Times." It is Bright's special organ ^ 
 wholly liberal, and very ably edited. There is a 
 healthy ring to the editorials that is rarely equalled. 
 The ''Daily N'ews," at London, has the same 
 vigorous life; but that is a three-penny, this a 
 penny paper. The "London Star," a penny 
 paper, is also radical ; in our war wholly for the 
 IN'orth, but it lacks in tone. The " Leeds Mercury " 
 I also see often, and like it well. It takes a fair, 
 honorable view of matters, and shows good 
 literary management. In Scotland I bought gen- 
 erally the Scotsman^ published at Edinburgh. 
 It has an elegant look, both in the quality of the 
 paper, and the plainness of the type. I believe 
 it too is tolerably fair toward us, though I looked 
 chiefly to the news items. 
 
FEOM HOME. 209 
 
 It is bedtime and my fire is out. I had a new 
 lot of apple sauce made to-day tliat was very good ; 
 also some plums, which I buy at sixteen cents the 
 quart from farmers as they go by the door. I get 
 most excellent homemade bread from a woman 
 near. It is almost as good as our best J^ew 
 England bread. 
 
 Oct. 24. — English scenery, or habits, or life, as 
 I have seen them now, although very imperfectly, 
 I ought perhaps to be able to dwell a little on. 
 Harrogate itself may stand as a very fair specimen 
 of the best of English towns, although, being a 
 watering place, it differs of course from those that 
 are not. To begin with : There are five or six 
 churches, two of the Established, the others of the 
 various different denominations. Then there are 
 perhaps twenty hotels, in the upper and lower vil- 
 lages, all of them built of stone, all of them gay and 
 festive in their appearance. (This last phrase is 
 borrowed from a coquette I know.) The largest 
 of them accommodates a hundred guests. To some 
 of them there are handsome green yards, with trees 
 and walks, but not near so extensive as with us. 
 After the hotels are the private boarding houses. 
 In this northern part of England, as in Scotland, 
 everything is built of stone, a pleasing soft- 
 colored stone that abounds here. In all the 
 southern and middle parts of England, as I saw 
 them, brick is almost exclusively used, giving a din- 
 gy, disagreeable, instead of a clean, agreeable effect. 
 
210 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 The blocks of boarding houses or private 
 houses are in size from one to three stories. 
 Most of them have narrow yards, prettily given to 
 flowers. Blinds are unknown. The housewifery 
 of England is good, universally good ; you can see 
 it in the clean doorsteps ; you know it by the fresh 
 window-panes, or the always pleasing parlors 
 that you may dare to look at through them. I 
 
 ji have nothing to say positively to the vaunted good 
 looks of English women. I couldn't find it, hon- 
 estly, Kate ; I couldn't, hardly so much as else- 
 where. But the girls, Kate ; yes, you do find 
 those that have the pride that aristocracy gives, 
 the freshness that horseback riding gives, the 
 honesty that a faithful observance of Sunday gives, 
 the kindness that a young heart gives, and the love, 
 Kate, take care of those dimples, that a girl can't 
 help but give ; for, rich or poor, we are all of us 
 children of humanity. 
 
 Shall I tell about the brutality, or the coarse- 
 ness, that arises from the want of cultivation, among 
 the lower strata of society ; or shall I mention the 
 miserable exhibition of weak pride, or wretched 
 vanity, that connects itself too often wdth the 
 aristocratic element, perhaps rather to the trash 
 that clings about it ; or shall I sigh for that ex- 
 treme pride of selfishness, that comes from power, 
 and overlooks all the rights of others, and sneers 
 at all the chivalry of a world, or forgets all the 
 
 ^dearer precepts of religion ? As a Yankee boy I 
 
FROM HOME. 211 
 
 will not. God knows, there's enougli that's wrong 
 at home, and I will rather forget all these, or langh 
 at them all, to take a walk among the hedges, or 
 over the strong made roads of merry England. 
 
 That walk has resulted poetically ; there's no 
 help for it, to close the chapter : 
 
 To-day, within the wood, 
 I met in solitude, 
 
 A maiden fair ; 
 The wind swept in dehght 
 
 Her golden hair. 
 
 Slumbering there she lay, 
 And artlessly at play 
 
 Her features moved ; 
 "Whilst every smile that came, 
 
 Told dreams of love. 
 
 A beauteous maiden form, 
 Like blue sky 'midst a storm, 
 
 She came to me ; 
 Sleeping on the bank 
 
 So pensively. 
 
 A lovely, artless girl, 
 Protected by the cm*l, 
 
 Alone, that now 
 Fell softly from its place. 
 
 Across her brow. 
 
 I could not wish to harm, 
 Or wake in harsh alarm, 
 
 This timid child ; 
 And yet her beauty rare. 
 
 My soul beguiled. 
 
212 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 And, with the ferns alone, 
 Mj arm around her thrown, 
 
 Against my breast 
 The sleeping, golden girl 
 
 I gently press'd. 
 
 With softened, chastened cry, 
 She struggled hard to fly 
 
 From my embrace ; 
 But I retained her yet, 
 
 With crimsoning face. 
 
 "Ko, no; my girl, no, no. 
 You only gain to show. 
 
 In struggling thus, 
 The beauty of thy form, 
 Thy deepening blush. 
 
 " Chance threw me by thy side, 
 Perhaps a chiding bride 
 
 She'll give thee me ; 
 Wife of my gliding years, 
 Say, wilt thou be ? 
 
 *' Thrown on the world alone, 
 From duty oft I roam 
 
 Most wickedly ; 
 But thou shalt help me live 
 
 More faithfully." 
 
 I stopped, the maiden's eyes 
 Shut in a pleased surprise, 
 
 Her struggling ceased ; 
 Though she refused reply. 
 
 Until released. 
 
FROM HOME. 213 
 
 A moment yet to love, — 
 The watching trees above 
 
 Swayed to and fro ; 
 When I a rich kiss stole. 
 
 And let her go. 
 
 Now, o'er the bubbling brook, 
 Her curls she frowning shook, 
 
 Then archly cried : 
 " I live'>3lose by the mill, 
 
 Near Lana's side. 
 
 " I live close by the mill, 
 Just as you reach the hill." 
 
 And as I feared, 
 She glided in the woods, 
 And disappeared. 
 
 However bold it seem, 
 This night to Lana's stream, 
 
 I'll quickly go ; 
 A lover loves his maid, 
 
 She loves him, too. 
 
 And those blue eyes I'll surely find. 
 
 Expecting me to-night ; 
 And those gold curls, amorous twined, 
 
 Will startle in delight. 
 Her laugh will go right merrily. 
 
 Throughout her cottage home ; 
 And she herself all tenderly, 
 
 Will watch till I shall come 
 
 To her side, this night. 
 
214 THE YANKEE BOT 
 
 XX. 
 
 Haeeogate, November 6, 1S62. 
 
 My friend wlio reads this, whoever you may 
 be, liave you or have you not travelled ? I don't 
 mean this side the sea, but you have been some- 
 time to ISTew York, or Boston, or Chicago, or 
 somewhere else, where you were to go by cars, and 
 stay away long enough to require luggage. * Well ! 
 what I'm driving at is this : if you went you went 
 doubtless the day after the night before, and now 
 I've got right on my own position, the night be- 
 fore. In your case you recollect the valise that 
 was packed, and how it got packed; in mine, I 
 see the portmanteau that lies packed, and I know 
 all about the packing. You had a wife, perhaps, 
 or a mother, or a sister, that folded very carefully 
 all your things, and laid them in so easily, that 
 you did not feel called upon to thank her for it. 
 Unfortunately some one else married my wife, 
 and the pussy-cat, which has represented near- 
 ly all my company the last month, said she 
 knew nothing about such work : so I had to do it 
 
FROM HOI^IE. 215 
 
 myself, and am now prepared to say, tliat you did 
 very wrong in not thanking the kind friend who 
 packed yours. In your case, too, the packing 
 was the result of skill, so that at your first stop 
 you could lay your hands upon each article that 
 you wished without disturbing the rest. In mine, 
 the packing was the result of strength, and I don't 
 mean to stop till I get through. This gives me a 
 chance to slide on to the second point, — destina- 
 tion. I'm going to London, Ko. 7, Eang Street, 
 Cheapside. So much for to-morrow. 
 
 The long clock, ticking in the hall, ticks very 
 much as the one did at Enniskillen in Ireland. 
 My piano lies open, and invites some little mel- 
 ody. Pussy doesn't like music ; every time I 
 touch the piano she jumps up, and, if the door is 
 open, leaves. If it is not open, she looks at me as 
 if I ought at least to put on the soft pedal, and 
 then goes back to renew her duty as fire watcher. 
 But that little melody, what shall it be ? At En- 
 niskillen I hummed : " The Boatie Rows." Tlie 
 two clocks certainly tick alike, but to-night that 
 melody must be something else. We will leave 
 it to the piano. — The piano hesitated but little ; 
 perhaps because we spoke of Enniskillen, perhaps 
 because of some other cause it caught an Irish 
 air, and dwelt upon the last words : 
 
 " Oh I why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavoumeen ? " 
 
216 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 No. 7, King Street, Cheapsule, London, ) 
 "Saturday moruing, Nov. 8. ) 
 
 There^s a London fog outside, thick, lieavj, 
 and cliill. I have an engagement to penetrate it 
 
 . at ten o'clock with a Massachusetts clergyman, 
 who arrived at Southampton in the last steamer. 
 He brings the latest and fullest news from home. 
 Beside this clergyman there are three American 
 couples here, and two young men ; all together, 
 we carry a ruling majority, which is more than 
 
 ^^ the Administration can boast of. Last night we 
 had a parlor party. Two of our pairs are re- 
 turning from, the other going on to, the Conti- 
 nent. Of course the last were desirous of learn- 
 ing, the first fully prepared for telling, the things 
 to be seen. I took a one side position, and paid a 
 close — if you except an occasional smile — a most 
 polite attention.. These women are so eloquent, 
 and then they are such enthusiastic travellers. 
 They see everything, including Eubens' pictures. 
 Thursday evening, Wov. 13. — A week in Lon- 
 don spent. In so large a city there should be 
 interest connected with the week. A word of 
 those things that everybody sees. The British 
 Museum kept us, myself and the clergyman be- 
 fore mentioned, the greater part of a day ; and I 
 recollect now, of all the stuffed animals, fishes, and 
 birds, one gray squirrel and a blue jay. From 
 the shells, and stones, and seaweeds or corals, we 
 got no mistress. The jugs and mummies, gath- 
 
FKOM HOME. 21T 
 
 ered from the ruins of Egypt, or Rome, or Pom- 
 peii, or anywhere else, were all too old to be 
 agreeable. In the book department, what energy 
 we had spent itself in appreciating the fact that 
 the early printing of the Germans was, in every 
 respect, most exceedingly well done, and could 
 fairly rival the work of the present day. 
 
 The I^ational Gallery of paintings was more 
 limited than I supposed. Of its paintings, a little 
 sheep of Murillo pleased me especially. But 
 placed among the pictures there is one marble 
 group, two nymjDhs with a lad, or a lad with two 
 nymphs, I hardly know which, which kept me 
 longer than anything else. 
 
 The Tower and the Tunnel came in one trip, 
 our return being by the Thames, on one of the 
 meanest boats that ever claimed to be a steamer. 
 Going through the long Tunnel, we had continued 
 opportunities of investing in Tunnel curiosities, 
 little shop stands lining its whole length. At one 
 of these, kept by a bright girl, we both made 
 some j)urchases. She said, " All Americans buy 
 these," holding up some Tunnel views. 
 
 " But how do you know that we are Ameri- 
 cans ? " 
 
 '' Oh, I guessed." 
 
 "Westminster Abbey and the Parliament 
 
 Houses, as well as Saint Paul's, as I have had 
 
 occasion to mention before, lose much of their 
 
 effect from the lowness of their position, and from 
 
 10 
 
218 THE YAJS'KEE BOY 
 
 the in every way unfavorable surroundings. Con- 
 trary, too, to my expectations, I liked tlie whole 
 city less and less the more I saw of it. It is 
 dirty, and it's foggy, and it's old, and, nntil you 
 get away from it into the parks, you find nothing 
 pleasant to the eye. Of course I intend to make 
 an exception of an occasional petticoat ; but even 
 here I am inclined to indorse the sentiments of 
 several British writers that "New York far excels : 
 
 " You may walk for an hour in Broadway, 
 crowded as it is with people, and not see a single 
 repulsive countenance. ' I have seen more pretty 
 faces,' remarks an English writer, ' in 'Ne^v York 
 in one hour, than in all my life in Britain.' My 
 own journal for ^NTovember, 1853, has a similar 
 entry, viz. : ' I'm every day more and more struck 
 with the good looks of the American ladies. One 
 seldom meets a female with unprej)ossessing fea- 
 tures.' " — "America and the Ainericans^^'^ hy Wil- 
 liam Edward Baxter^ Esq.^ M. P.^p. 97. 
 
 Whilst visiting the Houses of Parliament, we 
 dropped in and saw the different courts now in 
 session. The old custom of wearing gowns and 
 horse-hair wigs is still retained by all the lawyers, 
 and the judges have on the ancient ermine. 
 
 Our new gold pen, if it has no principles 
 against, is too aristocratic al to talk about the 
 Hay market at midnight. It believes, though, in 
 ballets, and, if I would let it, would show itself a 
 genius in telling of a gold-haired girl it saw at 
 
FKOM HOME. 219 
 
 one last night. There never was a more beautiful 
 girl, jdo/cei jjLol, e<^ri 6 ^coKpdT7]<^. 
 
 From actresses to clergymen tliere is a little 
 step that we pride ourselves on being able to 
 make gracefully. Mr. Spnrgeon is an elaborate 
 failure ; Mr. Cummings I liked ; Mr. Hall seemed 
 an honest, able man ; and M]\ Puncheon has a 
 mind of very exceeding ability, but I could not 
 think his heart and his manhood were as thor- 
 oughly in the right place as were John Wesley's. 
 
 And now, my pretty pen, you shall tell about 
 the two evenings that you spent with some Amer- 
 ican friends whom chance gave you. This may 
 not be so much in your line as the theatre, or the 
 fashionable concert at St. James' Hall which you 
 went to, where pride and passion, and class and 
 vanity ruled ; yet you shall tell about it, and 
 mind you do it well. 
 
 Two years ago, and a little more, I made my 
 first English travelling from Liverpool through to 
 London, reaching there at ten at night — a bad 
 time to look up a hotel. Fortunately I recol- 
 lected that my sister had slipped into my hand, 
 just before I left home, the direction to a private 
 boarding-house in London, which she said might 
 be of use to me. In my diary I found it laid. 
 So, hiring one of the cabs that waited at the de- 
 pot, I directed it to 'No. T, King Street, Cheap- 
 side. It was the next night, I think, at the sup- 
 per table, that accidentally I found one of the 
 
 :^- 
 
220 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 boarders to be, like myself, a Green Mountain 
 boy. The acquaintance naturally ripened in the 
 two or tliree days that remained, and we parted 
 with a cordial shake of hands, he continuing at 
 London, and I going direct to Paris. Months 
 went by, and chance threw us together once more 
 in the American church at Paris ; and now, re- 
 turned to London, I received at dinner a note 
 from the same young man. I found it an invita- 
 tion to ajDpear at 'No, — Paddington Road, where 
 I should find a goodly lot, all Americans. I was 
 to come when I pleased, by taking the omnibus 
 marked Paddington Road, Bow, and going to- 
 ward Bank. Getting ready to make a call where 
 girls were, sent my thoughts back to college days, 
 when my chum and I hurried through our Latin, 
 he looking out the first half and I the last, that 
 we might the sooner meet " our girls " at the little 
 reunion. He, lieutenant in the army, was sick at 
 JSTew Orleans the last I heard from him. My pen, 
 you see, scatters badly. 
 
 " Which is the Paddington omnibus ? " 
 " Just gone, sir ; but there'll be another in 
 eight minutes." 
 
 " Paddington Road ; here you are, sir." 
 That's a fact ; here I am, and here's a pretty 
 girl by me on the seat. She is pretty — she is 
 very pretty, though the bundle in her lap and her 
 dress tell her to be of the w^orking class. I wish 
 that infernal Englishman opposite, with the thick 
 
FROM iio:me. 221 
 
 whisker and lianclsome eye, would pay a little 
 more respect to our rights, if not to her sex. 
 Confound his impudence ; he bends over and 
 dares to ask her, v.'hiist we see him clasp his hand 
 about her ankle, if she doesn't think crinoline a 
 great bore in an omnibus. I say, confound him. 
 We glance at the girl ; a nicer one never lived ; 
 there isn't one tincture of wickedness on her 
 cheek, though it flushes now more from pleasure 
 than the opposite. Poor girl ! she can't help it 
 Botli, the power of passion and the feeling of 
 class, prevent her from protesting against the 
 rudeness. Fortunately at this moment the Eng- 
 lishman had reached his destination. That flush 
 of passion was nearly faded before I left, a few 
 streets further on ; but it's an easy thing — it's a 
 very easy thing for a young, unprotected girl to 
 be led astray in such a city as this. 
 
 Here's the street, and No. 3 ; and here appears 
 to be the bell. We pull it, and we wait ; an in- 
 stant only. The door opens ; the honest face of 
 an old friend greets us ; we know that it's all 
 right. The parlor is here, and here are the 
 ladies ; two from Vermont, and two from New 
 York, and the other, I think, from New Hamp- 
 shire. For brevity I will throw two evenings 
 spent into one. The girls believed in McClellan, 
 and of course they believed in Fremont, such a 
 splendid man, who ran away with Jessie Benton. 
 My second male friend from New York, who, 
 
222 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 with another from Connecticut, helped our sex 
 into a quartette, had a still better belief : he be- 
 lieved in popped corn, and demonstrated his posi- 
 tion by producing the genuhie article, including 
 popper — the old Connecticut patent. This last, 
 he said, was supposed by the English custom- 
 house officials to be a rat trap. But my story 
 has so increased that it already begins to labor 
 with its own magnitude. ( Ut jam- magnitudine 
 laboret sua.) We had the popped corn, and then 
 we had American songs, with a New York piano : 
 the "Sleigh-ride Song," '^Eita," "The Laugh of 
 a Child," followed by the " Star-Spangled Ban- 
 ner" — the first time I have heard it since leaving 
 home. The girls went up stairs, and got from 
 their trunks a half-dozen little flags to wave in 
 accompaniment ; and more yet, the girls threw 
 their hearts into the song, and one of them felt it 
 her duty, when it was finished, to hint a strong 
 doubt of my patriotism because I had not returned 
 'before this to get shot. The supper was a sn.ccess, 
 enriched by true maple syrup just brought from 
 Yermont hills. 
 
 I sha'nt tell that in the after-evening we played 
 euchre, because, perhaps, the girls wouldn't like 
 to have it known. J^either shall I tell how, by 
 mistake, I called one of them " my dear girl," 
 because I shouldn't like to have it known. The 
 evening is passed. There rests only a three-mile 
 walk back, for the omnibuses are all gone to bed. 
 
FEOM HOME. 223 
 
 With a keen deliglit in the starlight night (T 
 must insist there was no rhyme meant), we make it. 
 
 '' Wait a minnte, Susie." 
 
 It is one of two girls, gajly dressed, speaking to 
 her friend. It is now midnight. They are out on 
 the faubourgs searching for a lover. Well ! it's a 
 soft, mild night, to-night. With a certain levity 
 they can yet sing the beautiful words that Victor 
 Hugo gives to the French grisette : 
 
 " Nous acheterons de bien belles cboses, 
 En nous promenant le long des faubourgs ; 
 Les bleuets sont bleus, les roses sont roses, 
 Les bleuets sont bleus, — j'aime mes amours." 
 
 Yes, yes, yes, les Vleiiets sont hletis, but the nights 
 will grow very cold by and by, my girls. 
 
224 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 XXI. 
 
 La Station a Dieppe, La France, ) 
 November 14, 8 p. m. (Train to go at 10.) ) 
 
 I SHALL stop at Eouen, I tliink ; left London at 
 ten this morning. All right so far, though the 
 very efficient and polite French officials frowned 
 perceptibly at my passport, which has been let 
 now to take care of itself for two years. Once 
 more the French is spoken all about me. It 
 brings back days and months, I could almost say 
 years, that seemed to have gone. Two years ago 
 this month, I passed from here through the old 
 city of Rouen, and landed in early dark at Paris. 
 I had been recommended to the Hotel de 
 Isro^;mandie as being respectable, and reasonable. 
 It struck me on entering that it ought to be reason- 
 fable ; I couldn't recollect when I had ever been in 
 quite so dingy a hotel. However, they talked 
 English, that is, the mistress did, as well as the head 
 waiter, both of whom were English, and as to 
 price, they would keep me after the French man- 
 ner for seven francs per day. This last, after hav- 
 
FBOM HOME. 225 
 
 ing lived a we'ek at first-class English hotels, I 
 considered a pretty fair idea, though a dim suspi- 
 cion of froo's to be eaten somewhere haunted me. 
 My room is shown to me. I sit down on my small 
 trunk and open it. Little reminiscences of the 
 past dare to appear. Confound the past. There's 
 French to be learned, that's the first thing, and those 
 fifty lessons in Fasquelle's, which you and Nelly 
 
 H looked out at West Brattleboro' Academy 
 
 half a dozen years ago, are going to count but very 
 little on the job. I say the French, that's the first 
 thing ; then, after tliat, you know, you have sever- 
 al pet ideas, which cannot get developed into a 
 vigorous life, without many months of time and 
 labor. The fact is, trunk, you and I may as 
 well grapple it, we are not going back for years. 
 Let me see ; I don't know much about these French 
 people; I guess I'll twist your lock once more, 
 whilst I leave you to go down and get a blink of 
 the city by gaslight. 
 
 Now, my friend, I continued patronizingly to 
 myself, when I was fairly out the door on the 
 street it fronted, it will be a very discreet thing in 
 you to get a good idea of the name of this street 
 you propose starting up. Well! w^e'll draw up 
 and study it by the light of yon lamp. " Rue de 
 Richelieu." Richelieu, Richelieu, that's all right, 
 there's where I've got it. You recollect those 
 books on France, which your father insisted you 
 should listen to. Without doubt this street was 
 10* 
 
226 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 named after the Mr. Eiclielieii that figured in 
 those books. And now, " marchons," as we said 
 at West Brattleboro'. This Rue de Richelieu 
 seems to be as dull as the old gentleman was. 
 Here's an idea, though ; the clerks in these stores 
 all along here are what one might call clerkesses. 
 Don't you see ? They are all girls, and if you stop 
 and examine the cotton hose which hangs in that 
 window, you will perceive that the girl, waiting 
 there by the counter, is very pretty. She per- 
 ceived the same fact several years ago, in all the 
 -Q.Ye looking-glasses that hang in her chamber, 
 that's what makes her look so philosophical. By 
 the way, if a fellow's got to stop to examine every 
 stocking he sees, it will make very slow triivelling. 
 I'll come and look at this pair again. 'No. — , 
 where do these numbers lie ? No. — , I've got 
 it, No. 4. — ^Thunder ! here's another idea, splendid- 
 ly done, too, no mistake. It's a pretty position. 
 What a nice leg she's got, and how lovely she 
 looks lying there on the sofa ! It's a shame though, 
 too bad, such a good girl. That's a pretty face in 
 the corner, and there's another with that little bit 
 of gauze on. '' Cartes-cle- Visite, 1 f?\ cJiaque.^^ — 
 Hallo, here's something that looks like the Paris 
 I've read of. It is a magnificent street. We will 
 go to the right. Rue de Richelieu, you recollect, 
 opposite that big pole, which looks as though it 
 might be a political fiagstaff. Here we are with 
 the crowd on the Boulevard. — ^When, an hour after. 
 
FEOM HOME. 227 
 
 we turned back hj tlie flagstatF, the ballet girls 
 still slept in tlie window, but tlie girl tliat kept 
 the cotton hose had closed for the night. 
 
 Hotel de Victoria, h Eotjex, ^ 
 Saturday morning. \ 
 
 I am just throngh with a chocolate breakfast. 
 If nothing else told, the good chocolate would tell 
 that I was again in France. I might say the same 
 of the bread, for in. England it is nniversallj verj 
 poor. In France it is generally very good. Giv- 
 ing it though every credit, I shall not indorse the 
 opinion of those who would place it before our 
 own homemade article. 
 
 Arrived at the station here last night, I passed 
 out, with my valise in hand, by the only exit there 
 ever is from a French depot. I went by the cabs, 
 kept up the broadest road, and, for the night, took 
 the first respectable-looking hotel. To my ring 
 of the bell, a Il^orman damsel responded. I told 
 her I wanted a bedroom, with one bed, emphasiz- 
 ing this last restriction a wee bit, that I might not 
 be charged for a double-bedded room in the set- 
 tlement. Once more in a Catholic country, no 
 Bible ever lies upon your bedroom table, and its 
 best precepts have but a fickle hold upon the mass. 
 
 Shown to my room, and the easy questions 
 that a French waitress always asks answered, I 
 sat a while and mused upon the peculiarities and 
 similarities of French hotels. I could almost have 
 sworn to the furniture as the same that I had at 
 
228 THE YAl^TKEE BOY 
 
 Tours, in the Grand Hotel du Faisan ; or anywhere 
 else where I have j)assed a night in France. 
 There was the same bed, with Inxnrions springs ; 
 the same fonr mirrors, one on each wall ; the 
 same mahogany bnreau and waslistand ; the same 
 writing table, and then, on the mantel, the same 
 indispensable clock was ticking its life away, 
 guarded by the two demichandeliers and the two 
 china vases. 
 
 Eouen is as completely a French city as Buf- 
 falo is an American one. A busy quay along the 
 river ; one wide business street, in which, I pre- 
 sume, although I have not noticed, are the build- 
 ings of the Prefecture ; one airy boulevard, both 
 wide and long. Elsewhere the streets are all dark 
 and narrow, whilst in the centre the immense 
 cathedral frowns down upon the old town, in 
 keeping its triumphant watch, as the Pantheon 
 does at Paris, or the other cathedrals of the same 
 family do at Orleans and Tours. 
 
 Shall I draw another picture from my first 
 French life ? I think I will, giving this chapter 
 mostly to the two tableaux. On the third day 
 after I arrived at Paris, I engaged board and 
 lodging by the week, at a Hotel Meuble in the 
 Pue de Fleurus, to whicli I had been recom- 
 mended by a young American in 'New York. My 
 room faced the street, was very good in itself, 
 very good when I got to it, and gave me a sort 
 of birdseye view of all Paris. I can recollect 
 
FROM HOME. 229 
 
 •well the first evening that 1 spent in it, with a 
 bright fire, Galignani's daily paper, and a yonng 
 girl's photograph. The next day French books 
 began to appear. Bnt the third I labored nnder 
 a new idea. I thought it over carefully, and 
 determined it affirmatively, to go into some pri- 
 vate French family ; but w^here ? Now I've a 
 great respect for ballet girls, and also I've a great 
 respect for clergymen. The thought I took was 
 a good one. From a clergyman I could get a 
 reference, undoubtedly, to some family for board 
 and instruction, as I w^ished. From the Galig- 
 nani paper I took my direction, made the trip to 
 the j)astor of an English church in the Rue St. 
 Honore, and succeeded in learning from him of 
 a place which he thought would suit me. This 
 was in the Rue de Yaugirard, 'No. 98, only a street 
 or two from the Rue de Fleurus where I was ; the 
 next day I called ; the second concluded the bar- 
 gain. 
 
 The end of the week brought me into the 
 family, with a game of whist for the first evening. 
 Besides myself, there w^ere two South Americans 
 from Brazil, as boarders. The family included 
 
 Professor S , his wife, his son, and — excuse 
 
 a moment's hesitation — his two girls. Don't 
 think I am going to tell much of private life, al- 
 though I mean to stretch this paragraph several 
 lines more. At half past eight in the mor.dng a 
 rap at the door told the cup of chocolate with the 
 
230 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 petit pain was ready. This was always good, 
 especially when the madame made it herself, as 
 she often did. At nine Monsieur le Professeiir 
 popped into the room to hear and correct my 
 lessons, prepared from Fasqnelle. At one 
 o'clock the two Brazilians and myself had our 
 breakfast alone ; one meat with, one vegetable, 
 bread, butter, and a bottle of wine ordinaire. At 
 six o'clock came the hour for dinner, which we 
 had with the family. That dinner was always 
 good. The madame was always wholly a matron 
 that would have graced any table, or any home. 
 The Professor was always wholly a Frenchman, 
 insisting with tbe most polite pertinacity upon 
 instructing me in the nicer points of etiquette. 
 The oldest girl was wholly a lively French demoi- 
 selle ; but the youngest was a sweet pet, a girl 
 among the hundred, who ought to grow into one 
 of the best and most intelligent of women. I 
 sometimes feared there was a vein of selfishness 
 that would grow with her gowth ; but we'll hope 
 well she will smother that. 
 
 There's a ghost in every family. Isn't that 
 the way the old sentiment reads % I am not sure 
 about the ghost here, but there was something 
 worse, a poodle dog. If I could only do him jus- 
 tice I would try to sketch him. A mean, yelping 
 little cur, I could have handed him into eternity 
 forty times a day, only he kept always behind the 
 girls' dresses. 
 
FROM HOME. 231 
 
 I ought, and I must call upon this family be- 
 fore 1 quit Paris again. I stopped with them 
 three months, going thence to Tours, in fair Tour- 
 aine. 
 
232 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " A cliiel's amnng you taking notes, 
 And faith he'll prent them." 
 
 Paris. 5 Kac de la Paix, i 
 
 Dec. 5, 1SC2. 
 
 I HATE Slot a ucw book tins moniino; to write 
 mj notes in. I liave also got a letter. 
 
 When I readied Paris from Ronen three weeks 
 since, Satnrclav night, I went into one of the first 
 hotels, near the station, to stay in it over the Sun- 
 day. Price ai>;reed on by the day ciirht francs. 
 Simdaj I went to church, the American church, 
 Eue de Berri ; the Eey. Dr. McClintock, pastor. 
 The church and I are old acquaintances, and good 
 friends. I was something late, but 1 opened care- 
 fully, and turned up the winding staircase, that 
 leads into the snuill gallery, where the choir is. 
 A glance told me that the choir rested substan- 
 tially the same. The next day, Monday, was 
 commenced in a call for letters at Monro's, the 
 American banker's. These read, I glanced at the 
 names of Americans entered in his book. With 
 
FEOM HOME. 233 
 
 satisfaction I noticed at the top of the last page 
 the name of my old friend R., 25 Hue d'Ulm. 
 1 made a quick start for the Quartier Latin. I 
 will but give results. Six francs lured the French 
 medical student that occupied the room with H. 
 to move into another ; I now take his place. We 
 front toward, and are almost within a stone's 
 throw of the Pantheon. We pay for rent, a 
 douhle-bedded room, forty francs a month. Wood, 
 and lights, and service will cost us thirty more. 
 Our meals we take where we choose, at an average 
 expense of half a dollar per day ; and this is about 
 as cheap an arrangement as an American can 
 accommodate himself to at Paris. 
 
 " Col-o-niel," said I this morning, awaking from 
 a sweet dream, that w^as too sweet to be a reality, 
 " Col-o-niel, what time is it? '' 
 
 " Xine o'clock," answered he emphatically. 
 
 " Ah ! Coloniel, that's the hour they used to 
 commence school when we were boys. As you 
 are up, and I am not, just direct that big letter 
 for me if you please. It must go this morning. 
 Do you know how that old song goes : 
 
 * I dreamt, 'twas but a dream, thou -wert my bride, love.' 
 
 Xcver mind, it was but a dream. I wish — I wish 
 I was up. Coloniel, you ought to have a fire." 
 
 " I don't want any fire ; I am going to the 
 dissecting room directly." 
 
 My cup of chocolate taken, an hour after I sat 
 
234: THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 alone looking out upon tlie magnificent beanty of 
 the Pantlieon, and thinking how three things were 
 necessary to the tranquillity of my mind, — a warm 
 breakfast, a stamj) for my letter, and a blank book. 
 The first want became soon so serionsly nncom- 
 fortable, that I arose, threw on my overcoat, and 
 went ont in the damp morning to attend to it. 
 There is a restaurant near its that we both know 
 well. It gives n.s good meals at the lowest price. 
 Besides, the waiters are very civil, and always 
 answer handsomely the expected potcr-boire. 
 
 " Monsieur will take a chop this morning ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And some butter — Monsieur always takes 
 some butter ? " 
 
 " That's a fact, — ^un supplement quinze sous, — 
 and look here, some of those stewed prunes." 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur, pas de vin? " 
 
 " iSTon, pas de vin." 
 
 ;Now there's the stamp for that big letter. 
 Perhaps they will have them in this news-shop 
 across. " Pardon, Madame ; avez-vous des tim- 
 bres-postes ? " 
 
 " Oui, oui, Monsieur." 
 
 " J'en desire un de seize sous." 
 
 " I)e seize sous, voila. Monsieur. Merci, Mon- 
 sieur. Bonjour, Monsieur." 
 
 Stay, it's Friday. To-morrow the steamer sails 
 over the sea for your own country. " Pardon, 
 Madame, je prendrai un Siecle." 
 
FEOM HOME. 235 
 
 "Yoila, Monsieur; merci, Monsieur; bonjour, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 INfever saw that bazaar before ; quite a 
 
 brisk one. ''' Entrez, Monsieui* ; qu'est ce que vous 
 voulez ? " 
 
 " Avez-vous le jeu d'ecliecs ? " 
 
 " Yoila, Monsieur." 
 
 " Bon, quel est le j)rix? " 
 
 " Quarante neuf sous, Monsieur." 
 
 " Ell bien, je le prenclrai." 
 
 Let's see, tliey keep everything at these bazaars. 
 They must have that blank book. 
 
 Don't be too quick; look twice before you 
 jump. Do you recollect, in the long walk you 
 took the other day, the shoj^ where you bought 
 that photograph of Kosa Bonheur ? 
 
 Yes, I do very well, I shall always recollect it. 
 The girl that did it up for me looked as much like 
 one at home as one sweet pea looks like another. 
 
 Yery well, don't you recollect she asked you 
 if Monsieur didn't wish anything more ? And she 
 suggested a diary for the coming year. 
 
 I recollect every word she said, perfectly. She 
 brought down a dozen, and told how nicely each 
 was made, and said they were cheap, and her hazel 
 eyes looked so honest, and, — I was warming imper- 
 ceptibly, — and — 
 
 Don't grow too eloquent, there's really no oc- 
 casion. 
 
 And, I say, she opened the door, when I went 
 
236 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 out the first time with a sweet little sm. ^ .^ax, 
 brought a quick complimeiit to my lips. The 
 next time I went she didn't open the door. I 
 think she didn't look up at all. It was a very 
 nice little shop ; not so small either. I believe 
 it was her father that kept it. All this last I 
 spoke dreamily. 
 
 If she kept diaries, she kept blank books ; sug- 
 gested my reason, that strives thus often to advise 
 me. 
 
 A thousand times better idea than you usually 
 get off. Aliens, we must leave our chessmen at 
 the room. 
 
 " Yous allez a Clichy, n'est ce pas ? " 
 
 " Oui, Monsieur." 
 
 I got up on the omnibus, both the letter and 
 the Siecle in my hand. I examined this last com- 
 placently. It would sail away in the steamer to- 
 morrow, and carry with it, in spite of post-office 
 rules, a little line of writing. Our omnibus passes 
 down the Hue de Tournon, turns into a narrow 
 street, goes by some roast chestnuts, with some 
 more roasting, reaches the quay, winds along the 
 river to the first bridge, crosses this, and passes 
 through the Place du Carousel to stop at the foot 
 of the Rue de Kichelieu, in the Rue St. Honore. 
 Again in motion, we go up the Rue de Richelieu. 
 In this ride two thoughts strike me with force : 
 that Paris is really a beautiful, airy city, and that 
 the heavy omnibus makes much less noise, and 
 
FEOM HOME. 237 
 
 hence goes much more comfortably over the new- 
 fashioned, smooth, asphalt pavement, than on the 
 rough ones. The emperor is doing a good thing 
 for Paris any way ; better this than to do nothing. 
 The Eue Neuve des Petits-Champs crosses the 
 Rue de liicheligu, and with a continuation runs 
 direct to the Poste Pestante — Poste-te, Pestante-te, 
 as they say at Marseilles, and the South. Once 
 turned from the post-office, I do not intend to tell 
 at all in which direction I went. 
 
 " Yes, Mademoiselle, a little book to take 
 
 notes in, don't you keep them ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, we keep them, wait a minute, I'll 
 bring them. Something like this you want, don't 
 you ? This is very good paper, twenty-iive sous. 
 This one is something more thick, thirty-five 
 sous." 
 
 Ah, those eyes ! What a sweet little flower 
 she is. Don't you wish you were picking straw- 
 berries with her, among the daisies under those 
 mountains of yours ? 
 
 If you wish it she doesn't. 
 
 Doesn't she ? 
 
 jSTo, she doesn't like the warmth of your tone 
 when you speak, nor that you should come so 
 closely when she is taking down the books. She 
 hasn't smiled once, but she does frown. She won't 
 open the door, and she won't say good-by. 
 
 " Ah ! ha ! on verra." 
 
238 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 She will open the door, and if she does not 
 saj good-by, she will dream to-night she did. 
 
 Come, come, my girl, wliere daisies grow, 
 Come 'neath my mountains, come with me ; 
 
 We'll catch the hours, that swiftest flow, 
 And rob them of their fragrancy. 
 
 Come, come, my child, the melting sun 
 
 Is lingering in the middle sky ; 
 On daisies bright its beams are flung, 
 
 Above where reddening berries lie. 
 
 The berries from their lowly bed, 
 Or those that flaunt on bonny stem. 
 
 We'll pluck ; or if you wdsh, instead. 
 To rest, we'll seek some shady glen. 
 
 Where buttercups, that glisten near, 
 
 I'll gather in their airy pride ; 
 To toss them from thy matchless hair, 
 
 Or droop them from thy maiden side. 
 
 Each whispering breeze, that passes by, 
 That dares to touch thy cheek so fair. 
 
 Will wing its way with tenderer sigh. 
 Will joyful be ; when thou art there. 
 
 Thy heart, thy heart, in warmer tide. 
 Will beat, will beat more sweetly far ; 
 
 Thy cheek, thy cheek, in purer pride 
 Shall always glow ; where daisies are. 
 
 Then hasten, yet, where daisies grow. 
 
 Alone, alone, with only me ; 
 When blushes o'er thy bright cheek go, 
 
 I'll kiss love's tear drop from thine e'e. 
 
TUOM HOME. 239 
 
 Thursday Night, 25 Eue D'ULii. 
 
 Monday niglit, with two friends I attended 
 the Reunion of Americans, that the Kev. Dr. 
 McClintock gives each week. Some thirty were 
 present. Before we went np, we dined at Demory 's, 
 116 Palais Royal. It is perhaps the best restau- 
 rant of its kind in the city. Price of breakfast, 
 twenty-five cents ; two dishes to choice, with des- 
 sert, and half a bottle of wine, or, instead of wine, 
 if one prefer, a cuj) of chocolate, or coffee. Din- 
 ner is two francs ; giving a sonp, bread d discretion^ 
 three dishes to choice, wath a dessert and wine, or 
 coffee, as at breakfast. In most of the restaurants 
 of this class the cooking is poor. In this it is 
 good. From here we went to the Hotel du Louvre, 
 glancing a moment first at the jewelry in the 
 Palais Eoyal. The Hotel du Louvre, though 
 eclipsed now by the Grand Hotel, must still always 
 remain a magnificent building. In its large Salon 
 d'Attente, gilded and painted, we stopped per- 
 haps half an hour. Last night I went to the 
 theatre. I felt like it, and suffered imperceptibly 
 the luxury and voluj)tuousness of the dresses, that 
 exposed too well the rounded limbs, and handsome 
 form of the girls, to steal over me. But among 
 all the easy gaiety of the group, there was one 
 girl whose lovely face and soft blue eye touched 
 within me a deejDer feeling than one of mere 
 passion ; when she floated to the front, and sang, 
 in the sweetest of voices, a gay French song, I 
 
240 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 couldn't help it, the tears would start as they 
 did two years ago, in the same place, to the same 
 voice. I care nothing that tlie purity of her eye 
 and the beauty of herself have been dimmed by 
 even years of licentiousness and frivolity. Love 
 loves her. Modesty kisses her. And fair Chas- 
 tity hath sworn that she v/ill always hover about 
 the girl, whom she was born to serve : 
 
 " You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will ; 
 The scent of the roses will hang round it still." 
 
 And I will always wish thee, indeed I will, 
 sweet Louise, though we never yet have spoken, 
 a happy life, a peaceful death. 
 
 THE BALLET GIRL'S SONG TO HER LOVER. 
 
 My hair it is golden, my eyes they are blue, 
 My heart warms to passion, it will warm for you ; 
 I will frown on sweet virtue, and drive her away. 
 To be gone through the night, — Oh ! she'll come back at day, 
 Tra la la, &c. 
 
 Do you love the soft flashes from fond eyes that go ? 
 Do you love the bright blushes on young cheeks that glow ? 
 I'm a poor ballet girl, on the great world alone ; 
 Surely more than bright blushes were easily won. 
 Tra la la, &c. 
 
 Have you tears for the sorrow you think may be mine ? 
 Then you've joy for the beauty you know can be thine : 
 My bosom heaves softly, with the passions that sway 
 Its beauty by night, if they do not by day. 
 
FROM HOME. 24:1 
 
 And witli love I am singing, tra la la la la la, 
 With sweet love I'm singing, tra la la la la la, 
 So kind and so beautiful, cMldish, and gay, 
 You must love me by niglit, if you do not by day. 
 
 Oh ! mother, dear mother, don't frown on your child ; 
 With no one to love her, her young heart beguiled 
 Hath wandered some farther than it ought to, they say. 
 But if sinful by night, it repenteth by day. 
 
 Though careless I sing, tra la la la la la, 
 Though thoughtless I sing, tra la la la la la. 
 Though I recklessly sing, tra la la la la lay ; 
 When wicked by night, I am sorry by day. 
 
 My form is most beautiful, airy, and bright, 
 My face yet is lovely, and pure in God's sight ; 
 I'm too pretty a girl, with bad vice to play ; 
 I will smile to sweet virtue — she'll not go away. 
 Tra la la, &c. 
 
 25 Rtte D'XJlm, Dec. 12, ) 
 Friday Evening. ) 
 
 " Gone to Demory's, where I am to meet 
 
 and two others to go to Houdin's. We are to dine 
 at 5.30, — thought you might want to come. 
 Yours, K." So much I found in the hole of my 
 key when I returned this evening, but I would 
 rather spend a quiet evening with my room than 
 go anywhere to-night, at least, anywhere in Paris. 
 I fear my pen is going to refuse to write. It 
 commenced briskly, but got somewhat provoked 
 in making a fire with green fagots and wet wood. 
 11 
 
242 ( THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 The fire however proves a success ; I shall draw 
 up before it to mnse, if this pen of mine continues 
 balky. Only here's one objection, I can think of 
 nothino; I care to muse on. I believe there's a 
 letter for me at Munro's. If I had that, it might 
 arouse my thoughts that slimiber so, and force 
 them gaily on, as the white-sailed sloops skim be- 
 fore the breezes of Lake Champlaiu. 
 
 Here are thoughts for you to muse upon. 
 Don't you remember, when you drove to Alburgh 
 Springs, you came back by Grand Isle County, 
 Yermont ? There never were more beautiful drives 
 than you had in that trip. You recollect the light 
 waves of the lake, with the distant mountains. You 
 recollect the evergeens that lined its shores in 
 many places, and the beautiful farmhouses you 
 were all the while passing. You have seen noth- 
 ing such since you left home, and will find nothing 
 such anywhere in the world, except in America. 
 Don't you wish you were now among those Yer- 
 mont mountains, where a manly heart grows, nour- 
 ished by the cold vigor of winter winds and the 
 dark foliage of giant hemlocks ? "Wouldn't you 
 be better there, among those scenes of healthy 
 purity, than here nt Paris, where there is no 
 purity ; where all the young men you meet, be 
 they from America, from England, or from France, 
 talk of mistresses as they would of j)oj)ped corn, 
 and help drag such girls as Louise to the dreadful 
 torture of a harlot's death ? Besides, those moun- 
 
FEOM HOME. 243 
 
 tains at home love yon. You never went among 
 their old trees, that they did not urge you to go 
 forward and win a useful life. You have never 
 fished along their trout streams, without their 
 waters advising in a thousand things that per- 
 jDlexed you. You never picked berries among 
 their bushes, but that they whispered of love, and 
 told that a quiet home of one's own was the place 
 where life could be best passed. Don't you think 
 that was the truth? Don't you know that w^as 
 the truth ? Why don't you go home then ? 
 
 Whilst my thoughts are among those home 
 mountains, I think I will let them linger and give 
 some of the whisperings of an old Pine, as the old 
 tree itself whispered them to me years ago. 
 
244 WniSPEEINGS OF 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 WHISPERINGS OF AN OLD PINE.— 1. 
 
 Yes ! I am an old Pine, standing on the moun- 
 tain top. I am very, very old. My limbs, some of 
 them, are palsied and decayed. And yet 1 am a 
 strong and healthy Pine, and my top, vigorous 
 and green, towers up a hundred feet above the 
 mountains, to dally with the lightning, and sway 
 in unshadowed sunshine. I am a proud and 
 happy Pine ; 'tis natural that I should be, I have 
 lived so long, and for a century reigned the king 
 of all the forests around me, on all the mountains 
 about me, of all the world that I can see ; and I 
 think that I must see pretty much all the world 
 there is. Ages ago, — so very long that my leaves 
 forget to wail when I try to think it back, — I was 
 a little Pine, only a bush. My great grandsire 
 was king then; but he, giant that he was and 
 knotted in strength, was killed. Whilst fighting 
 the tempest, he was struck by lightning: and 
 now I stand where he stood, old, strong, great as 
 
AN OLD PIN^E. 24:5 
 
 he was, looking myself down upon a little shrub 
 that I see peeping np at me from below, yon where 
 the snails crawl. Wonder if I shall be struck by 
 lightning ! Ugh ! it would be the death of me I 
 sup230se. "Well, if it should, it's a glorious death 
 for an old Pine. But what matters it about my- 
 self; or why do I conceited tell how many the 
 circles of my mighty trunk? Little care you 
 gentle folks, that live down in the valley, about 
 the tall Pine, which hath watched over your 
 fathers' childhood, and sighed, perhaps, the only 
 requiem above your mothers' graves. The most 
 of you I mean, for there are a few of you who 
 love me very much ; so have they told me, and I 
 believe them. 
 
 Do you see that little cottage just below me 
 on my right, nestling amidst the hills, with the 
 brook that starts from my base winding near it ? 
 Rather a pretty cottage, isn't it ? Such a one as 
 you would love to think of as your home sweet 
 home. That is a mighty fine elm there near the 
 front yard gate ; tall too, that is, tall for an elm, 
 which is generally a very short tree. Do you 
 know I always loved that house very much ? be- 
 cause it is so cozy, you suppose. 'No, that isn't" it. 
 Perhaps because of the little pine that is growing 
 in the front yard, you think. Yes, partly that. 
 The seed from which that little pine grew came 
 from me. When I tell you some time how it got 
 down there, you wall know better about those 
 
24:6 WHISPERINGS OF 
 
 who live in that lionse, and why I love it so much. 
 But stay, don't you see sitting before the front 
 window a little girl, — ^perhaps she should be called 
 a maiden now, — all veiled in sanny curls? If 
 your eyes were as good as mine you would see 
 her. That little girl is the beauty of these moun- 
 tains. She is the loveliest of all the American 
 daughters over whom I look. Every curl of her 
 golden hair is a prize which angels might envy. 
 You look incredulous. Well, you don't know her ; 
 you haven't watched over her from her cradle as 
 I have. She never clasped you, as she has me, 
 nor let her temples rest upon your arm, as she has 
 upon mine. 
 
 Twenty-six years ago that small cottage was 
 built, and in it moved a young man, then, and a 
 pretty girl, his wife. Their name was Lawrence, 
 so I heard some woodsmen say. To them whilst 
 they yet lived in their new home two children 
 were born. The proud Ellen — for so all the 
 mountains and the trees came to call her, she 
 would move so haughtily beneath their shadows 
 and their boughs — was four years older than the 
 mountain pet. I remember I began to think 
 a great deal of the child Ellen, so merry was she 
 playing in the valley, when it was whispered 
 among the trees, coming from the big elm, that 
 Ellen had a little sister. The same day the death 
 bell sounded among our mountains; the newly 
 born babe never saw its father; the mother in 
 
AN OLD PINE. 247 
 
 the time of sorrow was told tliat her husband. 
 
 the lover of her girlhood, was dead. Do you 
 wonder that from that instant the old Pine watched 
 tenderly over all that household, hut most of all 
 over the newly born babe ? 
 
 Years went by. I cannot tell you all, how 
 the little scolden haired Bertha became our dar- 
 ling ; nor how her sister grew in beauty and in 
 v^omanhood, — the jjroud belle, the generous-soul ed 
 girl, the merry, reckless, bewitching beauty. Often 
 used she to come up here and gaze off, for hours 
 sometimes, laughingly upon the grassy world, 
 tearfully upon the azure skies. Sometimes she 
 was alone : at others, she had brought with her 
 some country beau, awkward, dazzled, bewildered 
 from her beauty and her wit. But I knew that 
 no one of them caused her heart to throb faster, 
 or brought to her cheek the blush of a maiden's 
 love. Would she ever, I used often to muse, would 
 she ever, the soft-haired maiden of the JSTorth, 
 forget herself, and lose her proud supremacy? 
 Oh, yes, she will, I sighed in answer ; her thoughts 
 will yet unconsciously cluster about some lover, 
 who v/ill at last win her for his bride. Would to 
 God, that, whoever he shall be, he may be worthy 
 of so sweet a flower — of so wai-m a heart. 
 
 There came a time — for months the Lily of the 
 Yalley came not near the old Pine. What meant 
 it ? I could see her, stepping strong as ever, wend 
 her way beneath the roadside trees to school, or, 
 
248 WHISPEEINGS OF 
 
 for miles sometimes, to pick wild flowers, and 
 gather wild berries. 
 
 I asked mj little Birdie, one day, wlij her sister 
 never came to see me now — she had not for a long 
 time. 
 
 "It must be because she's a naughty girl," 
 she answered. "I'll make her come to-morrow. 
 Tell me, good Pine, have you seen my Kenneth 
 come this way ? " 
 
 " 'No, my golden pet, he hasn't been here." 
 
 " Oh, that's too bad, isn't it ? " From under 
 the curls the child's face was very solemn, and 
 then a child's smile brightened it. " It's too bad, 
 Piney, for we would both like to see Kenneth, 
 wouldn't we? But then I am very happy here 
 with you." And she lay down upon my moss- 
 covered roots, child and angel blended into one. 
 So thought the old Pine. 
 
 " Will you never tell, good Pine ? " 
 
 " Never tell," echoed I. 
 
 "When I get old as Nelly is, I'm going to 
 marry my Kenneth." 
 
 Ah! the little girl, she had looked often on 
 the sun, but never seen its dark spots. The old 
 Pine had, and I said, " My poor child, you are yet 
 only a child. Each year always brings its changes ; 
 besides, — ^the old Pine now spoke in much wisdom, 
 — besides, however much your Kenneth loves you, 
 the old Pine has watched closely and never heard 
 him give you any troth, nor ask any in return." 
 
AN OLD PINE. 249 
 
 " Then, good old Piney, you were in a big doze 
 all day yesterday, for it was only yesterday that 
 Kenneth asked me for my troth, and I gave it to 
 him. You knew Kenneth was going away, old 
 Pine." 
 
 '^ JSTo, indeed I did not, or indeed how could 
 I ? Kenneth never tells at all what he means to 
 do." 
 
 " But he told me, old Pine." 
 
 " And you shall tell it to me, my little pet." 
 
 " Well, Piney, I will ; but you oughtn't to have 
 been dozing yesterday, although it was such a 
 sleepy day. I think that was why I thought I 
 w^ould come up here with you, where the breezes 
 are, but when I got to the brook, half way up, I 
 stopped there, it looked so clear and cold, and I 
 took my shoes and stockings off you know to wade 
 in it. So I tucked up my dress, and paddled all 
 about in the river, and then I stood still, and let 
 the fishes skim over my feet ; one little fellow I 
 caught right between my toes. You've no idea 
 how he seemed to enjoy it. But by and by I let 
 him go — that is, he got away — and I jumped out 
 on to the mossy bank, and then, it was all so 
 very beautiful, I lay down to listen to the water 
 playing upon the boulders, and the wind rus- 
 tling in the trees. Pretty soon I heard a little twig 
 break. I looked up and there was Kenneth stand- 
 ing right by me, and looking at my bare feet. 
 Wasn't it unkind in him ? And when I told him 
 11* 
 
250 WHISPERINGS OF 
 
 to go till I pat my stockings on, lie only laughed, 
 and threw himself right down by me, and put one 
 arm about my waist ; when I tried to scold, he 
 called me his darling, and kissed me, and all I 
 could do was to draw my feet imder my skirts. 
 Then he made me put my head upon his shoulder ; 
 he told me I was his mountain girl ; next week 
 he was going off to college, four long years ; then 
 he would be whatever he wished, but I should 
 be his wife : of course I should, only he wanted 
 me to promise now, and his large blue eyes looked 
 60 sober, and so full of love. But I told him he 
 must go away, first, until I got my stockings on. 
 And then he laughed again. He called me his 
 little thistle-down, and said he was going to put . 
 them on himself pretty soon, I knew it very well — 
 the naughty boy, — but that 1 must promise now to 
 be his wife. He drew me closer to him and kissed 
 my lips, and he looked at me again so mournfully ; 
 when he looks so, he always makes me do what 
 he wants to have me. I told him to bend over 
 me once more ; I kissed him ; I wanted to all the 
 while, you old Piney, and oh ! I'm so glad I did. 
 Dear boy, I whispered to him that I would be his 
 wife whenever he came after me, and then I put 
 my feet out on the moss, and told him to put on 
 my stockings if he wanted to. When he had put 
 them oh, we walked away down the mountain 
 t02:ether, till he left me at our home. And now, 
 old Pine, don't you think, don't you 'know that I 
 
AN OLD PINE. 251 
 
 am going to be Kenneth's wife? Bnt see, there 
 comes Ellen. Don't you know, my Piney, I some- 
 times think Ellen loves Kenneth too." 
 
 The old Pine sighed and felt badly ; but Ellen, 
 more haughty than ever, came np toward us. 
 She spoke not a word to me, but I was used to 
 that. Often she would stand for hours, and give 
 no sign that she thought of anything but herself. 
 'Now she did not notice me, but she turned to 
 Birdie and spoke : 
 
 " Bertha, darling, mother wants you, and want- 
 ed me to tell you if you were here." 
 
 " Good-by, my good old Pine," said Bertha. 
 
 '^ Never mind the old Pine, you little o-oose, 
 come here and kiss your sister's cheeks. Go to 
 mother now, quick ; never mind the stupid Pine, 
 I say." But Birdie never left me without a good- 
 by. Ellen often did. The old Pine loved the 
 golden Bertha as it Avould an angel ; but the old 
 Pine, that scorned the tempest and the lightning, 
 though it did not care how Ellen treated it, used 
 always to weep in sadness, when it saw, as it did 
 now, a fever flush on the proud Ellen's cheek. 
 AVhen the golden curls were fully gone, Ellen 
 turned away, perhaps to follow. 
 
 God bless the gay Ellen, and cool those tear 
 drops from her cheek ; sighed the old Pine to her. 
 She turned ; oh ! how relieved we were to see a 
 smile upon her face again. 
 
 It was well meant, you blundering Pine ; 
 
 a 
 
252 WHISPEEINGS OF ^ 
 
 Ellen's complimentSj and she wishes you this 
 bright morning a gay good-by." 
 
 How true a girl ! How glorious a girl ! The 
 old Pine loves Ellen. Yes, yes, yes ; the old Pine 
 loves her. 
 
AN OLD PINE. 253 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 WHISPERINGS OF AN OLD PINE.— 2. 
 
 There are sliadows, often, from wandering 
 clouds, that fall upon the world I see ; deepening 
 the green of summer or darkening the snows of 
 winter. Lingering they will intensify, or they 
 will pass, till the fields again are all flooded in 
 sunshine, or thrown into an equal ohscurity. The 
 old Pine has watched in the same way shadows 
 of feeling, and passion, falling upon the human 
 heart, covering the sunshine of its life, or perhaps 
 only flinging new shades of greater beauty aroufid 
 it. But the colors, whether bright or dark, will 
 surely fade, and the life exist again as before, un- 
 conscious that, for a time, its being was wholly 
 altered. 
 
 There is love, and joy, and peace, and gaiety, 
 and mirth in the world below ; and there is sor- 
 row and mourning, disappointment and death. 
 Full many a brave heart that has worked haid and 
 cheerfully against life's ills ; full many a reckless 
 
254 WHISPEEINGS OF 
 
 one tliat lias gone carelessly in life's prosperity ; 
 are garnered now within some of those graveyards, 
 that spring from the quiet meadows. They sleep 
 there— the pleasures and the pains, the hopes, the 
 disappointments of life, alike for them closed. 
 Down in that nearer yard I sometimes linger, at 
 twilight, with my shadow. I know each name 
 that is carved upon the tombstones. Thank God, 
 my Ellen yet lives ; but beneath that plain white 
 marble stone sleeps the girl, that ever clung so 
 closely to her, the young and timid Jennie. In 
 the flower of her youth she died. Ellen was still 
 among our hills then, and once, and twice, when 
 she came to see me, I saw a tear drop on her 
 proud cheek. 
 
 " What is it, Ellen ? " I asked. 
 
 '' Haven't you noticed it, old Pine," she whis- 
 pered. " Our Jennie is going to die." 
 
 " And if she does, Ellen, have not I known a 
 hundred such girls as poor Jennie to die? The 
 old Pine is naturally a mourner, and I will wail 
 for her, as I have wailed for the others. But, 
 Ellen, did not you know it, you are going to die, 
 too ; and when that hour comes the difference be- 
 tween yours and Jennie's death will seem so little, 
 darling, that I wish, oh ! my beautiful girl, I could 
 entreat you to think more of the Heaven above, 
 and less of the earth below. Ah ! Nellie, you're 
 a bright girl yet. Sorrow, the sorrow that comes 
 from mortality, has left you still untouched, 
 but " 
 
AN OLD PINE. 256 
 
 '' E"o more of your buts, Sir Pine. If Jennie 
 dies, I'll plant some violets on her grave. But I 
 don't think Jennie will die. She's too younsc. 
 She'll get well I guess, or, if she doesn't, of what 
 use are sighs from proud Ellen ? I didn't know 
 before how much you excelled as a minister ! Do 
 you want to kiss me this morning ? If you do, 
 here's my cheek, or my brow, or my lips " 
 
 " Or, better yet, your waist, my E'en ! " It 
 was Kenneth that at that moment sprang to our 
 side. 
 
 " 1^0, no, no ! Kenneth, dear Kenneth, please 
 don't. — Let me go," cried the young girl, in a voice 
 that tore through the fibres of the leaves, so acute it 
 was ; " let me go, I am not your E"ell. I tell you, 
 Kenneth, let me go." His arm fell, and she 
 stood before him, calm and beautiful. "I^ow," 
 she said, " 1 am all a girl, yes, I am all a woman 
 now. My heart is my own. Even the dear cord 
 of love with which you tied it is broken, and never 
 again will poor Ellen give her heart unasked." 
 
 " Let's go home, Ellen." 
 
 " I don't want to go yet, you may go." 
 
 " But tliat cloud coming has rain in it. The 
 air is now a bit damp, and, whatever else befalls, 
 I should like little to see proud Ellen sick." 
 
 The dark cloud that Kenneth ^^oi^^ted to 
 kindled in the brightest fire as he spoke, but in the 
 eves of the o'irl we saw a wilder lio-ht. She struck 
 my huge trunk, as though her soft hand were of 
 iron, and her fingers crept deej") into the bark. 
 
256 WHISPEEINGS OF 
 
 " It is said now, and you too liave called me 
 proud. Ay, and because, nerved by your voice, 
 I would have saved my soul. Tell me, Kenneth, 
 my blue-eyed boy, was that a time to call Ellen 
 proud ? Did she touch the self-love — forgive me, 
 dear Kenneth, — did she touch rudely your love, 
 however true it might be for her ; but, if so, did 
 she not rend her own heart, so that it seemed as 
 if insanity would fill it ? My God knows I said 
 it not in anger, or in pride ; and He knows how 
 poor Ellen always humbles herself before Him." 
 
 " It is the heart, and not the mouth that speaks, 
 and if sweet Ellen had but watched the tone more 
 closely, she would have found no proud there. But, 
 I tell thee, Nelly darling, even for you, you have 
 thought too intently about this. Your hand is 
 hot, your face is flushed, and your brain " 
 
 " Aches," said the girl, and again the wild fire 
 shot through her eyes. 
 
 " Come, Ellen, we will go home. Don't you 
 feel those raindrops ? " Kennetli had taken her 
 in his arms, to bear her away through the woods. 
 
 When they came to the opening, where I 
 could see them again, Ellen was walking, but his 
 arm was firmly around her, and fondly, in the still 
 air, I heard him say : 
 
 " It's no use, N^elly, you may protest, and rebel, 
 or worry your little brain as much as you please; 
 as long, at least, as we roam together in these 
 woods, I shall do as I have always done. You 
 
AN OLD PINE. 257 
 
 cannot love me better than I love yon. Tliere's 
 answer enongli for all your pretty tragedy ; and 
 here npon us comes a rain, to turn the whole into 
 a dismal comedy ; my I^elly." This last was 
 whispered, whispered with a kiss; hut the old 
 Pine didn't care. It loved them hoth, and I am 
 too strong a tree, too great, and powerful, and 
 healthy, ever to mistrust kisses, or blushes, or 
 coquetting smiles. 
 
258 wmsPEEiNGs of 
 
 XXV. 
 
 WHISPERINGS OF AN OLD PINE.— 3. 
 
 It was upon an antnmn day, several years after 
 Bertha told me of lier betrothal, and I was sway- 
 ing listlessly, in disagreeable idleness, as I some- 
 times liave to, when I heard some twigs crackling 
 below me in the mountain thicket. 'Twas a girl's 
 step, and, looking, I saw a white hand clasp yon 
 small tree, and the wayward 'Nelly swung herself 
 across the little gorge there, and sauntered toward 
 me. 
 
 " How do you do, long-lost JSTelly ? " asked I. 
 
 " Call me Ellen, Sir Pine, if you please. I^one 
 call mo I^elly, nor ever shall, but Jennie and 
 Bertha." 
 
 ." Miss Ellen, then, if you prefer. How do you 
 do ? I haven't seen you for a long time." 
 
 '^ I told you, Mr. Pine, to call me Ellen, not 
 Miss Ellen." The proud beauty flung her head, 
 and, flirting her dress skirt, lifted her foot upon a 
 
AN OLD PINE. 259 
 
 little stump, to leave her ankle uncovered, except- 
 ing by tlie white stocking. 
 
 " Perhaps," said I, for I thought her tartness 
 deserved a censure, " 'twould be more modest in 
 you to keep your ankle covered." 
 
 " And perhaps, Mr. Pine, I shall act my pleasure 
 about that, and my pleasure is to leave it uncov- 
 ered." As she spoke she drew up her dress nearly 
 to the knee, and glanced down imperiously on the 
 beautifully rounded leg. Tlien lifting down her 
 foot, until the drapery covered it again, she came 
 ap to me, laid her hand upon me, and spoke very 
 kindly. 
 
 " Pm very well, indeed, old friend, and have 
 been all the time. I'm glad to see you looking so 
 bale and green. In spite of her unkind ways, you 
 -ove Nelly, don't you ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do, sweet Ellen." 
 
 " Do you want me to tell you a story, old 
 Pine ? You must be lonesome up here, with no 
 me to talk to." 
 
 ^' I would love to have you very much, if it were 
 )nly to hear your voice." 
 
 '' Tlien I will, and it shall be a true story, 
 Lbout myself; for I know you like to hear about 
 ^our Ellen, who hasn't been to see you for so 
 ong. Let me lay my head down here on your 
 ,rm, and if I tell some things you already know, 
 ^ou mustn't interrupt." 
 
1 
 
 260 WHISPERINGS OF 
 
 ELLEN'S STORY. 
 
 " I remember it well, it was a beautiful clay of 
 the early spring time. The swollen brooks sang, 
 tbe early robins sang, and tlie bluebirds sang in 
 tlie warm sunshine. Sap dropped briskly into 
 the buckets. The liverworts were just a-starting, 
 you know, Sir Pine, and I — perhaps you saw me, 
 I guess you did see me, I saw you — and I was go- 
 ing to school with Birdie. Let me see ; I had on 
 that wood-colored calico dress, that you were im- 
 pudent enough to say, once, I had made on pur- 
 pose to show off my form — beautiful figure, those 
 were the words. And then I wore a pretty hat, for 
 I trimmed it myself, and a beautiful little collar 
 that I worked myself, and a white pair of stock- 
 ings, that I knit myself " 
 
 " Take care, Ellen." 
 
 " You take care yourself, old Pine. And a 
 nice white petticoat, vdth a beautiful lace edging, 
 that I designed myself, and — old Pine, some gai- 
 ters thatonother bought for me. Don't you inter- 
 rupt me again. Well, and I was going to school 
 with Birdie. We were to have a new teacher that 
 day. The one that had taught all winter was 
 sick, real sick, old Pine. What makes you look 
 so as if you wanted to kiss me ? There, I'll put 
 my cheek down on yours so, and look up at your 
 dreamy leaves ; — sick, and one of his classmates in 
 
AN OLD riNE. 261 
 
 college liad come to take his place. I had not 
 3een liim, but Jennie told me he was very hand- 
 some ; so I determined he should be my bean, just 
 IS all the college chaps, that teach onr school, al- 
 ^vays want to be." 
 
 " Ah ! Ellen, Ellen, you were born too noble a 
 ^irl, to throw your life away in such poor tri- 
 umphs. " 
 
 " Just as all the college chaps that teach our 
 school always want to be, I said. Sir Pine. "Well, 
 3ver the muddy roads, by the remains of the al- 
 most melted snow drifts, we picked our way 
 along, and reached the school some little time 
 before its commencing. The day was so warm 
 Dutside, that, for the first time, there was no fire in 
 :he old stove. I went directly to my seat, though 
 oay little sister whispered : 
 
 " ' Look, l!^elly, look, there he is, talking w^ith 
 llenneth. Isn't he pleasant ? do look ; I'm going 
 to love him — I know I shall. Why don't you look 
 and see him ? ' 
 
 " ' Because I don't want to,' replied I, pettish- 
 ly, and, throwing my books on the seat, I raised 
 the window and leaned out in the sunshine. 
 
 '' ' I'm going down to see him ; mayn't I, 
 Nelly ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes ; go, if you want to, child. Don't 
 bother niQ, I'm listening to these birds.' 
 
 ^' ' 1 didn't mean to bother you, Nelly.' 
 
 '' * And Nelly didn't mean to speak so foolish,' 
 
262 WHISPEEINGS OF 
 
 I replied, drawing back to kiss lier. ' Go, now, if 
 yoa want to, and see tlie new teacher.' 
 
 " I tnrned around as she left me, and leaned 
 out again. A robin hopped down upon the grass 
 right before my window. I watched him as he 
 pecked the damp earth, and then I looked away 
 upon the mountains, with their evergreen sum- 
 mits covered with snow, and above them, floating 
 over their tops, the fleecy clouds. And I believe, 
 in the delicious beauty of that spring morning, I 
 really forgot the new teacher, to avoid looking at 
 whom I had opened my window. A hand fell on 
 my shoulder. 
 
 " ' How do you like him, l^elly ? ' — 'twas Jen- 
 nie's voice. 
 
 " ' If you mean the new collegian, as I sup- 
 pose you do, I haven't seen him yet. I am enjoy- 
 ing this lovely morning whilst I can, watching 
 this little robin here who has been winking at me 
 for fifteen minutes, and bathing in this golden 
 light my soft brown hair that you love so much 
 to smooth.' I moved along. ' Lean out, too, 
 Jennie ; isn't it lovely ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, very lovely ; but you're a queer girl, 
 ISTelly, to be here fifteen minutes, and not look at 
 the new teacher.' She was stroking my hair, and 
 looking at me very solemnly with her sober eyes. 
 
 " ' Don't look so serious about it, Jennie. 
 What do you think I care about the stupid col- 
 
AN OLD PINE. 263 
 
 lege boys ? But if you want me to, I'll look, to 
 j)lease you.' 
 
 '' ' 1 wish you would ; lie's very handsome.' 
 " ' Poor girl ; I fear your little heart is get- 
 ting all tangled up. Bew^are, my serious Jennie : 
 
 " ' Men were deceivers ever ! ' 
 
 " ' But j list look at him now ; he's looking 
 toward us. Isn't he very handsome? Do look, 
 please.' 
 
 " ' I turned around, and met the eyes of the 
 new teacher fastened upon me. Haughtily I re- 
 turned the gaze — half scornfully, half seriously. 
 
 " ' Don't you like him ? ' Jennie looked me 
 seriously in the face, awaiting the reply. 
 
 " ' Why, yes, foolish child, my own sweet 
 Jennie ; I like the way he met my gaze very well 
 indeed ; but w^hether I like him, I cannot tell that 
 yet. My sister, though, seems to have wrought 
 out her conclusions. She'll make a 'great flirt, I 
 think. See, there she stands, with the biggest 
 apple our basket had, waiting to give it to this 
 new pet. It's too bad.' 
 
 " ' I fear you're a little selfish, ISTelly.' 
 
 " ' Don't hesitate so seriously in the accusation, 
 if you do fear ; don't you know I am, you sweet 
 goose? I always was. It wouldn't come from 
 the heart, if I ever did anything that wasn't a lit- 
 tle bit tinctured with selfishness ! ' I wound my 
 arm around Jennie's waist. ' But you know that 
 
264: WHISPERINGS OF 
 
 I am sorry for it all tlie time, and tlien God for- 
 gives.' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes. He does ; and I didn't mean what 
 I said ; you aren't selfish, and never was.' 
 
 " I pressed the hand, she put in mine. Guile- 
 less Bertha had overcome what little hesitation 
 she might have had, and finished frowning upon 
 Kenneth, who had ventured to twist over his 
 hand a dozen of her curls. With the large apple 
 poised, she stepped before the teacher, and placed 
 it in his hands. How would he receive it ? He 
 leaned over and gave the young miss a kiss, which 
 Kenneth, who had come over to bid us good morn- 
 ing, declared was done most gallantly. 
 
 " ' He will steal her heart from you ? ' I said to 
 Kenneth. 
 
 " ' H« will steal fair Ellen's heart from her.' 
 
 Kenneth never called me proud, and I smiles 
 
 and kisses, but no frowns, did I ever give to the 
 blue-eyed Kenneth. 
 
 " I looked petulantly upon the floor. ' How 
 extremely unpleasant to have a sweet pet for a 
 sister, who appropriates all the kisses ! ' 
 
 '' ' Or nearly all ; ' said Kenneth, and he pulled 
 the comb from my hair, and let it fall loosely over 
 his own hand, and down upon the desk. ' Ken- 
 neth knows of two she'll never get ; one for each 
 of thy blushes, Ellen ! ' And he gave them, right 
 there in the open school room, you impertinent 
 Pine. Then, whilst a serious expression blended 
 
AN OLD PINE. 265 
 
 with Ills smile, he moved away, leaving me to 
 smother a flame that had been long silently glow- 
 ing ; for I knew he loved, and would always love- 
 most dearly, the golden curls. 
 
 " ' I am inclined to think,' said I to Jennie, as 
 I was gathering up my hair, ' from the manner 
 in which he lets his deep eyes rest npou ns, that 
 yonder new teacher is very envious of the kisses 
 Kenneth gave me. It isn't vanity, but the truth, 
 that makes me speak ; ' I added, laughing. ' It 
 strikes me, that if he had more wit, he would 
 venture, at least offer, to repeat them himself, 
 instead of standing there, looking so absolutely 
 enamored at a blushing country lass, and her hair 
 down.' 
 
 " ' But you wouldn't let him do it, would you, 
 IS'elly ? ' 
 
 " ' Wouldn't I ? and why shouldn't I, you 
 frowning Puritan, if he did it handsomely, as 
 Kenneth does ; though I think I should tell him 
 to wait till we were alone some time. Come, 
 come, darling, you needn't look so seriously cross 
 at my humanity. By the sweet shade of sadness 
 that's ever lurking in thine eye, I have told thee 
 nothing but the truth, whether it be indefinitely 
 right, or infinitely wrong. But see, lie's taking 
 the ruler to rap for school. I wonder if he would 
 dare to ferule me ? 'Twould be funny, wouldn't 
 it, to have him hold my hand, and bruise away 
 with that heavy ruler. I guess I'll provoke him 
 12 
 
266 WHISPEEINGS OF 
 
 to it. I will/ I repeated tins last with empliasis, 
 for Jennie looked so incredulous, and would now 
 liave remonstrated, had not the raps fallen to drive 
 us to our seats. My little Birdie came and sat 
 down by me, and from beneath her many ringlets 
 she whispered that she was going to get her lessons 
 all very good now, and then she bent over her 
 books, and toiled on steadily, to win a smile, and 
 a kiss perhaps, from one who had already won her 
 childish heart. 
 
 " How do you like my story, Sir Pine," asked 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Yery well, indeed," replied I, " as far as you 
 have told it, which, I must think, is only the first 
 chapter." 
 
 " You must think just as you please, but it's 
 all the story you'll get from me." 
 
 " And why not tell me more, fair Ellen ? " 
 
 " Because — I don't want to ; " she arose pettish- 
 ly ; " but I'll send John up, and if he's a mind to 
 tell you more, what success he had with the way- 
 ward Ellen, he may." 
 
 For an instant she gazed at the glowing sun- 
 set ; then, looking up to me with a smile of inex- 
 pressible sweetness, such as she was ever wont to 
 wear after a frown, she said : 
 
 " You're a real good old Pine, and I want a 
 cone from you, as a keepsake. Drop me down 
 
 one." 
 
 So I dropped her down a nice one. 
 
AN OLD PINE. ' 267 
 
 " Thank you," slie said, '' it's so pretty ; com- 
 ins: from you, too. 'Twill be first rate to kindle a 
 fire with, some cold morning ; " she added, wink- 
 ing at me from over her shoulder, and disappeared 
 in the deepening shadows of a twilight forest. 
 
 The next morning I saw her stooping over 
 where that little pine is, in the cottage yard, and 
 when she rose she looked up at me, and waved 
 her white 'kerchief. 
 
 " May a kind Heaven always watch over and 
 preserve the beautiful Ellen ; " was the answering 
 prayer of the old Pine. 
 
268 WHISrEEINGS OF 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 WHISPERINGS OF AN OLD PINE.— 4. 
 
 " Ellen sent me up to tell you tlie rest of her 
 story, and how she came to let me call her Nelly." 
 
 He was a handsome young man, standing there 
 holding his hat, and the smi's rays glanced through 
 my leaves, upon his chestnut hair. I did not won- 
 der that Kenneth thought he would steal fair 
 Ellen's heart. 
 
 " I have never seen you so near before," he 
 continued, letting his eye dwell upon my huge 
 proportions, *' and ISTelly flattered not, when she 
 called you the monarch of the woods. Say, grand 
 old Pine, did ever any one climb to your top ? " 
 
 " ^N'one but one, the blue-eyed Kenneth." 
 
 " And is this dauntless lad, you speak of, the 
 one who dares to call our Birdie his ? " 
 
 " He dares to call the golden Birdie his, and 
 it's golden Birdie's greatest joy, that Kenneth 
 loves her so as to call her his ; and, more than that, 
 the proud girl whom you now call JSTelly would 
 
AN OLD riNE. 269 
 
 have flung aside all tlie scorn that ever wreathed 
 her lips, to have had blue-ejed Kenneth call her 
 his." 
 
 '' That may all bo true, but the girl is mine 
 now, old Pine, and I have been too long upon a 
 friendless world, have felt too often its roughness, 
 have grown, I fear, tpo rough myself, to hesi- 
 tate about the sentiment. I saw Ellen, I loved 
 her, I dared to woo her, and I have won her ; be 
 it or be it not as you say, because she could not 
 keep the lover she wished. Your Kenneth may 
 be more a man than I ; his mind may be stronger, 
 his moral worth greater. It is a fact, by Jove, it 
 is a fact, that twice has he come silently, but 
 sternly, I believe defiantly, in my path, and both 
 times have I yielded to the demand he made. 
 But then I liked the boy — liked — I love him, 
 and if he would take IN'elly to-night, I would give 
 Nelly to him, as joyfully as she would go." 
 
 There was a pause of several minutes, till he 
 spoke again. 
 
 ''Only the chivalrous Kenneth ever climbed 
 you, old Pine. Perhaps Ellen will love me better 
 that I too climbed her favorite tree. 
 
 " It will not take me very long," he continued, 
 seated on my topmost branch, " old friend of my 
 sweet K'elly, to tell you all in my history that 
 you wish to know. Away off north here, where 
 the land mystifies with the sky, lies the home of 
 my boyhood. There did I live till my thirteenth 
 
270 WHISPERINGS OF 
 
 year, wlien, with, no reason but that I felt an in- 
 tense desire to do as I pleased, I made a little 
 bundle of my clotliing, and with it drifted off into 
 the world. IIov/ far I drifted, or liow long, doubt- 
 less you care as little to know, as I do to tell. 
 But in all the sbiftings of my fortune, however 
 doubtful was the future, I never felt a moment's 
 gloom. I gloried in my youthful independence, 
 and cast myself with the most entire reliance on 
 my own ability and untried resources. 
 
 '' Well, it was two years after I left home, in 
 the fall of a presidential canvass, and, in the town 
 I happened to be in, there was a bonfire, platform 
 barrel, and a mass meeting. Every opportunity 
 that offered, I swung my hat with a hurrah. In 
 this way I was passing the, to me, worse than 
 useless hours, for they were moulding a worth- 
 less life ; when, among the speakers that came 
 forth was a fine-looking man, of perhaps forty- 
 five. He spoke, and cheer after cheer rose from 
 the excited crowd ; but I, who had before been 
 so uproarious, forgot my utterance, whilst I felt 
 my whole soul fired with the tone and spirit 
 that came from his genius. Ere he finished his 
 speech, I had ceased to be a boy. The vagrant 
 lad, resolved I, shall be a great lawyer, and, before 
 many years, rouse the souls of others, as this man 
 does mine. Filled with this newborn ambitiou, 
 little caring how long the road, or how great tlic 
 toil, when the meetifig broke up I followed the 
 
AN OLD PINE. 271 
 
 man wlio liacl so entliralled me, and, confronting 
 Iiim, asked wliat I must do to be as great a ma,n 
 as lie. He looked at me in curious surprise, at 
 tlie abruptness of tlie question, then answered : 
 
 " ' You must study, my lad, long and dili- 
 gently ! ' 
 
 " ' So I suppose ; but wliat shall I study, how 
 commence ? ' 
 
 " ' Why, as to that — is your father alive ? ' 
 
 '' ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 " ' And cannot he direct you ? You seem Yan- 
 kee-born.' 
 
 " ' That I am, sir, born in the Green Mountain 
 State, and proud of my birth as a hen is of an 
 angle worm. But, you see, my father and I are 
 at variance ; that is, I left a couple of years ago, 
 he being disposed to treat me as a small boy, 
 which I wa'n't, and I him as an old gentleman, 
 which he was fast becoming. Since then I have 
 lived indifferently well, and completely hapj)y, 
 floating mostly where I've been shoved, until to- 
 night, hearing you, I determined to become a 
 lawyer, and take my turn in pushing others ; and, 
 whether you guide me or not, I shall begin to- 
 night, surely to succeed.' 
 
 '' ' Come to my room to-morrow,' he replied. 
 "We will see what may be done.' 
 
 " Well, the next day I went to his room. Yery 
 directly we came to an agreement — I to serve him 
 to the best of my ability, aad he to assist mo on 
 
272 WHISPEEINGS OF 
 
 in the education and position I sought. My own 
 part I did faithfully ; on his, there was a collegiate 
 education given cheerfully, and a junior partner- 
 ship in one of the best-established law firms in 
 the Buckeye State. 
 
 " 'Twas during my collegiate course, which I 
 made in my own State, coming on the Spring term 
 as you remember, that I accepted in the place of 
 a sick roommate the part of teacher in your 
 school. But it's where I first saw Ellen, that you 
 would know. 
 
 " The morning that opened school was a mild 
 morning, one of those Spring days, when the soft 
 air that blows around and melts the snow drifts, 
 creeps into and melts the heart. So it did mine. 
 I remember, as I walked toward the small school- 
 house, I felt myself more than half inclined to 
 love every mountain damsel who might become 
 my scholar. And fancy, always ready to soar some- 
 what above impulse, would fain paint one among 
 them altogether lovely, who by degrees should 
 verge from a smiling idol into a frowning wife. I 
 entered the schoolroom door, but though many a 
 plump face and rosy cheek turned rosier from 
 amy ardent gaze, not one of them all, I sighed 
 despondently as I felt it, could by any art of im- 
 agination be changed into the ideal maiden I 
 wanted to love. Little knew I, when I sighed, 
 how perfect a beauty of form and feature the 
 mountain dell had nourished. 
 
AN OLD PINE. 273 
 
 " ' There comes Ellen,' lisped a blue-eyed rogue 
 by me, ' I'm going to kith her ; ' and he paddled off 
 toward the just opened door. My eyes followed, 
 and drank in the beautiful vision that has been 
 hovering over my heart, just ready to fall and 
 smother it, ever since. 
 
 " The little girl that entered with her, and who 
 I knew must be her sister, soon came to me with 
 an apple large enough for a thanksgiving pie, and 
 teased my heart so sadly with her golden curls, 
 that I could not but toss them back, and give her 
 a kiss. "When I raised my eye, blue-eyed Kenneth 
 stood laughing over the blushing Ellen, her hair 
 lying on her neck, kissing her as if she, too, were 
 a child. So naively, yet so modestly did she let 
 him do it ; from that instant, no fly was ever 
 more completely entangled in the meshes of a 
 web, than my heart in the meshes of her flowing 
 hair. 
 
 " Xow, my venerable friend, as you doubtless 
 think, this was all natural enough ; but, and it was 
 a tremendous but, your roaming beauty did not 
 seem to care a rye for me. 'No one could have 
 helped seeing that the proud Ellen had a supreme 
 dislike, if not a lurking contempt for the ruling 
 pedagogue. However ardently my eye would rest 
 upon her, if she noticed it at all, it was always 
 with a frowning face. However kindly I ad- 
 dressed her, a slight manner of contempt and de- 
 cided coldness met me, in answer. All of this, if 
 10* 
 
274 WHISPEEINGS OF 
 
 witli tliis slie liad been content, I conld have borne, 
 trusting to time, and tbe constant effect wliicli so 
 Strong a love as mine must be silently having, for 
 a gradual change. But she, as if a natural dislike 
 had intensified into spite, did all she could, not 
 rudely but incessantly, to disturb the quiet of the 
 school. She would violate every regulation that 
 I made, and do it so conspicuously, that even the 
 youngest knew it was purposely done, and to irri- 
 tate me. For days I overlooked it all, hoping that 
 her natural goodness and feeling of fitness would 
 in time fling its own restraint around her. Then, 
 finding that it did not, I tried to reason with her 
 kindly. With a disdainful toss of her head she 
 thanked me for my advice, and the interest I 
 seemed to take in her character. 
 
 " At recess one afternoon, — more flagrantly an- 
 noying than usual had she been, — whilst she leaned 
 alone out of the window, I went up beside her, and 
 taking her hand that lay on the sill, waited for her 
 to look up. For several moments she moved not, 
 until I spoke. 
 
 " ' Miss Lawrence ! ' 
 
 '' She drew in her head, and I thought half 
 kindly said, ^ It's you, is it ? ' and looked down at 
 tlie hand I scarcely held. An instant, delicious 
 moment, she pressed the whole palm on mine, then 
 drew it quickly from me, waiting with half-averted 
 face. 
 
 " ' I wish to request once more, Miss Ellen,' I 
 
AN OLD PINE. 275 
 
 had never called lier aught but Miss Lawrence 
 before, ' that you would please not to break again 
 the rules of the school.' 
 
 She stood tapping her foot upon the floor, and, 
 as I ended, turned abruptly away. The pressure 
 of her hand and the kindness of her tones yet 
 lingered, thrilling through my veins ; but my own 
 self-esteem and my dignity with the school must 
 not yield to love or passion. I called her again, 
 and told her peremptorily, that she mtcst obey the 
 regulations of the scliool, or suffer the penalties of 
 their breaking. Her proud lip curled, and her 
 blue eye flashed, that involuntarily I drew back. 
 
 " ' You dare to threaten a girl ! ' she said, in a 
 tone so low, and yet so sweet, that I almost knelt 
 before her. ' Tell me, when you please, and I will 
 leave your school ; or, if you wish it, my hand is 
 yours to ferule, but never again threaten me or 
 talk with me upon this subject : I wish to hear, 
 and I loill hear no more.' 
 
 " Now, or never, must my authority succeed 
 with the girl, thought I, as I called the school to 
 order ; and waiting till there was silence through- 
 out, so that all might hear, I told plainly, that if 
 any schohirs, during the remainder of the after- 
 noon, should leave their seats without permission, 
 or otherwise wilfully disturb the school, I cared 
 not who it was, they should be punished. Hardly 
 had I sat down before Ellen arose, and, looking an 
 instant directly at me, walked across the scliool- 
 
276 WHISPERINGS OF 
 
 r:om. I had expected it, that is, I had vaguelj 
 feared it, and had she, when she did it, worn upon 
 her face the look of scorn or of derision that so 
 often rested there, I think I conhl have called her 
 directly out, and dismissed her from school. But 
 in her eye, as it met mine, I saw no such feeling, 
 rather, I thought, a hue of sadness, almost of love, 
 and the mist of a concealed tear. I felt my whole 
 soul melting. I dared not risk my voice, I knew 
 that all the school were looking at me. Scarcely 
 knowing what I did, I walked across the room to 
 where Ellen had gone. Leaning over her, so that 
 none else might hear, I asked : 
 
 " ' Will you, Ellen, oblige me this once, and 
 go back to your seat ? ' 
 
 " She answered, ' Yes.' I thought her wilful- 
 ness was gone, but by the time she regained her 
 seat, the old look of disdainful indifference re- 
 turned to her face. 
 
 " "What should I do ? Ferule the beautiful 
 girl w^hom I loved so dearly ? No, no ; I could 
 never do that. Must 1 then dismiss her from the 
 school ? What, pluck the sweetest flower from 
 the garland, because in its beauty it would not lie 
 as I wished it. And yet I had threatened punish- 
 ment ; I cannot suffer her any longer to remain as 
 she has remained. Thus gloomily I pondered 
 until school was dismissed, all but Ellen Lawrence, 
 who, I said, would remain. 
 
 " Kenneth came to me. I had seen his half- 
 thoughtful look since recess. 
 
AN OLD PINE. 277 
 
 " ' It may be riglit or it may be wrong,' be 
 said, ' but tbe fairest girl of our moimtains sball 
 never be feruled, and I near.' There was no ex- 
 citement in bis manner, no bluster in bis voice, 
 nothing but kindness in its tone ; but a heart 
 that never flinched had strung every nerve to de- 
 fend the girl it loved. 
 
 " ' You need not fear,' I replied ; ' no ferule by 
 my hand shall ever touch her.' 
 
 " He left the room, and I was alone with El- 
 len, her dearest friend Jennie, and little Bertha. 
 Half in tears, and half in frowns, the golden curls 
 spoke : 
 
 " ' You mustn't hurt Nelly. If you do, I'll 
 never love you any more, nor let you kiss me, nor 
 give you any apples.' 
 
 " ' You and Jennie may both leave.' 
 
 '' I spoke quickly. Ellen, who had stood 
 holding her bonnet by the ribbon, motioned to 
 Jennie to go. Then, raising her blue eyes to mine, 
 she said, very calmly, and I thought kindly : 
 
 '' ' My sister will remain. If you wish more 
 of me, you can speak now.' 
 
 " ' You heard what I said this afternoon : that 
 no one should leave their seat without permission ? ' 
 
 '' ' Certainly I did.' 
 
 '' ' And you left yours immediately ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes.' 
 
 " ' May I ask you if you tliink it was Lind ? ' 
 She frowned again. 
 
278 WHISPEEIN-GS OF 
 
 " ' I haven't any thouglits to give about it. 
 You threatened punishment — there's my hand ; ' 
 -and she placed her soft hand in mine. ' Take off 
 my ring, please, before you strike.' 
 
 '' A small blush was on her cheek ; all her 
 scorn had faded as a cloudlet does in the sky. 
 Before I strike? Again I bent over her, and 
 whispered, with all the fervor of a lover : ' Ellen, 
 dear Ellen, ever since I began school you have 
 done all that you could, purposely, to irritate me. 
 You ought to say you are sorry for it. But if you 
 will not, my authority as a teacher compels me to 
 bid you leave school ; but know, beautiful girl, that, 
 doing so, you cast from you the love of one who 
 would love you forever, if he could.' 
 
 " 1 raised her hand to my lips, and kissed it, 
 and then turned hastily away. A thousand tears 
 were struggling to flow. I stood leaning on the 
 window. A hand fell upon my shoulder. I knew 
 the breath that came against my cheek, and she 
 whispered : 
 
 " ' I'm not sorry a bit, but if you'll let me 
 stay, I'll be ever so good all the rest of the term.' 
 And then she raised her hand to brush the hair 
 from off my forehead, and let it rest there upon my 
 brow. I could hesitate no longer. My arm wound 
 around her waist. I drew her to my heart. Ever 
 since then, old Pine, I have called her Nelly." 
 
 " And little Bertha, the golden pet, where was 
 she ? " 
 
AN OLD riNE. 279 
 
 " Capering off down the road to find her Ken- 
 neth, as she said, for she knew he was waiting for 
 her." 
 
 " And did you tell Ellen what Kenneth had 
 said ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What said she ? " 
 
 " Nothing, she only trembled. But when we 
 met Kenneth, with the curls waving by him, she 
 flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him. — 
 'No mistake, but you have a lofty view up here, 
 and a long w^ay it is down your pitchy side. Swing 
 me with your boughs again. 
 
 " What say you now, giant of the forest, did 
 none but the- blue-eyed Kenneth ever climb your 
 top ? Long freedom from the lightning's bolt, and 
 many kisses from your favorite pet." 
 
 He waved his hat, and Ellen's lover disap- 
 peared among the bushes. A manly fellow, mut- 
 tered I, and if it must be so, then let him be j)roud 
 Ellen's mate ; but the old Pine never could love 
 him as it loves the blue-eyed Kenneth. 
 
280 THE YANKEE EOT 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Pakis, December 15, 1862. 
 
 My dinner, this afternoon, 1 liad at an " £ta- 
 blissement de Bouillon," 7 Rue de Seze, but two 
 minutes' walk from the Madeleine. I often go 
 there myself, and have taken quite a number of 
 American friends there. The cooking we consider 
 fully equal to Demory's, the price cheaper, vary- 
 ing from four to fifteen cents a plate, in accordance 
 to whether you take potatoes or turkey. The res- 
 taurant, itself, is a small second-class one, but 
 everything that connects with your eating is thor- 
 oughly neat. I would advise any man going to 
 Paris, who wishes to live economically, to take 
 the number. It may save him much expense, and 
 many poor meals. This afternoon I went, in com- 
 
 j)any with my friend from G , Mass., to the 
 
 Cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise. It has a dismal 
 enough effect, as compared with Mount Auburn 
 or Greenwood with us, and, excepting the view 
 
FEOil HOME. 281 
 
 of Paris that it commands, lias little connected 
 with it pleasing to the eye. Having finished our 
 walk, we had some rice and milk, which we got very 
 good at a small cremerie in the Rue Neuve des 
 Petits Champs, for four cents the cup. Buying 
 some jewelry detained us perhaps an hour, waiting 
 for an omnibus another quarter, when we came 
 together, through the gay centre of the city, to 
 our part. The Coloniel failed us on fire : " il 
 n'etait pas chez lui." However, time and pluck 
 will do almost anything. A Yankee fire burned at 
 last that gloweth yet. "We ourselves sat by it, 
 and talked the evening away. 'No news from 
 home to-day, with a boat due since last Saturday. 
 What reports the morning shall bring we await. 
 The clock strikes twelve. 
 
 Wednesday afternoon, 5 I^ue de la Paix. — We 
 have the home news this morning to December 8. 
 I saw it first at the cafe where I was taking a 
 chocolate breakfast ; the opening of Congress, a 
 pretty complete synopsis of tlie Message, and the 
 reported loss of a brigade in Tennessee. This last, 
 a Massachusetts man by me now says, comes 
 through England, taken from the Times. He 
 adds, emphatically, that he does not believe a 
 word of it. As I meet them, as I have met them 
 all the time for the last two years, Americans, this 
 side, keep themselves even more than at home 
 wholly American. With but one or two very 
 weak exceptions, they express no doubt as to the 
 
282 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 right, and absolute necessity of carrying on tlie 
 war, with the utmost vigor, to a successful termi- 
 nation. My intercourse with Americans has not 
 been so extensive as it might. Yet, in the whole, 
 I have met a large number, representing almost 
 every condition of life ; men of wealth, travelling 
 for pleasure ; men of professions, travelling for 
 learning ; men of business, travelling for wealth ; 
 men whom the restless spirit of adventure, or ad- 
 verse fortune, has cast upon the world, to win 
 their life as they best can ; I have met and tallied 
 intimately with all. The unanimity with which 
 they have spoken of the war, as something that 
 we must carry through unflinchingly to its natural 
 termination ; has, perhaps, more than anything 
 else, given me the assurance that our nationality 
 is founded on a rock, and that, in its certain time, 
 there will come again to our fair Flag the joy of 
 perfect victory, to the Great Republic the happi- 
 ness of righteous peace. 
 
 Cliristmas night. — Come now, my golden pen, 
 and write once more about Parisian scenes before 
 you cross again to England. As you and I be- 
 come more acquainted, we should the better un- 
 derstand the mutual laws that bind our friendship. 
 I will try to recollect, you can hardly always write 
 with equal zest, and you must recollect, certain 
 restrictions must sometimes govern you. You 
 need not protest, you shall talk about your loves 
 occasionally, and you shall sing about whatever 
 
FEOM HOME. 283 
 
 you like. If you see a liandsome eye, you may 
 mention it. If you sec a lock of liair, golden as 
 yourself, you shall surely tell of it. Trusting to 
 your aristocracy, you sliall say leg always, and 
 never limb. But, my pen, ^renez garde^ if you 
 attempt again, as you did last week, to discuss the 
 literary merit of the day. It's all well enough, I 
 know, for you to hear the hornets buzz, but it's all 
 bad enough for me to feel them sting. Besides, 
 my grandfather often told me, as I now tell you, 
 always to be civil. And besides all that, suppose 
 the poetry of Longfellow is a reflection, well re- 
 flected, but faint, and unsatisfying, can it deepen 
 in intensity, or take to itself originality, because 
 of your criticism ? Ah ! you foolish pen, you 
 were mighty uncivil last week. 
 
 How; can't I tell the truth? Dare any say I 
 lied as regards Longfellow's poetry? In that 
 English edition of Holmes, that you read to me, 
 does not almost every line decrease in merit, each 
 time you read them, until they become utterly 
 worthless ? AYere not those stories in the Atlantic 
 Monthly, that you labored at reading, horrible ? 
 "Was not the poetry something worse than horrible : 
 
 " She was there, and then she wasn't ; 
 Sing fiddle dum, sing fiddle dee. 
 She was here, and now she isn't ; 
 Bow, wow, wow, and woe is me." 
 
 for the first; and Big Bethel, with its columns 
 
284: THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 forward, rolling along in its poetical wa; <. 
 
 lialf-fllattenecl stone down a moderate liill, for the 
 next ? ^' That's not bad," said the Colonel of the 
 first verses. '' That don't mean much," said he, 
 of the middle ; '' and that doesn't mean anything — 
 Stop ! " 
 
 " 'And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air.' " 
 
 "ISTo, it doesn't mean anything," he said, of 
 the last. Heaven ..keep me from the pen of a fine 
 woman, was all I said, when yon suggested Mrs. 
 Stowe. That was civil, wasn't it ? She did get 
 off a good thing once, though, on waltzing ; how 
 was it ? " Save the inherent improprieties, or sin 
 (I forget), connected with the waltz, there was 
 nothing improper," etc. Again, you may do w^hat 
 you like, but I'll not take the afiirmative in the 
 defence of any live poet, English or American, 
 except Whittier, and, whoever it was that wrote 
 those I^egro melodies, and American songs, his 
 name almost unknown, his songs sung wherever 
 the English language is spoken. Eh ! doth your 
 heart warm when you hear them ? 
 
 " "Way down upon the Suwanee river, 
 Far, far away ! " 
 
 Or will you give another tear to sweet Alice, sweet 
 Alice, with hair hazel brown ? Does your Alice 
 lie in the graveyard ? Say, tell me, does she lie 
 there ? My dear girl, is your Willie on the deep 
 
FKOM HOME. 285 
 
 blue sea? or have you ever been in a foreign land, 
 and beard the song started : 
 
 " Good news from home, good news for me ? " 
 
 We have had our Christmas exercises at the 
 church to-day. I thought, as I looked down from 
 the gallery, that the audience was unusually good, 
 and the church very prettily trimmed. Again, 
 the singing was fine, decidedly so, with the solo 
 singing of Mrs. H. from E^ew York. I want, too, 
 to add a word of thanks, in which I feel sm'e that 
 every attendant at our church will join, to Dr. 
 Crane, who now for years has gratuitously and 
 most attentively acted as organist, and perhaps, 
 more than any one else as leader of our choir. 
 Among the choir girls, I notice several faces that 
 were familiar to me in the same places, two years 
 ago. With the natural delight of an American 
 girl, they love to occupy themselves here, as at 
 home. "New faces attest the same princij)le ; oui* 
 choir knows itself a complete thing. We have, 
 of course, our little flirtations. I confess mvself 
 disposed to cotton with a black silk dress that 
 has red spots. I spoke to it the other day, when 
 we were trimming our church ; it answered me 
 right merrily. 
 
286 THE YANKEE BOT 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 A SONG OP THE GKEEN MOUNTAINS, VEBMONT. 
 
 See, Jane, the water o'er tlie pebbles go, 
 
 Watcli, Jane, the waters, awkwardly they flow ; 
 
 Look, Jane, at the boulder, ere you further go. 
 
 Give me your hand, Jane, the water runs below. 
 
 Don't mind its slippery top, I will be your jo ; 
 
 Spring to my arms, Jane : " Catch me then, O 
 
 I was made for my laddie, and my laddie's made for me, 
 
 I will jump into his arms, and take his kisses free- 
 
 Ly, I will, yes I will, tra la la la la la la, 
 
 I will, yes I will, tra la la la la la lay ; 
 
 I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., 
 
 I will, yes I will, whatever folks may say." 
 
 Closely, Jane, closely, your cheeks begin to glow, 
 
 Steady, Jane, steady, there's hardly room, you know ; 
 
 Fondly, Jane, fondly, before the moments go, 
 
 Careful, Jane, careful, the water rolls below ; 
 
 Sing, Jane, bewitchingly, as the roses blow. 
 
 Sing, Jane, lovingly, as the waters flow : 
 
 " O I'm born for my laddie, and my laddie's born for me, 
 
 I will nestle in his arms, and sing right merrily ; 
 
 I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., 
 
 I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., lay ; 
 
 I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., 
 
 I will, yes I vsdU, whatever folks shall say." 
 
 Ah ! Jane, dear Jane, the moments fast have run. 
 Ah ! Jane, dear Jane, yon mountains have the sun ; 
 Jane, Jane, my own Jane, you must sweetly know, 
 Constantly your bosom swells against me now ; 
 
TEOM HOME. 287 
 
 Sing, Jane, honestly, as falls tlie glittering snow, 
 
 Sing, Jane, dreamily, as stars that tT\'inkle slow : 
 
 *' Yes, I'm born for my laclclie, and my laddie's born for me, 
 
 I will sleep within his arms, and dream there happily ; 
 
 I icill, yes I will, when I love my laddie well, 
 
 I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., lay ; 
 
 I will, yes I will, O my laddie '11 never tell ; 
 
 I will, yes I will, whatever folks might say." 
 
 (Paeis, December 28, 1862.) • 
 
288 THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Wasliington Hotel, Liverpool. ) 
 January 10, 1863. f 
 
 Once again, whilst in a foreign land, I write ; 
 but the ticket lies firmly in my pocket book, that 
 shall carry me by the next steamer to Boston. 
 Perhaps it is this thought, as well as the elegant 
 comfort of this hotel, that makes me feel so alto- 
 gether tranquil. To-day I have been busily going 
 over the city, in domg my last shopping. 
 
 Such a lot of pretty girls as I saw ! I have 
 noticed it every time I have been here at Liver- 
 pool. Why, confound their red petticoats ! Con- 
 found the furs they wear ! Confound them ! — Ah ! 
 yes, my lady, you are right. I am in love with 
 you. Egad ! I am in love with you all over, from 
 the hat, to the gaiter ; for you're a splendid little 
 creature. But then, it's impossible ; I must go up 
 this road, so if you go that, here's to your beauty — 
 God bless you — and I'll tell, upon my word I will, 
 
FEOM HOME. 289 
 
 how the wind blew your dress, when you came 
 around the corner. 
 
 Ou board ship, Friday evening, 6th day. 
 
 We've had a merry evening all since dinner, 
 and indeed we have a merry party on our ship, 
 with two young ladies from Kew York to keep 
 our cabin polite, and their father, an elderly gen- 
 tleman, of, I understand, high business position, 
 to sustain our character for literature and hio;h- 
 toned civility. The captain has gravity enough 
 for the whole Cunard line, and always runs his 
 ship at ten knots an hour. 
 
 I guess I'll dash away at a few more of our 
 company. Opposite me at dinner is a Pennsyl- 
 vanian, an unmarried man, I judge, of about thir- 
 ty-five. He believes in gin-slings as a remedy for 
 all complaints, enjoys a good story at any time, 
 and will tell one himself after a full dinner. At 
 his left are two Englishmen, the one at the left a 
 gentleman of about sixty, a remarkable illustration 
 of a fox-hunting, John Bull Englishman. Portly 
 in his form, florid in his complexion, he growls 
 incessantly at the stupidity of the cooks, at the 
 incivility of the captain, at the making of the ship, 
 or the working of the weather. At the same time 
 he often does, or says a civil thing most civilly. 
 Our ladies number in all five, but two of them 
 rarely rise to the cabin ; I believe the youngest 
 girl didn't come up till the third day. I saw her 
 13 
 
290 THE YANKEE EOT 
 
 then enter the cabin most coquettishlj, and heard 
 her declare that she wonld not stay down any 
 more. A shrewd Boston chap, a strong Quaker, 
 and a live marquis, with two young lieutenants, 
 going to join their regiments in Canada, fill up, 
 with the captain and ladies, the next table. The 
 third table, as it is to my back, I see little of, but 
 I have noticed it has a strong French accent from 
 one Frenchman, and three 'New Orleans Ameri- 
 cans. A Scotchman, and Hungarian, and fonr 
 young men from IN^ew York State, are mixed in. 
 
 " The English fog damps the decks, yon know, 
 a little, but the American sim will dry it," I hear 
 the Quaker say to the ladies, in urging them to a 
 promenade on the deck. 
 
 The day j^asses in the cabin with games of 
 chess, checkers, v/hist, or euchre, and perhaps a 
 fair amount of reading and conversation. Of 
 course we all give way to the meals. Breakfast 
 at eight o'clock ; cold lunch at noon ; dinner at 
 fonr ; tea at six ; and supper as one wishes, from 
 eight to ten. 
 
 Ninth day^ Sunday. — Tliis morning we had 
 service on board, and are having now a quiet 
 Sunday. We bid fair to arrive Thursday, per- 
 haps Wednesday night. Yesterday I sketched the 
 cabin, but, on onr ship at least, the smoke room is 
 as well worthy a sketch. Of itself it can claim 
 little honor, and less beauty ; small, with a rough, 
 flooring, and only four nncushioned benches to 
 
FEOM HOME. 291 
 
 line the sides. Through the day various cigars 
 burn themselves here, and perhaps some slang 
 talk, and some sensible, mingles in with their 
 ashes. But when the dinner is passed, the last 
 nuts cracked, the oranges sugared and eaten, and 
 waiting apples given to the pocket ; then comes 
 the smoker's desire for a cigar, and the general 
 desire for a frolic after so good a dinner. Last 
 night more than on any previous one, a large 
 crowd gathered to the smoke room. There had 
 been a rumor of success in song and repartee 
 the previous night, that drew this evening a full 
 audience. Song and repartee again flew. To me 
 college days had come back with their reckless 
 joviality. We all joined in Auld Lang Syne to 
 their honor. At this point the English ensign 
 took a lively thought. He sprang aside to the 
 marquis. We heard him proposing a bagpipe. 
 There was a general shout : " Yes, yes, bring it on, 
 hurrah for the bagpipe ! " The demand was too 
 strong to be refused. The marquis left, to return 
 with the veritable bagpipe. But oh ! that music ! 
 It was irresistible. It filled the smoke room with 
 a Saturnalia that lasted some two hours. I noticed 
 that while the dance was the most tremendous, the 
 ladies gathered outside for a peep. I overheard one 
 of them say, she could scarcely keep from dancing 
 herself, when the music and the partners were both 
 so abundant. 
 
 Tuesday afternoon — and as beautiful a day as 
 
292 THE TAl^KEE BOY 
 
 ever dawned ; our ship going swiftly, with her 
 sails set, along the coast, to Boston. 
 
 This morning several French songs from a 
 neighboring berth aroused me from sleep. There 
 was no jar of engines, there was no roll of ship. 
 The sense of land stole upon me. In my delight I 
 sang out, in French, to Eobert, who is our stew- 
 ard : 
 
 " Hey, Eobert, toi que j'aime, est-ce que nous 
 sommes arrives ? " 
 
 " Yoila, Yermont, oui, oui, nous sommes ar- 
 rives. 
 
 I recognized the 'New Orleans accent, and 
 sang with a Paris opera song : 
 
 " Sous le beau ciel de la France, 
 Danser, bailer, sauter, 
 Gigotter, 
 Tra la la," etc. 
 
 But we are here under the beautiful heaven of 
 America. My thoughts jump from France with a 
 buoyant spring. I hurry for the deck. Once more, 
 thank God, beneath the light of those fair stars, I 
 see my country : 
 
 " America, of thee, 
 Sweet land of liberty. 
 Of thee I sing." 
 
 There never was a fairer sight than that 
 I^orthern bay appeared in the cold morning. It 
 
^- EEOM HOME. 293 
 
 was now about six o'clock. Tliey were slowly- 
 pulling the ship alongside the dock. The Eno-lish- 
 man that sat oj)posite to me at the table, and I, 
 landed together from the ship. A ISTova Scotian 
 wagon — I will hardly call it American, it looked 
 so Frenchj — was waiting for a job. The English 
 gentleman wanted to drive to some hotel for a 
 breakfast, for, as he expressed it, the ship living 
 had become damn disagreeable. I wanted to drive 
 anywhere, in my own country again. "We got in 
 together, and in the coming daylight drove to the 
 hotel. The barroom fire glowed from its grate ; 
 large armchairs stood near it ; the latest Halifax 
 paper was on the counter, with the book for names 
 of visitors. After nine days at sea I take the pa- 
 per for the latest news ; but hear my English 
 friend, in the mean time, attending to the breakfast : 
 
 " No matter what ; some fish, and some chops, 
 or a beefsteak, and some ham, and some boiled 
 rice — that goes well with chops — and some eggs — 
 mind, fresh eggs ; and give us good coffee — that 
 damn cofiee on the ship is disgusting — and, I say, 
 waiter, two plates of toast." 
 
 Breakfast over, we walked to the height back 
 of the town, where the fortifications are. "Wo met 
 here the English lieutenants, like ourselves out foi^ 
 a walk. They had had breakfast on board the 
 ship. From the hill we looked down on frozen 
 fields. There was no snow. Low, long ledges 
 were beyond that looked Arctic enough. An 
 
294: THE YANKEE BOY 
 
 American burying ground, marked witli stones 
 and small evergreens, was near by, in the mead- 
 ows. In returning to the sbip, we each of ns 
 made several purchases for friends at home. 
 
 Last night we had a semi-political meeting in 
 the cabin. " God save the Queen " and " The 
 Star-spangled Banner " blended in together very 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 Boston town, Hevere House, 11 ddock, Thurs- 
 day evening. — Om' boat came in last night. A 
 rainy day to-day. I leave to-moiTOW. 
 
 Friday night. — " Father, come to supper," 
 and father came half down the stairs before he 
 thought he was called by one he supposed in 
 Europe. He cautioned me to stop. My sister 
 was unwell. He would see her first, so as not 
 to disturb her too suddenly. It was no use: 
 'twas Josey's voice. She knew it was Josey's 
 voice she heard. And we all met again as we 
 had parted : 
 
 " Oh ! may our song still be 
 Nearer, our God, to tliee, 
 Nearer to thee." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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