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 Compliments of 
 
 Jesse Holdom, 
 
 Chicago, 
 U. S. A. 
 
 A SHORT VIEW OF 
 A LONG JOURNEY. 
 
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Glass 
 Book_ 
 
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 Ta 
 
 T HE UBRARy] 
 OF CONGRESS! 
 
 WASHINOTOWJ 
 
A Short View of a Long Journey. 
 
 The Ocean Voyage. 
 
 In midwinter the prospect of crossing the Atlantic, 
 even to summer Southern Seas, is not altogether a calm, 
 inspiring prospect; and yet the bright winter morning 
 of our start gave omen of gentle zephyrs. Smooth 
 seas, followed by a cloudless sky, with Old Sol 
 warming the deck of the ship, and the ocean outside 
 Sandy Hook and all along the shore that day being as 
 quiet and smooth as the Drainage Canal in July, met our 
 noble craft of 20,000 tons, gliding imperceptibly on her 
 way and made expectations for good weather mount high 
 in every male and female breast, but all alike were doomed 
 to disappointment and the hopes of the morning were 
 dashed by the fears of midnight. Those sleeping trav- 
 elers in the bunks below, in the wee sma' hours of the 
 morning, experienced the treachery of old Neptune, for 
 a fierce winter gale from the northwest set in, precipitat- 
 ing a violent rolling motion of the ship, disagreeable to 
 all and unbearable to many, which continued a whole 
 week until we reached historic Trafalgar Bay and 
 came to anchor in the straits inside the shadow of the 
 mighty rock of Gibraltar. 
 
 Our fellow voyagers were largely of the leisure class, 
 good people, enjoying in the autumn of life the fruits 
 of ingenuity, thrift and hard work sown in the spring 
 and reaped in the summer of manhood's prime. Chicago 
 was well represented by some genteel, cultivated people 
 traveling en famille; also by the Whitehouse and the 
 Palmer House and the Court House. New York was rep- 
 resented by the house of Vanderbilt. 
 
 St. Paul's was measurably represented in the person 
 of a dignified gentleman who, for years, paid pew rent 
 
but never occupied the pew, although he was well repre- 
 sented by his wife and daughter, fond of foreign travel 
 and residence, devotees of the muses, admirers of foreign 
 manners and tongues, but helpful church workers when at 
 home, — working the head of the house fairly well when 
 roaming foreign lands. Fletcher, the Apostle of mastica- 
 tion as a fine art, slick and trim, rosy and healthy, a splen- 
 did example of the efficacy of his theories, was voyaging 
 to his beloved Venetian home. His cult may be summed 
 up in chewing all you eat till it is reduced to the weakest 
 fluid and involuntarily percolates to your interior appara- 
 tus — masticating even water before allowing it to assimi- 
 late with eatables gone before ; do this and you can live for 
 a week on what would be an ordinary small meal, resulting 
 in your growing muscular and being well nourished with- 
 out suffering a qualm from indigestion or any interior 
 complaint, prolonging your life indefinitely. Try it. A 
 fine orchestra discoursed music three times a day, and 
 the usual games and friendly talks, with reading, includ- 
 ing the ship's daily Marconigram news, helped while 
 away the tedium of the voyage. An English Lord was 
 the novelty on board. He bobbed into some public prom- 
 inence soon after by auctioning off his ancestral 
 books, bric-a-brac and pictures, which brought fabulous 
 prices, and it is heralded that he transgressed the rules 
 of the House of Peers by voting on measures before tak- 
 ing the Peer's oath, subjecting himself to fines running 
 into thousands of pounds sterling. 
 
 Gibraltar. 
 
 Sailing through Trafalgar Bay, scene of England's 
 great naval victory over the French fleet under Admiral 
 Lord Nelson, one of England's great decisive naval strug- 
 gles against the power of Napoleon, we came under the 
 shadow of that mighty, imposing strategic rock of Gribral- 
 
tar. It is a grim old rock, majestic and defiant. It 
 breathes defiance, bristles with fortifications of impen- 
 etrable strength. One of the largest arsenals and navy 
 yards in the world is here maintained. One hundred and 
 ten war ships of all kinds, from the most modern battle- 
 ships and cruisers with a fleet of torpedo boats, compose 
 the Mediterranean Squadron, of which forty of the largest 
 and most powerful are continuously at or in the vicinity 
 of Gibraltar. The garrison of English soldiers is a large 
 one. The waters of the bay are alive with activity. 
 Crafts of all kinds, busily darting about, are engaged in 
 keeping the war craft furnished with men and ammuni- 
 tion of war and all necessary supplies. 
 
 The town of Gibraltar, with its narrow streets and 
 darkened windows, and all kinds of curious, out-of-date 
 vehicles, drawn mostly by mules, with Spaniards in their 
 quaint costumes, Moors and Africans, walking the streets 
 with their bodies wrapped loosely in linen, their legs 
 bare, with sandals on their feet, give the town an Oriental 
 tinge in strange contrast to the red-coated English sol- 
 diers. Foreigners are not allowed on the rock between 
 sunset and sunrise, during which time the gates are closed 
 and strongly guarded by soldiers. 
 
 Leaving the port in the early evening is a fairy scene; 
 the rock is brilliantly illuminated with many electric 
 lights and far-reaching searchlights shine from hidden 
 recesses ashore and penetrate the darkness, making every 
 object on the waters visible. The Britishers evidently 
 do not intend to be surprised by any hidden foe; they 
 realize the immeasurable importance of this strategic 
 point. Commanding, as it does, the entrance to the Med- 
 iterranean, affording access to the shores of Southern 
 Europe, lapped by its tideless waters and the Orient 
 which lies upon the shores of contiguous seas. It is the 
 highway to the British possessions in India through the 
 Suez Canal, and the short cut to their Australian and 
 New Zealand colonies. 
 
Genoa. 
 
 The storm of the Mediterranean is calm by contrast 
 with the huge rolling billows of the midwinter stormy 
 Atlantic, and our good ship, riding disdainfully through 
 these waters on an even keel, makes a good start on its 
 four-day voyage to Naples. Genoa, from medieval times 
 famed as the home of a great seafaring, mercantile peo- 
 ple, as well as for its warriors and successes in arms, and 
 commerce, and historically imperishable as the birthplace 
 of that intrepid and sagacious old navigator, Columbus, 
 who ploughed a new furrow across the Western Ocean and 
 marked out the way to the shores of the American con- 
 tinent, after three days ' steady steaming, is reached. Of 
 all the places of Europe, Genoa is dearest to the heart 
 of the Americans as the spot from which sprung St. Co- 
 lumbus, the patron saint of all America, whose discovery 
 of this continent was celebrated by the grandest World's 
 Fair of modern times here in Chicago, on which was ex- 
 pended the enormous sum of twenty-seven million dol- 
 lars. We go ashore for a cursory and rapid view of the 
 place, as our good ship tarries but half a day. The city 
 is substantial and in some places beautiful. It is still a 
 place of much commercial importance, and on the streets, 
 along the wharves, is as hustling and busy as South 
 Water street. Crowds refresh themselves in the many 
 wine- shops, where native wine is poured from a pitcher 
 into a generous glass at the cost of a few centimes. 
 
 The view of the town from the harbor is dazzling in the 
 sunlight and the heights of the town and harbor 
 afford a very artistic and picturesque scene. Genoa is 
 noted of all the cities of Italy for its great cemetery or 
 "Campo Santo." It lies back of the fortifications on the 
 heights and is marvelous to behold. There are situated 
 corridors of tombs arranged in a wide stone semi- 
 
circle, with the most remarkable lot of sculpture imag- 
 inable. Some of it is of a most artistic and imposing- 
 kind, by eminent Italian artists. Much of it is, however, 
 quite commonplace and tawdry ; but the scene as a whole 
 is strikingly impressive. Grief is depicted on every tomb. 
 Effigies of weeping, praying widows and disconsolate 
 husbands are much in evidence, all carved in stone. These 
 seem to typify the conventional expression of the grief 
 of the living for the dead. Altars are made, and the 
 patron saint of the house chiseled in marble, with candles 
 burning ; and there were living survivors of the departed 
 at some of these tombs, down upon their knees upon the 
 cold stones, saying prayers for the repose of the souls of 
 their ancestors and their speedy rescue from purgatorial 
 pains. Very devoted, but dreadfully depressing. Reminds 
 one of the Dutchman's soliloquy on the superior good 
 fortune of his dog's demise in contrast to his own, say- 
 ing: 'Veil, ven the damn dog be dead, veil, he be dead; 
 but ven I be dead — vel, I got to go to hell already." The 
 mortuary chapel was large, but not artistic, at least for 
 Italy. It would undoubtedly have looked different in Chi- 
 cago. There was to me a humorous side to all this devo- 
 tion to the dead. I wondered if the weeping widows and 
 widowers, in contracting new matrimonial alliances, took 
 their new conjugal mates to see their weeping statues at 
 the tombs of their predecessors? The celebrated Red Pal- 
 ace is a picture gallery of much interest, and the Cathedral 
 of St. Lorenz interesting. Among its many statutes and 
 paintings there is a painting upon the ceiling depicting 
 the saint stretched upon a gridiron, this being the mar- 
 tyrdom he is reputed to have suffered. 
 
Naples, Pompeii and Sorrento. 
 
 With light hearts, after an enjoyable luncheon 
 ashore, which was most palatable after eleven 
 days of feeding aboard ship, we re-embarked for 
 a final stay until the Neapolitan shore, with its 
 wretched, howling beggars, welcomed us with their 
 noisy importunities. The Mediterranean is a real ocean, 
 and but little of the very attractive coast of Spain and 
 France and Italy is in sight, and some of the most inter- 
 esting islands are barely visible from the steamer's deck. 
 We pass, however, nearest to the islands of Corsica and 
 Elba, scenes in the life, birth and banishment of the great 
 Napoleon. The approach to the Bay of Naples is very 
 picturesque, capped with that grand, smoking, but ter- 
 rible volcano Vesuvius. Naples is the most populous of 
 all the Italian cities, and there is more squalor and beg- 
 gary there than in any other Italian city. They beggar de- 
 scription, so I will not attempt one, as even the 
 recollection of them is distressing. Our ship was ser- 
 enaded by gaily dressed men and women in boats, twang- 
 ing the gay guitar and singing. There were some heroic 
 old men, clad only in bathing trunks, who did some very 
 dextrous diving after silver pieces. They not only dem- 
 onstrated their skill, but powers of endurance, for some 
 of them were in the water more than an hour, and it was 
 early March and anything but warm. We were met by a 
 courier, who, having credentials from Governor Odell of 
 New York and commendations from the Bertolini's, fa- 
 mous Italian bonifaces, I allowed him to appropriate my 
 confidence, and before being dismissed he had, of his own 
 volition, appropriated, in many subtle and secret ways, 
 some of my money. He is a memory with me. He is a smart 
 man. He did me up so nicely that I was long in discover- 
 ing his financial artifices. He had been to New York. 
 He had learned the ropes. He knew Tammany. The 
 
"con" man was his intimate. Neapolitan tariffs seemed 
 high to me, a stranger, but I trusted him, in my inno- 
 cence, until I got onto him at Florence, where, like the 
 little nine-day-old pussies, my eyes were opened and I 
 discovered I was paying a double tariff at the hotel. 
 That day, in my wanderings about beautiful Florence, 
 my courier waxed confidential and communicated to me, 
 among other things, that once in Naples he was president 
 of his society, at which I remarked, in my most dulcet 
 and winning tone, ' ' Was it the Mafia 1 ' ' But my attitude 
 was not sufficiently innocent or convincing to ward 
 off much indignation and choler on his part. He 
 demanded an explanation, with an assumed injured air, 
 whereat I replied that, while I didn't know much about 
 the Mafia that was commendable, he was such an adept 
 at "doing up" foreigners that such qualifications seemed 
 to me might point to him as a person worthy of such a 
 distinction. This courier literally delivered us to the Phil- 
 istines. At stores where we made purchases he would 
 cause us to be assessed about double the real price, and 
 in the evening he would go around and collect his rake-off. 
 At the hotels it was the same, but at Florence my wife's 
 curiosity exposed him in all his villainy. She 
 thought she would make prices at another and 
 more fashionable hotel. She did, and procured better 
 quarters for twelve liras than those we were paying 
 thirty liras for. My courier and I parted. He returned 
 to Naples and the Mafia, but he held me up for first-class 
 fare as a parting evidence of his financial dexterity. 
 Who ever heard of a courier traveling first class in Eu- 
 rope, where they say only Princes, Americans and damn 
 fools indulge in such extravagance. But to do this courier 
 justice, he knew much about Italy, and was very useful 
 as well as luxurious. Our hotel, the Bertolini Palace, 
 was on the heights of Naples. Our first night was beau- 
 tifully clear and moonlight, the only clear one during our 
 
stay. A most brilliant, awe-inspiring and fascinating 
 sight imaginable met our view. The beautiful Bay of 
 Naples, the great city, with its myriad of electric lights, 
 and that eruptive, volcanic Vesuvius made an incom- 
 parable spectacle. On such a night it is phantasmagoria. 
 That night Vesuvius was doing business with much vigor, 
 and flames and smoke could be distinctly seen, with red 
 molten lava rolling down the side of the mountain for 
 hundreds of feet, making an apparently gory path. This 
 was but two weeks preceding the eruption which wrought 
 such havoc and destruction in Naples and adjacent vil- 
 lages. The eruption that night put the Cook funicular 
 railway temporarily out of business and injured several 
 too venturesome tourists, but no one dreamed that that 
 eruption was but the precursor of the dire disaster which 
 so soon followed. 
 
 There are many interesting places in Naples, but 
 neither time or the purpose here in contemplation make 
 it necessary to recount them. The little horses are mar- 
 velous for their speed and endurance. They run with 
 large loads quite fast up steep, narrow streets, urged 
 by their not very humane drivers. The two most im- 
 portant places of interest in Naples are the National 
 Museum, a grand building filled with statuary and relics 
 from Pompeii and Herculaneum. A model of the ruins 
 of Pompeii conveys an excellent idea of their situation 
 and condition. Some of the statuary is heroic in size and 
 the relics from the ruins of Pompeii are very fine and of 
 great interest, and the Aquarium, probably all things 
 considered, is the most complete to be found anywhere. 
 It is very interesting and very fishy. 
 
 Pompeii, with Herculaneum, was destroyed by an erup- 
 tion of Vesuvius, A. D. 76. Its restoration is wonderful 
 and remarkably interesting. The Greeks and Romans 
 here dwelt in opulent magnificence. From these restora- 
 tions it would seem that they were as far advanced in 
 
civilization as we, including artistic refinement in dis- 
 sipation. Temples, amphitheaters, and baths, bear evi- 
 dence of art and comfort. Elegance and cultivated taste 
 are everywhere apparent. There are exhibited bodies 
 of men, women and children exhumed from their cover- 
 ing of lava, which served the purpose of embalming. 
 Teeth and skulls are perfect. Skeletons of animals, in- 
 cluding the domestic cat, taken from the ruins, are well 
 preserved. All kinds of fruits and vegetables are in 
 excellent condition. Even the paintings upon the walls, 
 painted nearly two thousand years ago, show but little 
 evidence of their antiquity. The sight of these ruins was 
 so impressive as never to be forgotten. All the readings 
 of books ever published descriptive of Vesuvius fail to 
 convey but the slightest idea of her real condition, com- 
 parable with visual contact. In driving from Pompeii to 
 Castlemarie and Sorrento one passes through many vil- 
 lages, which afford an opportunity of seeing the Italian 
 people as they are in their own land. This drive is in view 
 of Vesuvius, smoking more densely than Chicago's fac- 
 tory chimneys, and skirts the Bay of Naples through olive 
 and orange groves and vineyards, passing old castles, 
 ancient buildings and quaint statues, making a scene of 
 never ending attractiveness, riveting the attention of the 
 traveler while filling his lungs with keen, fresh air and 
 exhilarating ozone. At Castlemarie there is a navy yard, 
 and at five o'clock in the afternoon three thousand good, 
 tidy, intelligent looking workmen were going from the 
 yards to their homes at the conclusion of their day's 
 work. They had every outward appearance of being- 
 happy and contented. 
 
10 
 
 Rome. 
 
 Koine, the Eternal City of Christendom, is grand, im- 
 posing and impressive. My vocabulary is all too shorn of 
 superlatives to adequately describe it. The first sight on 
 entering the great Cathedral of St. Peter 's is awe inspir- 
 ing. This magnificent, beautiful cathedral is indeed a 
 temple worthy of the Deity who rules us all. It is of 
 tremendous proportions, so vast that it almost baffles 
 belief that it was raised by human hands, guided by hu- 
 man intellect. 
 
 It reflects the divine in its wondrous beauty. Every- 
 thing about it is great, great in every way and from 
 every view-point. There are side chapels larger than big 
 churches. The statuary is heroic and endless. The 
 paintings and mosaics are numerous and beautiful. The 
 tombs are tremendous. All has been reared by the 
 greatest artists who ever lived. The cost must be incom- 
 putable from an intrinsic standpoint. From a traditional 
 and historical view-point the treasures of the world 
 would be inadequate. A mass was beautifully sung, in 
 which a little army of priests officiated and partook. A 
 very loud, animated and vociferous sermon was 
 preached by a distinguished dignitary of the church, in 
 Italian. It was undoubtedly fine, although I did not 
 understand a word of it. At the tomb of St. Peter, a 
 marvelous creation, more than one hundred lights are 
 kept constantly burning. I solved the old story of kiss- 
 ing the Pope's toe. There is an historic bronze statue 
 of St. Peter, and the faithful kiss the big toe of his right 
 foot. I witnessed hundreds of men, women and children 
 of all degrees kiss this toe, and so many millions have 
 done so that the hard metal has worn brassy and shiny. 
 It is an affecting sight to see the little ones raised up 
 to perform this act of idolatrous devotion. 
 
11 
 
 Rome is said to have 365 church edifices, one for 
 every day in the year. Many of them are wonderfully 
 
 beautiful and of magnificent proportions. St. Pan.. Si 
 John and St. Maggoria are three of the finest specimens. 
 They are beautiful and intensely interesting. St. Paul's 
 - -mparatively modern, and its basilica a marvel of 
 beauty. Monks were chanting, and a mass in pi _ 
 The chanting was .-onerous and the music sweetly grand. 
 Many of the ceremonials of the ma>s. to a Protestant, 
 seemed peculiar. That of the "Touch of Peace" is one. 
 It is done in this wise. The priest celebrant touches on 
 the breast lightly with both hands a deacon of the m - 3 
 He proceeds to touch in the same way another monk or 
 priest, and they, one by one. in turn, do likewise, until all 
 are touched. Another ceremonial was a pi ss n of 
 chanting priests going from one chapel to another from 
 the altar where mass was celebrated, the officiating priest 
 being attended by an acolyte, carrying what appears to 
 be a sort of a Chinese umbrella over the head of the 
 priest, who. at the last stopping place, with all his follow- 
 ers, makes a few genuflections, utters a few -ententes, all 
 disperse, and the mass ends. 
 
 The Vatican and the Sistine. or Pope's Chapel, are 
 unique for their glories of design, and as the repositories 
 of priceless treasures. They are rich with the beauties 
 of paintings and sculptures by the greatest masters. 
 There are literally acres of paintings and forests of stat- 
 uary. The library of the Vatican is filled with ancient 
 scrolls and manuscripts, and rare tomes, which cannot 
 be duplicated. It is a veritable store-house of literature, 
 from ancient to modern times. There are miles of corri- 
 dors and halls, all embellished with paintings from wall 
 to ceiling, done in the most ornate of light and brilliant 
 colors. Here are displayed costly presents to the Popes 
 of all time, bestowed by royalty of Christian countries. 
 through the Christian era. These are in gold and silver 
 
12 
 
 and bronze, also vases, statutes, models of churches, ca- 
 thedrals, monasteries, wrought from porphyry, oynx ana 
 many precious stones. The gardens are superb. Fruits, 
 vegetables and flowers are in a high state of cultivation. 
 The Pope is the spiritual ruler of the faithful the world 
 over. The Roman hierarchy is without doubt adminis- 
 tered with masterly wisdom. Its revenues are so vast that 
 the extent of them is not known. As the Pope is canon- 
 ically infallible no accounts are rendered. All the Roman 
 world contribute Peter's pence. The aggregate of this 
 world-wide contribution is fabulous. The institutions 
 maintained by the church may be found wherever the 
 bells of Christendom ring. Christians of other denomi- 
 nations might learn much from the administrative fac- 
 ulty of their Roman brethren. While the church of Rome 
 thrives for much good, yet who can forget that she has 
 spilled oceans of blood in her wake to mark the mainte- 
 nance of her supremacy. 
 
 The Forum and Coliseum are marvelous ruins; walls 
 in some places three yards thick and as staunch, appar- 
 ently, as the immovable hills. These impressive ruins 
 are the result of wars, malignant and inhuman, but so 
 goes the history of the world. One dynasty is built upon 
 the ruins of another. Nations grow and thrive through 
 deeds of blood and destruction. Thrones are built to 
 totter and decay, and what is seen here is but a weird 
 object lesson of this truth. Rome, at one time, reveled in 
 her ancient glory with more than a million of people, and 
 yet war and disease wrought such havoc that her popu- 
 lation sunk to less than 20,000, and her temples, palaces 
 and churches lay in ruins. But to-day she is glorious 
 and majestic, beautiful in her ancient temples, gloriously 
 radiant in her church treasures. To-day she is striving 
 also for modern methods and rebuilding many old places 
 along the line of twentieth century improvement. Her 
 people seem happy and prosperous, and much wealth — 
 
13 
 
 some of it American — centers here. Her streets are 
 brililant with gay throngs of people and fine shops, glit- 
 tering military uniforms, handsome equipages and fast 
 automobiles grace attractive thoroughfares and proclaim 
 the prosperity of the Romans. 
 
 The church of St. Cecilia is of much renown, and was 
 erected in honor of the female saint of this name. Her 
 memory is much revered in Rome, and many conflicting 
 stories are told about her. According to some of these 
 stories she had a very hard and unhappy time of it on 
 this earth, and came to a dreadful finish. She is said to 
 have been parboiled and then slashed three times in the 
 neck with a Saracen scimiter. In the crypt where the 
 remains of this saint were, after many vicissitudes, 
 finally laid to rest, is a beautiful memorial chapel in the 
 Moorish style of architecture, where mass is celebrated 
 every day in her honor. 
 
 The National Museum is very attractive and noted for 
 its graceful statuary. Among the forests of statuary here 
 displayed is the "Dying Gladiator," a beautiful Venus, 
 many of the Greek poets, ancient Emperors of Rome, 
 warriors, sages, popes, cardinals, and other church dig- 
 nitaries, and so on ad infinitum. 
 
 A fortunate, rather hap-hazard good-by visit to St. 
 Peter's found me there on St. Joseph's day. Now, St. 
 Joseph is a very popular saint in Rome. More stores 
 and places of business close in his honor than on Sunday. 
 A small bnt ornately beautiful chapel is here dedicated to 
 St. Joseph. Here are contained many relics of the 
 saints ; among others, some hair of the Blessed Virgin 
 Mary, and a bone of one of the fingers of St. Joseph. 
 This chapel was luminously illuminated and a veritable 
 garden of exotics was before the saint's altar. The chapel 
 is only open to the public on "Saints' Day," and it is 
 regarded as an extreme privilege to be admitted within 
 its sacred precincts. 
 
14 
 
 Our courier was brought up with the famous 
 opera singer, Caruso. He had many stories to 
 tell about this great singer. He was an uneducated, 
 indolent Neapolitan until his beautiful voice was discov- 
 ered, and now he is not quite the pink of perfection, nor 
 are his morals, like the Mikado's, particularly correct. 
 
 In the Catacombs, one mingles with the bones of a 
 million dead, early popes, bishops, martyrs and priests. 
 On the Appian Way is a subterranean catacomb as dark 
 as a thousand black cats. It is the catacomb of Sextus. 
 An old monk pilots the way, and we all carried lighted 
 candles, which seemed to more accentuate the darkness 
 than to furnish light. These catacombs were the refuge 
 for the early Christians hiding from their pagan perse- 
 cutors. Many thousands met their deaths here in varied 
 blood-curdling ways at the hands of barbarians. At the 
 spot where Saint Cecilia is said to have met martyrdom 
 is a representation in stone of this saint as she was 
 found after her death, with three cuts in her neck. It 
 is a ghastly sight. In another catacomb — less spooky — 
 the light of day faintly percolated through crevices, and 
 a few open spaces above. Here the bones and skulls 
 of millions of dead were piled up in all sorts of uncanny 
 shapes, some quite ornamental, making frescoes and 
 dados. Skeletons clothed in monkish garb lay around in 
 niches and some were standing up, as in life. I never 
 before realized that the human skull was susceptible to 
 a high polish, but some of these skulls shone, oh, so 
 brightly. I fondled a few to satisfy myself that they 
 were real skulls. The open air, the sunshine of day and 
 the world of light was appreciably refreshing, after these 
 morbid scenes of the Catacombs. 
 
 The amphitheater, where athletic games were formerly 
 played, is a wonderful structure, and the arena reminds 
 one of the early Christian martyrs who were here slain 
 by pagans and devoured by wild beasts — they "met 
 the tyrant's brandished steel, the lion's gory mane." 
 
15 
 
 In the Borghese gallery is found a most excellent and 
 interesting collection of paintings, statuary and works 
 of art. The Borghese family is one of the most ancient 
 in Italy. From Lucretia, the founder, to the more modern 
 dukes, their influence in Rome and the Empire has been 
 potent. Allied with the Popes, their influence at the 
 Quirinal has been equally powerful. With the aid of 
 the Popes they despoiled the people; protected by Holy 
 Mother Church they have been invincible; their fortunes 
 attest their power. 
 
 The Quirinal is a beautiful palace. This is the palace 
 of the Emperor at the nation's capital. Next to the Ger- 
 man royal palaces it is the most comfortable and home- 
 like in Europe. The situation on one of Rome's seven 
 hills is commanding. Its halls and salons are pictur- 
 esque in the extreme. Draperies, statutes, pictures and 
 bronzes are in abundance. The attendants were civil 
 and the oportunity of a very charming progress through 
 these regal apartments was all one could wish. 
 
 The fashionable drive is called the "Pincian." It 
 arises in terraces from the city level and terminates in 
 a grand park. It is a gay scene Sunday afternoon ; good 
 music, large crowds of people, all neatly dressed, well 
 behaved, and seemingly happy, enjoy the scene and 
 the bracing spring air. The gentry were out in full 
 force, driving in ornate equipages ; among them were 
 some beautiful women, from young misses to old dow- 
 agers, all splendidly and fashionably gowned. Many 
 Americans were there, enjoying life on Rome's fashion- 
 able drive. 
 
16 
 
 Florence. 
 
 The journey to Florence is a welcome diversion after 
 the glories of stately Rome. The country traversed is 
 pleasing to the eye. The scenery of field and mountain 
 is picturesque, dotted with quaint old towns by the way. 
 Immense vineyards and snow-clad mountain peaks are 
 constantly in sight. Agricultural processes are not 
 American by many centuries. They are in keeping with 
 any age B. C. Ox teams do the plowing and haul the 
 loads along the country roads. 
 
 Florence is quaintness itself, old and medieval in every 
 nook and corner. It is the center of the world of art. It 
 is pure art, the mecca to which lovers of art do flock. 
 The American colony is large. The stranger within 
 her gates is the prosperity of Florence. American dol- 
 lars here pay just tribute to art. Artists of all nations 
 may be seen at work in most of the principal galleries. 
 Many of the copies of the great masters evidence the 
 genius of the student. Their paintings reveal masterly 
 talent. These artists are very attractive characters, 
 some of them elderly ladies, one of whom we afterwards 
 encountered riding in a stately carriage with two men 
 in livery on the box. She was undoubtedly a person 
 of importance, a lover of art for the sake of art. Then 
 there are the typical student-looking, rough haired and 
 bewhiskered gentlemen. Evidently these are the real im- 
 pecunious Italian artists you find in novels. 
 
 Florence is a very engaging place. Novelty and beauty 
 are on every hand. Cathedral dome and church spires, 
 palaces and art galleries, public buildings and monu- 
 ments and campanile, form the centers of artistic attrac- 
 tion to the traveler. They are beautiful in their exterior 
 and are stored with treasures of art nowhere else met 
 with in such rich profusion. The Vecchia bridge, which 
 
17 
 
 spans the Arno, is more than four centuries old, and is 
 lined on either side with most attractive shops, where 
 are enticingly arrayed works of art, such as books, pic- 
 tures, sculpture, Etruscan ware, silver, gold, bronzes, 
 brasses, mosaics, ivories and all imaginable articles of 
 ancient and modern make. Florence is in the pretty 
 valley of the Arno, and almost surrounded by mountains. 
 The views of the city from the hills are charming. Among 
 the most historic of the statues of the old-time Floren- 
 tine heroes is one of great beauty, erected to Savonarola. 
 Among the last century patriots of Italy are Victor 
 Emanuel, Garibaldi and Mazzini. The cathedral, with 
 its historical campanile, and the baptistry, with its re- 
 markable bronze doors, are, from the exterior, like a 
 huge, dazzling mosaic, grand in symmetrical, artistic pro- 
 portions. The interior of the cathedra] is so overshad- 
 owed by the unusual beauty of its facade that to the 
 casual observer it is somewhat of a disappointment. The 
 Pitti and Uffizi galleries, the church of St. Croce, the 
 Pantheon of Florence and the Museum, are the principal 
 repositories of artistic treasures. An attempt to de- 
 scribe these treasures would be a futile task, and endless. 
 There are miles of tapestries, tons of Etruscan ware and 
 old copper in every conceivable form ; Egyptian mummies, 
 skeletons in earth, and many other gruesome objects; 
 statues of all kinds; Rubens and Raphaels of the finest; 
 dozens of Madonnas and Holy Families, Ascensions, Res- 
 urrections, Crucifixions, Last Suppers, the Betrayal Kiss 
 of Judas, the Birth of the Savior, Adorations of the Wise 
 Men and Shepherds, Presentations in the Temple, 
 Simeons in the Temple, rejoicing at the sight of the 
 infant Jesus ; Annunciations of the Blessed Virgin, many 
 saints and some sinners, Adam and Eve in the Garden 
 of Eden, Eve handing out the apple to Adam, the Lord 
 going after Adam and Eve after they got wise and 
 started a hunt for raiment, and manv miles of valuable 
 
18 
 
 paintings of kindred subjects. There are more Raphaels, 
 Murillos and Rubens than one would surmise those art- 
 ists, with indomitable industry, could have painted in a 
 long and busy life. Some fine statuary by Michael An- 
 gelo was much in evidence in these galleries. 
 
 The palace of the Medici, the residence of the old grand 
 dukes, is a fine place, and in some respects home-like. 
 Here are many cabinets with secret drawers, all finely 
 and intricately executed, marvels of artistic beauty. In 
 the church of the Annunciation are some very gorgeous 
 paintings on the ceiling, all in elaborate gold, gold being 
 the prevailing tint in the decorations. In another church 
 was a tapestry like a temple of beautiful mosaic, with 
 chaste and fine carving, said to be six centuries old. 
 
 The city hall is a structure of much beauty, very spa- 
 cious, and celebrated for its eight statues of Hercules 
 in different feats of strength. In the Museum are much 
 old armor, gems, medals and medallions, also old church 
 curios in the shape of stalls and furniture, relics of 
 martyrs and scenes of persecutions ; some marvelously 
 wrought cameos, exquisitely carved ; some old sarcophagi, 
 a most excellent statue of St. George, and more other 
 things of artistic interest than could be written in a 
 volume. 
 
 Florence is a wonderful net-work of narrow streets, 
 with large squares and a park of considerable extent. 
 Shrines of the virgin and saints are in many places, 
 before which the piously inclined may turn their eyes 
 upward while they utter a brief Ave Maria or a pater- 
 noster. A visit to the poorer quarter of the city was 
 repaid by a sight of the Florentines as they appear in 
 their poverty and their work. They are orderly, clean 
 and industrious. The meat, vegetable and flower mar- 
 kets are well kept, the people well behaved, and in trav- 
 eling miles in these parts we were met with civility, and 
 had no cause for concern for our safety. 
 
19 
 
 There are two Episcopal churches in Florence, one 
 English and the other American. The anomalous condi- 
 tion prevails that the English church is ministered to by 
 an American priest and the American church by an Eng- 
 lish priest. This fact was verified to me by Bishop Pot- 
 ter, of New York, who confirmed a class at the American 
 church in April last. The American church, which is 
 named St. James, is quite a large and pretentious edifice, 
 partaking of its artistic environment. The Sunday I 
 attended service there was a large congregation, made 
 up principally of those American women who had left 
 their husbands at home and such of their children as 
 were not left in the care of their confiding husbands. 
 Having passed the alms basin I am able to testify that 
 to the credit of their sex they were liberal with their 
 liras. 
 
 Florence was left with many a keen regret. The jour- 
 ney to Venice took us over a part of the mountain range 
 of the Apenines to Bologna, during which there was a 
 snow storm, reminder of our Western home. The cars 
 were cold, and but for the presence in our compartment 
 of a happy German bride and groom, who were evidently 
 oblivious to the chilly atmosphere, we might have been 
 miserable, but their cheery presence created an atmos- 
 phere of warmth and happiness. 
 
 Venice. 
 
 Venice was reached at ten at night, in the dark and in 
 a pouring rain. The gondolas are the Venetian cabs, in 
 one of which we bestowed ourselves and our hand bag- 
 gage. We were sheltered from the weather by a canopy 
 which is used on such occasions. We started in about 
 the broadest part of the Grand Canal, which was radiant 
 with electric lights. As in a cab, we had no fellow pas- 
 sengers. We were really strangers on strange waters. 
 
20 
 
 All seemed well and pleasant until, somewhat to our 
 dismay, our gondola glided into a very narrow aud very 
 dark eanal. The canals seemed to get more twisted and 
 more dark as we progressed. AVe had concluded that the 
 hotel was near the station, so after twenty minutes, and 
 then half an hour, had passed, and still no hotel — noth- 
 ing but the quiet splash of the oar of the gondolier and 
 the gentle swashing of the water against the gondola — 
 we peered out into the darkness. There was nothing to 
 be >een. The situation became a little spooky. Conver- 
 sation seemed by mutual consent to have stopped. The 
 quiet beeanie almost oppressive. It seemed that we 
 could hear each other breathe. Forty minutes passed, 
 and still no lights and no hotel, and the tension became 
 acute. About this time my mind dwelt upon the trage- 
 dies of the fifteenth century, when it was a common 
 thing for strangers to be robbed by the gondoliers and 
 their bodies thrown into some dark corner of a narrow 
 and unfrequented canal. AVe were ready at any moment 
 for the denouement of a dreaded tragedy; but at the end 
 of forty-rive minutes the suspense was dispelled and the 
 gondola stopped under a bridge, and there was the hotel, 
 with hospitable and welcoming hands reaching to assist 
 us out of the gloom of the gondola and our fears, and to 
 assnre us that our rooms were ready. AVe soon forgot 
 our trepidations of the journey when we found ourselves 
 in a generously furnished room, with a bath attached, 
 with a full flow of real hot water as well as cold. The 
 Hotel Danielli, in which we were, proved a very accept- 
 able and comfortable hotel. It was an old A^enetian pal- 
 ace, built originally in 1400 A. D., and has been occupied 
 by Doges and much royalty and many foreign ambassa- 
 dors. George Sand lived here in 1834. Lord Bacon 
 often graced its ancient halls. It still maintains its pala- 
 tial character, with great halls and stair-cases, but con- 
 tains modern steam heat and bath rooms. 
 
21 
 
 But Venice — oh, it is charming, delightful; so quaint, 
 so picturesque, so aquatic, nothing like it anywhere on 
 earth or water; it is fascinating. Everything about it, 
 including the people, is attractive. There is plenty of 
 life and color. In fact, all is life and color, from the 
 pink cheeks of the babies to the pink ribbons of their 
 nurses. Venice is so unlike any other city that she stands 
 unique, alone. The coloring here is gold and blue and 
 the varied colors you see in pictures of St. Mark's and 
 the palace of the Doges. The church of St. Mark's is a 
 perfect gem. The carvings in stone and ivory and 
 porphyry are marvelous. Her ornate adornments are 
 wonderful, and her mosaics are of the best and by the 
 most eminent of the old masters. The palace of the 
 Doges is replete with handsome rooms and galleries, 
 depicting the history of Venice under the Doges. The 
 dungeons of the palace, some below the water line, are 
 dark, malodorous and ding} 7 , where all sorts of cruelties 
 were practiced in ancient times upon prisoners of state 
 and others. Happily, even here in Italy, those days are 
 gone forever, but their history reflects no credit on any 
 era of Christendom. 
 
 The canals and buildings of Venice are in much the 
 same condition as they have been for centuries past, but 
 the steamboats which traverse the grand canal and stop 
 at all the important landings, give the place a modern 
 tinge and remind one of the penny boats of London's 
 Thames, for that is what they are — penny boats; for 
 what would pass for a penny in London is the boat fare. 
 Many modern yachts and ships of war seen in the harbor 
 are in strange contrast to the medieval surroundings. 
 The gondola is still the same as in olden times. The 
 gondolier is a very happy and a very sturdy fellow. He 
 seems to enjoy his work and every master stroke of his 
 oar, in rhythmic tune, seems a pleasure. He is very civil 
 and smiling and most reasonable in his charges. 
 
22 
 
 While Venice is composed of water streets, yet there 
 are shore streets and squares, mostly very narrow, 
 flanked with tall fifteenth and sixteenth century build- 
 ings. A walk in these streets and over the Rialto bridge 
 is both novel and interesting. No autos to dodge, no 
 bicycles, no horses to tread on you, and no loud-voiced 
 drivers hollering at you. Many of these little, narrow 
 streets have attractive stores of all sorts within their 
 narrow quarters. They are well patronized. No horses 
 or mules or wheeled vehicles are seen in these streets. 
 It is said that many poor people live and die without go- 
 ing away from Venice and without seeing a live horse. 
 In walking these narrow ways one is startled and sur- 
 prised by suddenly coming upon a large square with 
 beautiful church edifices, palaces, government buildings, 
 trees, plants and statues. 
 
 It is quite the thing in Venice to feed the pigeons of 
 St. Mark. There are hundreds of them. An Italian sells 
 little paper bags filled with corn. The birds fly around 
 and eat the kernels from the hand and they perch upon 
 the arms, shoulders, and sometimes the hats of those 
 feeding them. They are wonderfully tame birds. No 
 one is permitted to be otherwise than kind to them. 
 
 The painting of the Madonna has occupied artists of 
 both great and lesser fame, and these paintings are seen 
 in profusion in many galleries. In one hall of the Na- 
 tional Gallery of Venice I saw the following : Madonna 
 enthroned ; Madonna enthroned with saints ; Madonna at 
 prayer ; Madonna with St. Peter, John the Baptist, Cath- 
 erine and Rosa; two plain Madonnas; Madonna, Mary 
 Magdalena and Catherine; the Madonna of the two trees; 
 Madonna with Saints Paul and George; Madonna in a 
 beautiful landscape; Madonna by Bellini restored; the 
 Madonna painted by that peerless artist, Titian, who 
 lived to be ninety-nine years old, and was painting a very 
 celebrated picture of St. Peter at the time of his death. 
 
23 
 
 There is a profusion of saints and all manner of scrip- 
 tural subjects in the picture galleries of Italy. 
 
 Many of the paintings are beautiful, but some are 
 grotesque to absurdity, inciting one's bump of irrever- 
 ence at times. 
 
 In addition to the paintings there are many old fash- 
 ioned musical instruments in another hall ; a real Stradi- 
 varius and Paginini's own violin; treasures of immense 
 intrinsic and historic value. In another hall there 
 were pictures of the old masters of music; old coins and 
 medals; oM maps and topographical surveys; beautiful 
 carvings in wood and stone; death masks of noted people 
 of by-gone centuries; old fashioned clothes, worn by the 
 subjects of the death masks ; some gory relics in the way 
 of limbs, etc. from assassinated rulers ; all kinds of old 
 fashioned royal chinaware ; guns, armor, pikes, axes and 
 other munitions of ancient warfare. 
 
 There is a general impression that sunny Italy is al 
 
 ways sunny and warm. This is a delusion. It has its 
 
 exceptions. On a cold raw day I observed a flurry of 
 snow in the afternoon. 
 
 Milan. 
 
 Our departure from Venice was very different from 
 our arrival. Under the noon-day sun of a bright, warm 
 Spring day with the blue Italian sky above us, we 
 went our way to Milan. On this journey we fell in with 
 the Duke and Duchess of Manchester; the latter before 
 her alliance matrimonial with the Duke was a Miss Zim- 
 merman of Cincinnati. The Duke was making his an- 
 nual pilgrimage to Verona, as the lineal representative 
 of the ancient house of Montague. He is apparently a 
 fine young fellow, quite handsome, and the Duchess 
 seems to have him well in hand. 
 
24 
 
 Milan is an attractive, bustling, noisy city and lias two 
 great attractions, its Cathedral and the Scala Opera 
 House, the home of Italian opera. In the grand Cathe- 
 dral we attended a high mass which lasted over-long, 
 but was, musically, very fine. The Sermon, which was 
 in Italian, lasted about fifty minutes. It was stentorian 
 in thunderous oratory with grand climaxes. The plead- 
 ings to sinners never hit me once ; but what would other- 
 wise have been monotonous was relieved by the fervid 
 gesticulations in which the priest indulged to emphasize 
 the good points I doubt not he made. 
 
 To offset this long service we attended at night the 
 opera at the Scala. The orchestra was great in numbers 
 and execution; how many instruments there were I don't 
 know, but its size may be gauged from the fact that there 
 were eight double basses and three harps. The Italians 
 travel around the clock all the hours of the day, so that 
 the main opera ended at twenty-four o'clock, after which 
 time there was a glorious ba'let, with a new orchestra, all 
 in full blast at one o'clock when we left. The audience 
 was quite demonstrative and called the principal singers, 
 including a glorious tenor, and the composer of the opera 
 before the curtain many times at the end of each act. 
 
 The Cathedral is a massive gothic structure. It is 
 wonderful in stone carvings with thousands upon thou- 
 sands of statues and bas-reliefs. The pillars in the 
 Cathedral are mammoth ; a veritable forest of stone, like 
 unto a forest of big trees. The coffined remains of St. 
 Charles Borromeo, the Cathedral's titular saint, who has 
 been dead since 1584, are exhibited. On this occasion the 
 priest put on his robe, lit the candles, rolled down the 
 silver side of the saint's casket and there he was, fingers 
 bejeweled, head crowned, crucifixes in several places, 
 and, aside from his nose, which has been worn somewhat 
 by the remorseless tooth of time, he looked natural, con- 
 sidering the time he had been dead. Mass is said before 
 
25 
 
 his remains, on an altar there erected, every morning in 
 the year. His tomb and chapel are the richest in pre- 
 cious stones and diamonds of anything of the kind I know 
 of. From there is a climb of 360 steps to the top of the 
 Cathedral, just under the statue of the Virgin, which is 
 at the extreme top of the tower. The views from this 
 point are very fine, and the snow-clad peaks of the Ape- 
 nines are clearly seen. 
 
 There is a quaint old church here, S. Lorenzo, bui't in 
 the Fourth Century and said to be the first church built 
 in Milan. It is surmised that originally it was a heathen 
 temple. 
 
 The Italian Lakes. 
 
 The chain of Italian Lakes, consisting of Lakes Como, 
 Lugano and Maggiore, form a most enchanting and ever 
 pleasing attraction. The first of these, Lake Como, is 
 reached by train in two hours from Milan. It is a per- 
 fect gem, and as we rode its placid waters on a commodi- 
 ous and most comfortable little steamer, the shores pre- 
 sented entrancing scenery, with high, rugged, snow clad 
 mountain peaks in constant view. In the occasional sun- 
 light of a cloudy afternoon the varied tints on the water 
 were magnificent. The air was cold and bracing. It was too 
 early by a month for warm weather. Our first night on 
 Lake Como was passed at Bellagio in a hotel named after 
 the town. It is grandly situated at the fork of the lake. 
 It is a veritable marble palace. Our sleeping apartment, 
 was like an ancient baronial hall — high and large, with a 
 handsome marble fireplace and a blazing wood fire, 
 which was, in the chilly spring air, a great comfort. 
 This hotel is palatial in size and appointments, with lofty 
 ceilings, grand decorations and finely carved statues and 
 artistic paintings. After the din and roar of Milan, this 
 was the quiet of the silent tomb. The corridors had such 
 
26 
 
 a chilly effect that the comfort and warmth of our blaz- 
 ing fire was accentuated. 
 
 The scenery of Lakes Lugano and Maggiore is sub- 
 lime, mountain peaks with winter snows rising grace- 
 fully from the water's edge; old castles, old churches and 
 quaint villages line the surrounding shores ; ancient and 
 queer looking sailing boats with kite shaped sails, sup- 
 plemented by modern steamers and pleasure yachts, dot 
 the waters of the Lakes. Afternoon tea on the upper 
 deck of our little steamer, in the cold spring air, with 
 flurries of snow, was not an altogether disagreeable ex- 
 perience, but really quite enjoyable. The ozone of the 
 air was exhilarating and made the blood tingle and freely 
 circulate. Here was Nature in her loveliest mood; such 
 a contrast from the arts of man in the crowded cities 
 of Naples, Eome, Florence, Venice and Milan, to these 
 beautiful scenes of nature. In going over the mountain 
 passes to the different lakes in little narrow gauge cars, 
 the views were beautifully rugged. We passed through 
 flurries of snow at times, and actually saw a brood of 
 chickens with the old mother hen scratching for them in 
 the snow. 
 
 At Baveno, with a grand view of Belle Isle on which 
 stands one of the colossal statues of the world — that of 
 St. Charles Borromeo — in the comfortable hotel Belle 
 Vue, the pure air and the quiet solitude of lake and 
 mountain brought with it sound and refreshing sleep. 
 
 Veeona. 
 
 From these captivating scenes we once more turn our 
 faces cityward, and visit quaint Verona, replete with en- 
 joyable surprises. However, Verona is in a state of 
 decadence; population and trade decreasing; yet what 
 there is left of the people seem happy and contented. 
 Still it is the contentment which comes of stagnation and 
 
27 
 
 dry rot. Verona, romantic Verona, redolent with the 
 memory of Romeo and Juliet, made immortal by Shakes- 
 pere's tragedy of that name, where the fend of the rival 
 houses of the Montagues and Capulets resulted in the 
 tragic death of these ardent lovers. Juliet's tomb is the 
 mecca of all pilgrims to Verona. To view it is to suffer 
 disillusion. The figment of fancy and romance vanish 
 as the dark night at the dawn of day. Our guide, a 
 veteran of the bloody field of Solferino, got into such an 
 exciting wordy warfare with the attendant as to much 
 threaten the repose of the once adorable, beautiful, but 
 now very much dead and decayed Juliet. I expected 
 every moment to see a fair apparition arise and say in 
 dulcet, silvery strains, "Hush! Peace! Be still. Dese- 
 crate not my last resting place with your vulgar and 
 unseemly mouthings", but when this babel of unruly 
 tongues ceased all was still. Here is a bridge of Roman 
 construction, whose foundations date back two thousand 
 years. An amphitheatre is here as old as the one at 
 Rome. Dante has a fine monument in the public square, 
 and there are many monuments raised to perpetuate the 
 memory of the Scaligers, former rulers of this part of 
 Italy, who typify their ascent in life by a coat of arms 
 consisting of ladders. The buildings here are mostly in 
 the old style of Italian architecture. The stores and 
 market places are very pleasing. 
 
 Lakes Garda and Riva. 
 
 The most attractive way to the Austrian Tyrol from 
 Italy is by steamer on the superb Lake Garda. Of 
 all the lakes of Italy and Switzerland, for beauty of en- 
 vironing scenery and changing tints of its waters, 
 this stands par excellence. Duzenzano lies at the south- 
 ern or Italian end of this beautiful lake, and Riva in the 
 Austrian Tyrol at its extreme northern end. Every mo- 
 ment of this four-hour journey is replete with grand, 
 
28 
 
 inspiring, rugged scenery. Riva is about two miles 
 north of the Austrian-Italian frontier. The lake nar- 
 rows as it nears this point, and on either shore rise, 
 almost perpendicularly from the water's edge, huge 
 rocks several thousand feet high. The west bank of the 
 lake is noted for its large fruit-growing farms. They 
 are all terraced and boxed in to protect the trees from 
 the inclemency of winter weather, and they are as care- 
 fully tended as a nurseryman tends his choicest plants. 
 Riva is one of the beauty spots of earth, where every 
 prospect pleases and even man does smile. It is a 
 sweetly clean little town and has no unwholesome or un- 
 savory corners as are sometimes met with in other places. 
 It is most attractive, and at night, when it shines under 
 the blaze of electric lights, it has the effect of a beautiful 
 stage setting. You walk around feeling as if you were 
 wandering in some fairyland, instead of a quaint, real, 
 old-fashioned Tyrolean village. Grand old Baldo, whose 
 rugged magnificence challenges our admiration, and 
 makes us stand in awe at its ponderous grandeur, rises 
 before us, and in its shadow this Tyrolean village nestles. 
 From these inspiring scenes of nature we traverse a little 
 mountain pass to Mori, and thence by through express 
 to Botzen, and then wind our way through a pictur- 
 esque valley of the Tyrol to the Mecca of our journey, 
 Meran, and our good friend Mr. John L. Stoddard. 
 
 X Meran. 
 
 After so long a journey away from home and friends 
 it was indeed a thrilling sensation to meet with the warm, 
 cordial and hearty reception which Mr. and Mrs. Stod- 
 dard accorded to us on our arrival on the station plat- 
 form, and away we drove with them through this his- 
 torical, quaint, attractive city. We were soon ushered 
 into Villa Pomona, the Stoddard residence, a home of 
 
29 
 
 culture and luxury, from every corner of which may be 
 seen enchanting Tyrolean mountain views. 
 
 For eight most pleasant and never to be forgotten 
 agreeable days our hosts nearly overpowered us 
 with their many kindnesses. To every point of 
 interest, and to many persons, equally interest- 
 ing, we were taken. Here at Meran are attract- 
 ive parks and drives, charming music, grand val- 
 leys and comfortable hotels. It is really a garden spot 
 of the earth, from which nothing but that which charms 
 and interests meets the eye. The mountains which en- 
 viron Meran are rich with ancient castles, from Schloss 
 Tyrol to Schloss Furst. Schloss Furst is a wonderful 
 old castle, in which in olden times was imprisoned the 
 last of the Meistersingers. It has been modernized as to 
 comfort, but is still ancient as to its walls, its little chapel 
 and its grim old dungeon. 
 
 During our stay in Meran there was presented a pasto- 
 ral out-of-door performance of Andreas Hofer, the hero 
 of the Tyrol, who defended it from the invasion of the 
 French under the great Napoleon. The historic fight 
 was gone over again in a play, under the mountains and 
 castles where the scenes thus mimicked actually occurred. 
 The actors are all peasants and villagers, men, women 
 and children descendants of the men who did the real 
 fighting. The theatre is out of doors, directly under the 
 shadow of Schloss Tyrol, where the real warfare occurred 
 in 1809. Cannons were fired from the mountain sides, 
 just as in the original strife. The scene is the village, 
 and the villagers are out, engaged in their usual sports 
 and work. It is al! very realistic. The meetings of the 
 patriotic citizens ; the harangues which fire the patriotic 
 hearts with the enthusiasm which impels them to march 
 to the defense of their beloved Tyrol; the scenes of the 
 wounded and the dying; and the prisoners brought in 
 from the battlefield, followed by the return of the victori- 
 
30 
 
 cms band. Then come the reverses; the betrayal of 
 Hof er, their leader, a noble character, to the French ; his 
 trial and ultimate execution. It is astonishing what 
 splendid actors these simple people make. There is not 
 a professional actor amongst them. The tableaux were 
 grand and imposing, and many of the scenes were so 
 pathetic that tears were brought to the eyes of many of 
 the audience. The day was perfect, the scene inspiring, 
 the people sitting in the open air, the crowds going to 
 and from the place of performance, — which was on the 
 outskirts of the town — their entertainment in booths set 
 up in an adjoining field, was all indeed quite novel and 
 interesting. 
 
 The Tyroleans are as patriotic today as they were in 
 1809, and these performances tend to keep burning in the 
 hearts of the people the fire of patriotism and love for 
 their grand, majestic Tyrol. Amng the performers were 
 the man from whom I bought a hat, another who brought 
 the trunk from the station, and the village wood-carver, 
 a grand old man, with a wealth of flowing white beard. 
 
 This mimic army of Tyroleans brings to the mind of 
 an American another historical conflict which took p'ace 
 in this country, when the ragged Continental Army 
 under Washington was engaged in fighting for its liber- 
 ties. 
 
 While at Meran we made a pilgrimage to a very pretty 
 church, founded by St. Valentine, somewhere about the 
 2nd Century A. D. It is very popular with young 
 people, who patronize it for the celebration or their 
 marriage nuptials, as St. Valentine's church is supposed 
 to augur a very happy wedded life to those who are there 
 joined in the bonds of wedlock. While Andreas Hofer 
 is the hero of the Tyrol — John L. Stoddard is its his- 
 torian — at Meran, Mr. Stoddard is certainly its most 
 popular distinguished resident. 
 
31 
 
 Innsbruck. 
 
 Necessity, which knows no law, not even the law of 
 hospitality, compelled ns to depart from entrancing 
 Meran and the genial Stoddards, after eight days of 
 generous kindly hospitality. While we left with regret, 
 we resumed our journey with buoyant spirits, for in a 
 measure our faces were now turned homeward although 
 some diversions from the beaten path were contemplated. 
 Our next objective point was Innsbruck, the capital city 
 of the Tyrol. Through the valley of the Tyrol to Botzen 
 the fruit trees were in blossom, in such wealth and pro- 
 fusion that beggars description. The coloring was rich 
 and varied, and there were literally miles upon miles of 
 these trees. They had the appearance of huge floral 
 bouquets. The trip was delightful. We climbed over 
 these Tyrolean mountains through the Brenner Pass. It 
 is a superb scenic trip. The mountains are grand. The 
 pass rises to a height of nearly 5,000 feet, and in the 
 middle of April took us into snow. One lake we passed 
 was frozen over, and flurries of snow were encountered 
 at the highest points. The magnificent scenery, with 
 numerous churches and castles dotting the way, the 
 rugged mountains, varied in their formation, made the 
 journey a continual delight to the eye and the senses. 
 
 Innsbruck is a qaint old town. It is replete with 
 historic incidents. The environing mountains are won- 
 derfully picturesque, and at that time were covered with 
 snow. The drives are fine, and the park and Botanical 
 Gardens large and handsome. There is a Terrace drive 
 which affords wonderful views of mountain, valley and 
 city. There on the heights is a large monument of 
 Andreas Hofer, the hero of the Tyrol. While he was of 
 the common people, as a lover of his grand old Tyrol, his 
 memory is preserved with greater honor than that of any 
 of the ancient or modern kingly rulers. He was shot by 
 
32 
 
 the French, but his remains are entombed in the Cathe- 
 dral, surmounted with a beautiful monument, near that 
 of the great Maximilian who flourished in the sixteenth 
 century. 
 
 There is also a museum, containing trophies of Hofer 
 in his military campaign for Tyrolean liberty. It is 
 wonderful what he accomplished with his rugged peas- 
 ants. He was invincible, and defeated Napo'.eon and the 
 armies of Bavaria whenever he met them in their 
 incursions into the Tyrol in an attempt to subject it to 
 the rule of Napoleon. From its mountain fastnesses 
 Hofer always came off Conqueror. 
 
 Constance. 
 
 From Innsbruck to Lake Constance is a panorama of 
 enchantment and scenic delight. Along the valley of the 
 Inn and over the imposing and picturesque Arlborg Pass 
 we wend our way from Austria and the Tyrol to Ger- 
 many. The Arlborg Tunnel, next to the St. Gothard and 
 barring the Simplon Tunnel, opened in the early summer, 
 is the largest in Europe. It took seventeen minutes for 
 the train to pass through it at a good rate of speed. It 
 is six and one-half miles long and cost seven and one-half 
 million dollars. The town of Constance is replete with 
 legendary and historic interest. Many evidences of its 
 early occupation by the Romans are apparent. Here in 
 the Council Hall, before the Imperial Council, was tried 
 that great Bohemian Protestant reformer, John Huss. 
 He was contemporary with Wickliff, and translated 
 many of his writings and expounded his religious tenets. 
 Huss was burned as a heretic and his ashes cast into the 
 Rhine. The Hotel Insel was formerly an ancient Domin- 
 ican convent, and in April it was as cold and sepulchral 
 as a monk's cell. 
 
33 
 
 Baden Baden. 
 
 The Black Forest stretches from Constance to Baden 
 Baden. The journey to the latter place proved another 
 pleasing and gratifying scenic route. The railway trav- 
 erses a marvelously pretty mountainous course. Numer- 
 ous tunnels are encountered and in the steep ascent in 
 many places the road doubles upon itself so that in the 
 winding path one tunnel at intervals will be nearly imme- 
 diately over another which the train has passed through. 
 Many pretty little villages are seen nestling deep in ra- 
 vines, with swiftly running streams swollen with the 
 spring rains roaring in their onward plunge down the 
 steep places. The fruit trees were in full blossom, ren- 
 dering the air sweet with their fragrance. 
 
 Baden Baden is one of the most admirable of all the 
 European spring resorts. Its bath houses, drink halls 
 and public places of entertainment are perfect in their 
 appointments, and maintained on a most generous scale. 
 Neatness and cleanliness are impressively apparent. The 
 public gardens are pretty, and sweet music is discoursed 
 there three times daily for the entertainment of visit- 
 ors, it being quite the thing to dine in the open air. Music 
 and dining out of doors are strengthening and invigorat- 
 ing to the physical body, and soothing and uplifting to 
 the mind. The drives through the forest are charming. 
 The sombre green of the pines, mingling with the lighter 
 colors of the beech, oak and chestnut, form a striking 
 contrast to the green turf and the azure sky. The dark 
 vines trailing from the grand old castles are a glorious 
 sight. The villages in the forest are old, cleanly and 
 quaint, and the villagers have every appearance of neat, 
 orderly folk. The view from the summit of the 
 old castle high above the forest trees discloses a 
 panorama not to be duplicated for beauty and scenic 
 grandeur. Schloss Uburg has a refreshment garden, dis- 
 
34 
 
 closing splended vistas of forest scenes, where yon may 
 partake of your afternoon coffee with cake in place of the 
 English tea, served by civil and attractive German maid- 
 ens — "Kaffee und Kuchen," they call it, and it is good. 
 The cake is so plain and healthful that a baby without 
 teeth might eat a piece and not cry in the night. 
 
 Franklin Bi-Centennial — Paris. 
 
 We now raise the 1870 cry of the Germans, k 'On to 
 Paris." The glories of nature and the beauties of out- 
 door scenes which have delighted our senses' since we 
 left Duzenzano are now reluctantly left behind, to remain 
 only as a sweet, ineffaceable memory. Pastoral scenes 
 are now forsaken for the hurly-burly roar of congested 
 city life. 
 
 Paris and London remain for brief visits. 
 
 Paris is Paris, London is London, as everybody knows. 
 
 They have neither duplicates nor rivals. Unchallenged 
 and incomparable they stand on the zenith heights as the 
 world's grandest and most famous metropolitan cities. 
 
 Two incidents, one in each of these cities, are of suffi- 
 cient interest to be here set down. 
 
 The Bi-Centennial celebration of the birth of that ver- 
 satile constructive statesman and philosopher, Benjamin 
 Franklin, was celebrated with impressive ceremonies at 
 the Palace of the Trocadero in Paris, with the unveiling 
 of a beautiful statute of Franklin on the Eue Franklin 
 near by the Trocadero, presented by Mr. John H. Harjes, 
 an American banker, residing in Paris. Admission was 
 by ticket. 
 
 The fraternizing of the Americans and Parisians in 
 the beautiful hall of the Trocadero was an inspiring sight. 
 The full seating capacity of the hall was tested to its 
 utmost. Many Americans of prominence were seated 
 
35 
 
 upon the platform, among others the donor of the statue 
 and one of his partners, the famous capitalist, J: Pier- 
 pont Morgan, whose visage was illumined with the radi- 
 ance of his most prominent facial feature, also the Ameri- 
 can Ambassador, Mr. Robert S. McCormick, of Chicago ; 
 Mr. William Seligman; the American Consul-Genera 1, 
 Mr. Frank H. Mason; and Prof. Albert H. Smyth, of 
 Columbia University, who was the accredited American 
 representative at these ceremonies. In the audience I no- 
 ticed Mrs. Henry Villard of New York, and her brother, 
 Mr. William Lloyd Garrison, of Boston, children of Will- 
 iam Lloyd Garrison, a lover of liberty in its broadest 
 conception, who did such valiant and heroic service in the 
 agitation for negro emancipation. 
 
 The famous band of the Garde Republicaine rendered 
 beautifully American and French patriotic music, playing 
 such stirring pieces as ''The Marseillaise," "Star Span- 
 gled Banner" and "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean." 
 These provoked tremendous enthusiasm. The American 
 Ambassador spoke, and Prof. Smyth delivered the ora- 
 tion of the day, which was a masterly, eloquent, historical 
 speech. On the part of the French Government speeches 
 were made by the Minister of Public Works, M. Barthon, 
 President of the Municipal Council of Paris, M. Chau- 
 tard, and Secretary-General of the Prefecture of the 
 Seine, M. Antrand. Mr. Harjes made a graceful address 
 in presenting the Franklin statue, and his daughter, Hope 
 Dorothy, and Miss Mary C. Waddington unveiled the 
 statue. The ceremony of unveiling was unique and em- 
 phasized by a salute of fifteen volleys of cannon. Prof. 
 Smyth was publicly decorated with the Cross of the 
 Legion of Honor, and according to custom, his deco- 
 rator kissed him on the cheek as he pinned the Legion's 
 emblem upon the lapel of his coat. History will record 
 Franklin as the most popular American ever accredited to 
 the French Government, and the most helpful to his coun- 
 
try u fcg Bis name is 
 
 and admired 
 and bom he was - ba I . nd . - nan this 
 
 - nd the si ained in hi? honor, is for all time 
 
 woven in the man: s of tin French capital. 
 
 SOJTC OF 
 
 In May thf "' t St. - edral, I 
 
 tnessi _ ' _ 7 es : . : - ■ . - :: of the 
 
 e I " _ . s isj Been! rporation, 
 
 -- ■ F the sons oi erg 
 
 of the Chnr _ and. It - I I - ■ _ - 
 
 of 1< - -" ^ good, whenever it can lie 
 
 found. Many of England- _ eatest pro:- ss ... and lit- 
 erary i: _ I ---.. ges rime 
 min: sters, * - rate the sea. em- 
 
 - ths 1 _ trnkm " 
 
 continents. who havi - fully 
 
 tish Empire of 
 sen sons : I . - ei gy, whos 
 - - - _ - - ■ -- onels for of - - by 
 
 I e ancient - - ~ Aside from : at i : . 
 
 ament by the King 
 son, tin rmony of this S - PI - service 
 
 s the most sped - - IMe 
 
 the Arehbis] I i -rbnry and York and many 
 
 g the S« : . of fore - 
 
 aonary juris - ttended by - and 
 
 - - - =1 . iignita: - arrayed in their 
 
 - ■ _ vestments as wi as tin Lord Mayor of 
 
 the Sheriff : Lond. feflesex, with the 
 
 i at- 
 tend, ad in then most £ 
 
 sedthi - 
 
 marched np the cer: stalls 
 
37 
 
 and altar. The choir and organ were supplemented by 
 a large orchestra of brass and stringed instruments. The 
 rendition of the service, musically and liturgically, was 
 impressively beautiful, and the sermon by the Dean of 
 St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, the lineal descendant of 
 the- famous, but erratic poet, Dean Swift, was quite ap- 
 propriate. I regard this service from every view point 
 as the most attractive, enjoyable and inspiring within my 
 experience. 
 
 In the evening of the day of this sendee a banquet is 
 given by the Merchant Tailors, one of London's ancient 
 and most wealthy guilds, in its magnificent hall, to the 
 corporation of -the Sons of the Clergy. The banquet this 
 year, given in the same hall by this ancient and honora- 
 ble guild, was the 232nd consecutive banquet, without one 
 break in its yearly continuity. The Lord Mayor presided. 
 A reception held by the Lord Mayor and his medieval 
 city court, preceded the banquet, Such ceremony, such 
 pageant, such pomp and circumstance, such regalias and 
 uniforms, are seldom met outside exclusive royal circles. 
 The Lord Mayor was clad in his robes of office, with a 
 magnificent chain of gold and precious jewels, sur- 
 rounded by the Sheriffs, Eecorder, Mace bearer, train 
 bearers, chaplains, sword bearer and other officials, all 
 decked out in their quaint old costumes. These formed 
 the receiving party. All the banqueters, according to 
 custom, are presented to the Lord Mayor, surrounded by 
 this imposing, not to say dazzling court. I was caught 
 and my presentation was foredoomed. A master of cere- 
 monies, in a loud foghorn of a voice, announced all the 
 arrivals on their presentation, with their full titles from 
 His Ecclesiastical Grace of Canterbury to modest Judge 
 Holdom of Chicago. To me it seemed an awful, overpow- 
 ering ordeal. I was in good time, within the first twenty, 
 and as I was announced at the door entering into the audi- 
 ence chamber, by the foghorn voiced master of ceremo- 
 
38 
 
 nies, I braced up, stretched on my heels, puffed out my 
 chest, lifted on high my head, and with steady, measured, 
 judicial tread, approached the dignified and dazzling offi- 
 cials. I shook hands with the Lord Mayor, who looked 
 the part he was filling, a handsome man and an ideal 
 Lord Mayor and told him how proud I was to see him. He, 
 in effect, replied that he reciprocated my sentiments as 
 heartily as tradition, ancient and hoary, would permit a 
 live Lord Mayor to do, and added he was happy to wel- 
 come an American cousin. With evident reluctance he let 
 go my hand, whereupon I side-stepped and became a spec- 
 tator of the scene. It was an impressive sight. The 
 military costumes, blue and scarlet hoods of Cambridge 
 and Oxford, gold trimmings of officials, court costumes, 
 knee breeches, and gold buckled shoes, all made both a 
 picturesque and medieval scene. I had a seat at the ban- 
 quet near the "High-table" next to a brother of the 
 Lord Mayor. We became quite friendly. He was gra- 
 cious and attentive, and to use an Anglicism, I had a jolly 
 good time. The dinner was most excellent, the wines old 
 and fruity, the service regal. There is no charge for this 
 banquet. It is by invitation. The host is the guild, but 
 an old and finely wrought silver basin is passed for dona- 
 tions. I observed, when it reached me, that it contained 
 nothing but Bank of England notes, making the smallest 
 contribution twenty-five dollars, surely an evidence of 
 generosity toward this old and deserving corporation. 
 After the banquet was over and all the toasts, previously 
 announced by the strong-lunged master of ceremonies be- 
 fore referred to, had been drunk, and a lot of poor 
 speeches made, and the Lord Mayor had announced the 
 arrival of the King in London from his holiday making 
 in foreign parts, which he jocosely remarked the King 
 had made under a false name, the company adjourned to 
 another fine old hall, where cigars and coffee were served 
 and a social time indulged. I was fortunate in becoming 
 
39 
 
 acquainted with several gentlemen, who entertained me 
 with some interesting talk, but not with stories, after the 
 American fashion. In about an hour the company broke 
 away, the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs entering their circus- 
 coaches in a blaze of glory, with their powdered wigged 
 outriders, which spectacle a motley crowd of belated Lon- 
 doners seemed to enjoy. I modestly followed and when a 
 policeman at the door called a handsome cab, and said, 
 "Where to, sir?" I felt so good I came near saying 
 "Buckingham Palace." 
 
 Memory may fail of many events of my life, but my 
 day with the Corporation of the Sons of the Clergy will 
 remain a pleasing recollection until the next stage of 
 existence is reached. 
 
 U. S. A. • 
 
 All the enjoyment of foreign travel, sights and scenes, 
 so far from dimming our eyes to the fairest of all lands, 
 had quite a contrary effect. The harbor of New York, 
 with its forts, green slopes and pretty hamlets, the broad 
 sweep of the bay with the Stars and Stripes streaming 
 in the breeze from ships and forts and flag-staffs on 
 land and water, was to us the most cheering and impres- 
 sive sight seen since on that bright winter morning we 
 sailed away from the "light" at Sandy Hook to foreign 
 shores. The symmetrical span of the Brooklyn bridge 
 and the view of the skyscrapers towering heavenward 
 on Manhattan Island as we enter the lordly Hudson, 
 remind us as objects nowhere else to be seen, that we 
 are at the Seat of Empire in the land we love so well 
 and delight in calling home. 
 

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