^H 
 
 A UNIVERSIT 
 
   

 
 to
 
 rl^e Indiana University.
 
 F\ University TVamp, 
 
 L — **^~ 
 
 -BY- 
 
 Orrin 2d. h)ukk>etl. 
 
 lLLU^Tl^A^^^- 
 
 "Tramping hath ehaimrss to give the tifed nest; 
 CUe go ; but uue fetunn neffeshed." 
 
 ELKHART, IND. 
 Geo. W. Butler, Publisher. 
 
 1889.
 
 Entered according to act of Congress in the year 18S9, 
 
 BY GEO. W. BUTLER, 
 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington:
 
 To t\\e " Tramp^," 
 
 Who enjoyed the pleasures, and 
 
 suffered the annoyances of 
 
 the trip, this volume is 
 
 kindly inscribed.
 
 u 
 
 Beg Pardon." 
 
 The subject matter of the following pages first appeared as a series of letters to 
 the daily press of Elkhart, Indiana. At that time, the writer had no intention 
 of presenting these letters in this form. The first of them were written hastily 
 while the writer was abroad, and the remainder during a hotly contested, polit- 
 ical campaign, in which he was actively engaged as a candidate. At the request 
 of the publisher, Mr. Geo. W. Butler, the manuscript was placed, in his hands 
 for publication in book form. On account of professional and other duties, the 
 writer has been unable to revise the manuscript, and it is now presented in this 
 way, with many misgivings, but with the hope that a considerate public may find 
 the book of some interest, notwithstanding its defects. 
 
 O. Z. H. 
 
 Elkhart, Ind., May 14, i88g.
 
 ©ontent^. 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 The Voyage Out — Ireland, And the Arri- 
 val in Scotland i 
 
 CHAPTER 2. 
 Glasgow — The Cathedral, the necropo- 
 lis, The University 10 
 
 CHAPTER 3. 
 Customs, Hotels, Railroads 15 
 
 CHAPTER 4. 
 Loch Lomond, Loch Katrine, The Trossachs. 22 
 
 CHAPTER 5. 
 Stirling, Edinburgh, Holy Rood 29 
 
 CHAPTER 6. 
 Melrose, Abbotsford, Dryburgh 36 
 
 CHAPTER 7. 
 Cambridge University 44 
 
 CHAPTER 8. 
 Rotterdam, The Hague, "The House in the 
 
 Woods." .• 49 
 
 CHAPTER 9. 
 Cologne — The Cathedral, St. Ursula, Ro- 
 
 landseck 58
 
 — VI — 
 
 CHAPTER ]0. 
 Up the Rhine, St. Goar, German Peasant 
 
 Life 66 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 The Rhinefels, A Prussian School, Wies- . 
 
 BADEN 84 
 
 CHAPTER 12. 
 Heidelberg 96 
 
 CHAPTER 13. 
 Nuremberg, Bavaria, Munich 108 
 
 CHAPTER 14. 
 Austria, Salzburg, The Koenigsee, Berch- 
 
 tesgaden 121 
 
 CHAPTER 15. 
 St. John in Pongau, Zell am See, Innsbruck, 
 
 The Brenner Pass 132 
 
 CHAPTER. 16. 
 Italy, Verona, Italian Women, Italy's Prog- 
 ress 139 
 
 CHAPTER 17. 
 Venice and Florence 147 
 
 CHAPTER 18. 
 Rome 160 
 
 CHAPTER 1 9 . 
 Naples, Pompeii, Herculaneum, The Ascent 
 
 of Mt. Vesuvius 172 
 
 CHAPTER 20. 
 Pisa, Genoa, Milan, "The Last Supper," 
 
 . Lake Como 180
 
 — VII — 
 
 CHAPTER 21. 
 
 Lugano, Mt. San Salvatore, The St. Gott- 
 hard Pass, Swiss Character, The 
 Rigi 19° 
 
 CHAPTER 22. 
 Lucerne, Berne, Geneva, Chamounix, The 
 
 Mer de Glace 203 
 
 CHAPTER 23. 
 The Tete Noire Pass, Pedestrianism, Ar- 
 rival at Zermatt, Guides, Mountain 
 Dangers 210 
 
 CHAPTER 24. 
 Scrambles Around Zermatt 220 
 
 CHAPTER 25. 
 The Gemmi, Interlaken, The Staubbach 
 Falls, The Grindelwald Glacier, 
 The Giesbach Falls 241 
 
 CHAPTER 26. 
 The Falls of the Rhine, the Black Forest, 
 
 Strassburg, Paris 251 
 
 CHAPTER 27. 
 London, Oxford, Stratford-on-Avon, The 
 
 Voyage Home ... 260 
 
 CHAPTER 28. 
 The Arrival Home, America, A Retrospect. 273
 
 Li^t of Illustration^. 
 
 The Indiana University Frontispiece . 
 
 Londonderry (Moville) Facing 8 
 
 Glasgow Cathedral ' ' 12 
 
 The Cathedral and the Necropolis Glasgow.. . " 14 
 
 Dumbarton Castle and Pier. " 22 
 
 The Falls of Inversnaid " 24 
 
 Ellen's Isle, Loch Katrine " 26 
 
 In the Trossachs " 28 
 
 Holy Rood Palace ' ' 33 
 
 The Ruins of Melrose Abbey " 36 
 
 A Castle on the Rhine " 69 
 
 Heidelberg Castle " 96 
 
 The "Tramps" " 131 
 
 A Scene in Venice ' ' 148 
 
 A Venetian Street " 152 
 
 St. Peter's — Rome " 162 
 
 Pompeii " 172 
 
 Disinterred Objects in the Museum, Pompeii. . " 174 
 
 The Mer de Glace , . " 207 
 
 The Matterhorn " 225 
 
 Grindelwald and the Wetterhorn " 248 
 
 Church of Notre Dame, Paris " 257 
 
 Paris Exhibition " 258 
 
 Liverpool " 268
 
 ©rj&pter I. 
 
 The voyage out — Ireland, and the arrival in 
 
 Scotland. 
 
 It is now some months since there came into the 
 writer's hands, a circular, announcing the "Fifth Biennial 
 Outing of the Indiana University — a unique and 
 inexpensive vacation tour through Scotland, England, 
 Holland, Germany, Austria, Italy, Switzerland and 
 France — arranged for students, teachers, librarians and 
 others of like needs and disposition." 
 
 Being of a "like disposition" I was soon in cor- 
 respondence with the director of the proposed "vacation 
 tour," and the result was that I became the possessor 
 of a ticket across the Atlantic on the steamship 
 Ethiopia, and to return on the palatial City of Rome, 
 both of the Anchor line. 
 
 This being accomplished, other arrangements were 
 soon concluded, and I found myself speculating on the 
 kind of a voyage we should have, the kind of people 
 who would comprise the party, and what impressions 
 the contact with the foreign people would make upon 
 me ; while a hundred other thoughts and fancies crowded 
 thick upon my mind. 
 
 Chief among my mental inquiries was: "What kind 
 of a boat is the Ethiopia!" I visited the steamer the 
 day before she sailed, and found her to be a first-class 
 boat, four hundred and twenty feet in length, forty feet 
 
 l
 
 wide, with a corresponding depth of hold. She has 
 been afloat over fifteen years and has never met with an 
 accident, and is especially adapted to weather storms. 
 I was courteously shown over the boat, and was informed 
 that the crew consisted of more than a hundred men, 
 and that she would carry about five hundred passengers 
 from New York for Glasgow. After visiting my state- 
 room and finding everything satisfactory, I returned to 
 my hotel, feeling that I could trust the Ethiopia to carry 
 me across the sea. 
 
 On the morning of June nth, we were conveyed 
 to the steamer which sails from Pier 41, North River. 
 At the pier everything was in a hurry and a bustle. 
 Porters were carrying trunks, bundles and steamer 
 chairs, valises, robes, rugs and everything that the vari- 
 ous voyagers thought necessary to the comfort of a sea 
 voyage. Hackmen were yelling and shouting, whips 
 were cracking, people were rushing about seemingly 
 without any object, others were saying good-bye, which 
 might prove to be their last farewell. The river was 
 alive with boats that tried to drown each other in the 
 noise of their shrill whistles. Men were rushing on board 
 and off again, everything was confusion. A few, our- 
 selves among them, after going on board, sat quietly on 
 the hurricane deck, silent observers of the scene of con- 
 fusion around us. Our luggage was all on board; we 
 had found our steamer chairs. We had no more to do. 
 We had no good-byes to say. Among all the interested 
 spectators on the pier there was not one who knew us, or 
 cared for our fate, except as our fate would be that of 
 their friends on board. Finally the whistle sounded, a 
 thrill ran through the boat, the gang planks were drawn
 
 — 3 — 
 
 back, and we were moving away from the pier, into the 
 river, our connection with land severed until we again 
 stepped upon a foreign shore. The Umbria, of the 
 Cunard Line, the La Normandie, of the French line, and 
 a steamer of the Inman line left their piers about the 
 same time. Who can tell what a day will bring forth? 
 Who would have thought on that bright June morn- 
 ing, that three boats, leaving at the same time, 
 on the same ocean, going nearly the same course, would 
 have such different voyages? The Umbria had the 
 roughest voyage since she has been afloat, being bewil- 
 dered and lost in a fog. For hours she lay still, continually 
 sounding her whistle. Another struck bad weather a 
 day out, and for eleven days the sea rolled over her 
 decks, tossing her about like a cork. When we met 
 some of the passengers from these two boats in Scotland, 
 who told us of their experience, we could scarcely believe 
 it. From the first, except one night, we had almost 
 perfect weather and one ot the smoothest voyages ever 
 made by the Ethiopia. Yet during the whole time 
 we could not have been far distant from the other boats. 
 The one exception to our pleasant weather, was the night 
 of the fourth day out. The sun had gone down into the 
 sea in the west, in a blaze ot glory. We had long 
 lingered on deck, and finally had gone to our state-rooms 
 and to our berths. I do not know how long I had been 
 asleep. 
 
 My first sensation upon awakening was, that I was 
 alternately standing on my head, and then on my feet. 
 Then I found myself trying to force a passage through 
 the side of the vessel and failing in this, I seemed to 
 have an insane impulse to fly into the opposite state-room.
 
 I tried to tell my wife that there was no danger, but the 
 words were drowned in the roar of the elements. Then 
 there came a series of short, sharp shocks, while the 
 good ship heaved and pitched and rolled from side to 
 side, and creaked and strained like a sentient thing in 
 agony. As the huge waves struck us, we could hear the 
 water pour in torrents over the deck. The sensation all 
 this produced on one unaccustomed to the sea, was not 
 highly pleasurable. But toward morning the storm 
 abated its fury, although the heavy swell of the sea con- 
 tinued far into the following day. It was a veritable 
 "night upon the ocean and a storm upon the sea." 
 With this exception, and the almost inevitable "Mai de 
 mere" which accompanied it, the voyage was one of 
 continued delight. The sun shone brightly and warmly, 
 but few wraps were needed, and the sea was as tranquil 
 and quiet as it ever is. The voyage was almost devoid 
 of incident. The occasional spouting of a whale, the 
 appearance of a school of porpoises, a passing steamboat 
 and an occasional "sail" were all that were calculated to 
 create any excitement. 
 
 Leaving Sandy Hook light ship abeam, we sailed 
 two degrees north of east for three days, at the average 
 rate of 265 miles per day. Then changing to the south 
 of east, we escaped the banks of Newfoundland at the 
 expense of nearly a day's time. The course was then 
 changed to north, 55 degrees east, and it thereafter 
 varied within that and north, 75 degrees east until land 
 was sighted on the tenth day. The largest day's run was 
 310 miles. 
 
 The inexperienced person, on board ship, is sur- 
 prised to find how soon and easily he becomes acquainted
 
 with every one. In this respect there is little formality, 
 and though your ship acquaintances may not know you a 
 half hour after leaving the boat, they are boon compan- 
 ions while imprisoned on the ship hundreds of miles 
 from land. For a time all are bound in a common 
 destiny, and this community of interests seems to 
 thaw out the springs of social intercourse. I had heard 
 much of the monotony of a sea voyage, but I did not 
 experience it. The time seemed to me to pass too 
 rapidly. Night followed day in astonishing rapidity. 
 Reading, conversation, games and eating are the prin- 
 cipal occupations of the voyagers. With some, it is chiefly 
 eating. Of all things to create an appetite, the sea is the 
 best. We had breakfast at eight, lunch at one, and din- 
 ner at five o'clock. How everybody did eat! 
 
 Sailors are always kept busy even when there seems 
 to be no earthly reason for the work, unless it be upon 
 the theory that constant employment keeps them in better 
 humor. They are not permitted to be idle a minute while 
 on duty. One set of them is continually doing some- 
 thing which another set as constantly undoes. Some will 
 put up a canvass, and when they have gone away, others 
 will come and take it down. They are continually paint- 
 ing the ship, cleaning the masts and yard arms, scraping 
 off the paint and repainting them, o reefing and unreefing 
 sails, and everything else that the officers can devise. 
 Every day at noon the captain takes his observations, to 
 determine in what latitude and longitude the ship is; and 
 to compute the distance and course she has run since 
 noon of the preceeding day. Then the difference of time 
 is calculated, and the clock set ahead, and the entry of all 
 these things made in the "log" and displayed, where
 
 — 6 — 
 
 each one can copy it on a track chart if he is so dis- 
 posed. The time is divided into watches and is indicated 
 by striking a bell. The seamen do not speak of one 
 o'clock, etc., as we do on land, but of so many bells of 
 such a watch. Each officer with a portion of the crew 
 is on duty during one watch, and the watches are so 
 arranged that he comes on duty each day at a different 
 time, so that by this means the night work is evenly 
 divided among all of the crew. During our voyage out, 
 we had many fine days, but finest of all was the 21st 
 day of June. We were in latitude 58 degrees 8 minutes 
 north, and longitude 10 degrees 26 minutes west, about 
 sixty miles off the west coast of Ireland, and seventy-six 
 miles from "Tory Island," toward which we were going. 
 In my experience the day was without a parallel. The 
 bright morning sun smiles out God's love upon our 
 receptive and responsive hearts. The Ethiopia glides 
 smoothly over the almost unbroken level of the sea. The 
 sky is tinged with an ultramarine blue as delicate as the 
 violet's hue. Here and there is just the trace of a fleecy 
 cloud, to set out in beautiful relief the blue heavens 
 beyond. Around the horizon hangs an almost autumnal 
 tinge. On our starboard side, the sea smiles 'neath a 
 myriad of silvery ripples. On our port, it stretches away 
 in swells of deeper, darker blue. Sea gulls sail grace- 
 fully through the air or ride upon the bosom of the deep. 
 Throngs of happy passengers promenade the deck, 
 recline in steamer chairs, and loiter along the rail. I am 
 in the prow. Both fore and aft, I see the most unmis- 
 takable manifestations 'of God's unsurpassing love to 
 man. I look out forward and can scarcely realize that 
 just beyond the horizon lies the Emerald Isle, once the
 
 home of wealth and happiness, now oppressed by mal- 
 administration of her public affairs. This is the picture I 
 see. It can never be forgotten. It is such as comes 
 but once to mortal experience upon the deep. It is the 
 most powerful argument that ever appealed to my heart 
 for a recognition of God's great love and kindness to 
 His children. 
 
 We knew now that we should see land during the 
 day. Can'the inexperienced realize what that means to 
 those who have not seen land for nine successive days? 
 What it means in the fullest sense of the word is learned 
 only by actual experience. To be out of sight of land 
 for nine successive days, no matter how pleasant the 
 weather has been, what pleasant associates, or how luxu- 
 rious the happy indolence of a sea voyage may be, means 
 that the sight of land is longed for again with an impa- 
 tience that knows no bounds. No one escaped the feeling, 
 even the seamen cast frequent glances toward the east. 
 After noon, all eyes were eagerly scanning the eastern 
 horizon, many seeing land for an hour before they knew 
 what it was. The first appearance of land from the sea 
 is that of a cloud lying low upon the horizon, and the 
 inexperienced will not believe it is land when it is pointed 
 out to them. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon I went forward, 
 and there, crowded into the prow, like sardines in a box, 
 I saw a dozen or more people, eagerly and intently scan- 
 ning the horizon. What longing and eagerness were 
 depicted upon their faces. Their countenances would 
 have made a study for an artist. They were Irish — a 
 number of old men and women, and several younger 
 ones. The older people had probably left their island
 
 — 8 — 
 
 home years before and had grown gray in a distant land. 
 They were now coming back to the land of their childhood 
 and youth. Not only were they looking for land, but for their 
 own native land, after years of absence. What feelings, 
 what emotions must have been theirs when Ireland came 
 into sight above the horizon. What a flood of early 
 recollections and fond memories must have flashed upon 
 them. I can, in some manner, appreciate their feelings, 
 when I recall with what emotions I first looked upon 
 Ireland, as an entire stranger moved only by compassion 
 for her misery and indignation toward her unjust rulers. 
 
 Toward evening we passed Tory Island, and as we 
 did so the news was flashed under the water that the 
 Ethiopia had arrived. 
 
 But during the voyage we had gone northward as 
 well as eastward until, as we passed around the north of 
 Ireland, we saw the North Star high in the heavens, and 
 the sun go down at fifteen minutes before nine o'clock. 
 Following the sunset was a long bright twilight. The 
 21st day of June being the longest day of summer, in 
 that latitude there was only thirty minutes darkness 
 between the close of the evening and the breaking of the 
 morning twilight. The day was also that on which the 
 Queen's jubilee was celebrated, and as we passed along 
 the coast we saw many bonfires and illuminations. Along 
 that coast of Ireland there are few "Home Rulers." It 
 is the county of Ulster, and the people are very loyal to 
 the Queen's government. The population is largely 
 Protestant, and in that county the question takes on more 
 of a religious than a political aspect. As we approached 
 Moville, the large bonfires in honor of the 50th anniver- 
 sary of the Queen's accession to the throne, were very
 
 bt^UL-BC* — — =7
 
 — 9 — 
 
 numerous. Here a tug or "lighter" came out to meet 
 us, the harbor being too shallow to admit our boat. Many 
 of the passengers left us here, the baggage was lowered, 
 good-byes were said, and amid cheers for the American 
 flag at our mast head, the lighter put off and we steamed 
 away for Glasgow. In the morning we found our boat 
 in the Clyde river not far from the city. We steamed up 
 the river between banks teeming with busy life and 
 natural beauty, with both the British and American flags 
 flung to the breeze — the American flag being raised 
 through courtesy to the passengers. Seldom on the 
 water among the shipping, or elsewhere on the seas, do 
 we find our flag at the mast head except as a matter of 
 courtesy. We have no navy worthy the name, to display 
 it, and kw steam-ship lines to carry it. As we went up the 
 Clyde, the busy hum of industry, the building of large 
 ships, the ring of hammers, greeted us at every turn. It 
 is almost one continual ship yard from its mouth to 
 Glasgow, interspersed with elegant country seats and well 
 kept estates. At last we reached the company's docks, 
 stepped off, and once more stood upon land in " bonnie 
 Scotland.' ' Having had our trunks and luggage examined 
 at the dock, by the custom-house officer, we were permitted 
 to pass out and at once drove to the George Hotel, were 
 assigned to our rooms, looked upon the customs and 
 manners of a strange people, and began to realize that 
 the broad ocean rolled between us and the best and fair- 
 est and most progressive land on the face of the earth. 
 
 •o^o.
 
 ©rj&pter 2. 
 
 Glasgow — The Cathedral, The Necropolis, The 
 
 University. 
 
 Glasgow is a city of over 500,000 population, and is 
 the third in size in the United Kingdom. Though it is a 
 great commercial center and an extensive manufacturing 
 city, it lacks that hurry and energy and feverish excite- 
 ment characteristic ot all large American cities. In fact, 
 this is true of all or at least most of European cities. 
 
 On the streets beggars are numerous, idlers abound 
 on every corner, and bare-footed and bare-headed women 
 of all ages may be seen carrying heavy burdens or loiter- 
 ing along, after having completed some heavy task . The 
 buildings are chiefly stone or brick, stuccoed to re- 
 semble stone. I did not see a frame building in the city. 
 A peculiarity that immediately attracts the attention of 
 the American is the chimney pot. Gaining some high 
 point where any considerable portion of the city is below 
 the observer, such as the Necropolis or University, he 
 sees a perfect forest of chimneys with from one to a half 
 dozen of these earthen pots at their tops. There is a 
 great sameness in the style of the houses, being all square 
 or rectangular, with gables toward the streets. The 
 streets are generally narrow and winding, though many 
 are wide and beautiful, and all are paved with hard stone, 
 and much better in width and straightness than in the 
 continental cities.
 
 — II — 
 
 Order on the streets at night is not good. You may 
 yell and shout at the top of your voice, and not be mo- 
 lested. Many women of questionable character prome- 
 nade the most public thoroughfares and are secure from 
 molestation by police. 
 
 The street railways are called "tramways," and the 
 cars, as well as the omnibuses, have seats on the top 
 which are reached by a winding iron stairway from the 
 platform below. The fare on these cars is regulated by 
 the distance, instead of by the trip as on our horse cars, 
 and the seats on top are cheaper than those inside of the 
 car. It is not uncommon to see the top heavily loaded 
 with passengers while the inside is entirely empty. On 
 the top of these cars is a splendid place to ride for obser- 
 vation. The places of business along the streets are 
 called "shops," and are usually closed at five oclock in 
 the evening and reopened beween eight and nine o'clock 
 the next morning. The George Hotel at which we 
 stopped, is north of the St. George's Square. The 
 square is chiefly remarkable for the great number of 
 statues and monuments of celebrated men. The most 
 noticeable of these is the statue of Sir Walter Scott. The 
 first object of interest is the Glasgow Cathedral, situated 
 at the northeast part of the city near the Necropolis 
 from which it is separated by the Molendinar Burn, a 
 small stream across which is a long stone bridge, called 
 the Bridge of Sighs. The cathedral is said to have been 
 founded about 60 1, A. D., by St. Mungo, and was re- 
 stored by King David 1., in the 12th century. The 
 architecture is one of the finest examples of early English 
 or undecorated Gothic and is peculiarly interesting as 
 being one of the only two ecclesiastical edifices that es-
 
 — 12 
 
 caped the fury of the Reformation, and has come down 
 to the present in its original state. Many of the historic 
 events of Scotland are associated with the church, and 
 here Cromwell, when in Glasgow, attended service and 
 heard the fiery Presbyterian divine preach boldly against 
 him and his followers. 
 
 The fine windows, especially those behind the choir 
 and in the nave, attract attention. That in the east 
 end was presented by Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, at a 
 cost of over $io,ooo. To the architect, the church is a de- 
 lightful study. The gorgoils, or water spouts, consisting 
 of a " monstrous mouth, on the lower jaw of which a gro- 
 tesque face is sculptured in bas-relief" claim the notice of 
 all visitors. So proud of this church have the citizens of 
 Glasgow ever been, that on different occasions they have 
 been in arms to protect it from demolition by the magis- 
 trates during the Reformation, as also on another occasion 
 when the magistrates had determined to tear it down and 
 with the material build several small churches for the con- 
 venience of the people. In " Rob Roy" will be found 
 Scott's description of one of these events. The chapter 
 house, the choir and the crypt all deserve attention. " It 
 is in the interior however, that the true dignity and elegance 
 of the original design is conspicuously manifested. The 
 vast length of the vista, formed by the nave and the choir, 
 with the lofty vault overhead; the lines of beautifully clus- 
 tered columns and arches on each hand; and the large 
 and beautiful window that casts its light down from behind 
 the choir; all contribute to produce upon the spectator 
 an overpowering impression of solemnity and magnifi- 
 cence." Its length is 319 feet, and it contains 147 clus- 
 tered columns, and 159 windows of great beauty. Around
 
 — 13 — 
 
 the cathedral is a church yard; large flat stones laid hor- 
 izontally over the grave, mark the last resting place of 
 the departed. Around many of the graves are iron 
 fences or grates which entirely enclose the graves, and are 
 securely locked. These are pointed out as the remains 
 of a time when body stealing was so common that such a 
 precaution was necessary to prevent the theft of the in- 
 terred. Passing along a path on the south side of the 
 cathedral, and crossing the Bridge of Sighs the visitor 
 finds himself within the Necropolis. It is just to the east 
 of the church and on a high hill overlooking the city. 
 From the entrance ornamental paths lead in different 
 directions; the sides of the hill covered with monu- 
 ments of almost every design, clusters of shrubs, patches 
 of green grass and beds of flowers lining the paths, pre- 
 sent an appearance grotesque and oriental in the extreme. 
 On the top of the hill is a monument to John Knox, and 
 from this point the visitor sees the city below him, and 
 stretching away to the south and west like a vast iorest 
 of chimneys. Descending and retracing my steps, I find 
 myself again mounted on the top of a street car, and 
 alight near Kelvin grove park, across which I walk, cross 
 a little stream of water, ascend another hill, walk along a 
 beautiful drive lined with shrubbery, pass through a huge 
 iron gateway, and stand upon the beautiful and well kept 
 grounds of the University. The buildings are large and 
 massive; the architecture early English, with open 
 courts, squares and quadrangles. It was founded 437 
 years ago, by the Scottish Government. The present 
 buildings are new and entirely of stone. There are fifty- 
 nine professors and assistants, 2,300 students, and de- 
 partments of arts, science, theology, medicine and Scot-
 
 — i 4 — 
 
 tish law. The salaries of professors are provided by en- 
 dowment, and are increased by fees. Some professors 
 receive as high as $10,000 per year. The present buildings 
 cost nearly four millions of dollars. The library contains 
 370,000 volumes.
 
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 ©q&pter 3- 
 
 Customs, Hotels, Railroads. 
 
 In many ways we are constantly reminded that we 
 are strangers . Many of the expressions are new, and are 
 constantly getting us into trouble. I want to find a book 
 store, and am sent to the railway station. On arriving there, 
 I ask a policeman where the book store is, and he asks 
 me in return if I want to store away some books. But 
 when he understands finally, that I want to buy a book, 
 "Oh," he says, "a book stall," and directs me to what 
 any civilized person calls a book store. I suppose, in 
 Glasgow, not all book stores are at the railway stations, 
 but this one was. We also hear and note the expression 
 "beg pardon," which with its peculiar inflection is used 
 exactly as we use the interrogative ' ' what. ' ' We are at 
 once known as Americans. I do not remember that any- 
 where during the trip, we were mistaken for English. 
 So distinct are the manners, speech and dress of the 
 American, that he is invariably known. In this respect 
 he may be said to be " sui generis." One day in a shop 
 we noticed that the shop girl was greatly amused at some 
 expression used by us, and she began at once to talk 
 about America. When asked how she knew us to be 
 Americans, she replied,, that she could recognize an 
 American at once. "Look there," she said, "across the
 
 — i6 — 
 
 way are three Yankee girls." We looked and there were 
 three of the ladies of our own party. 
 
 Upon one occasion, while on my way to visit the Kew 
 Gardens, London, the driver stopped to change horses, 
 I dismounted from the top of the conveyance and entered 
 a bar and asked the bar-maid for a lemonade. She set 
 out a bottle of something that resembled "pop" with a 
 lemon flavor. I told her that what I wanted was the 
 juice of a lemon, some sugar and water well shaken up. 
 "O," she said, "you want a lemon squash". She 
 made me a lemonade and was about to put some wine 
 into it, when I told her I wanted it plain. She looked 
 at me, as if suprised, and said: "Is that the kind of 
 drinks you have in America?" Now let it be remembered 
 that not one word had passed between us but the conver- 
 sation detailed above, and yet she knew as well that I 
 was an American as if I had announced the fact upon 
 entering the door. 
 
 In many respects the traveler finds the manners, cus- 
 toms and institutions of Europe disappointing. In means 
 of transportation and hotels, this is especially true. The 
 latter are seldom provided with elevators, which an 
 American deems an essential feature of any good hotel. 
 But there, you must climb a flight of stairs to the fourth 
 or fifth floor to gain your room. And often after coming 
 back from a long day's tramp, over the hard pavements 
 of streets, through galleries and museums, very hungry 
 and very tired, we fervently wish that we had an Amer- 
 can elevator to carry us up the weary flight of steps lead- 
 ing to our room. In your room, you invariably get a 
 tallow candle for a light. There is no exception to this 
 rule, so far as my own experience can testify. Of course
 
 — 17 — 
 
 in such hotels as the Grand or the Langham, in London, 
 one finds all the modern conveniences, but I speak of 
 the average hotels; and it is always charged as an extra 
 in the bill . On the continent, the same is true as to soap. 
 It is not furnished except when ordered, as the guest is 
 expected to carry a cake of soap of his own. And when 
 ordered, it becomes like everything else, an extra item in 
 the bill. 
 
 The doors are provided with huge locks and great 
 iron keys, which one might imagine had come down from 
 some Mediaeval prison. A heavy iron chain, a little 
 lighter, sometimes, than an ordinary log chain, is fre- 
 quently seen, which is used to draw across the door at 
 night to make it more secure. That such cumbrous affairs 
 appear odd to the American, who is familiar only with the 
 small locks and keys of excellent workmanship to be 
 found at home, may be readily imagined. The maids 
 invariably dress in black and wear a white cap, while the 
 waiters, invariably men, dress in broadcloth and wear dress 
 coats, and look as if about to go out to some fashionable 
 entertainment, and all seem to expect a munificent fee for 
 the slightest possible service. If there is anything known 
 to civilization more detestable than the " tipping system " 
 of Europe, the writer is not aware of it. Being out until 
 eleven or twelve o'clock at night, when you return you 
 find the entrance closed by heavy wooden doors, which 
 seem to be copied Irom the port-cullis of their an- 
 cient castles. To get in you must ring a bell, if you can 
 find it without hunting up a policeman to show you 
 where it is. This brings down a sleepy attendant who 
 lazily asks you the number of your room before he will 
 admit you. If you have forgotten it or lailed to ascertain
 
 — i8 — 
 
 it previously, you may stay out all night, unless you are 
 disposed to bribe the servant with a sixpence or two. This 
 of course you do, and as you ascend to your room, you com- 
 pare the system with that of America, with the result, 
 that if expressed in language, would generally be more 
 emphatic than elegant. When you come down in the 
 morning, unless you have ordered something extra, a 
 plain breakfast is set before you. A plain breakfast con- 
 sists of coffee, bread and honey; then follows at about one 
 o'clock, "lunch," and "dinner" in the evening. But 
 you can take your meals il a la carte,'" in which case you 
 order what you desire. But of one thing you may be 
 certain always, the waiter will take his own time in serving 
 you, regardless of your necessity for haste. On the 
 continent you can seldom find the proprietor of a hotel. 
 A woman, almost without exception, has charge of the es- 
 tablishment, and with her you make your bargain and settle 
 your bill. Then there is another important person, the 
 "portier.'" His business is to give you information about 
 everything you want to know. He is gorgeously uni- 
 formed, and his clothes are decorated with the brightest of 
 shiny brass buttons. His salary is paid by the guests in 
 the way of fees. 
 
 The railways are even more unsatisfactory than the 
 hotels. They are not built into the city on the surface, 
 but are either under ground or on bridges. A two-story 
 station at which one can take a train from either floor is a 
 curiosity to the American. But such a depot is to be 
 found in Glasgow, and from which our party of " tramps '' 
 left the city. The average road is laid on a bed ol unusual 
 solidity and excellence. The ballast consists of stone in 
 most part. Usually there is a double track. The rail is
 
 — IQ — 
 
 not spiked to the tie as on our roads, but is held in an 
 iron bracket by means of a wedge and the bracket is 
 bolted to the tie. In the matter of construction, the road 
 bed is superior to our system. The highway seldom 
 crosses a railroad track on the same level. The road 
 either crosses over a stone bridge, or under through a 
 tunnel lined with stone. I only noticed one place in 
 Scotland, where, at the crossing, the highway and rail- 
 road were on the same level, and at that place the cross- 
 ing was guarded with gates. The crossing of the differ- 
 ent railways is on the same plan. Although so well con- 
 structed, the service on these roads is not good. The 
 trains move quite slowly. The locomotives are very 
 small compared with ours, and have no "cow catcher" 
 and but very few have any cab for the engineer and fire- 
 man, who usually stand on a platform in the open air, 
 in all sorts of weather. The freight car is quite small, 
 resting on only four wheels, which is also true of most 
 passenger cars. The passenger car is divided by parti- 
 tions across the car from side to side, with a seat along 
 the side of the partition. In this way a car is divided into 
 six or eight compartments, with two seats facing each 
 other in each compartment. Thus, if a compartment is 
 full, one-half of the passengers must ride backwards. 
 There is no escape from it. The door is at the side of 
 the car, being one for each compartment ; thus there are 
 from six to eight doors on each side of the car. It is 
 impossible to go from one compartment to another when 
 the train is in motion. There is no bell rope with which 
 to signal to the engineer. The depots are usually large 
 and built of stone or brick. The track is covered at the sta- 
 tion, and frequently there is a building on each side, with
 
 20 
 
 the track between, and a roof spanning the space. The pas- 
 senger is not allowed to cross the track, but must go over 
 on a bridge or under through a tunnel from one side to the 
 other. On the continent many of the depots are within 
 the protection of the guns of some large fortification. 
 There is no conductor in our sense of the term, but there 
 are several "guards." Usually the passenger can not 
 gain admittance to the inside, unless he has purchased 
 his ticket ; this he shows to a guard who permits him to 
 pass in. When the train has arrived, and the guards 
 have passed along and opened all the doors, and the 
 passengers have alighted, then he is permitted to enter. 
 When the train is about to start the guards close and 
 fasten the doors, and he finds himself shut into a little 
 room about five by ten feet in size. There is no water, no 
 stove, no closet —in fact, no conveniences whatever. In 
 the winter the passenger must carry wraps enough to 
 keep him warm, though sometimes a can of hot water is 
 put into the car to keep the feet warm. When he alights 
 he must give up his ticket to a guard before he can pass 
 out of the depot, though this custom is more general on 
 the continent than in Scotland. On some roads there 
 are first, second and third class compartments, and on 
 others only first and third. A few sleeping cars after the 
 American plan are used. But their usual sleeping car, 
 though only made to accommodate four persons, is more 
 convenient than ours. The car is of the ordinary size 
 with a hall through the middle from side to side. By 
 this means two convenient rooms are made, one in each 
 end of the car. These are entered from a hall, and the 
 hall is entered from the side of the car. A berth is con- 
 structed on each side of these two rooms, making four
 
 — 21 
 
 berths in all. The passenger thus has ample room to 
 dress and arrange his toilet. The guards are even more 
 gruff and uncivil than American conductors, which all 
 will admit is quite unnecessary. And on some of the 
 continental roads they are almost brutal in their incivility. 
 At some German stations it is amusing to see the osten- 
 tation of the officers. The train being about to start, the 
 head guard blows a shrill little whistle, which resembles 
 our police whistle, the engineer responds with a blast 
 from the locomotive whistle and rings the bell, then the 
 station master rings a bell on the side of the depot, then 
 the guard blows his police whistle again, and the train 
 begins to move away. Such is the brief and necessarily 
 imperfect description of the railways of Europe.
 
 ©Ijapter 4. 
 
 Loch Lomond, Loch Katrine, The Trossachs. 
 
 But it soon became evident that if we were to do 
 any "tramping" we must quit Glasgow. Accordingly, 
 one bright June morning we found ourselves entering a 
 compartment of a car on the North British Railway, and 
 shortly afterward the train was rumbling along through 
 a dark tunnel until the limits of the city were reached, 
 and then through a beautiful and well kept country, with 
 here and there a busy town, and an elegant country home 
 with its parks and grounds. The railway is extremely 
 crooked ; we rushed past mills, and factories and ship- 
 yards ; flew along in sight of the Clyde, upon whose water 
 we saw many a craft, and a great ocean ship steaming 
 toward Glasgow. Soon Dumbarton Castle, built upon a 
 huge rock, which measures one mile around, and 560 
 feet in height, appears in view, and the road turns sud- 
 denly to the right, following the Leven to Loch Lomond. 
 The simple minded peasants will point out the huge rock 
 and tell you in all sincerity, that Satan threw it at St. 
 Patrick, and that it fell into the river where it now is. 
 As we leave the Clyde the ground becomes more broken 
 and hilly ; the gentle ascents are covered with parks of trees 
 and shrubs, and ruins of old stone houses, and stone 
 fences covered with ivy. The sun shines bright and 
 clear over all ; the birds chirp and flit from shrub to tree ;
 
 — 23 — 
 
 a gentle wind dallies with the leaves of lovely green, 
 the whole, for miles, presenting a rare scene of continued 
 loveliness. Two old castles, not far apart, suddenly 
 come into view with their stone towers, and turrets, and 
 battlements, and ivy-grown sides. Scarcely have we 
 realized the beauty of this scene, when the train stops 
 along side the little steamer on Loch Lomond at Balloch. 
 We are now at the entrance to the loveliness and roman- 
 tic beauties of "bonny Scotland." In this part of 
 Scotland, the mountain lakes whose surfaces shine "like 
 burnished sheets of living gold," and the heather cov- 
 ered hills, and crystal streams and showery cascades, 
 present a strange mixture of wildness and loveliness, and 
 sweetness to be found nowhere else. 
 
 We pass from the cars to the boat, and are soon 
 moving oft over the smooth water of the Lake. Loch 
 Lomond is a long and comparatively narrow lake, being 
 about twenty-six miles in length and about five miles in 
 width at the widest place. Its greatest width is at the 
 south end, and it quickly narrows ; islands are scattered 
 about with old ruins upon them ; beautiful residences line its 
 shores; castles and country "halls" further back; but soon 
 the mountains rise abruptly from the water's edge to the 
 height of a thousand to three thousand feet. The water 
 is clear, the banks green with foliage, the hills brown 
 with the unblossomed heather, and many a glen opens 
 into the mountains. 
 
 As the boat glides along, swinging around islands, 
 shooting through narrow passages between projecting 
 points of land, into wider spaces of sparkling water, a 
 new view, a more beautiful scene constantly appearing, 
 the lake presents a perpetual series of surprises and
 
 — 2 4 — 
 
 delights. "It blends together in one scene a greater 
 variety of the elements which we admire in lake scenery, 
 than any other Scottish loch. " We pass the village of 
 Russ and soon, Ben Lomond, the highest peak in Scot- 
 land. Ben Arthur, but little lower, also guards the lake. 
 Glen Douglas is passed on the left; Rob Roy's prison on 
 the right, and now we are approaching Inversnaid where 
 we land. Opposite this place, is the island on which is 
 the ruined castle, once the home of the MacFarlanes. As 
 we alight, we see a picturesque waterfall on our right, 
 that comes tumbling down from the mountain, breaking 
 and dashing into spray as if in a perfect abandonment of 
 joy. A greater interest attaches to it from the fact that 
 here Wordsworth met his Highland girl. And though 
 we met no Highland lass, we can say with the poet: 
 "Now thanks to Heaven, that of its grace 
 Hath led me to this lovely place. 
 Joy have I had, and going hence, 
 I bear away my recompense." 
 At this place, according to the itinerary, we were to 
 begin our " tramping. " The path, or rather highway, 
 leads from Inversnaid to Stronachlacher on Loch Katrine 
 and climbs over the mountains between the two places. 
 It was a beautiful day for a walk, the sky clear, the sun 
 bright, the grass and foliage green. But like Mark 
 Twain, at the last moment, "for private reasons we 
 changed our minds and took carriages." While these 
 were preparing, we scrambled up the hill to the top of the 
 cascade, and then up steps, over rocks, along paths lined 
 with underbrush and carpeted by nature with designs 
 and hues and patterns never rivaled by art; we toiled on, 
 gathering rare botanical specimens and examining the
 
 The P'alls at Inversnaid.
 
 — 2 5 — 
 
 curious strata of the rocks, until we emerged upon the 
 road several hundred feet above the starting point, but 
 almost directly over it. A pretty picture it was, as we 
 sat there on rocks and patches of grass, and stumps 
 of trees, each in a place of his own choice, the ladies in 
 their picturesque "tramping suits," the white and wind- 
 ing road on one side, and the rugged hill at the other, 
 dropping away in ridges and terraces to the beautiful 
 lake below. 
 
 " And those gray rocks; that household lawn. 
 
 Those trees, a vail just half withdrawn, 
 
 This fall of water that doth make 
 
 s 
 
 A murmur near the silent lake." 
 Here we awaited the arrival of the carriages which were to 
 take us to Lake Katrine. Nor did we wait long. Soon 
 they came, and we mounted upon the high seats, and a 
 more joyous or happier party never rode across those 
 beautiful hills. The road is McAdamized, about twenty 
 feet wide, hard and smooth as a floor, and winds around 
 like a great serpent through and over the highlands. 
 
 Here, on the left is a high peak, rugged and almost 
 bare of vegetation; there, on the right is a rolling valley 
 a quarter of a mile wide, flanked with huge peaks and 
 rocky sides. A few sheep wander over the valley, and 
 climb the hills in search of food. On the right we pass 
 the ruins of the stone house, which was the home of Rob 
 Roy and Helen Macgregor. A little lake on the same side 
 reflects back the sun's rays like a mirror. A little stream 
 winds along and the road follows it; passes a few stone 
 houses and stables and sheep pens, winds over rolling
 
 — 26 — 
 
 ground, reaches the summit of the "divide," begins a rapid 
 descent, passes piles of peet, dug and drying in the sun, 
 sweeps around the base of a huge peak and the waters of 
 Lake Katrine burst upon or sight, like a diamond set in 
 emeralds. 
 
 Almost before we realize that the beauties of the 
 drive are behind us, we are descending from our seats in 
 front of the Stronachlacher Hotel, with the beautiful 
 waters of Lake Katrine spread before us. From this lake 
 Glasgow gets her water supply. Scott has made it fa- 
 ous in the "Lady of the Lake," and its beauties deserve 
 all that has been said and sung of it. Riding its entire 
 length, the beautiful scenery seems floating by one. At 
 the eastern end is "Ellen's Isle," which any reader of 
 Scott could at once point out from his description. In shape, 
 in size, in the closely growing and low hanging foliage that 
 fringes its edges and drops into the water, in every way 
 the poet has caught the beauty and richness of its 
 position and surroundings. As I passed it, I almost 
 imagined I could see through the wall of verdure to the 
 chieftain's ideal abode, and hear the clinking sound of 
 broadswords. But while lost in contemplation of the 
 beauty of the isle and the memories it awakens, the boat 
 glides on and stops at the landing at the entrance to the 
 " Trossachs. ' ' Here again we take wagons over the wind- 
 ing mountain road, lined with forest trees, and flanked by 
 huge gray hills, with here and there glimpses of heathery 
 dells, from any one of which we might imagine that the 
 stag started up from his ' ' heathery couch ' ' at the deer
 
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 — 27 — 
 
 hound's distant bay, in Scott's beautiful description of the 
 "Chase." 
 
 The scenery in the "Trossachs," is weird, wild, 
 grand. On our left is the mountain on which the hunts- 
 man lost his "noble gray," and further on, we pass on 
 the right, Loch Achray, across which the stag swam. 
 This is the scenery so dearly loved and so eloquently 
 described by Sir Walter Scott, and almost every object 
 seems to call forth some forgotten couplet of his poems. 
 It is little wonder that he wrote poetry. Born in Edin- 
 burgh, reared on the border, where he early became 
 imbued with the tastes of border warfare and the ro- 
 mances ot his island home; placed amid the grand and 
 rugged beauties of the Highlands, at a time when his 
 heart was most susceptible to the influence of nature; a 
 mind as powerful in exercise as it was delicate in concep- 
 tion, he was born a poet, and developed by his favorable 
 surroundings. Among these hills, along these lakes, 
 one seems to breath in inspiration with every breath of 
 this entrancing atmosphere. We take our dinner at the 
 Trossachs hotel, a large stone structure with towers and 
 battlements. Then we go on around Loch Achray, 
 climb the hills again, see the towering heads of Ben 
 Voirlich and Ben Venue, look upon the smooth surface 
 of Loch Vennacher and in the distance, almost at the 
 effluence of the latter, is Coihntogal Ford, the scene of 
 the fight between Fitz James and Roderick Dhu. 
 
 On we go, along the winding road, scaling the spur 
 of the mountain on our right, through a beautiful glen,
 
 — 28 — 
 
 along the edge of a high cliff, looking down upon a beautiful 
 lake, and then down a rapid descent to the village of 
 Aberfoyle. Here is a railway leading out to the main 
 line to Edinburgh. We are just in time for an outgoing 
 train, and soon we are on our way to Stirling.
 
 ©l]&pter 5. 
 
 Stirling, Edinburgh, Holy Rood. 
 
 The first object to be visited at Stirling is the castle. 
 From the depot we walked through the streets of the 
 town, turned to the left of Grayfriar's church in which 
 John Knox preached the coronation sermon of James 
 VI, passed through the church yard to the high rock, 
 where in the days of chivalry, the ladies sat to witness 
 the tournaments of their knights, from which a most 
 delightful view is obtained; descended and passed into 
 the castle yard, climbed a long flight of stone steps, and 
 found ourselves upon the esplanade, or drill ground. 
 We crossed the moat by means of the draw bridge, 
 passed under the ancient portcullis, and stood within the 
 first court yard of the castle. The walls of the castle 
 enclose about eleven acres of ground, and the rock upon 
 which the castle stands is 340 feet above the surrounding 
 plains. 
 
 This rock was used as a place of defense as early as 
 80, A. D.; the castle is of ancient origin though most of 
 it was erected by James III, whose tomb is at Cambus- 
 kenneth Abbey, about a half mile away. The Palace, 
 the Parliament Buildings, and the Chapel Royal are the
 
 — 3 o — 
 
 most noticeable, though the Douglas Room in the upper 
 square, is the most interesting, as being the spot where 
 James II assassinated the Earl of Douglas. In this room 
 is the communion table and pulpit of John Knox. Aside 
 from the fine view, which includes some half-dozen or 
 more battle fields, the most celebrated of which is the 
 field of Bannockburn, the chief interest of the castle is its 
 intimate association with the history of the Stuart family. 
 James II was born here, James III, and James IV 
 resided here, James V was born and crowned in the 
 castle; Queen Mary was here crowned, as also was James 
 IV. The student of Scottish history will tread its pave- 
 ments and survey its walls and towers and battlements, 
 see its scenery and location and study its parts with 
 interest and emotion. He will look at the Grampian hills 
 at the west where Ben Lomond, Ben Ledi, Ben Voirlich 
 and Ben Venue stand like sentinels; he will see at the 
 north the Ochil hills, and to the eastward, as if watching 
 all the rest, Arthur's Seat towers aloft. It has been pro- 
 nounced the finest view in Scotland. Reluctantly I turned 
 away from Stirling Castle to make a night journey to 
 Edinburgh, the ancient capital of the Scots. And as we 
 moved away that June evening there came to my mind 
 Scott's words: 
 
 " It was a night of lovely June, 
 High rode in cloudless blue the moon, 
 Demayet smiled beneath her ray; 
 Old Stirling's towers arose in light, 
 And, twined in links of silver bright 
 Her winding river lay."
 
 — 3i — 
 
 Edinburgh is two cities in one- The old city lies 
 south; and the new, north of a deep ravine, which was 
 at one time a long narrow lake. From the depot of the 
 North British railway, the traveler ascends a long flight 
 of steps and emerges upon a long, narrow street leading 
 north to Princess street in the "new" city, and intersects 
 the latter street a short distance east of the Scott monu- 
 ment. Almost opposite the monument stands the New 
 Waverly hotel, at which the "tramps" stopped during 
 their stay in this ancient capital of the Scots. On a 
 piece of ground on the level of Princess street and 
 extending from north to south across the ravine, stands 
 the museum and picture gallery, both of which attract 
 the attention of the stranger by the beauty of their archi- 
 tecture, and both are worth a visit. To the south-west 
 from the hotel, is seen the castle, perched upon a huge 
 rock several hundred feet high, her grim and ancient walls 
 frowning upon the city beneath. On a bright June morn- 
 ing, when all nature seemed to rejoice in the consciousness 
 of her own loveliness — the sun shining brightly, the air 
 cool and invigorating, the sleepy city resting in a sort of 
 happy indolence; our spirits boyant; half intoxicated by 
 the novelty and strangeness of the scenes around us, we 
 walked down Princess street, crossed the ravine, near 
 the museum, and began to climb to the old castle above. 
 We had not been long in Europe yet, and castles were a 
 novelty. Had it been later on, I am disposed to think that 
 many who climbed that hill that morning, would have de- 
 voted the time to something else. But after a hard climb,
 
 — 3 2 — 
 
 over stone pavements, through winding and crooked 
 streets, we reached the esplanade, now a drill ground, 
 where a regiment of Brittish troops were drilling. The 
 troops belonged to one of the famous Highland regiments, 
 and were all dressed in the peculiar Highland costume. 
 We passed over the moat by means of the draw bridge, 
 walked through the gateway under the ancient portcullis 
 and began the tour of the casde. This, like most of the 
 old castles of Scotland and England, is used as barracks for 
 soldiers of the Brittish army. The castle is larger than 
 Stirling, but does not enclose as much ground. The 
 rock upon which it stands is five hundred feet above the 
 sea level, and from the castle is a splendid view of the 
 city and surrounding country. To the north lies the 
 new city, laid out in squares and crescents, well built ; 
 fine streets and elegant public buildings ; while further 
 to the north can be seen several colleges and hospitals 
 and other charitable institutions. Nearer is St. Mary's 
 Episcopal cathedral, a fine building which can not fail to 
 attract attention. At the base of the rock, and between 
 it and the new city, is a beautiful garden, occupying the 
 bottom of a former lake. The castle is strongly built, in 
 a commanding position, and seems to be almost impreg- 
 nable, but it could not hold out long against the modern 
 engines of war. One of the most interesting things in 
 the castle is an old gun, forged at Mons in i486, and 
 used at the siege of Norham castle in 1497. In 1754 it 
 was taken to the Tower, at London, but was restored to 
 Edinburgh in 1829 by His Majesty, George IV, at the 
 solicitation of Sir Walter Scott. The most noticeable 
 feature of the gun, however, is its construction. It is
 
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 made of iron staves which are bound together by iron 
 bands, upon the same principle of our most improved 
 modern cannon. The balls which were used for this gun 
 were hewed out of stone, several of which lie beside it. 
 This is the highest part of the castle, and here stands a 
 chapel built more than 700 years ago in which Queen 
 Margaret worshiped. At the south of the royal court 
 stands the ancient parliament house; at the east is the 
 palace of the royal ladies and gentleman of Scotland; at the 
 west, the building for the maids and men of the courtiers 
 and ladies. The buildings are grand and massive. In this 
 castle, Mary, the mother of Mary Queen of Scots died. 
 Here also was Mary Qu^en of Scots imprisoned for eleven 
 months, and here the two young Earls of Douglas were be- 
 trayed and murdered at the "blank banquet." To the 
 east is seen Arthur's Seat, at the base of which is Holy 
 Rood Palace where lived the unfortunate Mary and her 
 jealous husband, Lord Darnley. Leaving the castle, we 
 go down the cannon gate; visit John Knox's church and 
 house; see the "heart of Midlothian;" stand by the 
 square brass plate in the pavement which is said to mark 
 the resting place of Knox; and walk on down the street 
 which every few blocks changes its name to something 
 else; go into a close here and there, pass the "White 
 Horse Inn, " formerly the most celebrated Inn in Scot- 
 land, and finally arrive in front of the Holy Rood Palace. 
 The ruins of the Abbey still stand connected with the 
 palace at the north-east angle. In the Abbey were mar- 
 ried many of the Stuarts; and some of them before the 
 union, were crowned here. Mary and Lord Darnley 
 were married in this Abbey. By order of her majesty, 
 Queen Virtoria.the historical apartments are thrown open 
 3
 
 — 34 — 
 
 to the public under certain restrictions. The picture gal- 
 lery, containing many of the portraits of Scotland's 
 rulers, the apartments of Mary and Darnley and the ruins 
 of the Abbey are the most interesting parts, on account 
 of their great historic associations. Herein Mary's pri- 
 vate chamber, while at supper with her, Rizzio, the 
 Italian, was assassinated by Darnley, who with his fellow 
 murderers had concealed themselves in the narrow private 
 stairway leading to Mary's apartments. The guides show 
 some dark stains in the floor which they tell you is made 
 by Rizzio' s blood. The tapestry still hangs as it did 
 when used by Mary; much of the furniture used by her, 
 such as the chairs and beds are kept in these apartments 
 just as Mary left them. 
 
 A little to the north-west of the palace is the Nec- 
 ropolis and the unfinished Parthenon. Between the pal- 
 ace and the Necropolis stands the magnificent monument 
 to Robert Burns. Across the street, and a little west of the 
 monument is the high school where Scott is said to have 
 developed a greater propensity for telling stories than 
 earning lessons . The buildings of Edinburgh University 
 are not handsome, though large. They are in the midst 
 of the old city, with no grounds around them and in 
 comparison with Glasgow university, are quite ordinary. 
 But I suppose buildings, though very desirable, do not 
 constitute a university. The manners and customs of the 
 people in Edinburgh are not different from those of other 
 Scottish cities. 
 
 Pictures and books are dearer than with us; railroad 
 fares and living expenses are about the same. Clothing 
 and gents' furnishing goods are but little cheaper, if any,
 
 — 35 — 
 
 than in the United States. Here as everywhere else on 
 that side of the ocean, everybody wants a fee. 
 
 At last we are ready to say good-bye to Edinburgh. 
 We take a special car and roll away enroute to Melrose. 
 The road, like all others in Scotland, is exceedingly 
 crooked; the country hilly and beautiful, devoted largely 
 to grazing. On the right we passed the ruins of an old 
 hall, moss and ivy grown, which reminded me of Bertram 
 Hall, the home of the Laird of Ellangowan, as described 
 by Scott. As we approached Melrose memories of Scott 
 come to me as I realize that I am now in the precints of 
 the life and labors of the immortal bard.
 
 ©Ijapter 6. 
 
 Melrose, Abbotsford, Dryburgh. 
 
 Melrose is a town of about 2,000 inhabitants. The 
 houses are ot stone, the streets are narrow and winding. 
 Desiring to go to the post-office, I found it by going 
 down an alley between high stone walls, passing through 
 a gate and entering the back door of a private residence. 
 We go to the Abbey Hotel and are assigned to a pleasant 
 room on the east side of the hotel, overlooking the church 
 yard and the Abbey. It is a fine old ruin. The 
 hotel is a rambling old house of stone, pleasant and 
 quaint. The* country round about is rolling and hilly 
 and very beautiful. Throughout the town and around 
 the Abbey an almost unbroken stillness reigns. The 
 song of birds interrupted by the occasional caw of a 
 rook is the only sound I hear as I write. Everything I 
 look at seems to embody forth a reminiscence of Sir 
 Walter. The Abbey is an interesting and melancholy 
 sight. Birds fly through the grand old windows; around 
 the crumbling towers, and under the ruined archways, 
 unconscious that this old pile is hallowed by associations, 
 and immortalized in song. It is built of very hard stone, 
 and where it still stands it is plain and clearly cut, many 
 parts being not affected by the elements and time, and 
 showing excellent workmanship. A noticeable feature is 
 that no two capitals are alike. The ruin is caused by 
 the wanton destruction on the part ot the people, nearly
 
 half of the entire structure having been torn down and 
 the stone used in building houses. Over a part of the 
 ruins grow bushes, grass and moss. In some places on 
 the roof and tops of walls a large amount of soil has 
 accumulated merely from decay and dust, being nearly 
 eighteen inches thick, with plants and bushes growing 
 there, the seed of which was probably carried there by 
 the birds. On the north side of the nave are the marks 
 of Cromwell's cannon balls. Intimately associated with 
 the Abbey is Scott's " Lay of the Last Minstrel." As 
 one stands within the grand and gloomy walls, the 
 scenes and incidents of the Minstrel pass before him like 
 a panorama. Here is a small postern gate through 
 which William of Deloraine entered on his midnight visit 
 to the wizard, Michael Scott. There is the aged monk's 
 stone cell, here the broad stone over the wizard, upon 
 which fell the " Cross of red." Such a spell has Scott's 
 tale of the wizard created, that many of the simple folks, 
 if out at night, constantly expect to see the wizard ; and 
 the children of the entire town are always safely within 
 doors at the first approach of darkness. Near the center 
 of the intersection of the nave and transept is a stone 
 where, it is said, Sir Walter was accustomed to sit for 
 hours, in silent contemplation of the east window and the 
 splendid roof. His own description of it is the best : 
 
 " The moon on the east oriel shone 
 
 Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 
 
 By foliaged tracery combined ; 
 
 Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 
 
 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand 
 
 In many a freakish knot had twined ; 
 
 Then framed a spell when the work was done 
 
 And changed the willow wreaths to stone."
 
 - 3« - 
 
 Night is the best time to view the ruins. It was built 
 by David I, of Scotland, or rather under his patronage. 
 The fanaticism of Knox and Henry VIII, caused its 
 destruction. One can scarcely find a prettier picture 
 than the old Abbey, "like some tall rock with lichens 
 gray," nestling in the beautiful valley, bathed in the 
 afternoon sun of a bright June day, the Tweed, like a 
 thread of silver in the fore ground, the Eildon hills in the 
 back ground, here and there through the valley old oak 
 trees that have kept guard over the Abbey for centuries. 
 
 We climbed Eildon hills, and standing on the summit, 
 beheld far beneath us and around us a landscape that is 
 worthy the poet's pen or the artist's pencil. The hills 
 are a part of the estate of the Duke of Bucchleuch, whose 
 residence lies on the side opposite the town. The 
 remains of an old Roman wall is seen on this hill, and 
 marks the site of a Roman camp. Some dozen or more 
 villages can be seen, the Tweed can be traced for miles ; 
 parks, forests and cultivated fields are intermingled in 
 charming confusion. The residence of the Duke of Rox- 
 bury can just be seen in the distance. Ravenwood, the 
 elegant country seat of Admiral Fairfax, presents a 
 delightful appearance. 
 
 "And far beneath in lustre wan, 
 
 Old Melrose rose, and fair Tweed ran." 
 
 At night, sitting at the window of my room, looking at 
 the old and venerable Abbey bathed in a perfect flood of 
 silvery light, the words of Scott occur to me: 
 
 "If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 
 Go visit it by the pale moon-light. 
 For the gay beams of l ; ghtsome day, 
 Gild but to flout the ruins gray.
 
 — 39 — 
 
 When the broken arches are black in night, 
 And each shafted oriel glimmers white; 
 When the cold light's uncertain shower 
 Streams on the ruined central tower ; 
 When buttress and buttress alternately 
 Seems framed of ebon and ivory, 
 When Silver edges the imagery — 
 Then go — but go alone the while, 
 Then view St. David's ruined pile ; 
 And, home returning soothly swear, 
 Was never scene so sad and fair." 
 
 The visitor to Melrose will hardly leave without 
 seeing Abbotsford, the home of Scott. It lies but a short 
 distance from the town. The way leads through a most 
 delightful country, the road hard and smooth, and as 
 usual about twenty feet wide. It winds around like the 
 course of a small stream Neat hedges or stone fences, 
 mostly the latter, border the sides. An abundance of 
 roses, which grow to a surprising size, adorn many of the 
 stone fences and house sides. Holly grows at the road 
 side ; laburnums adorn the landscape with their peculiar 
 yellow. The plowed fields on the hill sides are a perfect 
 terra cotta in color and afford a delightful contrast to the 
 fresh green fields by their side. All this land on both 
 sides of the road from Abbotslord to Melrose was once 
 the property of Sir Walter Scott. Finally we reach the 
 house. In a pretty valley, nestling close up to the hill 
 on the south, and a green lawn stretching away to 
 "Tweed's fair river broad and deep," lies the house 
 called Abbotsford. It is what any student of Scott's 
 works would expect to find. In almost every respect it 
 is a reproduction of the old feudal castle adapted to mod- 
 ern modes of life, and to more recent social conditions.
 
 — 4© — 
 
 It was not built of course, for defense, but it is large, 
 enclosed by stone walls and imitations of all the means ot 
 defense to be found in the old castles. It is built of 
 stone, with towers, turrets and battlements. We enter 
 at a postern gate on the east side, traverse a stone walk 
 guarded on either side by high stone walls, and enter the 
 house. Only the rooms on the east side are open to 
 visitors. The remainder of the house is occupied by the 
 present owner, the Hon. Mrs. Maxwell Scott, great 
 grand-daughter of the Baronet. We are first permitted 
 to enter the study. It remains iust as the poet left it. 
 In the center stands the table or desk which he used 
 when at his literary labors. Arranged around the wall 
 from the floor to the ceiling are shelves of books covering 
 the entire space except that used for doors and windows. 
 A short flight of steps at the west side of the room 
 ascends to a narrow walk about half way to the top of the 
 room, which renders the higher shelves accessible and 
 also leads to the south east corner to a door that enters 
 the author's bed chamber. In an alcove in the same 
 corner but below the chamber, is a cast of the poet's 
 head taken immediately after his death. From the study 
 we enter the library, a very large room facing the north 
 and overlooking the pleasant grounds, the Tweed, and 
 the beautiful hills beyond. The library consists of 20,000 
 volumes of books, which now are never touched, except 
 to be occasionally dusted. Every thing in this room, as 
 is true of all others also, remains as the author lelt it 
 when he died. In the north window stands a case con- 
 taining many valuable and historical relics ; at the west 
 a cabinet presented to Sir Walter by His Majesty, 
 George IV. It is made of ebony and is almost the
 
 — 4i — 
 
 exact counterpart of one recently patented in America. 
 Here is also a curiously hand-carved cabinet, which was 
 the property of Sir Walter's father. We next pass into 
 the drawing room. The same furniture of red plush or 
 velvet, and brass trimmings, used by Sir Walter, is yet 
 in this room. The paper on the walls is Chinese hand- 
 painted. The ceiling is painted to resemble the sky with 
 a huge brass sun in the center, from which drops the gas 
 fixture- The windows of this room also overlook the 
 Tweed. Next we pass into the armory. Here are many 
 rare and curious arms, among which are Sir Walter's 
 sword, the sword of Rob Roy, and that of Col. Scott, 
 the Baronet's son. One thing in this room recalls a sad 
 bit of English history. It is the small cross, inlaid with 
 pearl, that the unfortunate Mary, Queen ot Scotts, held 
 in her hand at her execution. Hung upon the wall, may 
 be seen the poet's hunting guns, and pictures of his 
 favorite dogs. From the armory we pass into a room 
 that might be called the museum. Of the many rare and 
 curious things collected by Sir Walter and placed in this 
 room, perhaps the most interesting is the chest in which 
 the unsuspecting Genevra perished. All who have read 
 that touching poem will pause with interest before this 
 wooden chest. Here also are two complete; suits of 
 armour, one of which was picked up after the battle of 
 Flodden Field, and with it a huge two handed broad 
 sword, in the u«e of which the Highlanders were so 
 skilled. We now pass out and have seen all that is open 
 to the public. I think Abbotsford is one of the most 
 charming spots in Scotland. A poet's appreciation of 
 the beautiful was manifested by Scott's selection of this 
 place for a home. We leave here with many a lingering
 
 — 4 2 — 
 
 look at the hills, the river, the grounds and the house. 
 We drive to Dryburgh Abbey, where the author is 
 buried. It is one of the most complete ruins in Scotland. 
 But little of the ancient Abbey stands, yet the crumbling 
 walls show its former glory. The monastery partly 
 remains, and the chapter house is in a good state of 
 preservation. The author and poet is buried in the north 
 part of the transept. Many others of his family rest here, 
 among whom are his wile, mother, son and son-in-law. 
 This abbey was founded about 1 150, A. D. Not far from 
 the grave of Scott is a yew tree which is known to be 
 seven hundred years old, but to whose real age the "mem- 
 ory of man runneth not back. ' ' So much for the historical 
 associations that cluster about quiet Melrose. But did 
 the traveler know nothing about Sir Walter Scott, he 
 would know that here not long ago a man had lived. He 
 would find indisputable traces of one who had lived and 
 loved and elevated those about him, and upon whom he 
 has left the impress of his greatness. The chief charac- 
 teristic of his greatness was his goodness. The mention 
 of Scott's name, will bring tears to the eyes of many of 
 the old and aged people of this quiet town. They loved 
 him, and their children love his memory. Walter Scott 
 was not a nobleman because he kneeled at the feet of 
 royalty and was dubbed a knight, and received a patent 
 of nobility creating him a baronet, but he was a noble- 
 man because he had a noble character. Let us pray that 
 there may be raised up among us many Sir Walters 
 to leave the impress of their goodness and their wisdom 
 upon the people and the institutions of our land. One 
 characteristic of the people of Melrose must not be 
 omitted because it is so rare. Everybody goes to church
 
 — 43 — 
 
 on Sunday morning — even the saloon keeper and his 
 family. There are many churches — all fine stone struct- 
 ures. The established religion is the Presbyterian, but 
 many other denominations are there, and all seem to be 
 of about equal numerical strength. Nowhere else in my 
 life did I ever see such a swarm of people on the way to 
 church on a Sunday morning. 
 
 In both Scotland and England, one cannot fail to 
 observe the extent to which oak is used for finishing 
 in buildings. The old houses are, almost without ex- 
 ception, finished with polished oak, which gives a rich 
 appearance to the rooms. Furniture is also made of oak 
 in many instances. 
 
 In the towns which are generally visited by tourists, 
 rates at the hotels are exceedingly high in comparison to 
 the cost of food at the shops or stores. In one instance, 
 some of us got a better meal at a bakery for 3d than 
 we had at the hotel for 2s. 6d. In Scotland, during the 
 long summer days, the cows are milked three times a 
 day. The climate is delightfully cool and pleasant. I 
 remember one day when the people were complaining of 
 the heat, that to us it was very pleasant — about such a 
 day as is often experienced at home in the month of 
 May. 
 
 • oOo«
 
 ©r}&pter 7. 
 
 Cambridge University. 
 
 From Melrose to London the railroad is crooked as 
 the roads usually are in Great Britian. Tunnels abound, 
 and the lamps in the cars are kept burning to relieve 
 the darkness of the numerous tunnels. As the train goes 
 southward, the stone houses are gradually replaced with 
 red brick structures. The stone fences give way to neat 
 hedges, and the hills to level or slightly undulating coun- 
 try. Farming becomes more general, though the ab- 
 sence of improved methods and modern machinery is 
 noticeable. Grass is cut with a scythe in a great meas- 
 ure, and occasionally an old wind mill, such as Don 
 Quixote contended with, is seen doing service for the 
 want of better motive power. These mills are really 
 a curiosity to an American who has never seen any other 
 than the neat, trim mill of his own country. In every 
 part of England which I visited, it seemed to be one vast 
 park with neatly trimmed hedges, groves of rare old 
 trees, massive buildings, beautiiul gardens of flowers and 
 herbs, pretty streams and delightful roads. The Eng- 
 lishman may well be proud of his native country — but 
 far from justifiable, or even excusable, is any pride of 
 her institutions, or her social or political condition. 
 Along the line of the railway are numerous large manu- 
 facturing towns — such towns as Charles Dickens has
 
 — 45 — 
 
 faithfully described in "Hard Times." We may well 
 ask ourselves whether the misery and want, the brutal 
 treatment of operatives, the low tide of morals, the 
 ignorance and ciime, the necessity for the entire family — 
 husband, mother and children — to go into the mill or 
 the mine, or into the heat of the forge, are the legitimate 
 result of a dense population, and inevitable where a coun- 
 try becomes old and populous? -Being on my way to visit 
 the University of Cambridge, I only stay one night in the 
 metropolis of the world, and leave early the next morning 
 for the seat of this ancient institution of learning It had 
 always been my desire to see a real university. But few 
 people, except those who have visited one of the two 
 great universities of England, realize what is meant by 
 the term. There is no similarity between a German and 
 an English university. The latter is a monstrous aggre- 
 gation of colleges. Yale, Harvard, John's Hopkins 
 and Ann Arbor are modeled more nearly on the Ger- 
 man plan than any others. We have no school in 
 America similar to the universities of Cambridge or Ox- 
 ford. Cambridge consists of seventeen colleges. Each 
 one of these colleges is an entirely distinct and separate 
 school from the other. Each has courses of study cov- 
 ering about the same ground and of about equal value for 
 mental discipline. If, in Indiana, we should take DePauw, 
 Butler, Notre Dame, Wabash Colleges, together with 
 all the other colleges and place them together in the same 
 town, reserving to each its separate and entire control of 
 its own affairs, but giving a general supervision of the 
 general affairs to a board chosen annually from the facul- 
 ties of the various colleges, we should have precisely an 
 English university, except that it would be quite small in
 
 - 46 - 
 
 comparison with either Oxford or Cambridge. So at the 
 latter place each college is a separate and entirely inde- 
 pendent corporation. The management of each college 
 is in the hands of a "Master" and a faculty of professors, 
 fellows and tutors. The master corresponds to the presi- 
 dent of the American college. Although each college is 
 independent of all the others as to the work done by 
 them, yet all are subject to the higher law of the "univer- 
 sity" corporation in the matters of general and common 
 interest to all. The relation of the colleges to each other 
 and to the university, is about the same as the relation of 
 our several states to each other, and to the general gov- 
 ernment. The nominal head of the university is a 
 chancellor, but the real head is a vice-chancellor. 
 The discipline of all the colleges is vested in proc- 
 tors, assisted by two professors from each college, the 
 latter, having jurisdiction of matters of discipline coming 
 from their respective colleges ; the power of the two 
 proctors being nominal merely. The salary of the mas- 
 ters of the various colleges varies, being about $10,000 
 per year for each ; that of the professors is a little less ; 
 that of the fellows depend upon the endowment of the 
 fellowships, while the tutors being largely dependant upon 
 fees, often amounts to as much as that of the master. 
 The smallest college at Cambridge is larger it point of 
 buildings, than the largest one in Indiana. The build- 
 ings at the university of Notre Dame, Indiana, the 
 largest in the west in point of buildings and grounds, are 
 not as massive and substantial, or as large and numerous 
 as those of St. Peter's college, the smallest one at Cam- 
 bridge. Some of the colleges are four times as large as 
 St. Peter's, and by keeping in mind this fact and remem-
 
 — 47 — 
 
 bering that there are seventeen of them, the reader can 
 form some idea of the size of Cambridge University. I 
 was surprised at the size and magnificence of this univer- 
 sity. Besides the college buildings, there are several 
 buildings belonging to the university corporation, just as 
 our state buildings belong to the various states, and our 
 public buildings at Washington belong to the general 
 government. Among these are the university library, the 
 senate building and the museums. Each of the seventeen 
 colleges has its separate library, ranging from 6,000 
 volumes to 100,000 volumes each, while the university 
 library has 400,000 volumes besides, just as our states 
 have public libraries for each state, and the National 
 library for the general government. The constitution of 
 the university bears a close analog)' to our government. 
 It may be called in fact, a "Literary commonwealth." 
 The attendance is about 1 0,000. The students wear gowns 
 and caps. 
 
 These colleges at Cambridge represent a growth 
 covering several centuries. They owe their existence to 
 endowments from rich men and women, to acts of parlia- 
 ment, to donations of England's various monarchs, to 
 the work of the Bishops of the established church and 
 many other sources. To describe the architecture is an 
 impossibility, it being of all kinds, though Italian and 
 perpendicular Gothic prevail. All the college buildings 
 are constructed with quadrangles and courts. The win- 
 dows in many of the chapels are elegant and very costly. 
 The river runs in the rear of most of the colleges, and 
 the grounds are kept in splendid condition. The most 
 noticeable chapel is at King's college. Its architecture is 
 that known as third pointed or perpendicular Gothic.
 
 - 4 8 — 
 
 "The exterior of this building is very striking and grand; 
 at each angle is a lofty octagonal tower, and on either 
 side are eleven buttresses of four stages, which terminate 
 eleven feet above the battlement in crooked pinnacles; 
 these immense buttresses have, between their lower 
 stages, a series of eighteen small chantries or side chapels 
 which, while they take off the massiveness of the but- 
 tresses externally, add also a most interesting and unique 
 internal feature to the edifice. The interior is still more 
 impressive. The vast roof vaulted throughout with ex- 
 quisit fan tracery; unsustained by a single pillar, the 'dim 
 religious light' shed by richly painted windows and the 
 grand and awful perspective, generally impress the mind 
 of the spectator with a feeling of devotional solemnity 
 almost unearthly." The roof is vaulted in twelve divis- 
 ions; each vault is supported by a keystone weighing 
 more than a ton. The organ and windows are wonder- 
 ful. The bellows of the organ is worked by water 
 power; and the paintings of the windows are some of the 
 rarest specimens ol English art. Each college has a 
 chapel, but none approach King's in grandeur. Such, in 
 brief, is Cambridge university. 
 
 ••o^o«-
 
 ©rj&pter 8. 
 
 Rotterdam, The Hague, "The House in 
 the Woods." 
 
 I suppose that for a party of "tramps" we had 
 hardly done the amount of walking that should have 
 been expected of us, but defying criticism, we again took 
 cars for Harwich. Here we are on the shore of the 
 North Sea, our destination, Rotterdam, Holland. Of 
 course we can't walk across the sea, so we embark in a 
 trim little steamer called the " Princess of Wales, " which 
 carries us safely to our destination without encountering 
 any of the rough weather so characteristic of this sea. 
 
 When we awoke in the morning, the boat was in 
 the river Maas, a passage from the Rhine to the sea. On 
 both sides are dykes, behind which, considerably lower 
 than the surface of the water in the river, is the land 
 which has been reclaimed from the sea by these thrifty 
 Dutch. These lands, once the bottom of the sea, are now 
 quite thickly inhabited. Thriving towns and villages lie 
 along the river ; the fields are as flat and level as a floor, 
 and herds of Holstein cattle graze upon them. In these 
 towns windmills are almost entirely used for motive power 
 in the factories and mills. The houses are mostly built 
 of brick, and look old, and as to style are decidedly 
 "Dutch." A superficial examination of our luggage is 
 
 4
 
 — 5 o — 
 
 made by some custom-house officers, and we are then 
 permitted to go on board a smaller boat which steams on 
 up the river and lands us finally at a dock on the north 
 side of the river. We take street cars, which in Rotter- 
 dam, only stop at regular stations, and find ourselves 
 soon at the Market place. It is a small rectangular space 
 surrounded by high buildings; and almost everything 
 imaginable is displayed for sale. Not the least tempting 
 is the fine fruit. The strawberries and cherries were the 
 finest and largest I ever saw. The "tramps" made a 
 rush for the fruit stands, and when we had ascertained 
 the ridiculously low price, we bought in a princely (?) 
 way, in huge quantities, to the astonishment of the by- 
 standers, and the delight of the old women who kept the 
 stands. But we attracted attention. But I think that a 
 crowd of twenty strangers under the same circumstances, 
 would attract attention, even in America. The natives 
 began to gather around and watch us. Even the pretty 
 lady clerks came out of the shops to see the "tramps." 
 This I particularly objected to (my wife was along). 
 However some of the boys did not seem to object in the 
 least. The Dutch evidently thought we were curiosities 
 — rare ones at that. In about ten minutes there must 
 have been two or three hundred people around us, their 
 mouths wide open, their eyes wide with wonder. To be 
 frank about it, I think we were very proper objects to 
 excite astonishment. Remember that in Holland no one 
 ever so far forgets himself as to eat anything on the 
 streets, yet we were very successfully trying to dispose of 
 two or three bushels of berries, more or less, in the 
 most public market place in Rotterdam. A policeman 
 in white pants, a drawn sword in his hands, finally drives
 
 — 5i — 
 
 back the crowd; and the lately surrounded tramps march 
 away to the hotel, which happens to be on the opposite 
 side of the square. But the crowd follows. They even 
 get there ahead of us, and form a file on each side, and 
 we march through the avenue thus formed and enter the 
 hotel. One of the most peculiar things on the continent 
 is the size of the beds. Seriously, I think I am within 
 the truth when I say that the beds are no more than two 
 feet wide. Not knowing this, I ordered a room with one 
 bed. Judge my surprise when I see it. Mark Twain says 
 that the beds are so narrow that when one forgets himself 
 and goes to sleep, the cover invariably slides off onto the 
 floor. Mark is right about it. You are expected to lie 
 awake to hold the cover on the bed. Another peculiar- 
 ity about hotels on the continent is that no soap is ever 
 furnished. You must carry your own if you desire it. 
 This custom, however, I think is founded on good sense 
 and sound hygenic principles, unlike many others. It is 
 superior to our practice in this regard. We had been in 
 the hotel but a few minutes, when a boy appeared with a 
 box of toilet soap, neatly put up, which he wanted to dis- 
 pose of at a fabulous price per cake. But we had already 
 provided ourselves with soap before leaving America, 
 and we dismissed him with "thanks." 
 
 The streets of Rotterdam are very narrow, many of 
 them do not exceed six feet in width. They are so crooked 
 that I can't think of anything with which to compare 
 them. The narrow streets have no sidewalks. Those 
 which are wide have walks at the side varying in width 
 from two to three feet. But they are seldom used for 
 walking upon. They are always obstructed by bales of 
 goods, boxes, crates, and when nothing 'else can be
 
 — 52 — 
 
 thought of for which to use them, then you may walk on 
 them. But the inhabitants universally walk in the middle 
 of the streets. Carts and wagons are usually pulled by 
 dogs and women hitched up together, sometimes a 
 man and a dog. But one who has never seen a dog 
 trained to pull carts, can scarcely realize how they will 
 pull, and how angry they become when another dog and 
 cart succeeds in passing them. In many places dogs are 
 used exclusively to draw milk carts. But when later I 
 saw in Germany a woman harnessed to a wagon beside a 
 donkey, the astonishment at seeing them hitched up with 
 a dog somewhat subsided. Now. this is an actual fact 
 that in many places on the continent the traveler can see 
 women thus used at the side of donkeys, dogs and oxen 
 as beasts of burden . It is only the fact that they are 
 hitched up with dogs and oxen that looks queer, for we 
 often see women in America hitched up for life alongside 
 donkeys. 
 
 A number of the streets are canals with a narrow 
 sidewalk on each side. Boats are propelled along these 
 canals by means of a long pole. The boatman in the 
 prow thrusts the pole to the bottom, places it against his 
 shoulder and begins to walk toward the rear of the boat, 
 which is thus pushed forward. 
 
 The women are generally bareheaded on the streets 
 and wear a peculiar ornament on each side of the head 
 and about the level of the eyes. It resembles a large 
 spiral bed spring, and is usually made of polished brass 
 wires. Many people in Rotterdam speak German. In 
 many of the shops, English speaking clerks are em- 
 ployed. The Dutch are the most incessant smokers I saw 
 in Europe. The principal business is commerce and ship-
 
 53 
 
 building, but everything "is subordinate to coloring 
 meerschaums." The men are boorish and ungallant. I 
 have several times seen a number of them enter a com- 
 partment of a railway car, and puff away at their vile 
 cigars and strong pipes in the presence of ladies, until I 
 was nearlv choked. Yet the women seem to take it as a 
 matter of course. They have never experienced anything 
 different. It is the custom of the country, and there- 
 fore proper. Indeed everywhere on the continent 
 smoking in the presence of ladies, and at dinner between 
 courses, is so common that it is regarded as quite the 
 proper thing to do. 
 
 "As flat as Holland, " is a simile quite familiar to every 
 reader, and it is a true one. The land is the flattest to 
 be seen anywhere. A ride from Rotterdam to the Hague, 
 reveals many things that to an American are quite curi- 
 ous. First he is amazed at the long, flat stretch of coun- 
 try, all the way as level as a floor. Then he wonders 
 how it is drained. Nowhere does he see a fence. Instead 
 offences are canals or wide and deep ditches. The land 
 is divided into fields by means of these canals full of 
 water. They serve the double purpose of fences and 
 drains. Bridges that can be drawn back from over the 
 canal take the place of gates. Sometimes the bridge is' 
 stationary and a gate is thrown across the bridge. The 
 principal crop is hay. The chief industry of the country 
 is raising Holstein cattle and making cheese. All these 
 ditches and canals lead to larger ones which, in turn, lead 
 to the dykes. But here the water must stop flowing, if 
 it can be said to flow, because it is several feet lower than 
 the water on the other side of the dyke. Hence at con- 
 venient intervals along the dyke, huge old-fashioned
 
 — 54 — 
 
 windmills are stationed by means of which the water is 
 pumped up over the dyke and into the sea. 
 
 The Hague is the capital of the Netherlands, and is 
 laid out irregularly with crooked and narrow streets not 
 at all different from other Dutch towns. The houses in 
 both the Hague and in Rotterdam are generally built of 
 red brick, have tiled roofs, and the fronts of many of 
 them lean forward far over the street. How this pecul- 
 iarity is accounted for, I could not learn, but some will 
 tell you'that they were built that way, others that the soft 
 and yielding ground has settled and caused it. But I 
 am disposed to think that much of it can be attributed to 
 awkward and careless workmanship. Our first object of 
 interest at the Hague was the Royal Palace. We were 
 quite cordially received by the servants, to whom we 
 gave a liberal lee, to show us through the palace, the 
 king and queen being away at their summer residence 
 near Amsterdam, (much to to their regret, no doubt, 
 when they learned that our distinguished party had been 
 there), and were permitted to go entirely through 
 the palace, visiting the queen's waiting room, dining 
 room, boudoir, sleeping apartments and toilet rooms. 
 The finish of the rooms is mahogany, the furniture is of 
 various rare kinds of wood, and the upholstery of the 
 finest satan elegantly worked. We next went into the 
 small and large ball rooms and the king's dining room, 
 in which are portraits of the various members of the 
 royal family, among which is one of William II, the 
 reigning king's father. In front'of this portrait stands 
 the stuffed remains of the horse ridden by William II 
 at the battle of Waterloo. This horse, it is said, lived to 
 be 66 years old. The walls of the king's reception room
 
 — 55 — 
 
 and sleeping rooms are covered with satin. The walls of 
 most of the rooms of the palace are covered with velvet 
 or silk, and the ceilings are beautifully decorated. The 
 name of the reigning king is William III, the queen is 
 Emma, a German princess. The king is 70 years old, the 
 queen is 29. Having walked through the various rooms 
 inspecting everything with an American's prover- 
 bial freedom, and in one short hour having become 
 wearied of the grandeur of royalty, we pass out of the 
 palace and direct our steps co the Royal picture gallery 
 a few blocks away. My reverance for the "divine right 
 of kings" was, however, not sufficiently strong to keep 
 me from wondering how or by what process of evolution, 
 a people were ever brought to endure miseries and bur- 
 dens and tyranny, to support a few in elegance and ease 
 and grandeur such as I had just witnessed. Having the 
 termerity to express some such sentiment, I was at once 
 voted "horrid" by the ladies who regarded it all as 
 "just lovely. " Perhaps after all, it is to the women, that 
 royal families owe the stability of their thrones. 
 
 The royal picture gallery, though not so extensive 
 as most European galleries, contains many productions 
 of the various schools, though, of course, that of Reubens 
 predominates. From the gallery we took carriages to the 
 "House in the woods. " Most ot our "tramping" was 
 done in carriages, but this mode has the virtue of being 
 a most delightful way to "tramp. " The "House in the 
 woods" is the residence of the Princes Amelia, Queen ol 
 Frederick Henry. The building was erected in 1648 
 and is the loveliest spot in Holland. We visited the dining 
 room with its chandelier of Venetian glass, and ancient 
 plate and wares. The decorations on the walls so well repre-
 
 - 56 - 
 
 sent sculpture that one is completely deceived. The Chin- 
 ese room, the walls of which are covered with Chinese 
 hand-painted paper, and the Japanese room hung with 
 tapestry of curious and beautiful design, and the Chinese 
 boudoir, the tapestry on the walls of which has hung there 
 for 150 years, are most interesting. But the most striking 
 feature of the palace is the Orange room. It is a large oc- 
 tagonal room, the walls of which are fifty feet high. The 
 decorations of this room are master pieces by nine pupils 
 of Reubens, and represent the continuous labor of four 
 years. They represent, in allegory, the life of Frederick 
 Henry. 
 
 We were also shown many other rooms, among 
 them the Queen's sitting room and ball room, but an 
 attempt to describe them is a waste of time. The forest 
 in which this palace is situated is extensive and consists 
 of natural forest trees with splendid drives winding 
 through it in various directions, with rustic bridges across 
 the canals, and summer houses, and rustic seats in the 
 shade of the spreading trees, and vines and shrubs, in 
 delightful contrast to the narrow streets and ugly houses 
 and stone pavements of the city hard by. In Holland the 
 principal fuel is peet and wood. The method of obtaining 
 the wood is worthy of mention. Trees of rapid growth, 
 principally willow, are set out in groves, along the banks 
 of canals, and the supply of wood is obtained exclusively 
 from the tops. The tops of a certain number are cut oft 
 one year, the next year the tops of a certain number of 
 others, and so on, until the tops of the first have grown
 
 — 57 — . 
 
 out again, when they are again cut off, and in this manner 
 
 a perpetual supply of wood is obtained from the same 
 
 trees. 
 
 In Rotterdam one is constantly reminded of the 
 
 Dutch Governors of New York and the early settlers of 
 Manhattan Island, so truly representative of Dutch char- 
 acter are the illustrations of our school histories, and the 
 illustrated editions of Washington Irving's works. At 
 every turn, one seems to recognize a Peter Stuyvesant, or 
 a Wooter Von Twiller, or a comely Dutch matron, the 
 sight of whom carries us back to the white sanded floors 
 and neatly kept houses of early New York history. 
 

 
 ©r}&pter 9. 
 
 Cologne — The Cathedral, St. Ursula, 
 rolandseck. 
 
 But the time has come to leave Holland and we take 
 cars for Germany. We pass through Utrecht, which 
 every school boy remembers by its associations with the 
 treaty of 17 13, and about noon reach the German 
 frontier. The frontier town, on this line, is Emmerich. 
 Here we pass through the custom house. As this one 
 is a type of all interior custom houses, a brief descrip- 
 tion may be given. The passengers all alight from the 
 train and together with the luggage of every description, 
 are hustled into a large room; in shape, a rectangular 
 parallelogram. Eight or ten feet from the walls, a coun- 
 ter extends entirely around the room; and within the 
 space enclosed by this counter, the trunks and heavy 
 baggage are piled, the valises and lighter baggage are 
 deposited on the counter. Seven or eight officials in full 
 uniform are present, and are supposed to make a thor- 
 ough examination of the contents of all valises, trunks, 
 etc., but in fact a very superficial examination is made. 
 
 My valises were not opened. I told the officer that 
 I was a traveler and had nothing liable to duty. He 
 marked the valise with a piece of chalk, and I was then
 
 — 59 — 
 
 permitted to pass out through an eating room to the 
 platform between the depot and the track, and I again 
 took my place in the train. The trunks, however, were 
 all opened and hastily examined. We were now in Ger- 
 man territory. What Dutch money we had left, we ex- 
 changed for German coin, which is a decimal currency. 
 The unit is the mark, which consists of ioo pfenig, and 
 in value is nearly twenty-five American cents. The pfenig 
 is coined in one, five, ten, twenty and fifty pfenig pieces. 
 The gold coins are a ten and twenty mark piece, nearly 
 equivalent to our two and one-half and five dollar gold 
 pieces respectively. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon, we arrived at 
 Cologne, or "Koeln, " as it is in German. It was not 
 our intention to stop long at this city, as the only objects 
 of interest which we desired to visit were the famous 
 cathedral and the church of St. Ursula. Cologne con- 
 tains 160,000 inhabitants, 95 per cent, of whom are said 
 to be Catholics. The cathedral is beyond any possible 
 description. It is a type of those wonderful architectural 
 enterprises of the middle ages. It has been over 600 
 years in building, and was finally completed in 1879. 
 The amount of sculpture and imagery and stone tracery 
 upon the outside is wonderful. The dome, the last part 
 completed, is 518 feet high. As you ascend, you will see 
 at intervals the date when each section was completed, 
 with the name of the supervising architect. Thus, from 
 the bottom, you pass the work of the middle ages as well 
 as that of the intervening six centuries until, at the top, 
 you see that of our own time.
 
 — 60 - 
 
 From the top the visitor sees the city and country be- 
 low him, and the winding course of the Rhine like a silver 
 thread, which is lost to view in the distance. We entered 
 the cathedral while vespers were celebrating. The grand 
 tones of the wonderful organ rolled through the transept 
 and nave, swelling and bursting and dying away in 
 waves of melody. Then it was supplemented by the 
 chanting of the priests from the altar and choir, which in 
 turn, was answered by the devout responses of the wor- 
 shipers. Then again the organ would peal forth and the 
 waves of music would seem to dash and break against 
 the clustered columns, and rush down the vast length of 
 the nave and echo and answer back again to the echoes 
 of the transept and then die away as it in deference to 
 the chanting of the surpliced priests in the choir behind 
 the altar. The bright sunlight as it came through the 
 magnificent, stained-glass windows, seemed to be purified 
 and mellowed and to fall in a subdued and holy radiance 
 upon the heads of the worshipers like the "smile of God 
 in benediction." The scene, the service, the entire sur- 
 roundings united to produce in the beholder a feeling of 
 solemnity and awe. He, who for the first time stands 
 within the walls of some great cathedral and looks down 
 the vast aisles, beholds the clustered columns, and works 
 of art, the magnificent windows, and vaulted roofs with 
 delicate stone tracery, and hears the deep tones of 
 the mighty organ and the chanting of the priests, all 
 objects subdued in the mellow light, experiences sensa- 
 tions indescribable, and realizes fully the pomp and glory 
 of a cathedral service. There is something in the
 
 — 61 — 
 
 service that is truly awe-inspiring, and arouses in the 
 attendant, feelings of devotion and reverence for religion 
 which, perhaps, were never experienced by him before. 
 The church of St. Ursula, at Cologne, is said to stand 
 on the spot where Ursula and the 11,000 virgins were 
 slain by the Huns, on their retreat from the south after 
 their reverses at Chalons. 
 
 If the story of St. Ursula's life and the tragic death 
 of herself and companions is true, and if this indeed be 
 the scene of the massacre, then this church is a monu- 
 ment that should command the admiration of the civilized 
 world. For, if the premises are true, it commemorates 
 an act of heroic defense of virtue and chastity and nobility 
 of womanly character that finds no parallel in history. 
 The Huns, so the story goes, retreating with a large 
 army after the defeat which decided the fate of all Europe, 
 came to Cologne, and after a short seige, captured and 
 sacked the city. 
 
 Shortly before this Ursula and her British compan- 
 ions had been compelled to flee from England on account 
 of religious persecution, and had come to the religious 
 settlement of Cologne. Here Ursula's purity had made 
 her the model and leader of all the maidens and women 
 of the city. They were delivered to the barbarian sol- 
 diers and threatened with the most ignominious dishonor; 
 but, sustained by the courage and counsel of Ursula, 
 they firmly resisted the efforts of their brutal captors and 
 in one spot the n,ooowere put to death because they 
 chose to defend their honor and purity.
 
 — 62 — 
 
 Such is the story, though of doubtful authenticity, of 
 an act of heroism without parallel in history. The church 
 is now decorated on the interior with the exhumed bones 
 of these virgins. Whether the bones are those of the 
 slain virgins or not, certainly some industrious individual 
 has succeeded in getting together an enormous number 
 of human bones. If the story of the virgins is true, or 
 has any foundation in fact, this disinterment of their 
 remains is little short of sacrilege. But the church of St. 
 Ursula certainly finds this ghastly exposure to visitors, at 
 a fixed price per head, a source of abundant revenue. 
 
 From Cologne to Rolandseck we traveled by rail, in 
 the evening twilight, passing through Bonn, the seat of 
 a famous university, where the late Emperor of Germany 
 was educated, and at which also the present Emperor 
 and the Crown Prince (now William III), were trained, 
 as are all the male members of the House of Hohenzollern. 
 It was here that Beethoven, for the entertainment of a poor 
 blind girl, extemporized his wonderful sonata in C minor, 
 popularly called the "Moonlight Sonata," and after its 
 production, hurried away to his room to put the compo- 
 sition on paper for preservation. We arrived at Roland- 
 seck just after nightfall, though the brilliant moonlight, 
 which fell in floods on hills and valley, and river, left it 
 anything but dark. Rolandseck is a delightful little 
 country town, pleasantly nestled in a beautiful valley 
 between the hills and the Rhine. All around it are vine- 
 laden hills, in front of it the noble river, whose current 
 sweeps onward toward the sea placidly, smoothly like 
 the rhythm of some majestic poem.
 
 • - 63 - 
 
 Over across the river, and to the left oi the observer, 
 rise the seven mountains, while nearer and in the middle 
 of the river, on a little island, is the famous convent of 
 Nonnenwerth, and high on the opposite hill, which rises 
 almost perpendicularly from the water's edge, is the 
 ruined arch, all that remains of the castle of Roland the 
 Brave. After a supper of bread and milk, during which 
 a bottle of Niersteiner in some manner had mysteriously- 
 disappeared from the writer's table, the ' ' tramps ' ' started 
 out to climb the hills. to Roland's arch. The evening 
 was perfect. The surroundings were enchanting. The 
 way lay for a short distance along the edge of the river, 
 then suddenly turned to the left and began to wind 
 around through vineyards, higher and higher, until it led 
 into the dark forest high above the river. The transition 
 from the moonlight to the shade of the trees, rendered 
 the road, which now became little more than a bridle 
 path, difficult to follow ; and at times the trees were so 
 thick and the foliage so dense that the darkness became 
 intense. Then, through an opening in the tree tops, a 
 flood of mellow light would fall across the path, and a 
 little farther on the intermingling light and shade, in 
 fantastic shapes and forms upon the earth, presented a 
 strange, wild scene. 
 
 Now we reached a stone tower, and began to realize 
 that we had missed the way. We were at the summit of 
 the hill, and the trees and shrubs were not so dense as 
 farther back, and aided by the light of the moon, we 
 scattered off in parties of three or four and finally arrived 
 at the arch. Here is a beautiful view of the Rhine, the
 
 - 64 - 
 
 cloister of St. Hildegund, and the "Siebengebirge." 
 The place, like all romantic spots on the Rhine, has its 
 legend. It is something as follows: Near here lived 
 Roland, the brave, who loved the beautiful Hildegund, 
 who returned his affections. The knight, whom Hilde- 
 gund had promised to wed, departed to a distant war. 
 Soon after his departure, it was reported by one who 
 thus sought to win the beautiful Hildegund from Roland, 
 that the latter had been slain in battle. The result little 
 met the rival's expectations. Hildegund betook herself 
 in her grief to the cloister Nonnenwerth and took the 
 veil. When Roland returned, flushed with victory, he 
 found Hildegund the bride of the church. His disap- 
 pointment resulted in a deep melancholy, and he erected 
 a castle upon the hill which overlooks the cloister, 
 and there lived and waited to catch a glimpse of his 
 beloved Hildegund. After years of painful waiting and 
 watching, his constancy was rewarded. One morning 
 the convent was in commotion. A death had occurred. 
 Later, in conformity to the rites of the church, a sister, 
 the purest, the best, the most saintly that had ever lived 
 within those walls, was carried out to the little church- 
 yard behind the cloister. Roland saw and recognized. 
 His reward had come, it was Hildegund. And now all 
 that remains of the old castle is the single arch, by which 
 we stood on that lovely evening. The legend may lack 
 some essential details, and is undoubtedly devoid of 
 literary finish. However, it is one of the best of the 
 enormous number of the " Legends of the Rhine," all of 
 which no doubt lose very much in the translation from
 
 - 65 - 
 
 the German, which is so admirably suited to romances 
 and legends. 
 
 We found a much shorter way down than the one 
 by which we had ascended, and again we stood at the 
 edge of the river. There is something indescribably 
 pleasant in standing for the first time in the vicinity of the 
 Rhine, drinking in its beauties ; seeing the craft passing 
 and repassing on its placid surface, which glitters like a 
 band of polished steel in the bright moonlight ; hearing a 
 party of Germans, over a bottle of some favorite brand of 
 Rhine wine, singing some patriotic song of the Father- 
 land with all the ardent love of both song and country, 
 which is the most predominant trait of the German 
 character. 
 
 It was here in this delightful Rolandseck, that Long- 
 fellow, in contemplation of this remarkable river, was 
 moved to write : ' ' Oh, the pride of the German heart in 
 this noble river. And right it is, for of all the rivers 
 of this beautiful earth, there is none so beautiful as this. 
 There is hardly a league of its whole course, from its 
 cradle in the snowy Alps to its grave in the sands of 
 Holland, which boasts not its peculiar charms. By heav- 
 ens, if I were a German, I would be proud of it too ; 
 and of the clustering grapes that hang about its temples, 
 as it reels onward through vineyards in a triumphal 
 march, like Bacchus, crowned and drunken. But I will 
 not try to describe the river Rhine, to do it well, one 
 should write like a God ; and his style flow onward roy- 
 ally, with breaks and dashes, like the waters of that 
 royal river, and antique, quaint and Gothic times be 
 reflected in it."
 
 ©ropier 10. 
 
 Up the Rhine, St. Goar, German Peasant Life. 
 
 From Rolandseck we were to go up the Rhine by 
 boat. Many people prefer to make the trip by carriage 
 along the roads on either side, which wind among the 
 hills and over them, disclosing lovely views of the river, 
 and country and vineyards. Others make the journey 
 by foot, and these are they who really are the wisest. 
 No exercise is better than walking ; when a majestic land- 
 scape lies before you, all the time that is necessary can be 
 taken to view it ; the exercise in the pure air sends the 
 blood pulsating to the remotest cells of the body, thrilling 
 and filling the pedestrian with ecstacy unspeakable. The 
 Rhine is lined with old castles and ruins, perched high 
 upon the hills and almost inaccessible rocks, and you can 
 climb up to them, go through them, see the river and hills 
 for miles, with quaint houses and picturesque villages, 
 where the people speak about an equal amount of bad 
 French and worse German. The fatigue is not great. 
 Walking is a reflex action of the muscles, and when your 
 attention is attracted from the exertion, to the many queer 
 houses and queer customs ; the conversation that all this 
 induces, the funny incidents, the strange costumes of the 
 travelers you meet by the way, you are surprised to find
 
 - 6 7 - 
 
 how many miles you leave behind you without becoming 
 weary. 
 
 But some one will say this kind of speculation is all 
 very nice for one to indulge in who is sitting on a camp 
 stool on board a boat that is steaming up the river. But 
 yet it is true, for later on, I did some walking along the 
 Rhine and a great deal in Switzerland, all of which con- 
 vinced me that I had missed very much by riding up the 
 Rhine on a boat. 
 
 The sun shone brightly as the little river steamer 
 swung away from the landing with our party on board, 
 our luggage in a heap where it was recklessly thrown from 
 the shore to the lower deck of the boat (talk about the 
 American baggage smashers). The pleasant town, the 
 cloister, the seven mountains, and Roland's arch dropped 
 to the rear. The vine-laden hills began to glide past us 
 like a moving: panorama. With a habit that one soon 
 acquires while traveling, I turned from the scenes we were 
 leaving to scrutinize the faces and the groups of persons 
 on board. There were Germans from all parts of the 
 Fatherland, Dutchmen from the low countries, French- 
 men who longed for the time when this noble river should 
 again be the boundary between France and Germany; 
 Englishmen who looked at the river and hills and faces of 
 the ladies through a single eye-glass, and Americans who 
 regarded themselves as the infinite superiors of all the rest, 
 and who walked the deck like kings ; and then there 
 were other Americans who could see in every hill and 
 vine something vastly better than America could afford ; 
 who could recognize nothing as grand unless at least ten 
 centuries of history were connected with it, and who 
 probably did not know ten years of history of their own
 
 — 68 — 
 
 or any other country, andwho^e only knowledge of places 
 or events was confined to the half dozen lines to be found 
 in their red-backed guide books. 
 
 Oh, it makes an American's heart beatand swell with 
 pride to meet some of his American cousins abroad. 
 They are so intelligent. They know so much. They 
 have "done" so many places ; they are so "cultured," 
 they know with unerring certainty the sizes of European 
 capitals and the names of the reigning princes and their 
 houses. They have gained so much valuable knowledge 
 by contact with foreign people. Yet nine out of ten of 
 them are unable to tell what kind of government exists 
 in the countries they have " done ; " they could not for 
 their miserable lives tell the difference between our insti- 
 tutions and those of France or Italy. They can't tell the 
 names of the President's Cabinet (if they happen to know 
 there is such a thing). In short, they are like a certain 
 class of college graduates, who would blush to put the 
 wrong ictus of a Greek word on the wrong syllable, but for 
 the life of them could not tell whether the femur is a muscle 
 or a bone. Why can't we have a school system in this 
 country that will aim, first of all, at teaching that good 
 sense and unaffected behavior are the first elements of 
 culture? 
 
 But we must not pay too much attention to this class; 
 we can study this species without crossing the sea to do 
 it. But there seems to be something about the atmos- 
 phere, or climate, or scenery across the sea, that is 
 favorable for fully developing and bringing to view many 
 ludicrous phases of character of this class of people. In 
 the prow were a German and his wife and daughter, who 
 evidently were from North Germany or some district
 
 A Castlk on The Rhine.
 
 - 69 - 
 
 distant from the Rhine. They were dressed in typical 
 German costume, paid strict attention to their own 
 business, which was to look at everything through a huge 
 pair of field glasses, make comments to one another, 
 occasionally to express their delight in deep, guttural 
 exclamations, and to pay particular attention to a huge 
 bottle of wine. Another group attracted my attention. 
 They were also Germans, but evidently of quite a 
 different class from the first. They too enjoyed the 
 beautiful scenery, but were undemonstrative and very 
 quiet in their comments. The two ladies I took to be 
 sisters, and the gentleman to be the husband of one of 
 the sisters. This I fcund later on to be the case. The 
 sisters had studied English, and spoke it quite well, and 
 seemed to be pleased to make the acquaintance of some of 
 our party, and took a pardonable pride in carrying on 
 the conversation in our language. But this might be 
 accounted for by a sincere desire on their part to avoid 
 hearing their own language murdered by our attempts to 
 speak German. 
 
 It is really an interesting study to observe a person, 
 who only has a smattering of a language, attempt on all 
 possible occasions, to air his attainments in that direction. 
 And a pretty spectacle he makes of himself many times, 
 too. 
 
 Some of the most noticeable features along the Rhine 
 are the old castles, formerly held by the Robber Knights. 
 The king's summer palace is a beautiful place, occupying 
 a commanding position; further up the river is the 
 Marksburg castle, remarkable as being the only old 
 Rhine castle that was never destroyed; but chief of all 
 the castles on the Rhine is Ehrenbreitstein, the strongest
 
 — 7o — 
 
 lort in Germany, and is opposite Coblentz and the mouth 
 of the Mosselle river. The hills in places are quite high 
 and exceedingly picturesque. The sides are almost 
 invariably covered with grape vines. Where the hills 
 are very steep, as most of them are, walls of stone have 
 been built, and soil carried up in baskets, and terraces 
 thus formed, upon which the vines are cultivated. To 
 some, .no doubt, it appears that the natural beauty is 
 marred by this cultivation on the hill sides, but to me 
 the vineyards gave to the scenery an added charm. 
 
 On the boat, as elsewhere, it is easy to discriminate 
 between the people from the country and those from the 
 large towns and cities. One will be impressed at once 
 with the existence of the two classes. The distinction is 
 far greater between them than between the same classes 
 in America. The men in the larger places are selfish, 
 boorish, and impolite. Those in the country and smaller 
 towns are quite the reverse. 
 
 Everywhere is to be seen the influence of Germany's 
 military rule. It is infectious. The civil authority, what 
 little there is, takes on a military exactness and firmness. 
 Authority and restraint are everywhere apparent. It is 
 said that the absence of these in our country strikes the 
 foreign visitor as the greatest peculiarity of our 
 government. And having seen the display of power and 
 authority by the officers there, I do not wonder at the fact. 
 At different times I saw men under arrest, and their 
 treatment was brutal in the extreme. Before trial, they 
 were treated as guilty. The conduct of the officers is 
 overbearing and disgusting to our sense of fair play. Ah, 
 how many Americans realize the privileges which in this 
 country are our inheritance.
 
 — 7i — 
 
 The custom of feeing everybody for the slightest 
 service, is in Germany the most abominable that exists 
 in Europe. You ask a chance pedestrian in the street to 
 tell you the way to any place, and he expects a fee for the 
 information. It is not confined to servants, but hotel 
 proprietors and officers on the boats and elsewhere, expect 
 a fee for every trifling service. Fees that a negro porter 
 in an American sleeping car would not think of asking or 
 accepting, are clamorously demanded. At any rate the 
 porter of a sleeping car will await the end of the journey, 
 and then will not directly ask you for a fee, but over 
 there you must pay cash for every act or move made in 
 your behalf. They won't even trust you to the end of 
 the journey. They have no hesitation or delicacy in 
 reminding you that they expect a gratuity. ' ' Trinkgeld, ' ' 
 is the music of the country. 
 
 As you come out from dinner, a man whom you take 
 for a count or a prince in full dress, politely takes your 
 hat, turns it around once or twice in his deft fingers, and 
 with a low bow hands it to you. Somewhat surprised, 
 you take your hat into your own possession and attempt 
 to pass on. The "prince" gently detains you and says : 
 "Excuse me, but you have forgotten me?" You rack 
 your brain and strain your memory to recall where you 
 ever met a prince or an earl, and failing, you reply: 
 "Certainly my dear sir, you must be mistaken, I do not 
 remember that I ever had the pleasure of an introduction 
 to your lordship." Then again you tiy to pass. You 
 think you have risen to the height of the occasion, and 
 have triumphed. But before you can realize your victory, 
 he is directly before you, and in a modulated voice is 
 saying: "Trinkgeld." It is no use, you can't escape,
 
 — 72 — 
 
 and so you slip a piece ol silver into his palm, and 
 stopping within sight and hearing, await the exit from 
 the dining room of some friend, who meets with the same 
 ignominious failure, in which you take a sort of savage 
 delight. Now, why should this fellow have a fee? He 
 has taken advantage of you. You unsuspectingly left 
 your hat where he could get at it, and when you come 
 out he hands it to you. By stretching out your arm a 
 foot or so you could have taken it from the rack yourself. 
 He has not aided you in the least. He has simply 
 robbed you, and the custom of the country upholds him 
 in the extortion. 
 
 On the boat, the officers strut about like turkey-cocks, 
 and delight to show their authority. On passing another 
 boat, the officers of each greet each other with very 
 elaborate military salutes. If one is in the least irritable, 
 or "quick tempered," he had better walk than take a 
 boat up the Rhine. Usually he will find it far less labor 
 to walk, than to hold his temper on the boat. 01 the 
 two kinds of exertion, walking is to be preferred. In 
 riding from Rolandseck to St. Goar, an ordinary individ- 
 ual, with the faults common to humanity, feels like fighting 
 the whole boat's crew, jointly and severally, about forty 
 times. Dinner is sure to be ready just when the boat 
 is in the most romantic and interesting section in the 
 river. You must miss the scenery or the dinner . You 
 generally let the scenery go and swear afterward because 
 you didn't let the dinner go, irrespective of the merits of 
 the scenery. You sit down at the table, where you can't 
 see anything but the person opposite you or at your side, 
 and wait an hour for the waiter to bring you soup with 
 an unpronounceable French name, which you won't eat if
 
 — 73 — 
 
 you have any respect for yourself; and with almost equal 
 intervals between the courses, which are little better than 
 the soup, you finally get through with the misery, and 
 finish with a bottle of sour wine ; and when you come up 
 on deck, and those who did not go down to dinner, 
 provokingly tell you what a glorious bit of scenery you 
 have missed ; what a splendid old castle, and what 
 grand hills are just around the last bend of the river. 
 And then, your discontent is increased by the fact that 
 you can't take your usual after-dinner smoke. Of course 
 you can buy a cigar, and German etiquette permits you 
 to smoke it in the presence of the ladies, and all that, but 
 unfortunately lor you, or fortunately, according to the time 
 and place, you learned to smoke in America with cigars 
 worthy of the name ; and to smoke a German cigar — 
 Heaven preserve us , it is worse than the dinner! There 
 is only one consolation, a pint bottle of Rhine wine only 
 costs three-quarters of a mark, or seventy-five pfennig 
 (about eighteen cents), so instead of a cigar, you can 
 drink another bottle of— vinegar. It is hardly proper to 
 call it wine or vinegar ; it is pure juice of the grape, with 
 no more alcohol in a bottle of it than there is in a single 
 dish of canned cherries, as they are put up in this country. 
 It is not intoxicating to any extent, and is pure. It is so 
 cheap that there is no inducement to adulterate it, for 
 the material which would be used in its adulteration 
 would cost more than the grapes to make an equal 
 amount of wine. And when one looks about him at the 
 vine-clad hills, he does not wonder at it. 
 
 Yet, in spite of all these little annoyances, the ride up 
 the Rhine is enjoyable. In some places the current is 
 quite swift and the boat goes slowly. In other places the
 
 — 74 — 
 
 river is shallow and wings of masonry are built out into 
 the river to throw the water to the center and thus 
 deepen the channel. The heavy-laden freight boats 
 make their way up the river in a way quite novel to us 
 at least. In places where the current is quite rapid, a 
 heavy chain made of links that will fit the cogs of a cog- 
 wheel, is laid on the bottom of the river, for miles, and 
 fastened at the ends. On the deck of the boat is a large 
 cog-wheel over which this chain is carried. The engine 
 turns this wheel and the boat is drawn along against the 
 current. The noise of a Mississippi river boat is as noth- 
 ing compared with these boats. The chain rattles over 
 the cog-wheel like seven furies, and the noise echoes and 
 re-echoes among the hills, while the boat wheezes and 
 groans and puffs like a huge monster sorely afflicted with 
 asthma. 
 
 St. Goar is a delightful little town in a romantic and 
 beautiful spot on the Rhine. I shall always remember it 
 most kindly. My visit there was one of the pleasantest 
 in Europe. The people are courteous, kind, obliging in 
 every way, and presented a pleasing contrast to those 
 most generally found in South Germany. The children 
 invariably uncovered their heads, or courtesied, as they 
 met us on the streets. We could not help feeling the 
 contrast between these children and those of an average 
 country village in America. Yet I am not sure that the 
 contrast is altogether favorable to the German youth. 
 The conduct of the American youth is the result of 
 natural animal spirits, unrestrained by authority and 
 permitted, if not encouraged, by a national sentiment of 
 freedom and liberty. The German youth has the same 
 animal spirit, the same joyous nature, and the same
 
 — 75 — 
 
 innocence and simplicity of childhood, and the same 
 tendency to an exuberant manifestation of his natural 
 propensities ; but more, the national sentiment of restraint, 
 and the peculiar influence of the priest, crystalized by a 
 half century of existence, have tamed his nature, and 
 rendered a mere machine out of what is, in America, a 
 happy, free, joyous human being. One cannot fail to 
 notice with what reverence a priest or a clergyman ol 
 any denomination is treated. The men always tip their 
 hats to them and make way for them on the streets in 
 a manner that seemed inexpressibly strange to us. 
 
 Along the river at St. Goar runs a beautiful street 
 with very fine buildings on one side, while between the 
 street and river bank lies a long garden with shrubs, trees 
 and walks. Stretching down the middle of the street are 
 two rows of linden trees about twenty feet apart, so 
 trimmed that the tops spread out, each touching its 
 neighbors and forming a perfect canopy that shades the 
 entire street at all hours of the day. Its counterpart, on 
 a larger and grander scale, is the "Unter den Linden" 
 in Berlin. The town is long, narrow, and semi-circular. 
 It occupies the level ground between the river and the 
 high hills which, but a short distance back from the 
 stream, rise abruptly to a height of two hundred feet or 
 more. Almost directly opposite the town on the other 
 bank of the river is St. Goarhausen lying almost directly 
 beneath one of the three old castles found in this vicinity. 
 I crossed the Rhine in the afternoon, to climb up to a 
 ruined castle and to take a walk [through the country. 
 Having climbed up and inspected the castle whose ap- 
 pearance creates a strong suspicion that it has been con- 
 structed in very modern times to attract tourists ; and
 
 - 7 6 - 
 
 having climbed down again, I started, in company with a 
 number of our party, to see a portion of the country and 
 its people, which should be off the beaten track of 
 tourists. 
 
 We followed a delightful road, which winds among 
 hills, that rise on either side from ioo to 300 feet. We 
 finally took a path up the side of a small mountain, 
 rather steep, but easily accessible, and passed through a 
 beautiful grove, and emerged upon a high plateau which 
 was then under cultivation. Passing on toward the 
 north, we had a view of a landscape as lovely as the eye 
 ever rested upon. It was not as grand and sublime as 
 our American mountain views are, but it was exceedingly 
 beautiful. On our right was a valley; across this rose a 
 high hill sloping gently and covered with intermingled 
 woods and fields and vineyards. On this side the valley. 
 grain was waving in the wind. On our left the plateau 
 stretched away to a considerable distance covered with 
 growing crops. There seems not to be a foot of land 
 anywhere that is idle. Every inch is cultivated; even 
 the old drill grounds and open courts of the ruined castles 
 are cultivated to bear vines; possibly an improvement 
 over their former use. We walked on at an easy pace, 
 and a few miles back from the river came to a village or 
 " Dorf. " Here we began to see the characteristics of 
 German life. The streets are laid out very irregularly, 
 and apparently without any design as to direction, width 
 or grade. The houses are of various materials, though 
 all are of the same general style of construction. Some 
 are of pressed brick between the timbers, some are plas- 
 tered on the outside to resemble stone ; all have projecting 
 roofs, and all, I believe without exception, have a room
 
 — 77 — 
 
 under the same roof for a cow stable. Nothing separ- 
 ates this stable from the dwelling rooms but an ordinary- 
 partition. This is done for economy. In the winter the 
 heat from the body of the animal contributes considera- 
 bly to the warmth of the dwelling, and besides the prox- 
 imity of the stable gives an opportunity for economizing 
 time in attending to the care of the cow or oxen. An 
 American farmer would consider it a great hardship, no 
 doubt, to be compelled to resort to economy in saving 
 in fuel what the heat of the animals would contribute to 
 keep off the winter's cold; but yet it is a necessary econ- 
 omy with these people, for as small as is the amount 
 saved by this means, it is no inconsiderable sum to them. 
 But there are some habits and customs which I think 
 even their poverty will hardly justify. In this village, as 
 I afterward observed also in many others, the manure 
 and refuse from these stables are thrown out in a heap 
 about six or eight feet from the house, and almost always 
 directly in front of the kitchen door; and in many cases, 
 a trench is dug at the side of the heap of manure so that 
 the water that falls during the rains may filter through 
 the pile and collect in the trench, thus extracting the 
 strength of the manure in a liquid form which is dipped 
 up into barrels and hauled out of the village to the farms 
 and sprinkled over them. But often a trench full of this 
 kind of fluid is seen standing but a few feet from the 
 open door with a hot summer sun shining directly upon 
 it, creating an odor quite the reverse of "New Mown 
 Hay." 
 
 This custom may find some excuse in two facts 
 which we do not experience here. i. The farmers do 
 not live on the little patches of ground that they till, but
 
 - 78 - 
 
 they collect in villages where they have no ground but 
 just enough upon which to set the house. 2. The land 
 has been under cultivation for hundreds of years, and 
 its productiveness must be stimulated to its utmost capac- 
 ity, and hence the best form of a fertilizer must be used. 
 One cannot help but be strongly impressed with the dif- 
 ference in the conditions between European and Ameri- 
 can farmers. 
 
 When we reached this little farming village, we 
 had been walking for a couple ot hours and we took 
 this opportunity to refresh ourselves. We went into a 
 house and asked for some milk to drink. The peasant 
 woman kindly brought us the desired milk and also 
 some rye bread and cheese. The woman carried a jug 
 and some huge glasses, while her daughter carried the 
 bread and cheese. The milk was delicious, and the rye 
 bread was about the same as all rye bread is, but God 
 save my countrymen, one and all, from a taste or even a 
 smell of home made German cheese. It will be interest- 
 ing to know that this fare of which we partook, in addi- 
 tion to large quantities of beer, is the almost exclusive 
 diet of these peasants. Meat is a luxury. 
 
 Before going among these people the writer had 
 seen a statement in the Century Magazine, that a farmer 
 with an ordinary sized family, in that country, lived ior 
 a year upon what would actually cost about $70. It then 
 seemed incredible that such could be the case, but now, 
 based upon my own observation and experience, my 
 opinion is that many of them come considerably below 
 that estimate. The American housewife who buys a soup 
 bone for twenty cents, and with but little additional cost 
 makes a good meal therefrom, congratulates herself upon
 
 — 79 — 
 
 her economy. But the economical and thrifty German 
 woman, with a ten cent soup bone, makes a meal of soup, 
 another of the meat pared from the bone, and then takes 
 a hatchet, pounds the bone into pieces, again boils it and 
 makes a third meal of better and more nutritious soup 
 than the first. Such is the difference between American 
 and German economy. If we would practice from 
 choice the same economy that I have seen practiced in 
 Europe from necessity, we would be the richest people 
 in the world, and the question of pauperism would be 
 well on toward its solution in this country for many years 
 to come. Why, many working people here have spent 
 more money in one year for tobacco than whole families 
 have for their entire living for the same length of time in 
 many districts of Europe. But I do not want to create the 
 impression that it is so everywhere over there. In some 
 places certain classes and guilds get good wages and live 
 quite well. Yet the wages only suffice for an actual living 
 and they are also compelled to be economical in their 
 habits. Nowhere is seen that characteristic and unjusti- 
 fiable extravagance that is common in this country. Then 
 again they save very much in dress, for they do not, as a 
 rule, follow the changing styles and fashions which every- 
 body observes in America. These farmers, for instance, 
 wear a baggy suit of stout cloth that will wear for several 
 years, and the idea of being out of style never enters 
 their heads. A dark blue cap is worn which often looks 
 as if it had seen service in the same family for several 
 generations. Then among mechanics and tradesmen 
 and the different classes each have a peculiar mode of 
 dress and none of them attempt to copy after the rich 
 and aristocratic classes. In this particular the lines of
 
 — 80 — 
 
 society can be accurately traced and one can readily see 
 how powerful is ' ' caste. ' ' Now in America we cannot 
 tell what a man's position or wealth is by his dress. The 
 poorer people often dress the better. Many of our mer- 
 chant's daughters dress in the style and fashion of the 
 period more carefully and precisely, and with more 
 costly materials, than a countess or marchioness of Eu- 
 rope. But I do not find fault with this, I only cite the 
 fact to show how much better our condition is than that 
 of the people of Europe. 
 
 The costume of the German peasant woman is pecul- 
 iar. In the field or about the house, she is invariably 
 bare-headed; her hair is combed straight back, and one, 
 sometimes two, plain braids at the back. She wears a 
 white waist-coat with a short, dark colored skirt hung 
 from the shoulder and reaching about to the knee, and 
 heavy cow-hide shoes with soles a half-inch or more thick, 
 and rilled with iron pegs or nails. In form they are stout 
 and robust; in the cheeks, browned by exposure to the 
 sun, is the flush of perfect health such as comes only 
 from frugal diet and hard physical labor. That they are 
 far happier in their simple life, than the butterflies devel- 
 oped in the hot-houses of fashion and the namby-pamby 
 so-called aristocracy of either Europe or America, I have 
 not the slightest doubt. Yet, after all, I should not like 
 to see the women of my country in such a position as 
 that occupied by these peasant women. I believe the 
 woman's proper place is the home; where, if she will, she 
 can transform the cares of this world into the delights 
 of heaven; her place is not in the field, the mill or the 
 factory. Nor is it in the dissipation of what is called 
 ' ' society. ' '
 
 — 81 — 
 
 As we started on along a road leading to the north 
 and still farther from the Rhine, we overtook one of these 
 women driving an ox-team. She was going to the field 
 after hay, and the rack being empty, we asked and ob- 
 tained permission for the ladies to ride. They all 
 mounted to the hay-rack, the girl cracked her whip, the 
 oxen started on, and a merry ride it was, accompanied 
 by jest and merry peals of laughter. Several of the 
 young men of our party showed a decided tendency to 
 walk ahead and to try to assist in managing the staid 
 and sober-looking oxen. But this is not to be wondered 
 at, when we remember that the driver was a pretty, 
 red-cheeked peasant girl, all the more attractive by reason 
 ot her peculiar costume. It afforded considerable amuse- 
 ment when the young minister of our party was detected 
 leaving his photograph in the fair driver's possession, 
 which she accepted and kept with a readiness that showed 
 she regarded it as a rare curiosity. But soon we arrived 
 at the fields where the girl was going after a load of hay, 
 and the ladies dismounted, good-byes were said, we 
 trudged on, and the oxen, the wagon, and the pretty 
 girl turned into a hay field where each had an office to 
 perform, the girl to pitch up a load of hay, the wagon to 
 carry it, and the oxen to pull it, and let us hope, finally 
 to eat some of it. As we walked on, we frequently 
 looked back and we saw her drive the oxen into the 
 meado.v, with a skill and dexterity that only comes from 
 long practice, and as we disappeared from the girl's 
 view behind a low hill, she was pitching the fragrant hay 
 upon the wagon. It was a characteristic scene and 
 
 6
 
 — 82 — 
 
 afforded a picture that, once seen, will not soon be for- 
 gotten. The women are usually beasts of burden, or 
 the "best man" in the fields; and^that they are superb 
 ox-drivers, I had ocular and ample demonstration. On 
 every side as we walked on, we saw women working in 
 the fields and vineyards. The absence of male laborers 
 in the same places is quite noticeable. An hour's walk 
 brought us to another village very much like the other, 
 but larger. In this village we met a clergyman of the 
 German Reformed Church, a very good man and exceed- 
 ingly pleasant. He invited us into the house, but, on 
 account ol our number, we declined the invitation; and 
 he then asked us to come into the garden, which we did, 
 and found it the most charming and queerly kept of 
 anything of the kind we had ever seen. In form it was 
 a parallelogram. On our right as we entered was a de- 
 lightfully cool summer-house, further on a hard, smooth 
 walk that led to the right and left. The vegetables were 
 few, while roses and various kinds ot flowers were 
 abundant. The rose bushes were trimmed as trees and 
 supported by stakes, so similar in form, looks and size, 
 to the trunk of the " rose tree" as to be scarcely noticea- 
 ble. The distance from the ground to the branches was 
 about five to eight feet. The top of the trees was almost 
 a perfect ball of fragrant roses. The queer combination 
 of vegetables, flowers and shrubs gave a charming effect. 
 Our host evidently knew from our looks that we were 
 prohibitionists, for he left us for a few minutes and re- 
 turned with his compliments in the way oi some fine 
 cigars instead of wine, which is ordinarily served upon 
 such occasions. He apologized to the ladies for being at
 
 - 8 3 - 
 
 the time unable to furnish them refreshments, and we 
 thanked him for the cigars which we really enjoyed, and 
 now remember with pleasure as being the only decent 
 cigars that we found in the Fatherland. Our reverend 
 host was a well educated man, profuse in hospitality and 
 very gallant. If you want a compliment, look to a well- 
 educated German. To each of us who could say but 
 little to him in his native language, he said: "You speak 
 very good German; were not your parents natives of this 
 country?" And when we replied in the negative he 
 affected surprise. 
 
 Our good friend accompanied us a part of the way 
 back, showing us across some fields and pointing out the 
 way down the mountain side to a road in the valley, 
 so that we might return to the Rhine by another and 
 different route than that by which we had come. We 
 scrambled down to the valley, which we reached when 
 twilight began to fall. The walk back was quite enjoya- 
 ble. The valley is narrow, almost a canon; the stream 
 by the roadside is clear and rapid. The hillsides were cov- 
 ered mostly with their natural verdure. We passed a 
 quaint old water mill, an occasional collection of sombre 
 looking houses, and an old castle perched high upon 
 the rocks, the effect of the whole scene being heightened 
 by the semi-twilight, and as we proceeded, beautified by 
 the clear-moon light. A brisk walk of two hours and a 
 half brought us to the river again. A ferryman was found 
 who rowed us across the Rhine, and another short walk 
 brought us again to our hotel, and shortly we could 
 have been seen partaking of a substantial meal at 
 10:30 p. m.
 
 ©}}<apter II. 
 
 The Rhinefels, A Prussian School, Wiesbaden. 
 
 We slept well that night after our tramp, and had 
 breakfast at seven o'clock the next morning, after which 
 we paid a visit to the Rhinefels, one of the most cele- 
 brated castles of the "Rhine and about fifteen minutes 
 walk from our hotel. In Germany, as in all other parts 
 of Europe, distance is expressed by the*number of min- 
 utes or hours required to travel it. If you ask the dis- 
 tance to any place, thejreply is " one hour, " or "twenty 
 minutes," and so on. And so the Rhinefels is "fifteen 
 minutes" from our hotel. The way leads up an easy 
 ascent, curving gently to the right, and lined with trees 
 arid on the right hand side a stone fence with here and 
 there, under the trees, seats upon which to rest. The 
 entrance to the castle is up ,a short flight of steps. The 
 castle itself is very large and very old. It was 
 built in 1245 and before its destruction, was one of the 
 strongest on the Rhine. It stands 400 feet above the 
 river and is admirably situatedjbr defense. The ancient 
 outer walls and defenses are quite extensive and enclose 
 about ten acres of ground. At the entrance the visitor 
 goes into an open court at the east of the palace; between 
 this court and the palace walls is a very deep depression 
 from which he goes into the lower rooms. Turning to 
 the left, he comes to the.wine cellar with its high vaulted
 
 - 85 - 
 
 roof and a capacity for wine enough to supply all Prus- 
 sia. Coming out of the wine cellar, the visitor ap- 
 proaches the dwelling rooms and chapel at the northwest 
 corner of the castle. Passing through these and turning 
 to the right, he finds himself on a high eminence, look- 
 ing down a valley to the south, in which ten water mills 
 are visible. Retracing his steps a little way, and going 
 to the left he passes up another flight of stone steps and 
 stands upon the highest tower of the castle, and fully ioo 
 leet above the surface of the rock upon which the castle 
 is built. Here is a magnificent view of the Rhine and 
 surrounding country. Boats are seen passing up and 
 down the river; the town lies far below, over across the 
 water and against the hills lies St. Goarhausen with a 
 silvery sheet of water in the foreground. The outer and 
 inner walls of the castle are plainly in view, showing how 
 well it was built for defense. This castle was never taken 
 but twice in its history; once by surprise, and once by 
 starving the garrison into surrender. On both occasions 
 it was captured by the French. It is now the property 
 of the German Emperor. 
 
 Descending from the tower the visitor enters the 
 underground apartments. Tunnels, with secret outlets, 
 lead from these to the valleys far away. We traversed 
 as much as a quarter of a mile of subterranean passages 
 and emerged upon the outside of the west wall some two 
 hundred feet above the river. We clambered up the 
 side, entered the enclosure again, entered another tunnel 
 and came out into an open court surrounded by high 
 stone walls. We passed into another tunnel, turned to
 
 — 86 — 
 
 the right and came into a long narrow room from the bot- 
 tom of which six well-like openings go straight down 
 thirty-two feet to the dungeons below. There is no 
 light in these dungeons. They are hewed out of solid 
 rock and the only opening into them is the one leading 
 to them from the bottom of this room. Only prisoners 
 condemned to death were put into these prisons. They 
 were lowered by ropes and left to die of starvation. 
 From this room we go up a flight of stone steps, along 
 a passage into the court which we first entered, pass 
 out and away from Rhinefels, the oldest, strongest, and 
 and most interesting castle of the Rhine. 
 
 Arriving in the village again, two of us concluded to 
 visit the village schools. We were very much disap- 
 pointed to find school dismissed for the morning session. 
 Our ramble through the castle had been longer than we 
 thought. However, we met the master, or principal 
 we would call him, who showed us over the building and 
 with whom we had a long conversation on the Prussian 
 system of education. He invited us into his dwelling 
 apartments, in the school building, and sat down with us 
 for a social chat on school matters, telling us much of 
 their system and asking much concerning ours. 
 
 It certainly would have amused a spectator to hear 
 us talk. Part of the time he tried to talk English and 
 part of the time we tried to talk German, but he soon 
 gave up the English in despair and from that time on, 
 we talked in his language, and understood him quite well, 
 while he seemed to have no difficulty in understanding us, 
 much to our surprise. This is what we learned. The 
 country is divided into districts and, a chief officer has
 
 - 87 - 
 
 charge of each. Each district seems to be entirely- 
 independent of all the 'others. There is a chief educa- 
 tional officer for the empire, but he seems not to have much 
 more connection with the schools, than does our Com- 
 missioner of Education at Washington. We hear much 
 in America about the "uniformity" of the German 
 school system ; but the only uniformity that really exists 
 is that it is everywhere compulsory. Beginning at six 
 years of age, the pupil must attend until he is fourteen 
 years old. The government has officers to pursue truants 
 and recurn them to school, to punish them and to fine 
 the parents, because without the latter's knowledge the 
 child ran away from a school room so devoid of attrac- 
 tions and pleasant surroundings that he could scarcely 
 be blamed for running away from it. For laziness, inat- 
 tention and neglect of duty in the school room, or misbe- 
 havior of any kind while at school, the master punishes 
 the child, greatly to the master's enjoyment I think, 
 judging from the gleeful chuckle with which he supple- 
 mented this part of the information which he gave us 
 and the involuntary glance toward a large bundle of 
 switches which occupied a convenient place on the wall. 
 The benches upon which the children sit in this school 
 are long wooden seats, about twenty feet in length, the 
 seat being very narrow and the back very straight. On 
 the wall, near the master's desk, hung a violin and a 
 crucifix; the former he uses to lead the singing in the 
 opening exercises, the latter he did not see fit to explain 
 to us, but undoubtedly it has been placed there by sOme 
 well-meaning priest for the improvement of the moral 
 and spiritual nature of the children.
 
 — 88 — 
 
 One who does not inspect these schools for himself, 
 and depends upon what the people say, or even upon 
 what the Germans in America, tell him about the 
 Prussian system, is apt to have a much more exalted 
 opinion of the system than it deserves. Text books are 
 not uniform; in many cases they are not used at all; 
 information is poured into the pupil as water into a 
 pitcher. The child becomes, sometimes, well-informed 
 but not educated. The mind is not trained to original 
 thought; originality, activity, mental power, growth of 
 the mind are secondary matters. Information is first. 
 There is little to inspire the pupil to original thought, 
 and he learns by rote much as a parrot does. In the 
 Reale Schule, Gymnasia and University, it may be far 
 different and I have no doubt that it is; also it may differ 
 greatly in other districts, but in the schools I saw, these 
 were the impressions I got. The strong arm of the gov- 
 ernment shows itself everywhere in the school system; 
 the parent is fined if the child is a truant; the master, as 
 representative ol the government, has almost absolute 
 authority and is seldom loved by the pupils, though the 
 boys tip their hats and the girls courtesy when they meet 
 him on the street. The people have no voice in the 
 choice of a master. He is appointed by the officer of 
 the district who has full power over the appointments. 
 The master has almost a life lease upon his school. The 
 one to whom I have just referred has been at St. Goar 
 twenty-nine years, and in the profession forty-five years, 
 and has only had one other school in all that time. The 
 system of instruction becomes necessarily routine, or at
 
 -8 9 - 
 
 any rate it is routine. The wages vary from 900 marks 
 to 2,000 marks, being in our money from $225 to $500 
 per year. But in addition to these wages the master 
 receives his fuel and house rent free. For similar positions 
 in Indiana the wages are from $900 to $2,000 per year. 
 I am sorry to say that I was not at all favorably im- 
 pressed with the Prussian school system. I was, per- 
 haps, expecting too much. We hear so much of Ger- 
 many's compulsory education and its merits that we are 
 led to over-estimate its real worth. I am firm in the 
 conviction that the system and the schools of Indiana are 
 both full as good, if not better, than those of Prussia. 
 To be sure there is a great similarity, but while Germany 
 has been passive and conservative, we have been active, 
 progressive, and have, from the German model, evolved a 
 superior system. But on the other hand, Germany is 
 the only country in Europe whose school system can be 
 compared with ours. 
 
 It is not her school system that has made Germany 
 great. It is the systematic training of her youth, from 
 infancy, to be soldiers, that has made her the greatest 
 military power in Europe. And besides her military 
 power in what is she great ? Are her people really edu- 
 cated? I think not. They are better informed than 
 most people: they can recite more statistics, give more 
 dates, and perhaps, quote more poetry, but lack in a 
 quick, clear perception, originality, power and self con- 
 trol. A people educated in the true sense of the term, 
 would hardly work their women in the fields as beasts of 
 burden and harvest hands, and ox-drivers, in order to 
 support a million and a half of soldiers in idleness.
 
 - 9 o - 
 
 We spent an hour or more with the old school nut- 
 ter and took our departure, feeling that it was an hour 
 most valuably used. But we find it necessary to leave 
 St. Goar, and again take boat on the Rhine with Bieb- 
 rich as our destination, from which place we are to walk 
 to Wiesbaden, one of the most famous watering places in 
 Europe. Just above St. Goar we pass the Lurlei rock 
 on which, an old legend tells us, the sirens sat as they 
 lured the boatmen to destruction. As we glide up the 
 river we take a last look at the Rhinefels, and "the Cat, ' 
 and "the Mouse, ' as these three castles are called; 
 sweep around the bend of the river and leave them behind 
 and out of sight. The scenery for some miles above St. 
 Goar is the best on the Rhine. The number of ruined 
 castles, dating from the period of the robber knights, is 
 very large. Quite a number of them have been restored 
 and are now occupied; one of the finest of the latter is 
 Rhinestein, whose lofty situation and beautiful surround- 
 ings, render it one of the loveliest spots on this lovely 
 river. Passing numerous towns and villages, we arrive 
 at Bingen. Above this town the country becomes flat, 
 the hills recede and finally disappear, and the river be- 
 comes very wide, being no longer confined to the narrow 
 limits which it occupies further down its course. 
 
 The distance from Biebrich to Wiesbaden is about 
 three English miles, and the way lies along a delightful 
 avenue, consisting of three parts, with a row of trees on 
 each side and between each part. The west division is 
 for pedestrians, the middle for wagons, and the east for 
 equestrians. The country is rolling, or slightly undulating, 
 well cultivated, and in its general effect is quite pleasing. 
 Having traversed about half the way, Wiesbaden is seen
 
 — gi — 
 
 lying in a beautiful valley with splendid buildings and 
 shaded avenues, and parks and villages in the distance, 
 and McAdamized roads, showing very plain and very 
 white in the afternoon sun One meets a quite difierent 
 class of people here. They are generally more refined, 
 more agreeable in every way than in most German cities. 
 One is surprised too, to see so many Americans here, 
 ostensibly attending the springs and drinking hot water 
 with most unutterable names, and most sickening tastes, 
 and most offensive odors. If the principle laid down by 
 Dr. Hahneman, that "Similis similibus curantur." is 
 true, then some of the people who come to drink these 
 waters must be afflicted with the saddest combination of 
 diseases of which the mind can conceive. 
 
 It was here that one of the "tramps" found a man 
 who could speak English. This particular "tramp" had 
 a habit of being very precise and deliberate in speaking, 
 so as to be understood, if possible. Approaching a well- 
 dressed gentleman, he addressed him somewhat as 
 iollows: "Speak-you-English?" "Oh yes," came the 
 response, in a clear, musical voice, 'I speak nothing 
 else." He was a native of America. Many exceedingly 
 amusing things in this line occur to a tourist in Europe. 
 I remember one day while riding in a diligence through 
 France, on my way to Chamounix, that I made a very 
 ludicrous blunder. Just after we had sighted Mt. Blanc, 
 which appears grander and purer, and more sublime from 
 this point than any other, we had skirted a beautiful 
 valley and entered a village, where the diligence stopped 
 to change horses. I got down and purchased a glass of
 
 — 9 2 — 
 
 fruit-juice and water, and liking it quite well, wanted 
 some more; but how shall I ask for it? Calling to mind 
 some scraps of French, I beckoned the pretty French girl 
 to me and began: "Avez vous;" now what? I remem- 
 bered that in the theatre when we want a repetition we 
 say "encore," this then, was the word needed, and so I 
 said: "Avez vous encore?" It was too much for the 
 girl, and in spite of her evident attempt to refrain, a 
 merry peal of laughter followed. Then she said in quite 
 good English, "What do you mean? If you speak 
 English I can understand you." I felt like asking her 
 "why she did not say so before." The absurdity of my 
 question is apparent. And I was laughed at some 
 time for my proficiency (?) in French. 
 
 Wiesbaden has many very fine, wide streets, elegant 
 residences and a profusion of roses and flowers and shrubs 
 in the front yards. However, many of the streets are 
 narrow and winding, as in other European cities. The 
 principal attractions are the springs. Many people from all 
 parts of Europe attend these baths and drink these waters, 
 and listen to the music in the Kursaal. While we were at 
 this place, some of our party had the pleasure to attend 
 services at the Greek Chapel. Among the worshipers 
 that morning was King George, the present ruler of 
 Greece. The Kursaal is a music hall and library, and 
 a place of general resort, situated in a splendid park with 
 streams flowing through it, rustic bridges, graveled 
 walks, shaded avenues, stately trees, flowering shrubs, 
 spouting fountains, and in the evening brilliantly ilumin- 
 ated by electric lights. The concerts given here on 
 Sunday afternoons are superb as musical entertainments. 
 Hundreds of well-dressed people, among whom are
 
 — 93 — 
 
 representatives of almost every civilized people on earth, 
 promenade the walks or loiter about the music stand. 
 
 From Wiesbaden, with three others of our party, I 
 took a walk to a village some miles away. The road 
 which we followed was McAdamized, and lined on either 
 side by trees. Small patches of grain and various crops of 
 farm products, always in small lots, gave evidence that 
 agriculture was the principal pursuit of the peasants; 
 though an occasional milk cart, drawn altogether by 
 dogs, showed that some dairying was going on to supply 
 the adjacent city with milk. Our walk finally brought us 
 to a little village, the name of which I have forgotten, 
 but in which the characteristics of German rural life 
 already given were predominant The streets were 
 cleaner and more regular than usual. A large beer hall 
 with a tremendous organ, with all the parts of a cornet 
 band, worked by machinery, was one ot the features of 
 the place. A visit to the town hall, which has all the 
 rooms for the town officers, including the Burgomaster, 
 and the school rooms, similar to those before described, 
 and a walk down the street brought us to the house of 
 a minister whom our director had met before. He 
 welcomed us heartily, took us into the best room of his 
 house and conversed with us in a very intelligent manner, 
 asked about our trip and wanted to adopt one of the 
 ladies, offered to keep the other one and teach her 
 German; told of his son in the army; and ordered two 
 huge bottles of wine and some cigars. Of the four of us 
 I was the only smoker, but all remembered St. 
 Paul's injunction and helped dispose of the wine for the
 
 — 94 — 
 
 "stomach's sake." After a pleasant visit, a rather warm 
 walk brought us back to Wiesbaden. At the latter place 
 nearly every denomination has a church edifice. The 
 Greek church, the Catholic, the Episcopalian, the 
 Lutheran, the Presbyterian, and so on, are all there. 
 The cosmopolitan character of the summer population, 
 renders this, if not really necessary, at least quite 
 desirable. Whatever be the visitor's creed, he finds here 
 a congenial place to worhip. We left Wiesbaden for 
 Worms, to pay a visit to the monument of Martin Luther, 
 the monk who nailed his theses to the church door, and 
 whose indomitable will and energy brought on the 
 Reformation. It was here that the celebrated Diet of 
 Worms met. In these streets, these cathedrals, in this 
 atmosphere, we saw and felt Luther in everything. Two 
 hours in Worms, and we pass on by rail by the way of 
 Ludwigshaft and Mannheim. On the Rhine I saw some 
 mills that were curiosities, at least to me. The building was 
 built in shape and size like a side-wheel, river steamboat. 
 It was set in the water and anchored firmly. The wheels, 
 one on each side, reach down into the water, and the 
 current striking only the lower portion, turns them 
 around, thus propelling the machinery in the mill. By 
 this means the expense of the dam is avoided, and all 
 that is necessary to furnish power is a tolerably swift 
 current. The railway cars will be found to be better, 
 generally, in Germany than elsewhere on that side of the 
 Atlantic, but the trains run very slowly, and there will be 
 found a greater variety of cars than anywhere else in the 
 world, I think; and the officers are quite discourteous
 
 — 95 — 
 
 and uncivil to passengers. But a mark or two quietly 
 slipped into the guard's hand will work a wonderful 
 transformation in this respect. 
 
 One peculiar feature of the railroads in Germany, I 
 must not omit to mention; that is, the method of lighting 
 the cars at night. On many of the roads a car similar to 
 our "fiat car" is used, with three iron cylinders about 
 two or three feet in diameter laid upon the car, two 
 being directly upon the car, and the third above these 
 two, as three saw logs are often piled in a mill yard. 
 These cylinders are filled with gas, and so arranged that 
 a pressure can be applied to maintain a constant flow. 
 They are connected by tubes with the cars, which are 
 thus lighted with gas instead of oil. The arrangement is 
 quite novel. The idea is a good one; but their mode ot 
 making its application is quite awkward. In America, 
 you will see on nearly all trains, one car labeled 
 "smoking car." In these you may smoke, but in all 
 others you must refrain. In Europe it is just the reverse. 
 Smoking is so general that you are at liberty to smoke 
 n any car, no matter how many ladies are present, unless 
 h is labeled "Not smoker." On many trains you will 
 see a car or a compartment labeled " Nicht-Raucher," 
 but also on a great many, there will not be a car on the 
 entire train in which you may not smoke. 
 
 •o^o»
 
 ©l]<apter 12. 
 
 Heidelberg. 
 
 We arrived at Heidelberg in the evening, stopped at 
 the Darmstaedter Hof, had supper, and started out to 
 view the celebrated castle by moonlight. It is a splendid 
 old ruin, thus described by Longfellow: "High and 
 hoar on the forehead of the Jettenbuehl stands the castle 
 of Heidelberg. Behind it rise the oak crested hills of the 
 Geisberg and the Kaiserstuhl, and in front, irom the 
 wide terrace of masonry, you can almost throw a stone 
 upon the roofs of the city, so close do they lie beneath. 
 Above this terrace rises the broad front of the chapel of 
 St. Udalrich. On the left stands the slender, octagon 
 tower of the horologue; and on the right, a huge round 
 tower, battered and shattered by the mace of war, shores 
 up with its broad shoulders, the beautiful palace and 
 garden terrace of Elizabeth, wife of the Pfalzgraf 
 Frederick. In the rear are older palaces and towers, 
 forming a vast, irregular quadrangle; Rudolph's 
 ancient castle, with its Gothic gloriette and fantastic 
 gables; the Giant's tower, guarding the drawbridge over 
 the moat; the Rent tower with the linden trees growing 
 on its summit; and the magnificent Rittersaal of 
 Otto Henry, Count Palatine of the Rhine and Grand 
 Seneschal of the Holy Roman Empire. From the 
 gardens behind the castle you pass under the archway oi
 
 Heidelberg Castle.
 
 — 97 — 
 
 the Giants' Tower into the great court-yard. The diverse 
 architecture of different ages strikes the eye; and curious 
 sculptures. In niches on the wall of St. Udalrich's chapel 
 stand rows of knights in armour broken and dismem- 
 bered, and on the front of Otto's Rittersaal, the 
 heroes of Jewish history and classic fable. You enter the 
 open, desolate chambers of the ruin; and on every side 
 are medallions and family arms; the Globe of the Empire 
 and the Golden Fleece or the Eagle of the Ceasers 
 resting on the escutcheons of Bavaria and the Palatinate. 
 Over the windows and doorways and chimney-pieces are 
 sculptures and mouldings of exquisite workmanship; and 
 the eye is bewildered by the profusion of caryatides, and 
 arabesques and rosettes and fan-like flutings, and garlands 
 of fruits and flowers and acorns, and bullocks' heads 
 with draperies of foliage, and muzzles of lions, holding 
 rings in their teeth. The cunning hand of art was busy 
 for six centuries in raising and adorning these walls: the 
 mailed hands of time and war have defaced and over- 
 thrown them in less than two. Next to the Alhambra of 
 Granada, the castle of Heidelberg is the most magnifi- 
 cent ruin of the Middle Ages." So grand did the old 
 castle and its surroundings appear by the pale moon-light 
 that I decided to pay it a second visit on the following 
 day. In front of the palace walls is a wide veranda or 
 stone terrace, at the east end of which is the old tower 
 and at the west an octagonal room or sort of observa- 
 tory. To the north is the deep valley through which 
 flows the Neckar and along each side of it lies the city. 
 Away to the west is the railway station where there is
 
 - 9 8 - 
 
 such a number of lights, blue, red, white and all colors, 
 sparkling and gleaming and dancing, that one almost 
 imagines it to be a rich bed of diamonds and emeralds, 
 and rubies under the brilliant rays of an electric light. 
 The scene, as I saw it, was indescribably beautiful. As 
 I stood here viewing the hills and city and river by the 
 mellow light of the moon, a song and music came from 
 the town below, where evidently a number of students 
 had congregated and were indulging in those two accom- 
 plishments of German students — song and beer. 
 
 The situation of Heidelberg is lovely in the extreme. 
 On each side the hills are high. Breaking through the 
 hills comes the Neckar on its way to the Rhine. West 
 of the town is the broad plain that skirts the Rhine and 
 across this plain, rising in a shadowy almost indefinable 
 line or ridge, are the "Blue Alsatian Mountains." The 
 houses and streets of the town are both of stone. 
 
 Heidelberg University is the oldest in Germany, and 
 one of the most celebrated in the world. The buildings 
 are quite old and very commonplace. They occupy a 
 square in the middle of the town with no grounds 
 around. It is not in as great favor now as formerly 
 though its medical department is, I believe, regarded as 
 the best in Europe. Here Longfellow studied and many 
 of our best scholars in America have spent some time at 
 Heidelberg. This, like most other German universities, 
 has always been famous for duelng among the students. 
 Indeed, no student has any standing as such, unless he 
 bears a scar received in a duel. Many men are met in 
 Europe with ugly scars on face and head who regard 
 their disfigurement as their greatest honor. The scar that
 
 — 99 — 
 
 comes from a sabre cut in a university duel, is a source of 
 great pride to the average German heart. 
 
 The University is nominally under the patronage ol 
 the Grand Duke of Baden, though I suspect the Duke 
 gives it little personal attention. Students may enter 
 Heidelberg to do hard work or to have a good time. 
 The majority are thoroughly in earnest, and work very 
 hard in the course chosen by them. One may, however, 
 pay little attention to his studies and university duties. 
 It depends entirely upon the taste, wants, inclinations and 
 financial condition of the individual. No examination is 
 required for entrance, the student merely matriculates 
 and pays his fee, receives a certificate entitling him to 
 attend lectures, chooses the professors he will hear lecture 
 and then goes to work in earnest, or sinks into indolent 
 leisure as the case may be. 
 
 It must be remembered that there is a great differ- 
 ence usually between the German and American students 
 who attend the University, in the manner of their prepa- 
 ration or previous training. The German students come 
 to the University from the Gymnasia when they have 
 gone through a course of study and discipline nowhere 
 excelled in extent of work or in the intense application 
 to labor required of the pupil. He has already, as a 
 usual thing, mastered the science or specialty which the 
 foreign student comes to Heidelberg to pursue. Hence 
 the German student can play if he wish to, while the for- 
 eign student works "like a horse" to go over the 
 ground already traveled by the former. The classes of
 
 — IOO — 
 
 the professors are sometimes large, sometimes small, 
 according as the lectures and the professor may be popu- 
 lar, or the reverse. 
 
 The student is in a very large measure his own mas- 
 ter, free Irom restraints, at liberty to attend lectures or 
 not, to drink beer or roam on the wood-covered hills, to 
 prowl around the castle, to sing, to fight duels, and to do 
 or not to do anything else as his inclinations may dictate. 
 If he violates any of the laws of the municipality or of 
 the Grand Duchy, and is to be arrested by an officer, 
 he merely claims the protection ol the university cor- 
 poration, in which case the officer takes his name and 
 reports him to the university officers. He is then 
 accused, tried, often in his absence, sentenced to con- 
 finement in the university prison, called upon by a 
 university constable, who inquires when it will be agree- 
 able for him to come to prison, ascertains the date and 
 takes a note of it and goes away well knowing that on 
 that date the student will present himself for punishment, 
 according to the sentence of the court. he student can 
 also be complained of, tried in his absence, convicted and 
 sentenced to confinement in the university prison for 
 violation of the laws of the university corporation. I 
 was told that this queer custom is very old. and that a 
 student never fails to come to prison on the day he agrees 
 to do so. 
 
 Many stories are told of their duelling and the vari- 
 ous pranks that certain students will play in order to pro- 
 voke a duel so that he may gain the glory supposed to
 
 IOI 
 
 be due to all students who bear scars, but it is useless to 
 repeat them here. Many of the students own dogs, 
 indeed it is regarded as quite the thing to tow a dog 
 around by a string. 
 
 It is not the majority, however, who own dogs, 
 drink beer, fight duels, sing sentimental songs, and ap- 
 pear constantly upon the streets. The majority come to 
 the university to work. They come from the colleges and 
 gymnasia to prepare themselves for teaching some 
 specialty and perfecting themselves for professorships. 
 These men work, they do not idle away their time. To 
 them time is money. Their resources are limited; they 
 must make the most of the opportunity. Indeed, it has 
 been well said that "it would be a mistake to suppose 
 that the easy-going, pleasure-seeking student carries an 
 empty head. Just the contrary. He has spent nine 
 years in the gymnasium, under a system which allowed 
 him no freedom, but rigorously compelled him to work 
 like a slave. Consequently he has left the gymnasium 
 with an education which is so extensive and complete, 
 that the most a univeisity can do for it is to perfect some 
 of its profounder specialties. It is said that when a pupil 
 leaves the gymnasium, he not only has a comprehensive 
 education, but he knows what he knows — it is not befog- 
 ged with uncertainty, it is burnt into him so that it will 
 stay. For instance, he does not merely read and write 
 Greek, but speaks it; the same with the Latin. Foreign 
 youth steer clear of the gymnasium; its rules are too 
 severe. They go to the university to put a mansard roof
 
 i 
 I02 
 
 on their whole general education; but the German student 
 already has his mansard roof, so he goes there to add a 
 steeple in the nature of some specialty. So this German 
 attends only the lectures which belong to the chosen 
 branch, and drinks his beer and tows his dog around, 
 and has a general good time the rest of the day. He 
 has been in rigid bondage so long that the large liberty 
 of university lile is just what he needs and likes and thor- 
 oughly appreciates; and as it can not last forever, he 
 makes the most of it while it does last, and so lays up a 
 good rest against the day that must see him put on the 
 chains once more and enter the slavery of official or pro- 
 fessional life." 
 
 Putting aside whatever of sarcasm may be found in 
 the foregoing quotation, there is still found in it much 
 truth and faithful representation of university life at 
 Heidelberg. However, an injustice is done in it to for- 
 eign students. They do not steer clear of the German 
 gymnasium, because they go to Germany as thoroughly 
 prepared for a university life as any training in a gym- 
 nasium could make them. The student who goes to 
 a German university, as a rule, is a man who would be 
 thoroughly prepared for it, if there were no colleges or 
 gymnasia. I say as a rule) of course there are excep- 
 tions. The American college and the German gymna- 
 sium do not materially differ in the opportunity in either 
 to acquire an education, except that in the American 
 college there is much more freedom; and the college 
 usually turns out an earnest, tireless worker who can
 
 — 103 — 
 
 think and investigate for himself, and who is thus pecul- 
 iarly fitted for the freedom of a university life, while the 
 gymnasium turns out a machine, or at least the product 
 of a machine-like discipline. The reader can not -fail to 
 note the difference between the German university at 
 Heidelberg and the English university at Cambridge, 
 described in an earlier chapter. Heidelberg is a type of 
 the German university. The students do not sleep or 
 board in the college buildings as they do in the English 
 universities. In fact there are no colleges in the German 
 universities. The buildings at Heidelberg are quite 
 meager compared with any of the English universities. 
 Indeed, in America, many colleges which makes no pre- 
 tentions to the rank o£ a university, have much more 
 pretentious buildings than are to be found at Heidelberg. 
 The American university is founded on the German 
 model, with one notable exception. The American uni- 
 versity has not inaugurated the practice of duelling. So 
 much is said of duels among students that it may not be 
 out of place to quote the description of one by an eye 
 witness. The duels are fought by a small proportion of 
 the students, and generally by those who belong to what 
 is known as the "corps." The students who are to 
 fight are stripped and padded with cloth at every vulner- 
 able point, and wear iron goggles over the eyes . 
 
 "The combatants were watching each other with 
 alert eyes; a perfect stillness, a breathless interest reigned. 
 I felt that I was going to see some wary work. But not 
 so. The instant the word was given, the two apparitions
 
 — 104 — 
 
 sprang forward and began to rain blows down upon each 
 other with such lightning rapidity that I could not quite 
 tell whether I saw the swords or only the flashes they 
 made in the air; the rattling din of these blows, as they 
 struck steel or paddings, was something wonderfully 
 stirring, and they were struck with such terrific force that 
 I could not understand why the opposing sword was not 
 beaten down under the assault. 
 
 "Presently, in the midst of the sword-flashes, I saw 
 a handful of hair skip into the air as if it had lain loose 
 on the victim's head and a breath of wind had puffed it 
 suddenly away. 
 
 "The seconds cried 'Halt!' and knocked up the com- 
 batants' swords with their own. The duellists sat down, 
 a student official stepped forward, examined the wounded 
 head, and touched the place with a sponge once or twice; 
 the surgeon came and turned back the hair from the 
 wound, and revealed a crimson gash two or three inches 
 long, and proceeded to bind an oval piece of leather and 
 a bunch of lint over it; the tally-keeper stepped up and 
 tallied one for the opposition in his book. 
 
 "Then the duellists took position again; a small 
 stream of blood was flowing down the side of the injured 
 man's head, and over his shoulder, and down his body 
 to the floor, but he did not seem to mind this. The 
 word was given and they plunged at each other as 
 fiercely as before; once more the blows rained and 
 rattled and flashed; every few moments the quick-eyed 
 seconds would notice that a sword was bent — then they
 
 — ros — 
 
 called 'halt!' struck up the contending weapons, and an 
 assistant student straightened the bent one. 
 
 "The wonderful turmoil went on— presently a bright 
 spark sprang from a blade, and that blade, broken in 
 several pieces, sent one of its fragments flying to the 
 ceiling. A new sword was provided and the fight pro- 
 ceeded. The exercise was tremendous, of course, and 
 in time the fighters began to show great fatigue. They 
 were allowed to rest a moment, eveiy little while; they 
 got other rests by wounding each other, for then they 
 could sit down while the doctor applied lint and band- 
 ages. The law is that the battle must continue fifteen 
 minutes if the men can hold out; and as the pauses do 
 not count, this duel was protracted to twenty or thirty 
 minutes, I judged. At last it was decided that the men 
 were too much wearied to do battle longer. They were 
 led away drenched with crimson from head to foot." 
 
 In these duels, of course, every precaution is taken 
 in preparing the adversaries, that no serious injury shall 
 be inflicted on either side. If the duel result as the one 
 above described, it is called a drawn battle, and must be 
 re-fought. 
 
 This matter of duelling will, I believe, be recognized 
 as another material distinction between the German and 
 English universities. 
 
 As we were about to leave Heidelberg, an amusing 
 incident occurred. Mr. Conger and my friend Davis, 
 became separated from us. Here as elsewhere you can- 
 not walk across the railroad track without danger of
 
 — 106 — 
 
 arrest. Our train was on the opposite side and outside of 
 the depot. To get there, it was necessary to go under 
 the tracks by means of a tunnel. When we crossed 
 under, our two members were paying attention to some- 
 thing else. Discovering that they were alone, they 
 began to rush frantically up and down the depot, asking 
 every German they met whether they ' ' had seen eighteen 
 Americans anywhere?" The only answer they received 
 to their inquiries was a shrug of the shoulders and a 
 shake of the head which so significantly indicates, " I 
 don't understand you." Finally they met an English- 
 man whom they accosted in the same way. ' ' Why, my 
 dear sirs, " he replied, " I can't tell Americans from any- 
 body else. " Then Conger frantically started across the 
 track, upon which a policeman kindly took him in 
 charge, but upon discovering the species of his captive, 
 promptly released him. "What shall we do?" said 
 Conger. "I haven't a cent with me," said Davis. 
 "We can't make any of these confounded Dutchmen 
 understand a word we say," said Conger, whose eyes 
 were about to protrude from their sockets. In the mean- 
 time the train was due to depart and none of us knew 
 where they were. We gave the guard a bribe to hold 
 the train a minute or so, and Spangler went to look for 
 them. He found them condoling each other and lament- 
 ing their sad fate in being lost in a strange country, 
 whose language was as strange to them as Chinese. 
 Spangler returned with the two worthies and we were 
 again a united party and, metaphorically, we fell upon 
 their breasts and welcomed them back. 
 
 The independent spirit of an American frequently 
 gets him into trouble. At Mayence, Conger asked for a
 
 — 107 — 
 
 glass of milk at a lunch stand at the depot. It was 
 served by a girl, and when he tasted it he found it to be 
 sour. He protested that it was not sweet and that he 
 would not pay for sour milk. The girl insisted, and 
 Conger walked away. The girl called a big burly police- 
 man who took him back to the stand, where he was 
 compelled ignominiously to pay for his sour milk. After 
 paying for it Conger drank the milk, saying he would 
 not let her sell it to some one else, if it killed him to 
 drink it. 
 
 §
 
 ©bapter I3. 
 
 Nuremberg, Bavaria, Munich. 
 
 Nuremburg, or Nuernberg, as the Germans spell it, 
 is the quaintest old city in Europe. After five changes 
 of cars, and having ridden in cars of every possible con- 
 struction and style, including a cheap imitation of an 
 American smoking car, we arrived before the walls ot 
 this ancient city. She is surrounded by a formidable 
 wall of heavy masonry, in front of which is a deep and 
 wide moat. At intervals on the wall are watch towers. 
 The ancient city is within the walls; the modern part 
 without. The buildings are ancient and quaint in the 
 extreme; gable roofs, oriel windows, narrow streets, shop 
 windows full of toys and jewelry and gloves; and gloomy 
 looking houses, are characteristics of the place. Statues 
 abound in the public squares, and in the churches, and 
 around fountains in the public streets. Many of these 
 pieces of statuary are fine specimens of true art. The 
 house of Albrecht Duerer, the famous painter of Nurem- 
 berg, is worth a visit, for its associations, but not on 
 account of its architecture or convenience of arrangement 
 or beauty. 
 
 The castle at Nuremberg is a gloomy old structure 
 of the Middle Ages, and has always until 1S66 been the 
 royal residence of Bavaria's monarchs. It occupies a 
 high rock, overlooking the entire city. It stands to-day
 
 — log — 
 
 as a representative of the cruelty, superstition and bar- 
 barity of the Middle Ag^s. Dark dungeons and long 
 tunnels abound. Two of these are remarkable. One 
 leads to the outside of the city, a mile and a quarter dis- 
 tant to the river, the other leads to the court house, a 
 half mile away. The former was built to enable the in- 
 mates to procure water from the river, in the event that 
 it should give out in the well, when the castle was in a 
 state of siege; the latter for prisoners, condemned to per- 
 petual darkness at the court house, to go to the castle 
 well for water. 
 
 This well is 325 feet deep, dug through solid stone, 
 and the tunnel enters a gallery near to the bottom of the 
 well. It required thirty years of constant labor to dig 
 this well, and the work was done entirely by condemned 
 prisoners. The well contains excellent water, cool and 
 clear. A small quantity of water dropped into the well 
 from the top reaches the bottom in six seconds. Our 
 guide, a pretty bright-eyed little German girl, took a cup 
 of water and poured it out in six parts about a second 
 apart, as the last part left the cup we heard the first strike 
 the'water at the bottom ; and following in the same order as 
 the water was dropped, came the successive reports from 
 the bottom. It was quite interesting to note what pride 
 and enthusiasm the girl manifested in showing us the mys- 
 tery of the well. But in nothing else is the barbarity 
 and inhuman cruelty of the Dark Ages so conspicuously 
 manifested as in the rooms containing the instruments ol 
 torture. Long since unused, they are now kept together 
 and exhibited as the legacy of an age of cruelty and 
 selfishness, the reality of which to us seems impossible. 
 
 The instruments of torture are the stocks, the duck-
 
 — no — 
 
 ing stool, the Dutch chair, the thumb-screw, the rack, 
 the cradle, the chair and two-edged sword, the " Eisene 
 Jungfrau "and many others, the use of which it is horri- 
 ble even to contemplate. 
 
 The stocks are of two kinds. One is like a modern 
 churn in shape, with a hole at the top. The criminal 
 was placed inside of this churn-like affair, his head pro- 
 truding through the hole, and he was placed in the 
 public square and market place and remained there for a 
 period longer or shorter, according to his sentence. The 
 other kind is the ordinary instrument through which the 
 feet and arms were fastened which is familiar to all. The 
 ducking stool was used to duck bakers who cheated in 
 the weight of a loaf of bread. They were ducked in the 
 river as many times as the loaf lacked ounces in weight. 
 One noticeable instrument is a kind of frame in which 
 scolding women were tied and left in the public place to 
 be jeered and scoffed at by the crowds. - 
 
 The thumb-screw so extensively used in religious 
 persecutions, consists of two parallel pieces of iron with 
 teeth like a saw, so that the pieces will fit together like 
 two saw blades, the teeth of one fitting into the notches 
 of the other. The thumbs of the victims were 
 placed between these pieces of iron and they were then 
 screwed together. The pieces of iron are connected 
 with a crank, by means of which they are given a 
 vibratory motion. The effect thus produced upon the 
 victim is not only painful in the extreme, but it is also a 
 nervous shock much like that produced by electricity, 
 though less intense. 
 
 The Dutch chair is a large chair with the bottom 
 full of long sharp-pointed spikes projecting upward.
 
 — Ill — 
 
 The victim is seated upon these and heavy weights 
 hung upon his feet, which do not touch the ground by 
 several feet. These weights gradually pull him down 
 farther and farther upon the spikes, for hours causing 
 excruciating pain. 
 
 There was one instrument, the name of which I did 
 not learn, which resembles a huge pair of tongs with 
 ragged and teeth like edges. These were heated red hot 
 and used in that state to pull off the flesh from the 
 victim's body. The suffering caused by this cruel treat- 
 ment can be better imagined than described. 
 
 The " Eisene Jungfrau, "or the iron young-wife, is 
 another remaining monument of the barbarism of the past. 
 It is much the shape of a human body upon the outside 
 — the inside entirely so. The victim comdemned to 
 death was placed inside, and the doors having long, 
 sharp spikes, of which two were so placed as to enter the 
 victim's eyes, the others placed so as to pierce different 
 parts of the body, were then closed and sooner or later 
 death followed the fearful suffering of the victim. 
 
 The rack is a long table upon which the victim was 
 laid upon his back. His hands were fastened securely at 
 one end and his feet attached to a rope which ran over 
 pulleys on the same principle as the "block and tackle. " 
 He was then stretched out until the body suffered intense 
 pain, when the body became partly paralyzed or inured 
 to the pain a few turns of the pulley revived, in an inten- 
 sified manner, the pain. 
 
 The cradle is an instrument much resembling a 
 wooden cradle. It has sharp spikes projecting inwardly 
 from the bottom, sides and ends of the instrument. The
 
 — 112 
 
 victim was tied hand and foot, and laid into this cradle 
 and rocked. 
 
 The iron chair and two-edged sword were used for 
 executions; the victim merely sat down upon the chair 
 and the executioner swung- the great sword and the head 
 dropped oft. 
 
 The foregoing are only a few of the instruments of 
 torture which I saw and examined in this old castle. It 
 seemed to me as I viewed them, that all the ingenuity of 
 the Middle Ages had been employed to invent means to 
 prolong and to intensify human pain. What a change 
 since then ! Now it is the study of mankind to relieve 
 and prevent pain. Intense hatred and cruel selfishness 
 have been replaced by loving kindness and sympathy. 
 But the saddest fact that thrusts itself unbidden upon my 
 mind is this: Most of these engines of cruelty were the 
 inventions of the church, or rather, I should say, of 
 priests. Preaching "peace on earth and good will 
 among men, " they put to death, with every species of 
 cruelty and devilish ingenuity they could invent, those 
 who happened to incur their displeasure. But the church 
 of Jesus Christ was started on earth to succeed even 
 against the "gates of hell. " And she has come down to 
 our times in spite of the crimes and blunders and crimi- 
 nal selfishness of her professed friends, bringing in the 
 fullness of time a grand civilization. That we enjoy and 
 partake of this civilization instead of the barbarism of 
 which these instruments of torture are evidences, we 
 should be profoundly thankful. 
 
 Nuremberg is celebrated for its manufacture of toys 
 and jewelry. The people dress in ancient costumes; 
 their customs are old, their houses older yet; almost
 
 — ii 3 — 
 
 secluded from the world, the spot seems to be a little 
 remnant of the Middle Ages that has lagged behind the 
 progress of the world and is unable to catch up with it. 
 Here also dogs are used to draw milk-carts. In Europe but 
 little ice is put up. Refrigerators are almost an unknown 
 quantity outside of the more progressive cities. To keep 
 milk sweet, it is boiled. During the Middle Ages, what 
 skill and ability were not used to make engines of tor- 
 ture, were employed to decorate and beautify their cathe- 
 drals. Nuremberg, therefore, has some fine churches, 
 which the chisel and brush of artists have rendered inter- 
 esting and beautiful. At this place is one of the finest 
 Jewish synagogues in Europe. 
 
 But after all, Nuremberg is interesting more from 
 her associations, than anything else. Her painters, poets, 
 sculptors, have done more to render her name immortal 
 than all her ancient commerce, or kings or castles. 
 
 Longfellow felt this when he wrote of her as follows: 
 "In the valley of the Peguitz, where, 
 
 Across broad meadow-lands, 
 Rise th e blue Franconian mountains, 
 
 Nuremberg, the ancient stands. 
 Quaint old town of toil and traffic, 
 Quaint old town of art and song, 
 Memories haunt thy pointed gables 
 
 Like the rooks that round them throng, 
 Memories of the Middle Ages, when 
 
 Thy emperors rough and bold 
 Had their dwellings in thy castle 
 Time defying, centuries old. 
 
 And thy brave and thrifty burghers, 
 Boasted in their uncouth rhyme 
 That their great imperial city 
 
 Stretched its hand through every clime. 
 Everywhere I see around me rise the 
 Wondrous world of Art:
 
 — ii 4 — 
 
 Fountains wrought with richest sculpture 
 
 Standing in the common mart, 
 And above cathedral doorways 
 
 Saints and bishops carved in stone, 
 By a former age commissioned as 
 
 Apostles to our own. 
 Here when 'Art was still religion, 
 
 With a simple reverent heart, 
 Lived and labored Albrecht Duerer, 
 
 The Evangelist of Art. 
 EMIGRAVIT is the inscription on the 
 
 Tombstone where he lies; 
 Dead he is not — but departed — 
 
 For the artist never dies. 
 Fairer seems the ancient city 
 
 And the sunshine seems more fair 
 That he once has trod its pavements, 
 
 That he once has breathed its air. 
 Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler poet, 
 
 Laureate of the gentle craft, 
 Wisest of the twelve wise masters 
 
 In huge folios sang and laughed. 
 Vanished is thy ancient splendor 
 
 And before my dreamy eye 
 Wave these mighty shapes and 
 
 Figures, like a faded tapestry. 
 Not thy councils, not thy Kaisers, 
 
 Win for thee the world's regard, 
 But thy painter Albrecht Duerer 
 
 And Hans Sachs, thy cobbler bard." 
 
 In Bavaria I whs surprised to see many tracts of 
 country covered with natural pine forests. The country 
 is rolling and usually the hill sides are covered with 
 wood. One is surprised to see'^the ^large amount of 
 hops that is raised in this] section of Germany. 
 In many districts one would get the impression that 
 they are the only crop, so many are seen. But one of
 
 — H5 — 
 
 the most astonishing things to an American, is the large 
 number of fortifications. Within the distance of a half 
 hour's ride, I counted five very large and powerful forts, 
 the only use of which I could discover, was to guard the 
 railroad on which we were going to Munich. At each 
 fort, of course, a large body of soldiers were stationed, 
 and almost every town and city had its complement of 
 soldiers. It seems disgusting to see these thousands of 
 the ablest-bodied men of the empire, who ought to be 
 producing wealth instead of consuming it, supported in 
 idleness, or employed in work worse than idleness, while 
 the old women and girls are left at home to support a 
 military tyranny. Everywhere the railroad depots are 
 very substantial buildings and not unfrequently guarded 
 by soldiers, or within the protection of the guns of a 
 fort. 
 
 I was told that in Bavaria the people largely own their 
 land in small parcels of a few acres each, and that there 
 are fewer landlords holding large estates than elsewhere. 
 They are unable to accumulate very much and the lands 
 remain in smallholdings. 
 
 The amount of beer which is consumed is incredible. 
 It is made from hops which accounts for the numerous 
 hop fields seen in this country. It is not adulterated 
 because hops are cheaper than aloes or other materials 
 used to adulterate beer. Therefore the beer is better and 
 healthier than that found in England or America. The 
 size of the glass and the smallness of the price stagger 
 one. The glass is a mug shaped receptacle with a handle 
 on the side and a pewter lid. It holds a pint or a pint 
 and a halt; and for this quantity the prevailing price is 
 not above two cents of our money.
 
 — n6 — 
 
 The average price, I think, is not more than one 
 and a half cents per glass. Smoking and beer-drinking 
 are considered a national trait of character, and one is 
 not patriotic to the Fatherland who does not do both. 
 Beer gardens abound everywhere. But I must say that 
 I did not see a boisterously drunken individual there. 
 Whether there is much drunkenness there, depends upon 
 what is meant by "drunkenness. " If a man is regarded 
 as drunk as soon as he has taken a glass of beer, as some 
 people contend, then the whole population, and most of 
 the visitors, are drunk all the time. But if it is only 
 meant one who becomes boisterous and partially loses 
 control of his faculties, then very few become drunk. 
 Everybody drinks beer there — men, women and children. 
 The extent to which men and women patronize beer 
 gardens can only be realized by those who see it. In one 
 beer garden in Munich, I saw 4,000 people, about equally 
 divided as to sex, sitting at tables under the trees, or in 
 the verandas, under brilliant electric light, drinking and 
 chatting and laughing; while a military band belonging 
 to one of the regiments stationed there, was playing ex- 
 cellent music. 
 
 Munich is the capital of Bavaria and one of the most 
 celebrated cities in Germany. Here art flourishes under 
 royal patronage, and two galleries contain many master 
 pieces of painting from every celebrated artist. One is 
 hung with productions of the modern painters and is 
 called the new Gallery; the other is hung with the old 
 masters and is called the old Gallery. There is also a 
 gallery of sculpture. One cannot help indulging in the 
 thought that either these old masters were industrious 
 and indefatigable in their work to a degree unknown now,
 
 — ii7 — 
 
 or that some of these pictures seen in European galleries 
 are attributed to men who did not paint them. 
 
 A visit to the principal picture galleries of Europe 
 discloses a surprising number ol pictures by the same 
 painter. Surprisingly long lives these old masters must 
 have had, and an energy and industry of which we know 
 not even the rudiments. But Munich is really one of the 
 art centers of Europe; few, if any, places surpass it in 
 this respect. In the Old Gallery, Duerer, Van Dyck, 
 Rembrandt, Weenix, Paul Veronese, Titian, Raphael, 
 Michael Angelo, and many others have left some of their 
 best productions. 
 
 Munich has broad streets, well shaded avenues, 
 beautiful buildings, splendid bridges, and is altogether a 
 very beautiful city. As in other places, there are many 
 churches, which are monuments of art, rather than places 
 of worship. 
 
 The visitor will go to the Royal palace, out of curi- 
 osity if for nothing more. The room and the bed in this 
 palace in which Napoleon slept in 1809, are kept just as 
 they were, not having been used since. All of the differ- 
 ent rooms have inlaid floors, each of a pattern different 
 from the others. The military dining room is adorned 
 with pictures of the great battles of Napoleon. This 
 seems a strange decoration for the walls of a German 
 king ; but when we remember that the Bavarians were 
 some of Napoleon's bravest soldiers, and were allied to 
 him in several campaigns, it will be seen that by this 
 means they are only commemorating many of their own 
 deeds of valor and heroism. 
 
 The royal stables contain places for two hundred 
 and forty horses; the animals are all very fine, and all of
 
 — n8 — 
 
 blooded stock, being mostly English. The State car- 
 riages are superb, but modeled upon old, clumsy patterns. 
 All are very heavy, profusely ornamented in gold, some 
 with rare and costly gems. The number, including 
 sleighs, is thirty, and they represent i , 200,000 marks in 
 value. Bavaria's mad monarch, before he began his whole- 
 sale building of palaces, had a mania for building State 
 carriages, which accounts for many of these. 
 
 The palace of Nymphenberg, which lies west of the 
 city, is not itself remarkable, but the grounds are 
 extremely lovely. Water courses, small lakes, water 
 falls, spendid walks, shady lanes; swans floating grace- 
 fully upon the water, which is so clear that thousands of 
 fish are plainly visible; shrubbery, fresh and green; 
 summer houses, and stately forest trees are some of the 
 elements of its beauty. Fountains spouting fifty feet high 
 cool the air and add beauty to the grounds. Many deer, 
 tame and graceful, are seen in the shade of the trees, or 
 quietly browsing twigs and shrubs. 
 
 One of the features of the city is the statue of Bavaria 
 seventy feet high, facing a vacant tract of land and 
 situated upon an eminence, where it shows to good 
 advantage. The library, the Bavarian national museum 
 and many other places will be found to be of interest to the 
 visitor. The Bavarians seem to have more energy and 
 enterprise about them than the Prussians; and moreover, 
 are not too well pleased with their position in the Confeder- 
 ation. They love Bavaria first and the empire afterwards. 
 Much dissatisfaction is expressed by them concerning the 
 present government. Bavaria is about as important as 
 Prussia, and has her place in history and accepts a 
 second place in the Confederation with ill- concealed
 
 — H9 — 
 
 dislike. Every one is familiar with the melancholy 
 history of her insane monarchs. Ludwig II. committed 
 suicide by drowning, and is succeeded by Otto, his 
 brother, who is also mad. When I was there, Luitpold, 
 their uncle, was prince regent, and the virtual ruler. 
 Should he survive Otto, he will be the actual king, as 
 Otto has no brothers and no issue, and Luitpold is next 
 in the line of descent. 
 
 In Bavaria as elsewhere, women are drudges. 
 Opposite my hotel a street was being paved. Women 
 were hitched to carts to haul the stone and water. I saw 
 two women hauling a heavy cart-load of stone, and at a 
 moderate grade in the street they became unable to pull 
 it. For some time they pulled and worked at the heavy 
 burden, but failed to move it further. Then one of the 
 men went to their aid and pushed from the rear while 
 they pulled, and thus started, they pulled the load to 
 its destination. But as soon as the man had started 
 them his assistance ceased. In other places in Munich 
 I saw men sawing wood. The women split it with an 
 axe and loaded up huge piles in a rack, with straps which 
 go over the shoulder and under the arms, by means of 
 which it is carried. The rack is set upon a block, so 
 that when filled, she can put the straps over her shoulder 
 without lifting the burden. This done, she leans forward, 
 lifts the heavy load and walks away with it. 
 
 In another place, a large block was building and 
 women were carrying the brick, stone and mortar to the 
 masons. They climb a ladder and usually carry the 
 brick and stone in a bucket. I did not see a "hod" 
 used. It is not an uncommon occurrence to see a poor> 
 weak mother with an infant child compelled to do this
 
 — 120 
 
 work. You will see at the bottom an older child taking 
 care of the infant, and when the mother reaches the 
 ground, she may be seen to take the sickly child in her 
 arms, nurse it a little while, give it back to the older child, 
 fill her bucket with brick and again climb to the top with 
 her load. 
 
 This is the civilization that Matthew Arnold prefers 
 to ours; because I have seen just as bad scenes in his 
 country as ever were or ever will be seen in Bavaria, or 
 any part of the continent. We may be uncivilized in 
 America, but we do not care for a civilization that will 
 reduce our people to such conditions as may be seen 
 daily in any part of Europe.
 
 ©rj&pter 14. 
 
 Austria, Salzburg, The Koenigsee, Berchtes- 
 
 gaden. 
 
 One hot afternoon, after leaving Munich for Salzburg, 
 at about three o'clock, we sighted the Tyrolese Alps. 
 Though they have no great elevation, yet they are cov- 
 ered in many places with snow, which from the hot plain, 
 on which we skirted their base, looked delightfully cool. 
 At about 6.30 p. m. we rolled into the city Salzburg, and 
 were, for the first time, in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. 
 We submitted our luggage to examination and passed out 
 of the custom-house, toward our hotel, the "Tiger Hof." 
 
 The German language is spoken in Austria, and 
 coming from Bavaria into this country, one does not 
 realize, from the language, manners, customs or appear- 
 ance of the people, that he is in another country. The 
 money is florin and kreutzer. A florin is equivalent 
 to forty-two cents, and is divided into one hundred 
 kreutzers. 
 
 After a plain supper, I looked around the town. 
 
 The streets are narrow, the houses tall, and there are 
 
 the usual number of beer gardens with bands of music. 
 
 The town lies in the edge of the Alps, which tower all 
 
 around it. On a low mountain is a huge old castle. 
 
 Early the next morning we started in carriages to visit 
 the Koenigsee and the celebrated salt mines. The road
 
 122 
 
 is hard and smooth, winding among the mountains, 
 following the course of the river Aim, which is the outlet 
 of the Koenigsee. In all directions can be seen snow- 
 clad peaks; the snow remaining at a much less elevation 
 than in American mountains. The valley varies in width; 
 at first it is quite wide, but narrows as it recedes into the 
 mountains, until in many places it is not more than two 
 or three hundred feet wide. The current of the stream 
 is rapid, here rushing around an abrupt curve, there 
 sweeping away, wide and beautiful, again rushing, break- 
 ing, foaming in milky whiteness over rapids. 
 
 At many places the water is diverted from the 
 channel of the stream and carried along lateral channels 
 at a less gradient for a mile or more, thus furnishing a 
 head of water of thirty feet or more for water power. It 
 is diverted exactly as the irrigating canals in Colorado. 
 There are many factories and mills along the stream in 
 which flour, furniture, and various articles are made. 
 The houses in the little villages are old and quaint, and 
 solidly built. In many places the roofs are merely held 
 upon the houses by stones, which are laid upon them. 
 
 In many places in Europe this is the common way 
 to hold a roof in place. Sometimes the roof consists of 
 thin slabs of stone, which hold themselves in place by 
 their own weight. 
 
 In this valley, as in all other places, every inch of 
 tillable ground is utilized. Nothing goes to waste. 
 Even the sides of the streams are lined, in many places 
 with stone masonry, and the ground cultivated to the 
 edge. In many places the valley is picturesque and 
 beautiful beyond description. The snow-clad peaks, 
 their virgin snow gleaming in the bright sunlight, the
 
 — 123 — 
 
 verdure of tree and shrub and grass; the rushing water, 
 clear, white with foam, and throwing spray which reveals 
 many a beautiful rainbow, spanning the stream from side 
 to side, the winding road; the mingling of shade and 
 sunshine; flowers of various hues; the songs of birds — all 
 make a picture of indescribable loveliness. 
 
 At last we arrived at the Koenigsee. Before us lay 
 what appeared to be a very small body of water, an 
 island in the center, a wall of stone and mountain peaks 
 beyond. The color of the water isan emerald green, tinted 
 with various other hues — a most peculiar color, with a 
 most peculiar effect. We engaged a boat for twentv- It 
 was propelled by oars, and the oars were handled by 
 four women and two men. There is no steamboat upon 
 the lake. All boats are propelled by oars, and the oars 
 are worked chiefly by women On our boat the four 
 female rowers were old. Their sleeves were rolled up to 
 the elbow; the arm and hand brown and hard from labor 
 and exposure. One woman who sat in the prow working an 
 oar with a steady, monotonous stroke, was not less than 
 sixty-five years old. One who sat nearer to me told me 
 that she had been engaged in this work for fifteen years, 
 and said it was very hard work, which I readily believed. 
 
 But we were soon undeceived as to the extent of the 
 lake. Rounding a point, we see stretching away before 
 us, a long, narrow, and exquisitely lovely body of water. 
 It is fully six miles long by two miles wide, surrounded 
 on all sides by towering mountain peaks six thousand 
 feet high. The lake was once, undoubtedly, the crater 
 of a volcano. The water is six hundred and thirty-six 
 feet deep. Water comes tumbling down thousands of 
 feet on the almost perpendicular sides from melting snow
 
 — 124 — 
 
 above. With the exception of the north and south ends, 
 there is no place where a boat could land, the sides being 
 so nearly perpendicular. At the south end there is a 
 natural amphitheatre about three miles long and about a 
 mile wide. At the east end of this there is another little 
 lake, perhaps a mile and a half wide, and between the 
 two lakes is about a square mile of land, or rather rock. 
 The lakes are connected by a clear, sparkling stream. 
 The surface between the lakes is weird, grand — huge 
 rocks of every conceivable shape and size are scattered 
 about in the most fantastic manner. Great gray and 
 brown walls of mountains rise thousands of feet on every 
 side. Above and beyond these are glimpses of great 
 snow banks; down the sides, cataracts of water, foaming, 
 and breaking into mist and spray, fall many hundred feet 
 into the lake. Here and there a tree or shrub, with its 
 roots twined around the rocks, and following the crevices 
 in the stone, struggles for existence. It looks as if it 
 might have been the weirdly and fantastically -set stage 
 of a theatre for the gods. Standing near the eastern side 
 and looking back toward the Koenigsee, a most lovely 
 view was seen. Out across the rugged amphitheatre, 
 with its green sides, and over against the western edge 
 lay the south end of the Koenigsee. Along the western side 
 lay the water, in its greenest of green colors; nearer it 
 was a lovely blue, while still nearer it was clear and 
 almost white. A slight wind broke the surface into 
 myriads of ripples, mixing and blending these colors into 
 a thousand different tints, chasing and following each 
 other, breaking into pieces, again to be resolved and 
 blended into others — like diamonds of clearest water, 
 flashing and blazing from green and blue settings — a
 
 — 125 — 
 
 perfect sea of precious gems, mingling and flashing as 
 they move by some unseen force. 
 
 Again we take our places in the boat and move over 
 the smooth surface of the lake, again drinking in the 
 beauty of the scene. But the enjoyment is marred by 
 the sight ot the women working in the hot sun, at labor 
 far too hard for men to do; and we feel culpable in rid- 
 ing thus when we learn that for this work these women 
 receive less than twenty cents a day. 
 
 The costume of the Tyrolese peasant is peculiar. A 
 feather usually graces the hat; an ordinary coat generally 
 braided or embroidered; short pants not reaching the 
 knees and usually made of leather; leggins reaching Irom 
 the ankle to an inch or more below the knee and em- 
 broidered or braided or beaded; it shoes and stockings 
 are worn, the stocking laps over the lower part of the leg- 
 gin; the space between the bottom of the pants and the top 
 of the leggin is about three inches and always bare — this 
 is the picture he presents. 
 
 Throughout the Tyrol, the roads are lined with 
 innumerable crucifixes. They are seen affixed to trees 
 or posts or fences at not more than a hundred feet apart. 
 Sometimes for a mile they will be found not more than a 
 rod apart. Some are on a grand scale, with not only 
 the crucified Christ upon the cross, but also upon either 
 side the two thieves. Some have an arrangement for a 
 candle which is lighted at night. Some again are very 
 plain, some only a small picture of Christ upon the cross. 
 They are found wherever a human footstep can go. They 
 line the rocky walls of the lakes. They may be seen 
 high upon the mountains and low down in the valleys. 
 The religion is Catholic, and many who pass these cruci-
 
 — 126 — 
 
 fixes and shrines lift their hats or cross themselves and it 
 keeps them pretty busy on some of the roads. 
 
 In the towns, Sunday, after ten o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, is a holiday. Bands play on the streets and the 
 beer gardens overflow with patrons and the patrons over- 
 flow with beer. 
 
 In this section beggars abound. Begging is forbid- 
 den by the government, but in these mountain districts, 
 of course, the law is not enforced. In some cases the 
 mendicants are worthy, but usually begging is their 
 trade. They begin when but an infant and continue 
 this disreputable mode of life until death comes. Fre- 
 quently little children meet your carriage and holding 
 their hands aloft as if in prayer, follow you a mile or 
 more, clamorously demanding alms. Little girls will 
 take up a place where you must pass and when you ap- 
 proach they will sing until you are past, expecting a 
 coin. Again an old physical wreck is met, and here and 
 there a man or woman who warbles the peculiar "jodel." 
 The prevalence of beggars detract from the pleasure of 
 the ride on any road in the Tyrol. They are persistent 
 and disagreeable. They are usually quite undeserving. 
 
 On our return from the Koenigsee we stopped at 
 Berchtesgaden to visit the salt mine. If any of the readers 
 of this book should ever be in this part of Austria, or 
 rather Bavaria, (the mines are in both countries, the line 
 running about the center of this one) he should not fail 
 to visit this mine. He will never regret it. 
 
 We were compelled to dress in costume suitable to 
 the occasion. This, for the gentlemen, was a pair of 
 overpants, a blouse, and a wide-brimmed hat, our own 
 coat and pants being left behind; and for the ladies a
 
 — 127 — 
 
 pair of white pantaloons, a black coat, and a black cap 
 trimmed in blue and set jauntily on one side, their dresses 
 and skirts being left behind. Thus attired, our party of 
 twenty, with two German guides, each member of the 
 party having a candle, the party being divided into two 
 divisions of ten each, entered the mine. The entrance is 
 on the west side of the mountain and east of the high- 
 way. We went through a long corridor, arched with 
 solid stone masonry and gently ascending, leading into 
 the heart of the mountain. This we traversed for a con- 
 siderable distance, when we came to an opening on the left 
 hand side. Here we ascend a flight of 126 stone steps, 
 leaving the corridor we had so far traveled. Having reached 
 the top of the stone steps, we found ourselves in another 
 corridor similar to the one we had left, walled up and 
 arched with stone as the first. We followed this for some 
 distance and reached a point where five corridors, all 
 similar in construction to the first, came together. Our 
 guide informed us that these corridors all lead to different 
 galleries where salt is found. He led us into one of these 
 and as we proceeded we saw cross corridors all leading 
 into the darkness, whither we knew not, and I shuddered 
 at the thought of being lost in this net work of passages, 
 now nearly a mile from the entrance and under 600 feet 
 of solid stone in the mountain above. But on we went, 
 trusting to our guide who is continually talking to us in 
 bad German and putting us to our wit's end to under- 
 stand him. Having followed him a long way in the cor- 
 ridor's deep gloom, which is scarcely broken by the 
 sickly light of our tallow candles, we heard occasionally 
 reports of a deep, low, reverberating boom which rolled 
 and echoed and re-echoed through the many corridors
 
 — 128 — 
 
 like the report of the great guns of a distant battle. At 
 first I attributed the sounds to blasting, and was quite 
 surprised to find that they came from the banging of 
 some wooden doors that are set up where the corridor 
 enters the gallery. That such unearthly noises can come 
 from so simple a cause is one of the inexplicable things of 
 nature. We passed through the door and beheld a 
 sight as grand as ever falls upon mortal eyes. We stood 
 just within the solid stone wall of a great chamber or 
 gallery hewed out of the salt rock. It was absolutely 
 dark. No ray of light can enter from the outside. The 
 thick darkness exceeds anything that ever before came 
 to my experience. It seemed so thick that we could feel 
 it. There were suspended in circles around the gallery, 
 in rows, one above the other, a thousand lamps or candles 
 whose light was choked by the intense darkness and ap- 
 peared as stars might, from a sky of sable blackness. It 
 was a picture indescribable. The rows of star-like lamps 
 ran off on the left seeming to mingle together and dance 
 and tremble in the black distance, and return on the right 
 like wanderers coming home with smiles and radiant 
 faces. The gallery is several acres in surface. Its bot- 
 tom, its ceiling and its walls are salt rock. Having stood 
 quite still for some time drinking in the strange weird 
 beauty of the scene, our eyes became somewhat better 
 accustomed to the darkness, but it was not until informed 
 by our guide that we preceived that the bottom of the 
 gallery is covered with water and is in fact a lake or salt 
 sea. It was quite true, we were but standing upon a shelf 
 of salt rock, and before us lay a sheet of water about six 
 feet deep. Finally we discovered a boat into which we 
 got and were rowed across the gallery — a strange place to
 
 — 129 — 
 
 boat, and a strange ride upon the salty water. We landed 
 upon the opposite side where a transparency displayed the 
 miners' talisman, " Glueck Auf " — good luck. There are 
 thirty- five of these galleries and they are used to pro- 
 duce table or eating salt. 
 
 After the gallery has been blasted out, it is 
 henceforth made to produce salt in this way. From 
 high in the mountains where ice and snow are melting, 
 pure, cold water is let in by means of pipes. In a short 
 time, this water disolves the salt from the sides and 
 bottom of the gallery and holds in solution about twenty- 
 seven per cent, of salt. It is then drawn off through pipes 
 to the valley below, where the water evaporates, leaving 
 the fine salt. In many parts of the mines the rock is 
 composed of 95 per cent, pure salt. This is mined and 
 sold in the rock state for packing purposes. It is what is 
 usually known as rock-salt. We saw large piles of this 
 in one gallery, ready to be hauled out and sent to market. 
 From the gallery containing the water, we proceeded 
 through another corridor and came to a descent of some 
 seventy-five or one hundred feet. This we descended in a 
 novel way. It was no more or less than a toboggan slide. 
 One article of our costume I have omitted to mention. It 
 is a leather apron put on behind instead of in the usual 
 manner of wearing aprons. We now perceived its use. 
 It is to sit upon as we slide down. A guide takes his 
 place first, then three or four get on behind him and away 
 they go until the bottom is reached. In this way we all 
 went down and found ourselves in another galler}-. This 
 was one of the dry galleries. Proceeding through this 
 we followed another corridor and came to another 
 " toboggan slide," went down as before, went through 
 9
 
 — 130 — 
 
 another dry gallery into another corridor, going back 
 toward the entrance. 
 
 We came to another corridor, turned to the right, 
 discovered that there was a narrow iron track like that 
 we had noticed in the first corridor, and passing on some 
 hundred yards, came to a small room or chamber. Here 
 was a pretty and pleasant picture. The room was about 
 thirty feet long, fifteen wide and twelve or fifteen high. 
 Several walls projected from each side, leaving the space 
 between them about the size of a door. Thus, instead of 
 one room it might be regarded as several rooms. These 
 walls were the original rock as it had been left standing 
 when the room had been imwed out. A light in the 
 farther end of the room shone through the translucent 
 walls of salt, which held here and there opaque substances 
 giving it the appearance of a crazy quilt designed by 
 nature. Here art was at a discount. At the extreme 
 end of the room was a large translucent salt rock, upon 
 which were engraved a crown and the royal arms of 
 Bavaria. A lighted candle behind the rock threw the 
 design into plain view. In front of the rock is a pretty, 
 little spouting fountain, the water of which falls down 
 upon a pile of rocks and trickles away in the darkness. 
 We were astonished to learn that this room is directly 
 under the salt lake upon which we had taken our boat 
 ride some time before. The water in the fountain comes 
 from the lake above, which is readily believed when it is 
 tasted. Coming out of this chamber, we were requested 
 to take seats upon some cars which had been brought 
 along while we were in the room. We got astride of 
 them and when all were ready we started — whither we 
 knew not. Down the incline of the corridor,
 
 p y.T-~ 
 
 ^r:^ 
 
 .■*$* 
 
 W *S 
 
 •** 
 
 GO 
 
 Ph 
 
 H 
 
 w 
 w 
 H
 
 — i3i — 
 
 through the intense darkness, our candles immediately 
 extinguished; past corridors leading away from ours, the 
 wind whistling through our hair; every minute gaining 
 speed, the rumble of our car wheels resounding through 
 the mines like the roar of a coming storm; around abrupt 
 curves which nearly unseated us — on we went a mile or 
 more, and like lightning shot out into the light ot day 
 from the same opening which we had entered. We 
 repaired to the photographer's to be taken in a group in 
 costume, and the visit was finished. 
 
 A delightful ride through lovely mountain scenery, 
 at the close of the day brought us back to Salzburg. 
 "Time thus spent at way-side inns among costumed 
 peasants here in the foot-hills of the great Alpine chain, is 
 time gained lor the memory of all future years. We may 
 have been three hours, or we may have been four hours, 
 in going from Salzburg to Berchtesgaden ; but should we 
 live for fifty years, no time can dim the charming recollec- 
 tions of that drive." 
 
 The salt mine and the Koenigsee are in southern Ba- 
 varia, Salzburg in Austria. The road crosses the boundary 
 between the two countries, and lies along very close to it 
 all the way. Accordingly we had to pass two custom 
 houses on the trip. 
 
 Salzburg was the home of Mozart. His house 
 stands a short distance from the river, an object of 
 interest to all lovers of music. In this house the great 
 musician was born; here he lived and labored in the 
 profession he so well loved. Here many of his great 
 master pieces were produced. 
 
 The usual number of cathedrals are found in this city.
 
 ©If&pter 15. 
 
 St. John in Pongau, Zell am See, Innsbruck, 
 The Brenner Pass. 
 
 From Salzburg we go to Innsbruck, stopping on the 
 way at St. John in Pongau and "Zell am See." The route 
 continuing through the Tyrolese mountain scenery, we saw 
 many low-lying clouds. Thev hung low in the air, clinging 
 to the rough mountain sides, leaving the base and summit 
 in plain view. Here and there great banks of white, 
 cumulus clouds were actually below us in the valleys, 
 though we were at no great elevation. Toward noon the 
 air grew warmer, the clouds broke away, rose to a high 
 elevation, and floating away, revealed to us far stretching 
 mountain views, snow clad peaks and lovely valleys. 
 We stopped first at St. John in Pongau. Here we took 
 two wagons for a ride through a beautiful valley to the 
 entrance to a wild and romantic gorge in the Alps. 
 Alighting, v/e walked along a path or trail which winds in 
 and out among the hills, up and down, following the 
 course of a rushing mountain torrent. Climbing along 
 the rugged path, we soon passed over a bridge across the 
 stream, in a sort of ante-chamber, to the gorge with walls 
 of mountains almost enclosing it. The chamber is 
 perhaps two acres in area and the walls are about fifteen 
 hundred feet high. Passing on, along bridges hung to the
 
 — 133 — 
 
 sides ot the rocks, we entered the gorge. It varies in width 
 from ten to fifty feet, the sides rising abruptly fifteen hun- 
 dred to two thousand feet high. In many places the rocky 
 sides overhang the water, and at one place the only way to 
 advance is through a tunnel; then up a long flight of 
 stairs, and skirting the left hand side of still higher mountain 
 sides, we reached the top of the water-fall. Along the gorge 
 the water tumbles and foams, and dashes, and crashes, 
 and splashes itself into spray; leaps over huge rocks in 
 wild glee, catches the sunshine in its foam and spray, and 
 sends back to us a beautiful rainbow in acknowledgment 
 of our admiration of its beauties. But how the water 
 does go on down the gorge in a perfect frenzy of joy ! 
 
 The water of Lodore would give but a faint descrip- 
 tion of the water of this wonderful glen. 
 
 Retracing our steps we came to the little hotel where 
 dinner had been prepared for us. The table was in the 
 open air, delightfully shaded, on a high place which 
 commands a delightful view of mountain peaks, snow 
 clad and beautiful; valleys teeming with busy life; 
 bare rocks, huge boulders, green fields and pine forests, 
 all intermingled most charmingly. I have seen no 
 more interesting view in the Alps than this, though it has 
 none of the majestic splendor of many other places in 
 these mountains. It is rather a scene of pleasing and 
 gentle beauty. We partook of a repast of fresh, baked 
 mountain-trout, with fresh bread and deliciously cool, 
 sweet milk. 
 
 Invigorated by the walk in the pure mountain air 
 laden with the odor of pine and fir and charged with 
 ozone; a health giving and health restoring atmosphere; 
 our appetite whetted by the exercise, we feasted like kings
 
 — 134 — 
 
 and queens at a banquet. And I doubt if royalty evei 
 partook of a meal with as much real enjoyment as we, 
 perched high upon that mountain side, with the lovely 
 panorama spread out before us, and the health giving air 
 laden with the odor oi pines and evergreens, and cooled 
 by the great banks of snow on many a peak about us. 
 The meal finished, we were again on the wagons, rolling 
 down the mountain side, through the rich and fertile 
 valley, along the rushing river, and brought up at the rail- 
 way station; and soon again we were on our way through 
 the Tyrol en route for " Zell am See." 
 
 In this part of Austria, I noticed a peculiar, but cer- 
 tainly a convenient custom. On many of the house sides 
 toward the street are large clock dials, whose hands point 
 out the time of day to every passer-by. 
 
 Leaving St. John in Pongau, we followed the course 
 of a rushing mountain torrent, which here and there 
 breaks into foaming rapids and beautiful water-falls. In 
 the afternoon we arrived at Zell am See. The town is 
 small. It lies on the west bank of a beautiful lake, 
 whose water is as clear and sparkling as a diamond, and 
 very cool. High mountain peaks surround it on every 
 side; their tops shrouded in eternal snow, their sides 
 partly cultivated. The lake is about three miles long by 
 one mile wide. A little steamboat makes the trip around 
 the lake once an hour. Many boats are to be found lor 
 rowing. The hotel on the west side of the lake is an un- 
 usually fine one for that country. In every respect the 
 place is charming, and leads one to believe that an 
 American summer resort has been put down in the midst 
 of that ancient country. We staid here four hours, 
 rowing upon the lake, and were drenched in a sudden
 
 — 135 — 
 
 thunder shower; we bathed in the frigidly cold water; and 
 disposed of a good dinner in the open air on the bank of 
 the lake. 
 
 Innsbruck is a beautiful Austrian town, the capitol 
 of the Tyrol, and famous for the bridge where Hoefer 
 thrice defeated the Bavarians under Napoleon in the war 
 for independence in 1809. A visit to the cathedral is 
 really interesting. I was about to say that Innsbruck is 
 famous for its cathedral, but every town over there has a 
 cathedral. The cathedral contains a statue of Alexander 
 Hoefer, who led the Tyrolese against Napoleon for 
 fourteen years, and was finally shot by Bonaparte at 
 Mantua. Hoefer lies in the silver chapel, under a fine 
 monument. In the center of the church is a statue of 
 Maximilian I. kneeling upon a sarcophagus, surrounded 
 by twenty-eight royal bronze statues, and twenty-four 
 exquisite historical reliefs in marble. In 1754, in this 
 cathedral, queen Christina, of Sweden, abjured Protest- 
 antism. A short distance west of the church is the 
 celebrated bridge. Mountains rise around the town, 
 six thousand to eight thousand feet above the level on 
 which the town stands. There are many other places 
 and objects of interest in this town, among which are the 
 pa'ace built by Maria Theresa, the university, the tri- 
 umphal arch, the museum, the picture gallery, the ancient 
 Capuchin Monastery, the wealthy Abbey of Witten, and 
 the fine old castle of Ambras, built in the thirteenth 
 century. After a delightful visit here, we took our places 
 in the cars for a long ride, the destination of which was 
 Verona, Italy. We began to climb, slowly, up a steep 
 grade on the railroad, passing through innumerable 
 tunnels, so many that the lamps were kept burning in the
 
 — 136 — 
 
 cars to relieve the darkness. At one place we entered a 
 tunnel, in which the road curved around in the shape of 
 a horseshoe, came out on the same side on which we 
 had entered, and beheld the track over which we had 
 come some time before, a hundred feet or more below us, 
 on the opposite and lower side of the valley. We passed 
 another train here, saw it dive into the tunnel and pres- 
 ently shoot out at the lower end and fly away down the 
 valley below us and in the same direction with us. We 
 were now crossing the Alps on the celebrated Brenner 
 pass. 
 
 The railroad winds around among lofty peaks, crawls 
 along the sides of high precipices and rumbles through 
 dark tunnels, finally bringing up along the side of the 
 beautiful Brenner lake, whose green waters lay below us 
 in the valley like an emerald set by nature to adorn the 
 scenery and to call forth our enthusiastic admiration of her 
 wondrous beauty. The air was delightfully cool as we 
 reached the summit of the pass which is the divide be- 
 tween the Adriatic and the Black seas. 
 
 In Austria, as well as in all parts of continental 
 Europe, I was surprised at the primitive sort of farming 
 utensils. Wheat is generally cut with a sickle. Grain is 
 threshed with a flail, largely; and is winnowed by throw- 
 ing it into the air. Hay is cut with a very peculiar 
 scythe. The blade, as nearly as I can describe it, is like 
 the blade of a corn cutter, such as is used in our western 
 states. The handle is about eight feet long and as straight 
 as a "bee line." At the end of the handle is a hand 
 piece at right angles and in reverse line with the blade. 
 At a convenient distance from the first hand piece is 
 another, which projects at right angles, both from the
 
 — i37 — 
 
 • 
 
 handle and the blade. With this ungainly instrument the 
 peasant stands back some seven or eight feet from the 
 grass, and with a long swinging stroke as he takes a 
 forward step, cuts down a prodigious quantity. And 
 everywhere a blade of grass grows, this scythe finds its 
 way. Not one blade escapes. And it is not unusual to 
 see the women swinging the scythe while the men turn 
 and rake the hay— indeed, this is almost universally true. 
 
 There is, of course, some improved machinery, but 
 it is seldom seen. The farms are so small, in many 
 places the land is so hilly and rugged, that it can not be 
 used as in more level countries. The tenants are unable 
 to buy improved implements, and the landlords will not. 
 I remember that in Switzerland, we had become so ac- 
 customed to see men "plowing" with a " three cornered 
 hoe," that when we unexpectedly came upon a man plow- 
 ing with a plow similar to those in use here, we were 
 astonished at it. But when we remember that these 
 people are expected to make a living off five acres of stony 
 land, and clothe and sustain a family and pay fifty per cent, 
 of all the gross proceeds to the landlord in the way of rent, 
 we must not be surprised that they cannot have improved 
 machinery. Rather should we be surprised that they 
 keep from starving. In most places in Europe the tele- 
 graph is still of the primitive sort. The original Morse 
 receiver is used. The machine makes impressions upon 
 a strip of paper which passes over a roller, when a mes- 
 sage is received. These impressions are then read by 
 the operator. They are not read by sound as in this 
 country. 
 
 In many parts of Europe the railway train, as it leaves 
 the depot, touches an electric contrivance at three distinct
 
 - i3§ - 
 
 times, which rings a bell as often at the next station, and 
 thus announces that the train has started. There seems 
 to be no system of train orders in the movement of trains 
 by telegraph, as with our railroads.
 
 ©papier 16. 
 
 Italy, Verona, Italian Women, Italy's Progress. 
 
 My first sight of Italy was a distant view of the plains 
 of Lombardy from the crest of the Alps. An hour or 
 so before we had passed through a snow storm, which, 
 of course, was rain further down in the valleys. The 
 clouds had broken away and the sun shone brightly; the 
 air was deliciously cool and invigorating; and what a 
 contrast too, to the intense heat we found the next day 
 at Verona, for it was in the month of July. Words can- 
 not describe the mingled sensations and emotions which 
 one experiences as he stands amid the grey rocks and 
 snow- clad peaks of the Alps, and looks out upon the 
 land that to the student, the historian, the artist, the 
 Christian, or the soldier, is the most interesting in 
 Europe. From boyhood we have read of the Alps, their 
 avalanches, their dangers and their fascination to moun- 
 tain climbers. Then, too, we are familiar with the ex- 
 ploits of Hannibal and Napoleon. As we stand in their 
 midst, every charming valley and every towering peak 
 seems to be an old friend ; the valley invites us to ramble 
 among its beauties, and the peaks entreat us to climb to 
 their tops. But he who has not yet been in Italy, must 
 refuse the hospitable invitations and hurry on to the land 
 ot romance, song and art. He sees before him the cradle
 
 — 140 — 
 
 of a civilization two thousand years old. He sees the 
 melancholy remains of a land whose history stirs the very 
 depths of a soldier's heart, and which is yet the home of 
 music and art; a land that has bounteously contributed 
 to the perfection of our modern civilization. And so I 
 staid not in the mountains, but hurried on to the plains 
 below, filled with so many treasures of art and hallowed 
 by so many historical associations. As we go, I notice a 
 small stream of water that comes from "the mountains, 
 and runs along the road. Further on it receives an addi- 
 ction and becomes larger, soon another, then another, 
 and so on until it becomes a rushing mountain stream, 
 which, long before it reaches the Adige, becomes a large 
 river. 
 
 Thus we have seen the source and mouth of an 
 Alpine stream, and it has been our guide to take us down 
 and out of the mountains to the Italian plains beyond. 
 At one place the guard told us we could walk to the next 
 station before the train could reach it. It was not more 
 than a mile or so away and seemed to be almost directly 
 beneath us. About thirty of the passengers availed them- 
 selves of the opportunity to scramble down the steep 
 mountain side while the train moved off to make a jour- 
 ney of eight or ten miles to get to the same place. It 
 was a close race but we arrived there first and saw the 
 train roll into the depot. 
 
 Again we are in our compartments, and on we go, 
 getting further down and further south, as the increased 
 heat admonishes us, following the mountain stream until 
 we reach the Adige, and then along that river until we are 
 at Verona, familiar to every reader of Shakespeare. The 
 enterprising Italian (induced by the proper fee), seriously
 
 — 141 — 
 
 and solemnly points out the tomb of the sentimental 
 Juliet; and if the tourist is sufficiently credulous he shows 
 the very balcony where Juliet sat while Romeo poured 
 out the affection of his heart. 
 
 I stopped at the hotel St. Lorenzo, neither better nor 
 worse than the average European hotel. The city is pleas- 
 antly situated, has 98,000 inhabitants and many places of 
 interest to visitors. Here we get our first glimpse of 
 Italian Hie and people. They are much more intelligent, 
 better proportioned physically, and better dressed than I 
 had expected to find. If an American forms his judg- 
 ment of Italy and the Italians from his observation of 
 those who come to America, his judgment is likely to be 
 quite erroneous. The Italian women are exceedingly 
 pretty, even handsome. The eyes are usually large, dark 
 and melting; thecomplexion rich and delicate; the features 
 regular and pleasing. Their most effective weapon for 
 conquest is the fan, which they use with a languid grace 
 that captivates before the victim is aware. The costume 
 is generally dark in color, a light weight, but dark col- 
 ored shawl drawn over the shoulders, and a black lace 
 veil placed artistically and coquettishly over the head. 
 They are all artists in the matter of dress. They wear 
 the shawl and carry the fan at the same time, but the lace 
 veil is generally the only head dress. But the veil never 
 covers the face. It would never do to cover those lovely 
 eyes, and that rich complexion which, with the gracelul 
 movements of the fan in that oppressive and enervating 
 climate, combine to render the Italian lady so fascinating. 
 She is devoted to the form of the Catholic religion. But 
 her Christianity is no deeper than the beauty of her face, 
 which fades away early in life, leaving the old woman a
 
 — 142 — 
 
 horrible picture by contrast to her younger but beautiful 
 sister. On any bright morning you may go into any of 
 the numerous churches or cathedrals and find the Italian 
 woman kneeling at the altar, glibly reading or reciting 
 her prayers, counting her beads, and responding musi- 
 cally to the chanting of the priests; and in the midst of 
 it all, she will find an opportunity to throw you, a perfect 
 stranger, a bright glance, a pleasant smile, and then 
 coquettishly half hide her pretty face behind an elegant fan, 
 just leaving to view her positively handsome eyes to play 
 havoc with your composure, or entirely put to flight any 
 stray thoughts of a devotional character you may have 
 entertained when you entered the place of worship. Her 
 religion is all form, nothing else, and in strict obedience 
 to this form she is a fanatic. The" men of Italy, it is 
 needless to say, are not so religious, not even in the form, 
 much less in the essence. Italy's religious condition is 
 peculiar. Recently emancipated from the government of 
 the church, she is swinging away from an intense devotion 
 to "form" to an intense atheism, or rather indifference 
 to religion. She is, perhaps, no more atheistic now than 
 before, in the true sense of the term. 
 
 At Verona, I first visited the Amphitheatre or Arena, 
 which was built under Diocletian, about 290 A. D. It 
 has seventy-two arcades, is oval in shape, 1584 feet in 
 circumference and 106 feet high, with forty-five tiers of 
 seats and can, at the present time, accommodate 40,000 
 spectators. It is built of stone, but the upper galleries, 
 which were used by the common people, have crumbled 
 away. From the top an excellent view of the city and 
 surrounding country with the fortifications about the city 
 is had. Close by, on one side of the piazza, is "Gari-
 
 — 143 — 
 
 baldi's House." The principal entrances to the arena, 
 are at the north and south sides, and on each side of 
 them are the apertures through which the gladiators and 
 lions were wont to enter. That such immense structures 
 could have been built merely to gratify the barbarous desire 
 for the shedding of blood, seems incredible. If human nature 
 must have excitement, and if there must be national 
 games to amuse the people, let them be base ball or 
 cricket ; but let not civilization again be disgraced with 
 such brutal and bloody spectacles as this arena has so 
 often afforded. 
 
 Another interesting place in Verona is the Market 
 Place. This is a public square, which is by no means 
 square in shape, and which was once the forum of the 
 Republic. In this square at one end, is a high shaft sur- 
 mounted by a copy of the ' 'lion of Venice.' ' The origi- 
 ginal was formerly on this shaft but was removed to Ven- 
 ice when Verona became a part of the Venetian Republic. 
 Interesting as the Market Place is, as the former forum , 
 it is no less interesting now as a market place. Coming 
 into it at the southwest corner, the visitor beholds a large 
 open space, no two sides of which are parallel, surrounded 
 by arcades, under which is displayed every variety of 
 wares that mind can conceive and the climate render 
 saleable. In the open space, under awnings and booths 
 are loads of delicious tropical fruits of every variety and 
 kind that the season can furnish. Under these canvass 
 coverings may be found almost everything in the way of 
 food that the climate permits or renders desirable for 
 diet. They are generally kept by old women, and 
 swarms of people surge through the open spaces sur- 
 rounding the stands, examining the fruit and meat, and the
 
 — i 4 4 — 
 
 proprietor urges them to buy. It is a busy scene. But 
 a short distance from the Market Place are the tombs of 
 the Scaligers who ruled Verona from 1262-1389. These 
 tombs are Gothic architecture, very richly and beautilully 
 built, and surrounded on three sides by a very high iron 
 railing, and on the fourth side by the church of St. Maria 
 Antica. Passing through an open arch, before which 
 hangs a rich, red portiere, I stand within this ancient 
 church, where a priest is conducting services and a few 
 women are at worship in various parts of the room, while 
 a few more are quietly moving about examining the rare 
 works of art which abound in this church, as if it were a 
 mere museum of art rather than the place of divine wor- 
 ship. But this is characteristic of nearly all continental 
 churches. They seem rather to be institutions for getting 
 money out of visitors, than anything else. Go into any 
 Catholic cathedral in Europe, and you will see tourists 
 walking about examining the works of art or listening 
 to descriptions or legends from the guide, while services 
 are going on. It excites no comment and arouses no op- 
 position. It is the custom of the country, and of the 
 church. 
 
 Verona is literally surrounded by forts and forti- 
 fied castles. Here is the residence of the Commandant 
 of the Third Army Corps. Many of these forts were 
 built by Austria, and have been strengthened since by 
 Italy. 
 
 This teritory was long a subject of contention among 
 the powers, but finally became a part of Italy, in 1866. 
 and is now firmly incorporated into that kingdom. 
 
 A few months travel and observation in Italy will 
 convince the most skeptical, that she is rapidly becoming
 
 — 145 — 
 
 a great military power. Her history has been as peculiar, 
 and as painful, as it has been interesting. The mighty 
 pendulum of her destiny once swung to the side of great- 
 ness, and splendor and power. Her ruined temples, her 
 despoiled palaces, her battlefields, her aqueducts and her 
 military roads which to this day exist are mute wit- 
 nesses to her former power and glory. In the Roman 
 period, she ruled the world. It began to swing back 
 during the decline and fall of the empire, the ravages of 
 the northern barbarians, and the confusion of the next 
 six centuries. Seized by Charlemagne and subsequently- 
 breaking into petty states, whose rulers contended with 
 each other by sword, and intrigue and poison, she finally 
 lay prostrate under the burdens of Papal power, as the 
 pendulum reached the opposite extreme from her former 
 splendor. But the pendulum of Italy's destiny has again 
 started on its return vibration and has been accelerated 
 by the genius and force of Victor Emanuel, Garibaldi 
 and Count Cavour. It seems to me that earthly ambition 
 could not desire more than Count Cavour achieved in the 
 unification of Italy. From her broken and dishonored 
 fragments he constructed a new empire that shall achieve 
 a great destiny. He infused into Italian life a new princi- 
 ple — a spirit of nationality. From the Alps to the Medi- 
 terranean Sea, she is now a united, happy, progressive and 
 prosperous nation. Commerce and manufacturing have 
 revived, and throughout the peninsula are abundant evi- 
 dences of activity and enterprise. 
 
 Rome has doubled in population, since the Pope lost 
 
 his temporal power. Cavour laid the foundation for his 
 
 country's greatness in the school system, which he caused 
 
 to be inaugurated. Everywhere education is compulsory 
 
 10
 
 — 146 — 
 
 and gratuitous. Italy has twenty-one universities, seventeen 
 of which are supported by the state. Such a spirit prom- 
 ises well for the future. Though the constitution requires 
 the king to be a Catholic, yet religion is absolutely free. 
 A free press and free speech are also constitutional rights 
 of the people. The Senate is composed of members ap- 
 pointed for life, and the House consists of 508 representa- 
 tives who are elected by the vote of the people. It will 
 surprise some to know that Italy has an army of nearly a 
 million men, and a navy of considerable importance. 
 
 When will the condition of affairs in Europe become 
 such that it will not be necessary to impose on every man 
 a burdensome tax to provide the means to shed his 
 brother's blood? Considering the condition of Italy fifty 
 years ago, her present condition is wonderful. Brigands 
 and Lazzaroni, once the scourge of the country, have 
 disappeared. Fewer beggars are found, as the Govern- 
 ment has undertaken to suppress begging altogether. 
 Lotteries and games once encouraged by the petty gov- 
 ernments are now discouraged by the king. Victor 
 Emanuel bequeathed to Italy a great blessing in his son 
 Humbert. King Humbert is a statesman, wise and con- 
 scientious. The people know it, and their devotion to 
 him is touching. I believe that Italy is destined to be- 
 come again one of the powers of Europe. 
 
 •ofo-
 
 ©hapter 17. 
 
 Venice and Florence. 
 
 Venice lies directly east of Verona, and the railroad 
 follows the Adige River, for a time, and then traverses 
 one of the most beautiful valleys I have ever seen. Dis- 
 tant mountains line either side while between lies a strip 
 of land nowhere excelled in fertility of soil and beauty 
 of surface. Hay, grain and fruit are raised abundantly. 
 Fences, as we understand the term, are almost unknown. 
 The land is divided into fields or sections by means of 
 rows of fruit trees. The rows are usually about one 
 hundred feet apart. In the space between these lines of 
 trees the land is cultivated. There are no orchards set 
 out separately as we are accustomed to see them here; 
 but every fence is an orchard ol itself. The land wasted 
 for fences in America, is there used for richly bearing 
 fruit trees. Not content with this economy, grapes are 
 planted and the vines are trailed along from tree to tree 
 in green festoons of surpassing beauty. Most beautiful 
 roads wind through these lands, lined with fruit trees and 
 trailing vines. The landscape seen in mid-summer is a 
 pleasant one. The green corn, the yellow wheat, the 
 fruit-laden trees, and the festoons of vines, all charmingly 
 mingled together and relieved by the bright white surface 
 of the drives, with here and there elegant houses, neat
 
 — 148 — 
 
 villages and cool, rippling brooks, all combine to make 
 it a picture of nature's rarest beauty. Through this con- 
 tinued scene of pastoral beauty we roll along, as in a 
 dream, and wonder not that Italy has given to the world 
 the best poets of any age. At last we are approaching 
 Venice, "the Queen of the Adriatic. " With what emo- 
 tions one stands upon the brink of the realization of the 
 fondest anticipations of a life time! Charles Dickens 
 describes his approach and visit to Venice as a dream. 
 To me it was no dream, nor do I think it is to very 
 many. Filled with eager curiosity and keenly awake to 
 everything, I looked out across this lagoon and caught 
 my first sight of a distant city which seemed to lie low in 
 the distant sea. As we come nearer she seems to rise up 
 in pride from her bed ot water, while thirteen centuries 
 of art and history look down upon us from her gilded 
 domes, her graceful towers, and her stately palaces. At 
 the west the sun is sinking behind the horizon in a blaze 
 of fiery beauty which reflects upon clouds and sea and 
 city. No more favorable entrance into Venice could be 
 made, than it was our privilege to make. The weather 
 was perfect; the air balmy and soothing, the water lying 
 without a ripple upon its bosom; and the city, golden in 
 the slanting rays of the declining sun. The lagoon over 
 which we are passing lies like one vast mirror in its un- 
 broken surface, reflecting back from its tranquil bosom 
 all the surrounding beauties. Emerging from the depot, 
 we stand upon a broad stone terrace with steps leading 
 down to the water's edge in the Grand Canal and, for 
 the first time, look upon the gondolas and gondoliers — 
 the steeds and vehicles of Venice. The city is not built 
 upon spiles in the sea as many erroneously suppose; but
 
 A Scene in Venice.
 
 — 149 — 
 
 occupies 117 small islands, three of which are of some 
 considerable size. There is no space between the water 
 in the canals and the outer walls of the buildings. Some- 
 times there is a small piazza or stone terrace adjoining the 
 outside of the wall, but generally the wall and the water 
 are in contact. The canals are very crooked, having no 
 regularity at all, being the natural channels between the 
 islands upon which the city is built. Some of these canals 
 are quite wide, some exceedingly narrow and they inter- 
 sect and cross each other in every conceivable direction; 
 and the dexterity and skill with which a gondolier will 
 propel the long slender gondola and turn impossible cor- 
 ners within an eighth of an inch of the walls and never 
 touch them ; avoid collisions with other gondolas which 
 shoot across his way from unseen canals, is something 
 wonderful. On each island are narrow streets or by- 
 ways at the rear of the houses, for pedestrians; the canals 
 being crossed by stone bridges arched over the water. 
 The most considerable and important of these, is the 
 Rialto, made famous by Shakespeare in the "Merchant 
 of Venice. " How the English bard, never having been 
 in Italy, could so accurately describe his Italian charac- 
 ters and scenes and places, must ever be a mystery to 
 his critics and his students. The Rialto is a large stone 
 bridge consisting of a single arch which spans the Grand 
 Canal. On either side of the bridge are twelve shops, 
 twenty-four in all, and between these is the passage by 
 which we cross from one side to the other. Here was 
 Shylock's money and exchange office. In many of these 
 streets one can extend his arms and at once touch the 
 walls on each side. By means of the streets and bridges 
 one can walk over the greater part of the city, but a
 
 — 150 — 
 
 stranger will become immediately confused. They run 
 in all directions, into courts and squares, from which 
 there is no exit but to retrace one's steps along the way 
 he came. A friend of the writer started one afternoon to 
 walk from the Riva degli Schiavoni to the Rialto; he 
 continued to walk, as he supposed, toward the Grand 
 Canal, for more than two hours. Imagine his surprise 
 when he came out of a narrow winding street, upon the 
 Riva degli Schiavoni about two hundred yards from the 
 place from which he started. One street often takes, in 
 successive parts, every direction of the compass. Along 
 some of these streets are shops where the rich Venetian 
 wares are displayed — glassware, beads, laces, all made in 
 Venice. Others lead into the haunts of misery and want 
 and penury and filth and vice indescribable. The writer 
 calls to mind a narrow lane which traverses one of the 
 larger islands. It is about eight feet wide. On either side 
 is a solid row of buildings from lour to six stories high. It 
 is evening and quite warm. As I walk along, I stumble 
 over nude children who sprawl upon the pavement. At 
 every door that opens into a small room, damp and 
 noisome, sits Irom one to a half dozen old women, 
 hideous in their ugliness, but dauntless in their 
 shame. Younger girls whose characteristic, Italian beauty 
 of face and figure has not yet faded away, half naked, sit 
 indolently in chairs or on the pavement. I pick my way 
 along, doing my best to get through without contact 
 with the filthy creatures who leer and screech and laugh 
 and beg for alms and swear at me for refusing to give. 
 Wretchedness and want and misery are everywhere. But 
 is it really any worse than in other cities? I think not. 
 In other places the people can disperse to various places;
 
 — i5i — 
 
 here they are, in a measure, confined to their own 
 locality. For, cheap as is a gondola fare, these people 
 never have that much ahead. At the end of this street, 
 reader, step into a gondola with me. A few strokes of 
 the gondolier's single oar and we glide by a stately mar- 
 ble palace with anywhere from six hundred to a thousand 
 rooms. We pass through its halls and galleries, study its 
 master pieces of art and linger in the marble halls. Does 
 the contrast suggest an idea ? Is the social system as 
 perfect in this world as it might be ? There is no place to 
 which a gondola cannot take one. It can, of course, go 
 entirely around every one of the one hundred and seven- 
 teen islands across most of which one can walk in a 
 minute or less. There are few squares or large open 
 spaces and these only on the few larger islands. The 
 most important of these is the Riva degli Schiavoni in 
 the southeast part of the city and which leads very nearly 
 westward to the Piazzetti running from the lagoon north 
 into St. Mark's Square. The latter is the largest and 
 handsomest square in Venice. It is surrounded on three 
 sides by time stained marble palaces which make an im- 
 posing appearance, and at the east side is St. Mark's 
 cathedral; remarkable chiefly for its Mosaics. From the 
 cathedral one can pass into the Palace of the Doges. 
 This square is the centre of Venetian life and gaiety. 
 Here on several nights each week an excellent band dis- 
 courses music, while hundreds of ladies and gentlemen in 
 rich attire promenade under the arcades or sit at tables 
 in the square eating " gelato" or "granita." If you 
 make an appointment to meet a friend in the evening in 
 Venice, the rendezvous is St. Mark's Square, and thither 
 your gondola glides. At the southeast corner of the
 
 — 152 — 
 
 square stands the huge old Gothic Campanile or bell 
 tower, 322 feet high and erected in 911, A. D. Ascend- 
 ing to the top of this tower by means of an inclined 
 plane which is laid around the inner sides after the fash- 
 ion of a winding stairway, the entire city is seen below 
 like a panorama. Being always open, this tower is a 
 favorite place for suicides who throw themselves from the 
 top to the stone pavement below. I was told that scarcely 
 a week goes by that there is not a suicide committed 
 there in that way. Turning from the Campanile, the 
 visitor faces the Palace of the Doges. East of this is the 
 prison, and connecting them is the *' Bridge of Sighs " 
 which spans the canal between them. There are one 
 hundred and filty canals and three hundred and seventy- 
 eight stone bridges in Venice. The Grand Canal winds 
 around through the city like a reversed letter " S" and is 
 lined on either side by old, historic, interesting and 
 beautiful marble palaces. In one palace which I visited 
 are 600 rooms and halls finished with the utmost ex- 
 travagance in splendid marble and costly stone. One 
 must visit Venice to realize her lovely and romantic situa- 
 tion. No written word or painted picture can reveal it. 
 Dicken's "Italian Dream" falls far short of the real. In 
 Venice, no rumble of a carriage wheel or tread of a 
 horse's hoof is ever heard. There is no such thing as a 
 horse within the limits of the city. Instead there is the 
 soft plash of the gondolier's oar and his graceful move- 
 ment as he plies it and the smooth and pleasing motion 
 of the gondola upon the water's placid surface. What a 
 contrast to other cities. With 130,000 inhabitants, she
 
 
   
 
 If •• 
 
 ~Hp. : >> ; 1< 
 
 &--; 
 
 A Venetian City
 
 — 153 — 
 
 lies as still and tranquil and quiet as a Sunday in the 
 country. The city is pervaded with one vast restful 
 quietness . Night after night I glided along in a dream 
 of happiness over the canals, under the soft Italian sky 
 while rarest strains of richest music stole gently to my 
 ear, as if to convince me that I was in a paradise of joy. 
 Listless, happy, dreamy I sit, as the gondola glides about 
 as gracefully as a swan. Suddenly we come upon a large 
 gondola, supplied with light from numerous Chinese lan- 
 terns, and carrying a band of Italian singers. Following 
 come fifty or sixty gondolas bearing spectators. The 
 singers' gondola glides up close to the marble walls of a 
 palace and stops. Then there bursts upon the quiet 
 night a flood of melody such as only can come from 
 Italian throats. Then they glide on and stop under the 
 arch of the Rialto, and again they give us a concert 
 which the fantastic surroundings, the dark water of the 
 canal reflecting and multiplying the many lights from 
 adjacent palaces, the fleet of following gondolas, all com- 
 bine to make an incident so unusual and unique as to form 
 an unfading picture upon my memory. I order my gon- 
 dolier to separate from the others, and again in the still- 
 ness of the night as we move slowly along, the palaces 
 and houses rise up from the water and glide away like the 
 phantoms of a dream. There comes to me a fragment 
 from Rogers: 
 
 "There is a glorious city in the sea; 
 The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets 
 Ebbing and flowing; and the salt sea weed 
 Clings to the marble of her palaces.
 
 — 154 — 
 
 No track of man, no footsteps to and fro 
 
 Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the sea 
 
 Invisible; and from the land we went 
 
 As to a floating city, steering in, 
 
 And gliding up her streets as in a dream. " 
 
 My stopping place in Venice is the hotel ' ' Aurora, ' ' 
 the host and hostess ol which speak a very fair English 
 and do all in their power to render my sojourn in that 
 city the pleasantest that I have in Italy. They are care- 
 ful to caution us not to use ice in our water, because it is 
 taken from the lagoons and they fear that possibly it may 
 contain germs of the cholera of two years ago. They 
 insist that we must drink wine and not water. But water 
 was served and the ice was packed around the bottles to 
 cool it. A visit to the Palace of the Doges is full of inter- 
 est. Its architecture, its decorations, its associations, 
 and its picture galleries carry one back in mind to the 
 days of Venetian greatness. In the library is the largest 
 oil painting in the world. Deep down under the palace 
 are the prisons where political offenders were incarcer- 
 ated. The visitor is given a torch and following his 
 guide through narrow passages between stone walls six to 
 twelve feet thick, down flights of stone steps, along corri- 
 dors to the entrance to rows of cells from which escape 
 was utterly impossible. 
 
 Across the canal, and reached by the Bridge of 
 Sighs, is the prison for condemned criminals. He who 
 once crossed this bridge never came back. ' ' The dagger, 
 the poisoned ring, the close gondola, the silent canal, the 
 secret cells," all bring to one's mind the mysterious history
 
 — 155 — 
 
 of this spot. As one goes through her palaces, her churches 
 her glass factories, her lace works, he is constantly re- 
 minded of her former glory. But the commerce that 
 made Venice great was destroyed when Vasco da Gama 
 sailed around the cape of Good Hope. Beautiful and 
 romantic she still is, and interesting she ever will be, but 
 her commercial importance is gone. The day when she 
 was wedded to the sea, and became the Adriatic's bride, 
 and when her Doges ruled and loved her, and she was 
 the center of the commercial world, is now but a memory 
 of the past. In Venice, you will of course, visit her pal- 
 aces, churches, piazzas, Canova's tomb and varied works 
 of art, and perhaps the opera, but you should not omit a 
 visit to her glass works and lace factories. Venetian 
 glassware is celebrated, the world over, for its designs 
 and peculiar finish. You, perhaps, own some of it, or 
 have seen it, and accordingly you want to see it made. I 
 visited one factory which is said to have been in operation 
 twelve hundred years. A visit to the lace factory sug- 
 gests the same fact that the glass works does. That is, 
 that in Italy, as elsewhere in Europe, women are beasts 
 of burden. They universally have the drudgery and 
 hardest work to do. Seeing this, one can not fail to feel 
 thankful that he is an American — that he lives in a land 
 where every worthy woman is enshrined in the hearts of 
 those dear to her — that she is the ruler, and the wise and 
 loving guardian of the home instead of the toiling slave 
 in the harvest field and the factory. I have seen scores 
 of women in glass factories, working over a flame with
 
 - 156 - 
 
 molten glass, in the intense heat of an Italian summer; 
 or bending over a pillow in the lace factory, handling 
 hundreds of bobbins for less than twelve cents a day. In 
 making lace the operative sits on a low seat before a round 
 pillow, over which the pattern for the lace is laid. The 
 thread is wound upon bobbins which have handles very 
 much like the old-fashioned handle of a bell rope. The 
 way an expert lace maker will handle these bobbins is a 
 surprise to the visitor. They hang before the operative, 
 several hundred in number, and she picks them up 
 and throws them down without hesitation, never making 
 a mistake, very much after the manner of one who 
 is braiding a braid of about four hundred threads. 
 The lace is held in place upon the pattern by means of 
 pins, stuck here and there, wherever the threads cross to 
 make a loop or a hole, or a square or whatnot, and are 
 kept there until the threads are secured. An expert lace 
 maker can, if industrious, make three inches of lace of 
 ordinary width and pattern, per day. In one factory I 
 saw an old grey-haired woman, sixty-seven years of age, 
 who commenced making lace when but five years old. 
 She has been constantly engaged in this work for 62 
 consecutive years. She is one ol the most expert lace 
 makers in Europe. She receives for her labor the munif- 
 icent salary of twelve cents a day. A life spent at one 
 occupation, nothing saved — she never received any wages 
 to save — old, grey and patient, she can only look 
 forward to starvation, when her feeble old hands refuse 
 longer to pick up the bobbins. Yet her employers receive
 
 — 157 — 
 
 high prices from the Queen of Italy for the product of the 
 old woman's labor, for this factory is under royal pa- 
 tronage. 
 
 One bright morning, a little after sunrise, I found 
 myself in Florence. Nestled in a charming valley, with 
 the Appenines rising on all sides, and the sluggish Arno 
 dividing it into two unequal parts, the city is not inappro- 
 priately called "the Flower of Tuscany. " Florence yet 
 suffers from the artificial stimulus given to her by being 
 four years the capital of the kingdom. The removal of 
 the capitol to Rome was a hard blow to Florence. But 
 while she suffers commercially and groans under a heavy 
 municipal debt, she is yet, in location, in associations, 
 in art and in architecture, one of the most interesting 
 cities of Italy. Here Giotto has built a monument to art 
 and architecture, and himself; here in the church of St. 
 Croce lie the remains of Michael Angelo, whose tomb is 
 guarded by the statues of the three sister arts, painting, 
 sculpture, and architecture, by three of the masters. In 
 the Academy of fine art is Angelo' s David, made by him 
 when but eighteen years old, out of a block rejected by 
 other sculptors. The Uffizi gallery, the Pitti Palace are 
 rich in pictures by the masters, as also are. a dozen more 
 galleries both public and private. In the more ancient 
 part of the city the streets are very narrow, but in the 
 modern parts they are wide and beautiful. There are 
 many public squares or piazzas, richly adorned by 
 works of art. 
 
 Florence is said to be the cheapest place to live, in 
 Europe. Many students of art and music study in her
 
 - 158 - 
 
 schools and galleries, and gather inspiration from her 
 master-pieces of sculpture, achitecture and painting. The 
 general appearance is that of solidity and ruggedness. 
 Her cathedrals, buildings and palaces, are massive and 
 heavy, the style simple and severe, " without porticos or 
 columns, and their black facades, which look like old 
 citadels." Du-Pays says: "Florence is the Italian 
 Athens of modern times. It is a glorious name among 
 the glorious cities of Italy, a name ever splendid, and in 
 which are epitomized, as in that of Athens, the noble ideas 
 which have promoted patriotism, liberty and the fine 
 arts." The bridges across the Arno are worthy of 
 notice. Each has a history, and each is associated with 
 an epoch of her life. Passing out of the city at the Porta 
 Romana, one enters the splendid promenade, which is 
 said to be the finest of its kind in Europe. Winding 
 among the hills with beautiful gardens and well kept 
 grounds on either side, passing palaces and churches, 
 one comes to the Piazzale Michael Angelo. From this 
 point is attained, perhaps, the finest view of the city. 
 Here in the square, which is a hundred feet or more 
 higher than the city, is a copy of Angelo' s David by C. 
 Papi. 
 
 Standing here and looking over the ancient city and 
 at the more ancient hills around it, there come thronging 
 through the memory, scraps and fragments of her history, 
 long before forgotten by the visitor. He sees below 
 and beyond him a city whose origin is unknown, and 
 whose streets were once trodden by Attila and hordes of
 
 — 159 — 
 
 northern barbarians; a duchy under Charlemagne; he 
 sees it transformed into a fief of the German empire ; a 
 present to the Pope, he beholds it plunged into inter- 
 necine warfare between the Guelphs and the Ghibillines; 
 then under the protection of Naples and again a republic; 
 finally, the glory of the Medici and the vices of the same 
 family mingle in the vision, and at last he sees it a part 
 of the Kingdom ol Italy. Now a part of a strong and 
 progressive state, let us hope that the hopes entertained 
 for her future prosperity and peace may be realized. To 
 the visitor, who really appreciates her history, her art, 
 and her lovely situation, Florence will be associated with 
 his most pleasant memories of sunny Italy.
 
 ©l|&pter 18. 
 
 Rome. 
 
 Rome! What memories, what historical associations, 
 what legends, what mythological tales flash upon the 
 mind at the mention of her name. With emotion one 
 stands upon the streets of the city which has left her 
 mighty impress upon the world's history. 
 
 He realizes as he walks through the Forum, that he 
 treads the very stones upon which Cicero has stepped, 
 and that the hard stone walls about him have rung with 
 the orator's eloquence. He stands at the pile of stones, 
 where the mangled corpse of Julius Caesar lay, he turns 
 and walks under the arch of Septimius Severus, walks 
 down the sacred way, stops before the remains of the 
 Temple of Castor and Pollux, treads the ground hallowed 
 by the Vestal Virgins, looks into the Cloaca Maxima 
 constructed two thousand years ago, and which yet does 
 good service for the city, stands in the basillica of Julius Cae- 
 sar and walks around the arch of Titus, views the ruined 
 and crumbling walls of Nero's palace, and enters the 
 Coloseum — mute evidences of a life, a civilization, and a 
 religion long since passed away, and out of which our 
 own were born. As the visitor views the ruins of Nero's 
 palace, there comes to him the fact, if it be a fact, that its 
 owner once stood upon the balcony of his country resi-
 
 — i6i — 
 
 dence and played the lyre and sang "The Destruction 
 of Troy," while the wind carried the flaming cinders ot 
 four-fifths of the burning city past his palace walls. The 
 act of firing the city being charged to the Christians, ten 
 thousand of them were thrown to the wild beasts in the 
 Coloseum, before which he stands. The visitor remem- 
 bers that in this persecution the apostle Paul was be- 
 headed. It is not wonderful that a visit to Rome arouses 
 feelings and excites emotions that touch the depths of the 
 human heart. He sees around him the city that ruled 
 the world for centuries, and when no longer able to con- 
 trol the political world, she became, and continued to be, 
 through all the darkness, and ruin and anarchy of six 
 hundred years, the head of the Christian world, until Leo X. 
 by his love ot art, which was a characteristic of the 
 Medici family of which he came, in order to build the 
 magnificent Cathedral of St. Peter's, began to sell indul- 
 gences which brought on the Reformation. 
 
 How many realize as they view the wonderful St. 
 Peter's at Rome, that to its building, the Protestant reli- 
 gion owes its origin? To what psrson is Rome not in- 
 teresting? Here painting, sculpture and architecture 
 tound a home. Here the Catholic and Protestant 
 turn with interest. Here the student of literature turns 
 to study the haunts of her men of letters. The soldier 
 sees here the glory of Roman arms. The orator gathers 
 inspiration from the Forum. But of all, it is the heaven of 
 the archaeologist and the historian. 
 
 Driving along the Appian Way, the visitor recalls 
 
 the military glory of the empire, whose influence reached 
 
 every land; visiting the amphitheater or the circus, he feels 
 
 the full force of the barbarity of her sports; treading the 
 
 11
 
 — l62 
 
 polished floors of her magnificent cathedrals, he realizes 
 the peculiar power of the Catholic church to raise money ; 
 diving into the bowels of the earth as he traverses corri- 
 dors of the Catacombs, and impressed with the awful 
 solemnity and mysterious influences of these retreats for 
 the persecuted and burial places for the dead, he learns, 
 as he never knew before, the early difficulties of the 
 Christian church. Examining the crumbling walls of the 
 baths of Caracalla, viewing the ancient walls that encircle 
 the city, or walking by the base of the Tarpean Rock, or 
 viewing the city from the Pincian Hill, the visitor sees 
 the unmistakable evidences of a former power and glory 
 long since departed, but taking their place, a newer, a 
 better, a purer social condition. Once within her walls, 
 two million people were solving the problem of human 
 destiny, but in 1870 this great population had decreased 
 to less than 150,000. Since then her population has 
 more than doubled. Everywhere within the walls new 
 streets are coming into existence and modern buildings 
 are springing up with surprising rapidity. The traveler 
 while at Rome will, of course, visit St. Peter's and the 
 Vatican. Can any one describe St. Peter's? In all this 
 world it is the grandest monument of art. Its origin 
 dates from the Fourth Century, and it stands upon the 
 spot hallowed by the martyrdom of the apostle Peter. 
 
 The cathedral is not the conception of one man. It 
 is a development that tells us of the growth of art during 
 fifteen hundred years. What master among all the 
 painters, sculptors, architects, has not contributed his 
 share to its construction and its greatness. All the glo- 
 rious names in Italian art are associated with the history 
 of this cathedral. Egypt, Greece and the East have all
 
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 W 
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 M 
 
 I 
 
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 — 1 63 — 
 
 been laid under contribution for materials, costly stone 
 and works of art by artists whose names are long since 
 lost, to add to its perfection and its finish. St. Peter's 
 grows upon one. It is a constant revelation. Visit it 
 every day for a year, and each day you will find some 
 new matter of interest in its splendid mosaics, elegant 
 sculpture, immense size or wonderful architecture. One 
 will not realize its size when seen for the first time. All 
 of the proportions are so exquisite, so exactly harmoni- 
 ous, that the visitor is constantly deceived as to the size 
 of everything it contains and of which it is composed. 
 Standing at the entrance one will hardly believe that the 
 nave before him is nearly 700 feet long — nearly as long 
 as three ordinary blocks in an American town. At the 
 west end he sees a chair and altar which appear to be of 
 ordinary size and not more than a hundred feet distant. 
 Walking down the nave until he comes near the altar, 
 he perceives his mistake, for the altar is of immense size 
 and the chair forty or fifty feet high. Standing near the 
 altar, his attention is directed to a mitre which surmounts 
 a shield-shaped coat-of-arms, and he is told that he cannot 
 reach the mitre. He does not believe it; but upon ap- 
 proaching it he is surprised to find that it is several feet 
 higher than he can reach. The proportions being all so 
 exquisite and exact, there is nothing with which to com- 
 pare the size of what he sees; and being accustomed to 
 ordinary-sized churches, the mind compares what is seen 
 with objects already within its experience, and the result 
 is a mental deception. Even after one comes to know 
 by actual touch and experience that the objects are so 
 large, they yet appear small in comparison with their real 
 size. Here is good prooi that the mind arrives at the
 
 — 164 — 
 
 estimate of distance, size and shape by comparison, con- 
 trast and experience. 
 
 Standing near the entrance the writer was told that 
 he could not with both hands, reach around the wrist of a 
 marble angel which holds in its hands a bowl containing 
 holy water. It seemed that it could easily be done with 
 one hand, but with lormer experiences in mind, it would 
 not do to doubt this assertion; and upon trying it he 
 found that he could not by some inches reach around the 
 wrist with both hands. At the north side of the nave, 
 about two-thirds of the way from the entrance to the 
 altar, is a metal statue of St. Peter. The great toe 
 and part of the foot have been actually worn away by the 
 kisses of the devotees. Every devout Catholic who visits 
 the cathedral kisses St. Peter's great toe, or rather 
 the part of the foot nearest to where the great 
 toe was. The writer has seen hundreds of children in 
 charge of a priest thus salute the statue, many of the 
 children being so small that it was necessary for the 
 priest to lift them up in his arms in order to reach the 
 feet with their mouths. There are but a few oil paintings, 
 but sculpture and pictures in mosaic abound. Many of 
 the mosaics are of a high order of art. Some of the 
 statues are master-pieces, but many of them are quite 
 ordinary. 
 
 The visitor should ascend the dome. Climbing for 
 a long time, a circular, inclined plane, he emerges upon 
 the roof of the cathedral. Here he is surprised to see a 
 miniature town. It must be remembered that this church
 
 - i6 5 - 
 
 covers 240,000 square feet of ground, and upon the roof 
 are the smaller domes, ridges, parapets, statuary, homes 
 for the employes, with passages much resembling streets 
 and alleys. One might almost as easily become con- 
 fused and lose himself here, as in the narrow streets of 
 the city below. Now the statuary which adorns St. 
 Peter's east front, and looks so beautiful and small from 
 the square below, is seen to be huge, rough stone figures 
 many feet in height. Having observed these things, the 
 visitor enters the stair-way leading to the first gallery in 
 the dome. What a sight! Two hundred feet below him lies 
 the intersection of the nave and transept, where stands 
 the great altar with the canopy ninety-five feet above it. 
 The pictures which adorn the interior of the dome and 
 appear so beautiful and delicate from the floor are now 
 seen to be great, rough mosaics, so large that to the 
 person this near to them, they lose all semblance of pict- 
 ures and appear as only large, colored pieces of glass 
 stuck into the wall. 
 
 The dome acts as a whispering gallery and a slight 
 noise made at one side is plainly heard at the opposite 
 side, though inaudible at all other points. In diameter 
 the dome is forty meters, the exact size of the Pantheon. 
 The visitor having walked around the light iron balcony, 
 examined the mosaics and observed that the letters, 
 which from the floor of the nave, look to be of ordinary 
 size, are six feet long, goes out and on up the winding 
 stone stairway to the second gallery. Entering this, he 
 sees the first 200 feet below him. From this gallery the
 
 — 1 66 — 
 
 people in the church are as little children to the view. 
 The observer now sees large iron rings in the sides of 
 the dome. They are invisible from the floor below. I 
 was told their use. Every two years a boy is let down 
 from above by means of a rope and is then swung to and 
 fro until he swings far enough to reach and catch one of 
 the rings. To this he holds with one hand while with the 
 other he cleans and brushes the side of the dome. In 
 this way he goes over the entire surface of the upper 
 part of the dome, and the time required to do the work 
 is thirty days. St. Peter's has two domes — one within 
 the other. For some reason, Michael Angelo concluded 
 to construct a new dome and to build it outside of the 
 former, leaving a space of several feet between the two. 
 Between these two domes, the visitor ascends a narrow 
 stairway and emerges upon the top of the dome, where 
 there is a walk guarded by an iron railing encircling the 
 dome. Here one catches a lovely view of Rome, the 
 country round about, the distant sea, the Campagna, the 
 Alban Mountains and the Appian Way The ball, con- 
 siderably higher than this, and which seen from the 
 streets below appears to be not more than a foot in diam- 
 eter, is now found to be large enough to hold sixteen 
 persons at one time. It is hollow and I climbed into it. 
 It is oi metal and it was a hot day. I immediately 
 climbed out again. Comments on the temperature inside 
 that ball are unnecessary. 
 
 The Vatican, the residence of the Pope, is a palace 
 consisting of 11,000 rooms, halls and galleries. The 
 only way to get any idea of its real size, is to view it from 
 the dome of St. Peter's where the observer sees it lying 
 below him and is enabled to see the extent of ground
 
 - i6 7 - 
 
 covered by it. It contains a fine collection of paintings 
 and sculpture. The Sistine Chapel, with frescoes and the 
 " Last Judgment" by Michael Angelo, is worth a special 
 visit. If the real merits of an artist is in boldness of con- 
 ception and originality of design, then Angelo secured 
 undisputed title to the appellation of Master when he 
 painted the "Last Judgment." Of all the horrible con- 
 ceptions that ever entered the brain of a human, I think 
 this one is entitled to the highest rank. 
 
 Rome abounds in churches, many of which contain 
 exquisite works of art; and nearly all of these churches 
 are embellished with marble and columns and mosaics 
 taken from the ruins of the ancient temples Next to St. 
 Peter's, the finest church is St. Paul's without the walls, at 
 which the king attends service. 
 
 From the Forum the Via di S. Giovanna in Laterano 
 leads to the southeast until it reaches the Piazza and 
 Basilica of the same name. Every part of this palace of 
 the Lateran, as it is called in English, is interesting, but 
 by the time the visitor reaches it in his round of inspec- 
 tion, he has become so wearied with churches, that only 
 two objects claim his attention. These are the obelisk 
 and the Scala Santa . The former stands in the centre of 
 the piazza and is the largest obelisk in existence. It is 
 of red granite and, 1597 years before the coming of Christ, 
 was erected before the temple of the Sun at Thebes, 
 by Thothmosis III. It was brought to Rome by Con- 
 stantius, and placed in the Circus Maxiums, in 357 A. D. 
 In 1587 it was discovered there, broken in three pieces, 
 and the next year Sextus V. caused it to be erected 
 where it now stands. Its height with its pedestal is 153
 
 — 168 — 
 
 feet and it weighs 600 tons. It is a venerable monument 
 of the energy and civilization of the Egyptians. 
 
 At the extreme east side of the Piazza is the edifice 
 containing the Scala Santa, which is a flight of twenty- 
 eight marble steps, which tradition says were brought 
 from Pilate's palace at Jerusalem and which the Savior 
 ascended when taken before Pilate. They are said to 
 have been brought to Rome in 326 by the Empress 
 Helena. By the devout Catholic they are regarded with 
 supreme reverence and awe. They are now covered 
 with a wooden stairway, so constructed that the marble 
 steps are plainly visible, and no one is allowed to ascend 
 or descend them except upon his knees. As I was exam- 
 ining a fine piece of marble statuary representing Christ 
 before Pilate, my attention was attracted by a lady 
 descending the Scala Santa. She was coming down on 
 her knees, and consequently backward. At every step 
 she stopped, reverently crossed herself, bowed as near 
 prostrate as possible, and kissed the step above, then she 
 took another step downward and repeated the whole per- 
 formance, and thus she continued until she reached the 
 bottom, when she again repeatedly crossed herself, pros- 
 trated herself upon the floor and kissed the last step with 
 a lingering caress that convinced me that she was sincere 
 and firm in her belief that Jesus had once trodden those 
 steps. Believing as she did, I have no doubt that the 
 descent of that stairway in that manner was to her a 
 source of ineffable joy and sublime happiness that would 
 carry contentment and solace to her dying moments, for 
 she appeared not to be a native. Perhaps in her extreme 
 faith she had made a long pilgrimage to do that very 
 thing. It may have been to her the full fruition of a hope
 
 — 169 — 
 
 that had sustained and encouraged her through a life- 
 time. Judge not too harshly ot such things. The joy, 
 the solace, the unutterable happiness that may come 
 from such an experience depend, after all, very much 
 upon our ability to believe; and may it not be possible 
 that we who have not such an abounding faith may be 
 the worse for its absence ? 
 
 While upon the subject of churches, there is one 
 more that must not be omitted. The Piazza Barberini 
 is not far from the stranger's quarter, close to the street 
 of the Four Fountains, and easily found. By the way, 
 they have a peculiar way ot naming streets in Rome; 
 here area few translations: '"The National Way, " 'The 
 Street of St. John in the Lateran, " "The Street of the 
 Four Fountains," "The Street of the 20th of Septem- 
 ber, " etc. Turning from the street of the Four Foun- 
 tains we pass into the Piazza Barberini, to the left ot 
 which is the Piazza di Cappuccini in which stands the 
 Cvtivenio die Cappuccini — the convent of the Capuchins. 
 Beneath this church are four vaults containing tombs with 
 earth from Jerusalem. These monks bury their dead 
 brothers within these tombs. They will only contain a 
 limited number, and so, when a death occurs, the one 
 longest buried is exhumed and his bones, carefully cleaned, 
 are used to decorate the rooms of the convent and 
 the church. The visitor will find the walls and ceilings 
 covered with crosses and rosettes, and fancy work and 
 figures of all kinds and descriptions made up from the 
 resurrected bones of the departed monks. It is one of 
 the most ghastly sights that the eye ever beheld. The 
 origin of the practice I was unable to learn. But this I 
 did learn, that a visit to the convent of the Capuchin
 
 — 170 — 
 
 monks leaves an impression that will be lasting. These 
 ghastly decorations are made from the bones of 4,000 
 monks; but the present government has forbidden the 
 continuance of the practice, but the decorations are 
 allowed to remain. 
 
 The visitor will look with interest upon the Mamer- 
 tine prison. It is doubtless the oldest building in Rome. 
 Herejugurtha was imprisoned and starved. Here also, 
 Vercingeterix, whom every reader of Caesar's Commen- 
 taries remembers, was confined. And in this prison St. 
 Peter was confined by Nero, and in the lower apartment 
 is a well or spring of clear, cold, sparkling water, which, 
 you are told, St. Peter miraculously caused to flow in 
 order to get water to baptize the jailer whom he had 
 converted while in prison here. One must be well up in 
 ancient history not to be imposed upon by the legends 
 and traditions which he hears in Rome. 
 
 The aqueducts which the Romans built to conduct 
 pure water from the distant mountains, into Rome, still 
 stand and stretch away across the valleys presenting a 
 fantastic picture. They consist of piers of stone ma- 
 sonry upon which the channel that holds the water is 
 built. The Romans did not know that water could be 
 carried up hill and down, and so built these great aque- 
 ducts across the valleys from the mountains to make the 
 water course on the proper level and gradient to bring 
 the water into the city. One of them is still in use. They 
 are monuments to the energy and activity and persever- 
 ance as well as the lack of knowledge of hydrostatics of 
 the Romans. 
 
 The railroad from Rome to Naples leads out across 
 the Campagna, passes old ruins and crumbling walls
 
 — i7i — 
 
 upon which the elements have warred for centuries, along 
 the long lines of ancient aqueducts, and traverses a fertile 
 valley between the Alban and Volscian mountains. This 
 valley is exceedingly beautiful but at places it is very nar- 
 row and the hills are quite high on either side. Every- 
 where the abundance of fruit trees and vines give it a 
 pleasant aspect. Many of the towns are built quite high 
 on the mountain sides, visible for miles, and illustrating 
 the great importance the Romans gave to a high and 
 commanding- situation as a means of defense in time of 
 war. These towns occupy the same sites as in the 
 Roman period. The approach to Naples is heralded by 
 great clouds of white smoke which roll up from Mt. 
 Vesuvius. As the train rolls on, the road leads through 
 a lovely plain facing the blue Mediterranean Sea. The 
 plain is densely populated and everywhere are apparatus 
 for irrigating the land. These consist of wells and wind- 
 lasses for drawing up the water which are sometimes 
 worked by horse power but generally by men and 
 women. The water is poured into ditches whence it soaks 
 into the ground.
 
 ©papier 19. 
 
 Naples, Pompeii, Herculakeum. The Ascent of 
 
 Mt. Vesuvius. 
 
 The bay of Naples is beautiful and deserves to be 
 sung by poets, but it is barely possible that they have 
 slightly overdone the matter. Its shore is crescent in 
 shape, and is almost one entire city from Naples to Cas- 
 tellammare. 
 
 Pompeii is sixteen miles distant and the space 
 between the two places is almost solidly built up with vil- 
 lages and towns, the boundary line between which it 
 would puzzle one to find. Around the base of the 
 volcano is one of the most thickly inhabited spots on 
 earth. The dwellings and buildings even extend up the 
 side of the mountain. Fruit orchards are to be found 
 two-thirds of the way from the base to the crater. Here 
 in this valley and on the sides of this mountain multitudes 
 of people swarm in busy life notwithstanding that they 
 live and walk over the buried ruins of former cities, and 
 that the angry mountain many times has belched forth 
 fire and streams of lava which carried destruction far and 
 near. Pompeii was buried in A. D. 79. You enter her 
 gates, walk up the streets, go into her houses, visit her 
 temples, baths and theatres, stand in her forum and 
 realize what a scene was here presented on that fatal day
 
 .---' -,.-. ' 
 
 
 **& 
 
 Pompeii.
 
 — 173 — 
 
 when she was buried from the sight of the world. Men 
 at their work, priests at the altar, sick people in bed, 
 dogs as they lay on the floor, were overwhelmed and 
 have been found in the same position 1800 years after- 
 wards. 
 
 In many instances nothing but the skeleton and the 
 cavity formerly occupied by the body, long since decayed, 
 are left; in such cases, when the pick of the workman 
 reveals a cavity, the work ceases and a fluid preparation 
 of plaster of paris is poured into this ghastly mold, and 
 time given for it to harden. Then the earth is dug away 
 and an exact model is obtained ol the person or animal 
 that perished there eighteen centuries ago. The 
 work of excavating the city is in the hands of the Italian 
 government and every ounce of dirt is carefully sifted 
 before being carried away. The small theatre which had 
 a seating capacity of 2,000 or more, is almost the exact 
 counterpart of our modern theatre buildings. The streets 
 are all paved with lava from the mountain, and the pave- 
 ment bears the marks of the chariot wheels and wagon 
 tracks several inches deep, which were worn into the 
 stone years before the coming of Christ. The streets 
 are narrow and lined on either side by the solid stone 
 walls, formed by the house fronts which are built directly 
 upon the edge of the street leaving no walk between the 
 houses and wagon tracks. Most of the streets are too 
 narrow to permit two vehicles to pass. The houses are 
 quadrangular in form with an open court in the middle, 
 with a piazza entirely around the court from which doors 
 open into the various rooms, while in the centre was a 
 spouting fountain and a reservoir of water, and some- 
 times trees and shrubs and walks, or pavements adorned
 
 — 174 — 
 
 with mosaics. Painting and frescoes abound in the 
 houses, and many are as bright and perfect to-day as 
 when painted. The baths were well appointed and 
 afforded steam or vapor baths as well as hot water baths. 
 The old Roman was nothing if not luxurious and sump- 
 tuous in his mode of life. 
 
 The city was rich in art. Many of the paintings 
 and sculpture which have been found are now in the 
 museum at Naples and make an interesting collection. 
 But in the museum at the entrance to the city of Pompeii 
 is the most ghastly collection to be found anywhere in 
 Europe. It consists of the bodies of the unfortunates 
 who were caught and buried in the city. There are men 
 who were undoubtedly running to escape, half bowed to 
 the earth to protect themselves from the shower of hot 
 scoria and ashes, women drawn and twisted as if 
 writhing in exquisite pain, others big with child, dogs 
 curled up with nose and tail together as if in sleep. 
 These are all in glass cases. One can scarcely realize, as 
 he walks the streets of the excavated portion of the 
 town, with the huge volcano to the north with the great 
 clouds of smoke hanging from the crater as a perpetual 
 menace of danger, that he is not in the midst of some 
 horrible dream and that he will shortly awake to fmd that 
 the ruin and the desolation and the disinterred objects 
 about him are the fanciful creations of a disturbed mind. 
 
 Having remained in Pompeii until the sun was low 
 in the west, we take our leave of the wonderful place and 
 enter a carriage to drive back to Naples. The visitor 
 should always arrange to do this because the memory of 
 the ride will be as lasting as life itself. As we roll along 
 over the hard streets we can hardly believe that beneath
 
   -' - : j*p33i.C'l 
 
 
 Disinterred Objects^ Museum, Pompeii.
 
 — 175 — 
 
 us, many feet below the crowded towns through which 
 we pass, lies the buried city of Herculaneum. But when 
 we cast our eyes toward the crater of Vesuvius and see 
 the deep red glare of the fire and the volumes of sul- 
 phurous smoke, the possibility of buried cities and sud- 
 den and swift destruction of life and property are more 
 easily realized and we feel that there are other and safer 
 places in which to build a home. 
 
 Whatever else the visitor to Naples may forget, he 
 will never forget the experience of an ascent to the crater 
 of Mt. Vesuvius at midnight. In order to reach the sum- 
 mit of the mountain by midnight it is necessary to leave 
 Naples at three or four o'clock in the afternoon. With 
 what peculiar feelings one begins the journey. Now, 
 perhaps for the first time he is to look into the crater of 
 an active volcano. He knows the trip is highly dangerous, 
 but the fascination is so great that he cannot resist. The 
 carriages are at the door. We take our seats, the driver 
 cracks his whip and away we go. In about two hours 
 we reach Resina, built immediately over Herculaneum. 
 To visit the latter place you must descend into the earth 
 many feet and by the light of a torch, walk through the 
 streets which have been cleared of obstructions and into 
 the houses, all the time realizing that high above you is a 
 thriving city teeming with busy life, which any day may 
 meet the same fate. Turning to the left from the main 
 street of the town, the carriages begin the ascent. Here 
 numerous guides begin to present themselves, showing 
 you the utmost kindness in attending to your every want, 
 and they follow along on foot to the upper station of the 
 inclined railway in the hope of there getting employment
 
 — 176 — 
 
 in assisting you up the cone to the crater. They are 
 very disagreeable, as their aid is entirely unnecessary. 
 
 The road from Resina to the lower station is similar 
 to all mountain roads, winding here and there, back and 
 forth, gradually ascending toward the top. It runs 
 through groves of fruit trees which grow luxuriantly on 
 the sides of the mountain; sweeps past bearing fig trees 
 and plums and olives and delicious mulberries, and small 
 fruits and vines. Here it crosses a lava stream which in 
 past times came down the mountain side, hot and molten, 
 bearing swilt destruction in its course, and left its rough, 
 black track behind as it cooled into great ridges and 
 swells, and billows of hard rock ; then it leads along 
 overhanging cliffs, on shelving rocks, and brings up at 
 the lower station of the inclined railway. From this 
 point and from many places on the way, magnificent 
 views of the valley and bay are disclosed, with Capri and 
 Ischia as sentinels to the right and left of it. The sunset, 
 seen from the mountain, was exquisitely lovely. As the 
 sun sank slowly in the west, long shadows stole quietly 
 across the valley, shutting out the view as if a veil were 
 drawn between the valley and us, while the last rays shot 
 up to the clouds white and fleecy, gilding them in a radi- 
 ance of glory. 
 
 Hardly had the great fiery orb dropped from sight 
 when the valley and bay again burst upon our view by 
 means of myriads of gas lights, which trembled and 
 sparkled in the distance like " the firefly's fitful dance " 
 All over the valley they shot into view in a semi- circle of 
 beauty, from Naples to Casellammare. It seemed that we 
 could look up at one starry sky and down upon another.
 
 — 177 — 
 
 The cars being ready to start, we enter one to be 
 drawn nine hundred yards up the cone of the volcano. 
 The car runs on a single rail, and is propelled by cables, 
 and the gradient is more than forty-five degrees, which 
 gives the passenger anything but a highly pleasurable 
 sensation. It requires about ten or fifteen minutes to 
 reach the upper station ; from this place to the edge of 
 the crater the way lies over loose cinders and ashes, and 
 by scrambling and climbing and crawling on hands and 
 knees, and a great deal of slipping and sliding, and immi- 
 nent danger of sliding clear back to the valley, one finally 
 reaches the crater's brink. The night is dark. No 
 moon sheds her light for our benefit, and aided by the 
 light from the guide's torch, we climb up the steep side 
 between the end of the path and the crater. As we as- 
 cend we feel the heat and almost choke in the sulphurous 
 smoke,and finally stand within two feet of the edge of the 
 crater. Enormous volumes of smoke roll upward and sail 
 away on the wind, which blows away from us. The smell 
 of sulphur is almost unendurable. The red glare of the fire 
 in the crater is indescribable. It is like the smoke-stack 
 of some huge steam engine. With an almost regular puff 
 the white smoke rolls out like the escaped steam. Ever 
 and anon, there is a roar that shakes the sides of the 
 volcano, then shoots high into the air a shower of fire 
 and red-hot stones and molten lava, until the upward 
 force is spent, when they burst and scintillate, and fall 
 back into the crater like a meteoric shower. The molten 
 lava, white in the intensity of the heat, strikes the sides 
 of the crater and runs back like water down a hill. At 
 times the pure sulphur falls in showers from the ascend- 
 ing smoke. The rumble and the roar, and the trembling of 
 12
 
 - i 7 8 - 
 
 the mountain are beyond description. The swelling smoke, 
 the shooting fire, the streaming lava, the red glare of the 
 crater, the awful sublimity of the scene, no human pen 
 can describe. Down deep in the volcano's bowels is seen, 
 at intervals, the condition of the earth's interior. The 
 huge mountain throbs, and pulsates and groans and 
 belches, like a huge monster in exquisite pain. Standing 
 there upon the crater's edge, the hot stone and cinders 
 almost burning his feet, nearly suffocated by the sulphur- 
 ous smoke, awed into an entire forgetfulness of self, 
 fascinated by the mighty display of nature, the writer saw 
 a picture awfully, sublimely, magnificently grand. Though 
 standing at the very jaws ol death, in#n exposed position 
 of great danger, yet fascinated and charmed by the 
 grandeur of the scene which so admirably displays God's 
 infinite power, he found it almost impossible to leave the 
 place, and at last reluctantly turned away, and climbed 
 down to the trail and walked back to the upper station. 
 He felt that he had almost looked upon the visible pres- 
 ence of the Infinite One. He felt His invisible presence, 
 and knew that his Heavenly Father had kindly permitted 
 him to see the grandest sight in nature. But few experi- 
 ences, if any, can compare with a view of Vesuvius's crater 
 at midnight, when the volcano is active. It was nearly 
 morning when I again reached Naples. "It was night 
 when I beheld the scene, and the eternal night of life shall 
 come before I forget it." 
 
 Mt. Vesuvius and Pompeii make the visit to Naples 
 a success. Naples herself was a disappointment to me. 
 There is little beauty in her buildings or in her 
 architecture. Her streets are narrow and filthy; smells 
 indescribable greet you at every turn, and noises the
 
 — 179 — 
 
 most unearthly offend the ear both day and night. Yet 
 she is a busy city. New buildings are everywhere re- 
 placing the older ones ; work is plenty, her people are 
 energetic and the city is rapidly improving. Naples is 
 the largest city in Italy. The climate is quite warm, 
 though the evenings are cool and delightful, and hun- 
 dreds of people promenade in parks and public places. 
 There is a great deal of wealth and a good deal of 
 poverty in the city. The buildings are all six to eight 
 stories high. Often a street is not more than twelve or 
 sixteen feet wide, and the buildings on either side rise to 
 six stories or more. In the better parts of the city the 
 streets are wider, and many fine and artistic structures 
 are seen. Here is the tomb of the poet Virgil, if we may 
 believe the tradition. At any rate a tomb is pointed out, 
 whether Virgil's remains are contained in it or not. 

 
 ©hapter 20. 
 
 Pisa, Genoa, Milan, "The Last Supper," 
 Lake Como. 
 
 At Pisa the ' ' Leaning Tower' ' is the chief attraction. 
 The city is a pleasant one, in a fine valley, which when 
 seen trom the top of the Tower, presents a beautiful 
 appearance. The Tower is classed as one of the seven 
 wonders of the world. The greatest wonder is that it 
 
 * 
 
 was ever built. It is one hundred and seventy-nine feet 
 highland is fourteen feet out of perpendicular, cylindrical 
 in form, hollow and built of stone. Around it at intervals 
 of fifteen or twenty feet are verandas or balconies, and at 
 the top a number of bells. It was undoubtedly built for 
 a campanile to the cathedral opposite it ; but whether it 
 was built in a leaning position or settled that way after- 
 ward, is unknown. This cathedral is the place where 
 Galilleo conceived the idea of the pendulum by observing 
 the vibrations of a chandelier which still hangs there. 
 He also used the Tower for his experiments in ascertain- 
 ing the laws of falling bodies, and gravitation. Thus 
 both tower and cathedral have contributed their part to 
 the advancement of science. West of the church is the 
 baptistery, the finest and largest in the world. Owing to 
 its peculiar construction and size, there is a wonderful 
 echo to any sound made within it. These are the main
 
 — IcSl — 
 
 attractions in Pisa. From this place to Genoa the rail- 
 road passes through innumerable tunnels, reaches the 
 Mediterranean sea, skirts the base of the adjacent 
 mountains, passes a large number of prosperous towns, still 
 thunders through tunnel after tunnel, disclosing to view 
 now and then, the blue sea on the left and hills covered 
 with olive and lemon groves on the right, and finally 
 emerges from a long tunnel directly into the depot at 
 Genoa, the birthplace of Columbus. This city is at 
 present a large and prosperous seaport, with marble 
 quays and a vast shipping. 
 
 The road now leaves the sea, the tunnels are less 
 frequent, and it runs through a valley and finally out 
 upon a vast level stretch of ground and lies along to the 
 right of the battle field of Marengo, where Napoleon 
 defeated the Austrians in 1S00. We pass through 
 Alessandria, where Garibaldi was confined, and arrive at 
 Turin, the most modern city in Italy. 
 
 Milan is a pleasant city, but the cathedral, the ar- 
 cade, and the painting of Leonardo da Vinci called the 
 "Last Supper," are the chief attractions to one who has 
 been for a considerable time in Italy. It has, of course, 
 many historical associations, and for this reason the vis- 
 itor is pleased to go there. The view from the tower of 
 the cathedral is wide and beautiful. The plains stretch 
 away for miles, and the distant Alps lie like dark clouds 
 upon the horizon. The cathedral is chiefly remarkable 
 for its sculpture and statuary, and is one of the most 
 beautiful buildings in the world. 
 
 In the refectory of the suppressed monastery of 
 St. Maria delle Grazie, will be found a picture, though in 
 a bad state of preservation, and rendered all the worse by
 
 — 182 — 
 
 recent attempts to patch it up, which is one of the most 
 interesting in Europe. 
 
 To one whose idea of art is no higher than delicate 
 blending of colors and faultless mechanical execution, it 
 will be a disappointment. But that is not art. The soul 
 of art is creation, originality of design, boldness of 
 conception, conformity to Nature, harmonious relation 
 between the parts ; and all these will be modified, com- 
 bined and executed according to the painter's life, habits, 
 environment, soul power, purity and mental strength. 
 The mechanical execution of the masters is frequently 
 bad ; that of modern artists who copy the ideas of the 
 masters is usually good. But the world will never accord 
 to the copyist, the honor showered upon the inventor. 
 With this view of art, the visitor will long linger before 
 the " Last Supper" of Leonardo da Vinci. Why else is it 
 that you ignore the much better executed picture on 
 the opposite wall, and stand fascinated by the other, which 
 is now cracked and damaged, and dim with age and 
 wanton neglect? Ah, it is the soul of that picture finding 
 a response and a fellowship with the spectator's own soul. 
 How often, as you wander through a gallery, you sud- 
 denly stop before a Raphael, a Rembrandt, a Titian, a 
 Duerer, a VanDyck, or a Rubens, and you seem to have 
 met an old friend. At once there is a fellowship between 
 you and the picture. It has an expression, a perfection, 
 a soul, that mingles happily with your own. There is that 
 relationship between you that you can't explain, you 
 can't express it, you don't even understand it; but there 
 it is and you leel it, you are swayed by it, you recognize 
 it, and there's an end of it. You are delighted to look 
 upon it and to study it; it reveals the height, the great-
 
 - 183 - 
 
 ness, the purity, or the passion, the sunshine or the 
 shadow of a great intellect. And yet, perhaps a dozen of 
 your own friends can copy that picture and do immensely 
 better mechanical work than this old master did. 
 
 Ah, there's the difference. The master put on can- 
 vas a great thought, an idea. The amateur displays only 
 mechanical execution. He can't steal the conception of 
 the master-piece ; he can copy it, but it lacks that subtle 
 something that reveals the master's grand thought. The 
 amateur don't understand that, and no man can do 
 thoroughly what he don't understand. The truly great 
 artist needs no copyright. His work is secure. 
 
 "The Last Supper," is the only worthy representa- 
 tive of Leonardo's productions now in existence. This 
 work has been more extensively copied, perhaps, than 
 any other master-piece. Yet the original alone is said to 
 exhibit to its full extent the emotions which the master 
 intended to express, and which the best copies fail to 
 reproduce. Goethe, the soul-poet of Germany, thus 
 interprets this great work: "The shock by which the 
 artist represents the company at the sacred repast as 
 deeply agitated, has been produced by the Master's 
 words: 'One of you shall betray me.' They have 
 been pronounced; the whole party is in dismay; while 
 He Himself, bows his head with downcast eyes. His 
 whole attitude, the motion of His arms and hands, all 
 seem to repeat with heavenly resignation, and His silence 
 to confirm, the mournful words — it can not be otherwise ; 
 one of you shall betray Me." Think now of the temer- 
 ity of the man who chooses such a subject for his canvas ; 
 of his power of conception in properly giving to the faces 
 of these disciples the look of despair, or amazement, or
 
 — 184 — 
 
 guilt, as they must be mingled and blended ; and then 
 the appearance of heavenly resignation of Christ Himself. 
 Upon that central figure of the picture there must be 
 painted the look of a purely human being in despair and 
 resignation, and the holy light and mellow radiance of a 
 god, with infinite love and supreme compassion for the 
 ignorant instrument of God's great purposes, who will 
 betray him. Of the man who could do this, it is not too 
 much to say, "that with Leonardo a new era in Italian 
 painting was inaugurated — that the development of art 
 had attained its perfection." 
 
 Let us turn from this picture of human production 
 to one produced by a mightier Artist. I refer to Lake 
 Como. I caught a glimpse of it at the town of Como, 
 but it first burst upon my view in all its loveliness at 
 Menaggio. This town is picturesquely situated. On 
 the hillsides back of it grow fig and olive trees in abund- 
 ance. In front of it is the lake which artists delight to 
 paint; of which poets love to sing. Around the lake 
 are many villas of the Milanese aristocracy, occupying 
 lovely and commanding situations. The Villa Carlotta is 
 a type of them. 
 
 "A palace lifting to eternal summer 
 
 Its marble walls, from out a glassy bower 
 
 Of coolest foliage, musical with birds, 
 
 While the perfumed light 
 Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, 
 And every air was heavy with the sighs 
 Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes, 
 And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth, 
 I' the midst of roses " 
 
 The grounds are beautiful beyond description. 
 The garden is laid out on a mountain side. A
 
 - i*5 - 
 
 long line of stone steps leads through sweet-smelling 
 shrubs, past diminutive cascades, to the villa and garden- 
 The villa is rich in statuary and paintings. The grounds 
 have been laid out and kept by master hands. Tropical 
 trees of various kinds grow in abundance. There are 
 magnolias in bloom, with great, white, wax-like flowers, 
 palmettos and date palms, eucalyptus and olive trees, 
 begonias, westeria vines, banana plants, Himalaya cyprus, 
 fig trees, aloes and bamboo, oleanders in blossom, min- 
 gled with pomegranates and rhododendrons. Countless 
 other trees and vines adorn these grounds. Lovely walks 
 and shady lanes wind among the trees and shrubs, with here 
 and there a summer house which affords a splendid view 
 of the lake. "We had drunk in all the riparian delights 
 of this delicious inland sea, but we had conceived no 
 such wealth of beauty, of situation, of vegetation, and of 
 scrupulous horticulture as greeted us here at every turn. 
 It is useless to attempt description ; I simply commend 
 this charmed spot as the best earthly representation of a 
 veritable fairy-land." But all this is but a tithe of the beauty 
 of the lake itself. The lake is long and narrow, with high 
 mountains on either side rising directly from the water's 
 edge seven thousand feet. Upon their steep sides, culti- 
 vated upon terraces, grow vines and trees. Shrubs and 
 native trees scattered about by the hand of nature, 
 present a sweet loveliness. The water is blue and green, 
 and purple and golden, and a thousand other indescrib- 
 able and varying hues and tints, as the wind causes its 
 surface to ripple beneath the sunlight. The lake, 
 though very long, is not continuous in any one direction, 
 and as we glide over its surface we are constantly 
 surprised and delighted by new beauties flashing upon us
 
 — 1 86 — 
 
 in rapid succession. The sky above seems to catch up 
 and reflect back the colors of the water. The sun falls 
 behind the towering mountains at the west, and casts long 
 shadows across the lake, while the eastern mountains are 
 bathed in golden light. Clusters of houses are seen here 
 and there, from the water to the mountain tops. Clouds 
 hang in fantastic form and cluster about it. Churches 
 seem to hang to the steep hillsides as if here the law of 
 gravitation were suspended. Bold bluffs and gray 
 mountain peaks watch the lake with eternal vigilance. All 
 is a scene of sweet, wild indescribable loveliness. The 
 intelligence that conceived the creation of this picture we 
 can not realize. It is as high above human intelligence as 
 nature is above art. It is the rarest, choicest gem of 
 
 nature's gentler beauty. 
 
 "A clear lake, margined by fruits of gold, 
 And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies, 
 As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows 
 As I would have thy fate." 
 But what of the people who live in this land of 
 beauty where nature and art and literature have com- 
 bined to make the land of interest to every nationality on 
 earth? It is sadly true that her history and conditions 
 have left an ugly impress upon the masses. "Years of 
 neglect, oppression, and misrule have been at work to 
 change their nature and reduce their spirit; miserable 
 jealousies, fomented by petty Princes to whom union was 
 destruction, and division, strength, have been a canker at 
 the root of their nationality, and have barbarized their 
 language; but the good that was in them ever is in them 
 yet, and a noble people may be, one day, raised up from 
 these ashes." So spoke Charles Dickens in 1845, but 
 little did he dream that to-day, in very many respects,
 
 - i87 - 
 
 his prediction would be fulfilled. The effect of 600 years 
 of oppression and cruelty and misrule cannot be lifted 
 from them in a single generation. It is astonishing that 
 under the circumstances they have so quickly recovered 
 and are, to-day, one of the most progressive people in 
 Europe. The Italians have before them a great oppor- 
 tunity, and, I believe, a great destiny. 
 
 The principal industries of Italy are agriculture, min- 
 ing, commerce, manufacturing and fishing. The agri- 
 cultural pursuits are quite primitive. There is but little 
 improved farm machinery. Threshing is done with a 
 flail, or the grain is tramped out, and very seldom is a 
 threshing machine seen. Instead of using fanning mills, 
 the grain is cleaned by throwing it into the air, when the 
 wind blows away the chaffand the grain falls to the earth. 
 In many cases the horses are guided, not by a bit in the 
 mouth, but by a ring around the nose to which the line, 
 usually a rope, is attached. Of course this is not the 
 case in the cities. Many drivers put straw hats on their 
 horses heads to protect them from the heat of the sun. 
 I am convinced that, outside of the lower classes in the 
 cities, the Italian people are the most industrious in 
 Europe. One of the principal crops is hemp, which 
 grows luxuriantly everywhere and resembles a very rank 
 growth of nettles. 
 
 The cab drivers of Italv are characters. They have 
 no idea of honesty. They will lie, cheat, and, if it were 
 possible, would rob one. They will agree to drive you 
 to a certain place for a stipulated sum, and never fail 
 when the journey is done, to have an excuse to charge 
 an extra fee. They have no method in their driving- 
 They never do the same thing twice alike- They charge
 
 — 188 — 
 
 by the hour and never fail to have the time run rive 
 minutes or more into the next hour so as to charge for 
 the ensuing hour also. The only way to get ahead of 
 them is to get into the cab again and make them drive 
 out the hour. They will then throw off the "five min- 
 utes. " The only thing they do with any regularity is 
 to try to drive over every pedestrian in the streets. They 
 will drive from one side of the street to another with no 
 apparent object for the change except to annoy and en- 
 danger pedestrians. 
 
 Italy owes much of her commercial prosperity 
 to the enterprise of the French who pushed to comple- 
 tion the Suez Canal. This achievement restored Italy to 
 the position of the great depot between the West and the 
 East, which position she lost when Da Gama sailed 
 around the Cape of Good Hope. The commerce of the 
 East touches first at Italy's shores after coming through 
 the Canal and the Mediterranean Sea. Thence it is car- 
 ried by rail through the Mt. Cennis tunnel to France. 
 When this had been accomplished, Germany, not to be 
 outdone by France, pushed to completion the St. Gott- 
 hard tunnel. This rivalry by these great powers resulted 
 in the commercial prosperity of Italy and afforded an ac- 
 cessible market for Italian manufactures. 
 
 Her language, musical, soft and rythmic, has much 
 in common with the Latin from which it came. By some 
 it is asserted that Latin was the court language, and the 
 vernacular of the rich and aristocratic, while the Italian 
 was that used by the common people; that in the ruin of 
 Roman civilization the Latin was abandoned and the 
 Italian came down, much corrupted to Dante's lime, 
 when he rescued it and gave it a distinctive cast. How-
 
 — 1 89 — 
 
 ever it originated, certain it is that the present language 
 is smooth, beautiful, easily learned, and perfectly adapted 
 to poetry and song. 
 
 Allow me to close this chapter by paraphrasing a 
 quotation from Charles Dickens: "Let us part from 
 Italy, * * * * affectionately, in our admiration of 
 the beauties natural and artificial, of which it is full to 
 overflowing, and in our tenderness towards a people, 
 naturally well disposed, and patient, and sweet-tempered, 
 % % * * anc j ] et us not remember Italy the less 
 
 regardfully, because in every fragment of her fallen tem- 
 ples, and every stone of her deserted palaces and prisons, 
 she helps to inculcate the lesson that the wheel of Time 
 is rolling for an end, and that the world is in all great 
 essentials, better, greater, more forbearing and more 
 hopeful as it rolls. "
 
 ©l^apter 21. 
 
 Lugano, Mt. San Salvatore, The St. Gotthard 
 Pass, Swiss Character, The Rigi. 
 
 Lugano, Switzerland, is situated on the north side 
 of the beautiful lake of the same name. The Alps rise 
 high above it on all sides. The water ol the lake is a 
 peculiar blue in color which I have seen nowhere else. 
 The effect produced when a light wind lipples its surface 
 is striking. Our first view of Swiss scenery was between 
 Lugano and the town of Como, between which places 
 the boundary line runs. 
 
 The lake of Lugano is of considerable size but very 
 narrow and it curls around the bases of high mountains 
 in such a way as to present but a small portion of its 
 surface to view at one time unless one climbs to the sum- 
 mit of Mount San Salvatore, where a large portion can 
 be seen. Several steamboats make regular trips around 
 the lake which afford a delightful excursion. The town 
 of Lugano is a characteristic Italian town, though in 
 Swiss territory. The situation could not be lovelier. 
 The hotel at which we stopped, while here, was a large 
 stone building with a square court, paved with stone, 
 large rooms and wide halls. It was once a royal palace 
 before Switzerland became a republic. Southwest of 
 the town rises Mount San Salvatore, from whose summit a
 
 — igi — 
 
 magnificent view is obtained. The lake is seen for miles 
 stretching around its base reflecting back the rays of the 
 sun in various tints and hues. Huge mountain peaks 
 rise in solemn majesty in the distance, their tops white 
 with eternal snow. All around this isolated peak is a 
 valley as lovely as ever the sun shone upon. Villages 
 in great number are scattered over it. Fields of grain 
 and hay and fruit trees and vines, and winding roads and 
 small lakes, and an undulating surface — all lying 3,000 
 feet below the spectator — present a scene for the artist's 
 pencil or the poet's pen. As I stood upon the highest 
 rock of the summit and beheld this scene of beauty, I, 
 for the first time, realized the significance of the expres- 
 sion, " As lovely as a Swiss valley. " I felt that I was 
 amply repaid for climbing to the top of the mountain. 
 
 The road leads out of the town to the south, crosses 
 the railway, climbs gently upward a couple of miles, 
 passes some rude houses where the trail leads off, passing 
 between two of the houses, and leads to the north of east 
 and begins a steep ascent over and around the base of 
 the northern spur, which from the valley looks to be the 
 highest point, but which we now find to be but about two- 
 thirds of the way to the summit; at every turn in the trail 
 lovely views are disclosed that are beyond description. 
 Now the trail leads over a comparatively level stretch of 
 ground to the southwest corner of the peak, along a 
 precipice a thousand feet or more in sheer descent and a 
 wall of stone on the other side, and again begins a zig- 
 zag course for twenty minutes or more, and terminates 
 within a hundred feet of the actual summit. Soon after 
 reaching this point, a cloud swept across the summit and 
 a heavy rain fell, while the lightning leaped and played
 
 — 192 — 
 
 around the crags and rocks and the "tramps" took 
 refuge in the little hostelry, where a sickly fire burned 
 upon the grate and some black coffee was served for 
 refreshment. The cloud soon rolled on and the sun 
 came out brightly and again the valley and lake were 
 revealed to view. For two hours we enjoyed the won- 
 drous beauty and rested upon the summit, and then 
 took leave of the Frenchman whose hospitality we had 
 enjoyed at so many francs per head, and began the 
 descent on the south side. For a thousand feet, the 
 descent was actual climbing from rock to rock, then we 
 followed a trail which makes a rapid descent until it 
 strikes a ridge which it follows some distance and leads 
 through a little glen surrounded by chestnut trees and 
 carpeted with the greenest of green grass, and pervaded 
 by the noontime stillness of a Sabbath day. Our shouts 
 as they broke the solemn quiet of the place, echoed and 
 reverberated among the rocks around. We lay down 
 upon the grass in the shade of the spreading chestnut 
 trees, and built castles in the clouds, and viewed the 
 lake and distant mountain peaks. No noise from town or 
 country life reached the spot. Not even a murmur from 
 the beautiful lake below ascended to break the quietness 
 of this retreat. 
 
 "A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, 
 Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; 
 And of gay castles in the clouds that pass 
 Forever flushing round a summer sky." 
 
 Having enjoyed a short rest in this delightful place, 
 we went on down the trail which, for two hours, zig-zags 
 down the almost perpendicular side of the mountain until 
 it reaches the lake. Here we met the steamboat, and
 
 — 193 — 
 
 were glad to rest upon deck while it carried us to the 
 railway that leads to Lake Maggiore, whence we return 
 to Lugano, getting back at nightfall, with an appetite that 
 knew no bounds. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the real enjoyment one 
 gets from such a scramble. It is hard work, certainly, 
 but it is the pleasantest kind of hard work that one 
 can do. 
 
 The route from Lugano to Lucerne lies through the 
 Alps, clinging to almost impassable places on their sides, 
 diving i^to them hundreds of feet beneath their tops, 
 rushing out on the opposite sides, descending into beauti- 
 ful valleys, and again climbing toward the snow line. 
 Here and there are waterfalls of wondrous beauty. The 
 water leaps over the crest of the mountain, and here it 
 plunges from stone to stone, Irom terrace to terrace, 
 dashing and splashing its way to the valley below; and 
 there it rushes over the rocks, and makes a sheer plunge 
 for thousands of feet, diffusing itself into spray long before 
 it reaches the level of the valley. Now we are in the 
 midst of pastoral scenes in the valley with the mountains 
 around us, now high up the side of some precipitous 
 cliff looking down upon the beauties below us. So we 
 roll on, passing ancient castles, and walls of old towns; 
 dive through more tunnels, fly through lovely valleys, 
 and begin to climb toward the Great St. Gotthard whose 
 lofty crest is covered with perpetual snow. Now we run 
 through a valley, and see, on the opposite side, high up 
 the side of the mountain, the railway in two distinct 
 
 13
 
 — 194 — 
 
 places, one high above the other. At about our own 
 level we see the black mouth of a tunnel, and dive into 
 it. Again we come out upon the same side of the moun- 
 tain on one oi the higher tracks which we have seen from 
 the other side of the valley. We have made a complete 
 circle in the mountain and have climbed up a hundred 
 feet or more in elevation. Below us we see the track and 
 bridge over which we came to the mouth of the tunnel, 
 and between us and the cliffs on the opposite side, the 
 same valley, or rather canon, with its rushing, foaming 
 torrent. Almost before we see these things, we again dive 
 into the mountain only again to come out on the same 
 side. We have described another circle in the heart of 
 the mountain and again have climbed up a hundred feet 
 or more. Now we see below us both tracks and the 
 same valley. We have traveled for half an hour and are 
 at the same point except that we are a few hundred feet 
 above the starting point. The railroad has proved to 
 be a veritable "winding stairway." These spiral tun- 
 nels are found on both sides of the Great St. Gotthard 
 and by means of them the railway ascends to the level 
 of the famous St. Gotthard tunnel, which with these spiral 
 tunnels, forms one of the greatest achievements of modern 
 engineering skill. We now pass rapidly on and at about 
 one o'clock we enter the St. Gotthard tunnel. The pas- 
 sage through it requires nearly thirty minutes, and the 
 traveler is glad to see daylight on the other side. Soon 
 we again dive into spiral tunnels and rapidly descend. 
 
 We reach the famous "William Tell region" and 
 pass through the interesting little town of Altdorf, the
 
 — 195 — 
 
 traditionary scene of Tell's exploit of shooting the apple 
 from his son's head. The scenes and incidents of Schil- 
 ler's "William Tell "come swiftly back to memory as 
 we whirl through this land of beauty and romantic tradi- 
 tions of Swiss bravery against Austrian tyranny. 
 
 The Swiss are a happy, independent, liberty-loving 
 people, living in beautiful and fertile, though small val- 
 leys and on picturesque mountain sides. They are hon- 
 est, intelligent and exceedingly industrious. They make 
 a living and even gain a competency where other nation- 
 alities would starve. They cultivate the rough mountain 
 sides up to the very snow line, and gather crops and 
 sow and plant and mow where other people would climb 
 with caution and trepidation. Not unfrequently, has the 
 writer seen, after climbing some high mountain, a field 
 of ripening grain and a glistening glacier or huge snow 
 bank in close proximity, presenting a scene so novel and 
 unusual as to make a lasting impression upon the mem- 
 ory. Here are found more difficulties, more obstacles of 
 every kind to farming and to trade; less convenience, 
 fewer railroads, fewer means of transportation than else- 
 where in Europe, and yet by far more stir and activity 
 and energy than elsewhere on the continent. There 
 is something remarkable about all this. These hardy 
 mountaineers seem to be fully conscious of their man- 
 hood and nobility of character and their honors sit easily 
 upon them. They have demonstrated to the world that 
 they are capable of self-government and they are justly 
 proud of it. They mean to maintain their national
 
 — 196 — 
 
 character in every respect and they will succeed. The 
 people of Switzerland are tolerant and sensible. They 
 are not generally moved by prejudice or passion. They 
 possess a cool, clear, calm judgment singularly at vari- 
 ance to other German nations. They are a prosperous, 
 happy and above all a contented people. It is true that 
 in many valleys and on many a mountain side the whole 
 family must work in the field, the husband, the wife, the 
 brother, the sister, side by side. But the women are 
 treated with far more consideration and respect than 
 elsewhere on the continent, and they go into the field 
 from a sheer sense of duty and necessity. And they 
 are happy to do so. No happier fireside can be found 
 than in little Switzerland. I have seen whole families in 
 the field. A fertile valley, small in extent, stretches 
 away before me. Huge mountains rise in majesty all 
 around, their tops grey with snow. Lower are forests of 
 pine and fir, still lower on their steep and rocky sides are 
 patches of cultivated land; while over all, like a beautiful 
 blue arch, stretches the lovely Swiss sky, and the entire 
 picture is bathed in the golden light of a meridian sun. 
 
 A maiden fair and comely, binds the golden grain 
 into sheaves, the father and brother cut the grain with a 
 sickle, and the mother and other children work with the 
 rest. The winds play with the girl's golden hair. The 
 sun has kissed her cheek and left it a dusky brown. 
 The air is cool and invigorating; she sings and laughs by 
 turn and all seem to rejoice with nature in the beauties 
 that surround them. They are perfectly contented. Can
 
 — 197 — 
 
 one behold such a picture and not know why Switzer- 
 land is free? The home is to them the dearest spot on 
 earth. To preserve it in its freedom and purity, they 
 will freely give their lives on every mountain side of their 
 lovely country. Where the home is sacred, the people 
 will be pure, the statesmen will be honest and the coun- 
 try will be prosperous. The home is the basis of the 
 national life. 
 
 In Switzerland I have seen women carrying huge 
 loads of hay up steep hillsides, but the men were also 
 engaged in hard labor at the same time and not shirking 
 their duty as in many other countries, where women are 
 made beasts of burden. The difference is that in Switzer- 
 land the work is an absolute necessity, owing to the pecul- 
 iar condition of nature, while elsewhere there seems to 
 be little excuse for compelling the women to labor as 
 they do. 
 
 In many places teams cannot be used either to haul 
 or plough. The farmer on his scanty land only hopes to 
 gather hay enough to keep his cow, and to raise grain 
 enough for his family and to provide clothing and other 
 necessaries. To keep a team would, in many case. 1 , add 
 to the burden of life. Hence it is necessary to carry the 
 hay in from the hillsides, and the women cheerfully help 
 in this work, and do such other work in the fields as they 
 can to provide for the frugal necessaries of their simple 
 life. And in this they are happy and contented. The 
 work is hard, very hard, but they toil up hillsides with 
 loads of hay upon their heads that one would think it
 
 — 198 — 
 
 were impossible for them to carry. When I remember 
 how hard I thought it to climb up these same hills with 
 the aid of a good alpenstock and no luggage to impede 
 me, I realize the fearful toil of these people. But after 
 the summer work is done, comes the long winter with 
 its rest and dangers also from avalanches of snow. I 
 can easily picture to myself how they gather around the 
 blazing fire of pine logs on the hearth during the long 
 evenings of their weary winter to read or talk, happy in 
 their simple way as they smoke their pipes, peel their 
 apples, drink their sparkling cider; and sing and warble 
 the "jodel" and listen to the oft-recited legends of the 
 mountains, and instill patriotism and bravery into the 
 hearts of the youth by tales of Swiss bravery and 
 daring. But I have forgotten that I am on a railroad 
 train. We rush away from Altdorf and soon arrive at 
 Fluelen. Here we take boat on the lake of the "Four 
 Forest Cantons," or as it is more generally known to 
 Americans, the "Lake of Lucerne." By many it is 
 thought to excel Lake Como in beauty. I do not think 
 so. It is grander, perhaps, than Como, but it lacks that 
 soft and pleasing loveliness of the latter lake, while it 
 possesses much more of the magnificent. Como is lovely. 
 The Four Forest Cantons is grand. The mountain shores 
 of lake Como are pretty, those of Lucerne are sublime. 
 
 The lake of the Four Forest Cantons is much larger 
 than Lake Como and its mountain sides are higher. The 
 mountain sides around Lake Como are beautilul in their 
 green verdure, pleasant villas and picturesque effects;
 
 — 199 — 
 
 while those around the Four Forest Cantons are grand 
 in their grey and rugged masses of stone, their towering 
 peaks and masses of snow. Passing over the lake, we 
 drink in the grandeur of the scenes and arrive at Vitznau 
 from which place we ascend the '"Rigi" on the inclined 
 railway. 
 
 The gradient of the road is quite steep. The cars 
 are propelled by a locomotive which runs behind the car 
 and climbs up the steep grades by means of a cog-wheel 
 which runs in a set of cogs laid in the middle of the track. 
 Arriving at the top or "kulm" a grand view is had. 
 The Rigi, though not so high as many peaks of the snow 
 ranges of the Alps, is isolated, and commands a fine view 
 of many higher peaks of the snow covered Alps. From 
 the kulm the spectator looks over a panorama ol beautiful 
 towns and lakes and pleasant valleys and mountain peaks 
 and glaciers, which covers an area of more than three 
 hundred miles in circumference. Lake Lucerne with its 
 peculiar looking surface and adjacent villages, lies below. 
 Away to the south the great banks of snow a hundred 
 miles long gleam from the mountain tops, making one 
 shudder as he looks at their white masses. It seems that 
 one could jump off this summit directly into the sea ot 
 Zug so nearly perpendicular is the mountain on that side. 
 Almost below us is the little town of Zug which partly 
 slipped into the lake last summer, while we were in that 
 vicinity, and by which accident many lives of the inhabi- 
 tants were lost. It is not in the least strange to one who 
 has traveled in Switzerland, that such things happen and
 
 200 
 
 that every year we read of whole towns destroyed by ava- 
 lanches. I have seen towns clinging to steep hillsides at 
 an elevation of nine thousand or ten thousand feet, where 
 I should not care to climb without a guide. That great 
 masses of snow slide down these hillsides sometimes, 
 and sweep such a village into the valley below is expected. 
 The town of Zug, however, which slipped off into the 
 " Zuger See" is located on the edge of the lake and the 
 ground gave way, or slipped down into the water carry- 
 ing many houses along. Upon the Rigi-Kulm the air is 
 cool, but it is quite pleasant in the sun. To get the ludi- 
 crous side of a visit to the Rigi, one should read Mark 
 Twain's description of it. The sun-rise and sun-set as 
 seen from the kulm are said to be exquisite. We 
 expected to see the glorious sunset, so eloquently 
 described by travelers, but a huge black cloud sailed 
 across the western sky and spoiled it. It was most 
 vexatious. Just after sunset the clouds gave way and the 
 sky was as clear and cloudless as a summer night well 
 could be. But viewing the surroundings, I can imagine 
 how beautiful it must be upon a clear day. Upon an 
 Alpine horn, a mountaineer plays the "Retreat of the 
 Orb of Day" as the sun drops behind the hills. Also in 
 the morning the first faint tinge in the east is heralded 
 by the notes from an Alpine horn. 
 
 Upon this elevated place are found many vendors of 
 all kinds of wares, carved wood, alpenstocks, canes, 
 views, novelties of all sorts — all have a stand and a ven- 
 dor here. The hotels are thronged with visitors and
 
 — 201 — 
 
 hundreds can not find lodgings at the top and stay at the 
 towns below, from which they can easily visit the kulm 
 during the day. There is a bridle-path leading from 
 Weggis to the top, but it is now seldom used for the 
 ascent, though very many ride up on the inclined railway 
 and walk down this path. I walked down this way. The 
 distance is nine English miles, but the beauty of the 
 scenery at almost every step well repays one for the 
 fatigue of the walk. 
 
 We descend for some time along the track of the 
 railway, then the path makes a detour to the left and by 
 an easy descent again reaches the railway track, crosses 
 it and leads a little to the right, passes several summer 
 hotels and leads through little valleys between high rocks, 
 runs quite through small patches of trees, and suddenly 
 comes out upon an open space from which is seen the 
 twinkling lights of distant Lucerne and the villages along 
 the lake. At one place as I walked through a little dell 
 with huge rocks around me and a mellow moonlight 
 falling over all, I almost believed that I was in the "Gar- 
 den of the gods," so strong a resemblance did it bear to 
 that remarkable spot in Colorado. Here and there, along 
 the path, are places where refreshments are served and 
 an occasional hotel. At the end of the bridal path and 
 directly before it as it reaches the highway stands the 
 ' ' Hotel Du Lac ' ' and the town of Weggis. Here the 
 "tramps" spent Sunday in writing, reading and boating. 
 Here we received mail from America and glad we were 
 to hear from home. In the afternoon some went to 
 Lucerne, some clambered up the mountains, others wrote 
 letters, others slept. Thus was Sunday spent.
 
 ©r}<apter 22. 
 
 Lucerne, Berne, Geneva, Chamounix, The Mer 
 
 de Glace. 
 
 Lucerne is one of the prettiest towns in Switzerland. 
 It lies at the west end of the lake, on comparatively level 
 ground and is divided into two parts by the river, which 
 is crossed in several places by interesting bridges. One 
 of these bridges which crosses the river diagonaUy, is 
 quite long and covered. The interior is decorated by 
 paintings of some of the masters. It is common on the 
 continent to see old bridges thus decorated. Here is the 
 famous "Lion of Thorwaldsen" a real work of art, cut in 
 relief upon the side of a huge rock near the "glacier 
 garden." It is needless to say that it is the pride of 
 Lucerne. 
 
 At this visit I staid only a part of the day in Lucerne 
 and after dinner, through a rain which laid the dust in all 
 Switzerland, I walked to the railway depot and departed 
 for Berne. I wonder if it always rains at Lucerne? Two 
 weeks after this I was again there and the rain fell in 
 torrents. I never met one who had been at Lucerne, 
 that he did not speak of the rain when he was there. 
 
 From Lucerne to Berne, the railway lies through a 
 country less mountainous than I noticed elsewhere in 
 Switzerland. The valley is broad and very fertile and
 
 — 203 — 
 
 the condition of the people seems to be quite good. I 
 noticed many fine fields of grain and numerous fruit 
 trees and vines but not so many as further south. The 
 houses, upon the outside, look neat and in many cases 
 their appearance is unique. They are generally built of 
 hewed pine logs with shingle roofs which project far over 
 the walls and have many balconies or verandas. Some- 
 times they are covered with plaster and penciled to re- 
 semble stone. The pine oi which the houses are built 
 keeps a fresh appearance lor years after the construction 
 of the building. In some parts of Switzerland, especially 
 in the Bernese Oberland, I saw houses varying from eighty 
 to one hundred years old and their well preserved condi- 
 tion was remarkable. In some cantons, the date of con- 
 struction with a motto or verse of some kind and the 
 carpenter's name is cut into the wood on the outside of 
 the house next to the highway. And it is generally done 
 with considerable artistic skill. In the valley from Berne 
 to Lucerne, I saw several brick houses, quite modern in 
 style, but this is the exception in the country. However 
 in the cities the buildings are quite often stone or brick 
 and in some places quite modern in style. It is only in 
 the mountain valleys that the primitive Swiss houses are 
 found. 
 
 We arrived at Berne in the evening and remained 
 there over night. This town is the capital of the republic 
 and including the suburbs, contains 44,000 people. It 
 has been the capital since 1848 and is said to have been 
 founded in 1191. Nearly all of its streets have arcades; 
 fountains adorn the different squares, many of which 
 date from the sixteenth century. It also contains a bear 
 den, of which little can be said, except that it contains
 
 — 204 — 
 
 two insignificant brown bears. The public buildings are 
 fine and the country around the town is very pretty. 
 From Berne to Lausanne there is considerable tillable 
 land, but most of the mountain sides are covered with 
 vines. On the road between these two places are many 
 tunnels. On this road, I saw iron cross ties in use; the 
 rail is bolted to the tie and the road ballasted with stone. 
 This part of Switzerland is highly picturesque. We 
 whirl along past vine-clad hillsides, in and out of tunnels, 
 around sharp curves, and over high bridges. We dive 
 into a tunnel, rumble a few seconds through the darkness 
 and rush out into the sunlight and lake Geneva lies 
 stretched before us as if suddenly dropped there from the 
 heavens above. We whirl onward, hanging to the hill- 
 sides and looking out upon the beautiful surface of the 
 lake and arrive at Lausanne. 
 
 From this place we retrace our way toward the east 
 and south along the edge of the lake until we arrive at 
 Chillon. Here is the famous prison where the unfortu- 
 nate Bonivard was confined. Lord Byron, who at the 
 time was wholly unacquainted with the history of the 
 castle, by mere accident, as he afterwards states, used the 
 name of Bonivard to designate his hero in the "Prisoner 
 of Chillon," thus unintentionally making the place fa- 
 mous. Many suppose that Byron founded his poem upon 
 the incidents of Bonivard' s imprisonment, but the poet 
 takes pains to state that when he wrote his poem he 
 knew nothing of them. It is only a remarkable coin- 
 cidence. 
 
 From Chillon a steamer bears us over the beautiful 
 waters of the lake to the city of Geneva . The water of 
 this lake has a very peculiar color, which is, by some,
 
 — 205 — 
 
 thought to be due to the presence of iodine, brought in 
 by the upper Rhone. The lake is but a broad expan- 
 sion of the river Rhone, and is about forty-five miles 
 long, and is six to eight miles wide. Its shape is very 
 much like a crescent with the points or horns toward the 
 south. On the south side, the shore is for the most part 
 mountainous and abrupt, while on the opposite side it 
 ascends more gradually from the water, and is covered 
 with vineyards and beautiful towns. At the southern 
 and western extremity of the lake, and where it narrows 
 again into a river, is the beautiful city of Geneva. Her 
 romantic history, beautiful situation and lovely lake, 
 make her an object of interest to every tourist. The 
 town was well known in the days of Julius Caesar, who 
 mentions it in his Commentaries. From Geneva to Cham- 
 ounix, is a delightful drive by carriage or diligence. The 
 road winds among the mountains, crosses torrents, 
 traverses beautiful valleys, passes pretty cascades, follows 
 a mountain stream for some distance, and suddenly dis- 
 closes a magnificent view of Mt. Blanc, the monarch of 
 the Alps, in all his majesty and grandeur. A short 
 distance from Geneva the road crosses the French 
 frontier, and thence lies all the way in French territory. 
 Along this road after entering France there is consider- 
 able tillable land, though in small holdings. The 
 peasants have small and insignificant houses, keep no 
 horses or oxen, and cultivate the land with a hoe-shaped 
 instrument instead of a plough. The drive from Geneva 
 to Chamounix requires a day. Toward evening we 
 enter a valley much wider and larger than usual, skirt 
 the western and southern sides of it, change horses at a 
 little town, and go on over a level road for a mile or
 
 — 206 — 
 
 more, cross a foaming, seething stream, turn abruptly to 
 the left and again begin a laborious ascent for some 
 miles, and then turning again to the right cross the 
 highest point we have attained during the day. Here 
 the aroma of the pines and firs, borne upon the cool winds 
 fresh from huge banks of snow, gives us a delightful 
 sensation. Crossing a bridge and turning to the left 
 around a huge spur of the mountains, the village of 
 Chamounix is suddenly and unexpectedly seen in the 
 valley, and to the right, Mt. Blanc* looking cold and 
 majestic and serene, and a huge glacier that comes down 
 into the valley with its huge masses of ice and snow. 
 This is the " Glacier des Bossons," the huge ice masses 
 of which project far out into the valley, and rise many 
 feet in height. Our carriages roll on down to the town 
 and we alight after a long but delightful ride, and after 
 supper retire to take the needed rest for a walk up the 
 Montanvert, and across the " Mer de Glace" on the 
 following day. 
 
 The sun was shining brightly, the little village of 
 Chamuonix lay in a sleepy quietness, the mountains rising 
 high on either side, the great glaciers lay cold and bright 
 in the morning sun, the little stream fed by the melting 
 glaciers rushed and tumbled along its bed, tourists with 
 long alpenstocks in their hands and dressed in knee 
 pants and heavy shoes, stood around in little groups 
 talking and laughing, as the "tramps" started out to 
 climb the Montanvert. The way leads to the east along a 
 lane until it reaches the base of the Mount Blanc chain, 
 then begins to climb up the steep sides, by zig-zag 
 courses, here and there giving lovely views of the little 
 valley with the foaming stream lying like a silver thread
 
 The Mer de Glace.
 
 — 207 — 
 
 through its center. Away below us lies Chamounix, and 
 the white, hard road over which we entered the town, 
 and over which "Marie" so joyfully left for Paris and so 
 sadly returned in her insanity and weakness, induced to 
 travel only by the music of the faithful Savoyard, which 
 nearly every one has seen so powerfully interpreted by 
 Maggie Mitchell. This little French village is where the 
 scenes of the ' ' Pearl of Savoy ' ' are laid. Three hours 
 climbing, or rather walking, for the way is quite good, 
 brings us to the hotel at the summit where we get our 
 first view of the " Mer de Glace." This huge glacier, like 
 a mighty river of ice, a mile or more wide, stretches back 
 into the Alps, for miles. Its surface is rolling and broken 
 into ridges and valleys of ice and crevices, as if the water 
 of a large river in angry tumult were suddenly frozen and 
 the crests and depressions and foam of the waves were 
 turned into solid ice. To the east it loses itself in the 
 great snow peaks, and to the west it leads off to the edge 
 ot the precipice and drops down many feet like an 
 enlarged Niagara Falls instantly frozen and thus held in 
 place. Standing at the foot of this great ' ' ice falls, ' ' the 
 spectator occasionally sees great masses of ice break 
 away and fall, bounding and breaking until they reach 
 the bottom with a noise that echoes and reverberates 
 among the mountains like the roll of thunder. We 
 walked across the glacier, climbing over the ice hills, 
 carefully avoiding the great crevices, in any one of which 
 the whole party could have been swallowed up, and 
 arrived safely at the oposite shore. The great bed of ice 
 many miles long, a mile wide, and hundreds of feet thick, 
 moves along down its course, like the water of a river, 
 only at a less velocity. The glacier moves thirty to sixty
 
 — 208 — 
 
 feet a year. The Mer de Glace moves about an inch a 
 day. Huge stones are carried down from the mountains to 
 the valley below in this way. Huge masses of stone are piled 
 along the lower sides, called the moraine and show what the 
 slow but ceaseless work of the great ice stream has done, 
 and convey some idea of the length of time the process 
 has been going on. We walked along the side of the 
 glacier passed a magnificent cascade that fell from 
 the mountains on the north side, and plunged down a 
 sheer descent of thousands of feet, climbed down over 
 the "Mauvais Pas" passed the '' Chapeau" a huge rock 
 resembling a chapeau, and here divided; a part of our 
 party going on down the bridle-path to the wagon road 
 in the valley and thence back to the town, while three of 
 us including the writer, climbed down over the loose 
 stones a distance of several hundred feet to the foot of 
 the huge mass of ice at the end of the glacier. It was an 
 interesting scramble and the peculiar appearance of the 
 ice and rock down there, with huge fissures and caverns, 
 and the stream of water issuing forth as from the 
 rocks, and the occasional fall of huge ice masses and 
 great rocks, well repaid us for the laborious climbing 
 which we had on our way back to the moraine. We 
 followed the moraine to the end, crossed some fields, 
 took shelter in some tall brush during a sudden shower, 
 and crossed the foaming stream, reaching the road a 
 short distance from our hotel. From the Montanvert a 
 magnificent view is had up the " Mer de Glace" with 
 some sharp-peaked pinnacles and snow-clad mountains. 
 From the valley of course Mt. Blanc is the chief object of 
 interest. It is the highest peak in Europe, and can be 
 climbed with little danger, except from the sudden snow
 
 — 209 — 
 
 storms that are apt to occur, and which at various times 
 have lasted for several days and in which whole parties 
 have perished. Many thrilling events and remarkable 
 escapes from destruction have occurred on this mountain. 
 
 14
 
 ©r}&pter 23. 
 
 The Tete Noire Pass, Pedestrianism, Arrival at 
 Zermatt, Guides, Mountain Dangers. 
 
 On a bright morning our party set out from Cham- 
 ounix to cross the "Tete Noire" pass. The majority of 
 us decided to walk, while the remainder with the luggage 
 were to be taken across by wagon. The road leads to 
 the north along the little valley in which lies the town of 
 Chamounix. Soon it begins to ascend and numerous little 
 cascades and foaming rapids beautify the stream by the 
 roadside, while the valley narrows and the mountains 
 rise higher and closer and become wilder and more rocky 
 and rugged. Finally the valley ends abruptly against a 
 huge mountain side, which is surmounted by means of 
 the usual zig-zag road. Here the writer and Mr. Davis 
 left the road and experimented in mountain climbing. 
 We crossed the road several times and reached the top, 
 having saved at least two miles by the climb. Whether 
 we gained anything by the operation is still an open ques- 
 tion in the minds of each of us. We found on this plateau, 
 again, the hard smooth road which we followed into a 
 sort of natural amphitheatre of an oval shape, with enor- 
 mous rocky sides, and the usual foaming mountain tor- 
 rent rushing through it. Emerging from this, we were
 
 211 — 
 
 again in the valley which lies many feet higher than the 
 "vale of Chamounix," and from which the great snow 
 caps of the distant peaks are plainly visible. 
 
 About noon we crossed the Swiss frontier, took 
 dinner at an execrable inn and trudged on soon coming 
 upon some of the loveliest mountain scenery we had yet 
 seen in Europe. The sun was bright and warm, the air 
 pure and light by reason of the elevation we had attained, 
 and the atmosphere was charged with odors of fir and 
 pine now mostly below us. We came upon peasants 
 carrying in hay and this was the picture we beheld: A 
 narrow valley or opening in the mountains. A man and 
 several women with huge bundles of hay upon their heads, 
 toiling up the steep sides of the mountain to the house and 
 barn, where the hay was stored away. Their steps were 
 then retraced and more hay brought up. We went over 
 the same path and I can testify that it was hard work 
 without a load of hay on one's head. A little beyond 
 this we again left the road and for nearly an hour climbed 
 up the steep mountains, in many places quite perpendic- 
 ular and at last reached the summit of the pass. Again 
 we had saved several miles distance by means of the climb- 
 ing. Here at the summit, was a little hostelry where 
 bread and wine and various drinks were to be had. From 
 this point we could look far over the mountains and snow 
 clad peaks. The woman who waited upon us here kindly 
 pointed out the celebrated St. Bernard pass, or to be 
 more correct, she pointed out the mountains through 
 which it leads.
 
 — 212 — 
 
 A little further, we found that the road literally drops, 
 from this great eminence, to the valley of the Rhone below 
 in which we could see the distant town of Martigny. The 
 road descends by a zig-zag course nearly the whole way, 
 and is lined by trees, and affords delightful views. My 
 friend Davis and I had been ahead of the rest since morn- 
 ing and being alone we again climbed down along a rugged 
 water-course, which was then dry. We again saved con- 
 siderable by walking and arrived at the hotel in Martigny 
 more than two hours before the carriages which left Cham- 
 ounix the same morning. To say that we were tired, is to 
 put it mildly. This walk showed, that there are some la- 
 dies in America who have a remarkable endurance. The 
 distance is twenty-five miles, mostly up hill, some part of 
 the way breathing is hard on account of the elevation, and 
 yet several ladies walked the entire distance that day. 
 Among those who walked were two daughters of a Kan- 
 sas banker and who seemed to be less fatigued than any 
 of the others, though they were young, small and of deli- 
 cate form. 
 
 Why one can walk so much and so far in the moun- 
 tains is accounted for in various ways but I am quite cer- 
 tain that none of us would care to take such a tramp here. 
 I think the most reasonable explanation is this; The 
 scenery is so grand, the surroundings so unusual, that 
 the mind is devoted to these, takes pleasure in them, and 
 the act of walking becomes altogether a reflex muscular 
 action and thus less exhausting. 
 
 One of the chief characteristics of an Englishman, 
 and always mentioned when contrasted with an American,
 
 — 213 — 
 
 is, I believe, his walking qualities. The Englishman de- 
 lights in walking, the American detests it, as a rule. A 
 fair idea of what an Englishman thinks is good walking 
 may be gathered from the following which I quote from 
 a well known writer on the Alps. "I remember speaking 
 about pedestrianism to a well-known mountaineer some 
 years ago, and venturing to remark that a man who 
 averaged thirty miles a day might be considered a good 
 walker. . 
 
 "'A fair walker,' he said, — ' a fair walker. ' 'What 
 then would you consider good walking? ' 'Well,' he re- 
 plied, 'I will tell you. Some time back a friend and I agreed 
 to go to Switzerland, but a short time afterward he wrote 
 to say he ought to let me know that a young and delicate 
 lad was going with him, who would not be equal to great 
 things — in fact, he would not be able to do more than 
 fifty miles a day!' 'What became of the young and deli- 
 cate lad? ' 'He lives !' ' And who was your extraordinary 
 friend?' 'Charles Hudson!' (Mr. Hudson was lost on the 
 Matterhorn in 1865.) I have every reason to believe that 
 the gentlemen referred to were equal to walking more 
 than fifty miles a day, but they were exceptional, not good 
 walkers.' ' 
 
 Now if a gentleman who can "do fifty miles a day" 
 in the mountains, up hill and down, over ice and snow, 
 now among the clouds, now in the valley, scaling almost 
 inaccessible cliffs, or following beaten paths, is not a good 
 walker, but only fair, it would be interesting to know, if 
 some kind English friend would inform us, what a good 
 walker could do.
 
 — 214 — 
 
 From Martigny we went by rail, along the Rhone, 
 to Visp, where a part of the party walked to the little 
 town at the end of the wagon road, which leads thence 
 to Zermatt. The rest rode horses, and some of the ladies 
 were carried in chairs across the pass to the same place. 
 The only way of getting from Visp to the Zermatt valley 
 is to walk, or ride a horse or to be carried in a chair. The 
 pass is not only high but there is no possibility of mak- 
 ing a wagon road across it except by the outlay of vast 
 sums of money and countless days of work. At the little 
 town on the Zermatt side of the pass we took carriages 
 and rode down to Zermatt, the road leading along the 
 canon and at times merely hanging to the high sides of 
 mountains with a sheer descent on one side of hundreds 
 of feet. Snow clad peaks are on all sides. The Weiss- 
 horn, with her virgin snow, the great glaciers, the rushing 
 torrents, all make a grand and impressive scene. 
 
 About eight o'clock we alighted from our convey- 
 ances before the Zermatter Hof, had supper and received 
 our American mail which was always an interesting mo- 
 ment with us. 
 
 The first morning after our arrival at Zermatt was 
 bright and lovely. The valley was green, the mountains 
 grey, the snow caps and glaciers white and glistening 
 in the sunlight and the stream ioaming and seething and 
 roaring along its bed in a perfect Jury. To the south- 
 west, the great triangular peak of the Matterhorn pierced 
 the sky; to the south, the Monte Rosa, covered with 
 snow in its virgin whiteness; across the vast expanse of 
 snow in this direction lies the pass into Italy. At the 
 hotels are tourists from every part of the world which our 
 western civilization has touched and quickened into life.
 
 — 215 — 
 
 Americans and Englishmen predominate. Here our na- 
 tive language was heard, almost to the exclusion of the 
 German. Around the hotels are pretty grounds, with 
 walks and shrubs and flower beds. As you come out 
 from the hotels in the morning, you will see numberless 
 guides with their ice-axes, alpenstocks, coils of rope, and 
 shoes with thickly studded soles; and browned skins — faces 
 and hands almost copper colored from their continuous 
 out-door life in the mountains. On every mountain peak 
 they have faced danger. In every direction they have 
 explored the vast recesses of the Alps, to find some excur- 
 sion more dangerous and more difficult than those already 
 known. It is the intimate knowledge of such places that 
 furnishes them employment. A great number of the tour- 
 ists are experienced mountain climbers and are in search 
 of something more difficult and more dangerous than 
 they have yet achieved. Hence the occupation of the 
 guides. They all have a book of references in which the 
 employer who has made a successful ascent or excursion, 
 writes a recommendation. Some of these guides have 
 won world-wide reputation for their accuracy, reliability 
 and faithfulness. Others are not to be trusted. In noth- 
 ing else should the tourist be more careful than the selec- 
 tion of a guide it he intends to do any difficult climbing. 
 When it is remembered that under the surface of the 
 snow are hundreds of bergschrunds; that on many a 
 ledge not more than a foot wide you must pass precipices 
 hundreds and in manv cases thousands of feet from your 
 foothold to the rocks and ice beneath, that a single false 
 step may precipitate an avalanche of stone and rock and 
 ice upon the whole party; that a single slip of the foot 
 may throw the whole party over precipices to the ice of
 
 2l6 — 
 
 the glaciers four thousand feet below; that even in some 
 instances a shout or loud voice may start upon its 
 course of destruction a great avalanche, the reader 
 may understand how important it is to have an effi- 
 cient and faithful guide. In many cases it is necessary 
 for the whole party to worm themselves along, one 
 step at a time, and then your guide takes hold of your 
 feet with his hands and places you in position, and then 
 cautions you to stand perfectly still until he cuts a step in 
 the ice, and then he carefully guides your foot with his 
 hands one step forward and thus you span some ice 
 bridge at a dizzy height, or ascend some steep wall of ice 
 in some niche or gully of the mountain. At such times 
 you are wholly at the mercy of your guides; and your 
 safety and even your life depends upon their skill and abil- 
 ity and endurance. But however skillful and experienced, 
 accidents will happen. Probably no more experienced 
 party ever attempted the ascent of a mountain than the 
 party with Whymper in the ascent of the Matterhorn in 
 1865. Yet the disastrous result of that ill-fated expedition 
 in which four of the seven who composed the party lost 
 their lives, but illustrates that the mountain climber al- 
 ways takes his life in his hands when he goes into the 
 mountains. 
 
 The dangers to be encountered, in the mountains, 
 are well illustrated by the following account. 
 
 Beginning on page 54, "Scrambles Amongst The 
 Alps," Mr. Whymper tells of a remarkable accident 
 which he experienced while alone on the Matterhorn in 
 1862. "The Col du Lion was passed, and fifty yards 
 more would have placed me on the ' Great Staircase ' down 
 which one can run. But on arriving at an angle of the
 
 217 — 
 
 cliffs of the Tete du Lion, while skirting the upper edge 
 of the snow which abuts against them, I found that the 
 heat of the two past days had nearly obliterated the steps 
 which had been cut when coming up. The rocks hap- 
 pened to be impracticable just at this corner, so nothing 
 could be done except make the steps afresh. 
 
 The snow was too hard to beat or tread down, and 
 at the angle it was all but ice; half a dozen steps only 
 were required, and then the ledges could be followed 
 again. So I held to the rock with my right hand and 
 prodded at the snow with the point of my stick until a 
 good step was made, and then, leaning around the angle, 
 did the same for the other side. So far well, but in at- 
 tempting to pass the corner (to the present moment I can- 
 not tell how it happened) I slipped and fell. 
 
 The slope was steep on which this took place, and 
 descended to the top of a gully that led down through 
 two subordinate buttresses toward the Glacier du Lion, 
 which was just seen a thousand feet below. 
 
 The knapsack brought my head down first, and I 
 pitched into some rocks about a dozen feet below; they 
 caught something and tumbled me off the edge head over 
 heels into the gully. The baton was dashed from my 
 hands, and I whirled downward in a series of bounds, 
 each longer than the last — now over ice, now into rocks, 
 striking my head four or five times, each time with in- 
 creased force. The last bound sent me spinning through 
 the air in a leap of fifty or sixty feet, from one side of the 
 gully to the other, and I struck the rocks, luckily, with 
 the whole of my left side. They caught my clothes for 
 a moment, and I fell back on to the snow with motion ar- 
 rested; my head fortunately came the right side up, and
 
 — 218 — 
 
 a few frantic catches brought me to a halt in the neck of 
 the gulley and on the verge of the precipice. 
 
 Baton, hat and veil skimmed by and disappeared, 
 and the crash of the rocks which I had started, as they 
 fell on the glacier told how narrow had been the escape 
 from utter destruction. As it was, I tell nearly two hun- 
 dred feet in seven or eight bounds. Ten feet more would 
 have taken me in one gigantic leap of eight hundred feet 
 on to the glacier below. 
 
 The situation was still sufficiently serious. The rocks 
 could not be let go for a moment, and the blood was 
 spurting out of more than twenty cuts. The most serious 
 ones were in the head and I vainly tried to close them 
 with one hand while holding on with the other. It was 
 useless; the blood jerked out in blinding jets at each pul- 
 sation. At last, in a moment of inspiration, I kicked 
 out a big lump of snow and stuck it as a plaster on my 
 head. The idea was a happy one, and the flow of blood 
 diminished; then, scrambling up, I got, not a moment 
 too soon, to a place of safety and fainted away." 
 
 This was a remarkable escape, probably without 
 parallel in mountain climbing in the Alps. The sensa- 
 tions which one experiences in such circumstances are 
 graphically described by Mr. Whymper in the following 
 note. "As it seldom happens that one survives such a 
 fall, it may be interesting to record what my sensations 
 were during its occurrence. I was perfectly conscious ot 
 what was happening, and felt each blow, but, like a pa- 
 tient under chloroform, experienced no pain. Each blow 
 was, naturally, more severe than that which preceded it, 
 and I distinctly remember thinking; well if the next is 
 harder still, that will be the end! Like persons who have
 
 — 2ig — 
 
 been rescued from drowning, I remember that the recollec- 
 tion of a multitude of things rushed through my head, 
 many of them trivialities or absurdities which had been 
 forgotten long before; and, more remarkable, this bound- 
 ing through space did not feel disagreeable. But I think 
 that in no very great distance more conciousness as well 
 as sensation would have been lost, and upon that I base 
 my belief, improbable as it seems, that death by a fall 
 from a great height is as painless an end as can be ex- 
 perienced. The battering was very rough, yet no bones 
 were broken. The loss of blood, although so great, did 
 not seem to be permanently injurious. The only serious 
 effect has been the reduction of a naturally retentive 
 memory to a very commonplace one; and although my 
 recollections of more distant occurrences remain unshaken, 
 the events of that particular day would be clean gone but 
 for the few notes which were written down bef6re the ac- 
 cident."
 
 ©ropier 24. 
 
 Scrambles Around Zermatt. 
 
 As we came out irom breakfast, we saw many 
 guides about the hotels waiting for employment, 
 some waiting for parties who were to make some easy 
 excursion. Those who go on difficult ascents, start early 
 in the morning, generally from one to three o'clock, or 
 start the night before and make the easier part of the 
 trip that evening and are ready to start on the difficult 
 and dangerous climbing at the first tinge of the morning. 
 This is desirable because the morning and early part of 
 the day is clear and free from snow storms, and the 
 merciless pelting of sleet and hail, which may be en- 
 countered later in the day, and during which progress is 
 impossible. Quite often, the innocent looking bank of 
 white clouds that are seen to gather about the peak of 
 the mountain about eleven o'clock, and which shuts out 
 from view the tops of the peaks, are fearful snow or hail 
 storms and in which the lightning leaps in awful grandeur 
 about the cliffs and rocks, and from which one may well 
 ask to be spared. In one of Whymper's attempts to 
 scale the Matterhorn, he was overtaken by such a storm, 
 and those in the valley below saw nothing but a bank of 
 white clouds about two-thirds of the way to the top. 
 They suspected nothing, and when he succeeded in get-
 
 221 — 
 
 ting back and related his dreadful sufferings on the moun- 
 tain the story was incredible to his hearers. 
 
 Our first day at Zermatt was an eventful day to 
 three of us. Nothing had been arranged for that day, 
 and each one was left to his own inclinations to do what 
 he would. Three of us, Prof. E. E. Griffith, late Demo- 
 cratic candidate for Superintendent of Public Instruction 
 oi Indiana, Mr. Fred. C. Davis, of Auburn, and myself 
 started out without a guide, not intending to go far, nor 
 where it was dangerous. But we learned that day that 
 one inexperienced in the Alps does not always know 
 what is and what is not dangerous. We climbed the 
 hills west of the little town and from this point we could 
 drop a stone down upon the roofs of many of the houses. 
 They are all covered with slabs of stone instead of shin- 
 gles. We followed the rushing stream, crossed it again 
 to ascend an easy path up the mountain on the other side. 
 At an elevation of a thousand feet above the valley the 
 writer found a few isolated sprigs of the famous Alpine 
 flower known as Edelweiss. To gather this flower is one 
 of the things of which we could boast. It only grows, 
 except in rare cases, at great elevations. To find it there 
 was great luck as well as a great surprise. To my right 
 was a huge rock and beyond that was the canon through 
 which, with a mighty roar, ran the frenzied torrent fed 
 by the great glaciers of the higher mountains. Directly 
 in front of us was a forest of pine and fir. The hillside 
 was so steep that we ascended with great difficulty. 
 Finding Edelweiss there stimulated us to go on in search 
 of more. It did not occur to us that the presence of this 
 flower there only proved that this mountain was seldom 
 visited. For these mountains are searched everywhere
 
 — 222 — 
 
 that one can safely climb by men and boys for this plant 
 which is readily sold to tourists. After a hard climb we 
 reached a sloping or sort of shelving plateau probably 
 two or three hundred feet wide and over this the climb- 
 ing was comparatively easy. At the west side, however, 
 there was a wall of rock as nearly perpendicular as it 
 could well be and from 500 to 600 feet high. It was 
 rough and seamed, and had projections and terraces 
 and it seemed that we could easily climb it and so we 
 could. It proved not to be the ascent but the descent 
 that was difficult. Yet I do not think, at first, any one 
 of us thought of climbing that wall. But after climbing upon 
 a projection of it, the writer found this projection cov- 
 ered with moss and soil from disintegrated rock, and the 
 whole surface almost white with the wax-like flower of the 
 Edelweiss. Calling to my companions, we were soon 
 busy gathering the flower and we all obtained a greater 
 quantity, I venture to say, than any tourist has gathered in 
 the Alps tor years past- But how were we to get down 
 from this place? Below us the forest of pine and fir 
 looked like a patch of brush wood; further down, was 
 the little village of Zermatt. With an involuntary shud- 
 der we turned our faces toward the rocky wall before us. 
 It seemed safer and easier to go on up in hope of reach- 
 ing the summit and finding a trail down to the Zermatt 
 valley. Accordingly up we went. At some considerable 
 distance above this, a great ledge projected, the strata 
 of which was at right angles to that of the rocky wall- 
 like side which we were ascending. At this point Prof. 
 Griffith went to the right and we to the left or south side 
 of the projecting rock. For a hundred feet farther we 
 found a sloping pile of loose rock and gravel up which
 
 — 223 — 
 
 we could almost run with the aid of our alpenstocks. At 
 the end of this again was a wall of rock which seemed 
 to be, and no doubt could have been easily sur- 
 mounted; and, I think, the summit easily reached. But 
 we had no opportunity to know certainly. I was a few 
 yards ahead of Mr. Davis when we both heard a shout or a 
 call from Prof. Griffith on the other side of the ledge. We 
 could not see him and we could not climb over the ledge. 
 To reach him we must retrace our way to the point of the 
 ledge, climb around it at the risk of our lives, and 
 ascend on the other side toward him. We at once 
 started; and again heard the call. It was evident our 
 friend was in trouble. It was far harder to descend 
 through this loose stuff than to ascend for it was apt to 
 slip and slide in large quantities and to carry us over the 
 edge of the precipice. At the point of this ledge and 
 about three feet below its level there is a terrace-like pro- 
 jection a foot or eighteen inches wide. To pass the 
 point of the projecting ledge, it was necessary to get 
 dowrt to this and work along to the north. In attempt- 
 ing to do so I put the point of my alpenstock down into 
 some debris which had collected there and was holding 
 to a rough projection above with my left hand. The iron 
 point of my alpenstock, when it came into contact with 
 the rock below, suddenly slipped outward and off the 
 ridge, and, for an instant, I swung off over the frightful 
 abyss. Luckily my heel caught in the crevice and I suc- 
 ceeded in getting back to my former position. Never 
 will I forget the sensations of that moment. As my al- 
 penstock shot out from its hold below and I found myself 
 literally hanging by my left hand hundreds of feet above 
 the ragged rocks below, I seemed to take in instantly
 
 — 224 — 
 
 the whole valley, the rocks, the village, the snow-clad 
 peaks, and even in that supreme moment of peril, I 
 remember realizing how beautiful the snow, sparkling in 
 the bright sunlight, looked upon the mountain beyond. 
 Having recovered myselt, and being seated upon the edge 
 of the precipice, I was as weak as a child. Mr. Davis finally 
 attempted to get down and succeeded. He passed along 
 the ledge and out of sight. Presently he shouted back 
 that Prof. Griffith had lost his alpenstock and was sitting 
 astride a ridge fifty feet or more above our level and 
 unable to go forward or backward. The knowledge of 
 his danger seemed to put a new life into me and I again 
 began to descend and succeeded in following Mr. Davis. 
 Getting around to the north side of the ledge, I saw Prof. 
 Griffith on his perch with a most woe-begone expression 
 on his face. We climbed up towards him. There was 
 nothing he could do but to get to his feet and walk along 
 a ledge a few inches wide and ten or fifteen feet long 
 toward a great rock, while, on either side it was many feet 
 to the rocks below. 
 
 This he attempted and reached the rock and finally 
 attained our level. 
 
 It is much easier to ascend than to descend a per- 
 pendicular wall. This we realized that day. In going 
 down a short distance, I discovered the lost alpenstock, 
 neatly balanced over some rocks at the very edge of the 
 precipice. They agreed to wait until I made an effort 
 to secure it. After ten minutes careful descent, I was 
 just about to reach it, when to my disappointment it 
 slowly glided away and disappeared in some brush far 
 below. I was now perhaps fifty feet below Davis who 
 be^an to descend toward me, when he accidently started
 
 The Mattekiiorn,
 
 — 225 — 
 
 a huge boulder which went down the mountain side not 
 three feet to my right, and was followed by a score ol 
 smaller stones any one of which might have caused me 
 serious injury. We again moved on with great caution, 
 and three hours hard climbing brought us to the trail 
 which led along the torrent to the town. We were in 
 a very jaded and exhausted condition when we reached 
 our hotel, and it was solemnly agreed by the three of us, 
 that we would not hereafter climb even a foot-hill with- 
 out a guide. After we had reached a place of safety, 
 Griffith remarked: "Boys, you don't know how utterly 
 helpless a man feels, on a mountain, without an alpen- 
 stock." 
 
 The second morning after our arrival at Zermatt 
 had been set apart for the ascent of the Matterhorn. We 
 were to be called at three o'clock in the morning. What 
 we were about to undertake can only be realized by those 
 who have had the actual experience, or who have had the 
 pleasure of reading Mr. Whymper's account of his at- 
 tempts to scale this huge peak, or those who have heard 
 Dr. Jordan deliver his celebrated lecture on the "Ascent 
 of the Matterhorn." Prior to 1865, this mountain had 
 never been scaled, though Prof. Tyndall and many other 
 scientists had attacked it upon almost every side. In 
 that year Whymper and his party reached the top. In 
 the descent, the guide, Michael Croz, was placing Mr. 
 Hadow's feet in position and had just turned away to 
 take a step torward himself, when Mr. Hadow slipped, 
 struck the guide throwing him over the precipice, which 
 threw Lord Douglas and one other of the party after 
 them, and for a moment they hung over the awful abyss 
 four thousand feet above the ice and snow in the glacier 
 
 15
 
 — 226 — 
 
 beneath. Then suddenly the rope with which they were 
 tied together broke directly in front of the guide, Peter 
 Taugwalder, precipitating the four to the glacier beneath. 
 Peter Taugwalder, Mr. Whymper and Taugwalder' s son 
 were left behind. However, no one can realize the diffi- 
 culty and danger of climbing the Matterhorn by a mere 
 description of the ascent. 
 
 In the evening before our party was to start, Mr. 
 Griffith and myself were strolling out from the hotel 
 towards the little chapel and passing through the little 
 churchyard our attention was attracted to a monument 
 which had been erected in memory of Lord Douglas, 
 Mr. Hadow and the others who perished in the first 
 successful ascent. How much this inspired us with zeal 
 for the morrow's undertaking may be better imagined 
 than described. Promptly at three o'clock the next 
 morning, in the midst of a dream in which I had suc- 
 cessfully scaled the awful mountain and stood victorious 
 on the top of the Matterhorn, a loud rap at my door 
 aroused me from my slumbers. I at once arose and 
 descended to the dining room where I found most of the 
 party assembled, and after breakfast we were ready to 
 start. Our guide was Peter Taugwalder, the son of the 
 Peter Taugwalder, who was with Whymper in the expe- 
 dition before referred to. I have since learned that 
 Whymper did not entertain a very high opinion of this 
 young man at that time, though he now bears an exce£ 
 lent reputation as a trustworthy guide. Two other 
 guides, whose names I have forgotten, were also to ac- 
 company us. As we came out of the hotel in the twilight 
 of the early morning, we met our guides fully equipped 
 with ropes, ice axes and alpenstocks. We at once set
 
 227 
 
 out towards the mountain; we followed the little valley 
 towards the south, across the rushing stream ; began to 
 ascend on the other side; skirted the spur of a small 
 mountain, again crossed the torrent on a log bridge and 
 were then upon the base of the Matterhorn itself. 
 
 For the first two miles after this the climbing was 
 comparatively easy and at the end of that distance, we 
 had reached the hotel which had been built close to the 
 edge of the great glacier which leads down from the 
 Matterhorn itself towards Monte Rosa and across which 
 the pass into Italy leads. Thence the trail leads over 
 comparatively level ground on the spur of the mountain 
 with great glaciers on either side; thence along the edge 
 of the glacier at the south side of the trail a half mile or 
 more. There is at the north a high ridge which we 
 climbed some fifty or sixty feet by means of the project- 
 ing crags and the niches in the face of the rock. The 
 face of this ridge which we surmounted is nearly or quite 
 perpendicular. Now the trail again leads over a com- 
 paratively level surface, but is so narrow that one is in 
 danger all the time of falling over the perpendicular edge 
 or slipping off and sliding down the north side a mile or 
 two into the great Matterhorngletscher. Having safely 
 crossed this we had arrived at the point where actual 
 climbing began. Here the guide stopped us and ar- 
 ranged the party in single file, at intervals of fifteen or 
 sixteen feet, and then uncoiled a long rope, secured it 
 firmly to the body of the foremost carried it back to the 
 next, again securely fastened it around his body, and so 
 on until all were thus tied together. He then secured 
 the rope to his own body in front, and with a guide in 
 the middle and rear of the party we began to c limb a
 
 — 228 — 
 
 perpendicular face of the mountain some two hundred 
 feet high. In many places on the face of the rock, the 
 climber stood on terraces not more than six inches in 
 width. To have fallen would have been to take a great 
 toboggan slide some two or three miles over the ice and 
 snow, whose destination would have been unknown. 
 Thus moving along with difficulty from crag to crag, 
 from terrace to terrace, always keeping the rope drawn 
 tightly between each other, we surmounted this lace of 
 the mountain and stood upon what seemed to be a huge 
 pile of loose rocks and boulders, ten thousand feet above 
 the sea. The day was exquisitely fine, not a cloud was 
 to be seen. The little village of Zermatt could be seen 
 some miles away, and the snow on Monte Rosa glistened 
 and gleamed in the first rays of the rising sun; the noise 
 from roaring torrents seemed to come from all directions; 
 the great dome of the Matterhorn, itself, now close by, 
 seemed cold and solemn and to be a personification of 
 danger itself. 
 
 From this we proceeded over the loos? rocks some 
 distance, and again were under the almost perpendicular 
 sides of another great wall of rocks. This we sur- 
 mounted as before. Here, two of the party, unable or 
 unwilling to go farther, were untied and left in a secure 
 place to await our return. Again we went on, getting 
 higher and higher, until we arrived at the first cabin 
 nearly twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea. 
 
 The climbing thus far had occupied about six hours 
 of very exhausting labor. We were now all ready to eat 
 dinner. The provisions were spread in the little cabin, 
 and some cold ice water was collected from a little stream 
 which was melting from the ice in the morning sun.
 
 — 229 
 
 Our meal consisted of bread, cheese, wine and water, but 
 I believe, I relished it the best of any meal of which I 
 had ever partaken. 
 
 While resting here at the first cabin, we had a chance 
 to see what every writer of the Matterhorn region tells us 
 concerning the falling of the stones down the sides and 
 face of the mountain. The strata of the Mitterhorn 
 seems at intervals to run at right angles with each other, 
 and in many places, seams or fissures exist in the rocks 
 into which the snow drives and melts during the day; 
 freezes at night, thus each day, pushing great boulders 
 a little farther towards the side till at last through this 
 repeated action of the frost and sun, they are forced off, 
 and run down the sides in great avalanches of stone. 
 Indeed, one of the greatest dangers in making the ascent, 
 is the probability of being overtaken by one of these 
 showers of falling stones; consequently, the trail leads 
 over the northeastern edge, or always close to this ridge, 
 and an attempt to scale it upon the face would be a very 
 rash undertaking. 
 
 While sitting on the edge of a great precipice near 
 the first cabin, a great quantity of stone was suddenly 
 detached from the face of the Matterhorn, on which we 
 looked, at a distance of nearly two thousand feet above 
 us, and started down the sides with a terrific noise which 
 echoed and reverberated among the mountains, with a 
 cloud ol dust behind it, one huge mass taking the lead, 
 bounding from terrace to terrace and from ridge to ridge 
 with deafening intonations, while two or three hundred 
 smaller stones came yelping behind. It was an awful 
 sight. It illustrates in a very emphatic way the chief 
 danger of our ascent. A little while before this I had
 
 — 230 — 
 
 been examining the face of the mountain with a pair of 
 field glasses, more than half of a mile above me, I 
 had detected a party of three making a descent of the 
 mountain, and at the time of the avalanche they were 
 out of sight. Soon afterwards they again appeared in 
 view, and I was relieved to know that they had not been 
 in the track of the avalanche, and some minutes later I 
 saw them approaching a huge mass of snow which it was 
 necessary to cross. Never will I forget how carefully 
 they approached it. The guide, after having placed his 
 companion in position, carefully cut a step in the ice 
 while the rear guide was holding himself in position in 
 order to be prepared in case the foremost ones should 
 slip, and thus, step by step, they cut their way across 
 the field of ice which lay at an angle of more than forty- 
 five degrees. Afterwards I passed them and discovered 
 the party to consist of a tourist and two guides. 
 
 We had attained an elevation of about two thousand 
 feet from the summit of the peak, and it now being late it 
 was decided not to try to reach it, although it had been our 
 intention for two of us, Mr. Davis and myself, with the 
 three guides to proceed to the top. Prior to reaching 
 the first cabin, I had the misfortune to sprain my ankle 
 on the loose stones, and it became so painful that it was 
 thought advisable that I should not try to reach the top. 
 We at once began to descend. From the first cabin the 
 writer was not tied in the line, preferring to make the 
 descent alone, as did some of the others. 
 
 At one place I am sure I should not have succeeded 
 in getting down had I not overtaken a party whose guide 
 kindly assisted me. We were about half way down one 
 of these perpendicular places when the guide, taking a
 
 — 231 — 
 
 position, told me to step upon his shoulder with one foot, 
 and hold to the projecting rocks with one hand, and to 
 step into his hands, which he held as a step, with my 
 other foot, and thus down upon the terrace on which he 
 stood; he was holding to nothing, merely bracing himself 
 on the ledge below with his feet. Perceiving that I 
 hesitated, he said, " Do not be afraid, I am well braced." 
 Realizing the necessity of getting down off that mountain, 
 I determined to run the risk, and did as he instructed 
 me, and descended safely to his position. Some hard 
 climbing after this brought me down upon the snow and 
 ice, which slopes off at an angle of forty-five degrees to 
 the north, and along the edge of which we could walk 
 with comparative safety. Late in the evening I arrived 
 at the hotel in Zermatt, after an exceedingly hard day's 
 labor, yet feeling well repaid. 
 
 . Before leaving the subject of the Matterhorn, I take 
 the liberty of giving Whymper's own account of the 
 tragedy which occurred on that mountain in 1865, which 
 is substantially as follows: 
 
 " We started from Zermatt on the 13th of July at 
 half past five on a brilliant and perfectly cloudless morn - 
 ing. We were eight in number — Croz, old Peter and his 
 two sons, Lord Francis Douglas, Hadow, Hudson and I. 
 To insure steady motion, one tourist and one native 
 walked together. The youngest Taugwalder fell to my 
 share, and the lad marched well, proud to be on the ex- 
 pedition and happy to show his powers. * * * On 
 the first day we did not intend to ascend to any great 
 height, and we mounted, accordingly, very leisurely, 
 picked up the things which were left in the Schwarzsee 
 at eight-twenty, and proceeded thence along the ridge
 
 2 3 2 
 
 connecting the Hornli with the Matterhorn. At half- 
 past eleven we arrived at the base of the actual peak, 
 then quitted the ridge and clambered around some ledges 
 on to the eastern lace. * * * Before twelve o'clock 
 we had found a good position for the tent at a height of 
 eleven thousand feet. We passed the remaining hours 
 of daylight — some basking in the sunshine, some sketch- 
 ing or collecting — and when the sun went down, giving, 
 as it departed, a glorious promise for the morrow, we 
 returned to the tent to arrange for the night. Hudson 
 made tea, I coffee, and we then retired, each one to his 
 blanket-bag, the Taugwalders, Lord Francis Douglas 
 and myself occupying the tent, the others remaining, by 
 preference, outside. Long after dusk the cliffs above 
 echoed with our laughter and with the songs of the 
 guides for we were happy that night in camp, and feared 
 no evil. 
 
 We assembled together outside the tent before dawn 
 on the morning of the 14th, and started directly it was 
 light enough to move. Young Peter came on with us as 
 a guide, and his brother returned to Zermatt. We fol- 
 lowed the route which had been taken on the previous 
 day, and in a few minutes turned the rib which had 
 intercepted the view of the eastern face from our tent 
 platform. The whole of this great slope was now re- 
 vealed, rising for three thousand feet like a huge natural 
 staircase. Some parts were more and others were less 
 easy, but we were not once brought to a halt by any 
 serious impediment, for when an obstruction was met in 
 front it could always be turned to the right or to the left. 
 For the greater part of the way there was indeed no 
 occasion for the rope, and sometimes Hudson led,
 
 — 233 — 
 
 sometimes myself. At six-twenty we had attained a 
 height of twelve thousand eight hundred feet, and halted 
 for half an hour; we then continued the ascent without a 
 break until nine fifty-five, when we stopped for fifty 
 minutes at a height of fourteen thousand feet. Twice we 
 struck the Northeastern ridge, and followed it for some 
 little distance — to no advantage, for it was usually 
 more rotten and steep and always more difficult, than 
 the face. Still, we kept near to it, lest stones perchance 
 might fall. 
 
 We had now arrived at the foot of that part which, 
 from the Riftelberg or from Zermatt, seems perpendicular 
 or overhanging, and could no longer continue on the east- 
 ern side. For a little distance we ascended by snow 
 upon the arete — that is, the ridge — descending toward 
 Zermatt, and then by common consent turned over to 
 the right, or to the northern side. Before doing so we 
 made a change in the order of ascent. Croz went 
 first, I followed, Hudson came third, Hadow and old 
 Peter were last. 'Now,' said Croz as he led off, 'now 
 for something altogether different.' The work became 
 difficult, and required caution. In some places there was 
 little to hold, and it was desirable that those should be 
 in front who were least likely to slip. The general slope of 
 the mountain at this part was /ess than forty degrees, 
 and snow had accumulated in, and had filled up the 
 interstices of the rock face, leaving only occasional frag- 
 ments projecting here and there. These were, at times, 
 covered with a thin film of ice produced from the melting
 
 — 234 — 
 
 and re-freezing of the snow. It was a place over which 
 any fair mountaineer might pass in safety, and Mr. Hud- 
 son ascended this part, and, as far as I know, the entire 
 mountain without having the slightest assistance rendered 
 to him upon any occasion. Mr. Hadow, however, was 
 not accustomed to this kind of work and required con- 
 tinual assistance. It is only fair to say that the difficulty 
 which he found at this part arose simply and entirely 
 from want of experience. This solitary, difficult part was 
 of no great extent. We bore away over it at first nearly 
 horizontally, for a distance of about four hundred feet, 
 then ascended directly toward the summit for about sixty 
 feet, and then doubled back to the ridge which descends 
 toward Zermatt. A long stride round a rather awkward 
 corner brought us to snow once more. The last doubt 
 vanished ! The Matterhorn was ours. Nothing but two 
 hundred feet of easy snow remained to be surmounted. 
 The slope eased off, at length we could be detached, and 
 Croz and I, dashing away, ran a neck-and-neck race 
 which ended in a dead heat. At one forty in the after- 
 noon, the world was at our feet, and the Matterhorn 
 was conquered ! 
 
 It was not yet certain that we had not been beaten. 
 I hastened to the southern end scanning the snow right 
 and left eagerly. Hurrah again ! it was untrodden. The 
 others had arrived so we went back to the northern end 
 of the ridge. Croz now took the tent-pole and planted 
 it in the highest snow. 'Yes,' we said, 'there is the 
 flag-staff, but where is the flag?' 'Here it is,' he
 
 — 235 — 
 
 answered, pulling off his blouse and fixing it to the stick. 
 It made a poor flag, and there was no wind to float it 
 out, yet it was seen all around. They saw it at Zermatt, 
 at the Riflel, in the Val Tournanche. 
 
 We returned to the southern end of the ridge to 
 build a cairn and then paid homage to the view. The 
 day was one of those superlatively calm and clear ones 
 which usually precede bad weather. The atmosphere 
 was perfectly still and free from all clouds and vapors. 
 Mountains fifty — nay, a hundred — miles off looked sharp 
 and near. All their details — ridge and crag, snow and 
 glacier — stood out with faultless definition. Pleasant 
 thoughts of happy days in by-gone years came up un- 
 bidden as we recognized the old familiar forms. All 
 were revealed — not one of the principal peaks of the 
 Alps was hidden. 
 
 Ten thousand feet beneath us were the green fields 
 of Zermatt, dotted with chalets from which blue smoke 
 rose lazily. Eight thousand feet below, on the other side 
 were the pastures of Breuil. There were forests black 
 and gloomy; meadows bright and lively; bounding water- 
 falls and tranquil lakes; fertile lands and savage wastes; 
 sunny plains and frigid plateaux. There were the most 
 rugged forms and the most graceful outlines — bold, per- 
 pendicular cliffs and gentle, undulating slopes; rocky 
 mountains and snowy mountains, sombre and solemn or 
 glittering and white, with walls, turrets, pinnacles, pyra- 
 mids, domes, cones and spires. There was every com- 
 bination that the world can give, and every contrast that 
 the heart could desire. 
 
 We remained on the summit for one hour — 
 One crowded hour of glorious life.
 
 — 236 — 
 
 It passed away too quickly, and we began to prepare for 
 the descent. 
 
 Hudson and I again consulted as to the best and 
 safest arrangement of the party. We agreed that it 
 would be best for Croz to go first and Hadow second; 
 Hudson, who was almost equal to a guide in sureness of 
 foot, wished to be third; Lord F. Douglas was placed 
 next, and old Peter, the strongest of the remainder after 
 him. I suggested to Hudson that we should attach a 
 rope to the rocks on our arrival at the difficult bit, and 
 hold it as we descended, as an additional protection. He 
 approved the idea, but it was not definitely settled that it 
 should be done. The party was being arranged in the 
 above order whilst I was sketching the summit, and they 
 had finished and were waiting for me to be tied in line, 
 when some one remembered that our names had not been 
 left in a bottle. They requested me to write them down 
 and moved off while it was being done. A few minutes 
 afterward I tied myself to young Peter, ran down after 
 the others and caught them just as they were commenc- 
 ing the descent of the difficult part. Great care was 
 being taken. Only one man was moving at a time; 
 when he was firmly planted, the next advanced, and 
 soon. They had not, however, attached the additional 
 rope to the rocks, and nothing was said about it. The 
 suggestion was not made for my own sake, and I am not 
 sure that it ever occurred to me again. For some little 
 distance we two followed the others, detached from them, 
 and should have continued so had not Lord F. Douglas 
 asked me, about three in the afternoon, to tie on to old 
 Peter, as he feared, he said, that Taugwalder would not 
 be able to hold his ground if a slip occurred.
 
 — 237 — 
 
 A few minutes later a sharp-eyed lad ran into the 
 Monte Rosa hotel to Seiler, saying that he had seen an 
 avalanche fall from the summit of the Matterhorn on to 
 the Matterhorngletscher. The boy was reproved for 
 telling idle stories; he was right, nevertheless, and this 
 was what he saw: 
 
 Michael Croz had laid aside his ax, and in order to 
 give Mr. Hadow greater security was absolutely taking 
 hold of his legs and putting his feet, one by one, into 
 their proper positions. As far as I know, no one was 
 actually descending. I cannot speak with certainty, 
 because the two leading men were partially hidden lrom 
 my sight by an intervening mass of rocks, but it is my 
 belief, from the movement of their shoulders, that Croz, 
 having done as I have said, was in the act of turning 
 round to go down a step or two himself; at this moment 
 Mr. Hadow slipped, fell against him and knocked him 
 over. I heard one startled exclamation from Croz, then 
 saw him and Mr. Hadow flying downward; in another 
 moment Hudson was dragged from his steps, and Lord 
 F. Douglas immediately after him. All was the work of 
 a moment. Immediately we heard Croz's exclamation, 
 old Peter and I planted ourselves as firmly as the rocks 
 would permit; the rope was taut between us, and the jerk 
 came on us both as one man. We held, but the rope 
 broke midway between Taugwalder and Lord Francis 
 Douglas. For a few seconds we saw our unfortunate 
 companions sliding downward on their backs, and 
 spreading out their hands, endeavoring to save them-
 
 - 2 3 S - 
 
 selves. They passed from our sight uninjured, disap- 
 peared one by one, and fell from precipice to precipice 
 on to the Matterhorngletscher below, a distance of 
 nearly four thousand feet in height. From the moment 
 the rope broke it was impossible to save them. So per- 
 ished our comrades ! For the space of half an hour we 
 remained on the spot without moving a single step. The 
 two men, paralyzed by terror, cried like infants, and 
 trembled in such a manner as to threaten us with the fate 
 of the others. Old Peter rent the air with exclamations 
 of 'Chamounix! oh, what will Chamounix say?' He 
 meant, who would believe that Croz could fall? The 
 young man did nothing but scream and sob, ' We are 
 lost! we are lost!' Fixed between the two, I could 
 move neither up nor down. I begged young Peter to 
 descend, but he dared not. Unless he did we could not 
 advance. Old Peter became alive to the danger and 
 swelled the cry, ' We are lost ! we are lost !' The 
 father's fear was natural — he trembled for his son; the 
 young man's fear was cowardly — he thought of self alone. 
 At last old Peter summoned up courage, and changed 
 his position to a rock to which he could fix the rope; 
 the young man then descended and we all stood togeth- 
 er. Immediately we did so, I asked for the rope which 
 had given way, and iound, to my surprise— indeed to 
 my horror — that it was the weakest of the three ropes. 
 It was not brought, and should not have been employed 
 for the purpose for which it was used. I saw at once 
 that a serious question was involved, and made them
 
 — 239 — 
 
 give me the end. It had broken in mid-air, and it did 
 not appear to have sustained previous injury. 
 
 For more than two hours afterward I thought almost 
 every moment that the next would be my last, for the 
 Taugwalders, utterly unnerved, were not only incapable 
 of giving assistance, but were in such a state that a slip 
 might have been expected from them at any moment. 
 Alter a time we were able to do that which should have 
 been done at first, and fixed a rope to firm rocks, in addi- 
 tion to being tied together. These ropes were cut from 
 time to time and were left behind. Even with their 
 assurance the men were afraid to proceed, and several 
 times old Peter turned with ashy face and faltering limbs 
 and said with terrible emphasis, ' I cannot' 
 
 About six in the afternoon we arrived at the snow 
 upon the ridge descending toward Zermatt and all peril 
 was over. We frequently looked, but in vain, for traces 
 of our unfortunate companions; we bent over the ridge 
 and cried to them, but no sound returned. * * * 
 
 Night fell and for an hour the descent was continued 
 in the darkness. At half-past nine a resting place was 
 found, and upon a wretched slab barely large enough to 
 hold the three, we passed six miserable hours. At day- 
 break the descent was resumed, and from the Hornli 
 ridge we ran down to the chalets of Buhl and on to 
 Zermatt. Seiler met me at his door and followed in 
 silence to my room, 'What is the matter?' 'The 
 Taugwalders and I have returned!' "
 
 — 240 — 
 
 Speaking of the relief party, Mr. Whymper con- 
 tinued: "We started at two in the afternoon on Sunday 
 the 1 6th, and followed the route we had taken on the 
 previous Thursday as far as the Hornli. From thence 
 we went down to the right of the ridge, and mounted 
 through the serac of the Matterhorngletscher. By half- 
 past eight we had got to the plateau at the top of the 
 glacier, and within sight of the corner in which we knew 
 my companions must be. As we saw one weather-beaten 
 man after another raise the telescope, turn deadly pale 
 and pass it on without a word to the next, we knew that 
 all hope was gone. We approached. They had fallen 
 below as they had fallen above — Croz a little in advance, 
 Hadow near him, and Hudson some distance behind, but 
 of Lord F. Douglas we could see nothing. We left them 
 where they fell, buried in snow, at the base of the grand" 
 est cliff of the most majestic mountain of the Alps." 
 
 I desire to supplement the foregoing statement by 
 adding that the three, Croz, Hadow and Hudson, were 
 subsequently buried in the little church yard at Zermatt, 
 but the body of Lord Francis Douglas was never found. 
 It still lies somewhere on the Matterhorn. 
 
 Such was the tragic result of the first successful 
 attempt to scale this huge, majestic peak, and such are 
 some of the chances to be taken in mountaineering. 
 
 ..o<>o-
 
 ©!]<&pter 25. 
 
 The Gemmi, Interlaken, The Staubbach Falls, 
 The Grindlewald Glacier, The Giessbach 
 
 Falls. 
 
 From Zermatt we returned to Visp, and proceeded 
 thence out of the Rhone valley to a little town some 
 miles distant from the baths of Leuk. Several of the 
 party continued on by rail to Interlaken, the rest of us 
 proceeded by carriage to the baths of Leuk, which is one 
 of the most delightful places in Switzerland. By far the 
 larger part of the drive consists in winding back and 
 forth, from east to west, to surmount the great mountain 
 on the north side of the valley. After an hour's drive it 
 seemed that we were almost above the little town from 
 which we started, and then, having attained the level of 
 the pass, we proceeded to the north with great walls of 
 rocks to the left many hundred feet high and great 
 canons between them and us. In the distance, in many 
 directions, little Swiss villages seemed to hang upon the 
 steep mountain sides many hundred feet above our level. 
 At one place on this drive we passed a Juvenile Swiss 
 Alpine club. 
 
 When about half way to our destination, the driver 
 stopped to feed the horses and several of us improved 
 the opportunity to feed ourselves. At the little inn, all we 
 
 16
 
 — 242 — 
 
 could procure was some rye bread and Swiss cheese — a 
 frugal repast one would say — but somehow, on such an 
 excursion as this, bread and cheese seemed to be a meal 
 fit for a king. 
 
 We remained at the baths of Leuk all night and in 
 the morning started to cross the Gemmi pass on foot. 
 The only possible way to cross is to walk or ride a mule. 
 Riding across the path is discouraged by the authorities 
 on account of the great danger of the horses or mules 
 stumbling. One can hardly realize what it is to sur- 
 mount the Gemmi pass. 
 
 The little town of Leuk lies in a great basin with 
 great walls of mountains all around it, their sides bare 
 and reaching many thousands of feet above the level of 
 the town. These walls are nearly as perpendicular as the 
 face of the mountain could well be. 
 
 The basin itself is not more than two miles in diame- 
 ter and circular in form, the only entrance being upon 
 the road over which we had come or from the Gemmi 
 pass which we were now about to climb. 
 
 The trail leads to the north and thence begins a zig- 
 zao- course winding around in many directions, one side 
 of which is always flanked with solid rock, the other side 
 descending abruptly from precipice to precipice away be- 
 low one. In some places the trail was made by hewing out a 
 niche in the south side of the perpendicular rock though 
 in such places we had a solid surface beneath, a solid wall 
 of rock over our heads, one side being open. Having 
 climbed up this trail, for about three hours, we were at 
 the summit of the Gemmi pass not more than a mile far- 
 ther north than our starting point. At the top of the pass 
 are several hotels for the accommodation of tourists, and
 
 — 243 — 
 
 here we found several parties scattered about over the 
 rocks, with field glasses and telescopes examining the 
 distant peaks and villages beneath, and the great snow 
 banks not far away. 
 
 The great triangular peak of the Matterhorn was 
 plainly visible. Around us in every direction except to 
 the south were great piles of boulders, banks of ice and 
 snow, and directly to the north a little lake. Having 
 rested here some time we passed on, skirting the east 
 bank of the lake, out of which to the north a little stream 
 issues. We were now on the descent, yet it was com- 
 paratively level and on all sides were the traces of ancient 
 glaciers and huge piles of rocks which had been carried 
 down by them. In many places the glacial action on the 
 rocks was plainly visible. The whole presented a para- 
 dise for geologists. ' ' From here forward we moved 
 through a storm-swept and smileless desolation. All 
 about us rose gigantic masses, crags, and ramparts of 
 bare and dreary rock, with not a vestige or semblance of 
 plant or tree or flower anywhere, or glimpse of any creat- 
 ure that had life. The frost and the tempests of un- 
 numbered ages had battered and hacked at these cliffs, 
 with a deathless energy, destroying them piecemeal; so 
 all the region about their bases was a tumbled chaos of 
 great fragments which had been split off and hurled to 
 the ground. Soiled and aged banks of snow lay close 
 about our path, the ghastly desolation of the place was 
 as tremendously complete as if Dore had furnished the 
 working plans for it.
 
 — 244 — 
 
 But every now and then, through the stern gate- 
 ways around us, we caught a view of some neighboring 
 majestic dome, sheathed with glittering ice, and displaying 
 its white purity at an elevation compared to which ours 
 was groveling and plebeian, and this spectacle always 
 chained one's interest and admiration at once, and made 
 him forget there was anything ugly in the world." Along 
 this trail we came across several mountain kids, they 
 were quite tame and we succeeded in coaxing one of them 
 up to the party by feeding it sugar. They followed us 
 some distance and then disappeared upon the side of the 
 mountain. 
 
 As we approached Kandersteg the scenery began to 
 lose its grand character and to take on more of the beauti- 
 ful. We were gradually descending. As we came upon 
 the north side of the mountain, the great valley, a thou- 
 sand feet below us, presented a beautiful scene, with a 
 raging, foaming stream through the center of it. To the 
 east and north were waterfalls which dropped from the 
 tops of the high mountains into the valley below, and 
 descended thousands of feet. One of these issued from 
 the solid rock and was fed probably by melting snow 
 above while out beyond was a beautiful valley with towns 
 and cultivated fields. Now again it was necessary to 
 reach the level of the valley by descending a zigzag trail 
 which required nearly two hours to traverse. 
 
 At Kandersteg we took dinner and thence we pro- 
 ceeded in carriages to Spiez on the lake of Thun, and 
 across which it was necessary to go to reach the famous 
 summer resort of Interlaken. 
 
 No location for a town could be more lovely than 
 that oi Interlaken. A large lake on each side of it; a
 
 — 245 — 
 
 little stream connecting them which passes through the 
 town, while all around it huge mountains rise in solemn 
 grandeur with snow caps visible in all directions, while 
 away to the south rises the Jungfrau. Perhaps no better 
 description of this view can be given than that put in the 
 mouth of Paul Fleming by Longfellow in the following 
 soliloquy: 
 
 "Interlaken! How peacefully from the margin of 
 the swift rushing Aar, thou liest on the broad lap of those 
 romantic meadows, all overshadowed by the wide arms of 
 gigantic trees. Only the quaint towers of thine ancient 
 cloisters rise above their summits; the quaint towers, 
 themselves but a child's playthings under the great church 
 towers of the mountains. Close beside thee are lakes 
 which the flowing band of the river ties together. Before 
 thee opens the magnificent valley of the Lauterbrunnen, 
 where the cloud-hooded monk and pale virgin stand like 
 St. Francis and his bride of snow; and around thee are 
 fields and orchards and hamlets green from which the 
 church bells answer eaeh other at evening. The evening, 
 sun was setting when I first beheld thee. The sun of 
 life shall set ere I forget thee. ' ' 
 
 At Interlaken, when our party was there, it was 
 estimated that at least 1500 Americans were stopping. 
 On a bright morning we set out in carriages, to drive 
 through a delightful valley, thence among foot-hills, along 
 a road beside a rushing stream, and lined by forests of 
 stately trees, until we came to the Staubbach Falls. 
 
 Along the road from Interlaken to the Staubbach 
 Falls, are many rare views of beautiful glens and grass- 
 carpeted recesses in the mountains over-hung with the 
 verdure of the spreading tree tops and clambering vines.
 
 — 246 — 
 
 The foliage round about them is kept fresh and green by 
 the mist from the foaming, tumbling torrent that rushes 
 past. Frequently in some such sheltered nook, or roman- 
 tic glen which might be a habitation for the Fairies, will be 
 seen some picturesqely-costumed Swiss, with a long tin 
 horn, with which he warbles, and jodels and makes the 
 mountains echo and re-echo to the blasts from this horn, 
 as he sees you approach. By the side of the road, a boy 
 or a girl or a woman will stand to receive what you are in- 
 clined to give for the pleasure of hearing the "Alpine 
 horn." 
 
 The Staubbach Falls are pretty but not very interest- 
 ing. The water falls over a high precipice, perhaps five 
 hundred feet or more, and breaks into spray long before 
 the bottom is reached. On a clear day, a beautiful com- 
 bination of the colors of the rainbow can be seen, flitting 
 and mingling and disappearing and reappearing in the 
 spray of the falls. East of the falls a huge mass of stone 
 and mountain rises, a sheer precipice, many hundreds of 
 feet into the air. It is the little Scheidegg which faces the 
 celebrated Jungfrau and leads to the Grindelwald glacier. 
 There is a trail over this mountain, but we preferred to 
 ride and so did not climb over it, while the carriages 
 went around by the road to meet us at the Grindledwald, 
 as we had intended. Near the Staubbach, is a place where 
 St. Bernard dogs are raised and kept for sale. I visited 
 the kennels and had the pleasure to see some noble 
 specimens of this breed of dogs. They have an almost 
 human expression in the eye. They are remarkable 
 animals— exceedingly intelligent — and the puppies are as 
 pretty and interesting, I imagine, as any thing can be 
 in the dog-kingdom. These dogs are kept at the Hos-
 
 — 247 — 
 
 pice at the St. Bernard Pass, and are sent out by the 
 monks to rescue travelers who become lost. The dogs 
 start out with a blanket tied around their body, a cask 
 of wine hung under their necks, and a knap-sack with 
 bread and food. Thus equipped they roam along the 
 trail exploring every foot of rock or snow where an unfor- 
 tunate traveler might become lost. When a traveler has 
 been overcome with the cold and fallen by the wayside he 
 often is covered with snow. In such a case the dogs dig 
 him out, take hold of his clothing with their mouths, and 
 drag him about untill they succeed in stimulating the 
 circulation sufficiently to warm the benumbed body and 
 cause the individual to regain consciousness. Then the 
 blanket is used by him as a protection irom the cold; 
 the rescued traveler drinks the wine and partakes of the 
 food and the dogs lead him to the Hospice where the 
 monks kindly attend him. Sometimes, when the dogs 
 can not rouse the traveler, they drag him back to the 
 Hospice in his unconscious condition. It needs no com- 
 ments to prove that dogs capable of such training are 
 more intelligent than the others of their kind. A full- 
 grown St. Bernard, is not a handsome animal by any 
 means. His body is long and usually lank, his strength 
 and endurance are indicated by the well developed, 
 knotted muscles, and his intelligence by his eyes. 
 
 These puppies are sold at the Staubbach, at from 
 eighty to one hundred francs each. 
 
 Wood carving is extensively carried on in Switzerland, 
 and nowhere more industriously than at Interlaken and 
 Staubbach. Almost everything imaginable is carved out 
 of Swiss-walnut wood. The tools used are very few and 
 simple, by iar the larger part being done with an ordi-
 
 — 248 — 
 
 nary knife. Deer, bears, dogs, goats, horses, and animals 
 of many kinds are carved with a faithfulness to nature 
 that can not but astonish one. The price also, will as- 
 tonish one, if the article is purchased at Interlaken, but 
 it is quite moderate away from the regular paths of tourist 
 travel. 
 
 From this place we went to the Grindlewald glacier, 
 climbed the mountain, walked out upon the ice ol the 
 glacier, explored a beautiful ice cavern at the far end of 
 which an old woman gray and feeble, was playing a 
 plaintive tune on some kind of a rude instrument, and 
 returned to the little hotel where we had taken dinner. 
 Again in our carriages, we retraced our way to Inter- 
 laken through the beautiful valley winding around 
 through the high mountains, along the foaming stream, 
 and late in the night drew up before our hotel. At this 
 place are many shops, where Swiss watches, carved wood 
 and almost every imaginable article can be found for sale. 
 On the little railroad that runs through Interlaken, two- 
 story passenger cars are used. The road is short and 
 lies between the lake of Brienz and the lake of Thun. 
 From Interlaken, all but five of our party went to Lu- 
 cerne by rail, while the rest of us decided to cross the 
 Brunig pass. We left in the afternoon, changed from 
 the second story of our car to the deck of a small steam- 
 er on the lake, passed the famous Giessbach falls and 
 arrived at a little town at the entrance of the Brunig pass. 
 Our hotel here was an old rambling house partly stone, 
 partly wooden and undoubtedly dating from the four- 
 teenth century, to judge by its looks. However, we 
 fared well here. The evening was rainy and intensely 
 dark. It was our intention to have some one row us

 
 — 249 — 
 
 across to the Giessbach to see the falls illuminated by the 
 Bengal lights. We found two men who were willing to 
 undertake the work and three of us found ourselves in an 
 old, covered boat, after supper, on our way across the 
 lake. I don't think I ever saw as dark a night before or 
 since. We finally arrived at our destination. The rain 
 tell as if the heavens were dissolving. In spite of this, 
 large numbers of people came down on the boat from In- 
 terlaken to see the tails. The falls descend in a series of 
 cascades a thousand feet. There are some ten or twelve cas- 
 cades. They fall over rocks that over-hang the balance 
 of the cliff and thus there is considerable space behind each 
 cascade and under the rock over which the water comes. 
 The lights are burned here. As the spectator stands 
 before the hotel, he hears the roar of falling waters com- 
 ing from the intense darkness, but not an object of any 
 kind is visible. At a signal the lights are simultaneously 
 fired and instantly the whole f :e of the mountain bursts 
 into view, each cascade a different color, the many col- 
 ored lights constrasting in places, blending in others, and 
 giving a weirdly grotesque effect to the whole. One can 
 not realize from a mere description what we witnessed- 
 
 Imagine yourself standing in a vast plain, and that 
 suddenly, a few feet in front of you, a wall of stone a 
 thousand feet high, with a cascade falling over it, the 
 water of which was red and green, and white, and blue 
 and yellow, and the rocks beside it composed of every 
 color known to man, should take form and space, and 
 you may have some idea of what it is to see the Giess- 
 bach falls illuminated by Bengal lights.
 
 — 250 — 
 
 We returned across the lake and so dark was it 
 that our oarsmen missed the landing, and went quite a 
 distance beyond our place. Finally we landed, and the 
 next morning we took our places in two carriages to ride 
 across the Brunig pass. Still it rained. The scenery in 
 this pass is grand. The road is good and the number of 
 opportunities for good views across valleys and lower 
 mountains is unusually great. As we ascended, the rain 
 became thinner and great banks of fog hid the valleys 
 and hills. At times we could see only a few feet above 
 the clouds. Now the banks of fog lying over the valleys 
 below us break away, and through the rift we catch dis- 
 tant glimpses of beautiful valleys. Now they roll 
 together again and the lower world is shut out from our 
 view. The road winds around along the sides of cliffs 
 and mountain peaks, slowly ascending until the summit of 
 the pass is reached, then descending rapidly until it 
 reaches the lake of Lucerne. We took dinner at a little 
 hotel in a typical Swiss village. 
 
 Not long before a water spout had burst in the 
 mountains higher up and it had swept down carrying 
 away a church, several houses, and fences; and had 
 ploughed an enormous track that marked its course. 
 At the lake we left our carriages and boarded the little 
 steamboat that carried us to Lucerne. From Lucerne 
 we went by rail to the falls ot the Rhine, thence to 
 Triberg in the Black forest in Germany.
 
 ©fyapter 26. 
 
 The Falls of the Rhine, The Black Forest, 
 Strassburg, Paris. 
 
 The falls of the Rhine are pretty but not on the 
 grand order of Niagara. The water falls, probably 
 twenty feet, and a large rock, or small island, divides 
 the falls into two sections or parts. The rapids above 
 the falls foam and boil over the rocks; and below the 
 falls, for two or three hundred feet, the water is lashed 
 into a fury. A hotel is built opposite the cataract and 
 a long, cool veranda faces it, so that a good view is had . 
 From a point a little below the hotel, a boat is rowed to 
 the foot of the rock in the falls. The water is exceed- 
 ingly rough and it requires considerable skill and 
 strength on the part of the oarsmen to manage the boat. 
 Frequently the water pours over the side and the spray 
 is apt to thoroughly wet the passengers in the boat. Mr. 
 Davis and the writer were rowed across to the rock, 
 where we found a stairway cut into the rock, by which 
 we ascended to the top from which we obtained a very 
 pretty view. 
 
 After crossing the German frontier and before reach- 
 ing Triberg, we traversed a wide, level plain, to the west 
 of which the spurs of the hills and mountains reach out
 
 — 252 — 
 
 upon the plain like promontories into the sea. High 
 upon these spurs, above the level of the plain, are 
 strongly built castles dating from the Middle Ages. In 
 the course of an hour we passed more than a dozen of 
 these castles. It would be interesting to know how 
 these castles came to be built, who inhabited them; what 
 relations existed between their inmates; and above all, 
 what was the condition of society and what the state of 
 civilization that rendered such massive fortifications at a 
 time when fire-arms were unknown and when men 
 fought only with swords and spears, and bow and arrow. 
 
 What a picture it would now present, could we see, 
 in reality, how these castles were maintained, how they 
 were besieged and defended; how bands sallied forth 
 from them to overrun the country, or attack the castle 
 of a foe, how knights clad in steel armor led their bands 
 to battle; and all the other conditions and circumstances 
 that attended life in those days. It is true that Scott and 
 other novelists have given us graphic pictures of all 
 these things, as they imagined them to be; but still 
 when I view these old castles, I wonder how all these 
 things were in fact. Have they been overdrawn and 
 glossed over with a halo caused by lapse of time, or 
 have we fallen far short of the reality ? Who can tell ? 
 
 As the shades of night fell we entered the Black for- 
 est and about nine o'clock in the evening alighted at 
 Triberg. 
 
 The hills of the Black forest are not usually high, 
 but are covered with trees; and in the winding and ex- 
 ceedingly crooked ravines between the hills, contain 
 excellent McAdamized roads; in valleys and on hillsides 
 are towns and villages in picturesque situations. Our
 
 — 253 — 
 
 hotel at Treburg was not in the town, but nearly a mile 
 west of it and reached by a road such as above.described. 
 It was in an exceedingly romantic situation, hills all 
 around it, a deep ravine before it and a rushing stream 
 in the ravine. In the morning before leaving for the 
 railway, with two others, the writer walked down the 
 road through the ravine and in doing so we passed a 
 sawmill. Here we saw women wheeling the sawdust 
 away from the pit beneath the saw; as well as women 
 taking away the boards from the saw and carrying them 
 out of the mill. I said we saw them wheeling the saw- 
 dust, but to be more correct, I should say carrying it 
 away; for, I believe, they carried it away in baskets up- 
 on their heads. 
 
 A delightful ride the next day brought us to Strass- 
 burg, where a day was pleasantly devoted to driving and 
 visiting the famous fortifications. Here the German 
 government has established a university at a cost of sev- 
 eral million dollars, for the purpose of Germanizing the 
 French population which the Franco-Prussian war left 
 under German rule. 
 
 Strassburg is almost, if not entirely, surrounded by 
 a series of fortifications, probably unequaled in modern 
 military engineering. The cathedral is all that is claimed 
 for it, and the famous clock in the cathedral is indeed a 
 wonderful piece of mechanism. 
 
 "In Strassburg we have the river 111 and its canal 
 
 * 
 
 joining the Rhine, and Venice like scenes, narrow quays, 
 clumsy, heavy punts, fanciful chimney-stacks, crazy, 
 overhanging balconies, projecting windows, a stirring 
 human tide, voices and noises breaking the silence, an 
 air of unconsciousness of beauty and interest, an old-
 
 — 254 — 
 
 world atmosphere; many of the common houses, not 
 specially pointed out to the tourist, are beautified by some 
 artistic ironwork about the doors, some carved gateway or 
 window, some wall-niche with a saint's statue, or a broad 
 oak staircase as noble in proportions and beautiful in 
 detail as if it were in a princely abode. ' ' 
 
 Strassburg is worth a more extented visit than we 
 gave it. I was impressed with one thing here, and that 
 is that Germany is not meeting with any great amount 
 of success in Germanizing the population. The people 
 are, no doubt, of German descent, and this territory 
 undoubtedly belongs to Germany, but it has so long been 
 a part of France, that the people had become very loyal 
 to the French government and attached to France, so that 
 when in 1 870-1 it again came under German dominion, 
 there was no rejoicing by these people over the change. 
 The cab-man who drove us over the city, though a Ger- 
 man, unhesitatingly told us that he longed for a return 
 of the French rule. He said that three-fourths of the 
 population of Strassburg think as he does about the 
 matter. There are some beautiful drives and parks in 
 this city. The parks are beautifully laid out with majes- 
 tic trees, and shrubbery and profusions of beautiful 
 flowers. 
 
 This territory lies between that which is actually 
 French and that which is actually German, and it par- 
 takes of the character of both and wholly of neither. 
 The people speak French and German with about equal 
 facility, and as a rule not a very good quality of either. 
 My driver was, so he said, of German descent, but pro- 
 fessed to speak French fluently. He certainly spoke
 
 — 255 — 
 
 fluently, but I can't testify concerning the quality of his 
 French. He spoke a fair German. And so it is with all 
 the natives of this territory, each language is a mother 
 tongue to them. 
 
 In Strassburg will be found many houses of thirteenth 
 or fourteenth century architecture; these have exceedingly 
 steep roofs; so steep in fact that two stories are often seen 
 between the eaves and the comb of the roof. A visit to 
 this city is well worth the trouble and expense of mak- 
 ing it. 
 
 After an exceedingly pleasant day in Strassburg, we 
 took a night train for Paris, France, where we arrived at 
 about eight o'clock in the morning. Here we had to 
 pass through two custom-houses. At any rate that is 
 about what it amounts to. We should have had our 
 luggage inspected at the frontier, but it being night, the 
 luggage was passed on to Paris where it was subjected 
 to examination when we arrived. Following this it was 
 necessary to have it inspected by the municipal officers. 
 One way of raising revenue in France in the cities, is to 
 levy a tax, or octroi, upon everything brought into the 
 city from elsewhere in the country. After having dis- 
 charged these duties to the French government and to 
 the municipality of Paris, and not possessing anything 
 subject to taxation, we were permitted to pass out, and we 
 took cabs for the Hotel Metropolitan, near the Louvre. 
 
 Our first day in Paris, was spent in getting settled at 
 the hotel, each one of us being compelled to fill out a 
 certificate for the police, which contained a full and
 
 - 2 5 6 - 
 
 minute description of ourselves, color of hair, eyes, 
 height, weight, age, married or single, nationality, 
 whence we came, where we were going, etc., etc. This 
 is required of all who stop at a hotel in Paris. The 
 blanks are furnished to the hotel keeper who must see 
 that every guest fills out one, under a severe penalty for 
 disobeying the requirement. A part of the first day was 
 also spent in visiting the Louvre Gallery, which is a 
 very extensive collection, and contains some very rare 
 and valuable productions of art. While sauntering leisure- 
 ly through one of the corridors we unexpectedly met 
 some friends who had crossed the Atlantic with us on the 
 Ethiopia and whom we had not seen since our arrival at 
 Glasgow. 
 
 That evening most of our party attended an opera 
 at the Grand Opera House, the most magnificent place 
 of amusement in the world. 
 
 The visitor at Paris will at once notice the condition 
 of her streets. They are paved with stone blocks cut and 
 dressed to fit closely together, and have wide side walks 
 of stone, and stone curbing. They are kept scrupulously 
 clean. Women are employed to scrub and wash them; 
 water for cleaning them is supplied from the hydrants, 
 and not a particle of anything offensive is left for any length 
 of time upon them. In proportion as the sun goes down 
 and night advances, the noise and hurry and crowds of 
 people increase upon the streets. Paris sleeps by day 
 and wakes by night. 
 
 Paris delights in holidays; Sunday is always such. 
 The omnibuses and street cars, and conveyances leading 
 out of the city to Versailles, or St. Cloud and elsewhere 
 are crowded on Sunday. We spent the whole of one
 
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 — 257 — 
 
 Sunday at Versailles. This is a magnificent property 
 and is kept in splendid condition. It was once the 
 property of the Orleans dynasty and passed from their 
 possession with the downfall of Louis Philippe after the 
 death of his son, the Duke of Orleans. The palace is 
 built and equipped on the grand scale common to Royal 
 residences. The grounds are extensive and contain large 
 forests of stately trees and lakes and fountains and beau- 
 tiful roadways, and smaller buildings. 
 
 St. Cloud, intimately associated with the history of 
 Napoleon III. is another beautiful place, and from the gar- 
 dens behind the ruined palace a beautiful view of the city 
 of Paris is obtained, and prominent among the objects in 
 the picture thus presented is the gilded dome of the tomb 
 of Napoleon, the great. 
 
 The visitor will not omit a visit to this tomb. It has 
 been described so frequently and so well, that I will not 
 attempt it here. But it is with interest, however, that one 
 looks upon the sarcophagus that contains the dust of the 
 most phenomenal being that ever lived. The feeling of 
 interest in the tomb, the surroundings, the history of the 
 man who lies there, is, perhaps, the unconscious hom- 
 age that humanity pays to genius. Of nothing else, 
 amid all the beauties and grandeurs of this city of un- 
 paralleled magnificence, are the inhabitants so proud, as 
 of this tomb. 
 
 A week was delightfully spent in Paris, in her gar- 
 dens, her palaces, her places of amusment, her parks, 
 strolling along her streets, driving over her boulevards, 
 roaming in the Bois de Boulogne; contemplating the 
 peculiar tombs in the cemetery of Pere la Chaise, admi- 
 ring her churches, especially Notre Dame, gazing with 
 
 17
 
 — 2 5 8 — 
 
 interest upon the bell, still hanging in the church tower, 
 near the Louvre, which rang the signal lor the beginning 
 of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew; riding through the 
 Latin quarter, visiting the tapestry factories, and viewing 
 the grounds then being prepared for the great exposition 
 of 1889. 
 
 How short seems a week in Paris! The city could 
 not be thoroughly learned in a twelve-month, much less a 
 week. At the time we were there, pictures of Gen. Boul- 
 anger could be seen in all public or conspicuous places. 
 He was the lion of the hour. I was impressed by the fact 
 that the French people do not like a republic. I wonder 
 if they like any form ot government at all! They have 
 tried them all, or nearly all, at a sacrifice of blood and life 
 without parallel in history, and one would suppose, that 
 after securing the freedom of a Republic, they would be 
 content with it. But they are far from content. Ask the 
 porter, maid, or anybody about your hotel how they like 
 the Republic and they are sure to reply with the inimitable 
 French shrug, that they sigh for the return of the empire. 
 
 At the end of the week, with many regrets, we 
 leave the French capital; a few hours ride through a level 
 country, following for a considerable distance the course 
 of the Seine, we arrive at Dieppe. Here we board a 
 channel steamer which is manned by English officers and 
 crew, and steam out of the harbor to cross the channel. 
 A large party which we afterward learn to be an English 
 Cricket Club which had been playing a French club and 
 was returning home victorious, was on board. Several of 
 them stood near me, and as we moved slowly along the
 
 — 259 — 
 
 quay, one of them cried loudly to the others "'Ere's 'is 
 ludship!" and immediately they all joined in three cheers 
 for '"is ludship," who thereupon removed his hat thus 
 revealing to the rest of us, who were somewhat ignorant 
 on the subject of "ludships," which one among those on 
 the quay was the gentleman of noble birth. He proved 
 to be the last one I should have suspected of being an 
 English Earl. He was heavy in physique, red in com- 
 plexion, coarse in feature, and dressed much as a well-to- 
 do American farmer might be dressed while around his 
 home but not engaged in work. He wore a broad - 
 brimmed slouch hat and made no attempt at display in 
 dress. His rank was that of an Earl and one of the mem- 
 bers of the cricket club told me his full title, but I have for- 
 gotten it; and my informant also volunteered the informa- 
 tion that the Earl was the patron of their club and a 
 great admirer of cricket, and that he had defrayed the 
 expense of their trip to France.
 
 ©rj&pter 27. 
 
 London, Oxford, Stratford-on-Avon, The 
 Voyage Home. 
 
 We had a pleasant voyage across the channel, not 
 encountering the least bit of the rough weather and fog 
 for which the channel is notorious, and arrived at New 
 Haven about four o'clock in the afternoon. Here we 
 disembarked, and, ior the first time in three months, 
 heard our native language in general use. A short jour- 
 ney brought us to London, for the second time. We 
 tqok rooms on Great Russell Street, and our meals at the 
 Horse Shoe Tavern, Tottenham Court Road, near Ox- 
 ford Street. We stayed here a week also, during which 
 time we visited the Kew Gardens, the Tower, West Min- 
 ster Abbey, The Bank of England, St. Paul's, and 
 Windsor. I was very desirous of visiting the House of 
 Commons. I went to the Consul-General's office, but 
 could not get a pass through that individual; I tried 
 the American Minister, but he is allowed but two passes 
 per day and these were promised for more than thirty days 
 ahead. I went to the American Exchange and invoked 
 aid there. They tried but failed. In sheer desperation! 
 my friend Davis and I walked down to the Parliament 
 buildings and found it surrounded by a cordon of police. 
 We could go so far, but no farther. At the entrance, a
 
 — 26l — 
 
 policeman guarded the way. We got into conversation 
 with him; we told him we were Americans and were very 
 anxious to get into the House of Commons. He was 
 very friendly and talked some time about America, and 
 finally told us we could get into the rotunda if we would 
 follow the hall or corridor in front of us; that at a short 
 flight of steps we would find another policeman, he would 
 ask us whom we wanted to see, and if we gave him the 
 name of a member, this guard would allow us to pass on 
 to the rotunda; that after arriving there we should send 
 in our cards to the member we named. This, of course, 
 was all very well, and would have been very important 
 knowledge for us to possess if we had only known some 
 member. But we did not, and told him so. " O, call for 
 any of the Irish members," he said. At our request he 
 named one, and slipping a two-shilling piece into his 
 hand we started in. At the steps we met the other 
 policeman just as we had been told. He inquired whom 
 we wanted to see, we mentioned the name which had 
 been given us and were permitted to pass on and arrived 
 at the rotunda highly elated. We got an attendant to 
 take in our cards, but soon he returned with the informa- 
 tion that the member was not in. So after all our schem- 
 ing, our efforts were to meet with failure. Turning around, 
 I saw another policeman and walking over to him 1 asked 
 him if he knew a member who would be apt to do us the 
 courtesy to pass us into the House. "Yes," he replied, 
 "any of the Irish members will do so for you." I thanked 
 him and asked him to give me the name of one . ' ' There, ' ' 
 he said, "is one" and pointed to a group of three gentle- 
 men a little distance from us. I walked up and begging 
 their pardon, introduced myself and stated my desire.
 
 262 
 
 The member said he would be glad to pass me in if it were 
 possible; but he could not do so that night and called my 
 attention to what I had not before observed, that notices 
 were put up stating that every gallery was crowded and 
 more could not be admitted. "But," said he, "if you 
 will come to-morrow I will get a pass for you." I 
 thanked him tor his courtesy and asked if my wite and 
 Mr. Davis could be passed into the House at the same 
 time. He answered in the affirmative, and I bade him 
 good night and turned away. I was disappointed — bitter- 
 ly so. For on that night Mr. Gladstone was to speak on 
 the proclamation of the National League. It was my 
 only opportunity, perhaps, ever to hear the celebrated 
 orator, and I had missed it. 
 
 But on the following evening we went again to the 
 House and, upon sending in our cards, our new ac- 
 quaintance came out and greeted me pleasantly, and I 
 introduced him to my wife and Mr. Davis. He then 
 went in and after some minutes returned with the permit, 
 and we followed our friend who took us over the build- 
 ing, through the library, the dining rooms, the House of 
 Lords, and finally showed my wife to the ladies gallery, 
 and took Mr. Davis and myself onto the floor of the 
 House. But few of the prominent members were present. 
 Mr. Gladstone was absent. Some bill concerning farm- 
 ing interests was under discussion, and not long after 
 our entrance, a division was taken on some amendment 
 which had been offered We were requested to retire 
 until the vote was taken, after which we were again 
 admitted. No visitor or person other than a member is 
 allowed to be present when a division is taken. Neither 
 is the vote taken by a roll call as here, but the members
 
 — 26 3 — 
 
 all arise and pass through two aisles; those voting in the 
 affirmative going through one, and those voting in the 
 negative going through the other. Why no person is per- 
 mitted to be present when this is done I am unable to say. 
 No doubt it is a custom of which both the reason and ori- 
 gin have been lost, but the observance of which remains. 
 A volume might be written of London. Trafalgar square, 
 Somerset House, The Art Gallery, the Museum, are all 
 places of interest. I shall not try to describe London. 
 Who could do so ? A city of five millions of people! The 
 metropolis of the world! Every one is familiar already 
 with all that might be said of this great city. 
 
 From London we went to Oxford to visit the univer- 
 sity which, of course, is similar to Cambridge, which has 
 already been described. Oxford is larger than Cam- 
 bridge, having twenty-one colleges. 
 
 Stratford-on-Avon, the birth place of Shakespeare, 
 the Mecca of political pilgrimages, hallowed by the 
 associations of him who felt the pulse of human feelings 
 and answered in sweet strains to the yearning of the 
 human heart as never mortal man has done before or 
 since his age, lies nestled beside the little river Avon, in 
 that part of "merrie England" which is truly rural. 
 Shorn of all associations with the memory of the im- 
 mortal bard, if that were possible, it would still be a 
 delightful and interesting bit of rural scenery in which one 
 feels a sort of rest and tranquillity and passive satisfaction 
 which nearly every one has, at times, realized in the 
 country, but which human pen has never yet described. 
 
 The green fields, the trim cottages, the rose-em- 
 bowered porches, the neat hedges, the quiet unbroken 
 surface of the Avon, the stately trees whose branches
 
 — 264 — 
 
 play in the tranquil water, the ivy-covered walls, the 
 rows of limes, the delightful atmosphere, present a sweet 
 scene of rural life equal to Goldsmith's deserted village. 
 
 Viewing these scenes, one can hardly realize that in 
 such a place, among such rural simplicity, there was 
 developed a genius of such extraordinary character, such 
 immortal conceptions, such breadth of thought, such 
 sweet and tender pathos, such wonderful felicity and 
 power of expression as the author of Hamlet. 
 
 Here is the house in which he learned the trade of 
 wool-combing, his father's trade. There is the grammar 
 school which he attended, and just yonder the house 
 in which he lived after his return to Stratford. A few 
 minutes drive along a pleasant country road lined by splen- 
 did elms, and bounded by neat hedges, brings you to the 
 pretty, thatched, and rose-embowered cottage in which the 
 poet wooed and won the love of the proud Ann Hatha- 
 way. There is a hedge in front of the house, which is 
 somewhat neglected; a little garden between the fence 
 and house; numerous rose bushes, and trailing vines; 
 over across the road in front of the house, some ancient 
 trees of great size. The cottage is small and within the 
 jambs of the fire-place are seats for two, one on either 
 side, where no doubt on many a rainy evening, such as 
 are well known to Englishmen, Shakespeare sat looking 
 across at the pretty face of the girl he loved illuminated 
 by the ruddy glow from the coals of the fire. A register 
 of visitors is kept in the cottage, on the pages of which I 
 saw the autographs of Dr. Holmes, Mr. Longfellow and 
 many other prominent Americans. 
 
 We stopped at the Red Horse Inn, while in Stratford 
 — the Inn made famous by our own Washington Irving.
 
 — 265 — 
 
 The little parlor calls forcibly to mind the description oi 
 Irving's visit to Stratford: "To a homeless man, who has 
 no spot in this wide world which he can truly call his 
 own, there is a momentary feeling of something like 
 independence and territorial consequence, when, after a 
 weary day's travel, he kicks off his boots, thrusts his feet 
 into slippers, and stretches himself before an inn fire. 
 Let the world without go as it may; let kingdoms rise or 
 fall, so long as he has the wherewith to pay his bill, he is, 
 for the time being, the very monarch of all he surveys. 
 The arm-chair is his throne, the poker his scepter, and 
 the little parlor, of some twelve feet square, his undis- 
 puted empire. 'Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn? ' 
 thought I, as I gave the fire a stir, lolled back in my 
 elbow-chair, and cast a complacent look about the little 
 parlor of the Red Horse, at Stratford-on-Avon. 
 
 The words of sweet Shakespeare were just passing 
 through my mind as the clock struck midnight from the 
 tower of the church in which he lies buried. There was a 
 gentle tap at the door, and a pretty chambermaid, putting 
 in her smiling face, inquired, with a hesitating air, 
 whether I had rung. I understood it as a modest hint 
 that it was time to retire. My dream of absolute dominion 
 was at an end; so abdicating my throne, like a prudent 
 potentate, to avoid being deposed, and putting the Strat- 
 ford Guide-Book under my arm, as a pillow-companion, 
 I went to bed, and dreamt all night of Shakespeare, the 
 Jubilee and David Garrick." 
 
 It would be interesting to know, if at the time Irving 
 penned the foregoing lines, he had any thought that they 
 would make the Red Horse Inn as famous as Shakespeare 
 had already made the town ? The little parlor in the inn
 
 — 266 — 
 
 which Irving" occupied is now a hallowed place into which 
 the common herd can only go to see the place where the 
 " great American gentleman " stopped. The same fire- 
 place before which Irving sat, "his feet thrust into his 
 slippers," is kept cleanly polished and is pointed out with 
 pride by the landlord. The very arm-chair, "his throne," 
 is safely placed in a large box with a glass door, so that 
 it may be seen but can not be touched by the sacrilegious 
 hands of mediocrity. The poker, "his scepter," is also 
 displayed. Mementoes of Irving are hung upon the walls. 
 A poem, also a little description of Stratford-on-Avon, are 
 framed and hung upon the wall, as is also a very fine 
 portrait of him. One wonders, while at the inn, which is 
 of more renown, our Irv'ng, or their Shakespeare. 
 
 The church in which Shakespeare is buried, is a 
 "large and venerable pile, mouldering with age, but 
 richly ornamented." He lies in the chancel beneath the 
 stone floor, with a bust of the poet on the wall immediately 
 over the grave. This bust is said to resemble the poet. 
 Upon the stone over the grave, is inscribed the following 
 words, written by Shakespeare himself, for the purpose: 
 
 "Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbeare 
 
 To dig the dust inclosed here. 
 
 Blessed be he that spares these stones, 
 
 And curst be he that moves my bones." 
 
 Had it not been for this inscription, his remains 
 would, long since, have been removed to Westminster 
 Abbey. But the inscription has prevented the removal. 
 And well it is, for there is no more appropriate place in 
 England, for his resting place than this church in his 
 native village. The church and church-yard occupy a 
 point of land around which the river curves in such a way
 
 — 267 — 
 
 as to make it almost a peninsula. Large trees grow in 
 the church-yard and along the bank of the river, ivy- 
 clambers over the church walls, and all around and within 
 the church there is a solemn stillness which is wonderfully- 
 impressive. 
 
 Every one has read of the many pranks and wild and 
 thoughtless conduct which are related of Shakespeare in 
 his youth . If one is to believe all that he hears in this 
 line, he must make up his mind that the poet was an 
 almost incorrigible lad. Not far away is Bedford where 
 he went to the beer or ale-drinking contest and became 
 ingloriously drunk; also near by is the estate where he 
 was caught poaching deer, which latter prank drove him 
 from Stratford and probably rescued to the world an im- 
 mortal poet from an indifferent wool-comber. Washing- 
 ton Irving says of him: "Shakespeare, when young, had 
 doubtless all the wildness and irregularity of an ardent, 
 undisciplined and undirected genius. The Poetic tem- 
 perament has naturally something in it of the vagabond. 
 When left to itself, it runs loosely and wildly, and delights 
 in everything eccentric and licentious. It is often a turn- 
 up of a die, in the gambling freaks of fate, whether a 
 natural genius shall turn out a great rogue or a great 
 poet; and had not Shakespeare's mind fortunately taken 
 a literary bias, he might have as daringly transcended all 
 civil, as he has all dramatic laws." 
 
 "How it would have cheered the spirit of the youth- 
 ful bard, when wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubt- 
 ful world, he cast back a heavy look upon his paternal 
 home, could he have foreseen that, before many years, he 
 should return to it covered with renown; that his name 
 should become the boast and glory of his native place;
 
 — 268 — 
 
 that his ashes should be religiously guarded as its most 
 precious treasure; and that its lessening spire, on which 
 his eyes were fixed in tearful contemplation, should one 
 day become the beacon, towering amidst the gentle land- 
 scape, to guide the literary pilgrim of every nation to 
 his tomb?" 
 
 I shall be always thankful that my native language 
 is the English, because, therefore, I can read Shakespeare 
 and Irving in their native tongue, unmarred by any de- 
 fect of translation. Shakespeare is pre-eminently the poet 
 of the world, without a peer; and Irving the master of a 
 style of English, which in its simplicity, its purity and 
 transcendent beauty is without parallel in literature. 
 Without such intention on the part of either, Stratford- 
 on-Avon has become hallowed by the glory of each. As 
 we leave the village, where we have had more pleasure 
 than elsewhere in Europe, I look back upon the fields, 
 the town, the hedges, the noble forests and the water of 
 the little river Avon, and the lines of Garrick seem most 
 appropriate. 
 
 "Thou soft flowing Avon, by thy silver stream 
 
 Of things more than mortal, sweet Shakespeare would dream; 
 
 The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, 
 
 For hallowed the turf is which pillowed his head." 
 
 Leaving Stratford-on-Avon, we arrived at Liverpool 
 towards evening and remained there until the afternoon 
 of the next day when we embarked on the City of Rome, 
 en route home. We steamed down the Mersey with 
 cloudy skies and forboding weather, and on the following 
 day about noon entered Queenstown harbor. Here light- 
 ers met us, as the City of Rome can not go up to the 
 docks, on account of her size. They brought mail and
 
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 — 269 — 
 
 passengers, and a large number of emigrants. Many Irish 
 women came on board while we lay here, with lace, linen, 
 fancy articles, and trinkets made of Irish bog-oak. They 
 displayed and sold their wares; were shrewd and quick 
 at making bargains, talking in a rich brogue, and were ex- 
 tremely happy at repartee. Many small boats also came 
 out being rowed by two oarsmen, and these generally 
 brought from one to three emigrants, with their little 
 parcels, their entire worldly possessions; on their way to 
 try their fortunes in that free land across the sea — to them, 
 a land of vague but roseate promises of wealth and free- 
 dom and boundless resources. How sad, undoubtedly, 
 was the rude awakening of some of these poor souls upon 
 their arrival here? To many people in Europe, America 
 is a land where gold coins grow on bushes, and personal 
 restraint is an unheard-of thing. 
 
 The City of Rome was built at Barrow and launched 
 on the 14th of June, 1881. She is 586 feet long by 52 
 feet 3 inches broad, and 37 feet deep, the prome- 
 nade deck is 400 feet long and 20 feet wide on each side 
 of the ship. The dining saloon is 72 feet long by 52 feet 
 wide, and accommodates 266 passengers at a sitting. 
 The engines indicate 12,000 horse power, and turn the 
 screjw at an average speed of sixty revolutions per minute. 
 The number of furnaces is 63, and the average consump- 
 tion of coal is 300 tons in the 24 hours. The total num- 
 ber of people that she brought across on this voyage, 
 including the crew, was 151 1. 
 
 The first four days of the voyage was remarkably 
 rough. We struck a terrific storm about three hours out 
 of Queenstown, and for four days the waves rolled 
 "mountain high," the sea was lashed into a fury such as is
 
 — 270 — 
 
 hardly conceivable, great waves ran entirely over the ship, 
 and caused her to roll and pitch like a plaything of the ele- 
 ments. Now she would labor up some fearful wave, the 
 prow would drop into the trough, and her nose would 
 run into the succeeding wave, causing her stern to rise 
 high out of the water, upon which the screw would 
 revolve with a frightful velocity that would shake the 
 ship from stem to stern. At times the rain fell in torrents, 
 then it ceased and the wind came howling over and 
 around our good ship like a pack of unloosed demons. 
 Toward the close of the fourth day, the storm abated 
 and on the fifth day we saw the sun for the first time since 
 starting. We had divine service on Sunday; and a concert 
 on Tuesday evening of which the following is the account 
 as given by the "City of Rome" Express, a paper 
 printed and published on board the steamer for the 
 benefit of the passengers: 
 
 "A grand concert was held last night in the drawing- 
 room in aid of the Stanley Hospital, Liverpool. There 
 was a crowded attendance, and hundreds were unable to 
 gain admission. The Rev. Dr. VanDeWater was the 
 chairman, and in the course of the evening made a pow- 
 erful appeal in support of the deserving charity to which 
 the audience were asked to contribute. 
 
 The concert opened with a piano solo, played with 
 much taste by Miss Agnes Bryan. Mrs. Coulson followed 
 with a pleasing rendition of a song from ' Ruy Bias. ' A 
 most enjoyable feature was the quartette' 'Come Where 
 My Love Lies Dreaming,' which was splendidly given 
 by Mrs. Raleigh, Messrs. Johnson, Clemson, and Blakely, 
 the lady having kindly undertaken the soprano part at a 
 moment's notice. The Misses Walsh were most success-
 
 — 271 — 
 
 ful in their piano duett Mr. T. A. Joyce, who has a 
 finely-trained baritone, did full justice to his song, 'Ye 
 Gallants of England.' Messrs. Blakely and Johnson were 
 next heard to much advantage in the popular duett, 
 'Larboard Watch.' Mrs. Frank Leslie, whose appearance 
 was the signal for an ovation, then gave a reading — the 
 accomplished lady being loudly applauded at its close. 
 
 Part II. opened with a brilliant piano solo by Miss 
 Riley who played an impromptu by Schubert. Mr. Clem- 
 son then sang 'Simon the Cellarer' and Miss Kunkle, who 
 undoubtedly carried off the honors of the evening, fol- 
 lowed with a reading, ' Rubenstein and the Rustic' It 
 was a rare elecutionary effort, and the audience showed 
 their appreciation of the versatility of the young lady by 
 their unstinted applause. After Mr. Conway Carpenter 
 had convulsed the house with his comic song, 'Children's 
 Voices,' Miss Mamie J. Brown, a talented little lady ol 
 some seven summers charmed every one with her clever 
 recitation, 'Sheridan's Ride.' Miss Agnes Clark, who 
 possesses a beautifully cultivated mezzo-soprano, was en- 
 thusiastically encored for her sympathetic singing of 
 'Janet's Choice.' Her finished vocalization was quite a 
 feature of the entertainment. Mr. Joyce next gave a 
 spirited rendering of 'The Stirrup Cup,' and the concert 
 concluded with a highly dramatic reading by Mr. John- 
 son of LeFanu's poem, 'Shamus O'Brien.' A most 
 enjoyable evening was brought to a close, with a cordial 
 vote of thanks to the chairman, followed by the National 
 Anthems. We cannot conclude this notice without a 
 special word of praise to Mrs. Cecil Raleigh, who grace- 
 fully tulfilled the onerous position of accompanyist. The 
 collection which was taken up by Miss Pitney and Miss
 
 — 272 — 
 
 Agnes Clarke, realized the handsome sum of ^16 os. 6d." 
 It was especially gratifying to us that Miss Kunkle, who 
 carried off the honors of the evening, was a member of 
 our party.
 
 ©l]&pter 28. 
 
 The Arrival Home, America, A Retrospect. 
 
 During the night of the seventh day we arrived at 
 the bar which the " Roine" can pass only at high tide 
 and consequently we lay there until morning, when 
 with the breaking of the dawn we again beheld the 
 shores of America. No one can realize what pleasure 
 the sight of America brought to us, unless he has himself 
 been in the same position. It was the sight of home — of 
 native country — and above all, the land that represents 
 the best and highest achievements in everything that is 
 good, noble and great. It is no wonder that an American 
 is so intensely loyal to his country and so proud of her 
 position among the nations of the earth. 
 
 In all that is worth striving for in life, America takes 
 the lead. In the enjoyments of home life, in kind and 
 loving sympathy between men, in conveniences, in inven- 
 tion, in progress, in religion, in humanity, in the tolerance 
 of the rights of others, we stand superior to the world. In 
 the old world, society is organized on the fundamental prin- 
 ciple that one class must own another collectively through 
 the government. There government proceeds upon the 
 theory that none but the rich and aristocratic have any 
 interest in the stability of the government and conse- 
 quently none but that class can participate in it. In 
 
 13
 
 — 274 — 
 
 European society there are horizontal strata in which each 
 class is found, and out of which or above which the indi- 
 vidual can by no possibility rise. A prominent writer in 
 England says that during twenty-five years of close 
 observation in that country he has never come across an 
 instance of a farm-laborer rising above his class. What a 
 contrast to the society of a land where a farmer, a com- 
 mon laborer and an obscure leather dealer, have come 
 from their respective places to preside over the destiny of 
 a great nation. Our theory of government and the 
 organization of our society, recognize every man as 
 having an equal opportunity with every other man in the 
 participation of government, and in the improvement of 
 the boundless opportunities for advancement which are 
 here afforded. Our society has no horizontal strata 
 which confine any class to its narrow limits. "Our 
 society rather resembles the waves of the ocean whose 
 every drop may move freely among its fellows, and may 
 rise toward the light, until it flashes on the crest of the 
 highest wave." 
 
 It is true, in Europe, that they can boast of centu- 
 ries of civilization, and history; but it is also true that they 
 are compelled to go back into ages past for all their 
 glory. They are proud of the past; we of the present. 
 I have seen many countries, but if I were a native of none, 
 and without prejudice for or against any, I sincerely 
 believe that I should have more interest in the United 
 States of America than in any other. It is true that we 
 have not the history of Italy behind us; we have not the 
 development of art that Germany, France or England 
 presents; we have not the perfection of architecture of any 
 European country. But we have made greater strides
 
 — 275 — 
 
 toward solving the problem of human life, in one century 
 than Europe has in eighteen. We have the art of recog- 
 nizing men and women as human beings and ol granting 
 to all men, in all conditions, the fullest liberty; we have 
 not marble palaces for the rich and noisome cellars for the 
 poor. And above all we have homes. Nowhere else in 
 all the world, is the true and full significance of the word 
 home understood as it is in America. 
 
 Let a citizen of this country travel the world over and 
 he will return with stronger love for America and greater 
 pride that he is an American. 
 
 I have seen many of the objects celebrated in history 
 and in song. I have stood before works of art that have 
 lived through ages past. I have wandered through the 
 valleys of Switzerland and have stood on the crest of her 
 mighty Alps and looked upon the plains of Italy with all 
 the emotions that her history aroused. I have descended 
 and walked in the streets of the "eternal city," treading 
 the same stones that Caesar hath trod; and looking upon 
 the " walls that echoed to the tread of either Brutus," I have 
 groped my way through the labyrinthine corridors of the 
 Catacombs and looked upon the resting place of the early 
 martyrs of the church. I have wandered through Floren- 
 tine palaces made memorable by the Medici; I have visited 
 the battle-fields of Napoleon and have witnessed the pomp 
 and pride of modern military power. I have seen the 
 beauties of the Rhine and the grandeur of the Alps. I 
 have seen all conditions of people on the continent, and 
 have observed their institutions and studied their effects
 
 — 276 — 
 
 upon the people. I have, I believe, seen all that is calcu- 
 lated to arouse the emotions and stir the heart to pity. 
 And with it all, I have seen no place or thing which 
 made me regret being an American. The proudest 
 moment of my life was when coming away from the old 
 world, I first again beheld my native land. Now, for the 
 first time, I really knew the difference between the insti- 
 tutions of my own land and those of other lands. I now, 
 knew that to be an American, is to enjoy liberties and 
 
 blessings that are vouchsafed to no other people on earth. 
 " Land of my sires! what mortal hand 
 Can e'er untie the filial band 
 That knits me to thy rugged strand!" 
 
 To a student of human nature, no better opportunity 
 to prosecute his researches in his special study could be 
 presented than a "tramp trip," with a score of compan- 
 ions, in Europe. 
 
 During three or four months of such travel, with all 
 its delights, and vicissitudes, the real nature of the indi- 
 vidual will reveal itself in many ways and in many places, 
 and at many times in spite of all efforts to the contrary. 
 
 It is really interesting to note how one will maintain 
 his equanimity in trying circumstances while another will 
 lose control of himself entirely. One will always be cheer- 
 ful and agreeable while another delights to make himself 
 and the whole party feel disagreeable and out of sorts. 
 
 Given a party of twenty people, and it may be safely 
 written that the individual tastes differ, the temperaments 
 are unlike, the expectations vary, realizations are disap- 
 pointing, but to each in a different degree: and the director
 
 — 277 — 
 
 or manager who satisfies each, and the party as a whole, 
 not only must possess versatility, an aptitude for Hercu- 
 lean efforts, a wonderful tact and a keen insight into hu- 
 man nature, but he must also be one of the greatest of 
 heroes. 
 
 What does the poor director not have to do? He 
 must look after the luggage of twenty people, he must 
 attend to twenty sea-sick mortals and be snarled at and 
 sworn at for his pains; he is expected to buy more pleas- 
 ure, better hotel accommodations, hire more luxurious car- 
 riages and coveyances, do more personal favors, convey 
 more information, obtain better guides and do more im- 
 possible things for less money than any other mortal 
 man. He becomes the subject of unwarranted criticism, 
 harsh censure, and cruel ingratitude on the part of those 
 whom he is striving by every means in his power to benefit 
 and to please. Three months with such a party will give 
 the novelist material for a library. The actions, speech 
 and general conduct are sometimes pathetic, some- 
 times ridiculous; but more often they are the expres- 
 sion of one's real nature untrammeled by the restraints 
 of conventionality. During all the time, each individual 
 is a study. He cannot help it any more than he can help 
 his nature. If the individual is selfish, his selfishness is 
 revealed by always wanting the best seat in the car or the 
 carriage, or the best post of observation. If he is single 
 and inclined to fall in love, he generally succeeds in get- 
 ting in love with those of his own party, of course, several 
 times before the trip is ended. If he is disposed to exag- 
 gerate, he is continually doing some wonderful exploit
 
 — 278 — 
 
 which he never wearies oi telling. If he is vain, his feel- 
 ings are continually hurt, he is always imposed upon, 
 or forever neglected by the director and he takes every 
 opportunity to tell how ardently he wishes that he had 
 made the trip with some other party. In making a trip 
 in Europe, hundreds of ills, grievances and annoyances 
 come to him who will but look for them. Why do so 
 many look upon the dark side of things ? They go out 
 to find pleasure and receive pain. Annoyances there are, 
 many of them ; but the pleasure, the increased knowledge, 
 the broadened view of things, the hundreds of valuable 
 facts that come from observation, are more than enough 
 to blot out all vexations. 
 
 It may be said that the foregoing comments are not 
 
 very flattering to the personnel of the party. Of course, 
 I am talking not of ours, but of the "other party." 
 
 But in truth, however cultured, however refined, 
 however to the "Manor born," the careful, polished, cul- 
 tured gentleman zvill sometimes forget himself, during 
 a "tramp trip" in Europe. He ought not to do so, but 
 he does. 
 
 \ It is a trite saying, "that I want to travel in my own 
 country before I go abroad." This sounds very pretty 
 and patriotic, and all that, but after all ic depends very 
 much upon one's object in traveling. If you are going 
 only to see mountains, then by all means visit ours. 
 
 I have seen as good scenery, as wild and rugged 
 gulches, as steep mountain sides, as beautiful valleys, as 
 pretty streams in Colorado, as I ever saw in Switzerland.
 
 — 279 — 
 
 Are you going to see blue skies in sunny Italy? By all 
 means then stay in Indiana. I have seen as blue sky, as 
 glorious sunsets, as wonderful combinations of sky and 
 cloud and sunlight in Indiana as ever poet sang of in 
 Italy. Are you going to see cities, merely as cities ? Then 
 do not leave America. 
 
 Do you only want to see the beauty of the Rhine 
 scenery? Then go no further than the Hudson. The 
 writer had visited a considerable portion of his country 
 before he went to Europe. He did not go to see these 
 things except as they are incidents of the trip. He was 
 interested in the conditions of toiling millions of his fellow 
 men living in countries whose government has been 
 called the only proper form, while his own government 
 is called, by philosophers, an "experiment." He went to 
 Europe to see, for himself, what centuries of civilization 
 have done for the millions there. 
 
 The conditions of the people, the institutions, the 
 customs and the manners, the lines along which society 
 is molded, the visible effects upon mankind of these 
 institutions are to be seen there, not here. A trip through 
 Great Britain and continental Europe, to one who ob- 
 serves with ordinary care and accuracy, is a liberal edu- 
 cation. To the student of economic questions, nothing 
 could be more desirable. 
 
 Having the experience fresh in mind, the writer can 
 conscientiously say to all who have the time and money 
 and who are inclined to learn, and to grow, that such a 
 trip as   ' The University Tramp, ' ' will be of great value
 
 — 28o — 
 
 to them, even if they -have not traveled through their 
 own country. 
 
 I cannot close without making- my acknowledg- 
 ments to our director for the energy, tact, kindness and 
 ability which he brought to the discharge of his duties. 
 Tried as no man was ever tried before, the director of a 
 party, brought together from several States and the mem- 
 bers of which differed widely in tastes, desires and incli- 
 nations, many of whom did not hesitate to express their 
 thoughts, upon little provocation, he cheerfully and earn- 
 estly sought to make the trip pleasant and agreeable 
 to each member; sacrificed his own rest and pleasure to 
 minister to the wants of others; gave valuable suggestions 
 as occasion required; was ever accommodating, kind, 
 courteous and genial. He sought, at all times, to secure 
 us the best accommodations at the least possible price, and 
 was always considerate and careful of our interests and 
 faithfully discharged the duties which devolved upon him. 
 I can cordially commend, to his care and protection, any 
 who desire to take a summer outing in Europe.
 
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