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A TRAMP ABROAD;

ILLU8TRATBD BT W. FR. BROWK, TRUB WITJ.IAMR, B. DAT AITD OTBU

ARTISTS — WITH AI^O THRBB OR FOUR PIOTURBS MADB BT

TUB AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK, WITHOUT OUTSIOB BBLP.

MARK T\A/^AIN,

(BAMUBL L. OLBMBMg.)

ROSE PUBLISHING COMPANY.

^ *

ntlNnO AHDBOUlfO

HUNTER. &0S£ & OO,
voBona

' i !

A TRAMP ABROAD.

CHAPTER L

ONE d»y it ooetirred to me that it had been many yean tinM
the world had been afforded the spectacle of a man adven*
turous enough to undertake a journey through Europe on foot.
After much thought, I decided that I was a person fitted to fur*
nish to mankind this spectacle. So I determined to do it. Thia
was in March, 1878.

I looked about me for the right sort of person to accompany
me in the capacity of agent, and finally hired a Mr. Harris for
this service.

It was also my purpose to study art while in Europe. Mr.
Harris was in sympathy with me in this. He was as much of an
enthusiast in art as I was, and not less anxious to learn to paint.
I desired to learn the German language ; so did Harris.

Toward the middle of April we sailed in the Holiatiaj Capi.
Brandt, and had a very pleasant trip indeed.

After a brief rest at Hamburg, we made preparation! ^r? *
long pedestrian trip southward in the soft spring weather, bu^ ;«%
the last moment we changed the programme, for private reasonai
and took4;he express train.

We made a short halt at FrankfortH>n-the-Main, and found ii
an interesting city. I would have liked to visit the birth-place
of Guttenberg, but it could not be done, as no memorandum of
the Bite of the house has been kept. So we spent an hour in the
Goethe mansion instead. The city permits this house to belong
to private parties, instead of gracing and dignifying herself with
the honor of possessing and protecting it.

Frankfort is one of the sixteen cities which have the diiti&O*
tion of being the place where the following incident cicounrecL
Charlemagne, while chasing the Saxone^ (as he said,) or beinf
ehased bv th*»Tn. ^•' ' r '.• of ih*» river

1 A TB\in> ABROAD.

at dawn, In a fog. The enemy were either before him or behind
him ; but in any case he wanted to get across, very badly. He
would have given anything for a guide, but none was to be had.
Presently he saw a deer, followed by her young, approach the
water. He watched her, judging that she would seek a ford, and
he was right. She waded over, and the army followed. Ho a
great Prankish victory or defeat was gained or avoided ; and in
order to commemorate the episode, Charlomagne commanded a
city to be built there, which he named Frankfort, — the ford of
the Franks. None of the other cities where this event happened
were named from it. This is good evidence that Frankfort was
the first place it occurred at.

Frankfort has another distinction, — It is the birthplace of the
German ali)habet : or at least of the German word for alphabet, —
Buehstaben. They say that the first movable types were made
on birch sticks, — Buchatabe, — hence the name.

I was taught a lesson in political economy in Frankfort. 1
had brought from home a box containing a thousand very cheap
cigars. By way of experiment, I stepped into a little shop in a
queer old back street, took four gaily decorated boxes of wax
matches and three cigars, and laid down a silver piece worth 48
cents. The man gave me 43 cents change.

In Frankfort everybody wears clean clothes, and I think we
noticed that this strange thing was the case in Hamburg too, and
in the villages along the road. Even in the narrowest and poor-
est and most ancient quarters of Frankfort neat and clean
clothes were the rule. The little children of both sexes were
nearly always nice enough to take into a body's lap. And as fbr
the uniforms of the soldiers, they were newness and brightness
carried to perfection. One could never detect a smirch or a
grain of dust upon them. The street car conductors and drivers
wore pretty unifo ms which seemed to be just out of the band*
box, and the> manners were as fine as their clothes.

In one of the shops 1 had the luck to stumble upon a book
which has charmed me nearly to death. It is entitled '^The
Legends of the Rhine from Basle to Rotterdam, by F. J. Kiefer }
Translated by L. W. Garnham, B. A."

All tourists mention the Rhine legends, — in that sort of way
which quietly pretends that the mentioner has been familiar

A TBAMV ABROAD*

with them all hit life, and that the reader cannot poniblj be
Ignorant of them, — but no touriit ever t$ll9 them. So thia little
book fed me in a very hungry place ; and I, in my turn, intend to
feed my reader, with one or two little lunches from the same
larder. 1 shall not mar Oamham's translation by meddling with
its English ; for the most toothsome thing about it is its quaint
fashion of building English sentences on the German plan, — and
punctuating them according to no plan at all.

In the chapter devoted to " Legends of Frankfort," I find the
following :

'^THB KNAVa OF BBRGRN/*

''In Frankfort at the Romer was a great mask-ball, at the
coronation festival, and in the illuminated saloon, the clanging
music invited to dance, and splendidly appeared the rich toileta
and charms of the ladies, and the festively costumed Princes and ,
Knights. All seemed pleasure, joy, and roguish gayety, only one
of the numerous guests had a gloomy exterior ; but exactly the
black armor in which he walked about excited general attention,
and his tall figure, as well as the noble propriety of his move*
monts, attracted especially the regards of the ladies. Who the
Knight was ? Nobody could guess, for his Visier was well closed,
and nothing made him recognizable. Proud and yet modest he
advanced to the Empress : bowed on one knee before her seat,
and begged for the favor of a waits with the Queen of the festival.
And she allowed his request. With light and graeeful steps he
danced through the long saloon, with %he sovereign who thought
never to have found a more dexterous and excellent dancer.
But also by the grace of his manner, and fine conversation he
knew to win the Queen, and she graciously accorded him a
second dance for which he begged, a third, and a fourth, as well
as others were nut refused him. How all regarded the happy
dancer, how many envied him the high favor; how increased
curiosity, who the masked knight could be.

Also the Emperor became more and more excited with ourioa*
ity, and with great suspense one awaited the hour, when accord*
ing to mask-law, each masked guest must make himself known.
This moment came, but although all others had unmasked ; the
secret knight still refused to allow his features to be seen, tiU at
last the Queen driven by curiosity, and vexed at the obatinate r*>

If A TBIMP ABBOAD.

ftual, oommandttd him to op«n hia Vitier. He opened it, and n<m«
of the high l«diea and knighta knew him. But from the crowded
■peotatora, two officials advanced, who recognised the black
dancer, and horror and terror spread in the saloon, as they said
who the supposed knight was. It was the executioner of Bergen.
But glowing with rage, the King commanded to seise the criminat
and lead him to death, who had ventured to dance, with the
queen ; so disgraced the Empress, and insulted the crown. The
oulpable threw himself at the feet of the Emperor, and said, —

'* * Indeed I have heavily sinned against all noble guests as8em
bled here, but most heavily against you my sovereign and my
queen. The Queen is insulted by my haughtiness equal to treason,
but no punishment even blood, will not be able to wash out the
disgrace, which you have suffered by me. Therefore, oh King I
allow m» to propose a remedy, to efface the shame, and to render
it as if not done. Draw your sword and knight me, then I wilJ
throw down my gauntlet, to every one who dai*es to speak disre*
■pectfully of my king.'

" The Emperor was surprised at this bold proposal, however it
appeared the wisest to him ; * You are a knave,' he replied, after
ft moment's consideration, * however your advice is good, and
displays prudence, as your offense shows adventurous courage.
Well, then, and gave him the knight-stroke, so I raise you to
nobility, who begged for grace for your offense now kneels before
me, rise as knight ; knavish you have acted, and Knave of Bergen
•hall you be called henceforth, and gladly the Black knight rose ;
three cheers were given in honor of the Emperor, and loud cries
of joy testified the approbation with which the Queen danced
■tiU onoawith the Knave of Bergen.

v'^S--

CHAPTER n.

TTI itopped at a hotel bj the railway station. Next morning,
« * aa we sat in my room waiting for breakfaat to oome up, we
got a good deal interested in something which was going on over
the way, in front of another hotel. First, the personage who it
called a portier, (who is not the porter, but is a sort of a first*
mate oi a hotel,) appeared at the door in a spick and span new
blue cloth uniform, decorated with shining brass buitons, and
with bands of gold lace around his cap and wristbands ; and he
wore white gloves, too. He shed an official glance upon the
situation, and then began to give orders. Two women servants
came out with pails and brooms and brushes, and gave the side-
walk a thorough scrubbing ; meanwhile two others scrubbed the
four marble steps which led up to the door ; beyond these we
could see sf)me men-servants taking up the carpet of the grand
staircase. This carpet was carried away and the last grain of
dust beaten and banged and swept out of it ; then brought back
and put down again. The brass stair rods received an exhaustive
polishing and were returned to their places. Now a troop of
servants brought pots and tubs of blooming plants and formed
them into a beautiful jungle about the door and the base of the
staircase. Other servants adorned all the balconies of the various
stories with flowers and banners ; others ascended to the roof
and hoisted a great flag on a staff there. Now came some more
chamber-maids and retouched the sidewalk, and afterwards wiped
the marble steps with damp cloths and finished by dusting them
ofi" with feather brushes. Now a broad black carpet was brought
out and laid down the marble steps and out across the sidewalk
to the curbstone. The portier cast his eye along it, and found
it was not absolutely straight ; he commanded it to be straight'
ened ; the servants made the effort — made several efforts, in fact
— but the portier was not satisfied. He finally had it taken up,
and then he put it down himself and got it right.

▲ TBAMP ABROAD.

At this stage of the proceedings, a narrow bright red carpet
wax unrolled and stretched from the top of the marble steps to
iho curbstone, along the centre of the black carpet. This red
path cost the portier more trouble than even the black one had
done. But he patiently fixed and re-fixed it until it was exactly
right and lay precisely in the middle of the black carpet. In
New York these performances would have gathered a mighty
crowd of curious and intensely interested spectators ; but here
it only captured an audience of half a-dozen little boys, who stood
in a row across the pavement, some with their school knapsacks
on their backs and their hands in their pockets, others with arms
full of bundles, and all absorbed in the show. Occasionally one
of them skipped irreverently over the carpet and took up a
position on the other side. This always visibly annoyed the
portier.

Now came a waiting interval. The landlord, in plain clothes,
and bareheaded, placed himself on the bottom marble step,
aoreant the portier, who stood on the other end of the same
steps ; six or eight waiters, gloved, bareheaded, and wearing theii
whitest linen, their whitest cravats, and their finest swallow-taiU,
grouped themselves about these chiefs, but leaving the carpet-
way clear. Kobody moved or spoke any more but only waited.

In a short time the shrill piping of a coming train was heard,
and immediately groups of people began to gather in the street.
Two or three open carriages arrived, and deposited some maids
of honor and some male officials at the hotel. Presently another
open carriage brought the Grand Duke of Baden, a stately man in
uniform, who wore the handsome brass-mounted, steel-spiked
helmet of the army on his head. Last came the Empress of
Germany and the Grand Duchess of Baden in a close carriage ;
these passed through the low-bowing groups of servants and
disappeared in the hotel, exhibiting to us only the backs of their
heads, and then the show was over.

It appears to be as difficult to land a monarch as it is to launch
a ship.

But as to Heidelberg. The weather was growing pretty warm— •
Tery warm, m fact. So we left the valley and took quarters at
the Schloss Hotel, on the hill, above tlie Castle.

Heidelberg lies at the mouth of a narrow gorge-^a gorge tho

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

to launch

Sorge the

■hspe of « shepherd's crook ; if one looks up it he pere^tTes that
it 18 about straight, for a mile and a half, then makes a sharp
curve to the right and disappears. This gorge, — along whose
bottom pours the swift Neckar, — is confined between (or cloven
throi*}^h) a couple of long, sleep ridges, a thousand feet high and
densely wooded clear to their HUiim)its,with the exception of one
section which has been shaved and put under f^ultivation. These
ridgeti are chopped off at the mouth of the gorge and form two
bold uiid conspicuous headlands, with Heidelberg nestling
between them ; from their bases spreads away the vast dim
expanse of the Rhine valley, and into this expanse the Neckar
goes wandering in shinnig curves and is presently lost to view.

Now if one turns and looks up the gorge once more, he will see
the Schloss hotel on the right, perched on a precipice overlooking
the Neckar, — a precipice which is so sumptuously cushioned and
draped with foliage that no glimpse Oi the rock appears. The
building seems very airily situated. It has the appearance of
being on a shelf half way up the wooded mountain side ; and as
it is remote and isolated, and very white, it makes a strong mark
against the lofty, leah ^ampart at its back.

This hotel had a feature which was a decided novelty ; and one
which might be adopted with advantage by any house which is
perched in a commanding situation. This feature may be
described as a series of glass enclosed parlors clinging to tht
outside of the house, one against each and every bedchumher and
drawing-room. They are like long, narrow, high-ceiled birdcages
hung against the building. My room was a corner room, and had
two of these things, a north one and a west one.

From the north cage one looks up the Neckar gorge ; from the
west one he looks down it. This last affords the most extensive
view, and it is one of the loveliest that can be imagined, too. Out
of a billowy upheaval of vivid green foliage, a rifle shot removed,
rises the huge ruin of Heidelberg Castle, with empty window
arches, ivy-mailed battlements, moldering towers — the Lear of
inanimate nature, — deserted, discrowned, beaten by the storms,
but royal still, and beautiful. It is a fine sight to see the evening
sunlight suddenly strike the leafy declivity at the Castle's base
and dash up it and drench it as with a luminous spray, while the
macent groves are in deep shadow.

A TRAMP AHtOAO.

•i (

Bdiind the Castle swells a great dome-shaped hill, forestKslad,
and beyond that a nobler and loftier one. The Castle looks down
npon the compact brown-roofed town ; and from the town two
picturesque old bridges span the river. Now the view broadens ;
through the gateway of the sentinel headlands you gaze out over
the wide Rhine plain, which stretches away, softly and richly
tinted, grows gradually and dreamily indistinct, and finally<inelte
imperceptibly into the remote horizon.

I have never enjoyed a view which had such a serene and
satisfying charm about it as this one gives.

The first night . e were there, we went to bed and to sle^p early ;
but I awoke at the end of two or three hours, and lay a comfort-
able while listening to the soothing patter of the rain against the
balcony windows. I took it to be rain, but it turned out to be
only the murmur of the restless Neckar, tumbling over her dikes
and dams far below, in the gorge. I got up and went into the
west balcony and saw a wonderful sight. Away down on the
level, under the black mass of the Castle, the town lay, stretched
along the river, its intricate cobweb of streets jeweled with
twinkling lights ; there were rows of lights on the bridges ; these
flung lances of light upon the water, in the black shadows of the
arches ; and away at the extremity of all this fairy spectacle
blinked and glowed a massed multitude of gas jets which seemed
to cover acres of ground ; it was as if all the diamonds in the
world had been spread out there. I did not know before, that a
half mile of sextuple railway tracks could be made such an
adornment.

Vne thinks Heidelberg by day — with its surroundings— is the
last possibility of the beautiful ; but when he sees Heidelberg by
ni;;ht, a fallen Milky Way, with that glittering railway constello-
tion pinned to the border, he requires time to consider upon the
verdict.

One never tires of poking about in the dense woods that clothe
all these lofty Neckar hills to their tops. The great deeps of a
boundless forest have a beguiling and impressive charm in any
country ; but German legends and fairy tales have given these an
added charm. They have peopled all that region with gnomes,
and dwarfs, and all other sorts of mysterious and uncanny
ereaturen At ihft time I am writing of, I had been reading so

A TRAMP ABROAD.

serene and

m^eh of this litentnre that sometlmei I wm not snro but I wa»
beginning to believe in the gnomes and fairiea as realities.

One afternoon I got lost in the woods about a mile from tb^
hotel, and presently fell into a train of dreamy thought about
animals which talk, and kobolds, and enchanted folk, and the
rest of the pleasant legendary stuff; and so, by stimulating my
fancy, I finally got to imagining I glimpsed small flitting shapes
here and there down the columned aisles of the forest. It was a
place which was peculiarly meet for the occasion. It was a pine
wood, with so thick and soft a carpet of brown needles that one's
footfall made no more sound than if he was treading on wool ;
the tree-trunks were as round and straight and smooth as pillars,
and stood close together; they were bare of branches to a point
about twenty-five feet above ground, and from there upward so
thick with boughs that not a ray of sunlight could pierce through,
llie world was bright with sunshine outside, but a deep and
mellow twilight reigned in there, and also a silence so profound
that I seemed to hear my own breathings.

When I had stood ten minutes, thinking and imagining, and
getting my spirit in tune with the place, and in the right mood to
enjoy the supernatural, a raven suddenly uttered a hoarse croak
over my head. It made me start ; and then I was angry because
I started. I looked up, and the creature was sitting on a limb
right over me, looking down at me. I felt something of the same
sense of humiliation and injury which one feels when he finds
that a human stranger has been clandestinely inspecting him in
his privacy and mentally commenting upon him. I eyed the
raven, and the raven eyed me. Nothing was said during some
seconds. Then the bird stepped a little way along, his limb to
get a better point of observation, lifted his wings, stuck his head
far down below his shoulders toward me, and croaked again — a
croak with a distinctly insulting expression about it. If he had
spoken in English he could not have said any more plainly than
he did say in raven, " Well, what do you want here ?" I felt as
foolish as if I had been caught in some mean act by a responsible
being, and reproved for it. HoT/ever, I made no reply ; I would
not bandy words with a raven. The adversary waited a while,
with his shoulders still lifted, his head thrust down between
them, and his keen bright eye fixed on me : then he threw out

A TBAVP ABBOAD.

two or three more insults, which I could not understand, ftirtb«r
than that I knew a portion of them consisted of Unguage not
us^ in church.

I still made no reply. Now the adversary raised his head and
called. There was an answering croak from a little distance iq
the wood— evidently a croak of inquiry. The adversary ex<
plained with enthusiasm, and the other raven dropped every-
thing and came. The two sat side by side on the limb and
discussed me as freely and offensively as two great naturalists
might discuss a new kind of bug. The thing became more and
more embarrassing. They called in another friend. This was
too much. I saw that they had the advantage of me, and so I
concluded to get out of the scrape by walking out of it. They
enjoyed my defeat as much as any low white people could have
done. They craned their .lecks and laughed at me, (for a raven
can laugh, just like a man,) they squalled insulting remarks after
me as long as they could see me. They were nothing but ravens

I knew that — what they thought about me could be a matter

of no consequence — and yet when even a raven shouts after you,
" What a hat I" " 0, pull down your vest 1" and that sort of
thing, it hurts you and humiliates you, and there is no getting
around it with line reasoning and pretty arguments.

Animals talk to each other, of course. There can be no quea.
tion about that ; but I suppose there are very few people who
can understand them. I never knew but one man who could.
I knew he could, however, because he told me so himself. He
was a middle-aged, simple-hearted miner who had lived in a
lonely comer of California, among the woods and mountains, a
good many years, and had studied the ways of his only neigh-
bors, the beasts and the birds, until he believed he could accu-
rately translate any remark which they made. This was Jim
Baker. According to Jim Baker, some animals have only a
limited education, and use only very simple words, and scarcely
ever a comparison or a flowery figure ; whereas, certain other
animals have a large vocabulary, a fine command of language
and a ready and fluent delivery ; consequently these latier talk
a great deal ; they like it ; they are conscious of their talent^
and ei\joy *' showing off." Baker said, that after long and careful
obMnration, he had come to the conclusion that the blue jay*

4 TIUMP ABBOAB.

wera Um b«tt talkers he had foiind among birds and beasta.
Said he :—

" There's more to a blue-jay than any other creature. He hat
got more moods, and more different kinds of feelings than any
other creature ; and mind you, whatever a blue-jay feels, he can
put into language. And no mere common-place language, eithen
but rattling, out-and-out book-talk — and bristling with metaphor,
too— just bristling I And as for command of langnage — why you
never see a blue-jay get stuck for a word. No man ever did*
They just boil out of him I And another thing : I've noticed a
good deal, and there's no bird, or cow, or anything that uses as
good grammar as a blue-jay. You may say a cat uses good
grammar. Well, a cat does — but you let a cat get excited once ;
you let a cat get to pulling fur with another cat on a shedy
nights, and you'll hear grammar that will give you the lockjaw.
Ignorant people think it's the noise which fighting cats make
that is so aggravating, but it ain't so ; it's the sickening grammar
they use. Now I've never heard a jay use bad grammar but very
seldom ; and when they do, they are as ashamed as a human ;
they shut right down and leave.

" You may call a jay a bird. Well, so ho is, in a measure—
because he's got feathers on him, and don't belong to no church|
perhaps ; but otherwise he's just as much a human as you be.
And I'll tell you for why A jay's gifts, and instincts, and feel-
ings, and interests, cover the whole ground. A jay hasn't got
any more principle than a Congressman. A jay will lie, a jay
will steal, a jay will deceive, a jay will betray ; and four times
out of five, a jay will go back on his solemnest promise. The
sacredness of an obligation is a thing which you can't cram into
no blue-jay's head. Now on top of all this, there's another thing :
a jay can out-swear any gentleman in the mines. You think a
cat can swear. Well, a cat can ; but you give a blue-jay a sub-
ject that calls for his reserve powers, and where is your cat?
Don't talk to me — I know too much about this thing. And
there's yet another thing : in the one little particular of scolding
—just good, clean, out-and-out scolding — a blue-jay can lay over
anything, hur^an or divine. Yes, sir, a jay is everything that a
man is. A jay can cry, a jay can laugh, a jay can feel shame, ft
jay can reason and plan and discuss, a jay likes gossip and

J I

A TRAMP ABBOAO.

dal. a jay has got a sense of humor, a jay knows whea he is hi
ass just as well as you do — maybe better. If a jay ain't human,
he'd better take in his sign, that's all. Now I'm going feo tell
you a perfectly true fact about some blue-jays."

CHAPTER in.

* ^ "ITTHEN I first begun to understand jay language eorreotly^
* * there was a little incident happened here. Seven yearn
ago, the last man in this region but me, moved away. There
stands his house> — been empty ever since ; a log house, with a
plank roof— just one big room, and no more ; no ceiling^nothing
between the rafters and the floor. Well, one Sunday morning I
was sitting out here in front of my cabin. With my cat, taking the
sun, and looking at the bliie hills, and listening to the leaves
rustling so lonely in the trees, and thinking of the home away
yonder in the States^ and I hadn't heard from in thirteen years,
when a blue jay lit on that house, with an acorn in his mouth,
and says, ' Hello, I reckon I've struck something.' When he
spoke, the acorn droppod out of his mouth and rolled down the
roof, of course, but he didn't care ; his mind was all on the thing
he had struck. It was a knot-hole in the roof. He cocked his
head to one side, shut one eye and put the other one to the hole^
like a 'possum looking down a jug; then he glanced up with his
bright eyes, gave a wink or two with his wings — which signifies
gratification, you understand, — and says, * I^ looks like a hole,
it's located like a hole, — blamed if I don't believe it is a hole I'

'' Then he cocked his head down and took another look ; he
glances up perfectly joyful, this time ; winks his wings and his
tail both, and says, ' 0, no, this ain't no fat thing, I reckon 1 If I
ain't in luck ! — why it's a perfectly elegant hole 1' So he flew
down and got that acorn, and fetched it up and dropped it in,
and was just tilting his head back, with the heavenliest smile on
his face, when all of a sudden he was paralyzed into a listening
attitude and that smile faded gradually out of his countenance
like breath ofifn a razor, and the queerest look of surprise took
Itt place. Then he says/ Why, I didn't hear it fall r HeoockeA

*-k.

A TEiMP ABBOiD.

B whem he is Ml
ay ain't human,
['m going to tell

pxikget oorreotly,
re. Seven year*
id away. There
>g house, with a
ceiling — nothing
nday morning I
Y cat, taUng the
g to the leaves
the home away
I thirteen years,
in his mouth,
ing.' When he
'olled down the
all on tho thing
He cocked his
one to the hole^
led up with his
which signifies
iks like a hole,
it ia a hole I'
,other look; he
wings and his
I reckon ! If I
1' So he flew
dropped it in,
inliest smile on
to a listening
s countenance
surprise took
1' He oockMl

hii «T« at the hole again, and took a long look ; raised ap and
•hook his head ; stepped around to the other side of the hole and
took another look from that side ; shook his head again. He
studied a while, then he just went into the details— walked round
and round the hole and spied into it from every point of the
oompass. No use. Now he took a thinking attitude on the comb
of the roof and scratched the back of his head with his right
ibot a minute, and finally says, ' Well, it's too many for me, that's
certain; must be a mighty long hole; however,! ain't, got no
time to fool aroimd here, I got to 'tend to business ; I reckon it's
all right— chance it, anyway.'

" So he flew off and fetched another acorn and dropped it in,
and tried to flirt his eye to the hole quick enough to see what
become of it, but he was too late. He held his eye there aa
much as a minute ; then he raised up and sighed, and says, ' Con'
•ound it, I don't seem to understand this thing, no way ; however)
I'll tackle her again.' He fetched another acorn, and done his
level best to see what become of it, but he couldn't. He says,
< Well, / never struck no such a hole as this, before ; I'm of the
ojiinion it's a totally new kind of a hole.' Then he begun to get
mad. He held in for a spell, walking up and down the comb of
the roof and shaking his head and muttering to himself ; but his
feelings got the upper hand of him, presently, and he broke loose
and cussed himself black in the face. I never see a bird take
on so about a little thing. When he got through he walks to the
hole and looks in ; gain for half a minute ; then he says, * Well,
you're a long hole, and a deep hole, and a mighty singular hole
altogether — but I've started in to fill you, and I'm d — d if I don^t
fill you, if it takes a hundred years 1' • -

" And with that, away he went. You never see a bird work so
since you was bom. He laid into his work like a nigger, and the
way he hove acorns into that hole for about two hours and a half
was one of the most exciting and astonishing spectacles I ever
struck. He never stopped to take a look any more— he just
hove 'em m and went for more. Well at last he could hardly
flop his wings, he was so tuckered out. He comes a-drooping
down, once more, sweating like an ice-pitcher, drops his acorn in
and says, ' Now I guess I've got the bulge on you by this time 1*
So he benfc down for a look. If you'll believe mo, when hia head

A TRUf? ABROAD.

eome up again he was just pale with rage. He says, ' I've shoveled
Acoms enough in there to keep the family thirty years, and if I
can see a sign of one of 'em 1 wish I may land in a museum with
» belly full of sawdust in two minutes I'

" He just had strength enough to crawl up on to the comb and
lean his back agin the chiml>ly, and then he collected his impres-
sionf and begim to free his mind. I see in a second that what 1
had mistook for profanity in the mines was only just the rudi-
ments', as you may say.

" Another jay was going by, and heard him doing his devotions,
and stops to inquire *what was up. The sufferer, told him the
whole circumstance, and says, * Now yonder's the hole, and if
you don't believe me, go and look for yourself.' So this fellow
went and looked, and tsomes back and says, ' How many did you
say you put in there ?' ' Not any less than two tons,' says the
sufferer. The other jay went and looked again. He couldn't
seem to make it out, so he raised a yell, and three more jays
. oome. They all examined the hole, they all made the sufferer
tell it over again, then they all discussed it, and got off as many
leather-headed opinions about it as an average crowd of humans
could have done.

'* lliey called in more jays j then more and more, till pretty
soon this whole region 'peared to have a blue flush about it.
. There must have been five thousand of them ; and such another
jawing and disputing and ripping and cussing, you never heard.
Every jay in the whole lot put his eye to the hole and delivered
a more chuckle headed opinion about the mystery than the jay
that went there before him. They examined the house all over,
too. The door was standing half open, and at last one old jay
liappened to go and light on it and look in. Of course that
knocked the mystery galley-west in a second. There lay the
acorns, scattered all over the floor. He flopped his wings and
raised a whoop. * Come here I' he says, ' Come here, everybody j
bang'd if this fool hasn't been trying to fill up a house with
acorns I' They all came a-swooping down like a blue cloud, and
as each fellow lit on the door and took a glance, the whole absur-
dity of the contract that that first jay had tackled hit him home
and he fell over backwards suffocating with laughter, and the
next jay took his place and done the same.

A TBAMP ABROAD.

** Well, sir, they roosted around here on the honse-top and th«
trees for an hour, and guffawed over that thing like human
beings. It ain't any use to tell me a blue-jay hasn't got a sense
of humor, because I kno# better. And memory, too. They
brought jays -here from all over the United States to look down
that hole, erery summer for three years. Other birds, too. And
they could all see the point, except an owl that come from Nova
Scotia to visit the Yo Semite, and he took this thing in on hit
way back. He said he couldn't see anything funny in it, • But
then he was a good deal disappointed about Yo Semite, too."

CHAPTER IV.

THE summer semester was in full tide ; consequently the mot!
frequent figure in and about Heidelberg was the student*
Most of the students were Germans, of course, but the represen*
tativQS of foreign lands were very numerous. They hailed from
every corner of the globe — for instruction is cheap in Heidelberg,
and so is living, too. The Anglo-American Club, composed of
British and American students, had twenty-five members, and
there was still much material left to draw from.

Nine-tenths of the Heidelberg students wore no badge or
uniform ; the other tenth wore caps of various colors, and belonged
to social organizations called "corps." There were five corps,
each with a color of its own ; there were whit^ caps, blue caps,
and red, yellow, and green ones. The famous duel-fighting is
confined to the " corps" boys. The '' kneip'^ seems to be a
specialty of theirs, toa Kneips are held, now and then, to \
celebrate great occasions — like the election of a beer kvag, for
instance. The solemnity is simple ; the five corps assemble at
night, and at a signal they all fall loading themselves with beer,
out of pint-mugs, as fast as possible, and each man keeps his own
count — usually by laying aside a lucifer match for each mug he
empties. The election is soon decided. When tho candidates
can hold no more, a count is instituted and the one who has drank
the greatest number of pints is proclaimed king. I was told that
the last beer king elected by the corps — or by his own capabilitiea

A nUMF ABBOAS.

iptied liii mug leTentyfiva tiin«f. No stonMob eonld bold
ftll ihftt quantity at one time, of course — but there are wayi of
frequently creating a vacuum, which thoee who have been much
at tea will understand.

One sees so many students abroad at all hours, that he pre-
sently begins to wonder if they ever have any working hours.
Some of them have, some of them haven't. Each can choose for
himself whether he will work or play ; for German university life
is a Very free life ; it seems to have no restraints. The student
does not live in the college buildings, but hires his own lodgings,
in any locality he prefers, and he takes his meals when and where
he pleases. He goes to bed when it suits him, and does not get up
at all unless he wants to. He is not entered at the university for
any particular length of time ; so he is likely to change about.
He passes no examination upon entering college. He merely
pays a trifling fee of five or ten dollars, receives a card entitling
him to the privileges of the university, and that is the end of it.
He is now ready for business — or play, as he shall prefer. If he
elects to work, he finds a large list of lectures tb choose from« He
■elects the subjects which he will study, and enters his name for
these studies ; but he can skip attendance.

The result of this system is, that lecture courses upon specialties
of an unusual nature are often delivered to very slim audiences,
while those upon more practical and every-day matters of educa-
tion are delivered to very large ones. 1 heard of one case where,
day after day, the lecturer's audience consisted of three students
— and always the same three. But one day two of them remained
away. The lecturer began as usual —

'' Qentlemen," —

—then, without a smile,
he corrected himself, saying —

"Sir,"—
•1i ' —end went on with hit

discourse. v i i«^

i It is said that the vast majority of the Heidelberg students are
hard workers, and make the most of their opportunities ; that
they have no surplus means to spend in dissipation, and no time
to spare for frolickmg. One lecture follows right on the heels of
•nothert with very little time for the student to get out of one

A nUMP ABBOAO.

ihout a smile,

it on with hit

hail and iato th« next ; but the induttrioui ones muiAge it hj
going on % trot. The profeiaora Miist them in the saring of their
time by being promptly in their little boxedup pulpita when th«
hours strike, and as promptly out ngain when the hour finishee.
I entered an empty lecture room one day just before the clock
■truck. The place had simple, unpainted pine desks and
benches for about two hundred persons.

About a minute before the clock struck, a hundred and fifty
students swarmed in, rushed to their seats, immediately spread
open their note-books and dipped their pens in the ink. When
the clock began to strike, a burly professor entered, was received
with a round of applause, moved swiftly down the centre aisle,
said, " Gentlemen," and began to talk as he climbed his pulpit
steps ; and by the time he had arrived in his box and faced hia
audience, his lecture was well under way and all the pens were
going. He had no notes, he talked with prodigious rapidity and
energy for an hour — then the students began to remind him in
certain well understood ways that his time was up ; he seized his
hat, still talking, proceeded swiftly down his pulpit steps, got out
the last word of his discourse as he struck the tloor ; everybody
rose respectfully, and he swept rapidly, down the aisle and
disappeared. An instant rush for some other lecture room
followed, and in a minute I was alone with the empty benchea
once more.

Yes, without doubt, idle students are not the rule. Out of
eight hundred in the town, I knew the faces of only about fifty )
but these I saw everywhere, and daily. They walked about the
streets and the wooded hills, they drove in cabs, they boated on
the river, they sipped beer and coflfee, afternoons, in the Schloss
gardens. A good many of them wore the colored caps of the
corps. They were finely and fashionably dressed, their manners
were quite superb, and they led an easy, careless, comfortable
life. If a doeen of them sat together, and a lady or a gentleman
passed whom one of them knew and saluted, they all rose to
their feet and took off their caps. The members of a corps
always received a fellow-member in this way, too ; but they paid
no attention to members of other corps ; they did not seem to see
them. This was not a discourtesy } it was only a part of ths
•laborate and rigid corps etiquette.

ill

W A TIAMP ABMAS.

Thbf •••mi to be no chilly distance existing between thft
Oernuui itudents and the professor ; but on the contrary, •
eompanionable intercourse, the opposite of chilliness and reserve.
When the professor enters a beor hall in the evening where
■tudentfl are gathered together, these riso .^p and take off their
oaps, and invite the oiU gentleman to sit with them and partake.
He accepts, and the pleasi^nt talk and the beer flow for an hour
or two, and by and by the profissor, properly charged and com-
fortable, gives a cordial good night, while the students stand
bowing and uncovered ; and then he moves on his happy way
homeward with all his vast cargo of learning afloat in his hold.
Nobody finds fault or feels outraged ; no harm has been done.

It seemed to be a part of corps-etiquette to keep a dog or so,
too. I mean a corps-dog — the common property of the organiza-
tion, like the corps-steward or head servant; then there are
other dogs, owned by individuals.

On a summer afternoon in the Castle gardens, I have seen six
students march solemnly into the grounds, in single file, each
carrying a bright Chinese parasol and leading a prodigious dog
by a string. It was a very imposing spectacle. Sometimes there

AS IMPOSINO SPEOTAOUk

would be about as many dogs around the pavilion as students ;
and of all breeds and of all degrees of beauty and ugliness.
These dogs had a rather dry time of it ; for they were tied to the
beuohei and had no amusement for an hour or two at a tima

ii '^,

4 TMkM9 AMU>AD.

«ze«pt what th«7 ooold g«t oat of p»wing »t the gnats, or trying
to sleep and not succeeding. Howeveri they got a 1 -mp of sugar
occasionally— they were fond of that.

It seemed right and proper that r udenta shoukl indulge in
dogs ; but every body else had them, too, -old men and young
ones, old women and nice young ladies. If there is one spectacle
that is unpleananter than another, it is that of an elegantly
dressed young lady towing a dog by a string. It is said to be the
sign and symbol of blighted love. It seems to me that some
other way of advertising it might be devised, which Fould be
just as conspicuous and yet not so trying to the proprieties.

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 vigorously 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
dniversity can do for it is to perfect some of its profounder spe*
cialties. 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 befogged with uncertainty ; it is burnt into him
go 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 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, such as a particular branch of law, or medicine,
or philology — like international law, or diseases of the eye, or
special study of the ancient Gothic tongues. So this German
attends only the lectures which belongs 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 life is just what he needi
and likes and thoroughly appreciates ; and as it cannot last for-
ever, 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 o£Eicial or professional life.

i i

4 nUMP ABBOAA*

CHAPTER V

ONE day we took the train and went down to Manulieim to see
King Lear played in German. It was a mistake. We sat in
our seats' three whole hours and never understood nny thing but
the thunder and lightning ', and even that was reversed to suit
German ideas, for the thunder came first and the lightning fol-
lowed after. , . ' .

The behavior of the audience was perfect. There were no
rustlings, or whisperings, or other little disturbances ; each act
was listened to in silence, and the applauding was done after the
curtain was down. The doors opened at half-past four, the play
began promptly at half-past five, and within two minutes after-
ward all who were coming were in their seats, and quiet reigned.
A German gentleman in the train had said that a Shaksperian
play was an appreciated treat in Germany, and that we should
find the house filled. It was true ; all the six tiers were filled,
and remained so to the end — which suggested that it is not only
balcony people who like Shakespeare in Germany, but those of
the pit and the gallery, too.

Another time, we went to Mannheim and attended a shivaree
-—otherwise an opera — the one called Lohengrin. The banging
and slamming and booming and crashing were something beyona
belief. The racking and pitiless pain of it remains stored up in
my memory alongside the memory of the time that I had my
teeth fixed. There were circumstances which made it necessary
for me to stay through the four hours to the end, and I staid ;
but the recollection of that long, dragging, relentless season of
suffering is indestructible. To have to endure it in silence, and
sitting still, made it all the harder. I was in a railed compart-
ment with eight or ten strangers, of the two sexes, and this
compelled repression ; yet at times the |)ain was so exquisite
that I oould hardly keep the tears back. At those times, as the
bowlings and waUings and shiiekings of the singers, and the

A TBAMP ABROiD.

ngings And ronringt and explosions of th* vast orchestra rta%
higher and higher, and wilder and wilder, and fiercer and fiercer,
I could have cried if I had been alone. Those strangers would
not have been surprised to see a man do such a thing who «vaa
being gradually skinned, but they would have marveled at it
here, and made remarks about it no doubt, whereas there was
nothing in the present case which was an advantage over being
skinned. There was a wait of half an hour at the end of the
first act, and I could have gone out and rested during that time,
but I could not trust myself to do it, for I felt that I should
desert and stcay out. There was another wait of half an hour
toward nine o'clock, but I had gone through so much by that
time that I had no spirit left, and so had no desire but to be left
alone.

I do not wish to suggest that the rest of the people there
were like me, for indeed they were not. Whether it was that
they naturally liked that noise, or whether it was that they had
learned to like it by getting used to it, I did not at that time
know J but they did like it — this was plain enough. While it was
going on they sat and looked as rapt and grateful as cats do when
one strokes their backs ; and whenever the curtain fell they rose
to their feet, in one solid mighty multitude, and the air was
snowed thick with waving handkerchiefs, and hurricanes of
applause swept the place. This was not comprehensible to me.
Of course there were many people there who were not under
compulsion to stay ; yet the tiers were as full at the close as they
had been at the beginning. This showed that the people liked it.

It was a curious sort of a play. In the matter of costumes
and scenery it was fine and showy enough ; but there was not
much action. That is to say, there was not much really done, it
was only talked about ; and always violently. It was what one
might call a narrative play. Everybody had a narrative and ft
grievance, and none were reasonable about it but all in an
offensive and ungovernable state. There was little of that sort
of customary thing where the tenor and the soprano stand down
by the footlights, warbling, with blended voices, and keep holding
out their arms toward <^h other and drawing them back and
spreading both hands Over first AH0"lireast and then the other
witb A «]Mke and a pressure— U7dii'waS| every rioter for himsctlf

A nUMP ABBOABw

and no blending. Each sang his indictive narratire fai funit
accompanied by the whole orchestra of sixty instrumen'vii, ana
when this had continued for some time, and one was hoping they
might come to an understanding and modify the noise, a great
chorus composed entirely of maniacs would suddenly break forth,
and then during two minutes, and sometimes three, I lived over
again all that I had suffered the time the orphan asylum burned
/, down. ; .

/^ We only had one brief little season of heaven and heaven'i

sweet ecstasy and peace during all this long and diligent and
acrimonious reproduction of the other place. This was while a
gorgeous procession of people marched around and around, in
the third act, and sang the Wedding Chorus. To my untutored
ear that was music — almost divine music. While my seared soul
was steeped in the healing balm of those gracious sounds, it
seemed to me that I could almost re suffer the torments which
had gone before, in order to be so healed again. There is where
the deep ingenuity of the operatic idea is betrayed. It deals so
largely in pain that its scattered delights are prodigiously
augmented by the contrasts. A pretty air in an opera is prettier
there than it could be anywhere else, I suppose, just as an honest
man in politics shines more than he would elsewhere.

I have since found out that there is nothing the Germans like
80 much as an opera. They like it, not in a mild and moderate
way, but with their whole hearts. This is a legitimate result of
habit and education. Our nation will like the opera, too, by and
by, no doubt. One in fifty of those who attend our operas likes
it already, perhaps, but I think a good many of the other forty-
nine go in order to learn to like it, and the rest in order to be
able to talk knowingly about it. The latter usually hum the aira
while they are being sung, so that their neighbors may perceive
that they have been to operas before. The funerals of these do
not occur often enough.

A gentle, old-maidish person and a sweet young girl of seven-
teen sat right in front of us that night at the Mannheim opera.
These people talked, between the acts, and I understood them,
though I understood nothing that was uttered on the distant
* stage. At first they were guarded in their talk, but after they
hftd heard my ageat and m^ coaversing in English ih^y dropped

^ ;H'

A TRAMP ABBOiD.

their reserve and I picked up many of their little confidences ;
no, I mean many of her little confidences — meaning the elder
party — for the young girl only listened, and gave assenting nods,
i)ut never said a word. How pretty she was, and how sweet she
was I I wished she would speak. But evidently she was absorbed
in her own thoughts, her own young-girl dreams, and found a
dearer pleasure in silence. But she was not dreaming sleepy
dreams — no, she was awake, alive, alert, she could not sit still a
moment. She was an enchanting study. Her gown was of a soft
white silky stuff that clung to her round young figure like a fish's
skin, and it was rippled over with the gracefullest little fringy
films of lace ; she had deep, tender eyes, with long, curved lashes ; '
and she had peachy cheeks, and a dimpled chin, and such a dear
little dewy rosebud of a mouth ; and she was so dove-like, so
pure, and so gracious, so sweet and bewitching. For long hours
I did mightily wish she would speak. And at last she did ; the
red lips parted, and out leaped her thought — and with such a
guileless and pretty enthusiasm, too : " Auntie, I just know I've
got five hundred fleas on me I"

That was probably over the average. Yes, it must have been
very much over the average. The average at that time in the
Grand Duchy of Baden was forty-five to a young person, (when
alone,) according to the official estimate of the Home Secretary
for that year ; the average for older people was shifty and in-
determinable, for whenever a wholesome young girl came into the
presence of her elders she immediately lowered their average
and raised her own. She became a sort of contribution box.
This dear young thing in the theatre had been sitting there un
consciously taking up a collection. Many a skinny old being in
our neighborhood was the happier and the restfuUer for her
coming.

In that large audience, that night, there were eight very con
spicuous people. These were ladies who had their hats or
bonnets on. What a blessed thing it would be if a lady could
make herself conspicuous in our theatres bv wearing her hat. It
is not usual in Europe to allow ladies and gentlemen^ to take
bonnets, hats, overcoats, canes or umbrellas into the auditorium,
but in Mannheim this rule was not enforced because the audiences
were largely made up of people from aUislance, and among these

I!'

f '

99 4 TEAMP ABBOU».

wer« always a tvw tlniid ladies who were afraid that if th».)r liad
to go into an ante-room to get their things when the piajr was
over, they would miss their train. But the great mass ot 'iiose
who came from a distance always ran the risk and twOK ibe
chancesi preferring the loss of the train to a breach ol good
manners and the discomfort of b^ing impleasantly com<picuuua
during a stretch of three or four hours. %

CHAPTER VI.

THREB ojir four hours. That is a long time to sit in one place,
whether one be conspicuous or not, yet some of Wagner's
operas bang along for six whole hours on a stretch 1 But the
people sit there and enjoy it all, and wish it would last longer.
A German lady in Munich told me that a person could not like
Wagner's music at first, but must go through the deliljerate pro-
cess of learning to like it — then he would have his sure reward ;
for when he had learned to like it he would hunger for it and
never be able to get enough of it. She said that six hours of
Wagner was by no means too much. She said that this composer
had made a complete revolution in music and was burying the
old masters -one by one. And she said that Wagner's operas
differed from all others in one notable respect, and that was that
they were not merely spotted with music here and there, but
were all music, from the first strain to the last. '1 his surprised
me. I said I had attended one of his insurrections, and found
hardly any music in it except the Wedding Chorus. She said
Lohengrin was noisier than Wagner's other operas, but that if I
would keep on going to see it I would find by and by that it was
all music, and therefore would then enjoy it. I could have said,
*• But would you advise a person to deliberately piactice having
the toothache in the pit of his stomach for a couple ot years in
order that he might then come to enjoy it ?" But I reserved
that resnark.

This lady was full of the praises of the head-tenor who had
performed in a Wagner opera the night before, and went on to
•nlorge upon hia old and prodigious fame, and hov many honors

A TaAM1> AllROil>.

It if th».^ a*d

the piajr ^<M
mass 01 tiioae
and UndK ine
reach ol good
y oon><piouM]t

it in one place,

le of Wagner's

tch I But the

Id last longer.

could not like

deliberate pro-

B sure reward ;

ger for it and

t six hours of

this composer

as burying the

igner's operas

that was that

md there, but

his surprised

•ns, and found

fus. She said

, but that if I

3y that it was

uld have said,

actice having

le ot years in

ut I reserved

enor who had
d went on to
' many honor5

had been larished upon him by the princely houses of Germany.
Here was another surprise. I had attended that rery opera, in
the person of my agent, and ha<l made close and aoourat* obser-

vations. So I said : —

" Why madam, my experience warrants me in stating that that
tenor's voice i« not a voice at all, but only a sbiiek — the shriek of

a hyena."

" That is very true," she said ; " he cannot sing now ; it is
already many years that he has lost his voice, but in other times
he sang, yes, divinely I So whenever he comes, now, you shall
see, yes, that the theatre will not hold the people. JawoM bei
GotU his voice is tounderschon in that past time."

I said she was discovering to me a kindly trait in the Gt^rmans
which was worth emulating. I said that over the water we were
not quite so generous ; that with us, when a singer had lost his
voice and a jumper had lost his legs, these parties ceased to draw.
I said I had been to the opera in Hanover, once, and in Mannheim
once, and in Munich, (through my authorized agent) once, and
this large experience had nearly persuaded me that the Germans
preferred singers who couldn't sing. This was not such a very
extravagant speech, either, for that burly Mannheim tenor's
praises had been the talk of all Heidelberg for a week before his
performance took place — yet his voice was like the distressing
noise which a nail makes when you screech it across a window
pane. I said so to Heidelberg friends the next day, and they
said, in the calmest and simplest way, that that was very true,
but that in earlier times his voice had been wonderfully fine.
And the tenor in Hanover was just another example of this sort.
The English-speaking German gentleman who went with me to
the opera there was brimming with enthusiasm over that tenor.
He said : —

'' Ach Gott! a great man I You shall see him. He is so
celebrate in all Germany — and he has si pension, yes, from the
government. He not obliged to sing, now, only twice every year ;
but if he not sing twice each year they take him his pension away."

Very well, we went. When the renowned old tenor appeared,
I got a nudge and an excited whisper : —

" Now you see him 1"

But Uhe " celebrate" was an astonishing disappointment to

WB A TBAMP ABSOAO.

■

If he had been behind % screen I should hare tnppoied thef
were performing a surgical operation on him. I lookotl at my
friend — to my great surprise he seemed intoxicated with pleasure,
his eyes were dancing with eager delight. When the curtain at
last fell, he burst into the stormiest applause, and kept it up— as
did the whole house — until the afflictive tenor had come three
times before the curtain to make his bow. While the glowing
enthusiast was swabbing the prespiration from his face, I said : —

" 1 don't mean the least harm, but really, now, do you think he
can sing 7"

"Him ? No f Ooit im Himmel, aber, how he has been able to
sing twenty-five years ago ?" [Then pensively.] " Aeh, no, now
he not sing any more, he only cry. When he think he sing, now,
he not sing at all, no, he only make like a cat which is unwell."

Where and how did we get the idea that the Germans are a
stolid, phlegmatic race ? In truth they are widely removed from
that. They are warm hearted, emotional, impulsive, enthusiastic,
their tears come at the mildest touch, and it is not hard to move
them to laughter. They are the very children of impulse. We
are cold and self-contained, compared to the Germans. They hug
and kiss and cry and shout and dance and sing ; and where we
use one loving, petting expression they pour out a score. Their
language is full of endearing diminutives ; nothing that they love
escapes the application of a petting diminutive — neither the
house, nor the dog, nor the horse, nor the grandmother, nor any
other creature, animate or inanimate.

In the theatres at Hanover, Hamburg, and Mannheim, they
had a wise custom. The moment the curtain went up, the lights
in the body of the house went down. The audience sat in the
f cool gloom of a deep twilight, which greatly enhanced the glowing
splen'^Gi*} of the stage. It saved gas; too, and people were not
sweated to death.

When I saw King Lear played, nobody was allowed to see a
scene shifted ; if there was nothing to be done but slide a forest
OMt of the way and expose*a temple beyond, one did not see that
forest split itself in ^le middle and go shrieking away, with the
accompanying disenchanting spectacle of the hands and heels of
the impelling impulse— no, the curtain was always dropped for aB
instMii— one bawd not the least moYemeut behind it^but when

4 TBAMV ABBOiBk

R WMit op, Hi* next instant, the iorwi wm gcm%. Xran wb«n Hm
■Ug6 WM b«ing entirely reset, one heard no noise. During tli»
whole time that King Lear was playing, the curtain was oeTer
down two minutes at any one time. The orchestra played until
the curtain was ready to go up for the first time, then they
departed for the evening. Where the stage-waits never reach
two minutes, there is no occasion for music. I had never seen
this two-minute business between acts but once before, and thai
was when the " Shaughran" was played at Wallack's.

I was at a concert in Munich one night, the people were
streaming in, the dock-hand pointed to seven, the music struck
up, and instantly all movement in the body of the house ceased
—nobody was standing, or walking up the aisles or fumbling with
a seat, the stream of incomers had suddenly dried up at its source.
I listened undisturbec: to a piece of music that was fifteen minutes
long — always expecting some tardy ticket-holders to come
crowding past my knees, and being continuously and pleasantly
disappointed — but when the last note was struck, here came the
stream again. You see, they had made those late comers wait in
the comfortable waiting-parlor from the time the music had begun
until it was ended.

It was the first time I had ever seen this sort of criminals
denied the privilege of destroying the comfort of a house full of
their betters. Some of these were pretty fine birds, but no
matter, they had to tarry outside in 'the long parlor under the
inspection of a double rank of liveried footmen and waiting-maids
who supported the two walls with their backs and held the wraps
and traps of their masters and mistresses on their arms.

We had no footman to hold our things, and it was not permis-
sible to take them into the concert room ; but there were some
men and women to take charge of them for us. They gave us
checks for them and charged a fixed price, payable in advance-
five cents.

In Germany they always hear one thing at an opera which has
nev6.' yet' been heard in America, perhaps — I mean the closing
strain o^ a fine solo or duet. We always smash into it with an
earthquake of applause. The result is that we rob ourselves of
the sweetest part of the treat ^ we get the whisky, but we don't
get the au£^ in the bottom of ikr g^ass.

'I I

A TK\1IP ABBOAB.

Oar way of icattering applause along throagh an act sMina to
me to be better than the Mannheim way of saving it all up till
the act is ended. I do not see how an actor can forget himself
and portray hot passion before a cold, still audience. I should
think he would feel foolish. It is a pain to me to this day to re-
member how that old German Lear raged and wept and howled
around the stage, with never a response from that hushed house,
never a single outburst till the act was ended. To me there
was something unspeakably uncomfortable in the solemn dead
silences that always followed this old person's tremendous out*
pourings of his feelings. 1 could not help putting myself in his
place — I thought I knew how sick and fle.t he felt during those
silences, because I remembered a case which came under my
observation once, and which — but I will tell the incident:

One evening on boa^d a Mississippi steamboat, a boy of ton
years lay asleep in a berth — a long, slim-legged boy, he was,
encased in quite a short shirt ; it was the first time he had over
made a trip on a steamboat, and so he was troubled, and scared,
and had gone to bed with ' \ head filled with impending snag-
gings, and explosions, and conflagrations, and sudden death.
About ten o'clock some twenty la lies were sitting around about
the ladies' saloon, quietly reading, sewing, embroidering, and so
on, and among them sat a sweet, benignant old dame with round
spectacles on her nose and her busy knitting-needles in her
hands. Now, all of a sudden, into the midst of this peaceful
scene burst that slim-shanked boy in the brief Qhirt, wild-eyed,
erect-haired, and shouting, " Fire, fire I jump and run^ the boaVs
afire and there ainH a minute to lose I" All those ladies looked
sweetly up and smiled, nobody stirred, the old lady pulled her
spectacles down, looked over them, and said, gently, —

" But you mustn't catch cold, child. Run and put on your
breast-pin, and then come and tell us all about it."

It was a cruel chill to give to a poor little devil's gushing
vehemence. He was expecting to be a sort of hero — t\ie creator
of a wild panic — and here everybody sat and smiled a mocking
smile, and an old woman made fun of his bugbear. I turned
and crept humbly stw&y — for I was that boy — and never even
cared to discover whether 1 had dreamed the fire or actually
Menit*

A TIU1I9 ABROAD.

•1

I tan told that in a German concert or opera, they hardly evar
•noore a song ; that though they may be dying to hear it again,
their good breeding usually preserves them against requiring tha
repetition.

Kings may encore ; that is quite another matter ; it delights
everybody to see that tho king is pleased ; and as to the uctor
encored, his pride and gratification are simply boundless. Still
there are circumstances in which even a royal encore-
But it is better to illustrate. The King of Bavaria is a poet,
and has a poet's eccentricities — with the advantage over all
other poets of being able to gratify them, no matter what form
they may take. He is fond of the opera, but not fond of sitting
in the presence of an audience ; therefore, it has sometimes
occurred, in Munich, that when an opera has been concluded
and the players were getting ofif their paint and finery, a com*
mand has come to them to get their paint and finery on again.
Presently the king would arrive, solitary and alone, and the
players would begin at the beginning and do the entire opera
over Again with only that one individual in the vast solenm
theatre for audience. Once he took an odd freak Into his head.
High up and Out of sight, over the prodigious stage of the court
theatre is a maze of interlacing water-pipes, so pierced that in
case of fire, innumerable little thread-like streams of water con
be caused to descend ; and in case of need, this discharge can be
augmented to a pouring flood. American managers might make
A note of that. The King was sole audience. The ojiera pro-
ceeded, it was a piece with a storm in it ; the mimic tliunder
began to mutter, the mimic wind began to wail and sough, and
the mimic rain to patter. The King's interact rose higher and
higher ; it developed into enthusiasm. He cried out—

" It is good, very good indeed 1 But I will have real rain I
Turn on the water 1"

The manager pleaded for a reversal of the command ; said it
would ruin the costly scenery and the splendid costumes, but
the king cried —

" No matter, no matter, I will have real rain ! Turn on the
water?" . •

So the real rain was turned on and began to descend in
fOBsamer lances to the mimic flower beda and gravel walks ot

'-m^

4 TRAMP ABROA0.

hiU

the BUg«. Hi* riohly-drMMd actressea and acton tripped about
tinging bravely and pretending not to mind it. The King waa
delighted — his enthuaiasm grew higher. He cried out —

" Bravo, bravo I More thunder I more lightning I turn on
more rain I"

The thunder boomed, the lightning glared, the atorm-winds
raged, the deluge poured down. The mimic royalty on the
atage, with their aoaked aatina clinging to their bodiea, alopped
around ankle deep in water, warhling their aweeteat and beat,
the fiddlera under the eaves of the atage aawed away for dear
life, with the cold overflow spouting dow^ the backa of their
necka, and the dry and happy King aat in hia lofty box and wore
his glovea to ribbons applauding.

" More yet I" cried the King ; " more yet — let looae all the
thunder, turn on all the water I I will hang the man that raiaea
an umbrella I"

When thia most tremendoua and effective atorm that had
ever been produced in any theatre was at laai over, the King's
approbation was measureless. He cried —
' *' Magnificent, magnificent t Encore f Do it. again!**

But the manager aucceeded in persuading him to recall the
encore, and said the company would feel sufficiently rewarded
and complimented in the mere fact that the encore waa a paired
by hia Mt^yesty, without fatiguing him with a repetition to gratify
their own vanity.

During the remainder of the act the lucky performers were
those whose parts required changes of dress ; the others were a
soaked, bedraggled and uncomfortable lot, but in the last degree
picturesque. The stage scenery was ruined, trap-doors were so
swollen that they wouldn't work for a week afterward, the fine
costumes were spoiled, and no end of minor damages were done
by that remarkable storm.

It was a royal idea — that storm — and royally carried out. But
observe the moderation of the king : he did not insist upon bis
encore. If he had been a gladsome, tmreflecting American
opera audience, he probably would have had his storm repeated
«nd repeated until he drowned all those people. ^

-u> V

4 HAMP ABBQABb

CHAPTER Vn.

THE iuinm«r dftyi pMted pleaMmUy in Heidelb«rg. We h»d
A skilled tnuner, and under hit instructions we were getting
our legs in the right condition for the contemplated pedestrian
tours ; we were well satisfied with the progress which we had
made in the German language, and more than satisfied with what
we had accomplished in Art. We had had the best instructors
in drawing and painting in Germany — Hammerling, Vogel,
MuUer, Dieti and Schumann. Hammerling taught us landscape
painting, Vogel taught us figure drawing, Muller taught us to do
still-life, and Dieti and Schumann gave us a finishing course in
two specialties — battle pieces and shipwrecks. Whatever I am
in Art I owe to these men. I have something of the manner of
each and all of them ; but they all said that I had also a manner
of my own, (ind that it was conspicuous. They said there was a
marked individuality about my style— insomuch that if I ever
painted the commonest type of a dog, I should be sure to throw
a something into the aspect of that dog which would keep him
from being mistaken for the creation of any other artist. Secretly
I wanted to believe all these kind sayings, but I could not ; I
was afraid that my masters' partiality for me, and pride in me,
biased their judgment. So I resolved to make a test. Privately,
and unknown to any one, I painted my great picture, " Heidel-
berg Castle Illuminated,"— my first really important work in
oils— and had it hung up in the midst of a wilderness of oil pio
tures in the Art Exhibition, with no name attached to it. To
my great gratification it was instantly recognized as mine. All
the town flocked to see it, and people even came from neighbor-
ing localities to visit it. It made more stir than any other work
in the Exhibition. But the most gratifying thing of all was that
chance strangers, passing through, who had not heard of my pic-
ture, were not only drawn to it, as by a lodestone, the moment
they entered the (allery, Jgai ftlfrays took it for » " Turo«r."

A TBAMT IBftoAS.

Kr. Harria wm graduated in Art about tha lama tima wiik
myself, and we took a studio together. We waited awhile foi
some orders; then oa time began to drag a little, we concluded
to make a pedestrian tour. After much couHideration, we
determined on a trip up the ithui-OH of the beautiful Neckur to
Heilbronn. Apparently nobody hod ever done that. Th'?tr«
were ruined castleH on the overhanging clitiii and crags all the
way ; these were said to have their legends, like those on the
Hhine, and what was better still, they ha<l never been in print.
There was nothing in the books about that lovely region ; it had
been neglected by the tourist, it was virgin soil for the literary
pioneer.

Meantime the knn])4aok8, the rough walking suits and the stout
walking shoes which we had ordered, were finishet^, and brought
to us. A Mr. X. and a young Mr. Z. had agreed to go with us.
We went around one evening and bade goodbye to our friends,
and afterwards had u little farewell banquet at the hotel. We
got to bed early, for we wanted to make an early start, so as to
take advantage of the cool of the morning.

We were out of bed at break of day, feeling fresh and vigorous,
and took a hearty breakfivst, then plunged down through the leafy
arcades of the Castle grounds, toward the town. What a glorious
summer morning it was, and how the flowers did pour out their
fragrance, and how the birds did sing I It was just the time for a
tramp through the woods and mountains.

We were all dressed alike : broad slouch hats, to keep the sun
off; gray knapsacks ; blue army shirts ; blue overalls ; leathern
gaiters. buttoned tight from knee down to ankle; high quarter
coarse sho^s snugly laced. Each man had an opera glass, a
canteen, and a guide-book case slung over his shoulder, and
carried an alpen-stock in one hand and a sun umbrella in the
other. Around our hats were wound many folds of poft white
muslin, with the ends hanging and flapping down our backs — an
idea brought from the Orient and used by tourists all over
Europe. Harris carried the little watch -like machine called a
" pedometer," whose office is to keep count of a man's steps and
tell how far he has walked. Everybody stopped to admire our
costumes and give us a hearty '* Pleasant march to you J"

When w« got down town I found tliat we could go by rail to

A TEAM? ABBOAD.

;o keep the sun

within flT« milM of Heilbronn. The trmin wm Jnat iterting, M w
jumped aboard and went tearing away in splendid ipirita. It wm
Agreed all around that we had done wisely, because it would be
just as enjoyable to walk doirn the Neckar as up it, and it could
not be needful to walk both wt ». There were some nice German
people in our compartment, i got to talking some pretty private
matters presently, and Harris became nervous ; so he nudged me
and said —

"Speak in German— these Germans may understand English."

I did so, and it was well I did ; for it turned out that there waa
not a German in that party who did not understand English
perfectly. It ia curious how wide-spread our language is in
Germany. After a while some of those folks got out and a Ger-
man gentleman and his two young daughters got in. I spoke in
German to one of the latter several times, but without result.
Finally she said —

"Ich verstehe nur Deutch und Englische,"— or words to that
effect. That is, " I don't understand any language but German
and English."

And sure enough, not only she but her father and sister apoke
English. So after that we had all the talk we wanted } and we
wanted a good deal, for they were very agreeable people. They
were greatly interested in our costumes ; especially the alpen-
stocks, for they had not seen any before. They said that the
Neckar road was perfectly level, so we must be going to Switzer-
land or some other rugged country ; and asked us if we did not
find the walking pretty fatiguing in such warm weather. But we
said no.

We reached Wimpfen — I think it was Wimpfen — in about three
hours, and got out, not the least tired ; found a good hotel and
ordered beer and dinner — then took a stroll through the vener-
able old village. It was very picturesque and tumble-down, anck ^
dirty and interesting. It had <iueer houses five hundred years old,
in it and a military tower, one hundred and fifteen feet high, which
had stood there more thah ten centuries. I made a little sketch
of it. I kept a copy, but gave the original to the Burgomaster. I
think the original was better than the copy, because it had more
windows in it and the grass stood up better and had a brisker
look. There WM none around the tower though; I composed ib*

A VBJLMP ABBOAB.

mjwiAff from itadiM I made in a field by Heidelberg in
Hunmerling'e time. The man on top, looking at the riew, ia
apparently too large, but I found he could not be made smaller,
conveniently. I wanted him there, and I wanted him visible, so
I thought out a way to manage it ; I composed the picture from
two points of view ; the spectator is to observe the man from
about where that flag is, and he must observe fhe tower itself
from the ground. This harmonizes the seeming discrepancy.

Near an old Cathedral, under a shed, were three crosses of
stone — mouldy and damaged things, bearing life-size stone
figures. The two thieves were dressed in the fanciful court
costumes of the middle of the sixteenth century, while the
Saviour was nude, with the exception of a cloth around the loins.

We had dinner under the green trees in a garden belonging to
the hotel and overlooking the Neckar ; then, after a smoke, we
went to bed We had a refreshing nap, then got up about three
in the afternoon and put on our panoply. As we tramped gaily
out at the gate of the town, we overtook a peasant's cart, partly
laden with odds and ends of cabbages and similar vegetable
rubbish, and drawn by a small cow and a smaller donkey yoked
together. It was a pretty slow concern, but it got us into
Heilbronn before dark — five miles, or possibly it was seven.

We stopped at the very same inn which the famous old robber
knight and rough fighter. Gk>tz von Berlichingen, abode m after
he got out of captivity in the Square Tower of Heilbronn
between three hundred and fifty and four hundred years ago.
Harris and I occupied the same room which he had occupied and
the same paper had not all peeled off the walls yet The furni
^ture was quaint old carved stuff, full four hundred years old, and
some of the smells were over a thousand. There was a hook in
the wall, which the landlord said the terrific old Gotz used to
hang his iron hand on when he took it off to go to bed. This
room was very large — it might be called immense — and it was on
the first floor ; which means it was in the second story, for in
Europe the houses are so high that they do not count the first
story, else they woulci get tired climbing before they got to the
top. The wall paper was a fiery red, with huge gold figures in it,
well smirched by time, and it covered all the doors. These
doon fitted m anugly and continued th* fi(ure9 Qf th« paper «q

A TBAMP iVMAB. 07

nnbrokenly, that wh«n they were doted one had to go feoUng

and searching along the wall to find them. There waa a itore in
the comer — one of those tall, square, stately white porcelain
things that looks like a monument, and keeps you thinking of
death when you ought to be enjoying your travels. The windows
looked out on a little alley, and over that into a stable and some
poultry and pig yards in the rear of some tenement houses.
There were the customary two beds in the room, one in one end
of it, the other in the other, about an old-fashioned brass-mounted,
single-barreled pistol-shot apart. They were fully as narrow as
the usual German bed, too, and had the German bed's ineradi*
cable habit of spilling the blankets on the floor every time you
forgot yourself and went to sleep.

A round-table as large as King Arthur's stood in the centre of
the room; while the waiters were getting ready to serve our
dinner on it we all went out to see the renowned clock on the
front of the municipal buildings.

CHAPTER Vin.

THE Raihhautf or municipal building, is of the quaintest and
most picturesque Middle-Age architecture. It has a massive
portico and steps before it, heavily, balustraded, and adorned
with life-size rusty iron knights in complete armor. The clock*
face on the front of the building is very large and of curious pat-
tern. Ordinarily a gilded angel strikes the hour on a big bell
with a hammer ; as the striking ceases, a life-size figure of Time
raises its hour-glass and turns it ; two golden rams advance and
butt each other ; a gilded cock lifts its wings ; but the main fea-
tures are two great angels, who stand on each side of the dial
with long horns at their lips ; it was said that they blew melo-
dious blasts on these horns every hour — but they did not do it
for us. We were told, later, that they blew only at night> when
the town was still.

Within the Mathhaut were a number of huge wild boar's heads,
preserved, and mounted on brackets along the wall ; they bor*
inscriptions telling who kiUed iM^Vf^ »^d hQw m^y l^uccMred yewrf

■'*4

A TRAMP ABROAD.

f I

igo it wai done. One room in the building was devoted to the
preservation of ancient archives. There Uiey showed us no end of
aged document^ ; some were signed by Popes, 3ome by Tilly and
other great Generals, an<l one was a letter written and subscribed
by Ootz von Berlichingen in Heilbronn in 1519, just after hia
release from the Square 'I'owor.

This fine old robber-knight was a devoutly and sincerely re-
ligious man, hospitable, charitable to the poor, fearless in fight,
active, enterprising, and*poii;<<essed of a large and generous na-
ture. He had in him a quality which was rare in that rough
time — the quality of being able to overlook moderate injuries,
and of being able to forgive and forget mortal ones as soon as he
had soundly trounced the authors of them. He was prompt to
take up any poor devil's quarrel, and risk his neck to right him.
The common folk held him dear, and his memory is still green in
ballad and tradition. He r.sed to go on the highway and rob
rich wayfarers ; and othe> times he would swoop down from his
high castle on the liklls of the Neckar and capture passing car-
goes of merchandize. In his memoirs he piously thanks the
Giver of all Good for remembering him in his needs and delive^
ing sundry such cargoes into his hands at times when only spe
cial providence could have relieved him. He was a doughty
warrior, and found a deep joy in battle. In an assault upon a
stronghold in Bavaria, when he was only twenty-three years old,
hia right hand was shot away, but he was so interested in the
fight that he did not observe it for a while. He said that the
iron hand which was made for him afterward, and which he wore
for more than half a century, was nearly as clever a member as
the fleshy one had been. I was glad to get a fac-simile of the
letter written by this fine old German Bobin Hood, though I was
not able to read it. He was a better artist with his sword than
with his pen. ' ' "_.

We went down by the river and saw the Square Tower. It
was a very venerable structure, very strong, and very unorna*
mental. There was no opening near the ground. They had to
use a ladder to get into it, no doubt.

We visited the principal church, also — a curious'old structure^
with a tower-like spire, adorned with all sorts of grotesque
inwgei. The inner waUs of the church were placarded witb

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

large mural tablets of copper, bearing engraved inscription!
celebrating the merits of old Heilbronn worthies of two or three
centuries ago, and also bearing rudely painted effigies of them*
selves and their families tricked out in the queer costumes of
those days. The head of the family sat in the foreground, and
beyond him extended a sharply receding and diminishing row of
sons ; facing him sat his wife, and beyond her extended a long
row of diminishing daughters. The family was usually large,
but the perspective bad.

Then we hired the hack and the horse which Gotz von Ber.
lichingen used to use, and drove several miles into the country
to visit the place called Weibertreu — Wife's Fidelity I suppose it
means. It was a feudal Castle of the Middle Ages. When we
reached its neighborhood we found it was beautifully situated*
but on top of a mound, or hill, round and tolerably steep, and
about two hundred feet high. Therefore, as the sun was blazing
hot, we did not climb up there, but took the place on trust, and
observed it from a distance while the horse leaned up against a
fence and rested. The place has no interest except that which
is lent it by its legend, which is a very pretty one— to this eflfect '*

THE LEGEND.

In the Middle Ages, a couple of yc mg dukes, brothers, took
opposite sides in one of the wars, the one fighting for the Em^ror,
the other against him. One of them owned the castle and village
on top of the mound which I have been speaking of, and in hig
absence his brother came with his knights and soldiers and began
a siege. It was a long and tedious business, for the people made
a stubborn and faithful defense. But at last their supplies ran
out and starvation began its work ; more fell by hunger than by
the missiles of the enemy. They by and by surrendered, and
begged for charitable terms. But the beleaguering prince was so
incensed against them for their long resistance that he said he
would spare none but the women and children— all the men
should be put to the sword without exception, and all their goods
destroyed. Then the women came and fell on their knees and
begged for the lives of their husbands.

'* No," said the prince, not a man of them shall escape alive }
you yourselves, shall go with your children into houseless and
friendless banishment j but that you may not starve I grant you
this one grace, that each woman may bear with her from this

lill ■ 'i»1

I I {

' aliml

▲ TBiMF ABBOAS.

■i

place M maoli of her most valuable property as she it able to
carry.

Very well, presently the gates swung open and out filed those
women carrying their husbands on their shoulders. The besiegers,
furious at the trick, rushed forward to slaughter the men, but the
Duke stepped between and said—

*•' No, put up your swords — a prince's word is inviolable.**

When we got back to the hotel, King Arthur's Round Table
was ready for us in its white drapery, and the head waiter and his
first assistant, in swallow-tails and white cravats, brought in the
soup and the hot plates at once.

Mr. X. had ordered the dinner, and when the wine came on, he
picked up a bottle, glanced at the label, and then turned to the
grave, the melancholy, the sepulchral head waiter and isaid it
was not the sort of wine he had asked for. The head waitei
picked up the bottle, cast his undertaker eye on it and said —

** It is true ; I beg pardon." Then he turned on his subordinate
and calmly said, " Bring another label."

At the same time he slid the present label off with his hand

and laid it aside ; it had been newly put on, its paste was still

wet. When the new label came, he put it on ; our French wine

v t];|^g now turned into German wine, according to desire, the

I ll^liEyraiter went blandly about his other duties, as if the working

'^ of t^mra^soiictf miracle was a common and easy thing to him.

Mr. X. tMlil lie had not known, before, that there were people
honest enoughi to do this miracle in public, but he was aware that
thousands upon thousands of labels were imported into America
from Europe every year, to enable dealers to furnish to their
customers in a quiet and inexpensive way, all the different kinds
^of foreign wines they might require.

We took a turn aroimd the town, after dinner, and found h fully
as interesting in the moonlight as it had been in the day time.
The streets were narrow and roughly paved, and there was not a
side':valk or a street lamp anywhere. The dwellings were cen*
tuAes old, and vast enough for hotels. They widened all the way
up ; the stories projected further and further forward and aside
as they ascended, and the long rows of lighted windows, filled
with little bits of panes, curtained with figured white muslin and
adorned outside with boxes of flowers, made a pretty effect. The
moQV^ w«t bri|;ht, and the light and sluvdow ver^ strong *, and

she it able to

A nhXP A^BOAI>•

nothing could b^ more picturesque than those earring etreete,
with their rows of huge high |^blesjeanin|; far ov^r to ward eac h
other in afriendl y goasipp rng wayTand thecrbwda below ariftiiig
through the alternating blots of glooro and mellow bars of moon-
light. Nearly everybody was abroad, chatting, singing, romping,
or massed in lazy comfortable attitudes in the doorways.

In one place there was a public building which was fenced
tbout with a thick, rusty chain, which sagged from post to post
in a succession of low swings. The pavement, here, was maile of
heavy blocks of stone. In the glare of the moon a party of bare-
footed* children were swinging on those chains and having a
noisy good time. They were not the first ones who had done

that; even their great-great grandfathers had not been the first
to do it when they were children. The strokes of the bare feet
had worn grooves inches deep in the stone flags ; it had taken
many generations of swinging children to accomplish that.
Everywhere in the town were the mould and decay that go with
antiquity, and evidence it ; but I do not know that anything else

S;ave us so vivid a sense of the old age of Heilbitmn m thoit
bot-wom groovei in the paving stones.

• I o«rtaial7 thot^ht tlism bsrafbotod, bot •ri'lmUy tit* mUM hM hdl 4o<iMs. -

4 ttLMMf ABlOABi.

OHAPTEB IX.

WHEN we got bftok to the hotel I wound end set the pedo-
meter and put it in my pocket, for I was to carry it next
day and keep record of the mileg we made. The work which
we had given the instrument to do during the day which had just
closed, had not fatigued it perceptibly.

We were in bed by ten, for we wanted to be up and away on
our tramp homeward with the dawn. I hung fire, but Harris
went to sleep at once. I hate a man who goes to sleep at onoe j
there is a sort of indefinable something about it which is not
exactly an insult, and yet is an insolence ; and one which is hard
to bear, too. I lay there fretting over this ixgury, ^nd trying to
go to sleep ; but the harder I tried, the wider awu .e I grew. I
got to feeling very lonely in the dark, with no company but an
^digested dinner. My mind got a start by and by, and began
to consider the beginning of every subject which has ever been
thought of; but it never went further than the b^gimiing; it was
touch uid go ; it fled from topic to topic with a frantic speed.
At the end of an hour my head wad in a perfect whirl and I was
dead tired, fagged out.

The fatigue was so great that it presently began to make some
head against the nervous excitement ; while imagining myself
wide awake, I would really doze into momentary unconscious
nesses, and come suddenly out of them w.Hh a physical jerk
which nearly wrenched my joints apart — the delusion of the
instant being that I was tumbling backward over a, precipice.
After I had fallen over eight or nine precipices and thus fbund
out that one half of my brain had been asleep eight or nine
times, v.ithout the wide-awake, hard-working other half suspect-
ing it, the periodical unconsciousnesses began to extend their
spell gradually over more of my brain-territory, and at last )
•ank into a drowse which grew deeper and deeper, and waa
doubtless just on the very point of becoming a a(^d, blessedf
BiajfOTf when— what was that?

A TlUirV AtBAHl.

. aoUdf blessed,

My dulled fseulties dragged themselves partly back to life and
took a receptive attitude. Now out of an immense, a limitless
distance, came a f omething which grew and grew, and approached,
and presently was recognizable as a sound — it had rather seemed
to be a feeling before. This sound was a mile away now— per
haps it was the murmur of a storm ; and now it was nearer —
not a quarter of a mile away ; was it the muffled rasping and
grinning of distant machinery ? No, it came still nearer ; was it
the measured tramp of a marching troop T But it came nearer
still, and still nearer — and at last it was right in the room : it
was merely a mouse gnawing the wood-work. So I had held my
breath all that time for such a trifle.

Well, what was done could not be helped ; I would go to sleep
at once and make up the lost time. That was a thoughtless
thought. Without intending it — hardly knowing it— I fell to
listening intently to that sound, and even unconsciously count*
ing the strokes of the mouse's nutmeg-grater. Presently I was
deriving exquisite suffering from this employment, yet maybe I
could have endured it if the mouse had attended steadily to his
v»ork : but he did not do that ; he stopped every now and then,
and I suffered more while waiting and listening for him to begin
again than 1 did while he was gnawing. Along at first I was
mentally offering a reward of ^ve — six — seven — ten— ^lollars for
that mouse ^ but toward the last I was offering rewards which
were entirely beyond my means. I close-reefed my ears — that
is to say, I bent the flaps of them down and furled them into
five or six folds, and pressed them against the hearing orifice — •
but it did no good ; the faculty was so sharpened by nervous
excitement that it was become a microphone and could hear
through the overlays without trouble.

My anger grew to a frenzy. I finally did what all persons
before me have done, clear back to Adam — resolved to throw
something. I reached dovm and got my walking shoes, then sat
up in bed and listened, in order to exactly locate the noise. But
I couldn't do it ] it was as unlocatable as a cricket's noise ; and
where one thinks that that is, is always the very place where it
isn't. So I presently hurled a shoe at random, and with a vicious
vigor. It struck the wall over Harris's head and fell down on
him ; I had not imagined I could thi-ow so far. It woke Hanris,

'^..

■' - "t - '

«ir

4 tBAMP ABBOiD.

and I WM gUd of it until I found he wm not angry ; thon I wm
■orry. He toon went to sleep again, virhioh pleased me; but
•trai^twaj the mouse began again, whioh roused my temper
once more. I did not want to wake Harris a second time, but
the gnawing continued until I was compelled to throw the other
shoe. This time I broke a mirror— there were two in the room —
I got the largest one, of course. Harris woke again, but did not
complain, and I was sorrier than ever. I resoWed that I would
suffer all possible torture before I would disturb him a third time.

The mouse eventually retired, and by and by I was sinking to
sleep, when a olock began to strike ; I counted till it was done,
and was about to drowse again when another clock began ; I
counted; then the two great Rathhaus clock angels began to
send forth soft, rich, melodious blasts from their long trumpets.
I had never heard anything that was so lovely, or weird, or mys-
terious ; but when they got to blowing the quarter-hours, they
seemed to me to be overdoing the thing. Every time I dropped
off for a moment, a new noise woke me. Each time I woke 1
mir^ed my coverlet, and had to reach down to the floor to get it
again.

At last all sleepiness forsook me. I recognized the fact that 1
was hopelessly and permanently wide awake. Wide awake, and
feverish and thirsty. When I had lain tossing there as long as
I could endure it, it occurred to me that it would be a good idea
to dress and go out in the great square and take a refreshing
wash in the fountain, and smoke and reflect there until the rem-
nant of the night was gone.

I believed I could dress in the dark without waking Harris. I
had banished my shoes after the mouse, but my slippers would
do for a summer night. 8o I rose softly, and gradually got on
everything— down to one sock. I couldn't seem to get on the
track of that sock, anyway I could fix it. But I had to have it ;
so I went down on my hands and knees, with one slipper on and
the Obhor in my hand, and began to paw gently around and rake
the floor, but with no success. I enlarged my circle, and went
on pawing and raking. With every pressure of my knee, how
the floor creaked i and every time I chanced to rake against any
•rtids, it seemod to give out thirty-flve or thirty-six times more
than ii would have done in the day time. In those caaes 1

A nUMP ABBOAD,

y; tbtnlWM
Md me; but
d my temper
tond time, but
Lrow the other
I in the room —
in, but did not
I that I would
m a third time,
was sinking to
ill it was done,
clock began *, I
ngels began to
long trumpets,
weird, ormys-
rter-hours, they
time I dropped
1 time I woke 1
le floor to get it

kking Harris. I

slippers would

radually got on

to get on the
had to have it }

slipper on and
ro\md and rake
iircle, and went

my knee, how
rake against any
-six timet more

In those cues 1

%r#a.n stopped and held my breath till I was sure Harris had
not awakened — then I crept along again. I moved on and on,
but I could not find the sock ; I could not seem to find anything
but furniture. I could not remember that there was much fUr*
niture in the room when I went to bed, but the place was alive
with it now — especially chairs — chairs everywhere — had a couple
of families moved in, in the meantime ? And I never could seem
to glane§ on one of those chairs, but always struck it full and
square with my head. My temper rose, by steady and sure
dej^rees, and as I pawed on and on, I fell to making vicious com-
ments under my breath.

Finally, with a venomous access of irritation, I said I would
leave without the sock ; so I rose up and made straight for the
door — as I supposed — and suddenly confronted my dim spectral
image in the unbroken mirror. It startled the breath out of me,
for an instant ; it also showed me that I was lost, and had no
sort of idea where I was. When 1 realized this, I was so angry
that I liad to sit down on the floor and take hold of something
to keep from lifting the roof ofiP with an explosion of opinion.
If there had been only one mirror, it might possibly have helped
to locate me ; but there were two, and two were as bad as a
thousand ; beside these were on opposite sides of the room. I
could see the dim blur of the windows, but in my turned-around
condition they were exactly where they ought not to be, and so
they only confused me instead of helping me.

I started to get up^ and knocked down an umbrella ; it made
a noise like a pistol-shot when it struck that hard, slick carpetless
floor; I" grated my teeth and held my breath — Harris did not
stir. I set the umbrella slowly and carefully on end against the
wall, but as soon as I took my hand away, its heel slipped from
under it, and down it came again with another bang. I shrunk
together and listened a moment in silent fury — no harm done,
everything quiet. With the most painstaking care and nicety I
stood the umbrella up once more, took my hand away, and down
it came again.

I have been strictly reared, but if it had not been so dark and
lolemn and awful there in that lonely vast room, I do believe I
should have said something then which could not be put into a
Sundav Schoo^ book witkout iiy uring the sale of it. If my reason*

#.^

^l;'

A TBiMP ABROAD.

iof powers h«d not been already sapped dry by my haraaemenU,
I would have known better than to try to set an umbrella on end
on one of those glassy German floors in the dark ; it can't be
done in the daytime without four failures to one success. I had
one comfort, though — Harris was yet still and silent — he had not
■tirred.

The umbrella could not locate me — there were four standing
around the room, and all alike. I thought I would feel along the
wall and find the door in that way. 1 rose up and began this
operation, but raked down a picture. It was not a large one,
but it made noise enough for a panorama. Harris gave out no
sound, but I felt that if f experimented any further with the
pictures f should be sure to wake him. Better give up trying to
get out. Yes, 1 would find King Arthur's Round Table once
more — I had already found it several times — and use it for a base
of departure on an exploring tour for my bed ; if I could find
my bed I could then find my water pitcher ; I would quench my
raging thirst and turn in. So I started on my hands and knees
because I could go faster that way, and with more confidence,
too, and not knock down things. By and by I found the table —
with my head — rubbed the bruise a little, then rose up and
started, with hands abroad and fingers spread, to balance myself.
1 found a chair ; then the wall ; then another chair ; then % sofa ;
then an alpenstock ; then another sofa ; this confounded me,
for 1 had thought there was only one sofa. I hunted up the table
again and took a fresh start ; found some more chairs.

It occurred to me now, as it ought to have done before, that as
the table was round, it was therefore of no value as a ba8» to aim
from ; so I moved off once more, and at random among the wil-
derness of chairs and sofas — wandered off into unfamiliar re
gions, and presently knocked a candlestick off a mantel-piece )
grabbed at the candlestick and knocked off a lamp ; grabbed at
the lamp and knocked off a water pitcher with a rattling crash,
and thought to myself ^* I've found you at last ; I judged I was
close upon you." Harris shouted " murder," i»nd " thieves," and
finished with " I'm absoli tely drowned."

The crash had roused the house. Mr. X. praaced in, in hig
long night garment, with a candle, young Z. after him with another
oaadle ; a procession swept in at another door^ with candles and

iiieilt

A WtUMf AIMAD.

r harMsmenl*,
mbrelU on enil
Ic; it o*n't be
uocess. I had
Ext — he had not

four itanding
1 feel along the
^nd began this
t a large one,
18 gave out no
irther with the
ive up trying to
nd Table once
use it for a base
if I could find
»uld quench my
inds and knees^
[lore confidence,
und the table —
in rose up and
balance myself.
,ir ; then « sofa ;
lonfounded me,
ted up the table
hairs.

e before, that as
as a ba8» to aim
1 among the wil
unfamiliar re
mantel-piece )
Dap ; grabbed at
rattling crash,
I judged I was
" thieves," and

laced in, in big
im with another
rith candles and

Unt«m0— iMicDord and two Qwauuk fUMta in tiMir nigjbtfOwni|
and a chambermaid in b«r>.

I looked around ; I was at Harris's bed, a Sabbath dfty's joarn«y
from my own. There was only one sofa ; it was against the wall }
there was only one chair where a body could get at it — I had been
revolving around it like a planet, and colliding with it like a
comet half the night

I explained how I had been employing myself, and why. Then
the landlord's party left, and the rest of us set about our prepa*
lAtions for breakfast, for the dawn was ready to break. I glanced
furtively at my pedometer, and found 1 had made forty-seven
miles. But I did not oarei for I had come out for a pedestrian
tour anyway.

OHAPTEB X.

WHEN the landlord learned that I and my agent were artists,
our party rose perceptibly in his esteem *, we rose still
higher when he learned that we were making a pedestrian tour
of Europe.

He told U8 all about the Heidelberg road, and which were tiki
best places to avoid and which the best ones to tarry at ; he
charged me less than cost for the things I broke in the night ; he
put up a fine luncheon for Us and added to it a quantity of great
light-green plums, the pleasantest fruit in Germany ; he was so
anxious to do us honor that he would not allow us to walk out of
Heilbronn, but called up Gotz von Berlichingen's horse and cab
and made us ride.

We discharged the carriage at the bridge. The river was full
of logs—long, slender, barkless pine logs — and we leaned on the
rails of the bridge and watched the men put them together into
rafts, lliese rafts were of a'shape and coiastruction to suit the
crookedness and extreme narrowness of the Neckar. They were
from 50 to 100 yards long, and they gradually tapered from a 9-log
breadth at their stems, to a Slog bi-e:idth at their bow-ends. The
main part of the steering is done at the bow, with a pole ; the
i.\og breadth there furnishes room tor only the ateersman, for

A TRAVF ABBOAD.

lhM« little log! ir« not larger around than an aT«rag« young
lady's waiit. The connections of the iieveral sectiona of the mft
are alack and pliant, so that the mft mtiy be readily bent into uny
■ori of ounre required by the shape of the river.

The Neckar is in many places so narrow that a person cnn throw
a dog across it, if he has one ; when it is also sharply curved i)\
such places, the raftsmiin has to do some pretty nice snug piloting
to make the turns. The rivor is not always allowed to npread over
its whole bed — which is as much as thirty, and sometimes forty
yards wide — but is split into three equal bodies of water, by ston^
dikes which throw the main volume, depth, and current into the
central one. In low water tliCHe neat narrow-edged dikes project
four or five inches above the surface, like the comb of a sub*
merged roof, but in high water they are overflowed. A hatful of
rain makes high water in the Neckur, uiid a basketful pioduces
an overflow.

There are dikes abreast the Schloss Hotel, and the current is
violently swift at that point. I used to sit for hours in my gin- a
cage, watching the longy narrow rafts slip along through the
central channel, grazing the right bank dike and aiming carclully
for the middle arch of the stone bridge below ; 1 watched them
in this way, and lost all this time hoping to see one of them hit
the bridge-pier and wreck itself sometime or other, but was
always disappointed. One was smashod there one morning, bi t
I had just stepped into my room a moment to light a pipe, so I
lost it. ^

While I was looking down upon the rafts thai, morning in Ileil*
bronn, the dare-devil spirit of adventure came suddenly upon mef
and I said to my comrades —

** J am going to Heidelberg on a raft. Will you venture with
me?"

Their faces paled a little, but they asRented with a? good a grace
as they could. Harris wanted to cable his. mother -thought it
his duty to do that, as he was all she had in this world — so, while
he attended to this, I went down to the longest and finest rn'4
and hailed the captain with a hearty " Ahoy, shipmate I" which
put us ui)on pleasant terms at once, and we entered upon
business. I said we were on a pedestrian tour to Heidelberg,
and would like to take passage with him. I said this partly

A TfiAMY 4BR0A0.

venture with

throtigh young Z, who spoke Gf>rtn«n very well, and |mrt1y through
Mr. X, who ipoke it peculiarly. 1 can undertland German m
well M the maniac that invented it, but I talk it bent through an
luitTpn^ter.

Ilu^ captain hitched up his trowgere, then shifted his quid
tlioughtiully. Presently he said just what I was expecting he
would say — that he had no license to carry pa^flengers, and
tlieiufore was afraid the law would be after him in ca«e the mat'
lor got noised about or any accident happened. Ho I chartered
the raft and the crew and took all the responsil/ilities on mynelf.

With a rattling song the starboard watch bent to their work
»nd hove the cable short, then got the anchor home, and our
burk moved off with a stately stride, and soon was bowling along
Ht about two knots an hour.

Our party were grouped amidships. At first the talk was a
little gloomy, and ran mainly upon the shortness of life, the un-
certainty of it, the perils which beset it, and the need and wis*
dom of being always prepared for the worst ; this shaded off into
low-voiced references to the dangers of the deep, and kindred
matters ; but as the gray east began to redden and the mysteri-
ous solemnity and silence of the dawn to give place to the joy-
songs of the birds, the talk took a cheerier tone, and our spirits
began to rise steadily.

Germany, in the summer, is the perfection of the beautiful,
but nobody has understood, and realized, and enjoyed the utmost
possibilities of this soft and peaceful beauty unless he has voy«
aged down the Neckar on a raft. The motion of a raft is the
needful motion ; it is gentle, and gliding, and smooth, and noise-
less j it calms down all feverish activities, it soothes to sleep all
nervous hurry and impatience ; under its restful influence all
tne troubles and vexations and sorrows that harrass the mind
vanish away, and existence becomes a dream, a charm, a deep
and tranquil ecstacy. How it contrasts with hot and perspiring
pedestrianism, and dusty and deafening railroad rush, and tedi'
0U8 jolting behind tired horses over blinding white roads I

We went slipi^ing silently along, between the green and tnf^
rant banks, with a sense of pleasure and contentment that grew,
and grew, all the time. Sometimes the banks were OTe^hung
With thick masses of willows that wholly hid the ^raund iMhiadl

A 1'HAMP ABBOAb.

■ometimea we haa noble hills on one hand, clothed densely with
foliage to their tops, and on the other hand open levelH Itlaxing
with poppies, or clothed in the rich blue of the com flower ;
•ometimes we drifted in the shadow of forests, and somctiineM
along the margin of long stretches of velvety grass, frexli and
green and bright, a tireless chami to the eye. And the biid<* ! —
ilipy were everywhere; they swept back and forth across the
river constantly, and their jubilant music was never stilled.

It was a deep and satisfying pleasure to see the sun creat ' the
new morning, and gradually, patiently, lovingly, clothe it on with
splendor after splendor, an<l glory after glory, till the miracle
was complete. How diflerent is this marvel observed from h
raft, from what it is when one observes it through the dingv
windows of h railway station in some wretched village while h«>
munches a petrified sandwich and waits for the train.

CHAPTER XL

MEN and women and cattle were at work in the dewy fields by
this time. The people often stepped aboard the raft, as
we glided along the grassy shores, and gossipped vriih us and
with the crew for a hundred yards or so, then stepped ashore
again, refreshed by the ride.

(^nly the men did this ; the women were too busy. The women
do all kinds of work on the continent. They dig, they hoe, tiiey
i-eap, they sow, they bear monstrous burdens on their backs,
they shove similar ones long distances on wheelbarrows, they
drag the cart when there is no dog or lean cow to drag it — and
when there is, (hey assist the dog or cow. Age is no matter—
the older the woman, the stronger she is, apparently. Qn tht>
farm a woman's duties are not defined— she does a little of every-
thing *, but in the towns it is diflferent, there she only does cer
tain things, the men do the rest. For instance, a hotel chambe^
maid has nothing to do but make beds and fires in fifty or sixty
rooms, bring towels and candles, and fetch several tons of water
up several flights of stairti, a hundred pounds at a time, in pro-
digious metal pitchers. Shtt does not have to work more than

A TUXf ABB0A1>.

ffl

«i|^teen or twenty houn a day, and she can alwayi g«t down on
her knees and lorub the floors of halls and closets when ahe is
tired and needs a rest.

As the morning advanced and the weather grew hot, ^re took
off our outside clothing and sat in a row along the edge of the raft
and ei\joyed the scenery, with our siun umbrellas over our heads
and our legs dangling in the water. Every now and then we
plunged in and had a swim. Every projecting grassy cape had
its joyous gro^ip of naked children, the boys to themselves and
the girls to themselves, the latter usually in care of some mo-
therly dame who sat in the shade of a tree with her knitting.
The little boys swam out to us, sometimes, but the little maids
stood knee deep in the water and stopped their splashing and
frolicking to inspect the raft with their innocent eyes as it drifted
by. Once we turned a comer suddenly and surprised a slender
girl of twelve years or upwards, just stepping into the water. She
had not time to run, but she did what answered just as well ; she
promptly drew a lithe young willow bough athwart her white body
with one hand, and then contemplated us with a simple and
untroubled interest. Thus she stood while we glided by. She
was a pretty creature, and she and her willow bow made a very
pretty picture, and one which could not offend the modesty of
the most fastidious spectator. Her white skin had a low bank of
fresh green willows for background and effective contrast— for
she stood against them — and above and out of them projected tho
eager faces and white shoulders of two smaller girla.

Towards noon we heard the inspiriting cry—

« SaU ho I"

" Where away ?" shouted the captain.

" Three points off the weather bow I"

We ran forward to see the vessel. It proved to be a steamboat
—for they had begim to run a steamer up the Neckar, for the first
time in May. She was a tug, and one of very peculiar build and
aspect. I had often watched her from the hotel, and wondered
how she propelled herself, for apparently she had no propeller or
paddles. She came churning along, now, making a deal of noiao
of one kind and another, and aggravating it every now and then
by blowing a hoarse whistle. She had nine keel-boats hitohed on
behind and following after her in a long, slender rank. Wo mot

A TRAMP ABROAD.

her in a narrow place, between dikes, and there was hardlj room
for us both in the cramped passage. As she went grinding an<i
groaning by, we perceived the secret of her moving impulgt-
She did not drive herself up the river with paddles or propeller,
she pulled herself by hauling on a great chain. This chain is laid
in the bed of the river and i8 only fastened at the two ends, ft
is seventy miles long. It comes in over the boat's bow, passes
around a drum, and is payed'out astern. She pulls on that chain,
and so drags herself up the river or down it. She has neither
bow nor stern, strictly speaking, for she has a long-!»ladfed rudder
on each end and she never turns around. She uses both rudders
all the time, and they are powerful enough to enable hei- to turn
to the right or the left and steer around curves, in spite of the
strong resistance of the chain. 1 would not have believed that
that impo'^sible thing could be done; but 1 saw it done, and
therefore I know that there is one impossible thing which can be
done. What miracle will man attempt next ?

JVe met many big keel boats on their way up, using sails, mule
power, a^profanity — a tedious and laborious businesr. A wire
rope led 8m;|b|:.|pretop mast to the file of mules on the tow-
path a huoiidi'M^iills ahead, and by dint of much baiijing and
swearing ati^ urging, the detachment of drivers managed to get
a speed of two or three miles an hour out of the mules against
the stiff" current. The Neckar has always been used as a canal,
and thus has given employment to a great many men and iini-
mals ; but now that this steamboat is able, with a small crew and
a bushel or so of coal, to take nine keel boats farther tip the
river in one hour than thirty men and thirty mules can do it in
two, it is believed that the old-fashioned towing industry is on its
death-bed. A second steamboat began work in the Neckar three
months after the first one was put in service.

At noon we stepped ashore and bought some bottled beer and
got some chickens cooked, while the raft waited ; then we imme-
diately put to sea again, and had our dinner while the beer was
cold and the chickens hot. There is no pleusanter place for such
a meal than a raft that is gliding down the winding Neckar past
green meadows and wooded hills, and slumbering villages, and
craggy heights graced with crumbling towers and battlements.

In one place we saw a nicely dressed Oerman gentleman with-

A nUMP ABAOAO.

oat any ipectAoles. Before I oould oome to ftnchor he had foi
away. It was a great pity. I so wanted to make a sketch of
him. The captain comforted me for my loss, however, by saying
thnt the man was without any doubt a fraud who had speotaoleSy
bul kept them in his pocket in order to make himself conspiouous.

Below Hassmersheim we passed Ilornberg, Gots von Berlichin*
gen's old castle. It stands on a bold elevation two hundred feet .
gitove the surface of the river ; it has high vine-clad walls encloa* |
ing trees, and a peaked tower about seventy-five feet high. The
steep hillside, from the castle clear down to the water's edge, is
terraced, and clothed thick with grape vines. This is like farming i
a mansard roof. All the steeps along that part of the river which >
furnish the proper exposure, dre given up to the grape. That
region is a great producer of Rhine wines. The Germans are |
exceedingly fond of Rhine wines ; they are put up m tall, slender i
bottles, and are consid«)red a pleasant beverage. One tells them -
f rom vinegar by the al.

The Homberg hill ib . ^ tunneled, and the new railway will
pass under the castle.

THB OATB or THB SPBOTBB.

Two miles below Homberg castle is a cave in a low cliff, wUoh
the captain of the raft said had once been occupied by a beautiful
heiress of Homberg — the Lady Gertrude — in the old times. It
Yfos seven hundred years ago. She had a number of rich and
noble lovers, and one poor and obscure one, Sir Wendel Loben-
t'eld. With the native chuskleheadedness of the heroine of
romance, she preferred the poor and obscure lover. With the
native sound judgineiit cf the father of heroine of romance, the
Ton Berlichingen of that day shut his daughter up in his donjon
keep, or his oubliette, or his culverin, or some such place, and
resolved that she should stay there until she selected a husband
from among her rich and noble lovers. The latter visited her and
persecu'^wBd her with their supplications, but without effect, for
her heart was true to her poor despised Crusader, who was
tighting in the Holy Land. Finally she resolved that she would
endure the attentions of the rich lovers no longer ; so one stormy
night she escaped and went down the river and hid herself in the
oave on the other side. Her father ransaclced the oountry for

I mm r

« ^

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

her, but found not a trace of her. As the days went by, and still
no tidings of her came, his conscience began to torture him, and
he caused proclamation to be made that if she were yet living
and would return, he would oppose her no
longer, she might marry whom she
would. The months dragged on,
all hope forsook the old man, he |
ceased from his customary pnr-
■uits and pleasures, he devoted -
himself to pious works, and longer )
for the deliverance of death.
Now just at midnight, every
night, the lost heiress stood
in the mouth nf her cave, ar-
rayed in white robes, and sang
a little love ballad which her
Crusader had made for her.
She judged that if he came
home alive the superstitious |
peasants would tell him about

the ghost that sang in the
cave, and that as soon as they

described the ballad he would
know that none but he and
she knew that song, therefore he
would suspect that she was alive
and would come and find her. A«
time went on, the people of the region became sorely distressed
about the Spectre of the Haimted Cave. It was said that ill luck
of one kind or another always overtook any one who had the
misfortune to hear that song. Eventually, every calamity that
happened thereabouts was laid at the door of that music. Con-
sequently no boatman would consent to pass the cave at night
the peasants shunned the place, even in the daytime.

But the faithful girl sang on, night after night, month after
month, and patiently waited ; her reward must come at last.
Five years dragged by, and still, every night at midnight , the
plaintive tones floated out over the silent land, while the distant
boatmen and peasants thrust their fingers into their ears and
■httddered out a prayer.

tiADV SKSTBOOB.

4 TBAVP ABROAD.

tby, andstil)
ture him, and
»re yet living

OB. • . , ;>

ely distressed
d that ill luck
who had the
calamity that
music. Con-
save at night
ne.

t, month after
come at last,
midnight , the
ile the distant
heir eiurs and

And now came the crusader home, bronied and batt1e-searr«d,
but bringing a great and splendid fame to lay at the feet of hi«
bride. 'Jlie old lord of Homberg received him aa a son, and

MOUTU U>' 'lUK OAVICRN.

wanted him to stay by him and be the comfort and blessing of
his age ; but the tale of that young girl's devotion to him and ita
pathetic consequences, made a changed man of the knight H«

w\:\

A TBAMP ABROAD.

could not enjoy hia well-earned rest. He taid his heaf
broken, he would give the remnant of his life to high deeds in
the cause of humanity, and so find a worthy death and a blessed
reunion with the brave tn# heart whose love had more honored
him than all his victories in war.

When the people heard this resolve of his, they came and told
him there was a pitiless dragon in human disguise in the Haunted
Cave, a dread creature which no knight hari yet been bold
enough to face, and begged him to rid the land of its (lesolating
presence. He said he .would do it. They told him .about the
song, and when he asked what song it was, they said the memory
of it was gone, for nobody had been hardy enough to listen to it
for the past four years or more.

Towards midnight the Crusader came floating down the rivfi-
in a boat, with his trusty cross-bow in his hands. He drifted
silently through the dim reflections of the crags and trees, witii
his intent eyes fixed upon the low ciiflT which he was approach.
ing. As he drew nearer, he discerned the black mouth of the
cave. Now — is that a white figure ? Yes. The plaintive son^*
begins to well forth and float away over meadow anfl river - tlie
cross bow is slowly raised to position, a steady aim is taken, the
bolt flies straight to the mark — the figure sinks down, st^l sing
ing, the knight takes the wool out of his ears, and recognizes the
old ballad — too late I Ah, if he had only not put the wool in his
ears !

The Crusader went away to the wars again, and presently fell in
battle, fighting for the Cross. Tradition says that during several
centuries the spirittof the unfortunate girl sang nightly from the
cave at midnight, but the music carried no curse with it ; and
although many listened for the mysterious sounds, few were
favored, since only those could hear them who had never failed
in a trust. It is believed that the singing still continues, but it
is known that nobody has heard it during the present century.

%^.i ■•-;•,

A TBAMF ABIOAD.

CHAPTER Xn.

THE last legend reminds one of the " Lorelei" — a legend of tb< '
Rhine. There is a song called " The Lorelei."

Germany is rich in folk-songs, and the words and airs of several
of them are peculiarly beautiful — but "The Lorelei" is the
people's favorite. I could not endure it at first but by and by it
began to take hold of me, anv{ now there is no tune which I like
BO well.

It is not possible that it is much known in America, else I
should have heard it there. The fact that I never heard it therei
is evidence that there are others in my country who have fared
likewise ; therefore, for the sake of these, 1 mean to print the
words in this chapter. And I will refresh the reader's memory
by printing the legend of the Lorelei too. I have it by me in
the " Legends of the Rhine," done into English by the wildly
gifted Garnham, Bachelor of Arts. 1 print the legend partly to
refresh my own memory, too, for I have never read it before.

THE LEGEND.

Lore (two syllables,) was a water nymph who used to sit on %
high rock called Ley or Lei (pronounced like our word lie) in the
Rhine, and lure boatmen to destruction in a furious rapid which
marred the channel at that spot. She so bewitched them with
her plaintive songs and her wonderful beauty that they forgot
everything else to gaze up at her, and so they presently drifted
among the^broken reefs and were lost.

In those old, old times, the count Bruno lived in a great castle
near there with his son the count Hermann, a youth of twenty.
Hermann had heard a great deal about the beautiful Lore, and
bad finally fallen very deeply in love with her without having yet
seen her. So he used to wander to the neighborhood of the Lei,
evenings, with his Zither and " Express his Longing in low Sing*
ing," as Garnham says. On one of these occasions " suddenly

i..'^

M A nUMF ABBOAD.

th«ra lMrr«r«d aronnd the top of the rock a brightneta of un*
equaled cleamefs and color, which, in increasingly smaller circles
thickened, was the enchanting figure of the beautiful Lore.

" An unintentional cry ot Joy escaped the Youth, he let his
Zither Call, and with extended arms he called out the name of the
enigmatical Being, who seemed to stoop loyingly to him and
beckon to him in a friendly
manner ; indeed, if his ear did
not deceive him, she called his
name with unutterable sweet
Whispers, proper to love. Be
side himself with delight the
youth lost his Senses and sank
senseless to the earth."

After that he was a changed
person. He went dreaming <
about thinking only of his fairvj
and caring for naught else in the
world. " The old count saw with
affliction this changement in his
son," whose cause he could not
divine, and tried to divert hiti
mind into cheerful channels, but
to no purpose. Then the old count used authority. He com*
manded the youth to betake himself to th« camp. Obedience
was promised. Garnham says :

** It was on the evening before his departur«. as he wished still
once to visit the Lei and offer to the Nymph of the Rhine his
Sighs, the tones of his Zither, and his Songs. He went, in his
boat, this time accompanied by a faithful squire, down the stream.
The moon shed her silvery light over the whole Country ; the
steep bank mountains appeared in the most fantMtical shapes,
and the high oaks on either side bowed their Branches on Her-
mann's passing. As soon as he approached the Lf^u and was
aware of the surf-waves, his attendant was seized with an inex-
pressible Anxiety and he begged permission to land t but the
Knight swept the strings of his Guitar and sang :

"Once I naw thee in dark night,
;j In lupematural Beauty bright;

' Of Light-rays, wai the Figure ir«T%

To ihar* iu light, leok«4-lutir itiovSb

A TEilir ABB01&

B7 U17 hand Um dgn of Iot*^
ThT tyM iw**! •aohMttant,
BaylBf to BM, oh 1 Mitnute«m«it

"Oi wtrt thon Irat my ■WMthe«rt,

How willingly thy love to parti
With daUffat I ahoold bfl bound

To thy rooky hooM in deep ground.**

That Hermann should have gone to that place at all, was not
wise , that he should have gone with such a song as that in his
mouth was a most serious mistake. The Lorelei did not " call
his name in unutterable sweet Whispers" this time. No, that
Bong naturally worked an instant and thorough " chaiigement" in
her ; and not only that, but it stirred the bowels of the whole
afflicted region round about there — for —

" Scarcely had these tones sounded, everywhere there began
tumult and sound, as if voices above and below the water. On
the Lei rose flames, the Fairy stood above, at that time, and
beckoned with her right hand clearly and urgently to the infatuated
Knight, while with a staff in her left she called the waves to her
service. They began to mount heavenward ; the boat was upset,
mockiug every exertion ; the waves roso to the gunwale, and
splitting on the hard stones, the Boat broke into Pieces. The
youth sank into the depths, but the squire was thrown on shore
by a powerful wave."

The bitterest things have been said about the Lorelei during
many centuries, but surely her conduct upon this occasion en*
titles her to our respect. One feels drawn tenderly toward her,
and is moved to forget her many crimes and remember only the
good deed that crowned and closed her career.

" The Fairy was never more seen ; but her enchanting tones
have often been heard. In the beautiful, refreshing, still nights
of spring, when the moon pours her silver light over the Country,
the listening shipper hears from the rushing of the waves the
echoing Clang of a wonderfully charming voice, which sings a
song from the crystal castle, and with sorrow and fear he thinks
on the young Count Hermann, seduced by the Nymph."

I have a prejudice against people who print things in a foreign
language and add no translation. When 1 am the reader, and the
author considers me able to do the translating myself, he pays me

4 TRAlfP ABBOAD.

quite » nio« oompliment — but if he would do the tranilating for
me I would try and get along without the compliment.

If I were at home, no doubt I could get a translation of thia
poem, but I am abroad and can't ; therefore I will make a trans-
lation myself, it may not be a good one, for poetry is out of my
line, but it will serve my purpose — which is, to give the un-Oerman
young girl a jingle of words to hang the tune on until she can
get hold of a good version, made by some one who is a poet and
knows how to convey a poetical thought from one language to
anotlier.

THE LORKLBI.

X cannot dlTtne whftt It meuieth,

Thia haunting n»m«leii pain :
A tale of the bjrgone agei

Keepe brooding through my bAia I

The faint air cooli in the gloaming^

And peaceful flowi the Khine,
The thintjr summita are drinking

The lonset'i flooding wine ;

The loTeliest maiden ii sitting

High-throned in you blue air,
Her golden Jewels are shining.

She oombfl her golden hair ;

She Qombi with a comb that is goldea«

And sings a weird refrain
That steeps in a deadly enchantment

The Hefner's ravished brain :

Ths doomed in his drifting shallop,

Is tranced with the sad sweet tone)
He sees not the yawning breakers,
• He sees but the maid alone t

The pitiless billows engulf him I—

Ho perish sailor and bark ;
And this, with her baleful singing,

Is the Lorelei's grewsome work.

T have a translation by Garnham, Bachelor of Arts, in the
*' Legends of the Rhine," but it would not answer the purpose I
mentioned above, because the measure is too nobly irregular ; it
don't fit the tune snugly enough ; in places it hangs over at the
ends too far, nnd in other places one runs out of words before
h« getf to the end of ft bar. Still, Garuham'a translation has

4 TB4lir ABIOAO.

' Arts, in the
the purpose I
y irregular ; it
igs over at the
f words before
translation luui

high BtriU, a&d I am not dreaming of leaving it out of my
book. I believe thia poet is wholly unknown in America and
England ; I take peculiar pleasure in bringing him forward, b»
eaase I ooniider that I discovered him

THB LORBUn.
TrmmiUUd Hr £. 5r. O mrmk m wtt B. JL
I do not know what it ilgiiiflM,

Tlwl X MB M wmtrirftil r
A fktl* of old TimM to t«rrifl««,

Lmtm my iMMt to thooghtfuL

Tho Air !• oool and it darkwii,

▲ad ealmly flom tha Bhin* ;
Tin ■iimiiilt nf llii iiiiiiiiittlii ImiJMS

In •Ttninff ■oiuhiiM Ua*.

TIm BMMt b«aatkftal Maidra «Btr»aMS

AboT* wonderfnlly than,
Har baaatif al golden attiira glaaoa^

Bha oomba har golden hair.

With golden comb so lastroua,

And thereby a aong aingii
It haa a tone lo wondxoae,

That powerful melody riaga

The ihipper in the little ahlp

Iteffeota with woea lad might |
Ha does not eee the rooky elip,

Ha only regards dreaded height.

I believe the turbulent wavei

Swallow at laat ehippar and boat i
She with her singing cravee

All to Tiait har magic moat

No translation could be closer. He has got in all the facts )
snd in their regular order too. There is not a statistic wanting.
It is as succinct as an invoice. That is what a translation ought
to be ; it should exactly reflect the thought of the original. You
can't ting " Above wonderfully there," because it simply won't
go to the tune without damaging the singer ; but it is a most
clingingly exact translation of Dort oben wunderbar — fits it like
a blister. Mr. Gamham's reproduction has other merits — a huu'
dred of them — ^but it it not necessary to point them out. Tb»;f
w^l bedeteotod.

4S,

k TRAMP. 4BB0AD

No on* with a specialty can hope to have a monopoly of it
Bven Oarnham has a rival. Mr. X. ha<l a small pamphlet with
him which h« had bought while on a visit to Munich. It wm •»•

ll|U\Xxv

titled "A Catalogue of Pictures in the Old Finacotek/' and was
written in a peculiar kind of English. Here are a few extracts :

** It is not permitted to make use of the work in question to a
publication of the same contents as well as to the pirated edition
of it"

** An evening landscape. In the foreground near a pond and
a group of white b(>i(»che8 is leading a footpath animated by
travelers."

" A learned man 'n a cynical and torn dress holding an open
book in his hand."

'* St. Bartholoma^ and the Executioner with the knife to ful*
fill the martyr."

''Portrait of a young man. A long while this picture was
thought to be Bindi Altoviti's portrait ; now somebody will afain
httfe it io be the self-portrait of T^aphaeL"

A TEAMr ABROAD. fP

** RoiMi bathing, surprised by the two old tuUk. In Um baok*
ground the lapidation of the condemned."
(" Lapidation " is good } it ia much more elegant than " itoa*

ing.")

'' St. RoohuB sitting in a landscape with an angel who looka al
his plague-sore, whilst the dog the bread in his mouth attenta
him."

*' Spring. The Goddess Flora, sitting. Behind her a feirtU*
Talley perfused by a river."

*' A beautiHuI bouquet animated by May-bugs, etc.**

** A warrior in armour with a gy])seou8 pipe in his hand lean»
agaiutit a table and blows the smoke far away o! himself."

" A Dutch landscape along a navigable river which perfuses ii
till to the background." ^

" Pome peasants singing in a cottage. A woman lets drink a
ohild out of a cup."

" St. John's head as a boy,— painted ingfresoo on a brick."
(Meaning a tile.) w

" A young man of the Riccio family, his hair out ofif right at
the end, dressed in black with the same cap. Attributed to
Baphael, but the signation is false."

" The Virgin holding the Infant. Is very painted in the manner
of Sassoferrato."

" A Larder with greens and dead game animated by a eook*
tnaid and two kitchen-boys."

However, the English of this catalogue is at least as happy as
taat which distinguishes an inscription upon a certain picture
in Rome — to wit :

" Revelations- View. St. John in Patterson's Island."

But meantime the raft u moving on.

^ I

f IT?

4 TEUIF ABBOAD.

M-

^v CHAPTEBXm.

A MILE or two above Eberbaoh we saw a pamiliar rain prc^t-
ing above the foliage which clothed the peak of a high and
very steep hill, rhis ruin consisted of merely a couple of
crumbling masses of masonry which bore a rude resemblance to
human faces ; they leaned forward and touched foreheads, and
had the look of being absorbed in conversation. This ruin had
nothing very imposing or picturesque about it, and there was no
great deal of it, yet it was called the " Spectacular Ruin."

LBOBlIfi OF THE " SPBCTAOULAB RUIN."

}Bim0]

thUaf

The captain of th^roft, who was as full of history as he could
stick, said that in the Middle Ages a most prodigious fire-breath
ing dragon used to live in that region, and made more trouble
than a tax collector. He was as long as a railway train, and had
the customary impenetrable green scales all over him. His
breath bred pestilence and conflagration, and his appetite br«d
famine. He ate men and cattle impartially, and was exceedingly
unpopular. The German emperor of that day made the usual
offer : he would grant to the destroyer of the dragon, any one
solitary thing he might ask for; for he had a surplusage of
daughters, and it was customary for dragon-killers to take a
daughter for pay.

So the most renowned knights came from the four comers of
the earth and retired down the dragon's throat one after i\xtt
t .hor. A panic arose and spread. Heroes grew cautious, llie
procession ceased. The dragon became more destructive than
ever. The people lost all hope of succor, and fled to the moun
tains for refuge.

At last Sir Wissenschaft, a poor and obscure knight, out of a
far country, arrived to do battle with the monster. A pitiable
object, he was, with his armor hanging in rags about him, and his
ttrange shaped knapaaok atrapped upon hia back, fiveiyboth

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

tamed op their noeee at hiini and some openlj jeered him. But
he was calm. He simply enquired if the emperor's offer was still
in force. The emperor said it was — but charitably advised hitii
to go and hunt hares and not endanger so precious a life as his
in an attempt which had brought death to so many of the world's
most illustrious heroes.

But this tramp only asked — " Were any of those heroes men
of science?" This raised a laugh, of course, for science was
despised in those days. But the tramp was not in the least

ruffled. He said
he might be a little
in advance of his
age, but no matter
—science would
come to be hon-
ored, some time or
other. He said
he would march
against the dragon
in the morning. —
Out of compassion,
then, a good spear
was offered him,
but he declined, and said, " spears were useless to men of
science." They allowed him to sup in the servants' hall, and
gave him a bed in the stables.

When he started forth in the morning, thousands were gathered
to see. The emperor said —
<< Do not be rash, take a spear, and leave off your knapsack."
But the tramp said —

^ It is not a knapsack," and moved straight on.
The dragon wes waiting and ready. He was breathing forth
VAs^ volumes of sulphurous smoke and lurid blasts of flame.
The ragged knight stole warily to a good position, then he unslung
his cylindrical knapsack — which was simpiy the common fire-
extinguisher known to modern times — and the first chance he
got he turned on his hose and shot the dragon square in the
center of his cavernous mouth. Out went the fires in an ingtaaty
and the dragon ourled up and diec^

i|fi

▲ TBAMP ABBOAD.

lUt num had brought brains to his aid. He had reared dragoni
from the egg, in his laboratory, he had watched over them like a
mother, and patiently studied them and experimented upon
them while they grew, 'llius he had found out that fire was the
life principle of a dragon ; put out the dragon's fires and it could
make bteam no longer, and must die. He could not put out a
fire with a spear, therefore he invented the extinguisher. The
dragon being dead, the emperor fell on the hero's neck and said :

" Deliverer, name your request," at the same time beckoning
out behind with his heel for a detachment of his daughters to
form and advance. But the tramp gave them no observance.
He simply said —

" My request is, that upon me be conferred the monopoly of
the manufacture and sale ot spectacles in Germany."

The emperor sprang aside and exclaimed —

" This transcends all the impudence I ever heard I A modest
demand, by my halidome ! Why didn't you ask for the Imperial
revenues at once, a(tk be done with it ?"

But the monarchnad given his word, and he kept it. To
everybody's surprise, the unselfish monopolist immediately
reduced the price of spectacles to such a degree that a great and
crushing burden was removed from the nation. The emperor, to
commemorate this generous act, and to testify his appreciation
oT it, issued a decree commanding everybody to buy this bene-
factor's spectacles and wear them, whether they needed them or
not.

So originated the wide-spread custom of wearing spectacles in
Germany ; and as a custom once established iu these old lands is
imperishable, this one remains universal in the Empire to this
day. Such is the legend of the monopolist's once stately and
sumptuous castle, now called thf " Spectacular Ruin."

On the right bank, two or three miles below. the Spectacular
Ruin, we passed by a noble pile of castellated buildings overlook
ing the water from the crest of a lofty elevation. A strettfh ol
two hundred yards of the high front wall was heavily draped with
ivy, and out of the mass of buildings within rose three picturesque
old towers. The place was in fine order, and was inhabited by a
family of princely rank. This castle had its legend, too, but ]
■hould not feel justified in repeating it because I doubted Hk*
kiUk of somo of its muor detail*.

A TBiMP ISBOtD.

Along IB this region a multitude of Italian laborer! were blMi>
'ng away the frontage of the hills to make room for the new
railway. They were fifty or a hundred feet above the rWrir. Aa
we turned a sharp corner they hegan to wave signals und shout
warnings to us to look out for the exploHion^i. It was all very
well to warn us, but what could we ^o? You can't back a raft up
stream, you can't hurry it down stream, you can't scatter out to
one side when you haven't any room to speak of, you won't take
to the perpendicular cliffs on the other shore when they appear
to be blasting there too. Your resources are limited, you see.
There is simply nothing for it but to watch and pray.

For some hours we had been making three and a half or four
miles an hour and we were still making that. We had been
dancing right along until those men began to shout ; then for
the next ten minutes it seemed to me that 1 had never seen a
raft go so slowly. When the first blast went oflf we raised our
sun-umbrellas and waited for the result. No harm done ; nope
of the stones fell in the water. Another|^Iast followed, and
another and another. Some of the rubbish fell in the water just
astern of us.

We ran that whole battery of nine blasts in a row, and it was
certainly one of the most exciting and uncomfortable weeks I
ever spent, either aship or ashore. Of course we frequently
manned the poles and shoved earnestly for a second or so, but
every time one of those spurts of dust and debris shot aloft every
man dropped his pole and looked up to get the bearings of his
share of it. It was very busy times along there for a while. It
appeared certain that we must perish', but even that was not the
bitterest thought j no, the abjectly unheroic nature of the death
that was the sting — that and the bizarre wording of the resulting
obituary : " Shot with a rock, on « raft.^^ There would be no
poetry written about it. None could be written about it. Ex-
ample :

Not by war'8 shock, or war^B shaft—
Shot, with a rock, on a raft.

No poet who valued his reputation would touch such a theme
as that. I should be distinguished as the only " distinguished
dead" who went down to the grave unsonneted, in 1878.

But we escaped, and I have never regretted it. The last blast
was a peculiarly strong one, and after the small rubbish waa dona

WB k TBAVP ABBOAD.

rdning around ui and we were joat going to sh«ke haadi oror
our deliyerance, a later and larger stone came down amongst
our little group of pedestrians and wrecked an umbrella. It did
no other harm, but we took to the water Just the same.

It seems that the heavy work in the quarries and the new rail-
way gradings is done mainly by Italians. That was a revelation.
We have the notion in our country that Italians never do heavy
I work at all, but confine themselves to the lighter arts, like organ-
/grinding, operatic singing, and assassination. We have blun-
dered, that is plain.

All along the river, near every village, we saw little station
houses for the future railway. They were finished and waiting
for the rails and business. They were as trim and snug and
pretty as they could be. They were always of brick or stone ;
they were of graceful shape, they had vines and flowers about
them already, and around them the grass was bright and green,
and showed that it was carefully looked after They were a
decoration to the blbautiful landscape, not an offense. Wherever
one saw a pile of gravel, or a pile of broken stone, it was always
heaped as trimly and exactly as a new grave or a stack of cannon
balls ; nothing about those stations, or along the railroad or the
wagon road was allowed to look shabby or be unomamentaL
The keeping a country in such beautiful order as Germany; ex-
hibits, has a wise practical side to it, too, for it keeps thousands
of people in work and bread who would otherwise be idle and
mischievous.
I As the night shut down the captain wanted to tie up, but I
thought maybe we might make Hirschhorn, so we went on. Pre-
sently the sky became overcast, and the captain came aft look-
ing imeasy. He cast his eye aloft, then shook his head, and said
it was coming on to blow. My party wanted to land at once —
therefore I wanted to go on. The captain said we ought to
shorten sail, anyway, out of common prudence. Consequently
the larboard watch was ordered to lay in his pole. It grew quite
dark now, and the wind began to rise. It wailed through the
swaying branches of the trees, and swept our decks in fitful
gusts. Things were taking on an ugly look. The captain shouted
to the steersman on the forward lo|^ —

'^ 9ow'i 8l^« heading ?"

▲ TEiUfP ABROAD.

Tlie answer came faint and hoarse from far forward :

" Nor' east-and by-nor*, east-by-east, half-east, sir."

" Let her go ofif a point I"

" Ay-aye, sir 1"

" What water have you got T"

" Shoal, sir. Two foot large, on the stabboard, two and a half
•cant on the labboard !"

'' Let her go off another point I"

" Ay-aye, sir I"

" Forward, men, all of you t Lively, now ! Stand by to crowd
her round the weather corner I"

" Ay-aye, sir I"

Then followed a wild running and trampling and hoarse shout
ing, but the forms of the men were lost in the darkness and the
sounds were distorted and confused by the roaring of the wind
through the shingle bundles. By this time the sea was running
inches high, and threatening every moment to engulf the frail
bark. Now came the mate hurrying aft, and said, close to the
captain's ear, in a low, agitated voice —

" Prepare for the worst, sir — we have sprung a leak 1"

" Heavens I where ?"

" Right aft the second row of logs."

" Nothing but a miracle can save us I Don't let the men know,
or there will be a panic and mutiny 1 Lay her in shore and stand
by to jump with the stern-line the moment she touches. Gentle-
men, I must look to you to second my endeavors in this hour oi
peril. You have hats — go forrard and bail for your lives I"

Down swept another mighty blast of wind, clothed in spray
and thick darkness. At such a moment as this, came from away
forward that most appalling of all cries that are ever heard at sea :

^^ Man overboard V\

The captain shouted —

" Hard a-port I Never mind the man I Let him climb aboard
or wade ashore I"

Another cry came down the wind — .

" Breakers ahead I"

"Where away?"

•' Not a log's length off' her port fore-foot I"

We bad groped our slippery way forward, and were now beiHas

A TRAMP \ BROAD.

with the freniy of despair, when we heard the in«te*0 teirifted
cry, from far aft —

" Stop that dashed bailing, or we shall bb aground I"

But this was immediately followed by the glad shout —

'' Land aboard the starboard transom I"

** Saved I" cried the captain. " Jump ashore and take a turn
around a tree and pass the bight aboard I"

The next moment we were all on shore weeping and embracing
for joy, while the rain poured down in torrents. The captain
said he had been a mariner for forty years on the Neokar, and in
that time had seen storms to make a man's cheek blanch and his
pulses stop, but he had never, never seen a storm that even
approched this one. How familiar that sounded I For I have
been at sea a good deal and have heard that remark from captains
with a frequency accordingly.

We framed in our minds the usual resolution of thanks and
admiration and gratitude, and took the first opportunity to vote
it, and put it in writing and present it to the captain, with the
customary speech.

We tramped through the darkness and the drenching summer
rain full three miles, and reached the " Naturalist Tavern" in
the village of Hirschhorn just an hour before midnight, almost
exhausted from hardship, fatigue and terror. I can never forget
(hat night.

The landlord was rich, and therefore could afford to be crusty
and disobliging ; he did not at all like being turned out of his
warm bed to open his house for us. But no matter, his house-
hold got up and cooked a quick supper for us, and we brewed a
hot punch for ourselves, to keep off consumption. After supper
and punch we had an hour's, soothing smoke while we fought the
naval battle over again and voted the resolutions ; then we re-
tired to exceedingly neat and pretty chambers np stairs that
had clean, comfortable beds in them with heir-loom pillow-cases
most elabor&tely and tastefully embroidered by hand.

Such rooms and beds and embroidered linen are as frequent
in German village inns as they are rare in ours. Our villages are
superior to German villages in more merits, excellencies, con-
veniences and privileges than I can enumerate, but the hotels do
not belong in the htt.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

take a turn

ihing summer

''The NatunUitt Tavern" was not a meaningless name; for
all the halla and all the rooms were lined with large glass oases
which were filled with all sorts of birds and animals, glass-eyed,
ably staffed, and set up in the most natural and eloquent and
dramatic attitudes. The moment we were abed, the rain cleared
away and the moon came out. I dozed off to sleep while con-
templating a great white stufifed owl which was looking intently
down on me from a high perch with the air of a person who
thought he had met me before but could not make out for
certain.

But young Z. did not get off so easily. He said that as he was
sinking deliciously to sleep, the moon lifted away the shadows
and developed a huge cat, on a bracket, dead and stufied. but
crouching, with every muscle tense, for a spring, and with its
glittering glass eyes aimed straight at him. It made Z. uncom*
fortable. He tried closing his own eyes, but that did not answer,
for a natural instinct kept making him open them again to see if
the cat was still getting ready to launch at him — which she always
was. He tried turning his back, but that was a failure ; he knew
the sinister eyes were on him still. So at last he got up, after an
hour or two of worry and experiment, and set the cat out in the
aall. So he won, that time.

CHAPTER XIV.

IN the morning we took breakfast in the garden, under the
trees, in the delightful German summer fashion. The air
was filled with the fragrance of flowers and wild animals ; the
living portion of the menagerie of the " Naturalist Tavern " was
all about us. Therj were great cages populous with fluttering
and chattering foreign birds, and other great cages and greater
wire pens, populous with quadrupeds, both native and foreign.
There were some free creatures, too, and quite sociable ones they
were. White rabbits went lopping about the place, and occa'
sionally came and sniffed at our shoes and shins ; a fawn, with a
red ribbon on its neck, walked up and examined us fearlessly ;
we breeds Qf chickens and doves begged for crumbsi and a poor

71 A rmatf inoiD.

•Id talllMt mTMi hopped About with a hiimbl«, ■haiB«*ftM«d
mien which sftid, '' Please do not notice my expoiure, — think
how you would feel in my circumstancei, and be charitable.**
If he waa obienrad too much, he would retire behind something
and stay there until he judged the party's interest had found
another object. I never have seen another dumb creature that
was so morbidly sensitive. Bayard Taylor, who could interpret
the dim reasonings of animals, and understood their moral na-
tures better than most men, would have found some way to make
this poor old chap forget his troubles for a while, but we had
not his kindly art, and so had to leave the raven to his griefs.

After breakfast we climbed the hill and visited the ancient
oastle of Hirschhom, and the ruined church near it. There were
some curious old bas-reliefs leaning against the inner walls of the
church, — sculptured lords of Hirschhom in complete armor, and
ladies of Hirschhom in the picturesque court costumes of the
Middle Ages. These things are suffering damage and passing to
decay, for the last Hirschhom has been dead two hundred years,
and there is nobody now Who cares to preserve the family relics.
In the chancel was a twisted stone column, and the captain told
us a legend about it, of course, for in the matter of legends he
could not seem to restrain himself; but I do not repeat his tale
because there was nothing plausable about it except that the
Hero wrenched this column into its present screw shape with his
hands,— just one single wrench. All the rest of the legend was
doubtful.

But Hirschhom is best seen from a distance, dowi^ the river.
Then the clustered brown towers perched on the green hilltops,
and the old battlemented stone wall stretching up and over the
grassy ridge and disappearing in the leafy sea beyond| make a
picture whose grace and beauty entirely satisfy the eye.

We descended from the church by steep stone stairways which
curved this way and that down narrow alleys between the packed
and dirty tenements of the village. It was a quarter well stocked
with deformed, leering, unkempt and uncombed idiots, who held
out hands or caps and begged piteously. The people d the
quarter were not all idiots, of courae, but all that begged Memed
to be, and were said to be.

X was thinking of |oin|; by litiff tQ fho noxt ifiiwn^ K•ok•^

A nun* ASliOAV.

■teinach J to I tmi to th« rirer tide in acItmim of tho potty oiid
••ked tk mtoi there if he had a boat to hire. I suppoeo I miut
have spoken HighQerman — Court Oerman — I intended it for
that, anyway— ao he did not understand me. I turned and
twisted my question around and about, trying to strike that
man's ayerage, but failed. He could not make out what I wanted.
Now Mr. Z. arrived, faced this same man, looked him in the eye,
snd emptied this aentence on him, in the most glib and confident
way:

" Can man boat get here f*

The mariner promptly understood and promptly answered. I
can comprehend why he was able to understand that particular
Bentence, because by mere accident all the words in it except
" get" have the same sound and the same meaning in German
that they have in English ; but how he managed to understand
Mr. X.'8 next remark puisled me. I will insert it, presently. X.
turned away a moment, and I asked the mariner if he could not
find a board, and so construct an additional seat. I spoke in the
purest German, but I might as well have spoken in the purest
Choctaw for all the good it did. The man tried his best to under-
Btand me ; he tried, and kept on trying, harder and harder, until
1 saw it was really of no use, and said—

" There, don't strain yourself— it is of no consequence.**

Then X. turned to him and crisply said—

" Machen Sie a flat board."

I wish my epitaph may tell the truth about me if the man did
not answer up at once, and say he would go and borrow a board
ss soon as he had lit the pipe which he was filling.

We changed our mind about taking a boat, so we did not have
to go. ' I have given Mr. X.'s two remarks just as he made them.
Four of the five words in the first one were English, and that they
were also German was only accidental, not intentional ; three out
of the five words in the second remark were English, and English
only, and the two German ones did not mean anything in parti*
cular, in such a connection.

X. always spoke English, to Germans, but his plan was to turn
the sentence wrong end first and upside down, according to
Oennan construction, and sprinkle in a German word without
mf nmnMfi} miraninf to it, here and there, hy way of flavor.

A TSAlfP ABBOAD.

Yet he alwAyt ouule himself understood. He ooald make thon
diftleot-speftking rafUmen understand him, sometimes, when even
young Z. had failed with them ; and young Z. was a pretty good
German scholar. For one thing, X. always spoke with such
confidence — perhaps that helped. And possibly the raftsmen's
dialect was what is called platt-Deutehf and so they found his
English more familiar to their ears than another man's German.
Quite indifferent students of German can read Fritz Renter's
charming platt-Deutch tales with some little facility because
many of the words are English. I suppose this is the tongue
which our Saxon ancestors carried to England with them. By
and by I will enquire of some other philologist.

However, in the meantime it had transpired that the men
employed to caulk the raft had found that the leak was not a leak
at all, but only a crack between the logs — a crack which belonged
there, and was not dangerous, but had been magnified into a leak
by the disordered imagination of the mate. Hierefore we went
aboard again with a good degree of confidence, and presently
got to sea without accident. As we swam smoothly along be-
tween the^ enchanting shores, we fell to swapping notes about
manners and customs in Germany and elsewhere.

As I write now, many months later, I perceive that each of us^
by observing and noting and enquiring, diligently and day by day,
had managed to lay in a most varied and opulent stock of misin-
formation. But this is not surprising ; it is very difficult to get
accurate details in any country.

For example, I had the idea, once, in Heidelberg, to find out
all about those five student-corps. I started with the White-cap
corps. I began to inquire of this and that and the other citizen,
and here is what I found out :

1. It is called the Prussian Corps, because none but Prussians
are admitted to it.

2. It is called the Prussian Corps for no parti(iular reason. It
has simply pleased each corps to name itself after some German
State.

3. It is not named the Prussian Corps at all, but only tha
White Cap Corps. \

4. Any student can belong to it who is a German by birth.
6. Any student can belong to it who is Suropean by birth.

A TBAMP ABftOAD.

make thOM
when even

>reity good
with such
raftsmen's

f found hit

i'b Oernum.

its Reuter't

ity because
the tongue

I them. By

at the men
as not a leak
oh belonged
d into a leak
tore we went
id presently
»ly along be*
notes about

t each of us,
i day by day,
jck of misin-
ifficult to get

g, to find out
le White-cap
other citizen,

>ut Prussians

X reason. It
ome German

)ut only ih«

by birth,
by birth.

6. Any European bom student can belong to it, •jcMpi be ba

a Frenchman.

7. Any student can belong to it, no matter where he was bom.

8. No student can belong to it who is not of noble blood.

9. No student can belong to it who cannot show three full
generations of noble descent.

10. Nobility is n( t a necessary qualification.

11. No moneyless student can belong to it.

12. Money qualification is nonsense— such a thing has never
been thought of.

I got somq of this information from students themselves—
students who did noi belong to the corps. I finally went to
headquarters — to the White Caps — where I would have gone in
the first place if I had 'been acquainted. But even at head-
quarters I found difficulties ; I perceived that there were things
about the White Cap Corps which one member knew and another
one didn't. It was natural ; for very few members of any organ-
ization know all that can be known about it. I doubt if there is
a man or a woman in Heidelberg who would not answer promptly
and confidently thiee out of every five questions about the White
Cap Corps which a stranger might ask ; yet it is a very safe bet
that two of the three answers would be incorrect every time.

There is one German custom which is universal — the bowing
courteously to strangers when sitting down at table or rising up
from it. This bow startles a stranger out of his self-possession
the first time it occurs, and he is likely to fall over a chair or
something in his embarrassment, but it pleases him nevertheless.
One soon learns to expect this bow and be on the lookout and
ready to return it ; but to learn to lead off and make the initial
bow one's self is a difficult matter for a diffident man. One
thinks, '' If I rise to go and tender my bow, and these ladies and
gentlemen take it into their heads to ignore the custom of their
nation and not return it, how shall I feel, in case I survive to feel
anything ?" Therefore he is afraid to venture. He sits out the
dinner, and makes the strangers rise first and originate the bovic-
ing. A table d'hote dinner is a tedious affair for'a man who sel-
dom touches anything after the three first courses ; therefore I
used to do some pretty dreary waiting because of my fears. It
took me mcmtha to assure myself that thoaa fears were ground-

A TRAIIP ABHOAD.

I, but I did MiiiT« myself at iMt by experhnenting diligently

through my agent. I made HarriR get up and bow and leare ;

inTariably hi* bow was returned, then I got up and bowed myself

•nd retired.

Thus my education proceeded easily and comfortably for me,

but not for Harrii. Three courses of a table d'hote dinner were

enough for me, but Harris preferred thirteen.

Even after I had acquired full confidence, and no longer

needed the agent's help, I sometimes encountered difficulties.

Onoe at Baden-Baden I nearly lost a train because I could not be

sure that three young ladies
opposite me at table, were
Germans, since 1 had not
he^rd them speak ; they
might be American, they
might be English, it was not
safe to venture a bow ; but
just as I had got that far with
my thought, one of them
began a German remark, to
my great relief and grati-
tude *, and before she had
got out her third word, our
bows had been delivered and
graciously returned, and we
wei'e off.

There is a friendly something about the German character
which is very winning. When Harris and I were making a
pedestrian tour through the Black Forest, we stopped at a little
country inn for dinner one day ; two young ladies and a young
gentleman entered and sat down opposite us. They were pedes-
trians, too. Our knapsacks were strapped upon our backs, but
they had a sturdy youth along to carry thei^ for them. All
parties were hungry, so there was no talking. By and by the
usual bows were exchanged, and we separated.

As we sat at a late breakfast in the hotel at Allerheiligen next
momingi these young people entered and took places near us
obatrring us j but presently thej saw vm mkI at once

A TRAWP ABROAb.

UUgenUy
id leave;
ad mytelf

y for me,
nner were

no longer
lifEiculties.
mid not be
mng ladies
*ble, were
1 bad not
eak } tbey
rican, they
1, it was not
a bow ; but
that far with
,e of them
1 remark, to
■ and grati-
)re she had
rd word, our
leliveredand
•ned, and we

[heiligen next
llaces near us
and fti once

Dowed And imiled; not ceremoniously, but with the gratifled
look of people who have found acquaintances where they were
expecting strangers. Then they spoke of the wenther and the
roads. We also spoke of the weather and the roads. Nextf
they said they had had an enjoyable walk notwithstanding the
weulher. We said that that had been our case, too. 'llicn they
•uiit they ha<i walked thirty Englibh miles the day beforehand
atiked how many we had walked. I could not lie, so I told Harris
to do it. Harris told them we had made thirty English miles,
too. That was true ; we had " made " thorn, though w6 had
bad a little assistance here and there.

After breakfast they found us trying to blast some information
out of the dumb hotel clerk about routes, and observing that we
were not succeeding pretty well, they went and got their maps
and things, and pointed out and explained our course so clearly
that even a New York detective could have followed it. And
when wo started they spoke out a hearty good-bye and wished
us a pleasant journey. Perhaps they were more generous with
us than they might have been with native wayfarers because we
were a forlorn lot and in a strange land } I don't know } I only
know that it was lovely to be treated so.

Very well, I took an Anieiican young lady to one of the fine
balls in Baden-Baden, one night, and at the entrance-door up
stairs we were halted by an official— something about Miss Jones's
dress was not according to rule ; I don't remember what it was,
now ; something was wanting — her back hair, or a shawl, or a fan,
or a shovel, or something. The official was ever so polite, and
ever so sorry, but the rule was strict, and he could not let us in.
It was very embarrassing, for many eyes were on us. But now a
richly dressed girl stepped out of the ball-room, inquired into the
trouble, and said she could fix it in a moment. She took Miss
Jones to the robing room, and soon brought her back in regulation
trim, and then we entered the ball-room with this benefactress
unchallenged.

Being safe, now, I began to puzzel through my sincere but
ungrammatical thanks, wlien there was a sudden mutual recog-
nition—the benefactress and I had met at AUerheiligen. Two
weeks had not altered her good face, and plainly her heart was
\n the right place yet, but there was such a difference between

A TRAMP ABROAD.

thcMM oIoth«i and the clothes I had seen her in hefore, when she
WM walking thirty miles a day in the Black Forest, that it wa^
quite natural that I had failed to recognise her sooner. I had on
my other suit, too, but my German would betray me to a person
who had heL.rd it once, anyway. She brought her brother and
■ister, and they made our way smooth for that evening.

Well — months afterward*, I was driving through the streets of
Munich in a cab with a German lady, one ('.ay, when she said —

" There that is Prince Ludwig and his wife, walking along there."

Everybody was bowing to them — cabmen, little children, and
everybody else— and they were returning all the bows and over*
looking nobody, when a young lady met them and made a deep
ourtsy.

** That is probabliy one of the ladies of the oourt^" said my
German friend —

I said—

" She is an honor to it, then. I know her. I don't know her
name, but 1 know her. I have known her at Allerheiligen and
Baden-Baden. She ought to be an Empress, but she may be only
a Duchess ; it b the way things go in this world."

If one asks a German a civil question, he will be ni^lte sure to
get a civil answer. If you stop a German in the street and ask
him to direct you to a certain place, he shows no sign of feeling
ofiiended. If the place be difficult to find, ten to one the man
will drop his own matters and go with you and show you. In
London, too, many i. time, strauigdrs have walked several blocks
with mo to show sie my way. There is something very real about
this sort of pbliteness. Quite often, in Germany, shopkeepers
who could not furnish me the article I wanted, have sent one of
theii' employee with m^ in Ki\o»\ vw ^ placa wher» it eauld b« had

•'k .i; *V

4 nAMJP ^f ^^ ^^ 4P 4

fben •*»•

at it wa*

I had on

a persoTi

jther and

streets of
e said —
mg there."
Idren, and
and over-
do a deep

» said my

fc know her
Leiligen and
may be only

CHAPTER X7.

,*•

HOWEVER, I wander ftrom the raft. We iiiad« the port of
Neckanteinach in good season, and went to the hotel and
ordered a trout dinner, the same to be ready against our return
from a two>hour pedestrian excursion to the village and oastle of
Dilsberg, a mile distant, on the other side of the river. I do not
mean that we proposed to be two hours makiug two miles — no,
we meant to employ most of the time in inspecting Dilsberg.

For Dili berg is a quaint place. It is most quaintly and pic-
turesquely situated, too. Imagine the beautiful river before you ;
then a few rods of brilliant green sward on its opposite shore ^
then a sudden hill — no preparatory gently-rising slopes, but a sort
of instantaneous hill — a hill two hundred and fifty or three
hundred feet high, as round as a bowl, with the same taper
upward that an inverted bowl has, and with about the same rela-
tion of height to diameter that distinguishes a bowl of good
honest depth — a hill which is thickly clothed with green bushes
—a comely, shapely hiU, rising abruptly out of the dead level of
the surrounding green plains, visible from a great distance down
the bends of the river, and with just exactly room on the top of
its head for its steepled and turreted and roof-clustered cap of
architecture, which same is tightly jammed and compacted within
the perfectly round hoop of the ancient village wall.

There is no house outfide the wall on the whole hill, or any
restige of a former house ; all the houses are inside the wall, but
there isn't room for another one. It is really a finished town,
and has been finished a very long tim«. There is no ipace
between the wall and the first circle of buildings ; no, the village
wall is itself the rear wall of the first circle of buildings, and the
roofs jut a little over the wall and thus furnish it with eaves.
The general level of the massed roofs is gracefully broken and
relieved by the dominating towers of the ruined castle and the
I (all spires of a couple of churches ; so, from a distance Dilsberf

>'i

A TRAMP ABBOiD.

hM nther more tho look of a king's crowu than a cap. That
lofty green eminence and its quaint cornet form quite a striking
picture, you may be sure, in the flush of the evening sun.

We crossed over in a boat and began the ascent by a narrow,
steep path which plunged us at once into the leafy deeps of the
bushes. But they weru not cool deeps by any means, for the
sun's rays were weltering hot and there was little or no breeze to
temper them. As we panted up the short ascent, we met brown,
bareheaded and barefooted boys and girls, occasionally, and
sometimes men ; they came upon us without warning, they gave
us good-day, flashed out of sight in the bushes, and were gone as
suddenly and mysteriously as they had come. They were bound
for the other side of the river to work. This path had been
traveled by many generatiohs of these people. They have always
gone down to the valley to earn their bread, but they have always
climbed their hill again to eat it, and to sleep in their snug town.

It is said that the Dilsbergers do not emigrate much ; they find
that living up there above the world, in their peaceful nest, is
pleasanter than living down in the troublous world. The seven
hundred inhabitants are all blood-kin to each other, too j they
have always been blood-kin to each other for fifteen hundred
years ; they are simply one large family, and they like the honie
folks better than they like strangers, hence thoy persistently
stay at home. It has been said that for ages Dilsberg has been
merely a thriving and diligent idiot-factorj'. I saw no idiots there,
but the captain said, " Because of late years the Government
has taken to lugging them off to asylums and otherwheres ; and
government wants to cripple the factory, too, and is trying to get
these Dilsbergers to many out of the funuly, but they don't like
to."

The captain probal)Iy imagined all this, as modem science
denies that the intermarrying of relatives d -^terioraiDss the stock.

Arrived within the wall, we found the usual village sights and
life. We moved along a narrow, crooked iane which had been
paved in the Mi'Ulle A;.tos. A strapping, ruildy giri was beating
flax or some such stuff in u little bit of a goods-box of a barn, and
she swung her flail with a wi 1 — if it was a flail ; I was not farmer
enough to know what she w as at ; a frowsy, barelegged girl was
herding half a dozen geese ,vith a stick — driving them along the

A TR4MP ABROAIV.

>. That

striking

, narrow,

ps of the

8, for the

breeze to

et brown,

lully, and

they gave

re gone as

rere bound
had been

lave always

lave always
snug town.

I ; they find

3ful nest, is
The seven

[., too ; they

2n hundred

le the home
persistently
rg has been
idiots there,
Government
wheres •, and
trying to get
ey don't like

lem science
IS the stock.
ae sights and
ich had been
i was beating
if a barn, and
as not farmer
gged girl was
lem along the

Une and keet)ing thorn out of the dwellings ; a coop*»r wm at
work in a shop which I know he did not make no large a thing as
a hogHhead in, for there was not room. In the front rooms of
dwellings girls and women were cooking or spinning, and ducks
and chickens were waddling in and out, over the threshold, pick.
ing up chance crumbs and liolding pleasant converse ; a very old
and wrinkled man sat asleep before his door, with his chin upon
his breast and his extinguished pipe in his lap ; soiled children
were playing in the dirt everywhere along the lane, unmindful of
Ihe sun.

Except the sleeping old man, everybody was at work, but the
place was very still and peaceful, nevertheless ; so still thot the
distant cackle of the successful hen smote upon the ear but little
dulled by intervening sounds. That commonest of village sights
was lacking here — the public pump, with its great stone tank or
trough of limpid water, and its group of gossiping pitcher-bearers j
for there is no well or fountain or spring on this tall hill ; cisterns
of rain water are used.

Our alpenstocks and muslin tails compelled attention, and as
we moved through the village we gathered a considerable pro-
cession of little boys and girls, and so went in some state to the
castle. It proved to be an extensive pile of crumbling walls,
arches and towers, massive, properly grouped for picturesque
effect, weedy, grass-grown and satisfactory. The children acted
as guides ; they walked us along the top of the highest wall, then
took us up into a high tower and showed us a wide and beautiful
landscape, made up of wavy distances of woody hills, and a nearer
prospect of undulaHng expanses of green lowlands, on the one
hand, and castle-gracod crags and ridges on the other, with the
shining curves of the Neckar flowing between. But the principal
show, the chief pride of the children, was the ancient and emi)ty
well in the grass-grown court of the castle. Its massive stone
curb stands up three or four feet above ground, and is whole
and uninjured. The children said that in the Middle Ages this
well was four hundred feet deep, and furnished all the village
with an abundant supply of water, in war and peace. They said
that in that old day its bottom was below the level of the Neckar^
hence the watei* supply was inexhaustible.

But there were some who believed it never had been a well at

A TtLAMP ABROAD.

all, and wai never deeper than it Is now — eiphty feet ; thtit at
that depth a subterranean passage branched from it and de.
cended graduall> to a remote place in the valley, where it opener!
into somebody's cellar or other hidden recess, an<i that the secret
of this locality is now lost. Those who hold this belief say thut
herein lies the explanation that Dilsber^, besieged by Tilly and
mniiy a soldier before him, was never taken : after the longest
find closest sieges the besiegers were astonished to perceive that
till' besieged were as fat and hearty as ever, and !ia well furnished
with munitions of war — therelbre it must be that the Dilsbergeih
had been bringing these things in through the subterranean pas-
sage all the time.

The children said that there wns in truth a subterranean outlet
down there, and thej"^ would prove it. .So they set a great tiuss
of straw on fire and threw it down the well, while we leaned on
the curb an<l watched the glowing mass descend. It struck
bottom and gi. du lly burned out. No smoke came up. The
children clapped their hands and said —

" You see I Nothing makes so much smoke
MS burning straw — now where did the smoke
go to, if there is no subterranean outlet ?"

So it seemed quite evident that the subter
ranean outlet indeed existed. But the finest
thing within the ruin's limits was a noble linden,
which the children said was four hundred years
old, and no doubt it was. It had a mighty
trunk, and a mighty spread of limb and foliage.
The limbs near the ground were nearly the thickness of a barrel.

That tree had witnessed the assaults of men in mail — how re-
mote such a time seems, and how ungraspable is the fact that
real men ever did fight in real armour t — and it had seen the
time when these broken arches and crumbling battlements were
a trim and strong and stately fortress, fluttering its gay banners
in the sun, and peopled with vigorous humanity — how impos-
sibly long ago that seems 1 — and here it stands yet, and possibly
may still be standing here, sunning itself and dreaming its
historical dreams, when to^iay shall have been joined to the duyi
Oftlled "ancient."

A TRAMP ABROAD.

^; thilt ftt

t and de.

it opened

the secret
f say thftt
' Tilly and
he longest
rceive that
I furnished
Dilshergers
ranean i»a»-

,nean outlet
great truss
leaned on
It stru»k
16 up. The
said—
nuch 8inok<*
I the smoku
jutlet ?"
, the Rubter-
it the finest
noble linden,
undred yeai s
ad a mighty
i and foliage.
58 of a barrel,
nail— how re-
the fact that
lad seen the
lemeuts were
s gay banners

how impos-

, and possibly

dreaming its

Led to the diiyi

W«ll, we Mtt down under the tree to smoke, and the captain
delivered himself of his legend :

THB LBOBND OF DILSBBRO 0A8TLB.

It was to this efifect In the old times there was once a great
company assembled at the castle, and festivity ran high. Of
course there was a haunted chamber in the castle, and one day
the talk fell upon that. It was said that whoever slept in it
would not wake again for fifty years. Now when a young knight
named Conrad von Geisberg heard this, he said that if the castle
were his he would destroy that chamber, so that no foolish person
might have the chance to bring so dreadful misfortune upon him>
self and afflict such as loved him with the memory of it. Straight-
way the company privately laid their heads together to contrive
some way to get this superstitious young man to sleep in that
chamber. And they succeeded — in this way. They persuaded
his betrothed, a lovely mischievous young creature, niece of the
lord of the castle, to help them in their plot. She presently
took him aside and had speech with him. She used all her per-
suasions, but could not shake him ; he said his belief was firm
that if he should sleep there he would wake no more for fifty
years, and it made him shudder to think of it. Catharina began
to weep. This was a better argument : Conrad could not hold
out against it. Ue yielded and said she should have hei wish if
she would only smile and be happy again. She flung her arms
about his neck, and the kisses she gave him showed that her
thankfulness and her pleasure were very real. Then she flew to
tell the company her success, and the applause she received
made her glad and proud she had undertaken her mission, since
all alone she had accomplished what the multitude had failed in.

At midnight that night, after ihe usual feasting, Conrad was
taken to the haunted chamber and left there. He fell asleep,
by and by.

When he awoke again and looked about him, his heart stood
still with horror 1 The whole aspect of the chamber was changed.
The walls were mouldy and hung with ancient cobwebs ; the
curtains and beddmgs were rotten ; the furniture was rickety
and ready to lall to pieces. He sprang out of bed, but his quak*
mg knees sunk under him and he fell to the floor.

** This is the weakness of age," he baJd.

▲ TBAMP ABROAD.

He roM and sought his clothing. It was clothing no \cnp .r.
The colors were gone ; the garments gave way in many places
while he was putting them on. He fled, shuddering, into the
corridor, and along it to the great hall. Jiere he was met by a
middle-aged stranger of a kind ooimtenance, who stopped and
gazed at him with 8uri)rise. ('onrail said :

"Good sir, will you send hither tlie lord Ulrich?"

The stranger looked puzzled a moment, then said— >

« The lord Ulrich ?"

" Yes — if you will be so good."

The stranger called, " Willnilm !" A young serving man came^
•nd the stranger said to him —

" Is there a lord Ulrich among the guests ?"

" I know of none of the name, so please your honor.**

Conrad said, hesitatingly —

" I did not mean a guest, but the lord of the castle, sir."

The stranger and the servant exchanged wondering glances
Then the former said —

" I am the lord of the castle.'*

" Since when, sir ?"

" Since the death of my father, the good lord Ulrich, more than
forty years ago."

Conrad sank upon a bench and covered his face with his hands,
while he rocked his body to and fro and moaned. 'I'he stranger
said in a low voice to the servant —

" I fear me this poor old creature is mad. Call some one."

In a moment several people came and grouped themselves
about, talking in whispers. Conrad looked up and scanned the
faces about him wistfully. Then he shook his 'head and said, in
a grieved voice —

" No, there is none among ye that I know. I f m old and alone
in the world. They are dead and gone these many years that
oared for me. But sure, some of these aged ones I see about me
can tell me some little word or two concerning them."

Several bent and tottering men and women came nearer and
answ^ered his questions about each former friend as he mentioned
the names. This one they said had been dead ten years, that one
twenty, another thirty. Each succeeding blow struck heavief
and heaviAr. At last the suli'erer said —

way,

"/I

A TRAMP ABROAD.

» lang^ t,

y places
into the
met by a
)ped and

lau came.

sir."

Lg glances

more than

his hands,
be stranger

le one."
Ihemselves
canned the
and said, in

d and alone
years that
Be about me

»>

nearer and
e mentioned
ars, that one
uck heaviei

'There is one more, but I have not the courage to— O, my loti

Catharina t"

One of the old dames said —

"Ah, I knew her wall, poor soul. A misfortune overtook her
lover, and she died of sorrow nearly fifty years ago. She lieth
under the linden tree without the court."

Conrad bowed his head and said —

** Ah, why did I ever wake I And so she died of grief for me,
poor child. So young, so sweet, so good 1 She never wittingly
did a hurtful thing in all the little summer of her life. Her loving
debt shall be repaid — for I will die of grief for her."

His head drooped upon his breast. In a moment there was m
wild burst of joyous laughter, a pair of round young arms were
iiung about Conrad's neck and a sweet voice cried —

" There, Conrad mine, thy kind words kill me — the farce shall
go no further I Jjook up, and laugh with us — 'twas ail a jest I"

And he did look up, and gazed, in a dazed wonderment — for
the disguises were stripped away, and the aged men and women
were bright and young and gay again. Catharina's happy tongue
ran on —

" 'Twas a marvelous jest, and bravely carried out. They gave
you a heavy sleeping draught before you went to bed, and in the
night they bore you to a ruined chamber where all had fallen to
decay, and placed these rags of clothing by you. And when your
sleep was spent and you came forth, two strangers, well instructed
in their parts, were here to meet you ; and all we, your friendS|
in our disguises, were close at hand, to see and hear, you may be
sure. Ah, it was a gallant jest t Come, now, and make thee ready
for the pleasures of the day. How real was thy misery for the
moment, thou poor lad ! Look up and have thy laugh, now 1"

He looked up, searched the merry faces about him in a dreamy
way, then sighed and said—
" 1 am aweary, good strangers, I pray you lead me to her grave.**

All the smiles vanished away, every cheek blanched, Catharin*
sunk to the ground in a swoon.

All day the people went about the castle with troubled faces,
and communed together in undertones. A painful hush pervaded
the place which had lately beeu so full of cheeky Ufe. Each in

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

his turn tried to arouse Conrad out of his hHlluoination and bring
him to himself ; but all the answer any got was a meek, bewildered
■tare, and then the words —

" Good stranger, I have no friends, all are at rest these many
years ; ye speak me fair, ye mean me well, but I know ye not ; I
am alone and forlorn in the world — prithee lead me to her grave."

I>uring two years Conrad spent his days, from the early mom*

ing till the night, mourning over the im&ginary grave of his
Catharina. Catharina was the only company of the harmless
madman. He was veiy friendly towards her, because, as he Sbid,
in some ways she reminded him of his Catharina whom he had
lost " fifty years ago." He often said —

" She was so gay. so happy>hearted — but you never smile } and
always when you think I am not looking, you cry."

When Conrad died they buried him under the Linden, accord*
ing to his directions, so that he might rest " near his poor Cath*
arina." Then Catharina sat under the linden alone, every day
and all day long, a great many years, speaking to no one, and
never smiling ; and at last h»r long repentance was rewarded
with death, and she was buried by Conrad's side.

Harris pleased the captain by saying it was a good legend, and
pleased him further by adding —

*^ Now that I have seen this mighty tree, vigorous with its four
hundred years, I feel a desire to believe the legend for iU sake ;
so I will humor the desire, and consider that the tree really
watches over those poor hearts and feels a sort of human tender-
ness for them."

We returned to Neckarsteinach, plunged our hot heads into
the trough at the town pump, and then went to the hotel and
ate our trout dinner in leisurely comfort, in the garden, with the
beautiful Neckar flowing at our feet, the quaint Dilsberg looming
beyond, and the graceful towers and battlements of a couple of
medieeval castles (called the " Swallow's Nest " and '* The Bro-
thers ") assisting the rugged scenery of a bend of the river down
to our right. We got to sea in season to make the eight-mile
run to Heidelberg before the night shut down. We sailed by
the hotel in the mellow glow of sunset, and came slashing down
with the mad current into the narrow passive between the dikes.

A nun* ABBOAD.

id bring
rildered

le many
e not ; I
p grave."
ly mom-
re of his
barmlesB
8 he Bfcid,
1 he had

aile } and

a, accord-
poor Cath-
every day
> one, and
rewarded

)gend, and

th its four
iU sake ;
br6e really
tan tender-
heads into
hotel and
n, with the
)rg looming
couple of
** The Bro-
river down
eight-mile
e sailed by
khing down
, the dikes.

£ believed I eouli shoot the bridge myself, to I went to tlM ftir*
irard triplet of logs and relieved the pilot of his polo and hk
responaibility.

AN SXOBLLBNT PILOT— ONOB I

We went tearing along in a most exhilarating way, and 1 per-
formed the delicate duties of my office very well indeed for a
first attempt ; but perceiving presently that I really was going
to shoot the bridge itself, instead of the archway under it, I
judiciously stepped ashore. The next moment I had my long
coveted desire : I saw a raft wrecked. It hit the pier in the
centre and went all to smash and scatteration like » box of
liatohes struck by lightning.

I was the only one of our party who mw thiB grand sight} tbt

A TftjUlP ABftOAO.

oihern w^re ftttitudlniting. for the benefit of the long rmnk of
young ladies who were promenading on the banX, and no they loet
it. Bui I helpnd to fish them out of the river, down below the
bridge, and then described it to them as well as I could. They
were not interested, though. They snid they were wot and felt
ridioulouB and did not care anything for descriptions of scenery.
The young ladies, and other people, crowded? around and showed
a gr»at deal of sympathy, but that did not li<'lp matters ; for my
friends said they did not want sympathy, they wanted a back
fciley and solitude.

▲ nUMP ABBOAO.

CHAPTER XVI.

NEXT morning brought good news— our trunkii had arrired
from Hamburg at laat. Let this be a warning to the rt»ader.
'Vhe Oermans are very conHcieiitious, and this trait makes them
very particular. Therefore if you tell a German you want a thing
done immediately, he takes you at your word : he thinks you
mean what you say ; ho he does that thing immediately — accord-
ing to hla idea of immediately — which is uhout a wcok : that is,
it is a week if it refers to the building of a garment, or it is an
hour and a half if it refers to the cooking of a trout. Very well ;
if you tell a German to send your trunk to you by " slow freight,"
he taktfs you at your word ; ho sends it by *' slow freight," and
you cannot imagine how long you will go on enlarging your
admiration of the expressiveness of that phrase in the German
tongue, before you get that trunk. The hair on my trunk was
soft and thick and youthful, when I got it ready for shipment in
Hamburg; it was baldheaded when it reached Heidelburg. HoW'
ever, it was still sound, that was a comfort, it was not battered in
the least ; the baggagemen seemed to be conscientiously careful,
in Germany, of the baggage intrusted to their hands. There was
nothing now in the way of our departurci therefore we set about
our preparations.

Naturally my chief solicitude was about my collection of
Keramics. Of course I could not take it with me, that would be
inconvenient, and dangerous besides. 1 took advice, but the
best brick-a-braokers were divided as to the wisest course to
pursue ; some said pack the collection and warehouse it ; others
said try to get it into the Grand Ducal Museum
at Mannheim for safe-keeping. So I divided
the collection, and followed the advice of both
parties. I set aside, for the Museum, those
articles which were the most frail and precious.

Among these was my Etruscan tear-jug. I
have made a little sketch of it here ; that thing
creeping up the side is not a bug, it is a hole, struboait nAs-jua.
I bought this tear-jug of a dealer in antiquities for four hundred

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

A-^

1.0

1.1

^m tsi

1.0

■ 2.2

2.0

IL25 i 1.4

<?5

Kc/

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

A TEAMP ABBOAO.

t ' '

! (■

■»■! n. WhATM.

■Bd llfij doUan. It it very imre. The man laid ih« Etnuor v
UMd to keep teem or something in these things, and that it w**
▼•17 hard to get hold of a broken one, now. I also set aside m^
Henri II. plate. See sketch from my pencil •
it is in the main correct, though I think 1 hay*
foreshortened one end of it a little too much
perhaps. This is very fine and rare ; the shape
is exceedingly beautiful and imusual. It har
wonderful decorations on it, but I am not able
to reproduce them. It cost more than the
tear-jug, as the dealer said their was not another
plate just like it in the world. He said there
was much false Henri II. ware around, but that
the genuineness of this piece was unquestionable. He showed
me its pedigree, or its history if you please ; it was a document
which traced this plate's movements all the way down from its
birth — showed who bought it, from whom, and what he paid for
it->from the first buyer down to me, whereby I saw that it had
gone steadily up from thirty-five cents to seven hundred dollars.
He said that the whole Eeramic world would be informed that it
was now in my possession and would make a note of it, with the
price paid.

I also set apart my exquisite specimen of Old Blue China.
This is considered to be the finest example of Chinese art now in
existence. I do not refer to the bastard Chinese art of modem
tic es, but that noble and pure and genuine art which flourished
under the fostering and appreciative care of the Emperors of the
Chung-a-Lung-Fung dynasty.

There were masters in those days, but alas, it is not so now.
Of course the main preciousness of this piece lies in its color ; it
is that old sensuous, pervading, ramifying, interpolating, trans-
boreal blue which is the despair of modern art.

However, I must not be frittering away the reader^'s time with
these details. I did not intend to go into any detail at all, at
first, but it is the failing of the true keramiker, or the true de*
votee in any department of brick-a-brackery, that once he gets
his tongue or his pen started on his darling theme, he cannot
well stop until he drops from exhaustion. He has no more sense
of the ffight of time than has any other lover when talking of hii

A nUMP ABftOAD,

ncU'
hav«
aucb
ibap«
t bar
table
n tbe
lother
tbere
it tbat
bowed
umeni .
om its
aid for
it bad
lollare.
I tbat it

itbtbe

Gbina.
now in
ododem
uiisbed
of tbe

10 now.
olorj it
trans-

me witb
t all, at
true de-
be gets
cannot
ire sense
of bit

iwet^tbeart. Tbe rerj ** marks ** on the bottom of a piece of
rare crockery are able to tbrow me into a gibbering ectasy ; and
I could forsake a drowning relative to belp dispute about whetber
tbe stopple of a departed Boun Betiro scent-bottle was genuine
or spurious.

Many people say tbat for a male person, bric-a-brac bunting is
about as robust a business as making doll-clothes, or decorating
Japanese pots witb decalcomanie butterflies would be, and these
people fling mud at tbat elegant Englishman, Byng, who wrote a
book called " Tbe Bric-a-Brac Hunter," and make fun of him for
chasing around what they chose to call " his despicable trifles ;"
and for "gushing" over these trifles; and for exhibiting his
" deep infantile delight " in what they call his " tuppeny col.
lection of beggarly trivialities ;" and for beginning his book witb
a picture of himself, seated, in a " sappy, self-complacent attitude}
in the midst of his poor little ridiculous brie a-brac junk shop."

It is easy to say these things ; it is easy to revile us, easy to
despise us ; therefore, let these people rail on ; they cannot feel
as Byng and I feel — it is their loss not ours. For my part I am
content to be a brick-a-bracker and a keramiker — more, I am
proud to be so named. I am proud to know tbat I lose my reason
as immediately in tbe presence of a rare jug witb an illustrious
mark on the bottom of it, as if I had just emptied that jug. Very
well ; I packed and stored a part of my collection, and the rest
I placed in the care of tbe Grand Ducal Museum in Mannheim,
by permission. My Olive Blue China Cat remains tbere yet. I
presented it to that excellent institution.

I had but one misfortune with my things. An egg which I had
kept back from breakfast that morning, was broken in packing.
It was a great pity. I had shown it to the best connoisseurs in
Heidelberg, and they all said it was an antique. We spent a day
or two in farewell visits, and then left for Baden-Baden. We
had a pleasant trip of it, for the Rhine valley is always lovely.
The only trouble was that the trip was too short. If I remember
rightly it only occupied a couple of hours, therefore I judge that
the distance was very little, if any, over fifty miles. We quitted
the train at Oos, and walked the entire remaining distance to
Baden-Baden, witb the exceptiou of a lift of less than an hour
which we got on a passing waggon, the weather being exbauit*
ingly warm. We came into town on foot.

if "

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

One of the first persons we encountered as we walked up the

street, was the Rev. Mr. , an old friend from America— a

luv-iky encounter, indeed, for his is a most gentle, refined and
sensitive nature, and his company and companionehip are a
genuine refreshment. We knew he had been in Europe some
time, but were not at all expecting to run across him. Both
parties burst forth into loving enthusiasms, and Kev. Mr. ■■-
said—

*• I have got a brimfull reservoir of talk to pour out on you, and
an empty one ready and thirsty to receive what you have got ;
we will sit up till midnight and have a good satisfying inter-
change, for I leave here early in the morning." We agreed to
that, of course.

I had been vaguely conscious for a while of a person who was
walking in the street abreast of us ; I had glanced furtively at
him once or twice, and noticed that he was a fine, large, vigorous
young fellow, with an open, independent countenance, faintly
shaded with a pale and even almost imperceptible crop of early
down, and that he was clothed from head to heel in cool ana
enviable snow-white linen. I thought I had also noticed that his
head had a sort of listening tilt to it. Now about this time the
Rev. Mr. said — , '

" The sidewalk is hardly wide enough for three, so I will walk
behind ; but keep the talk going, keep the talk going, there's no
time to lose, and you may be sure 1 will do my share." He
ranged himself behind us, and straightway that stately snow-white
young fellow closed up to the sidewalk alongside him, fetched
him a cordial slap on the shoulder with his broad palm, and sung
out with a hearty cheeriness —

" Americans, for twoand a-half and the money up I ffey f"

The Reverend winced, but said mildly —

** Yes — we are Americans."

** Lord love you, you can just bet that's what / am, every time I
Put it there 1"

He held out his Sahara of a palm, and the Reverend laid his
diminutive hand in it and got so cordial a shake tliat we heard
his glove burst under it. '

" iSay, didn't I put you up right?**

«*0.ye8.»» ^.

k T&AM» ABRdAD.

up th«

rica— a
ed and
> are a
)e some
. Both

^ou, and
ive got ;
ig intep-
,greed to

who was
rtively at

vigorous
8, faintly
) of early

cool ana
d that his

time the

wiU walk
there's no
ire." He
now-white
I, fetched
and sung

Beyf"

^ery time !

id laid his
we heard

** Sho I I tpotted you for my kind the minute I heard your
clack. Tou been over here long 7"
" About four months. Have you been over long 7"
" Long t Well, I should say so I Oping on two yMurt, by
geeminy I Say, are you homesick 7"
" No, I can't say that I am. Are you f**
** 0, hellf yes I" This with immense enthusiasm*
The Reverend shrunk a little in his clothes, and we were aware,
rather by instinct than otherwise, that he was throwing out sig*
nals of distress to us ; but we did not interfere or try to succor
him, for we were quite happy.

The young fellow hooked his arm into the Reverend's nowi
with the confiding and grateful air of a waif who has been long-
ing for a friend, and a sympathetic ear, and a chance to lisp once
more the sweet accents of the mother tongue — and then he lim-
bered up the muscles of his mouth and turned himself loose—
and with such a relish I Some of his words were not Sunday*
school words, so I am obliged to put blanks where they occur.

" Yes indeedy ! if 1 ain't an American there ainH any Americans,
that's all. And when I heard you fellows gassing away in the

good old American language, I'm if it wasn't all I could do

to keep from hugging you I My tongue's all warped with trying to
curl it around these forsaken wind-galled nine-
jointed German words here ; now I tell you it's awful good to lay
it over a Christian word once more and kind of let the old taste
soak in. I'm from western New York. My name is Cholley
Adams. I'm a student, you knov?. Been here going on two years*
I'm learning to be a horse doctor. I like that part of it, you

know, but ■ these people, they won't learn a fellow

in his own language, they make him learn in German j so before
I could tackle the horse-doctoring I had to tackle this miserable
language.

*' Firstoff, I thought it would certainly give me the botts, but
I don't mind it now. I've got it where the hair's short, I think j
and dontchuknow, they made me learn Latin, too. Now between

you and me, I wouldn't give a for all the Latin that was ever

Jabbered ; and the first thing /calculate to do when I get through,
is to just flit down and forget it. 'Twont take me long, and 1
don't mind the time, anyway. And I tell you what t the difier>

A TRAMP ABROAD.

i i

encc between school teaching over yonder and school -teaching
over here — bho I We don't know anything about it I Here you've
got to peg and peg and peg and there just ain't any let-up— and
what you learn here, you've got to knoto, dontchuknow — or else

you'll have one of these spavined, spectacled,

ring-boned, knock-kneed old professors in your hair. I've been
here long enough, and I'm getting blessed tired of it, mind I iell
you. The old man wrote me that he was coming over in June,
and said he'd take me home in August, whether I was done with
my education or not, but durn him, he didn't come ; never said
why ; just sent me a hamper of Sunday School books, and told
me to be good and hold on a while. I don't take to Simday
school books, dontchuknow — I don't hanker after them when I
can get pie — but I read them, anyway, because whatever the old
man tells me to do, that's the thing that I'm a-going to do, or tear
something, you know. 1 buckled in and read all of those books,
because he wanted me to ; but that kind of thing don't excite
me, I like something hearty. But I'm awful homesick. I'm
homesick from ear-socket to crupper, and from crupper to hock
joint ; but it ain't any use, I've got to stay here, till the old man
drops the rag and gives the word — yes, sir, right here in this

country I've got to linger till the old man says

Comet — and you bet your bottom dollar, Johnny, it ain't just as
easy as it is for a cat to have twins I"

At the end of this profane and cordial explosion he fetched a
prodigious '* Whoosh!'' to relieve his lungs and make recognition
of the heat, and then he straightway dived into his narrative

again for " Johnny's" benefit, beginning, " Well, it

ain't any use talking, some of those old American words do have
a kind of a bully swing to them ; a man can express himself with
'em a man can get at what he wants to say, dontchuknow."

When we reached our hotel and it seemed that he was about
to lose the Reverend, he showed so much sorrow, and begged so
bard and so earnestly that the Reverend's heart was not hard
enough to hold out against the pleadings — bo he went away with
the parent-honoring student, like a right Christian, and took
Bupper with him in his lodgings and sat in the surf-beat of hia
slang and profanity till near midnight, and t|^en left him — left
him pretty well talked out, but grateful "clear down to his

frog
duri
sive
Choi
preti
in hi
gem,

BAI
arl
and c
throug
grounc
lofty ai
music J
and in
fashion
forth
though
rather
people J
rheuma
These
canes ;
cheerle
houses,
must he
land wi
generou
of thes(
again, p
vidual V
forms o^
fiaden.
dissolve

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

iching
you've
)— and
or else
itacled,
e been

id I ieli
1 June,
ne with
^er said
ind told

Sunday
I when 1
: the old
b, or tear
se books,
t't excite
ick. I'm
f to hock
8 old man
re in this

man says
iH just as

fetched a

ecognition

narrative

da do have
mself with
tnow."
was about
begged so
5 not hard
, away with
, and took
beat of bis
him— left
[own to his

frogs,** as he expressed it. 13ie Reverend said it had transpired
during the interview that " ChoUey" Adam's father was an exten-
sive dealer in horses in western New York ; this accounted for
Cholley's choice of a profession. The Reverend brought away a
pretty high opinion of Cholley as a manly young fellow, with stuff
in him for a useful citizen ; he considered him rather a rough
gem, but a gem, nevertheless. ^^._. _,., r >

CHAPTER XVII.

BADEN-BADEN sits in the lap of the hills, and the natural and
artificial beauties of tl^e surroundings are combined effectively
and charmingly. The level strip of ground which stretches
through and beyond the town is laid out in handsome pleasure-
grounds, shaded by noble trees and adorned at intervals with
lofty and sparkling fountain-jets. Thrice a day a fine band makes
music in the public promenade before the Conversation- House,
and in the afternoon and evenings that locality is populous with
fashionably dressed people of both sexes, who march back apd
forth past the great music-stand and look very much bored,
though they make a show of feeling otherwise. It seems like a
rather aimless and stupid existence. A good many of these
people are there for a real purpose, however ; they are racked with
rheumatism, and they are there to stew it out in the hot baths.
These invalids looked melancholy enough, limping about on their
canes and crutches, and apparently brooding over all sorts of
cheerless things. People say that Germany, with her damp stchie
houses, is the home of rheumatism. If that is so, Providence
must have foreseen that it would be so, and therefore filled the
land with these healing baths. Perhaps no other country is so
generously supplied with medicinal springs as Germany. Some
of these baths are good for one ailment, some for another ; and
again, peculiar ailments are conquered by combining the indi-
vidual virtues of several different baths. For instance, for some
forms of disease, the patient drinks the native hot water of
Baden-Baden, with a spoonful of salt from .the Carlsbad springs
disaoUed in it. That is not a dose to be forgotten right away.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

^>\

They dotiH ielt this hot water ; no, you go into the gttAi THtik*
halle, and stand around, first on one foot and then on the other,
while two or three young girls sit pottering at some soft Of lady-
like sewing work in your neighborhood and can't seem to see you
— polite as three-dollar clerks in government offices.

By and by one of these rises painfully, and " stretches ;" —
stretches fists and body heavenward till she raises her heels from
the fioor, at the same time refreshing herself with a yawn of such
comprehensiveness that the bulk of her face disappears behind
her upper lip and one is able to see how she is constructed inside
— then she slowly closes her cavern, brings down her fists and
her heels, comes languidly forward, contemplates you contemp-
tuously, draws you a glass of hot water and sets it down where
you can get it by reaching for it. You take it and sayl—

" How much 7" — and she returns you, with elaborate indiffer-
ence, a beggar's answer —

" Naeh Beliebe (what you please).

This thing of using the common beggar's trick and the common
beggar's shibboleth to put you on your liberality when you were
expecting a simple straight-forward commercial transaction, adds
a little to your prospering sense of irritation. You ignore her
reply, and ask again — " How much ?" — and she calmly, indiffer-
ently, repeats — *' Nach Beliebe." '

You are getting angry, but you are trying not to show it ; you
resolve to keep on asking your question till she changes her
answer, or at least her annoyingly indifferent manner. There-
fore, if your case be like mine, you too fools stand there, and
without perceptible emotion of any kind, or any emphasis on any
sylllible, you look blandly into each other's eyes, and hold the
following idiotic conversation—

•'How much ?" « Naeh Beliebe." ^-" ....-;>

« How much ?" " Naeh Beliebe." - ^^ - > r '

" Naeh Beliebe." '^^-i^ " ^- ' *" ' '

" Naeh Beliebe." ,./;..

« Naeh Beliebe.»» - ;

"Naeh Beliebe." ■'

I do not know what another person would hftve done, but ^t
this point I gave it up ; that cast-iron indifference, that tranquil
contemptuousness, conquered me, and I struck my colon. Novf

" How much ?"
" How much ?"
" How much ?"
«' How much ?"

A TEAMF AimOAB.

Trtttk*

otheri
f lady-
lee you

168 }»'-

)l8 from
of such
behind
id inside
ists and
ontexnp-
n where

indiffer-

>t coinmoti
you were
[tion, adds
jnore her
indiffer-

w it J you
anges her
,r. There-
here, and
lis on any
hold the

Icme, but ^t

]at tranquil
lion. N<w*

I kB«w the WM used to receiving about a penny from manly people
who care nothing about the opinions of scullery maids, and nboitt
tuppence from moral cowards ; but I laid a silver twenty-tivo
cent piece within her reach and tried to shrivel her up with this
tarcaatic speech —

"If it isn't enough, will you stoop sufiSciently from your
official dignity to say so?"

She did not shrivel. Without deigning to look at me at all,
she languidly lifted the coin and bit it I— to see if it was good.
Then she turned her back and placidly waddled to her former
roost again, tossed the money into an open till as she went along.
She was victor to the last, you see.

I have enlarged upon the ways of this girl because they are
typical ', her manners are the manners of a goodly number of the
Baden-Baden shop-keepers. The shop-keeper there swindles
you if he can, and insults you whether he succeeds in swindling
you or not. The keeners of baths also take great and patient
pains to insult you. The frowsy woman who sat at the desk in
the lobby of the great Friederichsbad and sold bath tickets, not
only insulted me twice every da^, with rigid fidelity to her great
trust, but she took trouble enough to cheat me out of a shilling,
one day, to have fairly entitled her to ten. Baden-Baden's
splendid gamblers are gone, only her microscopic knaves remain.

An English gentleman who had been living there several years*
said —

" If you coula disguise your nationality, you would not find any
insolence here. These shop-keepers detest the English and des-
pise the Americans ; they are rude to both, more especially to
ladies of your nationality and mine. If these go shopping with-
out a gentleman or a man servant, they are tolerably sure to be
subjected to petty insolences — insolences of manner and tone,
rather than word, though words that are hard to bear ore not
always wanting. I know of an instance where a shop-keeper
tossed a coin back to an American lady with the remark, snap-
pishly uttered, ' We don't take French money here.' — And 1
know of a case where an English lady said to one of these shop-
keepersi ^ Don't you think you ask too much for this article?'
and he replied with the question, ' Do you think you ore obliged
^> buy it ?' Howeveri these people are not impolite to Kussiana

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

'li".

:''M

or Oermani. And m to rank, the j worship that, for they h»?«
long been used to generals and nobles. If you wish to soe to
what abysses servility can descend, present yourself before a
Baden-Baden shop-keeper in the character of a Russian prince.^

It is an inane town, filled with sham, and petty fraud, and
snobbery, but the baths are good. I spoke with many people,
and they were all agreed in that. I had had twinges of rheuma
tism unceasingly during three ye»rs, but the last one departed
after a fortnight's bathing there, and I have never had one since.
I fully believe I left my rheumatism in Baden-Baden. Baden-
Baden is welcome to it. It was little, but it was all I had to give.
I Would have preferred to leave something that was catching, but
it was not in my power.

There are several hot springs there, and during two thousand
years they have poured forth a never diminishing abundance of
the healing water. This water is conducted in pipes to the
numerous bath houses, and is reduced to an endurable tempera-
ture by the addition of cold water. The new Friederichsbad is
A very large and beautiful building, and in it one may have any
sort of bath that has oven been invented, and with all the addi-
tions of herbs and drugs that his ailment may need or that the
physician of the establishment may consider a useful thing to
put into the water. You go there, enter the great door, get a
bow graduated to your style and clothes from the gorgeous por-
tier, and a bath ticket and an insult from the frowsy woman for
a quarter ; she strikes a bell and a serving man conducts you
down a long hall and shuts you into a commodious room which
has a washstand, a mirror, a bootjack and a sofa in it, and there
you undress at your leisure.

The room is divided by a great curtain ; you draw this curtain
aside, and find a large white marble bath tub, with its rim sunk
to the level of the floor, and with three white marble steps lead-
ing down into it. Thid tub is full of water which is as clear as
erystal, and is tempered to 28" Reaumur (about 95" Fahrenheit).
Sunk into the floor, by the tub, is a covered copper box which
contains some warm towels and a sheet. You look fully as white
as an angel when you are stretched out in that limpid bath.
You remain in it ten minutes the first time, and afterwards in-
crease the duration from day to day* till you reach twentyfive qi

A TRAMP ABROAD.

thirty minutM. There you stop. Tlie appointments of the plaoe
are so luxurious, the benefit so marked, tho price so moderate,
and the insults so sure, that you very soon find yourself adoring
the Friederichsbad and infesting it.

We had a plain, simple, unpretending, good hotel, in Baden-
Baden — the Hotel de France — and alongside my room I had ft
giggling, cackling, chattering family who always wont to bed just
two hours after me and always got up just two hours nhoad of
me. But that is common in German hotels ; the people gener*
ally go to bed long after eleven and get up long before eight.
The partitions convey sound like a drumhead, and everybody
knows it ; but no matter, a German family who are all kindness
and consideration in the daytime make apparently no effort to
moderate their noises for your benefit at night. They will sing,
laugh, and talk loudly, and bang furniture around in the most
pitiless way. If you knock on your wall appealingly, they will
quiet down and discus the matter softly amongst thomsolves for
a moment — then, like the mice, they fall to persecuting you
again, and as vigorously as before. They keep cruelly late and
early hours for such noisy folk.

Of course when one begins to find fault with foreign people*!
ways, he is very likely to get a reminder to look nearer home
before he gets far with it. I open my note book to soo if I can
find some more information of a valuable nature about Baden-
Baden, and the first thing I fall upon is this :

Baden-Baden, (no date.) Lot of vociferous Americans at break-
fast this morning. Talking at everybodjj, while pretending to
talk among themselves. On their first trorvels, manifestly. Show-
ing off. The usual signs — airy, easy-going references to grand
distances and foreign places. " Well, good-hye, old fellow — if I
don't run across you in Italy, you hunt me up in London before
you sail."

The next item which I find in my note book is this one :

" The fact that a band of 6,000 Indians are now murdering our
frontiersmen at their impudent leisure, and that we are able ta
send 1200 soldiers against them, is utilized here to discourage
emigration to America. The common people think the Indians
are in New Jersey."

Tlus is a new and peculiar argument against keeping our arm|

100

A TRiMF ABSOAD.

down to a ridlculoui figure in the matter of numbera. It \»
rather a striking one, too. I have not distorted the truth in say
ing that the facts in the above item, about the army and the

%£

Indians, are made use of to discourage emigration to America.
That the common people should be rather foggy in their geo-
graphy, and foggy as to the location of the Indians, is a matter
for amusement, maybe, but not of surprise.

There is an interesting old cemetery in Baden-Baden, and we
spent several pleasant hours in wandering through it and spelling
out the inscriptions on the aged tombstones. Apparently after
a man has lain there a century or two, and has had a good many
people buried on top of him, it is considered that his tombstone
is not needed by him any longer. I judge so from the fact that
hundreds of old gravestones have been removed from the graves
and placed against the inner walls of the cemetery. What artists
they had in the old times 1 Tney chiseled angels and cherubs
and devils and skeletons on the tombstones in the most lavish
•ad gexiexous way — as to supply — but curiously grotes<|ue and

A nUMP ABIOAB.

It If
n MT

d the

ii.. II

imerica.

eir geo-

matter

and we
spelling
ly after
odmany
mbstone
act that
e graves
At artista
cherubs
st lavish
mie and

outlandish as to form. It U not always —kj to toll whieh of th«
figures belong among the blest and which of them among the op>
posite party. But there was an inscription, in Frenohf on <me of
thoee old stones, which was quaint and pretty, and waa plainly
not the work of any other than a poet It wm to this effeot i

Umtm
Ripoaia IN OoD,
Gakoliiib di Clirt, ,

A Rbuoibusb OF St. DaNU|

AOBD 83 TBABa — AJID BUNOb
ThB UOHT WAl RB8T0BBD TO Hm

iir Baobk THB 5th op JaNUARY|
1839.
We made several excursions on fpot to the neighbouriag tU*
lages, over winding and beautiful roads and through enchanting
woodland scenery. The woods and roads were similar to those
at Heidelberg, but not so bewitching. I suppose that roads and
woods which are up to the Heidelberg mark are rare in the world.

Once we wandered olear away to La Favorita Palace, which is
several miles from Baden-Baden. The grounds about the palace
were fine { the palace was a curiosity. It was built by a Mar>
gravine in 1725, and remains as she left it at her death. We wan*
dered through a great many of its rooms, and they all had striking
peculiarities of decoration. For instance, the walls of one room
were pretty completely covered with small pictures of the Mar*
gravine in all conceivable varieties of fanciful costumes, some of
them male.

The walls of another room were covered with grotesquely and
elaborately figured hand-wrought tapestry. The musty ancient
beds remained in the chambers, and their quilts and curtains and
canopies were decorated with curious hand-work, and the walls
and ceilings frescoed with historical and mythological scenes in
glaring colours. There was enough crazy and rotten rubbish in
the building to make the true brioa-bracker green with envy. A
painting in the dining hall verged upoh the indelicate— but then
the Margravine was herself a trifle indelicate.

It is in every way a wildly and picturesquely decorated housey
and brimfull of interest as a reflection of the charaote? «nd tMitt
of Uw^^ rude hjiflnm time,

102

A TRAMP ABROAD.

In the grounds, a few roda from the palace, stands the Kargra*
▼ine's chapely just as she left it — a coarse wooden structure,
wholly barren of ornament. It is said that the Margravine would
give herself up to debauchery and exceedingly fast living for
several months at a time, and then retire to this miserable wooden
den and spend a few months in repenting and getting ready for
another good time. She was a devoted Catholic, and was perhap<^
quite a model sort of a Christian as Christians went then, in high
life.

Tradition says she spent the last two years of her life in the
strange den I have been speaking of, after having indulged
herself in one final, triumphant and satisfying spree. She shut
herself up there, without company, and without even a servant,
and so abjured and forsook the world. In her little bit of a
kitchen she did her own cooking ; sae wore a hair shirt next the
skin, and castigated herself with whips — these aids to grace are
exhibited there yet. She prayed and told her beads, in another
little room before a Waxen Virgin niched in a little box against
the wall ; she beddt^l herself like a slave.

In another small room is an unpainted wooden table, and behind
it sit half-life-size waxen figures of the Holy Family, made by the
very worst artist that ever lived, perhaps, and clothed in gaudy,
flimsy drapery. The Margravine used to bring her meals to this
table and dine with the Holy Family. What an idea that was t
What a grisly spectacle it must have been 1 Imagine it : Those
rigid, shock-headed figures, with corpsy complexions and fishy
glass eyes, occupying one side of the table in the constrained
attitudes and dead fixedness that distinguish all men that are
born of wax, and this wrinkled, smouldering old fire-eater occupy-
ing the other side, mumbling her prayers and munching her
sausages in the ghostly stillness and shadowy indistinctness of ?
winter twilight. It mak^s one feel crawly even to think of it.

In this sordid place, and clothed, bedded and fed like a pauper,
this strange princess lived and worshiped during two years, and
in it she died. Two or three himdred years ago, this would have
made the poor den holy grouL^d ; and the church would have set
up a miracle-factory there and made plenty of money out of \t.
The den could be moved Into some portions of France and made
ft good property even now. .,.*,,.,;,,

A TEAMP ABBOAD*

108

CHAPTER XVin,

FtOM Baden-Baden we made the oustomaiy trip into the Black
Forest. We were on foot moot of the time. One cannot
describe those noble woods, nor the feeling with which they
insf^ire him. A feature of the feeling, however, is a deep sense
of contentment ; another feature of it is a buoyant, boyish glad-
ness ; and a third and very conspicuous feature of it is one's
tense of the remoteness of the workday world and his entire
emancipation from it and its affairs.

Those woods stretch unbroken over a vast region ; and every-
where they are such dense woods, and so still, and so piney and
fragrant. The stems of the trees are trim and straight, and in
many places all the ground is hidden for miles under a thick
cushion of moss of a vivid green color, with not a decayed or
ragged spot in its surface, and not a fallen leaf or twig to mar
its immaculate ti'v -ness. A rich cathedral gloom pervades the
pillared aisles j so the stray flecks of sunlight that strike a trunk
here and a bough yonder are strongly accented, and when they
strike the moss they fairly seem to burn. But the wierdest
effect, and the most enchanting, is that produced by the diffused
light of the low afternoon sun ; no single ray is able to pierce
its way in, then, but the diffused light takes color from moss and
foliage, and pervades the place like a faint, green4inted mist,
the theatrical fire of fairyland. The suggestion of mystery and
the supernatural which hannts the forest at all times, is intensi-
fied by this unearthly glow.

We found the Black Forest farm houses and villages all that
the Black Forest stories have pictured them. The first genuine
specimen which we came upon* was the mansion of a rich farmer
ai\d member of the Common Council of the parish or district.
He was an important personage in the land and so was his wife
also, of course. His daughter was the '' catch" of the region,
and abe mii^ be already entering into immortality as the heroine

lOi

A TRAV^ ABROAD.

•1

A tBAW ABBOAD.

105

t>r fliiA of AuMrVaoh's norelt for all I know. We thall mo, for IT
he puts her in I ihall reoogniie her by her Bleok Foreet clothee,
«nd her burned oomplexion, her plump figure, her fat hands, her
dull expreMion, her gentle tpiriti her generoue feet| and her
bonnetleai head.

The house was big enough for a hotel ; it was a hundred feet
long and fifty wide, and ten feet high, from ground to eaves ; but
from the eares to the comb of the mighty roof was as much as
forty feet, or maybe even more. This roof was of anoient mud*
colored straw thatch a foot thick, and was covered all over,
except in a few trifling spots, with a thriving and luxurious
growth of green vegetation, mainly moss. The mossless spots
were places where repairs had been made by the insertion of
bright new masses of yellow straw. The eaves projected far
down^ like sheltering, hospitable wings. Across the gable that
fronted the road, and about ten feet above the ground, ran a nar-
row porch, with a wooden railing ; a row of small windows filled
with very small panes looked upon the porch. Above were two
or three other little windows, one clear up under the sharp apex
of the roof. Before the ground-floor door was a huge pile of
manure. The door of a second-story room on the side of the
house was open, and occupied by the rear elevation of a cow.
Was this probably the drawing-room T All ot the front half of
the house from the ground up seemed to be occupied by the
people^ the cows and the chickens, and all the rear half by draft
animals and hay. But the chief feature all around this house was
the big heaps of manure.

We became very familiar with the fertilizer in the Forest. We
fell unconsciously into the habit of judging of a man's station in
life by this outward and eloquent sign. Sometimes we said
" Here is a poor devil, this is manifest." When we saw a stately
accumulation, we said, " Here is a banker." When we encoun-
tered a country seat surrounded by an Alpine pomp of manurey
we said, " Doubtless a Duke lives here."

The importance of this feature has not been properly magnified

•in the Black Forest stories. Manure is evidently the Black

Forester's main treasure — ^his coin, his jewel, his pride, his Old

Master, his keramios, his bric-a-brao, hu darling, his title to public

•consideration, envy, veneration, and his flrst solicitude when ht

106

A TEAMP ABBOIB.

gets ready to make his will. The true Black Forest norel, if it !■
ever written, will be skeletoned somewhat in this way }

iKBLBTOir fOB BLACK fOBBST NOTBL.

Rich old fanner, named Huss. Has inherited great wealth of
manure, and by diligence has added to it. It is double-starred
in Baedeker.* The Black Forest artist paints it^— his master*

piece. The king comes to
see it. Gretohen Huss,
daughter and heiress.—
Paul Hoch, young neigh-
bor, suitor for Gretohe*
n's hand— ostensibly ; he
really wants the manure.
Hoch has a good many
cart loads of the iBlack
Forest currency himself,
and therefore is a good
catch; but he is sordid, ■ ;
mean, and without senti-
ment, whereas Gretch-
en is all sentiment and
poetry. Hans Schmidt,
young neighbor, full of
BicH oziD HXTBa. scntimeut, full of poetry,

loves Gretohen, Gretchen loves him. But he has no manure.' Old
Huss forbids him the house. His heart breaks, he goes away to
die in the woods, far from the cruel world — for he says, bitterly,
<< What is man, without manure?"
[Interval of six months.]

Paul Hoch comes to Old Huss and says, ''I am at last as rich
as you required — come and view the pile." Old Hubs views it :
and says, " It is sufficient — take her and be happy" — ^meaning
Gretchfcn.
[ Interval of two weeks.]

Wedding party assembled in old Huss's drawing room ; Hoch
placid and content, Gretchen weeping over her hard late Enter ^

* When Bftedeknr'B guide bookt mention • thing and put tiro
It MMM <* w«U worth Tisiting."

after it,
ILK

A TBAMP ABBOAO.

107

old Huss's head book-keeper. Htus Bays fiercely, ** I gare 70a
three weeks to find out why your books don't balance, and to
prove that you are not a defaulter ; the time is up^find me the
missing property or you go to prison as a thief." Book-keeper:
"I have found it." "Where?" Book-keeper: sternly— tragic-
ally : " In the bridegroom's pile ! — ^behold the thief—see him
blench and tremble !" [Sensation.] Paul Hoch ; " Lost, lost 1"
— falls over the cow in a swoon and is handcuffed. Ghretchen .
" Saved I" Falls over the calf in a swoon of joy, but is caught in
the arms of Hans Schmidt, who springs in at that moment. Old
Hubs : " What, you here, varlet? imhand the maid and quit the
place." Hans: still supporting the msensible girl: "Never I
Cruel old man, know that I come with claims, which even you
can not despise."

Hubs : " What, you f name them."

Hans : ** Then listen. The world had forsaken me, I forsook
the world, I wandered in the solitude of the forest, longing for
death but finding none. I fed upon roots, and in my bitterness
I dug for the bitterest, loathing the sweeter kind. Digging, three
days agone, I struck a manure mine ! — a Golconda, a limitless
Bonanza, of solid manure I I can buy you all, and have moun-
tain ranges of manure left! Ha-ha now thou smilest a smile 1"
'Immense sensation.] Exhibition of specimens from the mine.
Old Huss, enthusiastically : " Wake her up, shake her up, noble
young man, she is yours I" Wedding takes place on the spotj
book-keeper restored to his office and emoluments ; Paul Hoch
led off to jail. The Bonanza king of the Black Forest lives to a
good old age, blessed with the love of his wife and of his twenty-
seven children, and the still sweeter envy of everybody around.

We took our noon meal of fried trout one day at the Plow Inn,
in a very pretty village (Ottenhofen), and then went into the
public room to rest and smoke. There we found nine or ten
Black Forest grandees assembled around a table. They were the
Common Council of the parish. They had gathered there at
eight o'clock that morning to elect a new member, and they had
now been drinking beer four hours at the new member's expense.
They were men of fifty or sixty years of age, with grave, good-
natured faces, and were all dressed in the costume made familiar
to us by the Black Forest stories : broad, round-topped black felt

108

▲ TBiMP ABBOAD.

hfttt with the brims curled up all around; long red wdsteoati
with large metal buttons, black alpaca coats with the waists up
between the shoulders. There were no speeches, there was but
little talk, there were no frivolities ; the Council filled themseWes
gradually, steadily, but surely, with beer, and conducted them*
selves with sedate decorum, as became men of position, men of
influence, men of manure.

We had a hot afternoon tramp up the valley, along the grassy
bank of a rushing stream of clear water, past farm houses, water
mills, and no end of wayside crucifixes and saints and Virgins.
These crucifixes, etc., are set up in memory of departed friends
by survivors, and are almost as frequent as telegraph poles are
in other lands.

We followed the carriage road, and had our usual luck : we
traveled under a beating sun, and always saw the shade leave the
shady places before we could get to them. In all our wanderings
we seldom managed to strike a piece of road at its time for
being shady. We hajd a particularly hot time of it on that par-
ticular Afternoon, and with no comfort but what we could get
« out of the fact that the peasants at work away up on the steep
mountain sides above our heads were even worse ofif than we
were. By and by it became impossible to endure the intolerable
glare and heat any longer ; so we struck across the ravine and
entered the deep cool twilight of the forest, to hunt for what the
guide book called the '' old road."

We found an old road, and it proved eventually to be the right
one, though we followed it at the time with the conviction that
it was the wrong one. If it was the wrong one there could be no
use in hurryi&g, therefore we did not hurry, but sat down fre-
quently on the soft moss and ei\joyed the restful quiet and shade
of the forest solitudes. There had been distractions in the car-
riage road — school children, peasants, wagons, troops of pedes-
tnanizing students from all over Germany — ^but we had the old
road all to ourselves.

Now and then while we rested we watched the laborious ant at
his work. I found nothing new in him — certainly nothing to
change my opinion of him. It seems to me that in the matter pf
intellect the ant must be a strangely overrated bird. During
•umm«ni| morn, 1 have watched him, when I ought to have

A TRAMP ABROAD.

100

been in b«Mer business, and I have not yet eome aerosi a living
ant that seemed to have any more sense than a dead one. I refer
to the ordinary ant, of course ; I have had no experience of those
wonderful swiss and African ones which vote, keep drilled aimies^
hold slaves, and dispute about religion. Those particular ants
may be all that the naturalist paints them, but I am persuaded
that the average ant is a sham. I admit his industry, of course i
he is the hardest working creature in tho world — when anybody
is looking — but nis leather-head edness is the point I make against
him. He goes out foraging, he makes a capture, and then what
does he do ? Go home ? No — he goes anywhere but home. He
dosn't know where home is. His home may be only three feet
away — no matter, no can't fmd it. He makes his capture, as I
have said ; it is generally something which can be of no sort of
use to himself or anybody else ; it is usually seven times bigger
than it ought to be ; he hunts out the awkwardest place to take
hold of it; he lifts it bodily up in the air by main force, and
starts : not toward noma, but in the opposite direction ; not
calmly and wisely, but with a frantic haste which is wasting to its
strength ; he fetches up against a pebble, and instead of going
around it, he climbs over it backwards dragging his booty after
him, tumbles down on the other side, jumps up in a passion, kicks
the dust off his clothes, moistens his hands, grabs his property
viciously , yanks in this way and then that, shoves it ah<>ad of
him a moment, turns tail and lugs it after him another moment,
gets madder and madder, then presently hoists it into the air and
goes tearing away in an entirely new direction ; comes to a weed j
li never occurs to him to go around it; no, he must climb it;
and he does climb it, dragging his worthless property to the top —
which is as b;jg!it a thing to do as it would be for me to carry a
sack of flour I'rom Heidelberg to Paris by way of Strasbnrg
steeple ; when he gets up tiiere he finds that that is not the
place; takes a cursory glance at the scenery and either climbs
down again or aimbles down, and starts off once more — as usual,
in a new direi'Uon. At the end of half an hour, he fetches up
within six inches of the place he started from and lays his burden
down ; meantime he has been over all the ground for two yards
around, and climbe<l all the weeds and pebbles he came across.
Now he wipes the sweat iiom his brow, strokes his limbs, and

110

A TBAMP ABROAD.

then marches aimlegsly off, in as violent a hurry as ey«r. He
traverses a good deal of Zig-Zag country, and by and by stumbles
on his same booty again. He does not remember to have ever
■een it before ; he looks around to see which is not the way home,
grabs his bundle and starts ; he goes through the same adven*
tures he had before ; finally stops to rest, and a friend comes
along. Evidently the friend remarks that a last year's grass-
hopper leg is a very noble acquisition and inquires where he got it.
Evidently the proprietor does not remember exactly where he
did get it, but thinks he got it '' around here somewhere.'*
Evidently the friena contracts to help him freight it home.
Then, with a judgment peculiarly antic (pun not intentional,)
they take hold of opposite ends of that grasshopper leg and be*
gin to tug with all their might in opposite directions. Presently
tiiey take a rest and confer together. They decide that something
is wrong, they can't make out what. Then they go at it again,
just as before. Same result. Mutual recriminations follow.
Evidently each accuses the other of being an obstructionist. They
warm up, and the dispute ends in a Hght. They look them-
selves together and chew each other's jaws for a while ; then they
roll and tumble on the ground till one loses a horn or a leg and
has to haul off for repairs. They make up and go to work again
in the same old insane way, but the crippled ant is at a dis-
advantage ; tug as he may, the other one drags off the booty and
him at the end of it. Instead of giving up he hangs on, and
gets his shins bruised against every obstruction that comes in
the way. By and by when the grasshopper leg has been dragged
over the same old ground once more, it is finally dumped at about
the spot where it originally lay, the two perspiring ants inspect it
thoughtfully and decide that dried grasshopper legs are a poor
sort of property after all, and then each starts off in a different
direction to see if he can't find an old nail or something else
that is heavy enough to afford entertainment and at the same
time valueless enough to make an ant want to own it.

There in the Black Forest, on the mountain side, I saw an ant
go through with such a performance as this with a dead spider ot
fully ten times his own weight. The spider was not quite dfad,
but too far goue to resist, lie haa a round body the size of a pea.
The little ant~observing that i was uoiiciug — turned him on iiis

A TEAM? ABROAD.

Ill

nbles

ever

lome,

dven-

(7 an ant
spider ot

iite df ad,

of a pea.

on bis

htck, nmk bit ftuigi into hii throat, lifted him into the air and
started vigorouily off with him, stumbling over little pebbles,
stepping on the spider's legs and trippng himself up, dragging
him backwards, shoving him boldly ahead, dragging him up stones
six inches hi^ instead of going around them, climbing weeds
twenty times his own height and jumping from their summits —
and finally leaving him in the middle of the road to be confiscated
by any other fool of an ant that wanted him. I measured the
ground which this ass traversed, and arrived at the conclusion
that what he had accomplished inside of twenty minutes would
constitute some such job as this — relatively speaking — for a man ;
to wit : to strap two eight-hundred pound horses together, carry
them eighteen hundred feet, mainly over (not around) boulders
averaging six feet high, and in the course of the journey climb up
and jump from the top of one precipice like Niagara, and three
steeples, each a hundred and twenty feet high ; and then put the
horses down, in an exposed place, without anybody to watch
them, and go off to indulge in some other idiotic miracle for
vanity's sake.

Science has recently discovered that the ant does not lay up

anything for vrinter use. This will knock him out of literature,

to some extent. He does not work, except when people are

looking, and only then when the observer has a green, naturalistic

look, and seems to be taking notes. This amoimts to deception,

and will injure him for the Sunday schools. He has not judgment

enough to know what is good to eat from what isn't. Ibis

amounts to ignorance, and will impair the world's respect for him.

He cannot stroll around a stump and find his way home again.

This amounts to idiotcy, and once the damaging fact is established,

thoughtful people will cease to look up to him, the sentimental

will cease to fondle him. His vaunted industry is but a vanity

snd of no effect, since he never gets home with anything he starts

with. This disposes of the last remnant of his reputation and

wholly destroys his main usefulness as a moral agent, since it will

make the sluggard hesitate to go to him any more. It is strange

beyond comprehension, that so manifest a humbug as the ant has

been able to fool so many nations and keep it up so many ages

without being found out.

The ant is strong, but we saw another strong thing, where w«

119

A ntAMP ABBOID.

IumI not mfiMetad the presence of much mufcultfr power before.
A toadstool — that vegetable which springs to ftill growth in a
■ingle night— had torn loose and lifted a matted mass of pine
needles and dirt of twice its own bulk into the air, and supported
it there, like a column supporting a shed. Ten thousand toad-
stools, with the right purchasci could lift a man, I suppose. But
what good would it do 7

All our afternoon's progress had been up hill. About five or
half past we reached the summit, and all of a sudden the dense
curtain of the forest parted and we looked down into a deep and
beautiful gorge and out over a wide panorama of wooded moun-
tains with their summits shining in the sun, and their glade-
furrowed sides dimmed with purple shade. The gorge under our
feet — called Allerheiligen — afforded room in the grassy level at
its head for a cosy and delightful human nest, shut away from
the world and its botherations, and consequently the monks of
the old times had not failed to spy it out ; and here were the
brown and comely ruins of their church and convent to prove
that priests had as fine an instinct seven hundred years ago in
ferreting out the choicest nooks and corners in a land as priests
have to-day.

A big hotel crowds the ruins a little now, and drives a brisk
trade with summer tourists. We descended into the gorge and
had a supper which would have been very satisfactory if the
trout had not been boiled. The Germans are pretty sure to boil
a trout or anything else if left to their own devices. This is an
argument of some value in support of the theory that they were
the original colonists of , the wild islands off the coast of Scot-
land. A schooner laden with oranges was wrecked upon one of
those islands a few years ago, and the gentle savages rendered
the captain such willing assistance that he gave them as many
oranges as they wanted. Next day he asked them how they
liked th'^m. They shook their heads and said —

" Baked, they were tough ; and even boiled, they warn't things

for a hungry man to hanker after."

t We went down the glen after supper. It is beautiful — a mix-

\ ture of sylvan loveliness and craggy wildness. A limpid tork'ent

Igoes whistling down the glen, and toward the toot of it. winds

through a narrow cjolt between lolty precipices and hurls itself

over a
has at

rise in
and mi

A nUMF ABBOAD.

118

for*,
in »
pine
srted
toad-
Bui

orer » raooeiision of falls. Aft«r one pMies the last of these h«
has a backward glimpse at the falls which is very pleasing — they
rise in a seven-stepped stairway of foamy and glittering cascadefl|
and make a picture which is as charming as it is unusual.

Iveor
dense
ip and
moun-
glade-
ierour
ivel at
y from
nks of
tre the
I prove
ago in

a brisk
rge and
y if the
I to boil
is is an
ey were
af Scot-
1 one of
endered
is many
ow they

CHAPTER XIX.

' E were satisfied that we could walk to Oppenau in one dayi
now that we were in practice ; so we set out next morning
after breakfast determined to do it. It was all the way down '
hill| and we had the loveliest summer weather for it. So we set
the pedometer and then stretched away on an easy, regular stride,
down through the cloven forest, drawing in the fragrant breath
of the morning in deep refreshing draughts, and wishing we
might never have anything to do forever but walk to Oppenau
and keep on doing it, and then doing it over again.

^uw the true charm of pedestrianism does not lie in the walk-
ing, or in the sceneryj but in the talking. The walking is good
to time the movement of the tongue by, and to keep the blood
and the brain stirred up and active ; the scenery and the woodey
smells are good to bear in upon a man an unconscious and unob-
trusive charm and solace to eye and soul and sense ; but the
supreme pleasure comes from the talk. It is no matter whether
one talks wisdom or nonsense, the case is the same, the bulk of
the enjoyment lies in the wagging of the gladsome jaw and the
Qapping of the sympathetic ear.

And what a motley variety of subjects a couple of people will
casually rake over in the course of a day's tramp I There being
no constraint, a change of subject is always in order, and so a
body is not likely to keep pegging at a single topic until it grows
tiresome. We discussed everything we knew, during the first
fifteen or twenty minutes, that morning, and then branched out
into the glad, free, boundless realm of the things we were not
certain about.

Harris said that if the best writer in the world once got the
slovenly habit of doubling up his " have's" he could never get
rid of it while he lived. That is to gay, if a man gets the habit

114

A TRAM? ABROAD.

of Haying " I ehmild have liked to hare known more about it'*
instcnd of saying dimply and aensibly, " I ihould have liked to
know more about it," that man*s disease is incurable. Harris
said that this sort of lapse is to be found in every copy of every
new8paper that has ever been printed in ^^)g1ish, and in almost
all of our books. He said he hod observed it in Kirkham's
grammar and in Macaulay. Harris believed that milk-teeth are
commoner in men's mouths than tho«e doubled up have's."'^

'J'hat changed the subject to dentistry. I said I believed the
average man dreaded tooth-pulling more than amputation, and
that Up would yell (juicker under the former operation than he
would under the latter. The philosopher Harris said that the
average man would not yell in either case if he had an audience.
Then he continued :

" When our brigade first weu- into camp on the Potomac, we
used to be brought up standing, occasionally, by an ear-splitting
howl of anguish. That meant that a soldier was getting a tooih
pulled in a tent. But the surgeons soon changed that; they
instituted open-air dentistry. There never was a howl afterwards
— that is, from the man who was having the tooth pulled. At the
daily dental hour there would always be about five hundrea
soldiers gathered together in the neighborhood of that dental
chair waiting to see the performance— and help ; and the moment
the surgeon took a grip on the candidate's tooth and began to
lift, every one of those five hundred rascals would olap his hand
to his jaw and begin to hop around on one leg and howl with all
the lungs he had I It was enough to raise your hair to hear thai
variegated and enormous unanimous caterwaul burst out 1 With
BO big and so derisive an audience as that, a sufferer wouldn'^
emit a sound though you pulled his head off. The surgeons said
that pretty often a patient was compelled to laugh, in the midst
of his pangs, but that they had never caught one <)rying out, after
the open-air exhibition was instituted."

Dental surgeons suggested doctors, doctors suggested death,
death suggested skeletons, — and so. by a logical process the con-
versation melted ort of one of these subjects and into the oext,

* I do not know that there ham not been momente in the eonite of the preaent
■eiflion when I BhouM have been very glad to have accepted the propoaal of m;
noble Mend, and to have exchanged parta in aome of our evenings of work.— []!roD
a epeeoh of tlM £iigUah Ohsacallor of tha BsdMqoar, Aoitaali 1S78.]

A TRAirr Afi1tOAl>.

115

antil the topic of skeletoni raiBed up Nicoclftmus Dodf* oat of
the deep graye in my memory where he had lain buried and
forgotten for twenty-five years. When I wan a boy in a printing
office in Missouri, a loose-jointed, longlefK<><l> tuw )ieaded,Joani
clad, countrified oub of about six'^^n loun^««d in one day, and
without removing his hands from t)><' dopths of his trowsera
pooketaor taking off his faded ruin of a slotK^h hat, whose broken

■BBKINO ▲ SITUATIOir.

brim bong limp and ragged about his eyes and ean like a bog.
eaten cabbage leaf, stared indifferently around, then leaned his
hip against the editor's table, crossed his mighty brogans, aimed
at a distant fly from a crevice in his upper teeth| laid him loW|
and said with composure,

"Whar's the boss?"

"I am the boss," said the editor, following this curious bit of
architecture wonderingly along up to its clock-face with his eye*

« Don't want anybody fur to learn the business, 't ain't likelj t"

« Well, I don't know. Would you like to learn it?"

"-ifej...

116

A TRAMP ABROAD.

''Pap's 80 po' he cain't run me no mo/ so 1 want to git a show
somers if I kin, 'tain't no diffunce what — I'm strong and hearty,
And 1 don't turn my back on no kind of work, hard nur soft."

" Do you think you would like to learn the printing business 7"

" Well, I don't re'ly k'yer a durn what I do learn, so's I git a
chance fur to make my way. I'd jist as soon learn print'n 'i
anything."

" Can you read ?"

« Yes— middiin'." \

"Write?"

" Well, I've seed people could lay over me thar."

"Cipher?"

" Not good enough to keep store, I don't reckon, but up as fur
as twelve-times-twelve I ain't no slouch. 'Tother side of that is
what gits me."

" Where is your home ?" ' *"' •

" I'm fm old Shelby." -

" What's your father's religious denomination ?''

" Him ? 0, he's a blacksmith."

" No, no — I don' t mean his trade. What's his religioua denomi-
nation ?"

" — I didn't understand you befo'. He's a Freemason."

" No-no, you don't get my meaning yet. What I mean is, does
he belong to any church ?"

" Noiv you're talk in' ! Couldn't make out what you was a
tryin to git through yo' head no way. B'long to a church ! ' Why
boss he's ben the pizenest kind of a Free-will Baptis' for forty
year. They ain't no pizener ones 'n' what he is. Mighty good
man, pap is. Everybody says that. If they said any difirunt
Ihey wouldn't say it whar / wuz — not much they wouldn't."

" What is your own religion ?"

"Well, boss, you've kind o' got me, thar— .and yit you hain't
got me so mighty much, nuther. I think 't if a feller he'ps ano-
ther feller when he's in trouble, and don't cuss, and don't do no
mean things, nur noth'n' he ain' no business to do, and don't spell
the Savior's name with a little g, he ain't runnin' no resks — he's
about as saift as if he b'longed to a church." '

"But suppose he did spell it with a little g -what then ?"

" Well, if he done it a-purpose. I reckon he wouldn't stand no

k TRAM? ABROAD.

117

chance — he oughtn^t to have no chance, anyway, I'm most rotten
certain 'bout that."

" What Ib your name ?"

** Nicodemus Dodge "

" I think maybe you'll do, Nicodemus. We'll give you a trial,
anyway." ,.,^. ^ .;. ..., . ,. . ■... . .;

"All right." " .::,{., '

" When would you like to begin ?"

"Now."

So, within ten minutes after we had first glimpsed this nonde*
script he was one of us, and with his coat off and hard at it."

Beyond that end of our establishment which was furthest from
the street, was a deserted garden, pathless, and thickly grown
with the bloomy and villanous " jimpson" weed and its commor
friend the stately sunflower. In the midst of this mournful spot
was a decayed and aged little " frame" house with but one room,
one window, and no ceiling — it had been a smoke-house a genera-
tion before. Nicodemus was given this lonely and ghostly den as
ft bed chamber. '' \

The village smarties recognized a treasure in Nicodemus, right
away — a butt to play jokes on. It was easy to see that he was
inconceivably green and confiding. George Jones had the glory
of perpetrating the first joke on him ; he gave him a cigar with a
fire-cracker in it and winked to the crowd to come ; the thing
exploded presently and swept away the bulk of Nicodemus's
eyebrows and eyelashes. He simply said —

" I consider them kind of seeg'yars dangersome," and seemed
to suspect nothing. The next evening Nicodemus waylaid George
and poured a bucket of ice-water over him.

One day, while Nicodemus was in swimming, Tom McElroy
" tied " his clothes. Nicodemus made a bonfire of Tom's, by way
of retaliation,

A third joke was played upon Nicodemus a day or two later —
he walked up the middle aisle of the village church, Sunday

night, with a staring hand bill pinned between his shoulders.

The joker spent the remainder of the night after church in the

cellar af a deserted house, and Nicodemus sat on the cellar door

till towards breakfast time to make sure that the prisoner re*

membered that if any noise was made, some rough treatment

118

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

wonld h% th« eonsequenoe. The cellar had two feet of stagnant
water in it, and was bottomed with six inches of soft mud.

But 1 wander from the pomt. It was the subject of skeleton!
that brought this boy back to my recollection. Before a very
long time had elapsed the village smarties began to feel an un*
comfortable consciousness of not having made a very shining
success out of their attempts on the simpleton from ** old Shelby.**
Experimenters grew scarce and chary. Now the young doctor
came to the rescue. There was delight and applause when he
proposed to scare Nicodemus to death, and explained how he
was going to do it. He had a noble new skeleton — the skeleton
of the late and only local celebrity, Jimmy Finn, the village
drunkard — a grisly piece of property which he had bought of
Jimmy Finn himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, under great
competition, when Jimmy lay very sick in the tan-yard a fort*
night before his death, llie fifty dollars had gone promptly for
whiskyi and had considerably hurried up the change of owner*
ship in the skeleton. The doctor would put Jimmy Finn's skele*
ton in Nicodemus's bed 1

This was done — about half-past ten in the evening. About
Nicodemus's usual bedtime — midnight — the village jokers came
creeping stealthily through the jimpson w^eds and sunflowers
toward the lonely frame den. They reached the window and
peeped in. There sat the long-legged pauper on his bed, in a
very short shirt, and nothing more ; he was dangling his legs
contentedly back and forth, and wheezing the music of " Camp*
town Baces " out of a paper-overlaid comb which he was pressing
against his mouth ; by him lay a new jewsharp, a new top, a solid
india-rubber ball, a handfull of painted marbles, five poimds of
** store " candy, and a well-knawed slab of gingerbread as big
and as thick as a volume of sheet music. He had sold the skele-
ton to » traveling quack for three dollars and was eiijoying the
result I

Just as we had finished talking about skeletons and were drift,
ing into the subject of fossils, Harris and I heard a shout, and
glanced up the steep hillside. We saw men and women standing
away up there looking frightened, and there was a bulky object
tumbling and floundering down the steep slope toward us. We
got out of the way, and when the object landed in the road it

▲ TRAMP ABBOAD.

119

proved to be a boy. He had tripped and fallen, and there waa
nothing for him to do bat tnut to luck and take what might
oome.

When one starta to roll dowa a place like that, there ia no atop>
ping till the bottom is reached. Think of people farming on a
slant which is so steep that the best you can say of it — ^if you
MSkut to be fastidiously accurate — is,
that it is a little steeper than a ladder
and not quite so steep as a mansard
roof. But that is what they do. Some
cf the little farms on the liillside
opposite Heidelberg were stood up
"edgeways." The boy was wonder-
fully jolted up, and his head was'
bleeding, from cuts which it had got
fiam small stones on the way.

Harris and I gathered him up a^d
set Mm on a stone, and by that time
the men and women had scampered
down and brought his cap.

Men, women and children flocked out from neighboring ook-
tsges and joined the crowd ; the pale boy was petted, and stand
a{:, and commiserated, and water was brought for him to dzink,
and bathe his bruises in. And such another clatter of tongaes !
All who had teen the catastrophe were describing it at once, and
each trying to talk louder than his neighbor } and one youth of
a superior genius ran a little way up the hill, called attention,
tripped, fell, rolled down among us, and thus triumphantly showed
exactly how the thing had been done.

Hmths and I were included in all the descriptions; how we
were coming along ; how Hans Gros shouted ; how we looked up
8tartle<i; how we saw Peter aoming like a oaimon-shot; how
judici(*usly we got out of the way, and let him come ; and with
wh&t presence of mind we picked him up and brushed him off
and set him on a rock when the performance was over. We were
aa much heroes as anybody else, except Peter, and were so re-
cognized ; we were taken with Peter and the populaoe to Peter's
mother's cottage, and there we ate bread and cheese and drank
milk .and bear with eyexybody, and had m most soeiaUe good

I '«['

i.%

120

A TBAMI ABROAD.

time ; and when we left we had a hand-shake all around, and
were receiving and shouting back Leh* toohVt until a turn in the
road separated us from our cordial and kindly new friends for
ever.

We accomplished our undertaking. At half past eight in the
evening we stepped into Oppeneau, just eleven hours and a half
out from Allerheiligen — one hundred and forty-six miles. This
is the distance by pedometer ; the guide book and the Imperial
Ordnance maps make it only ten and a quarter— a surprising
blunder, for these two authorities are usually singularly acurate
in the matter of distances.

CHAPTER XX.

THAT was a thoroughly satisfactory walk— and the only one
we were ever to have which was all the way down hill. We
took the train next morning and returned to Baden-Baden
through fearful fogs of dust. Every seat was crowded, too ; for
it was Sunday, and consequently everybody was taking a " plea-
sure" excursion. Hot I the sky was an oven — and a sound one,
too, with no cracks in it to let in any air. An odd time for a
pleasure excursion, certainly.

Sunday is the great day, on the continent — the free day, the
happy day. One can break the Sabbath in a hundred ways with-
out committing any sin.

We do not work on Sunday, because the commandment forbids
it ; the Germans do not work on Sunday, because the command-
ment forbids it. We rest on Sunday, because the commandment
requires it ; the Germans rest on Sunday, because the command-
ment requires it. But in the definition of- the word '' rest" lies
all the difiference. With us, its Sunday meaning is, stay in the
house and keep still ; with the Germans its Sunday and week day
meanings seem to be the same — rest the tired partf and never
mind the other parts of the frame ; rest the tired part, and use
the means best calculated to rest that particular part. Thus : if
one's duties have kept him in the house all the week, it will rest
him to be out on Sunday ; if his duties have required him to read

A TRAMP ABKOAD.

ISl

weighty «ad Mrioui matter all the week, it will rest hiir to read
light matter on Sunday ; if his occupation has busied him with
death and funerals all the week, it will rest Iiim to go to the
theatre Sunday night and put in two or three hours laughing at
a comedy ; if he is tired with digging ditches or felling trees all
the week, it will rest him to lie quiet in the house on Sunday ; it
the hand, the arm, the brain, the tongue, or any other member,
is fatigued with inanition, it is not to be rested by adding a day's
inanition ; but if a member is fatigued with exertion, inanition
is the right rest for it. Such is the way in which the Germans
seem to define the word " rest ;" that is to say, they rest a mem-
ber by recreating, recupei-ating, restoring its forces. But our
definition is less broad. We all rest alike on Sunday — by seclud*
ing ourselves and keeping still, whether that is the surest way
to rest the most of us or not. The Germans make the actors,
the preachers, etc., work on Sunday. We encourage the preach-
ers, the editors, the printers, etc., to work on Sunday, and imagine
that none of the sin of it falls upon us ; but I do not know how
we are going to get around the fact that if it is wrong for the
printer to work at his trade on Sunday it must be equally wrong
for the preacher to work at his^ since the commandment has ma(.le
no exception in his favor. We buy Monday morning's paper and
read it, and thus encourage Sunday-printing. But I shall never
do it again.

The Germans remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy, by
abstaining from work, as commanded ; we keep it holy by ab-
staining from work, as commanded, and by also abstaining from
play, which is not commanded. Perhaps we constructively break
the command to rest, because the resting we do is in most cases
only a name, and noi a fact.

These reasonings have sufSced, in a measure, to mend the rent
in my conscience which I made by traveling to Baden-Baden thai
Sunday. We arrived in time to furbish up and get to the Eng-
lish church before services began. We arrived in considerable
style, too, for the landlord had ordered the first carriage that
could be found, since there was no time to lose, and our coach-
man was so splendidly liveried that we were probably mistaken
for a braee of stray dukes ; else why were we honored with a pew
All to ourselvea, away up among ib^ very elect at the left ot th«

:r.s

MBit' 3

•imm

|: j:

1 > '

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

dUUMMl t lliftt WM my fint thought. In the pew direoUy in
froai of ui Mt an elderly lady, plainly and cheaply dressed ; at
hw side sat a young lady with a very sweet face, and she also i«a-
quite simply dressed ; but around us and about us were clothes
and jewels which it would do anybody's heart good to worship in.
1 thought it was pretty manifest that the elderly lady was
embarrassed at finding herself in such a conspicuous place
arrayed in such che!Ap apparel ; I began to feel sorry for her and
troubled about her. She tried to seem very busy with her prayer
book and her responses, and unconscious that she was out of
place, but I said to myself, " She is not succeeding — there is a
distressed tremulousness in her voice which betrays increasing
embarrassment." Presently the Savior's name was mentioned,
and in her flurry she lost her head completely, and rose and
curtsied, instead of making a slight nod as everybody else did.
The sympathetic blood surged to my temples and I turned and
gave those fine birds what I intended to ba a beseeching look
but my feelings got the better of me and changed it into a look
which said, " If any of you pets of fortune laugh at this poor soul,
you will deserve to be fiayed for it." Things went from bad to
worse, and I shortly found myself mentally taking the unfriended
lady under my protection. My mind was wholly upon her, I
forgot all about the sermon. Her embarrassment took stronger
and stronger hold upon her ; she got to snapping the lid of her
smellirig bottle— it made a loud, sharp sound, but in her trouble
she snapped and snapped away, unconscious of what she was
doing. The last extremity was reached when the collection-plate
began its rounds ; the moderate people threw in pennies, the
nobles and the rich contributed silver, but she laid a twenty
f mark gold piece upon the book rest before her with a sounding
■lap I I said to myself, *' She has parted with all her little hoard
to buy the consideration of these unpitying people — it is a sor.
I'dwful spectacle." I did not venture to look around this time ;
but as the service closed, I said to myself, " Let them laugh, it is
their opportunity ; but at the do6( of this church they shall see
her step into our fine carriage with us, and our gaudy coachman
■hall drive her home." " ' *

Then she rose — and all the congregation stood while she walked
down the aisle. She was the Empress of Germany 1

A TIAMP ABBOAD.

128

No—the had not been lo much embarrauod m I hid luppotad.
My imagination had got started on the wrong soent, and that it
always hopeless ; one it sure then to go straight on misinter*
preting everything, clear through to the end. llie young lady
with her imperial Mi\jesty was a maid of honor — and I had been
taking her for one of her boarders all the time.

This it the only time I have ever had an Empress under my
personal protection ; and considering my inexperience, I wonder
I got through with it so well. I should have been a little embar-
rassed myself if I had known earlier what sort of a contract I
had on my hands.

We found that the Empress had been in Baden Baden several
days. It is said that she never attends any but the English form
of church service.

I lay abed and read and rested from my journey's fatiguet the
remainder of that Sunday, but I sent my agent to represent me
at the afternoon service, for I never allow anything to Anteiiero
with my habit of attending church twice every Sunday.

There was a vast crowd in the public grounds that night to
hear the band play the '' Fremersberg." This piece tellt one of
the old legends of that region : how a great noble of the Middle
Aifie» got lost in the mountainS| and wandered about with his
dof^ in a violent storm, until at last the faint tones of a monas-
te^rj bell, calling the monks to a midnight service, caught his ear,
and he followed the direction the sounds came from and was
saved. A beautiful air ran through the music, without ceasing ;
sometimes loud and strong, sometimes so soft that it could hardly
be distinguished' but it was always there; it swung grandly
along through the shrill whistling of the storm wind, the rattling
patter of the rain, and the boom and crash of the thunder ; it
wound soft and low through the lesser sounds, the distant ones,
such as the throbbing of the convent bell, the melodious wind*
ing of the hunter's horn, the distressed hayings of his dogs, and
the solemn chanting of the monks ; it rose again, with a jubilant
ii ig, and mingled itself with the country songs and dances of
the peasants assembled in the convent hall to cheer up the res-
cued huntsman while he ate his supp&r. The instruments imi-
tated all these sounds with a marvelous exactness. More than
one man started to raise his umbrella when the ttorm bunt

§-1 ■ r£;-;i

124

A TIIAUP ABROAD.

forth »nd the sheets of mimic rain came driving by j it wai
hardly possible to keep from i)utting your hand to your hat
when the fierce wind began to rage and shriek ; and it was not
possible to refrain from starting when those sudden and charm
ingly real thundercrashes were let loose.

I suppose the Fremersberg is very
low-grade music ; I know, indeed, that
it must be low-grade music, because it so
delighted me, warmed me, moved me,
stirred me, uplifted me, enraptured me,
that I was full of cry all the time, and
mad with enthusiasm.

My soul had never had such a scour
ing out since I was born. The solemn
I and majestic chanting of the monks was
not done by instruments, but by men's
vo: ;• s ; and it rose and fell, and rose
a<rain in that rich confusion of warring
sounds, and pulsing bells, and the state*
ly swing of that ever-present enchanting air, and it seemed
to me that nothing but the very lowest of low-grade music
eould be so divinely beautiful. The great crowd which the
Fremersberg had called out was another evidence that it was low-
grade music ; for only the few are educated up to a point where
high-grade music gives pleasure. I have never heard enough
classic music to be able to enjoy it. I dislike the opera because
I wan't to love it and can't.

I suppose there are two kinds of music — one kind which one
feels, just as an oyster might, and another sort which requires a
higher faculty, a faculty which must be assisted and developed by
teaching. Yet if base music gives certain of us wings, why should
we want any other ? But we do. We want it because the higher
and better like it. But we want it without giving it the necessary
time and trouble j so we climb into that upper tier, that dresw
circle, by a lie : yre pretend vfe like it. I know several of that
sort of people — and I propose to be one of them myself when 1
get home with my fine European education.

And then there is painting. What a red rag is to a bull,
Turner's "Slave Ship" was to me, before I studied Art. Mr.

A T&AMP ABROAD.

125

Ruskin is educated in art up to a point where that picture throwa
him into as mad an eostacy of pleasure as it used to throw me
into one of rage, last year, when 1 was ignorant. His cultivation
enables him — and me, now — to see water in that glaring yellow
mud, and natural effects in those lurid explosions of mixed smoke
and flame, and crimson sunset glories; it reconciles him — and
me, now — to the floating of iron cable-chains and other unfloat>
able things ; it reconciles us to fishes swimming around on top of
the mud — I mean the water. The most of the picture is a mani-
fest impossibility — that is to say, a lie ; and only rigid cultivation
can enable a man to find truth in a lie. But it enabled Mr. Ruskin
to do it, and it has enabled me to do it, and I am thankful for it.
A Boston newspaper reporter went and took a look at the Slave
Ship floundering about in that fierce conflagation of reds and
yellows, and said it reminded him of a tortoise-shell cat having a
fit in a platter of tomatoes. In my then uneducated state, that
went home to my non cultivation, and I thought, here is a man
with an unobstructed eye. Mr. Ruskin would have said : This
person is an ass. That is what I would say, now.*

However, our businesE in Baden-Baden this time, was to join
our courier. I had thought it best to hire one, as we should be
in Italy, by and by, and we did not know that language. Neither
did he. We found him at the hotel, ready to take charge of us.
I asked him if he was " all fixed." He said he was. That was
very true. He had a trunk, two small satchels, and an umbrella.
I was to pay him $55 a month and railway fares. ()n the conti*
nent the railway fare on a trunk is about the same it is on a man.
Couriers do not have to pay any board and lodging. This seems
a great saving to the tourist— at first. It does not occur to the
tourist that somebody pays that man's board and lodging. It
occurs to him by and by, however, in one of his lucid moments.

* Months after this was written, 1 happened into the National Gallery in London,
Knd soon became so fascinated witli tbo Turner pictures that I could hardly get away
from the place. I went there often, afterward, meaning to see tJie rest of the gallery,
but the Tomer spell was too strong ; it could not be shaken off. However, tlM Tutnen
»bnh attTMtaA bm moit did mt remind me of tho Sl«vo Sbif.

'It n\

A TBAHP ABaOin.

CHAPTER XXL

NEXT morning we left in the train for Switzerland, and reached
Lucerne about ten o'clock at night. The first dlBCOvery I
made was that the beauty of the lake had not been exaggerated.
Within a day or two I made anotlier discovery. This was, that
the lauded chamois is not a wild goat ; that it is not a horned
animal ; that it is not shy ; that it does not avoid human society ;
and that there is no peril in hunting it. The chamois is a black
or Wown creature no bigger than a mustard seed ; you do not
have to go after it, it comes after you ; it arrives in /ast herds
and skips and scampers all over your body, inside you • clothes ;
thus it is not shy, but extremely sociable ; it is not afrnid of man,
on the contrary it will attack him ; its bite is not dangerous, but
neither is it pleasant ; its activity has not been overstated— i^
you try to put your finger on it, it will skip a thousand times its
own length at one jump, and no eye is sharp enough to -•'^e where
it lights. A great deal of romantic nonsense has beoii written
about the Swiss chamois and the perils of hunting i', whereas
the truth is that even women and children hunt it, and fear.
lessly ; indeed, everybody hunts it j the hunting is going on all
the time, day and night, in bed and out of it. It is poetic foolish.
ness to hunt it with a gun ; very few people do that ; there is
not one man in a million who can hit it with a gun. Ji is much
easier to catch it than it is to shoot it, and only the exjierienced
chamois hunter can do either. Another common piece of exag.
geration is that about the " scarcity " of the chamois. It is the
reverr.c of scarce. Droves of 100,000,000 chamois are not unusual
in the Swiss hotels. Indeed they are so numerous as to be a great
pest. The romancers always dress up the chamois hunter, in a
fanciful and picturesque costume, whereas the best way to hunt
this game is to do it without any costume at all. The article of
commerce called chamois skin is another fraud ; nobody could
■kin a chamois, it is too small. The creature is a humbug in

4 TIUMF AUBOAIk

ii7

ohed

ery 1

>at6cll.

, that

ornod

ciety •,

black

lo not

herds

othes ;

)f mani

us, but

ted— i'

□aes its
where

(vritten

i^hereas

id fear-
on all
ibolisli.

,here is
much
enced
of exag.
is the
unusual
a great
er, in a
to hunt
tide of
ly could
mbug in

ri€

erery way, and everything which hM be^n written about it ii
•entimental exaggeration. It was no pleasure to me to find
the chamois out, for he had been one of my pet illusions ; all mf
life it had been my dream to see him in his native wilds som«
day, and engage in the aSrenturous sport of chasing him from
cliff to cliff. It is no pleasure to me to expose him, now, and
destroy the reader's delight in him and respect for him, but still
it must be done, for when an honest writer discovers an imposi-
tion it is his simple duty to strip it bare and hurl it down from
its place of honour, no matter who suffers by it ; any other courM
would render him unworthy of the public confidence.

Lucerne is a charming place. It begins at the water's edge,
wivh a fringe of hotels, and scrambles up and spreads itself orer
two or three sharp hills in a crowded, disorderly, but picturesque
way, offering to the eye a heaped-up confusion of red roofs,
quaint gables, dormer windows, toothpick steeples, with here and
there a bit of ancient embattled wall bending itself over the
ridges, worm-fashion, and here and there an old square tower of
heavy masonry. And also here and there a town clock with only
one hand — a hand which stretches straight across the dial and
has no joint in it ; such a clock helps out the picture, but you
cannot tell the time of day by it Between the curving line of
hotels and the lake is a broad avenue with lamps and a doubla
rank of low shade trees. The lake front is walled with masonry
like a pier, and has a railing to keep people from walking over-
board. All day long the vehicles dash along the avenue, and
nurses, children and tourists sit in the shade of the trees, or lean
on the railing and watch the schools of fishes darting about in
the clear water, or gaze out over the lake at the stately border of
snow-hooded mountain peaks. Little pleasure-steamers, black
with people, are coming and going all the time ; and everywhere
one sees young girls and young men paddling about in fanciful
row-boats, or skimming along by the help of sails when there is
any wind. The front rooms of the hotels have little railed bal-
conies, where one may take his private luncheon in calm, cool
comfort, and look down upon this busy and pretty scene and
enjoy it without having to do any of the work connected with it.
Most of the people, both male and female, are in walking ooa>
iume, and carry alpenstocks. Evidently it is not considered

ffvlil
■■•>x

i2ft

4 tSAMP ABROA^.

•afe to go about in Switierland, oven in town, mthout an atpett*
■took. If the tourist forgets, an i comes down to breakfast with-
out his alpenstock, he goes back and gets it, and stands it up in
the corner. When his touring in Switzerland is finished, he does
not throw that broomstick away, but lugs it home with him, to
the far comers of the earth, although this costH him more trouble
and bother than a baby or a courier could. You see, the alpen*
stock is luH trophy ; his name is burned upon it ; and if he haa
climbed a hill, or jumped a brook, or traversed a brickyard with
it, he has the names of those places burned upon it, too. Thus,^
it is his regimental flag, so to speak, and beai-8 the record of his
achievements. It is worth three francs wlion he buys it, but a
bonanza could not purchase it after his great deeds have been
inscribed upon it. There are artisans all about Switzerland-
whose trade it is to burn these things upon tlio alpenstock of the'
tourist. And observe, a inan is respected in Switzerland accord
ing to his alpenstock. 1 found I could get no attention there
while I carried an unbranded one. However, branding is not so
expensive, so I sopn rem&died that. The effect upon the next
detachment of tourists w^s very marked. I felt repaid for my
trouble.

Half of the summer horde in Switzerland is made up of English
people ; the other half is made Lp of many nationalities, the
Germans leading and the ^tmericaas coming next. The Ameri-
cans were not as numerous as I had expected they would be.

The 7:30 table d'hote at the great Schvveitzerhof furnished a
mighty array and variety of nationalities, but it offered a better
opportunity to observe costtimes than people, for the multitude
sat at immensely long tables., and therefore the laces were mainly
Been in perspective ; but th e breakfasts were served at small
round tables, and then if on'e had the fortune to got a table in
the midst of the assemblage he could have as many laces to study
as he could desire. We used' to try to guess out the nationalities,
and generally succeeded tol* rably well. Some times we tried to
guess people's names ; but that was a failure ; that is a tkiu^
which probably requires a goiod deal of practice. We presently
dropped it and gave our efforits to less difficult particulars. One
morning I said —
*^ Xh«re ia an American part,/."' -

A TRAMP ABROAD.

199

Harris Mid—

** Yea— but name the Sut*.**

I named ono State, Harris named another. We agreed upon
one thing, however — that the young girl with the party was very
beautiful, and very taste^ illy dressed. But we disagreed as to
her age. I said she waa ighteen,
Harris said she was twenty. The
dispute between us waxed warm
and I finally said with ib pretense
of being in earnest —

" Well, there is one way to set-
tle the matter — I will go and ask
her."

Harris said, sarcastically, '• Cer-
tainly, that is the thing to do.
All you need to do is to use the
common formula over here : go
and say * I'm an American I' Of
course she will be glad to see you."

Then he hinted that perhaps
there was no great danger of my
venturing to speak to her.

I said, " I was only talking — I didn't intend to approach her,
but 1 see that you do not know what an intrepid person I am. I
am not afraid of any woman that walks. I will go and speak to
this young girl."

The thing I had in my mind was not difficult. I meant to
address her in the most respectful way and ask her to pardon me
if her strong resemblance to a former acquaintance of mine was
deceiving me ; and when she should reply that the name I men.
tioned was not the name she bore, I meant to beg pardon again •
most respectfully, and retire. There would be no harm done. I
walked to her table, bowed to the gentleman, then turned to her
and was about to begin my little speech when she exclaimed —

'•I knew I wasn't mistaken— I told John it was you I John
said it probably wasn't, but I knew I was right. I said you would
recognize me presently and come over ; and I'm glad you did,
for I shouldn't have felt much flattered if you had gone out of
this room without recognizing me. Sit down, sit down — how odd
U ii-'jou are ike last person I was ever expecting to Me again **

A TBAMP ABBOID.

lliif WM ft itopefyiiig inrprise. It took mj witi dear tmujt
for an instant. However, we shook hands cordially all around,
and I sat down. But truly this was the tightest place I ever was
in. I seemed to vaguely remember the girl's face, now, but I
had no idea where I had seen it before, or what name belonged
with it. I immediately tried to get up a diversion about Swiss
scenery, to keep, her from laimching into topics that might be
tray that I did not know her, but it was of no use, she went right
along upon matters which interested her more :

" dear, what a night that wes when the sea washed the for.
ward boats away-> do you remember it ?"

" 0, don't 1 1" said I — but I didn't. I wished the sea had washed
the rudder and the smoke-stack and the captain away — then I
could have located this questioner.

** And don't you remember how frightened poor Mary was, and
how she cried ?"

** Indeed I do 1" said I. " Dear me, how it all comes backl'*

I fervently wished it would come back — but my memory was a
blank. The wise way would have been to frankly own up ; but I
could not bring myself to do that, after the young girl had praised
me so for recognizing her ; so I went on, deeper and deeper into
the mire, hoping for a chance clue but never getting one. The
Unrecognizable continued, with vivacity —

** Do you know, George married Mary, after all T"

** Why, no I Did he ?"

*' Indeed he did. He said he did not believe she was half as
much to blame as her father was, and I thought he was right.
Didn't you ?"

'* Of course he was. It was a perfectly plain case. I always
said so." ^

" Why no you didn't ! — at least that summer." "

*^ Oh, no, not that summer. No, you are perfectly right about
that. It was the following winter that I said it."

** Well, as it tuiued out, Mary was not in the least to blame— it
was all her father's fa;ilt— at least his and old Darley's." v

It was necessary to oay something — so I said —

** I always regarded Darley as a troublesome old thing."

'^ So he was, but then they always had a great affection for him^
although h« had so many eccentricities. Yqu I'emember that

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

181

when the weather was the least cold, he would try to oome into

the house.''

I was ratlier a fraad to proceed. Evidently Darley was not a man
— he must be aome other kind of animal — possibly a dog, maybe
an elephant. However, tails are common to all animals, so I
ventured to say — " ''

" And what a tail he had I"

" Onef He had a thousand I*'

This was bewildering. I did not quite know what to say, bo I
only said —

" Yes, he was rather well fixed in the matter of tails."

*' For a n'^gvo, and a crazy one at that, I should say he waSi**
said she.

It was getting pretty sultry for me. I said to myself, "Is it
possible she is going to stop there, and wait for me to speak ? If
she does, the conversation is blocked. A negro with a thousand
tails is a topic which a person cannot talk upon fluently and in-
Etructively without more or less preparation. As to diving rashly
into such a vast subject — "

But here, to my gratitude, she interrupted my thought by
saying—

" Yes, when it came to tales of his crazy woes, there was simply
no end to them if anybody would listen. His own quarters were
comfortable enough, but when the weather was cold, the family
were sure to have his company — nothing could keep him out of
the house. But they always bore it kindly because he had saved
lom's life, years before. You remember Tom ?"

•' 0, perfectly. Fine fellow he was, too." t -•-

"Yes he was. And what a pretty little thing his child was 1"

" You may well say that. I never saw a prettier child."

'• I used to delight to pet it and dandle it and play with it."

" So did I."

" You named it. What was that name ? I can't call it to
mind."

It appeared to me that the ice was getting pretty thin, here. I
would have given something to know what the child's sex was.
However, [ had the good luck to think of a name that would 0,%
either sex- -so I brought it out — .^,

*' I named it Frances." . rkji.

r *i"

S'^\\

';/"

188

▲ TRAMP ABROAD.

** From a relative, I suppose ? But you named the one that
died, too— one that I never saw. What did you call that one ?"

I was out of neutral names, but as the child was dead and she
had never seen it, I thought I might risk a name for it and trust
to luck. Therefore 1 said —

" I called that one Thomas Henry."

She said, musingly —
■ "That is very singular very singular.**

I Bst still and let the cold sweat run down. I was in a good
deal of trouble, but I believed I could worry through if she
wouldn't ask me to name any more children. I wondered where
the lightning was going to strike next. She was still ruminating
over that last child's title, but presently she said —

** I have always been sorry you were away at the time-^J would
hi^Tf bi|d you n^me my child."

A THAMP ABBOAD.

188

[■•a

** Tour child \ Are you married?"

** I have been married thirteen years.**

" Christened, you mean."

" No, married. The youth by your side is my son.**

" It seems incredible — even impossible. I do not mean any
harm by it, but would you mind telling me if you are any over
eighteen ? — that is to say, will you tell me how old you are ?"

" I was just nineteen the day of the storm we were talking
about. That was my birth-day."

That did not help matters much, as I did not know the date of
the storm. I tried to think of some non-committal thing to say,
to keep up my end of the talk and render my poverty in the
matter of reminiscences as little noticeable as possible, but I
seemed to be about out of non-committal things. I was about to
say, " You haven't changed a bit since then" — but that was risky.
I thought of saying " You have improved ever so much since
then" — but that Wouldn't answer, of course. I was about to try
a shy at the weather, for a saving change, when the girl sUpped
in ahead of me and said —

" How I have enjoyed this talk over those happy old timea—
haven't you?"

" I never have spent such a half hour in all my life before I"
said I, with emotion ; and I could have added, with a near ap>
proach to truth, " and I would rather be scalped than spend
another one like it," I was holily grateful to be through with the
ordeal, and was about to make my good-byes and get out, when
the girl said —

" But there is one thing that is ever so puzzling to me."

"Why what is that?" " • ' .

" That dead child's name. What did you say it was ?"

Here was another balmy place to be in : I had forgotten the
child's name ; I hadn't imagined it would be needed again.
However, I had to pretend to know, anyway, so I said—

"Joseph William."

T*he youth at my side corrected me, and said —

" No— Thomas Henry."

1 thanked him — in words — and said, with trepidation —

" 0, yes — 1 was thinking of another child that I named — 1
have named a great many, and I get them confused — tbis oo«
wat Dtmed Henry ThompsoQ— "

ill

in „

\ i f-

184

A TRAMP ABROAD.

I ' lil^

III

"Thomas Henry," calmly interposed the boy.
I thanked him again — strictly in words— and stammered out —
"Thomas Henry — yes, Thomas Henry was the poor child's
name. I named him for Thomas- -er— Thomas Carlyle, the groat
author, you know — and Henry — ei- — er — Henry the Eighth.
The parents were very grateful to ha.eu child named lliomai
Henry."

" That makes it more singular than ever," murmured my beau-
tiful friend.
"Does it? Why?"

"Because when the p/*rents speak of that child now, they
always call it Susan Amelia."

That spiked my gun. I could not say anything. I was entirely
out of verbal obliquities ; to go furtherwould be to lie, and that
I would not do; so I simply sat still and suffered — sat mutely
and resignedly there, and fizzled— for I was being slowly fried tc
death in my own blushes. Presently the enemy laughed a happj
laugh, and said —

" I have enjoyed this talk over old times, but you have not. 1
saw very soon that you were only pretending to know me, and
BO as I had wasted a compliment on you in the beginning, I made
up my mind to punish you. And J have succeeded pretty well.
I was glad to see that you knew George and Tom and Darley, for

I had never heard of them before, and
therefore could not be sure that you had ;
and I was glad to learn the names of those
imaginary children, too. One can get
quite a fund of information out of you if
one goes at it cleverly. Mary and the
storm, and the sweeping away of the for-
ward boats, were facts — all the rest was
fiction. Mary was my sister j her full
name was Mary . New do you re-
member me ?"

" Yes," I said, " I do remember you now 5 and you are as hard-
hearted as you were thirteen years ago m that ship, else you
wouldn't have punished me so. You haven't changed your na-
ture nor your person in any way at all ; you look just as young
•8 you did then, you are Just as beautiful as you were then, and

A TRAMP ABROAD.

185

jon hare transmitted a deal of your comelinese to this fine boy.
There— if that speech moves you any, let's fly the flag of truce,
with the understanding that I am conquered and confess it."

AH of which was agreed to and accomplished on the spot.
When 1 went back to Harris, I said —

"Now you see what a person with talent and address can
io."

" Excuse me, I see what a person of colossal ignorance and
iimplicity can do. The idea of your going and intruding on a
party of strangers that way, and talking for half an hour ; why I
never heard of a man in his right mind doing such a thing before.
What did you say to them."

" I never said any harm. I merely asked the girl what her
name was." ; r i -^ .*•

" I don't doubt it. Upon my word I don't* I think you were
capable of it. It was stupid in me to let you go over there and
make such an exhibition of yourself. But you know I couldn't
really believe you would do such an inexcusable thing. What
will those people think of us ? How did you say it ? — I mean
the manner of it. I hope you were not abrupt."

" No, I was careful about that. I said * My friend and I would
like to know what your name is, if you don't mind.' "

" No, that was not abrupt. There is a polish about it that does
you infinite credit. And I am glad you put me in ; that was a
delicate attention which I appreciate at its full value. What did
she do ?"

"She didn't do anything in particular. She told me her
name."

" Simply told you her name. Do you mean to say she did not
show any surprise 7"

" Well, now I come to think, she did show something j may be
it was surprise ; I hadn't thought of that— I took it for gratifica-
tion."

" 0, undoubtedly you were right ; it must have been gratifica-
tion ; it could not be otherwise than gratifying to be assaulted by
a stranger with such a question as that. Then what did you do ?"

" I offered my hand and the party gave me a shake."

" I saw it I I did not believe my own eyes, at the time. Did
the gentleman say anything about cutting your throat 7"

186

A TRAlfP ABROAD,

** No, they all seemed glad to see me, as far ai I could judge.^
" And do you know, I believe they were. I think they said to
themselves, ' Doubtless this curiosity has got away from his
keeper — let us amuse ourselves with him.' There is no other
way of accounting for their facile docility. You sat down. Did
they ask you to sit down ?"
" No, they did not ask me, but I suppose they did not think

of it."

"You have an unerring instinct. What else did you do? What
did you talk about?" , .

" Well, I asked the girl how old she was ?"
" Undoubtedly. Your delicacy is beyond praise. Go on, go
on — don't mind my apparent misery — 1 always look so wnen lam
steeped in a profound and reverent joy. Go on — she lold you
her age ?*•

" Yes, she told me ner age, and
all about her mother, A her grand-
mother, and Jier other relations, and
all about herself."

"Did she volunteer these statis-
tics?"

"No, not exactly that. I asked
the questions and she answered
them."

" This is divine. Go on — it is not
possible that you forgot to inquire
into her politics ?"

" No, I thought of that. She is a
democrat, her husband is a republi-
can, and both of them are Baptists "
"Her husband? Is that chiM
married ?"

" She is not a child. She is married, and that is her husband
who is there with her."
" Has she any children ?"
"Yes — seven and a half." , • * .

" That is impossible."
** No, she has them. She told me herself.**
** Well, but seven and a halff How do yqu make out the half?
Where does the half oome in 7'V

A TRAMP ABBOAIK

187

*' That is a child which she had by another husband — not this
one, lAit another one— so it is a step-child, and they do not count
it full measure."
" Another husband ? Has she had another husband ?"
" Yes, four. This one is number four."

" I do not believe a word of it. It is impossible, upon its face.
Is that boy there her brother ?"

" No, that is her son. He is her youngest. He is not as old
as he looks j he is only eleven and a half."

" These things are all manifestly impossible. This is a wretched
business. It is a plain case ; they simply took your measure, and
concluded to fill you up. They seem to have succeeded. 1 am
glad I am not in the mess ; they may at least be charitable enough
to think there ain't a pair of us. Are they going to stay here
long?"
\ " No, they leave before noon." '

" There is one man who is deeply grateful for that. How did
:you find out? You asked, I suppose?"

" No, along at first I inquired into their plans, in a general way,
and they said they were going to be here a week, and make trips
round about ; but toward the end of the interview, when I said
:you and I would tour around with them with pleasure, and oflered
to bring you over and introduce you, they hesitated a little, and
asked if you were from the same establishment tliat I was. 1
said you were, and then they said they had changed their mind
and considered it necessary to start at once and visit a sick rela-
tive in Siberia."

"Ah me, you struck the summit I You struck the loftiest
altitude of stupidity that human effort has every reached. You
shall have a monument of jackass's skulls as high as the Stras-
burg spire if you die before I do. ITiey wanted to know if I was
from the same * estaolishment ' that you hail from, did they ?
What did they mean by ' establishment ? ' " , .., ^

" I don't know j it never occurred to m 3 to ask."
" Well /know. They meant an asylum — an idiot asylum, do
you understand ? So they da think there's a pair of us after all.
Now what do you think of yourself? "

" Well I don't know. I didn't know I was doing any harm j I
didn't meatk to do any harm. They were very nice people, and
ihey seemed to like me."

188

A TRAMP ABROAD.

'■ ',

Harris made some rude remarks and made for hit bedroom—
to break some furniture, he said. He was a singularly irascible
man ; any little thing would disturb his temper.

1 had been well scorched by the young woman, but no matter,
I took it out of Harris. One should always " get even " in some
way, else the sore place will go on hurting."

CHAPTER XXII.

'T^HE Hofkirsche is celebrated for its organ concerts. All sum
•^ mer long the tourists flock to that church about six o'clock
in the evening, and pay their franc, and listen to the noise. They
don't stay to hear all of it, but get up and tramp over the sound
ing stone floor, meeting late comers who tramp in in a sounding
and vigorous way. This tramping back and forth is kept up
ne&i'ly all the time, and is accented by the continuous slamming
of the door, and the coughing and barking and sneezing of the
crowd. Meantime the big organ is booming and crashing and
thundering away, doing its best to prove that it is the biggest
and loudest organ in Europe, and that a tight little box of a church
is the most favourable place to average and appreciate its powers
in. It is true, there were some soft and merciful passages occa-
sionally, but the tramp-tramp of the tourists only allowed one to
get fitful glimpses of them, so to speak. Then right away the
organist would let go another avalanche.

The commerce of Lucerne consists mainly in gimcrackery of
the souvenir sort ; the shops are packed with Alpine crystals,
photographs of scenery, and wooden and ivory carvings. I will
not conceal the fact that miniature figures of the Lion of Lucerne
are to be had in them. Millions of them. But they are libels
upon him, every one of them. There is a subtle something
about the majestic pathos of the original which the copyist cannot
get. Even the sun fails to get it ; both the photographer and
the carver give you a dying lion, and that is all. The shape is
right, the attitude is right, the proportions are right, but that
indescribable something which makes the Lion of Lucerne the
m<. 3t mournful and moving piece of stone in the world, is waai.

A TRAMP ABROAD,

189

rhe X^on lies in his lair in the perpendicular faoo of a Ion
cliff— for he is carved from the living lock of the cliff. His size
is colossal, his attitude is noble. His head is bowed, the broken
spear is sticking in his shoulder, his protecting paw rests upon
the lilies of France. Vines hang down the cliff and wave in the
wind, and a clear stream trickles from above and'^ empties into a
pond at the base, and in the smooth surface of the pond the lion
is mirrored, among the water lilies. ;

Around about are green trees and grass. The place is a shel-
tered, reposeful, woodland nook, remote from noise and stir and
confusion — and all this is fitting, for lions do die in such places,
and not on granite pedestals in public squares fenced with fancy
iron railings. The Lion of Lucorno would be impressive any-
where, but nowhere so impressive as where he is.

Martyrdom is the luckiest fate that can befall some people.
Louis XVI. did not die in his bed, consequently history is very
gentle with him ; she is charitable toward his failings, and she
finds in him high virtues which ore not usually considered to be
virtues when they are lodged in kings. She makes him out to
be a person with a meek and modest spirit, the heart of a female
saint, and a wrong head. None of these qualities are kingly but
the last. Taken together they make a character which would
have fared harshly at the
hands of history if its
owner had had the ill
luck to miss martyrdom.
With the best intentions
to do the right thing, he
always managed to do the
wrong one. Moreover,
nothing could get the
female saint out of him.
He knew well enough that m national emergencies he must not
consider how he ought to act as a man, but how he ought to act as
a king ; so he honestly tried to sink the man and be the king — but
it was a failure, he only succeeded in being the female saint. He
was not mstant in season, but out of season. He could not be per-
suaded to do a thing while it could do any good — he was iron, he
was adamant in his stubbornuoss then — but as lOon as the thing

->*fi»~-

i til

p^i

140

▲ TBAMP ABBOAD.

had reached a point where it would he positirely harmful to do
it, do it he would, and nothing could 8t#p him. He did not do it
because it would be harmful, but becuuse he hoped it was not
yet too late to achieve by it the good which it would have done
if applied earlier. His comprehension was always a train or two
behind-hand. If a national toe required amputating, he could
not see that it needed anything more than poulticing; when
others saw that th<! mortification had reached the knee, he first
perceived that the toe needed cutting oflF— so he cut it off; and
he severed the leg at the knee when others saw that the disease
had reached the thigh. He was good, and honest, and well mean-
ing, in the matter of chasing national diseases, but he never
could overtake one. As a private man, he would have been
lovable j but viewed as a king, he was strictly contemptibkk

W'i^

His was a most unroyal career, but the most pitiable spectacle
Mn it, was his sentimental treachery to his Swiss guard on that
memorable 10th of A;igust, when he alk)wed those heroes to be
massacred in his cause, and forbade them to shed the " sacred
Frencn blood" puri)oiting to be flowing in the veins of the red-
capped mob of miscreants that wa» ra£_4ng around the palace.
He meant to be kingly, but he was only tne female saint once
more. Some of his biographers think that upon this occasion
the Spirit of Saint Louis had descended upon him. It must have
found pretty cramj»ed quarters. If Napoleon the First had stood
m the shoes of Louis XYL that day, !"iStead of being merely a

easual
now, bi
Paris w
August
Mart
dred ye
Mnrtyrc
nette, a
of sanct
every pa
husband
rid of an
The hide
<leferred,
might no
tile unwii
deal to th
jnoinoton
We did
or ebony r
any photo
were so c(
t^iey pies(
latest pop
lucerne,
sopleasanj
soon begai
quails ant|
and still
chamois s|
family groii
day, I wou)
the moneyj
had run itl
once more]
just as well
^ get them)
For year!
faeie I was,]

-'-f

A TllAM? ABTIOAD.

141

OMual and unknown looker-on, there would be no Lion of Lno«m«
now, but there would be a well stocked Communist graveyard in
Paris which would answer just aa well to remember the 10th of
August by.

Martyrdom made a saint of Marie Queen of Scots three hun*
dred years ago, and she has hardly lost all of her saintship yet^
Martyrdom made a saint of the trivial and foolish Marie Antoi«
ncite, and her biographers still keep her fragrant with the odor
of sanctity to this day, while unconsciously proving upon almost
every page thoy write that the only calamitous instinct which her
husband lacked, she 8upi)lied — the instinct to root out and get
rid of an honest, able, and loyal official, wherever she found him.
The hideous but benoticent French Kevolution would have been
deferred, or would have fallen short of completeness, or even
might not have happened at all, if Marie Antoinette had made
the unwise mistake of not being born. The world owes a great
doal to the French Re /olution, and consequently to ita two chief
promoters, Louis the Poor in Spirit and his queen. .

We did not buy any wooden images of the Lion, nor any ivory
or ebony or marble or chalk or sugar or chocolate ones, or even
any photographic slanders of him. The truth is, these copies
were so common, so universal, in the shops and everywhere, that
tliey presently became us intolerable to the wearied eye as the
latest popular melody usually becomes to the harassed ear. In
Lucerne, too, the wood carvings of other sorts, which had been
so pleasant to look upon when one saw them occasionally at home,
soon began to fatigue us. "We grew very tired of seeing wooden
quails and clilckens picking and strutting around clock-faces,
and still more tired of seeing wooden ima::es of the alleged
chamois skip^nng about wooden rocks, or lying upon them in
family groups, or peei*hig alertly up from behind them. The first
day, I would have bouglu a hundred of these clocks if I had had
the money — and I did buy three -but on tlie third day Hie disease
had run its course, I had convalesced, and was in the market
once more — trying to sell. However, I had no luck j which was
just as well, for the things will be pretty enou^^h, no doubt, when
I get them home.

For years my pet aversion had been the cuckoo clock ; now
here I was, at last, right in the creature's nonie ; so wherever I

-f ■

lii/ ''.

149

I Tn*»TP 4WTTn*n

wmit, that dittretsing "Aoo'hoot Aoo'hnot Aoo'hoot" wm always
in my ears. For a nervous man, this was a tine state of things.
Some sounds are hatef'uller than others, but no sound is quite so
inane, and silly, and aggravating as the '' Aoo'hoo" of a cuckoo
clock, I think. I bought one, and am carrying it home to a cer-
tain person ; for I have always said that if the opportunity ever
happened, I would do that man an ill turn. What I meant, was,
that I would break one of his legs, or something of that sort ; but
in Lucerne 1 instantly saw that I could impair his mind. That
would be more lasting, and more satisfactory every way. So I
bought thd cuckoo clock ; and if I ever get home with it, he is
" my meat," as they say in the mines. I thought of another
candidate— a book reviewer whom I could name if I wanted to —
but after thinking it over| I didn't buy him a clock. I couldn't
Jli^jure his mind.

We visited the two long, covered, wooden bridges which span
the green and brilliant Heuss just below where it goes plunging
and hurrahing out .of the lake. These rambling, sway backed
tunnels are very attractive things, with their alcoved outlooks
upon the lovely and inspiriting water. They contain two or three
hundred queer old pictures, by old Swiss masters— old boss sign
painters, who flourished before the decadence of art.

The lake is alive with fishes, plainly visible to the eye, for the
water is very clear. The parapets in front of the hotels were
usually fringed with fishers of all ages. One day I thought I
would stop and see a fish caught. The result brought back to my
mind, very forcibly, a circumstance which I had not thought of
before for twelve years. This one :

THE MAN WHO PUT UP AT OADSBY's.

When my odd friend Kiley an4 I were newspaper correspond-
* ents in Washington, in the winter of 'G7, we were coming down
Pennsylvania Avenue one night, near midnight, in a driving storm
•f snow, when the flash of a street lamp iell upon a man who was
eagerly tearing along in the opposite direction. This xnan
instantly stopped, and exclaimed,
" This is lucky 1 You are Mr. Kiley, ain't you ?" ^

Biley was the most self-possessed and solemnly deliberate
person in the republic. He stopped, looked his man over from
bead to foot, and finally said—

"lai

"Tht

it's the

is Lyki

Francis(

was vac

" Yes,

Lykins..

" Wei

a petitio

and all tl

Now I wf

Pacific d(

along hoE

" If the

delegatioi

mocking j

"0,tor

around, j

talking kii

"Yes....

you arrive

A TRAMP ABROAD.

148

'^ I Am Mr. Riley. Did you happen to be looking for me T"

" That's just what I was doing," said the man, joyously, " and
it's the biggest luck in the world that I've found you. My nam«
is Lykins. I'm one of the teachers of the high school — San
Francisco. As soon as I heard the San Francisco post-mastership
was vacant, I made up my mind to get it — and here I am."

" Yes,'' said Kiley, slowly, " as you have remarked Mr

Lykins here you are. And have you got it?"

" Well, not exactly got it, but the next thing to it. I've brought
a petition, signed by the Superintendent of Public Instructioni
and all the teachers, and by more than two hundred other people.
Now I want you, If you'll be so good, to go around with me to the
Pacific delegation, for I want to rush this thing through and get
along home."

<' If the matter is so pressing, you will prefer that we yisit the
delegation to-night," said Kiley, in a voice which had nothing
mocking in it — to an unaccustomed ear.

^ O, tonight, by all means ! I haven't got any time to fool
around. I wan't their promise before I go to bed — I ain't the
talking kind, I'm the doing kind 1"

" Yes ...you've come to the right place for that. When did

you arrive ?"

" Just an hour ago."

" When are you intending to leave ?"

" For New York to-morrow evening — for San Francisco next
morning."

" Just so What are you going to do to-morrow ?'*

" Do ! Why I've got to go to the President with the petition
and the delegation, and get the appointment, haven't I ?"

" Yes very true that is correct. And then

what?" -A . ' r -•

" Executive sessions of the Senate 2 p.m. — got to get the ap
pointment confirmed — I reckon you'll grant that ?"

" Yes yes," saidRiley, meditatively, " youare right again.

Then you take the train for New York in the evening, and tlie
steamer for San Francisco next morning ?"

That's it — that's the way I map it out?"

Riley considered a while, and then said —

"You couldn't stay a day well, say two dayi

longer ? "

',1
[I

• * __
IP.

i;|

lip

144

▲ TRAMP ABBOAD.

(!!!'

P'li

** Bleit your wotH, no I It's not my style. I ain't a man to go
fooling around — Fm a man that does things, I tell you."

The stonn was raging, the thick snow blowing in gusts. Riley
stood silent, apparently deep in a reverie, during a minute or
more, then he looked up and said —

Have you ever heard about that man who put up at Gadsby's
once? But I see you haven't."

He backed Mr. Lykins against an iron fence, buttonholed him,
fastened him with his eye, like the ancient mariner, and pro
oeeded to unfold his narrative as placidly and peacefully as if we
were all stretched comfortably in a blossomy summer meadow
instead of being persecuted by a wintry midnight tempest :

" I will tell you about that man. It was in Jackson's time.
Oadsby's was the principal hotel, then. Well, this man arrived
from Tennessee about nine o'clock, one morning, with a black
coachman and a splendid four-horse carriage and an elegant dog,
which he was evidently fond and proud of; he drove up before
Oadsby's and the clerk and the landlord and everybody rushed
out to take charge of him, but he said, ' Never mind ' . and jumped
out and told the coachman to wait — said he hadn't time to take
anything to eat, he only had a little claim against the govern-
ment to collect, would run across the way, to the Treasury, and

couldn't waiiw

fetch the money, and then get right along back to Tennessee, for
he was in considerable of a hurry. - -- : -\

''Well, about eleven o'clock that night he came back and
ordered a bed and told them to put the horses up — said he would
collect the claim in the morning. This was in January, you unde^
stand — January, 1834 — the 3d of January, Wednesday,

-irl

bought f
well to t

"Ontl
he'd ofte
rough m(
his drivin
lug the n

"Onth
wam't ne
could sna

A TRAMP AfiBOA]>.

146

BBee,f«

\
ick and
le would
u under*

''Well, <Mi the 5 th of February, he sold the fine carriage, and

\ 1 'i-ir,.
Tg adsby's Mt.:

HETF!!

didn't carb for style.

bought a cheap second-hand one — said it would answer just at
well to take the inoney home in, and he didn't care for style.

" On the 11th of August he sold a pair of the fine horses — said
he'd often thought a pair was better than four to go over the
rough mountain roads with where a body had to be careful about
his driving— and there wasnt so much of his claim but he could
lug the money home with a pair easy enough.

"On the 13th of December he sold another horse — said two
warn't necessary to drag that old light vehicle with — in fact, one
could snatch it along faster than was absolutely necessary, now

TWO Wasn't neoessart.

that it was good solid winter weather and the roads m splendid
condition.

" On the 17th of February, 1835, he sold the old carriage and
bought a cheap second-hand buggy — said a buggy was just the
trick to skim along mushy, slushy, early spring roads with, and
he had always wanted to try a buggy on those mountain ro»dS|
snyway. ^

On the 1st of August he sold the buggy and t>onj^t the remains
of an old sulky — said he just wanted to see those green Tennes>
leans stare and gawk when they saw him come a-ripping along
in a sulky— didn't believe they'd ever heard of a sulky in their
Uvea.

til

;■■■ I I

^'fi

iit»id

146

'!?

A TBAMP ABROAD.

" Well, on the 29th of August he sold his colored coachman-
said he didn't need a coachman for a sulky — wouldn't be roow
enough for two in it anyway — and besides it wasn't every day

NOT THROWN AWAY.

that Providence sent a man a fool who was willing to pay nine
himdred dollars for such a third-rate negro as that — been want-
ing to get rid of the creature for years, but didn't like to throw
him away.

" Eighteen months later— that is to say, on the 15th of Febru-
ary, 1837 — he sold the sulky and bought a saddle — said horse

WHAT THE DOOTOR RECOMMENDED.

■ back riding was what the iloctoi had always recommended him
to take, and dog'd if he wanted to risk his neck going over those
mountain roads on wheels in the dead of winter, not if he knew
himself.

" On the 9th of April he sold the saddle said he wasn't going
to risk hU life with any perishable saddle-girth that ever was

►-^"^

WANTED TO PEEI- SAFE.

made, over a rainy, miry April road, while he could ride bareback
and know and feel he was safe— always had despised to ride on u
saddle, anyway

A T&AltP ABROAD.

147

" On the 24th of April he sold his horse — said ' I'm juit 57 tO'
day, hale and hearty — it would be a pretty howdy-do for me to be
wasting such a trip as that and such weather as this on a horM,

PREFERRED TO TRAMP ON FOOT.

when there ain't anything in the world so splendid as a tramp on
foot through the fresh spring woods and over the cherry moun-
tains, to a man that u a man — and I can make my dog carry my
claim in a little bundle anyway, when it's collected. So to-mor-
row I'll be up bright and early, make my little old collection, and
mosey off to Tear' o^<>^ on my own hind legs, with a rousing
' Good-bye to Gp > .■ i.

" On the 22nd ot June he sold his dog— said ' Dem a dog, any-
way, where you're just starting off on a rattling, bully pleasure*
tramp through the summer woods and hills — perfect nuisance-
chases the squirrels, barks at everything, goes a- capering and
splattering around in the fords — man can't get any chance to
reflect and enjoy nature — and I'd a blamed sight ruther carry the
claim myself, it's a mighty sight safer ; a dog's mighty uncertain

DBRN A DOG, ANYWAY.

in a financial way — always noticed it— well, goodbye, boys last

call — I'm off for Tennessee with a good leg and a gay heart, early
in the morning !"

There was a pause and a silence — except the noise of the wind
and the pelting snow. Mr. Lykins said, impatiently—

"WeUT"

i ?

/•^ff,'

I4d

A TBAMP ABROAD.

Riley said —

" Well— that was thirty years ago."

" Very well, very well — what of it ?**

" I'm great friends with that old patriarch. He comes evfiy
evening to tell me good bye. I saw him nn hour ago — he's oil ff)r
Tennessee early to moi row morning— as usual ; said he calcu-
lated to get his claim through and be oft before night-owls like
me have turned out of bed. 'I'he tears were in his <yes, he was
BO glad he was going to see his old Tennessee and his I'ricLds
once more."

Another silent pause. The stranger broke it—

« Is that all ?"
• "That is all."

" Well, for the time of night, and the kind of night, it seems to
me the story was full long enough. But what's it all for f"

" 0, nothing in particular."

" Well, Where's the point of it ?"

" 0, there isn't any particular point to it. Only, if you are not
in too much of a hurry to rush off to San Francisco with that post-
office appointment, Mr. Lykins, I'd advise you to 'put vp at
Oadshy^s' for a spell, and take it easy. Good-bye. God bless
you I"

So saymg, Hiley blandly turned on his heel and loft the aston-
ished school teacher standing there, a musing and motionless
snow image shining in the broad glow of the street lamp.

He never got that post-office.

To go back to Lucerne and its fishers, I concluded, after about
nine hours' waiting, that the man who proposes to tarry till he
sees sdlnebody hook one of those well-fed and experienced fishes
will find it wisdom to •* put up at Gadsby's " and take it easy. It
is likely that a fish has not been caught on that Jake pier for
forty years} but no matter, the patient fisher watches his cork
there all the day long, just the same, and seems tO( njoy it. One
may see the fisher-loafers just as thick and contented and happy
and patient all along the Seine at Paris, but tradition says that
the only thing ever caught there in modern times is a thing they
dont fiah for at all — the recent dog and the translaced cat.

PLOS
^^ Gai

ground
foundai
departs
their tl
persuas
ently pi
and thei
glacier 1
iourney.
in the b(
of bould
ciers. 1
and the
chafing T
mighty f
vigorous
shape at
since, an
ered in t
rock like
For SOI
lake Luc
border it
a strange
snow-pea
enriching
mg aroun
well, we 1
Every bod
everybod;
scenery j

I. T£AMP ABROAD.

149

l'\

CHAPTER XXIIL

pLOSE by the Lion of Lucerne is what they call the "Glacier
^^ Garden "—and it is the only one in the world. It is on high
ground. Four or five years ago some workmen who were digging
foundations for a house came upon this interesting relic of a long
departed age. Scientific men perceived in it a confirmation of
their theories concerning the glacial period ; so through their
persuasions the little tract of ground was bought and perman-
ently protected against being built upon. The soil was removed,
and their lay the rasjjed and guttered track which the ancient
glacier had made as it moved along upon its slow and tedious
iourney. This track was perforated by huge pot-shaped holes
in the bed-rock, formed by the furious washing around in them
of boulders by the turbulent torrent which flows beneath all gla-
ciers. These huge round boulders still remain in the holes ; they
and the walls of the holes are worn smooth by the long continued
chafing which they gave each other in those old days. It took a
mighty force to churn these big lumps of stone around in that
vigorous way. The neighboring country had a very different
shape at that time — the valleys have risen up and become hills
since, and the hills have become valleys. The boulders discov-
ered in the pots had traveled a great distance, for there is no
rock like them neai er than the distant Rhone Glacier.

For some days we were content to enjoy looking at the blue
lake Lucerne and at the piled-up masses of snow mountains that
border it all around — an enticing spectacle, this last, for there is
u strange and fascinating beauty and charm about a majestic
snow-peak with the sun blazing upon it or the moonlight softly
enriching it — but finally we concluded to try a bit of excursion,
ing around on a steamboat, and a dash on foot at the Rigi. Very
well, we had a delightful trip to Fluelen, on a breezy, sunny day.
Everybody sat on the upper deck, on benches, under an awning j
everybody talked, laughed, and exclaimed at the wonderful
Boenery ; in truth, a trip on that lake is almost the peifeotion <rf

150

A TRAMP ABROAD.

(

pleMuring. The mountains werd a never-ctjasing marvel. Some-
times they rose straight up out of the lake, and towered alofk
and overshadowed our pigmy steamer with their prodigious bulk
in the most impressive way. Not snow-clad mountains, these,
yet they climbed high enough toward the sky to meet the clouds
and veil their foreheads in them. They were not barren and
repulsive, but clothed in green, and restful and pleasant to the
eye. And they were so almost straight-up-and-down, sometimes,
that one could not imagine a man being able to keep his footing
upon such a surface, yet there are paths, and the Swiss people go
up and down them every day.

Sometimes one of
these monster preoi-
pices had the slight
inclination of the huge
ship-houses in dock-
yards — then high up,
towards the sky, it
took a little stronger
inclination, like that
of a mansard roof —
and perched on this
dizzy mansard one's
eye detected little
things like martin
boxes, and presently
perceived that these
were the dwellings of
peasants : an airy spot
for a home, truly. And suppose a peasant should walk in his
sleep, or his child should fall out of the front yard ? — the friends
would have a tedious long journey down out of those cloud heights
before they found the remains. And yet those far-away homes
looked ever so seductive, they were so remote from the troubled
world, they dozed in such an atmosphere of peace and dreams —
surely no one who had learned to live up there would ever want
to live on a meaner level.

We swept through the prettiest little curving arms of the lake,
among these classical green walls, eiyoying new delights, always,

as the
and h:
surpri
the di
loomir
Onc(
anddc
last, I
"Yo
Hev
mediut
pender
with a <
it until
to work
brimme
a white
coat, pa
red-strij
with bl
larj ti
fastenec
device o
mountec
his arm
short, st
head a n
a cigarel
which h<
While h<
" Yes-
"Ikm
over in ?
« Hols
"We
of a pass
" Toler
"Sodi
Where ai

A TRAVP ABROAD.

151

M the stately panorama unfolded itself before us and re-rolled
and hid itself behind us ; and now and then we had the thrilling
surprise of bursting suddenly upon a tremendous white mass like
the distant and dominating Jungfrau^ or some kindred gianty
looming head and shoulders above a tumbled waste of lesser Alps.

Once, whilst I was hungrily taking in one of these surfiris^s,
and doing my best to get all I possibly could of it while it should
last, 1 was interrupted by a young and care-free voice,

" You're an American, I think — so'm I."

He was about eighteen, or possibly nineteen ; slender and of
medium height ; open, frank, lia; uy face ; « restless but inde-
pendent eye ; a snub nose, which had the air of drawing back
with a decent reserve from the silky new-bom moustache below
it until it should be introduced ; a loosely hung jaw, calculated
to work eas^y in the sockets. He wore a low-crowned, narrow-
brimmed straw hat, with a broad blue ribbon around it which had
a white anchor embroidered on it in front ; nobby short-tailed
coat, pantaloons, vest, all trim and neat and up with the fashion }
red-stripped stockings, very low-quarter patent leather shoes, tied
with black ribbon ; blue ribbon around his neck, wide-open col-
lar ; tiny diamond studs ; wrinkleless kids ; projecting cuffs,
fastened with large oxydized silver sleeve-buttons, bearing the
device of a dog's face — English pug. He carried a slim cane surj
mounted with an English pug's head with red glass eyes. Under
his arm he carried a German Grammar — Otto's. His hair was
short, straight and smooth, and presently when he turned his
head a moment, I saw that it was nicely parted behind. He took
a cigarette out of a dainty box, stuck it into a meerschaum holder
which he carried in a morocco case, and reached for my cigar.
While he was lighting, I said — , ?

" Yes — I am an American."

" I knew it — I can always tell them. What ship did you come
over in?"

"Holsatia." ^ "

" We came in the Batavia — Cunard, vou know. What kind
of a passage did you have ?"

" Tolerably rough." , ^

" So did we. Captain said he'd hardly ever seen it rougher.
Where are you from?"

■?>;i

152

k TBiJiP ABROAD.

" New England.**

** So'm I. I from New Bloomfield. Anybody with you T*
"Yes— a friend."

*' Our whole family's along. It's awful slow, going around aIon»-
don't you think so ?"
" Rather slow."

" Ever been over here'before V*
"Yes."

*' T haven't. My first trip. But we've been all around— Paris
and everywhere. I'm to enter Harvard next year. Studying

German all the lime now. Can't
enter till I know German. I know
considerable French — I get alon;^
pretty well in Paris or anywli^ re
where they speak French. What
hotel are you stopping at ?"
" Schweitzeihof."
" No I is that so ? I never see
you in the reception room. I go
to the reception room a good deul
of the time, because there's so
many Americans there. I make
lots of acquaintances. I know an
American as soon as I see him —
and so I speak to him and make
his acquaintance. I like to be
always making acquaintances —
don't you?"
"Lord, yes I"

" You see it breaks up a trip like this first rate. I never get
bored on a trip like this, if I can make acquaintances and have
somebody to talk to. But I think a trip like this would be an
awful bore if a body couldn't find anybody to get acquainted
with and talk to on a trip like this. I'm fond of talking, ain't
you?"
" Passionately.**

" Have you felt bored, on this trip ?"
" Not all the time, part of it."
** That's it 1 — ^you see you ought to go around and get acquainted

A TRAMP ABROAD.

158

and talk. That's my way. That's the way 1 nlways do— I just
go 'round, 'round, 'round, and talk, talk, talk — 1 never get bored.
You been up the Rigi yet ?"

u No.»»

« Going r»

"Ithinkso.*

** What hotel you going to stop at?"

" 1 don't know. Is there more than one T"

"Three. You stop at the Schrieber— you'll find it full of
Americans. What ship did you say you came over in ?"

« City of Antwerp."
' ** German, I guess. You going to Geneva 7"

« Yes."

*' What hotel you going to stop at?"
^ " Hotel de 1' Ecu de Geneve."

I « Don't you do it I No Americans there. You stop at one of
those big hotels over the bridge — they're packed full of Ameri-
cans."

" But I want to practice my Arabic."

** Good gracious, do you speak Arabic 7" ^

" Yes — well enough to get along."

<' Why, hang it, you won't get along in Geneva — they don't
speak Arabic, they speak French. What hotel are you stopping
at here ?"

" Hotel Pension-Beaurivage."

" Sho, you ought to stop at the Schweitzerhof. Didn't you
know the Schweitzerhof was the best hotel in Switzerland ? —
look at your Baedecker."

" Yes, I know — but I had an idea there warn't any Americans
there."

" No Americans 1 Why, bless your soul, it's just alive with
them I I'm in the great reception room most all the time. I
make lots of acquaintances there. Not as many as I did at first,
because now only the new ones stop in there — the others go
right along through. Where are you from?"

"Arkansaw." , : ,. v' •

"Is that so? I'm from New England — New Bloomfield's my
town when I'm at home. I'm having a mighty good time to-day,
ain't you?" 4 , ,

••Diyine."

154

A TBiilP ABROAD.

**TiuA*M what I oall it 1 like this knocking around, Ioom and
r, and making acquaintances and talking. 1 know an Ameri-
can soon as I see him ; so I go and speak to him and make tiis
acquaintance. I ain't ever bored on a trip like this if I can make
new acquaintances and talk. I'm awful fond of talking when 1
can get hold of the right kind of person, ain't you?"
" 1 prefer it to any other dissipation."

** That's my notion, too. Now some people like to take a book
and sit down and read, and read, and read, or moon around
yawping at the lake or these mountains and things, but that ain't

my way ; no, sir, if they liko it,
let 'em do it, I don't object ; but
as for me, talking's what / like.
You been up the Rigi ?"
« Yes."

'' What hotel did you stop at?"
« Schrieber."

" That's thf place 1^1 stopped
there too. Full of Americans,
wasn't it ? It always is-^always
is. That's what they say. Every-
body says that. What ship did
you come over in?"
« ViUe de Paris."

" French, I reckon. What kind of a passage did ezcu8«

me a minute, there's some Americans 1 haven't seen before."

And away he went. He went uninjured, too — I had the muv*
derous impulse to harpoon him in the back with my alpenstock,
but as I raised the weapon the disposition left me ; I found I
hadn't the heart to kill him, he was such a joyous, innocent, good-
natured numscull.

Half an hour later I was sitting on a bench inspecting, with
strong interest, a noble monolith which we were skimming by — a
monolith not shaped by man, but by Nature's free great hand — a
massy pyramidal rock eighty feet high, devised by Nature ten
million years ago against the day when a man worthy of it should
need it for his monument. The time came at last, and now this
grand remembrancer bears Schiller's name in huge letters upon
its face. Curiously enough, this rock was not degraded or defiled

In an^

down
over i
wordf

-rcTcO-^-

Hev

that h(
trial th
"Yoi
insolen
to prof
through
doing h(
his pocl
erent.
and ignc
tence lii
would (
Hearanc
remove <
work fro
you pay <
you will
ment at
be horse
ered, dej
on a rai
The seve]
to you, bi
give you
a^he ste
deck. M
of a coup
one and I
''You a
"Yes-

t .

A TRAMP ABBOAO.

155

In any way. It !■ said that two years ago a stranger let himftelf
down from the top of it with ropes and pulleys, and painted all
orer it, in blue letters biggor than those in Schiller's name, these

worda:

'• Try Sozodont ;'•

,'; :. "But Sun Stovk Por.isii;'*

" Hklmbold's BucHU ;" ,. ,

•♦Try Bbnzalinr for thk BijoodJ*

He was captured, and it turned out
that he was an American. Upon his
trial the judge said to him —

♦* You are from a land where any
insolent that wants to, is privileged
to profane and insult Nature, and
through her, Nature's God, if by so
doing he can put a sordid penny in
his pocket. But here the case is dif-
erent. Because you are a foreigner
and ignorant, I will make your sen-
tence light ; if you were a native I
would deal strenuously with you.-
Hearand obey. You will immediately
remove every trace of your offensive
work from the Schiller monument;
you pay a fine of ten thousand francs j
you will Buffer two years' imprison-
ment at hard labor; you will then
be horse-whipped, tarred and feath-
ered, deprived of your ears, ridden
on a rail to the confines of the canton, and banished forever.
The severer penalties are omitted in your case — not as a grace
to you, but to that great republic which had the misfortune to
give you birth."

The steamer's benches were ranged back to back across the
deck. My back hair was mingling innocently with the back hair
of a couple of ladies. Presently they were addressed by some
one and i overheard this conversation :

** You are Americans, I think ? So'm I,'*

" Yes— we are Americans."

156

A TRAliP ABROAD.

\'m

•* I knew it — 1 o*n alvays teh tl»<m. What sliip did you comf
over in ?"

"City of Chester."

•* O yea— Innmn line. We CAtne in the Batavia — Cunard, you
know. What kind of a i)as«Hge did you have ?"

" Pretty fair."

** That was lurk. We hud it awful rough. Captain said he'd
hardly ever seen it rougher. Where are you from ?"

" New Jersey."

" So'm I. No— I diiln't moan that ; I'm from New England.
Now lUoomdeld'tf my jjiace. These your children ? — belong to
both of you ?"

" Only to one of us ; they are mine ; my friend is not married."

"Single, I reckon? So'm I. Are you two ladies travoling
alone ?"

" No — my husband is with us,"

" Our whole family's along. It's awful slow, going around alone
— don't you think so ?"

"1 suppose it must be."

" Hi, there's Mount Pilatus coming in sight again. Named
after Pontius Pilate, you know, that shot the apple off" of William
Toll's head. Guidebook tells all about it, they say. 1 didn't read
it — an American told me. I don't read when I am knocking
around like this, having a good titp.e. Did you ever see the chapel
where William Tell used to preach?"

" I did not know he ever preached there."

" 0, yes he did. That American told me so. He don't evei
shut up his guide-book, lie knows more about this lake than the
fishes in it. Besides, they call it ' Toll's Chapel' — you know that
yourself. You ever been over here before ?"

"Yes."

"I haven't. It's my fust trip. But we've been all around—
Paris and everywhere. I'm to enter Harvard next year. — Study-
ing German all the time now. Can't enter till I know German,
This book's Otto's Grammar. It's a mighty gooil book to get the
tch habe gehabt hahen^s out of. But I don't really study when
I'm knocking around this way. If the notion takes me, I just run
over my little old ichhabegehabt,da hast gehabt, er hat gehabt, wir
haben gehabt, ihr habet gehabt, sie haben gehabt — kin<i of * Now-L

I! iH

A TBAMP JiBROAD.

1»/

^iay*medowti-lo i(Iet|»' fashion, you know, and after thati maybe I
don't buckle to it again for three dayit. It's awful undermining to
the intellect, German is ; you want to take it in small doses, or
tirst you know your brains all run together, and you feel them
sloshing around in your head same as so much drawn butter. But
French is d'tferent ; Ifi'eneh ain't anything. I ain't any more
alrflul of French than a tramp's afraid of pie ; I can rattle off my

1 »t / ^

■'%■ ■••■/■

■r-x^^^r-i^^.'!-

*i--^,?
'^'M:

little^'at, tu as, il a, and the rest of it, just as easy as a-bo. I get
along pretty well in Paris, or anywhere where they speak French.
What hotel you stopping at?"

" The Schweitzerhof."

" No I is that so ? I never see you in the big reception room.
I go in there a good deal of the time, because there's so many
Americans there. I make lots of acquaintancM. You been up
the Rigi yet ?"

"No."

"Going?"

"We think ?f:t,«*

Iff8

▲ TBAMP ABBOAP.

** What hotel you going to stop at?**

" I don't know."

" Well, then, you stop at the Schreiber—it's full of Americann.
What ship did you come over in ?"

'♦City of Chester." n v

** O, yes, I remember I asked you that before. But T always
Mk everybody what ship they come over in, and so sometimes 1
forget and ask again. You going to Geneva 7"

« Yes."

" What hotel you going to stop at ?"

" We expect te stop in a pension."

*• I don't hardly believe you'll like that : there is very few
Americans in the pensions. What hotel are you stopping at
here?"

« The Schweiizerhof."

" 0, yes, 1 asked you that before, too. But I always ask every-
body what hotel they're stopping at, and so I've got my head
all mixed up with hotels. But it makes talk, and I love to talk,
refreshes me up so^don't it you — on a trip like this 7"

"Yes — sometimes."

^ Well, it does me, too. As long as Pm talking I never feel
bored — ain't that the way with you 7"

" Yes — generally. But there are exceptions to the rule."

" O, of course. / don't care to talk to everybody, myself. If
a person starts in to jabber-jabber-jabber about scenery, and
history, and pictures, and all sorts of tiresome things, I get the
fan-tods mighty soon. I say, * Well, I must be going now — hope
I'll see you again — and then I take a walk. Where you from?"

" New Jersey."

« Why, bother it all, I asked you that before, too. Have you
seen the Lion of Lucerne 7"
"Not yet."

" Nor I, either. But the man who told me about Mount Pilatua
says it's one of the things to see. It's twenty-eight feet long.
It don't seem reasonable, but he said so, anyway. He sawii
yesterday ; said it was dying, then, so I reckon it's dead by this
time. But that ain't any matter, of course they'll stuff it. Did
you say the children are yours — or htraf"
"Mine,"

"0,

fou ti
VVhatl

see ,

been oi
believe
•cquain

^ whicl
blue lake
magnifice
ascent is :
for. I ai
one bright
^^ got asl
distant fro
We wer(
then the
noon, and
the glimpsl
and tiny
glimpses
and the an{
first time, tl
of cur jouri
for the gui([
the summid
because thj
distance fr
it might be
^ to the alJ
o>any hours]
6,000 feet a|
^hen we

A TBAMP ABROAD.

169

canB.

*'0, Boyon did. Are you going up the no, I asked

fou that. What ship no, I asked you that, too.

What hotel are you no, you told me that Let me

see um 0, what kind of avoy no, we've

been over that ground, too. Um um ....well, I

believe that is all. Bonjour — I am very glad to have made your
acquaintance, ladies. Outen Tag," ; > r ,

•y few
ing at

every-
y head
;o talk,

irer feel

^ CHAPTER xxnr.

rr^HE Bigi-Eulm is an imposing Alpine mass, 6,000 feet high,
i- which stands by itself, and commands a mighty prospect of
blue lakes, green valleys, and snowy mountains — a compact and
magnificent picture three hundred miles in circumference. The
ascent is nuMle by rail, or horseback, or on foot, as one may pre-
fer. I and my agent panoplied ourselves in walking oostimie,
one bright morning, and started down the lake on the steamboat .
we got ashore at the village of Waggis, three quarters of an hour
distant from Lucerne. This village is at the foot of the mountain.
We were soon tramping leisurely up the leafy mule-path, and
then the talk began to flow, as usual. It was twelve o'clock
noon, and a breezy, cloudless day ; the ascent was gradual, find
the glimpses, from under the curtaining boughs, of blue water,
and tiny sail boats, and beetling cliiSs, were as charming as
glimpses of dreamland. All the circumstances were perfect —
and the anticipations, too, for we should soon be enjoying, for the
first time, that wonderful spectacle, an Alpine sunrise — the object
of cur journey. There was (apparently) no real need to hurry,
for the guide-book made the walking distance from Waggis to
the summit only three hours and a quarter. I say " apparently,"
because the guide-book had already fooled us once — about the
distance from AUerheiligen to Oppenau— and for aught I knew
it might be getting ready to fool us again. We were only certain
as to the altitudes — we calculated to find out for ourselves how
many hours it is from the bottom to the top. The summit is
6,000 feet above the sea, but only 4,500 feet above the lake.
When w<d had walked half an hour, we were faiily into the twixif

' 1 1 * HI

iV i M

^9
r

IWI

A TBAMP ABROAD.

and humor of the undertaking, so we cleared for action ; that is
to say, we got a boy whom we met to carry our alpenstocks and
satchels, and overcoats and things for us; that left us, free for
business.

I suppose we must have stopped oftener to stretch out on the
grass in the shade and take a bit of a smoke than this boy was
used to, for presently he asked if it had been our idea to hire him
by the job, or by the year ? We told him he could move along
if he was in a hurry. He said he wasn't in such a very particular
hurry; but he wanted to get to the top while he was young. Wc^

!■'

told him to clear out, then, and leave the things at the upper
most hotel and say we should be along presently. Ha said he
, would secure us a hotel if ae could, but if they were ^all full he
would ask them to build another one and hurry up and get the
paint- and plaster dry against we arrived. Still gently chafSng
us he pushed ahead, up the trail, and soon disappeared. By six
o'clock we were pretty high up in the air, and the view of lake
and mountains had greatly grown in breadth and interest. We
halted a while at a little public house, where we had bread and
cheese and a quart or two of fresh milk, out on tne porcn, with
the big panorama all before us — and then moved on again.
Ten minutes afterward we met hot, red-faced man plunging

A TRAMP ABROAD.

161

at is
and
a for

upper-
said he
11 full he
get the
chaflBng
By six
of lake
•est. We
iread and
)rcli, with
lin.

down the mountaiui with mighty strides, swinging hiff alpenstock
ahead of him and taking a grip on the ground with its iron point
to support these big strides. He stopped, fanned kraself with
his hat, swabbed the perspiration from his face and neck with a
red handkerchief, panted a moment or two, and asked how far it
was to Waggis. I said three hours. He looked surprised, and

said ^ ". , ,. 'v . . : " •■ ■., • - --i;.:-'^ .

" Why, it seems as if I could toss a biscuit into the lake from
here, it's so close by. Is that an inn, there ? "

1 said it was.

" Well," said he, "I can't stand another three hours, I've had
enough for to-day } I'll take a bed there."

I asked — -

" Are we nearly to the top ?"

" Nearly to the top I Why, bless your soul, you hayen't really
started, yet."

I said we would put up at the inn, too. So we turned back and
ordered a hot supper, and had quite a jolly evening of it with this
Englishman.

The German landlady gave us neat rooms and nice beds, and
when 1 and my agent turned in, it was with the resolution to be
up early and make the utmost of our first Alpine sunrise. But
of course we were dead tired, and slept like policemen ; so when
we awoke in the morning and ran to the window it was already
too late, because it was half past eleven. It was a sharp disap-
pointment. However, we ordered breakfast and told the land-
lady to call the Englishman, but she said lie was already up and
off at daybreak — and swearing mad about something or other.
We could not find out what the matter was. He luad asked the
landlady the altitude of her place above the level of the lake, and
she had told him fourteen hundred and ninety-five feet. That
was all that was said ; then he lost his temper, He said that be.

tween fools and guide-boods, a man could acquire ignorance

enough in twenty-four hours in a country like this to last him foi
a year, Harris believed our boy had been loading him up with
misinformation j and this was probably the case, for his epithe
described that boy to a dot.

We got under way about the turn of noon, and pulled out for
the summit again with a fresh and vigorous step. When we had

1;,

102

A TBAMP ABROAD.

! !i

gone about two hundred yards, and stopped to rest, I glanced to
the left while I was lighting my pipe, and in the distance detected
a long worm of black smoke crawling lazily up the steep moun-
tain. Of course that was the locomotive. We propped ourselves
on our elbows at once, to gaze, for we had never seen a mountain
railway yet. Presently we could make out the train. It seemed
incredible that that thing should creep straight up a sharp slant
like the roof of a house — but there it was, and it was doing that
very miracle.

In the course of a couple of hours we reached a fine breezy
altitude where the little shepherd-huts had big stones all over
their roofs to hold them down to the earth when the great storms

rage. The country was wild and rocky about here, but there
were plenty of trees, plenty of moss, and grass.

Away off on the opposite shore of the lake we could see some
villages, and now for the first time we could observe the real dif-
ference between their proportions and those of the giant nioun
tains at whose feet they slept. When one is in one of those
villages it seems spacious, and its houses seem high and not out
of proportion to the mountain that overhangs them — but f'loni
our altitude, what a change I The mountains were bigger ana
grander than ever, a9 they stood there thinking their solemn
thoughts with their heads in the drifting clouds, but the villages
at their feet — when the painstaking eye could trace them u]) and
find them — were so reduced, so almost Invisible, and ^ay eo flat

^l*

A TRAMP ABROAD.

168

•gainst the ground, thai tho exactest simile I oan devise is to
compare them to ant-deposi^is of granulated dirt overshsKlowed
by the huge bulk of a cathedraL Ihe steamboats skimming
along under the stupendous precipices were diminished by dis-
tance to the daintiest little toys, the sail-boats and row-boats to
shallops proper for fairies that keep house in the cups of lilies
and ride to court on the backs of bumble-bees.

Presently we «ame upon half a dozen sheep nibbling grass in
the spray of a stream of clear water that sprang from a rock
wall a hundred feet high, and all at once our ears were startled

with a melodious '^Lul 1 1 lul-lul-2ahee-o-o-o I"

pealing joyously from a near but invisible source, and recognized
that we were hearing for the first time the famous Alpine jodel
in its own native wilds. And we recognized, also, that it was
that sort of' quaint commingling of baritone and falsetto which
at home we call " Tyrolese warbling."

The jodling (pronounced yodling — emphasis on the o), con-
tinued, and was very pleasant and inspirating to hear. Now the
jodler appeared— a shepherd boy of sixteen — and in our gladness
and gratitude we gave him a franc to jodel some more. So he
jodeled and we listened. We moved on presently, and he gener-
ously jodeled us out of sight. After about fifteen minutes we
came across another shepherd boy who was jodling, and gave him
half a franc to keep it up. He also jodled us out of sight. After
that we found » jodler every ten minutes ; we gave the first one
eight cents, the second one six cents, the third one four, the
fourth one a penny, contributed nothing to Nos. 5, 6, and 7, and
during the remainder of the day hired the rest of the jodlers, at
a franc apiece, not to jodel any more. There is somewhat too
much of this jodling in the Alps.

About the middle of the afternoon we passed through a pro-
digious natural gateway, called the Felsenthor, formed by two
enormous upright rocks, with a third lying across the top.
There was a very attractive little hotel close by, but our energies
were not conquered yet, so we went on.

Three hours afterward we came to the railway track. It was
planted straight up the mountain with the slant of a ladder that
leans against a house, and it seemed to us that a man would need
eood nerves who proposed to travel up it or down it either.

164

A TBAMP ABROAD.

Daring the latter part of the afternoon we cooled our roasting
Interiors with ice-cold water from clear streams, the only really
satisfying water we had tasted since we left home, for at the
hotels on the continent they merely give you a tumbler of ice to
soak your water in, aud that only modifies its hotness, doesn't
make it cold. Water can only be made cold enough for summer
comfort by being prepared in a refrigerator or a closed ice-pitcher.
Europeans say ice water impairs digestion. How do they know ?
I — they never drink any.

At ten minutes past six we reached the Kaltbad station
there is a spacious hotel with great verandahs which com
majestic expanse of lake and mountain scenery. We were
well fagged out now, but as we did not wish to miss the
sunrise, we got through with our dinner as quickly as p(
and hurried oflF to bed. It was unspeakably comfortal:
stretch our weary limbs between the cool damp sheets. Anc
we did sleep I — for there is no opiate like Alpine pedestriani

In the morning we both awoke and leaped out of bed at the
same instant and ran and stripped aside the window curtains ;
but we suffered a bitter disappointment again j it was already
half-past three ia the afternoon

Ot OV(

as we

rises,
sit up
troubi
havinj
Dur
the gv
left to
man w
blasts
soling
the gu
blanke
this wc
on the
flapping
messen
memon
had mil
WoM
feet abc
journey
four, p.
one tra(
square <
latter, a
and can:
we shoi
ask a lo
thing— a
did so.
We
reached
just ahe
We wen
fog of cl
the railw

A TRAMP ABROAD.

165

We dreised sullenly and in ill spirits, each accusing the other
of over-sleeping. Harris said if we had brought the courier along,
as we ought to have done, we should not have missed these sun-
rises. I said he knew very well that one of us would have had to
sit up and wake the courier ; and I added that we were having
trouble enough to take care of ourselves, on this climb, without
having to take care of a courier besides. . ' v

During breakfast our spirits came up a little, since we found by
the guide-book that in the hotels on tlae summit the tourist is not
left to trust td luck for his sunrise, but is roused betimes by a
man who goes through the halls with a great Alpine horn, blowing
blasts that would raise the dead. And there was another con-
soling thing : the guide book said that up there on the summit
the guests did not wait to dress much, but seized a red bed-
blanket and sailed out arrayed like an Indian. This was good ;
this would be romantic ; two hundred and fifty people grouped
on the windy summit, with their hair flying and their red blankets
flapping, in the solemn presence of the snowy ranges and the
messenger splendors of the commg sun, would be a striking and
memorable spectacle. So it was good lucki not ill luck, that we
had missed those other sunrises. "

We were informed by the guide-book that we were now 3,228
feet above the level of the lake — therefore full two-thirds of our
journey had been accomplished. We got aii^ay at a quarter past
four, p. m. J a hundred yards above the hotel the railway divided ;
one track went straight up the steep hill, the other one turned
square off to the right, with a very slight grade. We took the
latter, and followed it more than a mile, turned a rocky comer
and came in sif^ht of a handsome new hotel. If we had gone on,
we should have arrived at the summit, but Harris preferred to
ask a lot of questions— as usual, of a man who didn't know any-
thing — and ha ''old us to go back and follow the other I'oute. We
did so. We could ill afford this loss of time.

We climbed, and climbed 5 and wo kept on climbing ; we
reached about forty summits but there was always another onie
just ahead. It came on to rain, and it rained in dead earnest.
We were soaked through, and it was bitter cold. Next a smoky
fog of clouds covered the whole region densely, and we took to
the railway ties to keep from getting lost. Sometimes we slopped

I. *.i

166

A TRAMP ABROAD.

along in a narrow path on the left hand side of the track, but by
and by when the fog blew aside a little and we saw that we were
treading the rampart of a precipice and that our left elbows were
projecting over a perfectly boundless and bottomless vacancy^
we gasped, and jumped for the ties again.

The night shut down, dark and drizzly and cold. About eight
in the evening the fog lifted and showed us a well worn path
which led up a very steep rise to the left. We took it and as
soon as we had got far enough from the railway to render the
finding it again an impossibility, the fog shut down on us once
more.

We were in a bleak unsheltered place, now, and had to trudge
right along, in order to keep warm, though we rather expected
to go over a precipice sooner or later. About nine o'clock we
made an important discovery — that we were not in any path.
We groped around a while on our hands and knees, but could
. not find it ; so we sat down in the mud and the wet scant grass
to wait. We were terrified into this by being suddenly con*
fronted with a vast body which showed itself vaguely for an in
stant and in the next instant was smothered in the fog again. It
was really the hotel we were after, monstrously magnified by the
fog, but we took it for the face of a precipice and decided not to
try to claw up it.

We sat there an 'hour, with chattering teeth and quivering
bodies, and quarreled over all sorts of trifles, but gave most of
our attention to abusing each other for the stupidity of deserting
the railway track. We sat with our backs to that precipice, be-
cause what little wind there was came from that quarter. At
some time or other the fog thinned a little ; we did not know
when, for we were facing the empty universe and the thinness
. could not show ; but at last Harris happened to look around, and
there stood a huge, dim, spectral hotel whe^'e the precipice had
been. One could faintly discern the windows and chimneys, and
a dull blur of lights. Our first emotion was deep unutterabla
gratitude, our next was a foolish rage, born of the suspicion that
possibly the hotel had been visible three-quarters of an hour
while we sat there in those cold puddles quarreling.

Yes, it was the Rigi-Eulm hotel — the one that occupies the
extreme summit, and whose remote little sparkle of lights we

A TRAMP ABROAD.

167

had often seen glinting high aloft among the stars from our bal*
cony away down yonder in Lucerne. The crusty portier and th*
crusty clerks gave us the surly reception which their kind deal in
in prosperous times, but by mollifying them with an extra dis-
play of obsequiousness and servility we finally got them to show
us to the room which our boy had engaged for us.

We got into some dry clothing, and while our supper was pre-
paring we loafed forsaken ly through a couple of vast cavernous
drawing rooms, one of which had a stove in it. This stove was
in a corner, and densely walled around with people. We could
not get near the fire, so we moved at large in the arctic spaces,
among a multitude of people who sat silent, smileless, forlorn
and shivering — thinking what fools they were to come, perhaps.
There were some Americans, and some Qermans, but one could
see that the great miy'ority were English.

We lounged into an apartment where there was a great crowdi
to see what was going on. It was a memento-magazine. The
tourists were eagerly buying all sorts and styles of paper-cutters,
marked " Souvenir of the Kigi," with handles made of the little
curved horn of the ostensible chamois ; there were all manner of
wooden goblets and such things, similarly marked. I was going
to buy a paper-cutter, but I believed I could remember the cold
comfort of the Rigi-Eulm without it, so I smothered the impulse.

Supper warmed us, and we went immediately to bed — but first,
as Mr. Baedeker requests all tourists to call his attention to any
errors which they may find in his guide-books, I dropped him a
line to inform him that when he said the foot-journey from Waggis
to the summit was only three hours and a quarter, he missed it
by just about three days. I had previously informed him of his
mistake about the distance from Allerheiligen to Oppenau, and
had also informed the Ordnance Department of the German
government of the same error in the imperial maps. I will add,
here, that I never got any answer to these letters, or any thanks
from either of those sources ; and what is still more discourteous,
these corrections have not been made, either in the maps or the
guide-books. But I will write again when I get time, for my letters
may have miscarried.

We curled up in the clammy beds, and went to sleep without
rocking. We were so sodden with fatigue that we never stirred

168

A TBAMP ABROAD.

nor turned over till the booming blasti of the Alpine horn
•roused us. It may well be imagined that we did not lose any
time. We snatched on a few odds and ends of clothing, cocooneU
ourselves in the proper red blankets, and plunged along the
halls and out into the whistling wind bare headed. We saw a
tall wooden scaffolding on the very peak o\' the summit, a hun
dred yards away, and made for it. We rushed up the stairs to
the top of this scaffolding, and stood there, above the vast out-
lying world, with hair flying and ruddy blankets waving and
cracking in the fierce breeze.

5i--^ViJi^^^l%^*^ ""*>

"Fifteen minutes too late, at last!" said Harns,/^^ ve.vHfi
voice. " I'he sun is clear above the horizon.''

" No njatter," I said, " it is a most magnificent spectacl
we will see it do the rest of its rising, anyway."

In a moment we were deeply absorbed in the marvel before us,
and dead to everything else. The great cloud-barred disk of the
sun stood just above a limitless expanse of tossing white-caps—
80 to speak — a billowy chaos of massy mountain domes and peaks
draped in imperishable snow, and flooded with an opaline glory
of changing and dissolving splendors, whilst throuch rifts in a
black cloudbnnk above tho sun, radiating' lances of diamond -duo t

A TRAMP ABROAD.

169

shot to the zenith. The cloven valleys of the lower world swam
in a tinted mist whit^h veilo<l the ruggcdneHH of thnir crags and
ribg and ragged foroHts, and turned all the forbidding region into
a soft and rich and sensuous paradise.

We could not «peak. We could hardly breathe. Wt> could
only gaze in drunken ecstasy and drink it in, Presently Uarriii
exclaimed —

" Why ^nation, its going down f^

Perfectly true. We had missed the morning hom-blow, and
•lept all day. This was stupefying. Harris said —

" Look here, the sun isn't the spectacle — its ua — stacked up
here on top of this gallows, in these idiotic blankets, and two
hundred and fifty well dressed nu*n and women do^vii here gawk*
ing up at us and not caring a .straw whether the sun rises or sets,
as long as the've got such a ridiculous spectacle as this to set
down in their memorandum-books. They seem to be laughing
their ribs loose, and there's one girl there that seems to be going
all to pieces. I never saw such a man as you before. I think
you are the very last possibility in the way of an ass."

*' What have / done ? " I answered with heat. « .-

" What have you done ? You've got up at half past seven
o'clock m the evening to see the sun rise, that's what you've
done."

•' And have you done any better, Pd like to know ? I always
used to get izp with the lark, till I came under the petrifying in-
fluence of your turgid intellect."

" Ton used to get up with the lark — 0, no doubt — you'll get
up with the hangman one of these days. But you ought to be
ashamed to be jawing here like this, in a red blanket, on a forty-
foot scaffold on top of the Alps. And no end of people down
here to boot ; this isn't any place for an exhibition of temper."

And so the customary quarrel went on. When the sun was
fairly down, we slipped back to the hotel, in the charitable gloam-
ing, and went to bed again. We had encountered the horn-blower
on the way, and he had tried to collect compensation, not only
for announcing the sunset, which we did see, but for the sunrise,
which we had totally missed ; but we said no, we only took our
soiar rations on the " European plan " — pay for what you get.
He promised to make us hear his hpm in the morning if we were
lUye.

170

A TRAMP ABROAD.

|1"!

CHAPTER XXV. •

HE kept hia word. We heard his horn and instantly got up,
It was dark and cold and wretched. As I fumbled around
for the matches, knocking things down with my quaking hands, I
wished the sun would rise in the middle of the day, when it war
.varm and bright and cheerful, and one wasn't sleepy. We pro
oeeded to dress by the gloom of a couple of sickly candles, but
we could hardly button anything, ouv hands shook so. I thought
of how many happy people there were in Europe, Asia and Ame-
rica, and everywhere, who were sleeping peacefully in their beds
and did not have to get up and see the Kigi sunrise— ,people who
did not appreciate their advantage, us like as not, but would get
up in the morning wanting iirore boons of Frqvidence. While
thinking these thoughts I pawned, in a rather ample way, and my
upper teeth got hitched on a nail over the door, aud whilst I was
mounting a chair to free mj'sclf; Harris drew the window curtain
and said —

'< 0, this is luck ! We shan't have to go out at all — ^yonder are
the mountains, in full view."

That was glad news, indeed. It made us cheerful right away.
One could see the grand Alpine masses dimly outlined against
the black firmament, and one or two faint stars blinking through
rifts in the night. Fully clothed, and wrapped in blankets, we
huddled ourselves up, by the window, with lighted pipes, and fell
into chat, while we waited in exceeding comfort to see how an
Alpine sunrise was going to look by candle light. £y and by a
delicate, spiritual sort of effulgence spread itself by imperceptible
degrees over the loftiest altitudes of the snowy wastes — ^but there
the effort seemed to stop. I said, presently —

'' There is at hitch about this sunrise somewhere. It doesn't
leem to go. What do you reckon is the matter with it T"

" I don't know. It appears to hang fire somewhere. I never
saw a sunrise act like that before. Can it be that the hotel ii
playing anything on us?"

4 TIUMP ABROAD.

171

"Of conrM not. TTia hotel merely han a property interost in
the 8un, it Hhs nothing to do with the management of it. It is a
precarious kind of property, too ; a suooession of total eolipnes
would probably ruin this tavern. Now what can be the matter
with this sunrise 7"

Harris jumped up and said —

" I've got it I I know what's the matter with it! We've been
look'-'g at the place where the sun »et last night 1"

" 1 V is perfectly true t Why couldn't you have thought of that
sooner T Now we've lost another one! And all through your
blundering. It was exactly like you to light a pipe and sit down
to wait for the sun to rise in the west."

" It was exactly like me to find out the mistake, too. You
nev^r would have found it out. I find out all the mistakes."

" You make them all, too, else your most valuable faculty
would be wasted on you. But don't stop to quarrel now— may bo
we are not too late yet."

But we were. The sun was well up when we got to the ezhibi*
tion ground.

On our way up we met the crowd returning — men and women
dressed in all sorts of queer costumes, and exhibiting all degrees
of cold and wretchedness in their gaits and ooimtenances. A
dozen still remained on the ground when we reached there, hud-
dled together about the scaffold with their backs to the bitter
wind. They had their red guide-books open at the diagram of
the view, and were painfully picking out the several mountains
and trying to impress their names and positions on their memo-
ries. It was one of the saddest sights I ever saw.

Two sides of this place were guarded by railings, to keep people
from being blown over the precipices. The view, looking sheer
down into the broad valley, eastward, from this great elevation —
almost a perpendicular mile — was very quaint and curious.
Counties, towns, hilly ribs and ridges, wide stretches of green
meadow, great forest tracts, winding streams, a dozen blue lakec,
a flock ot busy steamboats — we saw all this little world in unique
circumstantiality of detail — saw it just as the birds see it — and
all reduced to the smallest of scales and as sharply worked out
and finished as a steel engraving. The numerous toy villages,
with tiny spires projecting out of them, were just as the children

172

A TBAMP ABROAD.

might have left them when done with play the day before ; tne
forest tracts were diminished to cushions of moss ] one or two
big lakes were dwarfed to ponds, the smaller ones to puddles—
though they did not look like puddles, but like blue ear drope
which had fallen and lodged in slight depressions conformable to
their shapes among the moss-beds and the smooth levels of dainty
green farm-land ; the microscopic steamboats glided along, as in
a city reservoir, taking a mighty time to cover the distance be-
tween ports which seemed only a yard apart ; and the isthmus
which separated two lakes looked as if one might stretch out on
it and lie with both elbows in the water, yet we knew invisible
wagons were toiling across it and finding the distance a tedious
one. This beautiful miniature world had exactly the appearance
of those " relief maps" which reproduce nature precisely, with
the heights and depressions and other details graduated to a re
' duced scale, and with the rocks, trees, lakes, etc., colored after
nature.

I believed we could walk down to Waggis or Vitznau in a day,
but I knew we could go down by rail in about an hour, so I chose
the latter method. I wanted to see what it was like, anyway.
The train came along about the middle of the forenoon, and an
odd thing it was. The locomotive boiler stood on end, and it
and the whole locopiotive were tilted sharply backward. There
were two paf^senger ears, roofed, but wide open all around. These
cars were not tilted back, but the seats were ; this enables the
passengers to sit level while going down a steep incline.

There T-re '.jhree railway tracks ; the central one is cogged ; the
" lantern wheel" of the engine grips its way along these cogs,
and pulls the train up the hill or retards its motion on the down
trip. About the same speed — three miles an hour — is maintained
both ways. Whether going up or down, the locomotive is alwayi
at the lower end of the train. It pushes, in the one case, braces
back in the other. The passengers ride backward going Uf , aoid
face forward going down.

We got front seats, and while the train moved along abou
Qfty yards on level ground, I was not the least frightened ; bu<
now it started abruptly dowr stairs, and I caught my breath
And I, like my neighbors, unsconsciously held back all I could
and threw my weight to the rear, but of course that did no par

A TRAMP ABROAD.

173

tioular good. I had slidden down the balusten when I was a
boy, and thought nothing of it, but to slide down the balusters ia
% railway train is a thing to make one's flesh creep. bometimeB
we had as much as ten yards of almost level groimd, and this
gave us a few full breaths in comfori; ; but straightway we would
turn a comer and see a long steep line of rails stretching down
below us, and the comfort was at an end. One expected to see

the locomotive pause, or slack up a little, and approach this
plunge cautiously, but it did nothing of the kind ; it went calmly
on, and when it reached the jumpingoff place it made a sudden
bow, and went gliding smoothly down stairs, untroubled by the
circumstances.

It was wildly exhilarating to slide along the edge of the preci
pices after this grisly fashion, and look straight down upon that
far-off valley which I was describing a while ago.

There was no level ground at the Kaltbad station ; the railbea
vas as steep as a rod ; I was curious to see how the stop was
going to be managed. But it was very simple : the train came
•Uding dowi), and when it reached the right spot it juit stopped

If*

r^" 'M

174

A TRAMP ABROAD

—that wu all there was ^ to if—stopped on the steep incline,
andwiien the exchange of passengers and baggage had been
made, it moved oflf and went sliding down again. The train can
be stopped anywhere, at a moment's notice.

There was one orioua effect, which I need not take the
trouble to describe — because I can scissor a description of it out
of the railway company's advertising pamphlet, and save my ink :

" On the whole ^our, particularly at the Descent, we undergo
an optical illusion which often seems to be incredible. All the
shrubs, fir-treee, stables, houses, etc., seem to be bent in u slant-
ing direction, as by an immense pressure of air. They are all
standing awry, so much awry that the chalets and cottages of the
peasants seem to be tumbling down. It is the consequence of
the steep inclination of the line. Those fffao are seated in the
carriage do not observe that they are gdng dovm a declivity of
20 to 250 (their seats being adapted to this course of proceeding
and being bent down at their backs). They mistake their car-
riage and its horizontal lines for a proper measure of the normal
plain, and therefore all the objects outside which really are in a
horizontal position, must show a disproportion of 20 to 25^ decli-
vity, in regard to the mountain."

By the time one reaches Kaltbad, he ham acquired confidence
m the railway, and he now ceases to try to ease the locomotive
by holding back. Thenceforward he smokes his pipe in serenity,
and g£.2es out upon the magnificent picture below and about him
with unfettered enjoyment. There is nothing to interrupt the
view or the breeze ; it is like inspecting the world on the wing.
However — to be exact — there is one place where the serenity
lapses for a while : this is while one is crossing the Schnurrtobel
Bridge, a frail structure which swings its gossamer frame down
through the dizzy air, over a gorge, like a vagrant spider-strand.

One has no difficulty in remembazing his s'ns while the train
is creeping down this bridge ; and he repents of them, too ;
though he sees, when he gets to Vitznau, that he need not have
done it, the b. idge was perfectly safe.

So ends the eveptful trip which we made to the Rigi-Kulm to
see an Alpine sunrise.

AN]

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fact, a ]

them.

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'tailed ftl

A TBAMP ABROAD.

175

CHAPTER XXVJ.

AN hour's sail brought us to Lucerne again. I judged it best to
go to bed and rest several days, for I knew that the umn who
undertakes to make the tour of Europe on foot must take care o>.
himself. •

Thinking over my plans, as mapped out, I perceived that they
d'dnot take in the Furka Pass, the Rhone Glacier, the Finsteraar-
horn, the Wetterhorn, etc. 1 immediately examined the guide-
book to see if these were important, and found they were ; in
fact, a pedestrian tour of Europe could not be complete without
them. Of course that decided me at once to see them, for I
never allow myself to do things by halves, or in a slurring slip-
shod way.

I called in my agent and instructed him to go without delay
and make a careful examination of these noted places, on foot,
and bring me back a written report of the result, for insertion in
my book. I instructed him to go to Hospenthal as quickly as
possible, and make his grand start from there ; to exiend his foot
expedition as far as the Giesbach fall, and return to me from
thence by diligence or mule. I told him to take the courier with
him.

He objected to the courier, and with some show of reason,
eince he was about to venture upon new and untried ground ;
but I thought he might as well learn how to take care of the couner
now as later, therefore I enforced my point. I said that tiie
troiible, delay and inconvenience of traveling with a courier were
balanced by the deep respect which a courier's presence com-
mands, and I must insist that as much style be thrown into my
journeys as possible.

Sj the two assumed complete mountaineering costume? and
departed. A week later th . y returned, pretty well used up, and
my agent handed me the following

Official Report
Of a Visit to th« Furka Region. By H. Harris, Agent.

About 7 o'clock in the morning, with perfectly fine weather, w«
started ft m Hospenthal, and arrived at the maiaon on the Furka

176

A TRAMP ABROAD.

in a little under quatre houni. The want of variety in tbe 8e«nery
from Hospenthal made the kahkahponeeka wearisome ; but let
none be discouraged : no one can fail to be completely recom
pensee for his fatigue, when he sees, for the first time, the monarch
of the Oberland, the tremendous Finsteraarhorn. A moment
bipifore all wac dulness, but a pas further has placed us on the
summit of the Furka ; and exactly in front of us, at a hopoio ol
only fifteen miles, this magnificent mountain lifts its snow-
wreathed precipices into the deep blue sky. The inferior moun-
tains on each side of the pass form a sort of frame for the picture
of their dread lord, and close in the view so completely that no
other prominent feature in the Oberland is visible from this bong
a-bong ; nothing withdraws the attention from the solitary gran
deur of the Finsteraarhorn and the dependent spurs which form
the abutments of the central peak.

With the addition of some others, who were also bound for th«
Grimsel, we formed a large xhvloj as we descended the steg
which winds round the shoulder of a mountain toward the Rhone
glacier. We soon left the path and took to the ice ; and after
wandering amongst the crevasses un peu, to admire the wondert>
of these deep blue caverns, and hear the rushing of waters through
their subglacial channels, we struck out a course towards V autre
cote and crossed the glacier successfully, a little above the cave
from which the infant Rhone takes its first bound from under thv*
grand precipice of ice. Half a mile below this we began to climb
the flowery side of the Meienwand. One of our party started
before the rest, but the Hitze was so great, that we found ihnt
quite exhausted, and lying at full length in the shade of a large
Gestein. We sat down with him for a time, for all felt the heal
exceedingly in the climb up this very steep bolwoggoly, and then
we set out again together, and arrived at last near the Dead
Man's Lake, at the foot of the Sidelhorn. This lonely spot, once
uf>ed for an extempore burying place, after a sanguinary battue
between the French and Austrians, is the perfection of desola-
tion ; there is nothing in sight to mark the hand cf man, except
the line of weather-beaten whitened posts, set up to indicate the
direction of the pass in the owdawakk of winter. Near this point
the footpath Joins the wider track, which connects the Grimsel
with the h«iid of the Rhone ftehnawp i this has .«^k»a carefully

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

177

constructed, and leads with a tortuous course among ant] over
let pierrea, down to the bank of the gloomy little stooshawoshf
which almost washes against the walls of the Grimsel Hospice.
We arrived a little before 4 o'clock at the end of our day's
journey, hot enough to justify the step, taken by most of the
par tie, of plunging into the crystal water of the snow-fed lake.

The next afternoon we started for a walk up the Unteraar
glacier, with the intention of, at all events, getting as far as the
Hutte which is used as a sleeping place by most of those who
cross the Strahleck Pass to Grindelwald. We gotover the tedious
collection of stones and debris which covers the pied of the
Gletcher, and nad walked nearly three hours from the Grimsel|
when, just as we were thinking of crossing over to the right, to
2limb the cliffs at the foot of the hut,''the clouds, which had for
gome time assumed a threateningappearance, suddenly dropped,
ind a huge mass of them, driving towards us from the Finsteraar-
born, poured down a deluge of haboolong and hail. Fortunately,
ive were not far from a very large glacier table ; it was a huge
rock balanced on a pedestal of ice high enough to admit of our
ill creeping under it for gowkarak. A stream of puckittypukk
bad furrowed a course for itself in the ice at its base, and we
were obliged to stand with one Fuss on each side of this, and en-
deavour to keep ourselves chaud by cutting steps in the steep
liank of the pedestal, so as to get a higher place for standing on,
as the wasser rose rapidly in its trench. Avery cold bzzzzzzzzeeeee
arccompanied the storm and made our position far from pleasant *,
aud presently came a flash of Blitzen, apparently in the middle
of our little party, when an instantaneous clap of yokky, sound-
ing like a large gun fired close to our ears : the effect was start-
ling ; but in a few seconds our attention was fixed by the roaring
echoes of the thunder against the tremendous mountains which
completely surrounded us. This was followed by many more
bursts, none of welche, however, was so dangerously near ; and
after waiti.^g a long demi-howY in our icy prison, we sallied out to
'valk through a haboolong which, though not so heavy as before,
was quite enough to give us a thorough soaking before our arrival
at the Hospice.

The Gi'imsel is certainement a wonderful place ; situated at
the bottom of a sort of huge crater, the sides of which are utterly

i, aM;

if-

178

A TRAMP ABROAD.

i 1

'^rmi'

■' A

savage Gebirge, composed of barrnn rocks which cannot even tup
port a single pine arhre, and afford only scanty food for a herd
of gmwwkllolp, it looks as if it must be completely begraben iv
ihe winter snows. Enormous avalanches fall against it every
spring, sometimes covering everything to the depth of thirty or
forty feet; and, in spite of walls four feet thick, and furnished
witli outside iron shutters, the two men who stay here when the
vuyayeura are snugly quartered in their distant homes can tell
you that the snow sometimes shakes the house to its founda-
tions.

Next morning the hogglebumbnUtip still continued bad, but
we made up our minds to go on, und make the best of it. HaH
an hour after we started, the Begen thickened unpleasantly, and
we attempted to get shelter under a projecting rock, but being
far too nass already to make standing at all agreeable, we pushed
on for the Handeck, consoling ourselves with the reflection that
from the furious rushing of the river Aar at our side, we should
at all events see the celebrated Wasserfall in grande perfection.
Nor were we nappersoclcet in our expectation : the water was
roaring down its leap of two hundrea and fifty feet in a most
magnificent frenzy, while the trees which cling to its rocky
sides swayed to and fro in the* violence of the hurricane whicli
it brought down with it : even the stream, which falls into the
main cascade at right angles, and toutfois forms a beautiful
feature in the scene, was now swollen into a raging torrent ; and
the violence of this "meeting of the waters," about fiity feet
below the frail bridge where we stood, was fearfully grand.
While we were looking at it, glucklichewise a gleam of sunshine
came out, and instantly a beautiful rainbow was formed by the
gpray, and hung in mid air suspended over the awful gorge.

On going into the chalet above the fall, v.e were informed that
R Brucke had broken down near Guttanen, and that it would be
impossible to proceed for some time : accordingly we were kept
in our drenched condition for eine Stunde, when some voyageurs
arrived from Meyringen, and told us that there had been a trifling
accident, ahen that we could now cross. On arriving at the spot
I was much inclined to suspect that the whole st ^" was a ruse to
make us slowwk and drink the more in the Uu.ideck Inn, for
only a few planks had been carried away, and though tiiere

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

179

might perhaps haye been some difficulty with mules, the gip was
certainly not larger than a mmbglx might cross with a very slight
leapi. Near Outtanen the haboolong happily ceased, and we had

time to walk ourselves tolerably dry l>etore ai riving at Reichen*
sach, 100 we enjoyed a good dine at the Hotel de« Alps.

S (i

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180

A TBAMP ABROAD.

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Next morning we walked to Rosenlaui, the beau ideal of Swisi
■cenery, where we spent the middle of the day in an excursion
to the glacier. This was aiore beautiful than words can describe,
for in the constant progress of the ice it has changed the form
of its extremity and formed a vast cavern, as blue as the sky
above, and rippled like a frozen oc6i.n. A few steps cut in the
whoopjamboreehoo enabled us to walk completely under this, and
feast our eyes upon one of the loveliest objects in creation. The
glacier was all around divided by numberless fissures of the same
exquisite color, and the finest wood-Erdbeeren were growing in
abundance but a few yards from the ice. The inn stands in a
eharmani spot close to the cote dt la riviere, which, lower down
forms the Reichenbaoh fall, and embosomed in the richest of
pinewoods, while the fine form of the Wellborn looking down
upon it completes the enchanting bopple. In the afternoon we
walked over the great Scheideck to Grindelwald, stopping to pay
a visit to the Upper glacier by the way j but we were again over-
taken by bad hogglebumgullup and arrived at the hotel in solche
a state that the landlord's wardrobe was in great request.

The qlouds by this time seemed to have done their worst, for
a lovaiy day succeeded, which we determined to devote to an
ascent of the Faulhom. We left Grindelwald just as a thunder-
storm was dymg away, and we hoped to find guten Wetter up
above ; but the rain, which had nearly ceased, began again, and
we were struck by the rapidly increasing froid as we ascended.
Two thirds of the way up were completed when the rain was ex-
changed for gnillic, with which the Boden was thickly covered,
and before we arrived at the top the gnillic and mist became so
thick that we could not see one another at more than twenty
poopoo distance, and it became difficult to pick our way over the
rough and thickly covered ground. Shivering with cold we turned
into bed with a double allowance of clothes, and slept comfort
ably whije the wind howled autour de la maison : when 1 awoke,
the wall and the window looked equally dark, but in another hour
I found 1 could just see the form of the letter ; so I jumped out
of bed, and forced it open, though with diflSculty from the frost
and the quantities of gnillic heaped up against it.

A row of huge icicles hung down from the edge ot the fOt)f,
Aad anything more wintry than the whole Anbliek could not well

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

181

be imagined ; but the sudden appearance of the great moun-
tains in front was so startling that I felt no inclination to move
tov^ards bed again. The snow which had collected upon la fene-
ire had increased the Finsterniss oder der Duukelheit. so that
when I looked out I was surprised to find that the daylight was
considerable, and that the balragootnah would evidently rise be-
fore long. Only the brightest of les etoiles were^still shining;
the sky was cloudless overhead, though small curling mists lay
thoiTsands of feet below us in the valleys, wreathed around the
feet of the mountains, and adding to the splendor of their lofty

Bumniits. We were soon dressed and out of the house, watching
the gradual approach of dawn, thoroughly absorbed in the first
near view of the Oberland giants, which broke upon us unex-
pectedly after the intense obscurity of the evening before.
*^ Kabaugwakko acngwashee Kum Wetterhorn snatopo!" cried
some one, as that grand summit gleamed with the first rose of
dawn, and in a few moments the double crest of the Schreck-
korn followed its example ; peak after peak seemed warmed
with life, the Jungfrau blushed even more beautifully than her
oeighbors, and soon, from the Wetterhorn in the east to tht

-■■■•'* \ ■'."'■
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162

A TtLkUP ABBOAP.

Wildstrubel in the west, a long row of fires glowed upon mighty
altars, truly worthy of the gods. The iclgw was very severe ; out
sleeping place could hardly be dittingue from the snow around
it, which had fallen to the depth of &fiirk during the past even-
ing, and we heartily eiyoyed a rough scramble en has to the Gios
bach Falls, where we soon found a warm climate. At noon the
day before &t Grindelwald the thermometer could not hav«
stood at less than 100^' Fahr. in the sun ; and in the evening
judging from the icicles formed and the state of the windows,
there must have been at least twelve dingblatter of fiost; thui
givijig a change of bO'^ during a few hours.

I isaid —

" You have done well, Harris ; this report is concise, comj^ct
well expressed ; the language is crisp, the descriptions are vivic
and not needlessly elaborated ; your report goes straight to the
point, attends strictly to business, aud doesn't fool around. It
13 in many ways an excellent document. But it has a fault— il
is too learned, it is much too learned. What is 'dingblattirP '

*' Dingblatter is a Fiji word meaning * degj'-tei.' "

« You knew the English of it, then ?"

« 0, yes."

"Wh&t is 'gnniicV"

" That is the Esquimaux term for * snow.* "

'* So you knew tho English for tuat, too."

"Why, certainly.'*

« What does ♦ mmbglx ' stand for ?"

" That is Zulu for pedestrian."

" * While the form of the WelUiom looking down upon it com
pletes the enchanting hopple. What id ' boppleV " ,

"Picture. It's Chocktaw."

** What is * schnawp V"

"Valley. That is Choctaw, also."

" What is * bolwoggoly V "

" That is Chinese for * hill.» »»

^ KahkaaponeekaV^ y

" Ascent. Chocktaw."

" ' But we were again overtaken by bad kogglebumgullvp.
What does hogglebumguUup mean 7"

" That is Chinese i'or ' weather.' '*

A TRAMP ABROAD.

188

Th it

''Tb hogglebumfnillup bettor than ihe Engliih wordf
any more descriptive ?"

*' No, it meanfl just the same.**

" And dinghlatter and gnillic— and bopple and schnawp— ar«
they better than the English words ?"

** No, they mean just what the English ones do."

" Then why do you use them? Why have you used all thi.*
Chinese and Choctaw and Zulu rubbish ?"

" Because I didn't know any French but two or three words,
and I didn't know any I^atin or Greek at ail."

<' That is nothing. Why should you want to use foreign words,
anyhow?"

" To adorn my page. They all do it."

"Who is 'all?'"

** Everybody. Everybody that writes elegantly. Anybody has
a right to that who wants to."

" 1 think you are mistaken." I then proceeded in the follow-
ing scathing manner. " When really learned men write books
for other learned men to read, they are justified in using as many
learned words as they please — their audience will understand
them ; but a man who writes a book for the general public to
read is not justified in disfiguring his pages with untranslated
foreign expressions, li is an insolence toward the majority oi
the purchasers, for it is a very frank and impudent way of saying,
' Get the translations made yourself if you want them, this book
is not written for the ignorant classes.' There are men who
know a foreign language so well and have used it so long in their
daily life that they seem to discharge whole volleys of it into
their English writings unconsciously, and so they omit to trans-
late, as much as half the time. That is a great cruelty to nine
out of ten of the man's readers. What is the excuse for this?
The writer would say he only uses the foreign language where
the delicacy of his point cannot be conveyed in English. Very
well, then he writes his best things for the tenth man, and he
ought to warn the other nine not to buy his book. However, the
excuse he offers is at least on excuse ; but there is another set
of men who are like you : they know a word here and th' ''e, of
ft foreign language, or a few beggarly little three-word phrases,
hlched from the back of the Dictionary, and these they are

;

liii

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

2.0

IL25 Ifll 1.4

rMI:

1.6

Hiotographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SS0

(716) S72-4S03

184

A TBAMP ABBOAO.

continually peppering into their literature, with a pretense o)
knowing that language — what excuse can they offer 7 The foreign
words and phrases which they use have their exact equivalents
in a nobler language — English ; yet they think they ' adorn
their page' when they say Strasse for street, and Bahnhof for
railway station, and so on— flaunting these fluttering rags oi
poverty in the reader's face and imagining he will be ass enough
to take them for the sign of untold riches held in reserve. 1
will let your ^ learning' remain in your report ; you have as much
right, I suppose, to ' adorn your page' with Zulu and Chinese and
Choctaw rubbish, as others of your sort have to adorn theirs with
insolent odds and ends smouched from half a dozen learned
tongues whose a-b aba they don't even know."

When the musing spider steps upon the red-hot shovel, he
first exhibits a wild surprise, then he shrivels up. Similar was
the effect of these blistering words' upon the tranquil and unsus
pectin^ Agent. I can be dreadfully rough on a oerson when the
mood takes m«»

■^''

A TfiAMP ABROAD.

185

> i

CHAPTER XXVII.

TTTE now prepared for a considerable walk — ^from Lucerne to
^ * Interlaken, over the Brunig Pass. But at the last moment
the weather was so good that I changed my mind and hired a
four-horse carriage. It was a huge vehicle, roomy, as easy in its
motion as a palanquin, and exceedingly comfortable.

rf"^'*-

We got away pretty early in tbe morning, after a hot breakfast,
and went bowling along over a hard, smooth road, through the
summer loveliness of Switzerland, with near and distant lakes and
mountains before and about us for the entertainment of the eye,
and the music of multitudinous birds to charm the air. Some-
times there was only the width of the road between the imposing
precipices on the right and the clear cool water on the left with
its shoals of uncatchable iishes skimming about through the bars
of sun and shadow ; and sometimes, in place of the precipices,
the grassy land stretched away, in an apparently endless upward
slant, and was dotted everywhere with snug little chalatK, the
peculiarly cAptivating cottage of Switzerlaritl.

186

A TRAMP ABROAD.

The ordinary chalet turns ft broad, honest gable end to the
road, and its ample roof hovers over the home in a protecting
caressing way, projecting its sheltering eaves far outward. The
quaint windows are filled with little panes, and garnished with
white muslin curtains, and brightened with boxes of blooming
flowers. Across the front of the house, and up the spreading
eaves and along the fanciful railings of the shallow porch, are
elaborate carvings — wreaths, fruits, arabesques, verses from
Scripture, names, dates, etc. The building is wholly of wood,
reddish brown in tint, a very pleasing color. It generally hai
vines climbing over it. Set such a house against the fresh green
of the hillside, and it looks ever so cosy and inviting and pictur-
esque, and is a decidedly graceful addition to the landscape.

One does not find out what a hold the chalet has taken upon
him, until he presently comes upon a new house — a house which
Is aping the town fashions of Germany and France, a prim, hide-
ous, straight'Up -and -down thing, plastered all over on the outside
to look like stone, and altogether so stiff, and formal, and ugly
and forbidding, and so out of tune with the gracious landscape,
and so deaf and dumb and dead to the poetry of its surroundings,
that it suggests an undertaker at a pic-nic, a corpse at a wedding
a puritan in Paradise.

In the course of the morning we passed the spot where Pontius
Pilate is said to have thrown himself into the lake. The legend
goes that after the Cruicifixion his conscience troubled him and
he fled from Jerusalem and wandered about the earth, weary of
life and a prey to tortures of the mind. Eventually he hid
himself away, on the heights of Mount Pilatus, and dwelt alone
among the clouds and crags for years : but rest and peace were
etill denied him, 80 he finally put an end to his misery by drown-
mg himself.

Presently we passed the place where a man of better odor
was born. This was the children's friend, Santa Glaus, or St
Nicholas. There are some unaccountable reputations in the
world. This saint's is an instance. He has ranked for ages as
the peculiar friend of children, yet it appAara ha wu not much
of a friend to his own. He had ten of them, and when fiftf yeik«
old he left them, and sought out as dismal a refuge from th
world as possible and became a hermit in order that he might

A TRAUP ABROAD.

187

reflect upon piotu themes without being disturbed by the joycui
and other noises from the nursery, doubtless.

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188

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

Judging by PiUte uid St. NioholM, there ezifte no rule for the
eonitruotion of hermits : they leem made out of all kinds of
material. But Pilate attended to the matter of expiating his sin
while he was alive, whereas St. Nicholas will probably have to go
on climbing down iiooty chimneys, Christmas Eve, forever, and
conferring kindness on other people's children, to make up for
deserting his own. His bones are kept in a church in a village
(Sachselnf) which we visited, and are naturally held in great
reverence. His portrait is common in the farm houses of the
region, but is believed by many to be but an indifferent likeness.
During his hermit life, according to the legend, he partook of the
bread and wine of the communion once a month, but all the rest
of the month he fasted.

A constant marvel with us, as we sped along the bases of the
■teep mountains on this journey, was, not that avalanches occur,
but that they are not occurring all the time. One does not
understand why rocks and landslides do not plunge down these
declivities daily. A landslip occurred three quarters of a century
ago, on the route from Arth to Brunnen, which was a formidable
thing. A mass of conglomerate two miles long, a thousand feet
broad and a hundred feet thick, broke away from a cliff three
thousand feet high and hurled itself into the valley below, bury-
ing four villages and five hundred people, as in a ^ve.

We had such a beautiful day, and such endless pictures of
limpid lakes, and green hills and valleys, and m^jestio moun-
tains, and milky cataracts dancing down the steeps and gleaming
in the sun, that^we could not help feeling sweet toward all the
world ; so we tried to drink all the milk, and eat all the grapes
and apricots and berries, and buy all the bouquets of vidld flowers
' which the little peasant boys and girls offered for sale ; but we
had to retire from this contract, for it was too heavy. At short
distances — and they were entirely too short — all along the road,
were groups of neat and comely children, with their wares nicely
and temptingly set forth in the grass under the shade trees, and
as soon as we approached they swarmed into the road, holding
out their baskets and milk bottles, and ran beside the carriage,
barefoot and bareheaded, and importuned us to buy. They
seldom desisted early, but continued to run and insist — besids
til^e wafon while they could, and behind it until they lest breath.

A nUMP ABSOID.

189

Then they turned and chased a returning carriage back to their
trading post again. After several iio«rs of this, without any
intermission, it becomes almost annoying. I do not know what
we should have done without the returning carriages to draw off
the pursuit. However, there were plenty of these, loaded with
dust^ tourists and piled high with luggage. Indeed, from
Lucerne to Interl&ken we had the spectacle, among other scenery,
of an unbroken procession of fruit pedlars and tourist carriages.

Our talk was mostly anticipatory of what we should see on the
down grade of the Brunig, by and by, after we should pass the
summit. All our friends in Lucerne had said that to look down
upon Meiringen, and the rushing blue-gray river Aaar, and the
broad level green valley ; and across at tho mighty Alpine preci-
pices that rise straight up to the clouds out of that valley ; and
up at the microscopic chalets perched upon the dizzy eaves of
those precipices and winking dimly and fitfully through the
drifting veil of vapor ; and still up and up, at the superb Oltaehi-
haeh and the other beautiful cascades that leap from those rug-
ged heights, robed in powdery spray, ruffled with foam, and
girdled with rainbows— to look upon these things, they said, was
to look upon the last possibility of the sublime and the enchant*
ing. Therefore, as I say, we talked mainly of these coming
wonders ; if we were conscious of any impatience, it was to get
there in favorable season ; if we felt any anxiety, it was that the
day might remain perfect and enable us to see these marvels at
their best.

As we approached the Kaiserstuhl, a part of the harness gave
iray. We were in distress for a moment, but onl> a moment.
It was the fore-and aft gear that was broken — the thing that leads
aft from the forward part of the horse and is made fast to the
thing that pulls the waggon. In America this would have been
a heavy leathern strap ; but, all over the continent it is nothing
but a piece of rope the size of your little finger — clothes-line is
what it is. Cabs use it, private carriages, freight carts and
wagons, all sorts of vehicles have it. In Munich I afterwards saw
it used on a long wagon laden with fifty-four half-barrels of beer ;
I had before noticed that the cabs in Heidelberg used it — not
new i-ope, but rope that had been in use since Abraham's time—
and I had felt nervous, sometimes, behmd it when the cab wat

too

A TUAM? Anr«Mi>,

l«»ring down a hill. But 1 liad Ion;: hoen acoiiHtomed to it now,
and had even becomo afvnid oF tho leather strap wliich belonged
to its place. Our driver got a fresh piece of clothes-line out ol
his locker and repaired the break in two minutes.

iSo much for one European fashion. Every country has its
own ways. It may interest the reader to know how they ^' put
horses to" on the continent. Tho man stands up the horses on
each side of the thing that projects from the front end of the
wagon, and then throws the tangled mess of gear on top of the
horses, and passes tho thing tliat goes forward through a ring,
and hauls it aft, and passes the other thing through another ring
and hauls it aft on the other side of the other horse, opposite to
the first one, after crossing them and bringing the loose end
back, and then buckles the other thing underneath the horse,
and takes another thing and wraps it around the thing I spoke
of before, and puts another thing over each horse's head with
broad flappers to it to keep the dust out of his eyes, and puts
the iron thing in his mouth for him to grit his teeth on up hill,
and brings the end of these things aft over his back, after buck-
ling another one around imder his neck to hold his head up, and
hitching another thing on a thing that goes over his shoulders
to keep his head up when he is climbing a hill, and then takes
the slack of the thing which I mentioned a while ago, end fetches
it aft and makes it fast to the thing that pulls the wagon, and
hiind the other things up to the driver to steer with. I never
have buckled up a horse myself, but I do not think we do it that
way.

We had four very handsome horses, and the driver was very
proud of his turnout. He would bowl along on a reasonable
trot on the hi^'hway, but when he entered a village he did it on
a furious run, and accqmjninied it with a frenzy of ceaseless whip
crackings that sounded like volleys of musketry. lie tore through
the narrow streets and around the sharp curves like a mov-
ing earthquake, showering his volleys as. he went, and before
him swept a continuous tidal wave of scampering children, ducks,
cats, and mothers clasping babies which they had snatched out
of the way of the coming destruction ; and as this living wave
washed aside, along the walls, its elements, being safe, forgot
their fearsj and turned their admiring gaze upon that gallant

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

191

•I river til( he ihnndered around the next oanre and WM lost to

sight.

He was a great man to those villagers, with his gaudy clothea
and his terrifSc ways. Whenever he stopped to have his cattle
watered and fed with loaves of bread, the villagers stood around
admiring him while he swaggered about, the little boys gazed
up at his face with humble homage, and the landlord brought
out foaming mugs of beer and conversed proudlf ¥rith him wbilt

192

A TXULHP ABROAD.

ae drank. Then he mounted his lofty box, swung his explosive
vrhip, and away he went again like a storm. I had not seen any-
thing like this before since I was a boy, and the stage used to
flourish through the village with the dust flying and the horn
tooting.

When we reached the base of the Kaisertuhl, we took two
more horses ; we had to toil along with difficulty for an hour and
a half or two hours, for the cscent was not very gradual, but
when we passed the backbone and approached the station, the
driver surpassed all his previous efforts in the way of rush and
clatter. He could not have six horses all the time, so he made
the most of his chance while he had it.

Up to this point we had been in the heart of the William Tell
region. The hero is not forgotten by any means, or held in
doubtful veneration. His wooden image, with his bow drawn,
above the doors of taverns, was a frequent feature of the scenery.

About noon we arrived at the foot of the Brunig Pass, and
made a two-hour stop at the village hotel, another of those clean,
pretty and thoroughly well-kept inns which are such an astonish-
ment to people who are accustomed to hotels of a dismally dif-
ferent pattern in remote country towns. There was a lake here,
in the lap of the great mountains, the green slopes that rose to-
ward the lower crags were graced with scattered Swiss cottages
nestling among miniature farms and gardens, and from out a
leafy ambuscade in the upper heights tumbleda brawling cataract.

Carriage after carriage, laden with tourists and trunks, arrived,
and the quiet hotel was soon populous. We were early at the
table d'hote and saw the people all come in. There were twenty-
five, perhaps. They were of various nationalities, but we were
the only Americans. Next to me sat an English bride, and next
to her sat her new husband, whom she called '' Neddy," though
he was big enough and stalwart enough to be entitled to his full
name. They had a pretty little lover's quarrel over what wine
they should have. Neddy was for obeying the guide-book and
taking the wine of the country ) but the bride said-—

" What, that nahsty stuff 1"

** It isn't nahsty. Pet ; it's quite good."

•' It is nahsty."

'^Nok it Un*t nahsty*"

A HUMP ABROAD.

198

** It't oftil nahity, Neddy, and I ihanh't drink it**
Th»n the question waa, what ihe mutt have. She aaid he knew
very well that ihe never drank anything but champaign. She
added —

" You know very well papa always hat champaign on hit table,
and I've alwayt been used to it."

Neddy made a playful pretense of being distretsed about the
expente, and this amused her so much that she nearly exhausted
herself with laughter — and this pleased him so mych that he
repeated hit jest a couple of times, and added new and killing
varieties to it. When the bride finally recovered, she gave Neddy
a loveboz on the arm with her fap, and said with arch severity —
",Well, you would have me — nothing else would do-^to you'll
have to make the best of a bad bargain. Do order the champaign,
I'm oful dry."

So with a mock groan which made her laugh again, Neddy
ordered the champaign.

The fact that this young woman had never moistened the
telvedge edge of her soul with a less plebian tipple than cham-
paign, had a marked and subduing effect upon Harris. He
believed she belonged to the royal family. But I had my doubts.
We heard two or three different languages spoken by people at
^he table and guessed out the nationalities of most of the guests
to our satisfaction, but we failed with an elderly gentleman and
his wife and a young girl who sat opposite us, and with a gentle-
man of about thirty five who sat three seats beyond Harris. We
did not hear any of these opeak. But finally the last named
gentleman left while we were not noticing, but we looked up as
he reached the far end of the table. He stopped there, a mo-
ment, and made his toilet with a pocket comb. So he was a
German ; or else he had lived in German hotels long enough to
catch the fashion. When the elderly couple and the young girl
rose to leave, they bowed respectfully to us. So they were Ger-
mans, too. This national custom is worth six of the other one,
for export. *"

After dinner we talked with several Englishmen, and they
inflamed our desire to a hotter degree than ever, to see the sights
of Meiringen from the heights of the Brunig pass. They said the
view was marvelous, and that one who had seen it once could
never forget it. They also spoke of the romantic nature of the

194

A TRAMP ABROAD.

E! \i '

road oyer the pMs, and how in one place it had been cut th'^ough
a flank of the solid rock, in Ruch a way that the mountain over>
hung the tourist as he passed by ; and they furthermore said that
the sharp turns in the road, and the abruptness of the deicenti

would afford us a thrilling experience, for we should go down in a
flying gallop and seem to be spinning around the rings of a whirl
wind, Ike a drop of whiskey descending the spirals of a cork-screw.
I got all the information out ol these gentlemen that we could
need ; and then, to make every thing complete, I asked them if
ft body could got hold of a lit tie '-uit and milk here and there, io

A TRAMP AIIIUUD,

195

OMe of neoostiij. They throw up their liands in upeeohless inti*
mation that the road wua aimply pave<l with refreshment pedlars.
We were impatient to getaway, now', and the rest of our two-hour
stop rather dragged. But finally the set time arrived and we
began the (usccnt. Indeed it vrixn a wtinderful road. It was
smooth, and compact, and clean, and the side next the procipiceH
was guarded all along by dressed stone posts about three feethig)i|
placed at short distances apart. The road could not have beon
better built if Napoleon the First had built it. Ho seems to have
been the introducer of the sort of roads which Europe now uses.
All literature which dejscribes life as it existed in England, France
and Germany, up to the close of the last century, is tilled with
pictures of coaches and carriages wallowing through these three
countries in mud and slush half-wheel deep ; but after Napoleon
had floundered through a conquered kingdom he generally
arranged things so that the rest of the world could follow dry shod«

We went on climbing, higher and higher, and curving hither
and thither, in the shade of noble woods, and with a rich variety
and profusion of wild flowers all about us { and glimpses of
rounded grassy back-bones beiow us occupied by trim chalets
and nibbling sheep, and other glimpses of far lower altitudo<«
where distance diminished the chalets to toys and obliterated
the sheep altogether; and every now and then some ermined
monarch of the Alps swung magnificently into view for a moment,
then drifted past an intervening spur and disappeared again.

It was an intoxicating trip altogether ; the exceeding sense ti
satisfaction that follows a good dinner added largely to the en-
joyment ; the having something especial to look forward to, and
muse about, like the approaching grandeurs of Meii nigen, sharp-
ened the zest. Smoking was never so good before, solid comfort
was never solider ; we lay back against the thick cushiods silent
meditative, steeped in felicity.

* * * * •

I rubbed my eyes, opened thom, and started. I had been
dreaming I was at sea, and it was a thrilling surprise to wake up
and find land all around me. It took me a couple of seconds
to " come up," as you may say ; then I took in the situation.
The horses were drinking at a trough in the edge of a town, the
driver was taking beer, liariis was snoring at my side, the courier,
with folded arms and bowed head, was sleeping on the box, two

106

A TBAUP ABROAD.

down barefooted and bareheaded children were gathered about
the carriage, ?rith their hands crossed behind, gazing up with
serious and innocent admiration at the dozing tourists baking
there in the sun. Several small girls held night-capped babies
nearly as big as themselves in their arms, and even these fat
babies seemed to take a sort of sluggish interest in us.

We had slept an hour and a half and missed all the scenery I
I did not need anybody to tell me that. If I had been a girl I
could have ciirsed for vexation. As it was, I woke up the agent
and gave him a piece of my mind. Instead of being humilitated,
he only upbraided me for being so wanting in vigilance. He
said he had expected to improve his mind by coming to Europe,
but a man might travel to the ends of the earth with me and
never see anything, for I was manifestly endowed with the very
genius of ill luck. He even tried to get up some einntion about
that poor courier, who never got a chance to see anything on
account of my heedlessness. But when I thought I ^aad borne
about enough of this kind of talk, I threatened to m^kc Harris
tramp back to the summit and make a report on thai; scenery,
and this suggestion spiked his battery.

We drove sullenly through Brienz, dead to the seductions of its
bewildering array of Swiss carvings and the clamorous Aoo-hooing
of its cuckoo clocks, and had not entirely recovered our spirits
when we rattled across the bridge over the rushing blue river and
entered the pretty town of Interlaken. It was just about sun-
set, and we had made the trip from Lucerne in ten hours

A TRAMP ABBOAO.

197

CHAPTER XXVm.

WE located ourselves at the Jungfran Hotel, one of those hug
establishments which the needs of modern travel have
created in every attractive spot on the continent. There was* a
great gathering at dinner, and as usual one heard all sorts of

languages.

The table d'hote was served by waitresses dressed in the quaint
and comely costume of the Swiss peasants. This consists of a
eimple gros de laine, trimmed with ashes of roses, with overskirt
of sacre bleu ventre saint gris, cut bias on the off side, with fac-
ings of petit polonaise and narrow insertions of pate de fois gras
backstitched to the mise en scene in the form of a jeu d'esprit.
It gives to the wearer a singularly piquant aud alluring aspect.

One of these waitresses, a woman of forty, had side whiskers
reaching half way down her jaw. They were two fingers broad,
dark in color, pretty thick, and the hairs were an inch long. One
sees many :omen on the continent with quite conspicuous mous-
taches, but this was the only woman I saw who had reached the
dignitj' of whiskers.

After dinner the guests of both sexes distributed themselves
about the front porches and the ornamental grounds belonging
to the hotel, to enjoy the cool air ; but as the twilight deepened
towaii darkness, they gathered themselves together in that sad-
dest and solemnest and most constrained of all places, the great
blank drawing room which is a chief feature of all continental
summer hotels. There they grouped themselves about, in cou
pies and threes, and mumbled in bated voices, and looked timi
and homeless and forlorn.

There was a small piano in this room, a clattery, wheezy, asth-
matic thing, certainly the very worst miscarriage in the way of a
piano that the world has seen. In tium, five or six. dejected and
homesick ladies approached it doubtingl}', gave it a single in-
quiring thimip, and retired with the lockjaw. But the boss of
that instrument wa« to coxnef nevertheless j and from my own

198

A TBAlfP ABROAD.

country — from Arkansaw. She was a bran-new bridle, innocent
girlish, happy in herself and her grave and worshiping stripling of
a husband ; she was about eighteen, just out of school, free from
affectations, unconscious of that passionless multitude around
her ; and the very first time she smote that old wreck one recog-
nized that it had met its destiny. Her stripling brought an armful
of aged sheet music from their room — for this bride went "heeled"
as you might say — and bent himself lovingly over and got ready
to turn the pages.

The bride fetched a swoop with her fingers from one end of the
key-board to the other, just to get her bearings, as it were, and
you could see the congregation set their teeth with the agony of
it. Then, without any more preliminaries, she turned on all th e
horrors of the " Battle of Prague," that venerable shivaree, and
waded chin deep in the blood of the slain. She made a fair and
honorable average of two false notes in every five, but her soul
was in arms and she never stopped to correct. The audience
stood it with pretty fair grit for a while, but when the cannonade
waxed hotter and fiercer, and the discord-average rose to four in
five, the procession began to move. A few stragglers held their
ground ten minutes longer, but when the girl began to wring the
true inwardness out of the '* cries of the wounded," they struck
their colors and retired in a kind of panic.

There never was a completer victory j I was the only non-com-
batant left on the field. I would not have deserted my country-
woman anyhow, but indeed I had no desires in that direction,
None of us like mediocrity, but we all reverence perfection.
This girl's music was perfection in it way ; it was the worst music
that had ever been achieved on our planet by a mere human
being. . ^■■.y-'-r ^'---- •'.■:•• ^-^ :

I moved up close, and never lost a strain. When she got through,
I asked her to play it again. She did it with a pleased alacrity
and heightened enthusiasm. She made it all discords, this time.
She got an amount of anguish into the cries of the wounded that
shed a new light on human suffering. She was on the war path
all evening. All the time, crowds of people gathered on the
porches and pressed their noses against the windows to look and
marvel, but the bravest never ventured in. The bride went off
satisfied and happy with her young I'eilow, when her appetite wiiii
finally gorgedj and the tourists swarmed in again.

inoeent,
ipling of
ree from
around
le recog-
n armful
'heeled"
;ot ready

nd of the
ere, and

agony of
>n all bh e
Eiree, and
a fair and

her Boul
I audience
annonade
to four in
leld their
wring the
ley struck

' non-com-
f country-
direction,
jerfection.
rovst music
re human

ot through,
ed alacrity
1, this time,
unded that
e war path
red on the
to look and
ie went off
ippetite was

200

A TRAMP ABROAD.

What a change had come oyer Switzerland, and in fact all
Europe, during this century. Seventy or eighty years ago Napo-
leon waa the only man in Europe who could really be called a
traveler ; he was the only man who had devoted his attention to
it and taken a powerful interest in it ; he was the only man who
had traveled extensively ; but now everybody goes everywhere ;
Aid Switzerland and many other regions which were unvisited
and unknown remotenesses a hundred years ago, are in our days
a buzzing hive of restless strangers every summer. But I di-
gress.

In the morning, when we looked out of our windows, we saw a
wonderful sight. Across the valley, and apparently quite neigh-
borly and close at hand, the giant form of the Jungfrau rose cold
and white into the clear sky, beyond a gateway in the nearer
highlands. Is reminded me, somehow, of one of those colossul
billows which swells suddenly up beside one's ship at sea some
times, with its crest and shoulders snowy white and the rest of
its noble proportions streaked downward with creamy foam.

I took out my sketch book and made a little picture of the
Jungfrau, merely to get the shape.

It was hard to believe that that lofty wooded ramnpart on the
left which so overtops the Jungfrau was not actually the higher
of the two, but it was not, of course. It is only 2,00() or 3,000
feet high, and of course has no snow upon it in summer, whereas
the Jungfrau is not much short of 14,000 feet high, and therefore
that lowest verge of snow on her side, which seems nearly down
to the valley level, is really about seven thousand feet higher up
in the air than the summit of that wooded rampart. It is the
distance that makes the deception. The wooded height is four
or five miles removed from us, but the Jungfrau is four or five
times that distance away.

Walking down the street of shops, in the forenoon, I was at-
tracted by a large picture, carved, frame and all, from a single
block of chocolate-colored wood. There are people who know
everything. Some of these had told us that continental shop-
keepers always raise their prices on English and Americans.
Many people had told us it was expensive to buy things through
a courier, whereas I had supposed it just the reverse. When I
■aw this picture I conjectured that it was worth more than the

A TBAMP ABROAD.

201

friend I proposed to buy it for would like to pay, but still it was
worth while to inquire ; so I told the courier to step in and ask
the price, as if he wanted it for himself; I told him not to speak
ia English, and above all not to reveal the fact that he was a
courier. Then I moved on a few yards and waited.

The courier came presently and reported the price. I said to
myself, *' It is a hundred francs too much," and so dis^ssed the
matter from my mind. But in the afternoon I was passing that
place with Harris, and the picture attracted me again. We
stepped in, to see how much higher broken German would raise
the price. The shopwoman named a figure just a hundred francs
lower than the courier had named. This was a pleasant surprise.
I said I would take it. After I had given directions as to where
it was to be shipped, the shopwoman said, appealingly —

" If you please, do not let your courier know you bought it."

This was an unexpected remark. I said —

" What makes you think I have a courier ?"

" Ah, that is very simple ; he told me himself."

" He was very thoughtful. But tell me — why did you charge
him more than you are charging me 7"

" That is very simple, also j I do not have to pay you a' per-
centage."

<' 0, 1 begin to see. You would have had to pay the courier a
percentage."

" Undoubtedly. The courier always has the percentage. In
this case it would have been a hundred francs."

" Then the tradesman does not pay a part of it — the purchaser
pays all of it ?"

^' There are occasions when the tradesman and the courier
agree upon a price which is twice or thrice the value of the
article, then the two divide, and both get a percentage."

*' I see. But it seems to me that the purchaser does all the
paying, even then."

" 0, to be sure I It goes without saying."

" But I have bought this picture myself ; therefore why shouldn't
the courier know it ?"

The woman exclaimed, in distress —

" Ah, indeed it would take all my little profit I He would
eome and demand his hundred francs, and I should have to p^y.**

; J'

I: kl

I m

A TRAMP ABItOAD.

" lie has not uone the buying. You couM refuse."

" I could not dure to refuse. He would never bring travelers
here again. More than that, ho would denounce me to the other
couriers, they would divert custom from me, and my business
would be injured."

I went away in a thoughtful frame of mind. I began to see why
a courier could afford to work for $55 a month and his fares. A
month or two later I was able to understand why a courier did
not have to pay aiiy board and lodging, and why my hotel bills
were always larger when I had him with me than when I left him
behind, somewhere, for a few days.

Another thing was also explained, now, apparently. In one
town I had taken the courier to the bank to do the translating
when I drew some money. I had sat in the reading room till the
transaction was finished. Then a clerk had brought the money
to me in person, and had been exceedingly polite, even going so
far as to precede me to the door and hold it open for me and bow
me out as if I had been a distinguished personage. It was a new
experience. Exchange had been in my favor ever since I had
been in Europe, but just that one time. I got simply the face of
my draft, and no extra francs, whereas 1 had expected to get
quite a number of them. This was the first time I had ever used
the courier at a bank. I had suspected something then, and as
long as he remained with me afterward I managed bank matters
by myself.

: iStill, if I felt that I could afford the tax, I would never travel
without a courier, for a good courier is a convenience whose
value cannot be estimated in dollars and cents. Without him,
travel is a bitter harassment, a purgatory of little exasperating
annoyances, a ceaseless and pitiless punishment — I mean to an
irascible man who has no business capacity and is confesed by
details.

I Without a courier, travel hasn't a ray of pleasure in it, any.
where ; but with him it is a continued and unruffled delight. He
IS always at hand, never has to be sent for ; if your bell is not
answered promptly— and it seldom is — you have only to open
the door and speak, the courier will hear, and he will have the
order attended to or raise an insurrection. You tell him what
da^ jTOU will starti and whither you are going— leave all the rest

, any-
lit. He
is not

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204

A TftAMP ABBOAD.

I IL

to him. You need not inquire about trainSi or fikres, or ou
changes, or hotels, or anything else. At the proper time he will
put you in a cab or an omnibus, and drive you to the train or the
boat ; he has packed your luggage and transferred it; he has paid
all the bills. Other people have preceded you half an hour to^
scramble for impossible places and lose their tempers, but you !
can take your time, the courier has secured your seats for you,
and you can occupy them at your leisure.

At the station the crowd mash one another into pulp in the
effort to get the weigher's attention to their trunks ; they dis-
pute hotly with these tyrants, who are cool and indifferent ; they
get their baggage billets at last, and then have another squeeze
and another rage over the disheartening business of trying to
get them recorded and paid for, and still another over the equally
disheartening business of trying to get near enough to the tickc^t
office to buy a ticket ; and now, with their tempers gone to the
dogs, they must stand penned up and packed together, laden
with wraps and satchels and shawl-straps, with the weary wife
and babies, in the waiting room, till the doors are thrown open->
and then all hands make a grand final rush to the train, find it
full, and have to stand on the platform and fret until some more
oars are put on. They are in a condition to kill somebody by
this time. Meantime you have been sitting in your car, smoking,
and observing all this misery in the extremest comfort.

On the journey the guard is polite and watchful — ^won't alloiy
anybody to get into your compartment— tells them you are just
recovering A?om the small-pox and do not like to be disturbed.
For the courier has made everything right with the guard. At
way stations the courier comes to your compartment to see if
you want a glass of water, or a newspaper, or anything ; at eat-
ing stations he sends luncheon out to you, while the other peopls
scramble and worry in the dining rooms. If anything breaks
in the car you are in, and it station master proposes to pack you
and your agent into a compartment with strangers, the courier
reveals to him, confidentially, that you are a French duke bom
deaf and dumb, and the official comes and makes affable signs
that he has ordered a choice car to be added to the train for you.

At custom-houses the multitude file tediously through, hot and
irriUiedi and look on while the officers burrow into the trunki

A TRAMP ABROAD.

205

and make a men of everything ; but you hand your keyi to the
courier and sit still. Perhaps you arrive at your destination in a
rainstorm at ten at night — you generally do. The multitude
spend half an hour verifying their baggage and getting it trans-
ferred to the omnibuses ; but the courier puts you into a vehicle
without a moment's loss of time, and when you reach your hotel
you find your rooms have been secured two or three days in ad-
vance ; everything is ready — you can go at once to bed. Some
of those other people will have to drift aroimd to two or three
hotels, in the rain, before they find accommodations.

I have not set down half of the virtues that are vested in a
good courier, but I think I have set down a sufficiency of them
to show that an irritable man who can afiford one and does not
employ him, is not a wise economist. My courier was the worst
one in Europe, yet he was a good deal better than none at all.
It could not pay him to be a better one than he was, because 1
could not afiford to buy things through him. He was a good
enough courier for the small amount he got out of his service.
Yes, to travel with a courier is bliss, to travel without one is the
reverse.

I have had dealings with some very bad couriers ; but I have
ilso had dealings with one who might fairly be called perfection.
He was a young Polander, named Joseph N. Verey. He spoke
eight languages, and seemed to be equally at home in all of them.;
he was shrewd, prompt, posted, and punctual ; he wan fertile in
resources, and singularly gifted in the matter of overcoming dif-
ficulties ; he not only knew how to do everything in his line, but
he knew the best ways and the quickest ; he was handy with
children and invalids , all his employer needed to do was to take
life easy and leave everything to the courier. His address is
£are of Messrs. Gay & Son, Strand, London ; he was formerly a
conductor of Gay's tourist parties. Excellent couriers are some-
what rare ; if the reader is about to travel, he will find it to hm
idvantage to make a note of this one.

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OHAPTEB XXnL

THE beautiful Giesbaoh Fall is near Interlaken, on the mAer
side of the lake of Briens, and is illuminated every night
with those gorgeous theatrical fires whose name I cannot call just
at this moment. This was said to be a spectacle which the
tourist ought by no means to miss. I was strongly tempted, but
I could not go there with propriety, because one goes in a boat.
The task which I had set myself was to walk over Europe on
foot, not skim over it in a boat. I had made a tacit contract with
myself ; it was my duty to abide by it. I was willing to make
boat trips for a pleasure, but I could not conscientiously make
them in the way of business.

It cost me something of a pang to lose that fine sight, but I
lived down the desire, and gained in my self-respect through the
triumph. I had a finer and a grander sight, however, where I
was. This was the mighty dome of the Jungfrau softly outlined
against the sky and faintly silvered by the starlight. There was
something subduing in the influence of that silent and solemn
awful presence ; one seemed to meet the immutable, the inde-
structible, the eternal, face to face, and to feel the trivial and
fleeting nature of his own exbtence the more sharply by the
contrast. One had the sense of being under the brooding con-
templation of a spirit, not an inert mass of rocks and ice— a
spirit which had looked down, through the slow drift of the ages,
upon a million vanished races of men, and judged them ; and
would judge a million more — and still be there, watching,
unchanged and unchangeable, after all life should be gone and
the earth have become a vacant desolation.

While I was feeling these things, I was groping, without know-
ing it, toward an understanding of what the spell is which peoplu
JBnd in the Alps, and in no other mountains — that strange, deep,
nameless influence, which, once felt, cannot be forgotten — oncu
felt, leaves always behind it a restless longing to feel it again—r

longfn^
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▲ TRAMP IBBOAD.

207

longing which b like hometiokneu ; ft grieving, haunting y«*ni*
ing, which will plead, implore, and persecute lill it has its will.
1 met doiens of people, imaginative and unimaginative, cultivated
and uncultivated, who had come from far countries and roamed
through the Swiss Alps year after year — they could not explain
why. They had come first, they said, out of idle curiosity
because everybody talked about it ; they had come since because
they could not help it, and they should keep on coming, whila
they lived, for the same reason ; they hod tried to brenk their
chains and stay away, but it was futile ; now, they had no desire
to break them. Others came nearer formulating what they felt :
they said they could find perfect rest and peace nowhere else
when they were troubled : all frets and worries and chafings sank
to sleep in the presence of the benignant serenity of the Alps {
the Oreat Spirit of the Mountain breathed his own peace Upon
their hurt minds and sore hearts, and healed them ; they could
not think base thoughts or do mean and sordid things here,
before the visible throne of God.

Down the road a piece was a Kursaal — whatever t&at may be —
and we joined the human tide to see what sort of enjoyment it
might afford. It was the usual open air concert, in an oma-
mental garden, mth wines, beer, milk, whey, grapes, etc.— the
whey and the grapes being necessaries of life to certain invalids
whom physicians cannot repair, and who only continue to exist
by tho grace of whey or grapes. One of these departed spirits
told me, in a sad and lifeless ly&y, that there was no way for him
to live but by whey j never drank anything, now, but whey, and
dearly, dearly loved whey, he didn't know whey he did. After
making this pun he died — that is the whey it served him.

Some other remains, preserved from decomposition by the
grape system, told me that the grapes were of a peculiar breed,
highly medicinal in their nature, and that they were counted out
and administered by the grape-doctors as methodically as if they
were pills. The new patient, if very feeble, began with one grape
net'ore breakfast, took three during breakfast, a couple between
meals, five at luncheon, three in the afternoon, seven at dinner
four at supper, and part of a grape just before going to bed. by
way of a general regulator. The quantity was giadually and
regularly increftsed^ according to the needs and capacities of the

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209

jatiiiit, until hy timl by you \^'ouM find him <1i8|>08ing of hid one
grapu per second till tho <litv lonj;, cud Iuh r(>gulur barrel pordfty.

He Haid that men cured iii this way, And enabled to discard
the grape syHteni, novci ifter got <>v@r the habit of talking as if
they were dictating to a Hiotv nmunuenMi.x, )>ecau8e they always
inudc a pause between each two words while they sMcked the sub*
itance out of an imaginary grnpe. ile said these were tedious
^)eoi)le to talk with. He said that men who had been cured by
the other process were easily distinguished from the rest of
mankind because they always tilted their heads back, between
every two words, and swallowed a swig of imaginary whey. He
Mtiid it was an impressive thing to observe two men, who had been
cured by the two processes, engaged in conversation — said their
pauses and accompanying movements were so continuous and
regular that a stranger would think himself in the presence of a
coup''!) of automatic machines. One finds out a great many won*
dorl'ul things, by travelling, if he stumbles upon the right person.

1 did not remain long at the Kursaal; the music was good
enough, but it seemed rather tame after the cyclone of that
Arkansaw expert. Besides, my adventurous spirit had conceived
a formidable enterprise — nothing less than atvipfromlnterlaken,
by the Gemmi and Visp, clear to Zermatt, on foot I So it was
necessary to plan the details, and get ready for an early start.
The courier (this was not the one I have just been speaking of)
thought that the portier of the hotel would be able to tell ut
how to tind our way. And so it turned out. He showed us the
whole thing, on a relief-map, and we could see our route, with
all its elevations and depressions, its villages and its rivers, as
clearly as if we were sailing over it in a balloon. A relief-map is
u great thing. The portier also wrote down each day's journey
and the nightly hotel on a piece of paper, and ma<le our course
60 ])lain that we should never be able to get lost without high-
priced outside help.

I put the courier in the care of a gentleman who was going to
Lausanne, and then we went to bed, after laying out the walking
costumes and putting them into condition for instant occupation
in the morning.

However, when we came down to breakfast at eight a. m., it
looked 80 much like rain that I hired a two-horse top-buggy for

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210

A TBAMP ABROAn.

the first third of the journey. For two or three hours we jOjfgod
along the level road which skirts the beautiful lake of Tiiun, with
a dim and dreamlike picture of watery expanses and spectit-al
Alpine forms always before us. veiled in a mellowing mif»t. Then
a steady dowi)-pour set in, and hid everything but the nearest ob.
jects. We kept the rain out of our faces with umbrellas, and
away from our bodies with the leather apron of the buggy; but
the driver sat unsheltered and placidly soaked the weather in and
seemed to like it. We had the road all to ourselves, and I never
had a pleasanter excursion.

The weather began to clear while we were driving up a valley
called the Kieirthal, and presently a vast black cloud-bank in
front of us dissolved away and uncurtained the grand proportions
and the soaring loftinesses of the Blumis Alp. It was a sort of
breath-taking surprise j for we had not supposed there was any-
thing behind that low-hung blanket of sable cloud but level
valley. What we had been mistaking for fleeting glimpses of sky
away aloft there, were really natches of the Blumis's snovi^ crest
caught through shredded rents in the drifting pall of vapor.

We dined in the inn at Frutigen, and our driver ought to have
dined there, too, but he would not have time to dine and get
drunk both, so he gave his mind to making a master-piece of the
latter, and succeeded. A German gentleman and his two young
lady daughters had been taking their nooning at the Inn, and
when they left, just ahead of us, it was plain that their driver was
as drunk as ours, and as happy and good-natured, too, which was
saying a good deal. These rascals overflowed with attentions and
information for their guests, and with brotherly love for each
other. They tied their reins, and took off their coats and hats, so
that they might be able to give unencumbered attention to con-
versation and to the gestures necessary for its illustration.

The road was smooth; it led up and over and down a continual
succession of hills ; but it was narrow, the horses were used to it,
and could not well get out of it anyhow ; so why shouldn't the
drivers entertain themselves and us ? The noses of our horses
projected sociably into the rear of the forward carriage, and as we
toiled up the long hills our driver stood up and talked to his
friend, and his fri'^nd stood up and talked back to him, with his
rear to the scenery. When the top was reached and we went

A TBAMP ABROAD.

211

flying down the other side, there was no change in the programme.
I carry in my memory yet the picture of i-liat forward driver, on
his knees on his high seat, resting his elbows on its back, and
beaming down on his passengers, with happy eye, and flying hair,
and jolly red face, and ofifering his card fn the old German gentle-
man while he praised his hack and horses and both teams were
whizzing down a long hill with nobody in a position to tell whether
we were bound to destruction or an undeserved safety.

Toward sunset we entered a beautiful green valley dotted with
chalets, a cosy little domain hidden away from the busy world in
a cloistered nook among giant precipices topped with snowy
peaks that seemed to float like islands above the curling surf of
the sea of vapor that severed them from the lower world. Down
from vague and vaporous heights, little ruffled zigzag milky cur
rents came crawling, and found their way to the verge of one of
those tremendous overhanging walls, whence they plunged, a
shaft of silver, shivered to atoms in mid-descent and turned to an
airy puflF of luminous dust. Here and there, in grooved depres-
oions among the snowy desolations of the upper altitudes, one
glimpsed the extremity of a glacier, with its sea-green and honey-
combed battlements of ice.

Up the valley, under a dizzy precipice, nestled the village of
Kandersteg, our halting place for the night. We were soon there
and housed in the hotel. But the waning day had such an in-
viting influence that we did not remain housed many moments,
but struck out and foUo'ved a roaring torrent of ice-water up to
its far source in a sort of little grass-carpeted parlor, walled in
all around by vast precipices and overlooked by clustering sum-
mits of ice. This was the snuggest little croquet ground imagin-
able ; it was perfectly level, and not more than a mile long by
half a mile wide. The walls around it were so gigantic, and
everything about it was on so mighty a scale, that it was belittled
by contrast to what I have likened it to^a cosy and carpeted
parlor. It was so high above the Kandersteg valley that there
was nothing between it and the snow peaks. 1 had never been
in such intimate relations with the high altitudes before ; the
snow peaks had always been remote and imapproachable grand-
eurs hitherto, but no\v we were hob a-nob— if one may use such a
a seemingly irreverent expression about creations so august as
these.

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21S

We could see the streams which fed the torrent we had fol-
lowed issuing from under the greenish ramparts of glaciers ; but
two or three of these, instead of flowing over the precipices,
sank down into the rock and sprang in big jets out of holes in
mid-face of the walls.

The green nook which I have been describing is called the
Gasternthal. The glacier streams gather and flow through it in
a broad and rushing brook to a narrow cleft between lofty preci-
pices 5 here the rushing brook becomes a mad torrent, and goes
booming and thundering down toward Kandersteg, lashing and
thrashing its way over and among monster bowlders, and hurling
chance roots and logs about like straws. There was no lack of
cascades along this route. The path by the side of the torrent
was so narrow that one had to look sharp when he heard a cow-
bell, and hunt for a place that was wide enough to accommodate
a cow and a Christian side by side, and such places were not
always to be had at an instant's notice. The cows wear church
bells, and that is a good idea in the cows, for where that torrent
is you couldn't hear an ordinary cow-bell any further than you
could hear the ticking of a watch.

I needed exercise, so I employed my agent in setting stranded
logs and dead trees adrift, and I sat on a bowlder and watched
them go whirling and leaping head over heels down the boiling
torrent. It was a wonderfully exhilarating spectacle. When I
had had exercise enough, I made the agent take some by run-
ning a race with one of those logs. I made a trifle by betting on
the log.

After dinner we had a walk up and down the quiet Kandersteg
valley, in the soft gloaming, with the spectacle of the dying
lights of day playing about the crests and pinnacles of the still
and solemn upper realm for contrast and text for talk. There
were no sounds but the dulled complaining of the torrent and
the occasional tinkling of a distant bell. The spirit of the place
wiis a sense of deep, pervading peace ; one might dream his life
tranquilly away there, and not miss it or mind it when it whs
gone.

The summer departed with the sun, and winter came with the
stars. It grew to be a bitter night in that little hotel, backed
up against a precipice that had no visible top to it, but we kept

214

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warm, and ^''oke in time in the morning to find that everybod;
else had left for the Gemmi three hours before — so our little plan
of helping that German family (principally the old man) over
the Pass was a blocked generosity.

CHAPTER XXX.

WE hired the only guide left, to lead us on our way. He Wft%
over seventy, but he could have given mo nine-tenths of
his strength and still had all his age entitled him to. He shoul-
dered our satchels, overcoats, and alpenstocks, and we set out up
the steep path. It was hot work. The old man soon begged us
to hand over our coats and waistcoats to him to carry, too, and
we did it : one cduld not refuse so little a thing to a poor old man
like that ; he should have had them if he had been a hundred
and fifty.

When we began that ascent, we could see a microscopic chalet
perched away up against heaven on what seemed to be the
highest mountain near us. It was on our right, across the
narrow head of the valley. But when we got up abrf ast it on its
own level, mountains were towering high above on every hand,
and we saw that its altitude was just about that of the little
Gasternthal which we had visited the evening before. Still it
seemed a long way up in the air, in that waste and lonely wilder-
ness )t rocks. It had an unfenced grass-plot in front of it which
seemed about as big as a billiaifd table, and this grass plot slanted
so sharply downwards, and was so brief, and ended so exceedingly
soon at the verge of the absolute precipice, that it was a shuddery
thing to think of a person's venturing to trust his foot on an
incline so situated at all. Suppose a man stepped on an orange
peel in that yard : there would be nothing for him to seize ;
nothing could keep him from rolling*, five revolutions would
bring him to the edge, and over he would go. What a frightful
distance he would fall I — for there are very few birds that fly as
high as his starting-point. He would strike and bounce, two or
three times, on his way down, but this would be no advantage to
him. I would as soon take an airing on the slant of a rainbow m

A TRAMP AfiROAD.

fil5

in such a front yard. I would rather, in fact, for the distance
down would be about the same, and it is pleasanter to slide than
to bounce. I could not see how the peasants got up to that
chalet— the region seemed too steep for anything but a balloon.

As we strolled on climbing up higher and higher, we were con*
tinually bringing neighboring peaks into view and lofty promi>
nence which had been hidden behind lOWer peaks before ; so by
and by, while standing before a group of these giants, we looked
around for the chalet again : there it was, away down below us,
apparently on an inconspicuous ridge in the valley 1 It was aa
far below us, now, as it had been above us when we were begin*
ning the ascent.

After a while the path led us along a railed precipice, and we
looked over — far beneath us was the snug parlor again, the little
Gasternthal, with its water jets spouting from the face of its rock
walls. We could have dropped a stone into it. We had been
finding the top of the world all along— and always finding a still
higher top stealing into view in a disappointing way just ahead :
when we looked down into the Gasternthal we felt pretty sure
that we had reached the genuine top at last, but it was not so ;
there were much higher altitudes to be scaled yet. We were still
in the pleasant shade of forest trees, we were still in a region
which was cushioned, with beautiful mosses and aglow with the
many-tinted lustre of innumerable wild flowers.

We found, indeed, more interest in the wild flowers than in
anything else. We gathered a specimen or two of every kind
which we were unacquainted with ; so we had Sumptuous bou-
quets. But one of the chief interests lay in chasing the seasons
of the year up the mountain, and determining them by the pre-
sence of flowers and berries which we were acquainted with.
For instance, it was the end of August at the level of the sea ;
in the Kandersteg valley at the base of the Fass, we found flowers
which would not be due at the sea level for two or three weeks ;
higher up, we entered October, and gathered fringed gentians.
I made no notes, and have forgotten the details, but the con-
struction of the floral calendar was very entertaining while it
lasted.

In the high regions we found rich stores of the splendid red
flowors called the Alpine rose, but we did not find any examples

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216

A TRAMP ABROAD.

of tlift ugly Swiss favourite called Edelweiss. Its name f(e»*m»
to indicate that it is a noble flower and that it is white. It miu he
noble enough, but it is not attractive, and it is not white. The
fuzzy blossom is the color of bad cigar ashes, and appears to be
made of a cheap quality ot gray plush. It has a noble and dis-
tant way of confining itself to the high altitudes, but that is pro-
bably on account of its looks ; it apparently has no monopoly of
thof e upper altitudes, however, for they are sometimes intruded
upon by some of the loveliest of the valley families of wild flowers.
Everybody in the Alps wears a sprig of Edelweiss in his hat. It
is the native's pet, and also the tourist's.

All the morning, as we loafed along, having a good time, other
pedestrians went staving by us with vigorous strides, and with
the intent and determined look of men who were walking lor a
wager. These wore loose knee-breeches, long yarn stockings,
and hob-nailed, high-laced walking shoes. They were gentlemen
who would go home to England or Germany and tell how many
miles they had beaten the guide-book every day. But I doubted
if they ever had much real fun, outside the mere magnificent
exhilaration of the tramp through the green valleys and the
breezy heights ; for they were almost always alone, and even the
finest scenery loses incalculably when there is no one to enjoy it
with.

All the moming|an endless double procession of mule-mounted
tourists filed past us along the narrow path — the one procession
;;oing, the other coming. We had taken a good deal of trouble
to teach ourselves the kindly German custom of saluting all
strangers with doflfed hat, and we resolutely clung to it, that
morning, although it kept us bareheaded most of the time and
was not always responded to. Still we found an interest in the
thing, because we naturally liked to know who were English and
Americans among the passers-by. All continental natives re-
sponded, of course ; so did some of the English and Americans,
but as a general thing these two races gave no sign. Whenever
a man or a woman showed us cold neglect, we spoko U| con.
fidently in Our own tongue and asked for such information as we
happened to need, and we always got a reply in the same lan-
guage. The English and American folk are not less kindly than
the other races, they are only more reserved, and that comes of

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k TUAMP ABROAD.

217

habit and education. In one dreary, rocky watte, away above
the line of vegetation, we met a proceesion of twenty-five mounted
young men, all from America. We got answering bows enough
from these, of course, for they were of an age to learn to do in
Rome as Rome does, without much eflfort.

At one extremity of this patch of desolation, overnung by
bare and forbidding crags which husbanded drifts of everlasting
snow in their shaded cavities, was a small stretch of thin and
discouraged grass, and a man and a family of pigs were actually
living here in some shanties. Consefjuently this place could b«

■ -•— r.

" ■ - -1-7 . >

J|b, -".-3?^

^.' - 1 B

™^i,3>ra

t?---«

^BBBB^fcrzLZ ■ , .. t=-z:-: ■ r-;

THE! END OF THE WORLD.

really reckoned as "property;" it had a money value, and was
doubtless taxed. I think it must have marked the limit of real
estate in this world. It would be hard to set a money value
upon any piece of earth that lies between that spot and the empty
realm of space. That man may claim the distinction of owning
the end of the world, for if there is any definite end to the world
he has certainly found it.

From here forward we moved through a storm-awept and smile-
1«M desolation, AU about us rose jjigantio Mngaw, orugs, aud

',13

*!.<.

'mm

218

A TBAMP ABROAD.

ramparts of bare and dreary rock, with n«t a vestige or trace of
plant or tree or flower anywhere, or glimpse of any creature that
had life. The frost and the tempests of unnumbered ages had
battered and hacked at these cliffs with a deathless energy, de-
stroying 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 tre-
mendously complete as if Dore had famished the working plans
for it. But every now and then, through the stern gateways
around us, we caught a view of some neighboring majestic dome
•heathed with glittering ice,, and displaying its white purity ac
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
wofld.

I have just said that there was nothing but death and desola-
tion in these hideous places, but I forgot. In the most forlorn
and arid and ^l^jmal one of all, where the racked and splintered
debris was thickest, where the ancient patches of snow lay against
the very path, where the winds blew bitterest and the general
aspect was mournfulest and dreariest, and furthest from any
suggestion of cheer or hope, I found a solitary wee forget-me-not
flourishing away, not a droop about it anywhere, but holding its
bright blue star up with the prettiest and gallantest air' in the
world, the only happy spirit, the only smiling thing, in all that
grisly desert. She seemed to say " Cheer up 1 — as long as we are
here, let us make the best of it." I judged she had earned a right
to a more hospitable place ; so I plucked her up and sent her to
America to a friend who would respect her for the fight she had
made, all by her small self, to make a whole vast despondent
Alpine desolation stop breaking its heart over the unalterable,
and hold up its head and look at the bright side of things for
once.

We stopped for a nooning at a strongly-built littlft inn called
the Schwarenbach. It sits in a lonely spot among the peaks,
where it is swept by the trailing fringes of the cloud-rack, and is
rained on, snowed on, and pelted and persecuted by the storms,
nearly every day of its life. It was the only habitation in the
Whole Gemmi Past.

A TBAMP ABBOAO.

219

galled
leaks,
Ind 13
lorms,
the

Close at hand, now, was a chance for a blood-curdling Alpine
ailventure. Close at hand was the snowy mass of the Great Altels
cooling its top knot in the sky and daring us to an ascent. I was
fired with the idea, and immediately made up my mind to procure
the necessary guides, ropes, etc., and undertake it. I instructed
Harris to go to the landlord of the inn and set him about our
preparations. Meantime I went diligently to work to read up
and find out what this much talked-of mountain-climbing was like,
and how one should go about it — for in these matters I was
ignorant. I opened Mr. Hinchliff*s " Summer Months among the
Alps," (published 1857) and selected his account of his ascent of
Monte Rosa. It began —

« It is very difficult to free the mind from excitement on the
evening before a grand expedition — "

I saw that I was too calm ; so I walked the room a while and
worked myself i^to a high excitement; but the book's next
remark— that the adventurer must get up at two in the morning
—came as near as anything to flatting it all out again. However,
I reinforced it, and read on, about how Mr. Hinchliff dressed by
candle-light and was *^ soon down among the guides, who were
bustling about in the passage, packing provisions, and making
every preparation for the start ;" and how he glanced out into
the cold clear night and saw that —

" The whole sky was blazing with stars, larger and brighter than
they appear through the dense atmosphere breathed by inhabit-
ants of the lower parts of the earth. They seemed actually
suspended from the dark vault of heaven, and their gentle light
shed a fairy like gleam over the snow-fields around the foot of the
Matterhorn, which raised its stupendous pinnacle on high, pene-
trating to the heart of the Great Bear, and crowning itself with
a diadem of its magnificent stars. Not a sound disturbed the
deep tranquility of the night, except the distant roar of streams
which rush from the high plateau of the St. Theodule glacier, and
fall headlong over precipitous rocks tixi they lose themselves ic
the mazes of the Gomer glacier."

He took his hot toast and coffee, and then about half-past three
his caravan of ten men filed away from the liiffel Hotel, and
began the steep climb. At half-pust five he happened to turn
around, and " beheld the glorious spectacle of the Matterhorn ,»

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220

A TRAMP ABROAD.

just touched by the rosy-fingered morning, and loo7ci'\<» lik* •
huge pyramid of fire rising out of the barren ocean of ice and rock
around it." Then the Brithorn and the Dent Blanche caught th«
radiant glow ; but " the intervening mass of Monte Rosa made it
necessary for us to climb many hours before we could hope to set
the sun himself, yet the whole air soon grew warmer after the
•plendid birth of day."

He gazed at the lofty crown of Monte Rosa and the wastes of
■now that guarded its steep approaches, and the chief guide
delivered the opinion that no man could conquer their awful
heights and put his foot upon that summit. But the advonturers
moved steadily on, nevertheless.

They toiled up, and up, and still up ; they passed the Grand
Plateau ; then toiled up a steep shoulder of the mountain, cling-
ing like flies to its rugged face ; and now they were confronted
by a tremendous wall from which great blocks of ice and snow
were evidently in the habit of falling. They turned aside to
skirt this wall, and gradually ascended until their way was barred
by a " maze of gigantic snow crevices" — so they turned aside
again, and " began a long climb of sufQcient steepness to make
* zigzag course necessary."

Fatigue compelled them to halt frequently, for a moment or
two. At one of these halts somebody called out, " Look at Mont
Blanc !" and " we were at once made aware of the very great
height we had attained by actually seeing the monarch of the
Alps and his atteiidant satellites right over the top of the Breit-
horn, itself at least 14,000 feet high !"

These people moved in single file, and were all tied to a strong
rope, at regular distances apart, so that if one of them slipped,
5 on those giddy heights, the others could brace themselves on
th»ir alpenstocks and save him from darting into the valley,
thousands of feet below. By and by they came to an ice-coated
ridge which was tilted up at a sharp angle, and had a precipice
on one side of it. They had to climb this, so the guide in tho
lead cut steps in the ice with his hatchet, and as fast as he took
his toes out of one of these slight holes, the toes of the mai>
behind him occupied it.

" Slowly and steadily we kept on our way over this dangeroua
part of the ascent, and I daresay it was fortunate for some of u»

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

S21

that attention wm distracted from the bead by tbe paramount
necewity of looking after the feet ;" for, while on the Uft the
incline of tee vae eo tteep that it would be impoeaible for ant/
man to emve himself in eaee of a elip, unleee the othere eouUt

hold him up, on the right wt miym Atop a peoOie from the /k#»a
over precipices of unknown extent down upon the tremenaont
glacier below.

" Great caution, therefore, was absolutely necessary, and in
this exposed situation we were attacnea by all lUe tury ot titat

222

A TBAMP ABROAD.

grand enemy of aapiranU to Monte Hot* — a serere and bitterly
cold wind from the north. The fine, powdery snow waa driven
pust us in clouds, ponctr.iting the intorntices of our clothes, and
the pieces of ice which flew from the blows of Peter's axe were
whiHked into the air, and then dashed over the precipice. We
had quite enough to do to prevent ourselves from being served
in the same ruthless fashion, and now and then, in the more
violent gusts of wind, were glad to stick our alpenstocks into the
ice and hold on hard."

Having surmounted this perilous steep, they sat down and
took a brief rest with their backs against a sheltering rock and
their heels dangling over a bottomless abyss ; then they climbed
to the base of another ridge — a more difficult and dangerous one
still :

" The whole of the ridge was exceedingly narrow, and the fall
on each side desperately steep, but the ice in some of these
intervals between the masses of rock assumed the form of a mere
sharp edge, almost like a knife ; these places, though not more
than three or four short paces in length, looked uncommonly
awkward ; but, like the sword leading true believers to the gates
of Paradise, they must needs be passed before we could attain
to the summit of our ambition. These were in one or two places
so narrow, that in stepping over them with toes well turned out
for greater security, one end of the foot projected over the- awful
precipice on the rights tohile the other was on the beginning of
the icy slope on the left, which was scarcely less steep than the
rocks. On these occasions Peter would take my hand, and each
of us stretching as far as we could, he was thus enabled to get a
firm footing two paces or rather more from me, whence a spring
would probably bring him to the rock on the other side ; then,
turning round, he called to me to come, and taking a couple of
steps carefully, I was met at the third by his outstretched hand
ready to clasp mine, and in a moment stood by his side. The
others followed in much the same fashion. Once my right foot
slipped on the side towards the precipice, but I threw out my
left arm in a moment so that it caught the icy edge under my
armpit as I fell, and supported me considerably : at the same
iiutant I cast my eyes down the side on which I had slipped, and
contrived to plant my right foot on a piece of rook m large m a

k nUMP ABI04A.

ei ball, whtoh chanced to protrude through the ioei on the
very edge of the precipice. Being thus anchored fore and aftp
M it were, I believe I could easily have recovered myself, even if
I had been alone, though it must be confessed the situation would
have been an .tvful one ; as it was, however, a jerk from Peter
settled the matter very soon, and I was on my leg>t all right in
an instant The rope is an immense help in places at' this kind."

Now they arrived at the base of a great knob or dome veneered
with ice and powdered with snow — the utmont smnmit, the last
bit of solidity between them and the hollow vault of heaven.
They set to work with their hatchets, and were soon creeping,
insect like, up its surface, with their heels projecting over the
thinnest kind of nothingness, thickened up a little with a few
wandering shreds and films of cloud moving in lasy procession
far below. Presently one man's toe-hold broke and he fell 1
There he dangled in mid-air at the end of the rope, like a spider)
till his friends above hauled him into place again.

A little bit later, the party stood upon the wee pedestal of the
Tery summit, in a driving wind, and looked out upon the vast
green expanses of Italy and a shoreles s ocean ofJbUlowy Mj^

When I had read thus far, Harris burst into the room in a noble
excitement and said the ropes and the guides were secured, and
asked if I was ready. I said I believed I wouldn't ascend the
Altels this time. I said Alp-olimbing was a difierent thing from
what I had supposed it was, and so I judged we had better study
its points a little more before we went definitely into it. But I
told him to retain the guides and order them to follow us to
Zermatt, because I meant to use them there. I said I could feel
the spirit of adventure beginning to stir in me, and was sure that
the fell fascination of Alp-climbing would soon be upon me. I
said he could make up his mind to it tliat we would do a deed
before we were a week older which would make the hair of the
timid curl with fright.

This made Harris happy, and filled him with ambitious antici-
pations. He went at once to tell the guides to follow ui to Zer*
matt and bring all their paraphernalia with them* ^

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▲ TBAMP ABBOAO.

CHAPTBIR XXXI.

A GREAT and priceless thing is a new interest i How it take*
•^^ possession of a man I how it clings to him, how it rides him I
1 strode onward from the Schwarenbach hostelry a changed
man, a*^ reorganized personality. I walked in a new world, I saw
with new eyes. I had been looking aloft at the giant snow-peaks
only as things to be worshiped for their grandeur and magni-
tude, and their unspeakable grace of form ; I looked up at them
now, as also things to be conquered and climbed. My sense of
their grandeur and their noble beauty was neither lost nor im-
paired ; 1 had gained a new interest in the mountains without
losing the old ones. I followed the steep lines up, inch by inch,
with my eye, and noted the possibility or impossibility of follow*
ing them with my feet. When I saw a shining helmet of ice pro-
jecting above the clouds, I tried to imagine I saw files of black
specks toiling up it roped together with a gossamer thread.

We skirted the lonely little lake called the Daubensee, and
presently passed close by a glacier on the right — a thing like a
great river frozen solid in its flow and broken square off like a
wall at its mouth. I had never been so near a glacier before.

Here we came upon a new board shanty, and found some men
engaged in building a stone house ; so the Schwarenbach was
soon to have a rival. We bought a bottle or so of beer here ; at
any rate they called it beer, but I knew by the price that it was
dissolved jewellery, and I perceived by the taste that dissolved
jewellery is not good stuff to drink.

We were surrounded by a hideous desolation. We stepped
forward to a sort of juraping-off place, and were confronted by a
Btartlmg contrast : we seemed to look down into fairyland. Two
or three thousand feet below us was a bright green level, with a
pretty town in its midst, and a silvery stream winding among
the meadows ; the charming spot was walled in on all sides by
gigantic precipices clo vhed with pines ; and over the pines, out

A TBAlIP ABBOAD.

225

q{ the softened diBtances, rose the snowy domes and peaks of
the Monte Boss Region. How exquisitely green and beautiful
that little valley down there was ! The distance was not great
enough to obliterate details, it only made them little, and mel-
low, and dainty, like landscapes and towns seen through the
wrong end of a spyglass.

Right under us a narrow ledge rose up out of the valley, with
a green, slanting, bench-shaped top, and grouped about this
green-baize bench were a lot of black and white sheep wnich
looked merely like over-sized worms. The bench seemed lifted
well up into our neighborhood, but that was a deception — it was
a long way down to it.

We began our descent, now, by the most reviarkable road I
have ever seen. It wound in corkscrew curves down the face of
the colossal precipice — a narrow way, with always the solid rock
wall at one elbow and perpendicular nothingness at the other.
We met an everlasting procession of guides, porters, mules, lit-
ters, and tourists climbing Up this steep and muddy path, and
there was no room to spare when you had to pass a tolerably fat
mule. I always took the inside when I heard or saw the mule
coming, and flattened myself against the wall. I preferred the
inside, of course, but I should have had to take it anyhow, be-
cause the mule prefers the outside. A mule's preference— on a
precipice — is a thing to be respected. Well, his choice is always
the outside. His life is mostly devoted to carrying bulky paniers
and packages which rest against his body — therefore he is habit-
uated to taking the outside edge of mountain paths to keep his
bundles from rubbing against rocks or banks on the other. When
he goes into the passenger business he absurdly clings to his old
habit, and keeps one leg of his pasuenger always dangling over
the great deeps of the lower world while that passenger's heart
is in the highlands, so to speak. More than once I saw a mule's
hind foot cave over the outer edge and send earth and rubbish
into the bottomless abyss ; and I noticed that upon these occa-
sions the rider, whether male or female, looked tolerably unwell.

There was one place where an eighteen-inch breadth of light
masonry had been added to the verge of the path, and as there
was a very sharp turn here a panel of fencing had been set up
there at some ancient time as a protection. This panel was old

I I

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

227

and gray and feeble, and the light masonry had been loosened
by recent rains. A >oung American girl came along on a mule,
and in making the turn the mule's hind foot caved all the loose
masonry and one of the fence posts overboard ^ the mule gave a
violent lurch inboard to save himself, and succeeded in the effort,
but that girl turned as white as the snows of Mont Blanc for a
moment.

The path here was simply a groove cut into the face of the
precipice ; there was a four-foot breadth of solid rock under the
traveler, and a four-foot breadth of solid rock just above his
head, like the roof of a narrow porch ; he could look out from
this gallery and see a sheer summitless and bottomless wall of
rock before him, across a gorge or crack a biscuit's toss in width
— but he could not see the bottom of his own precipice unless
he lay down and projected his nose over the edge. I did not do
this, because I did not wish to soil my clothes.

Every few hundred yards, at particularly bad places, one came
across a panel or so of plank fencing ; but they were always old
and weak, and they generally leaned out over the chasm and did
not make any rash promises to hold up people who might need
support. There was one of these panels which had only its
upper board left ; a pedestrianizing English youth came tearing
down the path, war seized with an impulse to look over the preci-
pice, and without an instant's thought he threw his weight upon
that crazy board. It bent outward a foot I I never made a gasp
before that came so near suffocating me. The English youth's
face simply showed a lively surprise, but nothing more. He went
swinging along valleywards again, as if he did not know he had
just swindled a coroner by the closest kind of a shave.

The Alpine litter is sometimes like a cushioned box made fast
between the middles of two long poles, and sometimes it is a
chair with a back to it and a support for the feet. It is carried
by relays of strong porters. The motion is easier than that of
any other conveyance. We met a few men and a great many
ladies in litters ; it seemed to me that most of the ladies looked
pale and nauseated *, their general aspect gave me the idea that
they were patiently enduring a horrible suffering. As a rule,
they looked at their laps, and left the scenery to take oftre of
itaelf. J -f . , • .,}|

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228

A TBAHP ABBOAD.

But the most frightened creatiire I mw, wm a led horse that
orertook us. Poor fellow, he had been bom and reared in the
grassy levels of the Kandersteg valley and had never seen any-
thing like this hideous place before. Every few steps he would
stop short, glance wildly out from the dizzy height, and then
spread his red nostrils wide and pant as violently as if he had
been running a race ^ and all the while he quaked from head to
heel as with a palsy. He was a handsome fellow, and he made
a fine statuesque picture of terror, but it was pitiful to see him
Bu£fer so.

This dreadful path has had its tragedy. Baedeker, with his
customary over-terseness, begins and ends the tale thus :

"The descent on horseback should be avoided. In 186 J a
Comtesse d' Herlincourt fell from her saddle over the precipice
and was killed on the spot."

We looked over the precipice there, and saw the monument
which commemorates the event. It stands in the bottom of the
gorge, in a place which has been hollowed out of the rock to
protect it from the torrent and the storms. Our old guide never
•poke but when spoken to, and then limited himself to a syllable
or two ; but when we asked him about this tragedy he showed a
strong interest in the matter. He said the Countess was very
pretty, and very young — hardly out of her girlhood, in fact. She
was newly married, and was on her bridal tour. The young hus-
band was riding a little in advance ; one guide was leading the
husband's horse, another was leading the bride's. The old man
continued —

" The guide that was leading the husband's horse happened to
glance back, and there was that poor young thing sitting up
staring out over the precipice ; and her face began to bend down-
ward a little, and she put up her two hands slowly and met it— so
— and put them flat against her eyes — so — and then she sunk out
of the saddle, with a sharp shriek, and one caught only the flash
of a dress, and it was all over."

Then after a pause —

** Ah yes, that guide saw these things — yes, he mw them all
He saw them all, just as I have told you."

After another pause —

" Ah yes, he saw them all. My Qod, that was me. I was that
guide I** .

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

229

Thif had been the one event of the old man's life ; so one may
be sure he had forgotten no detail eonnected with it. We listened
to all he had to say about what was done and what happened and
what was said after the sorrowful occurrence, and a painful story
it was.

When we had wound down toward the valley until we were
about on the last spiral of the corkscrew, Harris's hat blew over
the last remaining bit of precipice — a small cliff a hundred or a
hundred and fifty feet high — and sailed down towards a steep
slant composed of rough chips and fragments which the weather
had flaked away from the precipices. We went leisurely down
there, expecting to find it without any trouble, but we had made
a mistake, as to that. We hunted during a couple of hours— not
because the old straw hat was valuable, but out of curiosity to
find out how such a thing could manage to conceal itself in open
ground where there was nothing for it to hide behind. When
one is reading in bed, and lays his paper-knife down, he cannot
find it again if it is smaller than a sabre ; that hat was as stubborn
as any paper-knife aould have been, and we finally had to give it
up ; but we found a fragment that had once belonged to an opera
glass, and by digging around and turning over the rocks we
gradually collected all the lenses and the cylinders and the
various odds and ends that go to make up a complete opera glass.
We afterwards had the thing reconstructed, and the owner can
have his adventurous long-lost property by submitting proofs and
paying costs of rehabilitation. We had hopes of finding the
owner there, distributed around amongst the rocks, for it would
have made an elegant paragraph ; but we were disappointed.
Still, we were far from being disheartened, for there was a con-
siderable area which we had not thoroughly searched ; we were
satisfied he was there, somewhere, so we resolved to wait over a
day at Leuk and come back and get him. Then we sat down to
polish oft* the perspiration and arrange about what we would do
with him when we got him. Harris was for contributing him to
the British Museum ; but I was for mailing him to his widow.
That is the difference between Harris and me : Harris is all for
display, I am all for the simple right, even though I lose money
by it. Harris argued in favor of his proposition and against mine,
[ argued in favor of mine and against his. The discussion warmed

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280

A TRAMP ABROAD.

into a dispute ; the dispute warmed into a quarrel. I finally said,
very decidedly —

" My mind is made up. He goes to the widow."

Harris answered sharply —

" And mtf mind is made up. He goes to the Museum."

I said, calmly —

** The Museum may whistle when it gets him."

Harris retorted —

'* The widow may save herself the trouble of whistling, for 1
will see that she never gets him."

After some angry bandying of epithets, I said —

** It seems to me that you are taking on a good many airs about
these remains. I don't quite see what you^ve got to say about
them?"

"It I've got all to say about them. They'd never have
been thought of if I hadn't found their opera glass. The corpse
belongs to me, and I'll do as I pl'^ase with him."

I was leader of the Expeditioii, and all discoveries achieved by
it naturally belonged to me. I was entitled to these remains,
and could have enforced my rights ; but rather than haye bad blood
about the matter, I said we would toss up for them. I threw
heads and won, but it was a barren victory, for although we spent
all the next day searching, we never found a bone. I cannot
imagine what could ever have become of that fellow.

The town in the valley is called Leuk or Leukerbad, we pointed
oiir course towards it, down a verdant slope which was adorned .
with fringed gentians and other flowers, and presently entered
the narrow alleys of the outskirts and waded toward the middle
of the town through liquid '' fertilizer." They ought to either
pave that village or organize a ferry.

Harris's body was simply a chamois-pasture ; his person was
populous with the little hungry pests ; his skin, when he stripped,
was splotched like a scarlet fever patient's ; so, when we were
about to enter one of the Leukerbad inns, and he noticed its
sign, '' Chamois Hotel," he refused to stop there. He said the
chamois was plentiful enough, without hunting up hotels where
they made a specialty of it. I was indifferent, for the chamois is
a creature that will neither bite me nor abide with me ; but to
calm Harris, we went to the Hotel des Alpet.

for 1

A TRAMP ABROAD.

281

At the table d'hote we had this for an incident. A Tery grare
man — in fact his gravity amounted to solemnity, and almost to
austerity — sat opposite to us and he was " tight," but doing his
best to appear sober. He took up a corked bottle of wine, tilted
it over his glass a while, then sat it out of the way, with a con.
tented look, and went on with his dinner.

Presently he put his glass to his mouth, and of course found it
empty. He looked puzzled, and glanced furtively and suspi*
ciously out of the corner of his eye at the benignant and un-
conscious old lady who sat at his right. Shook his head, as much
as to say, " No, she couldn't have done it." He tilted the corked
bottle over his glass again, meantime searching around with his
watery eye to see if anybody was watching him. He ate a few
mouthfuls, raised his glass to his lips, and of course it was still
empty. He bent an injured and accusing side gaze upon that
unconscious old lady, which was a study to see. She went on
eating and gave no sign. He took up his glass and his bottle,
with a wise private nod of his head, and set them gravely on the
left hand side of his plate — ^poured himself another imaginary
drink — went to work with his knife and fork once more — pre-
sently lifted his glass with good confidence, and found it empty,
as usual.

This was almost a petrifying surprise. He straightened him-
self up in his chair and deliberately and sorrowfully insp'^'cted
the busy old ladies at his elbows, first one and then the o uer.
At last he softly pushed his plate away, set his glass diioctly in
front of him, held on to it with his left hand, and proceeded to
pour with his right. This time he observed that nothing came.
He turned the bottle clear upside down ; still nothing issued
from it ; a plaintive look came into his face, and he said, as if to
himself, "'ic/ They^ve got it all I" Then he set the bottle
down, resignedly, and took the rest of his dinner dry.

;It was at that table d'hote, too, that I had under inspection the
largest lady I have ever seen in private life. She was over seven
feet high, and magnificently proportioned. What had first called
mv attenflbn to her was my stepping on an outlying flange of
her toot, and hearing, from ud toward the ceiling, a deep, " Far-
don, m'sieu, but you encroach I '•

That was when we were coming through the hall, and the place
was dimj and I could gee her only vaguely. The tiling which

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called my attention to her the second time, was, that at a table
beyond ours were two very pretty girls, and this great lady came
in and sat down between them and me and blotted out the view.
She had a handsome face, and she was very finely formed — per-
fectly formed, I shoyld say. But she made everybody around
her look trivial and conmionplace. Ladies near her looked like
children, and the men about her looked mean. They looked like
failures | and they looked as if they felt so, too. She sat with
her back to us. I never saw such a back in my life. I would
have so liked to see the moon rise over it. The whole congrega-
tion waited, under one pretext or another, till she finished her
dinner and went out ; they wanted to see her at her full altitude,
and they found it worth tarrying for. She filled one's idea of
what an empress ought to be, when she rose up in her unap-
proachable grandeur and moved superbly out of that place.

We were not at Leuk in time to see her at her heaviest weight.
She had suffered from corpulence and had come there to get rid
of her extra flesh in the baths. Five weeks of soaking — five
uninterrupted hours of it every day— had accomplished her
purpose and reduced her to the right proportions.

Those baths remove fat, and also skin-diseases. The patients
remain in the great tanks hours at a time. A dozen gentlemen
and ladies occupy a tank together, and amuse themselves with
rompings and various games. They have floating desks and
tables, and they read or lunch or play chess in water that is
breast deep. The tourist can step in and view this novel spec-
tacle if he chooses. There's a poor box, and he will have to
contribute. There are several of these big bathing houses, and
you can always tell when you are near one of them by the romp-
ing noises and shouts of laughter that proceed from it. The
water is running water, and changes all the time, else a patient
with a ringworm might take the bath with only a partial success,
since while he was ridding himself of his ringworm, he might
catch the itch. u

The next morning we wandered back up the green valley,
leisurely, with the curving walls of those bare and stupendous
precipices rising into the clouds before us. I had never seeh a
clean, bare precipice stretching up five thousand feet above me
before, and I n«ver shall expect to see another one. They exist,

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288

p«rhap8, but not in places where one can easily get olofe to them.
This pile of stone is peculiar. From its base to the soaring tops
of its mighty towers, all its lines and all its details vaguely sug-
gest human architecture. There are rudimentary bow windows,
cornices, chimneys, demarcations of stories, etc. One could sit
and stare up there and study the features and exquisite graces
of this grand structure, bit by bit, and day after day, and never
weary his interest The termination, toward the town, observed
in profile, is the perfection of shape. It comos down out of the
clouds in a succession of rounded, colossal, terrace-like projec-
tions — a stairway for the gods ; at its head spring several lofty
storm-scarred towers, one above another, with faint films of vapor
curling always about them like spectral banners. If there were
a king whose realms included the whole world, here would be
the palace meet and proper for such a monarch. He would only
need to hcUow it out and put in the electric light. He could
give audience to a nation at a time under its roof.

Our search for those remains having failed, we inspected with
a glass the dim and distant track of an old-time avalanche that
once swept down from some pine-grown summits behind the
town and swept away the houses and buried the people ; then
we struck down the road that leads toward the Rhone, to see the
famous Laddert. These perilous things are built against the
perpendicular face of a cliff two or three hundred feet high. The
peasants, of both sexes, were climbing up and down them, with
heavy loads on their backs. 1 ordered Harris to make the
ascent, so I could put the thrill and horror of it in my book, and
he accomplished the feat successfully, through a sub agent for
three francs, which I paid. It makes me shudder yet when I
think of what I felt when I was clinging there between heaven
and earth in the person of that proxy. At times the world swam
around me, and I could hardly keep from letting go, so dizzying
was the appalling danger. Many a person would have given up
and descended, but I stuck to my task, and would not yield
until I had accomplished it. I felt a just pride in my exploit,
but I would not have repeated it for the wealth of the world. I
■hall break my neck yet with some such fool-hardy performance,
for warnings never seem to have any lasting effect upon me.
When the people ai the hotel found that I hftd Inmo 9l''?tt'iB|

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thoM oraiy L«dden, it made me an object of conBiderabU dU*
tinction.

Next morning, early, we drove to the Rhone valley and took
the train for Visp. llierc we shouldered our knapsacks and
things, and set out on foot, in a tremendous rain, up the winding
gorge, toward Zermatt. Hour after hour we slopped along, by
the rouring torrent, and under noble Lesser Alps which were
clothed in rich velvety green all the way up and had little atomy
Swiss homes perched \ipon grassy benches along their mlat-
dimmed heights.

The rain continued to pour and the torrent to boom, and we
continued to oi\joy both. At the one spot where this torrent
tossed its white mane highest, and thundered loudest, and
lashed the big boulders fiercest, the canton had done itself the
honor to build the flimsiest wooden bridge that exists in the
world. While we were walking over it, along with a party o*
horsemen, I noticed that even the^arger rain-drops made it
shake. I called Harris's attention to it, and he noticed it, too.
It seemed to me that if I owned an elephant that was a keep
sake, and I. thought a good deal of him, I would think twice
before I would ride him over that bridge.

We climbed up to the village of St. Nicholas, about half-ptet
four in the afternoon, waded ankle deep through the fertilize^
juice, and stopped at a new and nice hotel close by the little
church. We stripped and went to bed, and sent our clothes
down to be baked. All the horde of soaked tourists did the
same. That chaos of clothing got mixed in the kitchen, and
there were consequences. I did not get back the same drawers
I sent down, when our things came up at 6:15 ; I got a pair on a
new plan. They were merely a pair of white ruffle-cuffed ab-
surdities, hitched together at the top with a narrow band, and
they did not come quite down to my knees. They were pretty
enough, but they made me feel like two people, and disconnected
at that. The man must hcve been an idiot that got himself up
like that to rough it in the Swiss mountains. The shirt they
brought me was shorter th^vn the drawers, and hadn't any sleeves
to it — at least it hadn't anything more than what Mr. Parwin
would call " rudimentary" sleeves ; these had " edging " around
them, but the bosom wa« ridiculously plAin. The knit tUk UB*

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285

(lerehirt they brought me was on a. new plan, and was really a
sensible thing ; it opened behind, and had pocketa in it to put
your shoulder-blades in ; but they did not seem to fit mine, and so
1 found it a sort of uncomfortable garment. Tlioy gave my bolv
tail coat to somebody else, and sent me an ulster suitable for a
giratle. I had to tie my collar on, because there was no button '
behind on that foolish little shirt which I described a while ago.

When I was dressed for dinner at 6:30, 1 was too loose in some
places and too tight in others, and altogether I felt slovenly and
ill conditioned. However, the people at the table d'hote were
no better off than I was ; they had everybody's clothes but their
own on. A long stranger recognized his ulster as soon as he saw
the tail of it following me in, but nobody claimed my shirts or
my drawers, though I described them as well as I was able. I
gave them to the chambermaid that night when I went to bed,
and she probably found the owner, for 'jiy own things were on a
chair outside my door in the morning.

'I'here was a lovable English clergyman who did not get to the
table d'hote at all. His breeches had turned up missing, and
without any equivalent. He said he was not more particular
than other people, but he had noticed that a clergyman at iianer
without any breeches was almost sure to exoite remark.

1
"A

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CHAPTER XXXII. I

WE did not oversleep at St. Nicholas. The church bell begai*
to ring at 4:30 in the morning, and from the length of tiuie
it continued to ring I judged that it takes the Swiss sinner a good
while to get the invitation through his head. Most church bells
in the world are of poor quality, and have a harsh and rasping
sound which upsets the temper and produces much sin, but the
St. Nicholas bell is a good deal the woi'st one that has been con-
trived yet, and is peculiarly maddening in its operation. Still, it
may have its right and its excuse to exist, for the community is
poor and not every citizen can afford a clock, perhaps ; but there
cannot be any excuse for our church bells at home, for there is no
family in America without a clock, and consequently there is no
fair pretext for the usual Sunday medley of dreadful sounds that
issues from our steeples. There is much more profanity in Ame-
rica on Sunday than in all the other six days of the week put
together, and it is of a more bitter and malignant character than
the week-day profanity, too. It is produced by the crM^ed-pot.
clangor of the oheap church bells.

We build our churches almost without regard to cost ; we rear
an edifice which is an adornment to the town, and we gild it, and
fresco it, and mortgage it, and do everything we can think of to
perfect it, and then spoil it all by putting a bell on it which
afflicts everybody who hears it, giving some the headache, others
St. Vitus's dance, and the rest the blind-staggers.

An American village at ten o'clock on a sunomer Sunday is the
quietest and peacefulest and holiest thing in nature ; but it is a
pretty different thing half an hour latei. Mr. Foe's poem of the
" Bells" stands incomplete to this day ; but it is well enough that
it is so, for the public reciter or " reader" who goes around trying
to imitate the sounds of the various sorts of bells with his voice
would find himself " up a stump" when he got to the church bell
Joseph Addison would say. The church is always tjrjfiug to

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987

4|:*" .

get other people to reform ; it might not b« a bat! id«» to reform
itself a little, by way of example. It is still clinging to one or two
things which were useful once, but which are not useful now,
neither are they ornamental. One is the bell ringing to remin<l
A clock caked town that it is church time, and another is the
ii'ading from the puJpit of a tedious list of "notices" which
everybody who is interested has already read in the newspaper.
The clergyman even reads the hymn through— a relio of an
ancient time when hymn books were scarce and costly ; but
overybody has a hymn book, now, and so the public reading is no
longer necessary. It is not merely unnecessary, it is generally
pninful ; for the average clergyman could not lire into his congre-
gation with a shot gun and hit a worse reader than himself, unless
the weapon scattered shamefully. I am not meaning to be
flippant and irreverent, I am only meaning to be truthful. The
average clergyman, in all countries and of all denominations, is a
very bad reader. One would think he would at least learn how
to read the Lord's Prayer, by and by, but it is not so. He races
through it as if he thought the quicker he got it in, the sooner it
would be answered. A person who does not appreciate the
exceeding value of pauses, and does not know how to measure
their duration judiciously, cannot render the grand simplicity
and dignity of a composition like that effec£ively.

We took a tolerably early breakfast, and tramped off toward
Zetmatt through the reeking lanes of the village, glad to get
away from that bell. By and by we had a fine spectacle on our
right. It was the wall-like buttend of a huge glacier, which
looked down on us from an Alpine height which was well up in
the blue sky. It was an astonishing amount of ice to be com*
pacted together in one mass. We ciphered upon it and decided
that it was not less than several hundred feet from the base of
the wall of solid ice to the top of it — Harris believed it was
really twice that. We judged that if St. Paul's, St. Peter's, the
Great Pyramid, the Straabuig Cathedral and the Capitol at Wash-
ington were clustered against that wall, a man sitting on its upper
edge could not hang his hat on the top of any of them without
reaching down three or four hundred feet— a thing which of
course no man could do.
To me, that mighty glacier was very beautiful. I did not ima-

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288

▲ TBAMP ABROAD.

gine that anybody could find &ult with it ; but I was mistalriia.
Harris bad been snarling for several days. He was a rabid }'ro-
testant) and he was always saying —

" In the Protestant cantons you never see such poverty and
dirt and squalor as you do in this Catholic one ; you never see
the lanes and alleys flowing with foulness ; you never see such
wretched little sties of houses ; you never see an inverted tin
turnip on top of a church for a dome ; and as for a church bell,
why you never hear a church bell at all."

All this morning he had been finding fault straight along.
First it was with the mud. He said, " It ain't muddy in a Pro-
testant canton when it rains." 'ilien it was with the dogs:
" They don't have those lop-eared dogs in a Protestant canton."
Then it was with the roads : *' They don't leave the roads to
make themselves in a Protestant canton, the people make them
— and they make a road that is a road, too." Next it was the
goats : •* You never see a goat shedding tears in a Protestant
canton— a goat there is one of the cheerfulest objects in nature."
Next it was the chamois : <^ You never see a Protestant chamois
act like one of these— they take a bite or two and go ; but these
fellows camp with you and stay." Then it was the guide-boards :
« In a Protestant canton you couldn't get lost if you wanted to,
but you never see a guide-board in a Catholic canton." Next—
" You never see any flower-boxes in the windows here — never
anything but now and then a cat — a torpid one ; but you take a
Protestant canton : windows perfectly lovely with flowers— and
as for cats, there's just acres of them. These folks in this canton
leave a road to make itself, and then fine you three francs if you
< trot ' over it— as if a horse could trot over such a sarcasm of a
road." Next about the goitre : ** They talk about goitre I— I
haven't seen a goitre in this whole canton that I couldn't put in
• hat."

He had growled at everything, but I judged it would puzzle
him to find anything the matter with this majestic glacier. I
intimated as much ; but he was ready, and said with surly dis-
oontent — >

" You ought to see them in the Protestant cantons."

This irritated me. But I concealed the feeling, and asked—

« What if the matter with this one ? '

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289

" Matter ? Why, it ain't in any kind of condition. They neyer
take any care of a glacier here. The moraine has been spilling
gravel around it, and got it all dirty.''

" Why, man, they can t help that."

" Theyf You're right. That is, they won' /. They could if
thoy wanted to. You never see a speck of dirt on a Protestan
glacier. Look at the Rhone glacier. It is fifteen miles long ani
seven hundred feet thick. If this was a Protestant glacier you
wouldn't see it looking like this, I can tell you."

" That is nonsense. What would they do with it ?"

" They would whitewash it. They always do."

I did not believe a word of this, but rather than have trouble
1 let it go ; for it is a waste of breath to argue with a bigot. I
even doubted if the Rhone glacier tras in a Protestant canton ;
but I did not know, so I could not maRe anything oy contradict-
ing a man who would probably put me down at once with manu-
factured evidence.

About nine miles from St. Nicholas we crossed a bridge over
the raging torrent of the Visp, and came to a long strip of flimsy
fencing which was pretending to secure people from tumbling
over the perpendicular wall forty feet high and into the river.
Three children were approaching ; one of them, a little girl about
eight years old, was running ; when pretty close to us she stumbled
and fell, and her feet shot under the rail of the fence and tor a
moment projected over the stream. It gave us a sharp shock,
for we thought she was gone, sure, for the ground slanted steeply,
and to save herself seemed a sheer impossibility ; but she
managed to scramble up, and ran by us laughing.

We went forward and examined the place and saw the long
tracks which her feet had made in the dirt when they dasitod
over the verge. If she had finished her trip she would hlii||^
■truck some big rocks in the edge of the water, and then
the torrent would have snatched her down stream among the
half covered boulders and she would have been pounded to pulp
in two minutes. We had come exceedingly near witnessing her
death.

And now Harris's contrary nature and inborn selfishness were
strikingly manifested. He has no spirit of self-denial. He be-
gan straight <Mf and continued for an hour, to express his grati*

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241

tude that the child was not destroyed. I never saw rach a man.
rhat was the kind of person he was ; just so he was gratified, he
never cared anything about anybody else. I had noticed that
trait in him, over and over again. O^ten, of course, it was mere
heedlessness, mere want of reflection. Doubtless this may have
been the case in most instances, but it was not the less hard to
bear on that ibccount — and after all, its bottom, its groundwork,
was selfishness. There is no avoiding that conclusion. In the
instance under consideration, I did think the indecency of run*
ning on in that way might occur to him ; but no, the child was
saved and he was glad, that was sufficient — he cared not a straw
for my feelings, or my loss of such a literary plum, snatched
from my very mouth at the instant it was ready to drop into it.
His selfishness was sufficient to place his own gratification in be*
ing spared sufifering clear before all concern for me, his friend.
Apparently he did not once reflect upon the valuable details
"Thich would have fallen like a windfall to me : fishing the child
- ivitnessing the surprise of the family and the stir the thing
vv-?'^have made among the peasants — a Swiss funertJ — then
the roadside monument, to be paid for by us and have our names
mentioned in it. And we should have gone into Baedeker and
been immortal. I was silent. I was too much hurt to complain.
If he could act so, and be so heedless and so frivolous at such a
time, and actually seem to glory in it, after all I had done for
him, I would have cut my hand ofif before I would let him se*
that I was wounded.

We were approaching Zermatt ; consequently we were ap«
proaching the renowned Matterhorn. A month before, this
mountain had been only a name to us, but latterly we had been
moving through a steadily thickening double row of pictures of
it, done in oil, water, chromo, wood, steel, copper, crayon, and
photography, and so it had at length become a shape to us — and
a very distinct, decided, and familiar one, too. We were expect*
ing to recognize that mountain whenever or wherever we should
run across it. We were not deceived. The monarch was far
away when we first sow him, but there was no such thing at
mistaking him. He hus the rare pieculiarity of standing by him*
self : he is peculiarly steep, too, and is also most oddly shaped.
ile towers into the sky like a colossal wedge, with the upper

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242

A TRAMP ABROAD.

third of its blade bent a little to the left* The broad base of
this monster wedge is planted upon a grand glacier-paved Alpine
platform whose elevation is ten thousand feet above sea level ;
as the wedge itself is some JSve thousand feet high, it follows that
its apex is about fifteen thousand fe'et above sea level. So the
whole bulk of this stately piece of rock, this sky-cleaving mono-
lith, is above the line of eternal anow. Yet while all its giant
neighbors have the look of being built of solid snow, from their
waists up, the Matterhorn stands black and naked and forbidding,
the year round, or merely powdered or streaked with white in
places, for its sides are so steep that the snow cannot stay there.
Its strange form, its august isolation, and its nuyestic unkinship
with its own kind, make it — so to speak — the Napoleon of the
mountain world. "Grand, gloomy, and peculiar," is a phrase
7hich fits it as aptly as it fitted the great captain.

Think of a monument a mile high, standing on a pedestal two
miles high I This is what the Matterhorn is — a monument. Its
office, henceforth, for all time, will be to keep watch and ward
over the secret resting-place of the young Lord Douglas, who, in
1865, was precipitated from the summit over a precipice 4,000
feet high, and never seen again. No man ever had such a monu-
ment as this before ; the most imposing of the world's other
monuments are but atoms compared to it ; and they will perish,
and their places will pass from memory, but this will remain.'''

A walk from St. Nicholas to Zermatt is a wonderful experience.
Nature is built on a stupendous plan in that region. One marched
continually between walls that ate piled into the skies, with
their upper heights broken into a ccnfusion of sublime shapes
that gleam white and cold against the background of blue ; and
here and there one sees a big glacier displaying its grandeurs on
the top of a precipice, or a graceful cascade leaping and flashinji
down the green declivities. There is nothing tame, or cheap, o!
trivial — it is all magnificent. That short valley is a picture gal
lery of a notable kind, for it contains no mediocrities ; from end
to end the Creator has hung it with His masterpieces.

The Moident which coat Lord SoaglaB his life (aee chapter 41), also cost the livei
ut three other men. These three fell four-fifths of a mile, and their bodies wen
afterwards found, lying side by side, upon a glacier, whence they were borne lo
Zermatt and buried in the churchyard. The remains of Lord Douglas have narer
been found. The serret of hia Mpultrir*^ lik* that of Motes, must nunain a ajrttery
alwajrs.

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348

We mftde Zermatt at three ix) the Afternoon, nine hoan ool
from St. Nicholas. Distance, by guide-book| 12 milea, by pedo*
meter 72. We were in the heart and home of the mountain*
climbers, now, as all visible things testified. The snow-peaks did
not hold themselves aloof, in aristocratic reserve, they nestled
close around, in a friendly, sociable way ; guides, with the ropes
and axes, and other implements of their fearful calling slung
about their persons, roosted in a long line upon a stone wall in
front of the hotel, and waited for customers ; sunburned climbers,
in mountaineering costume, and followed by their guides and
porters, arrived from time to time, from break-neck expeditions
among the peaks and glaciers of the High Alps ; male and female
tourists, on mules, filed by, in a continuous procession, hotelward.
bound from wild adventures which would grow in grandeur every
time they were described at the English or American fireside,
and at last outgrow the possible itself.

We were not dreaming ; this was not a make-believe home of
the Alp-climber, created by our heated imaginations: no, for
here was Mr. Girdlestone himself, the famous Englishman who
hunts his way to the most formidable Alpine summits without a
guide. I was not equal to imagining a Girdlestone ; it was all I
could do to even realize him, while looking straight at him at short
range. I would rather face whole Hyde Parks of artillery than
the ghastly forms of death which he has faced among the peaks
and precipices of the mountains. There is probably no pleasure
equal to the pleasure of climbing a dangerous Alp ; but it is a
pleasure which is confined strictly to people who can find plef^
sure in it. I have not jumped to this conclusion ; I have traveled
to it per gravel train, so to speak. 1 have thought the thing all
out, and am quite iUTQ 1 am right. A bom climber's appetite for
climbing is hard to satisfy ; when it comes upon him he is like a
starving man with a feast before him ; he may have other busi-
ness on hand, but it must wait. Mr. Girdlestone had had his
usual summer holiday in the Alps, and had spent it in his usual
way, hunting for unique chances to break his neck ; his vacation
was over, and his luggage packed for England, but all of a sudden
a hunger had come upon him to climb the tremendous Weisshom
once more, for he had heard of a new and utterly impossible route
up ii. His baggage was unpacked at once, and now he and m

244

A TRAMP ABROAD.

friend, laden with knapsacks, ic^-axes, coils of rope, and canteens
of milk, were just setting; out. They would spend the night high
up among the snows, somewhere, and get up at two in the morn-
ing and finish the enterprise. I had a strong desire to go with
them, but forced it down — a feat which Mr. GirdlestonOy with all
his fortitude, could not no.

Even ladies catch the climbing mania, and are unable to throw
it off. A famous climber, of that sex, had attempted the Weiss*
horn a few days before our arrival, and she and her guides had
lost their way in a snowstorm high up among the peaks and
glaciers and had been forced to wander around a good while before
they could find a way down. When this lady reached the bottom,
ahe had been on her feet twenty-three hours 1

Our guides, hired on the Gemmi, were already at Zermatt
when we reached there. So there was nothing to interfere with
our getting up an adventure whenever we should choose the
time and the object. I resolved to devote my first evening in
Zermatt to studying up the subject of Alpine climbing, by way of
preparation.

I read several books, and here are some of the things I found
out. One's shoes must be strong and heavy, and have pointed
hob-nails in them. The alpenstock must be of the best wood, for
if it should break, loss of life might be the result. One should
carry an axe, to cut steps in the ice with, on the great heights,
There must be a ladder, for there are steep bits of rock which
can be surmounted with this instrument— or this utensil — but
could not be surmounted without it ; such an obstruction has
compelled the tourist to waste hours hunting another route, when
a ladder would have saved him all trouble. One must have from
150 to 500 feet of strong rope, to be used in lowering the party
down steep declivities which are too steep and smooth to be
traversed in ony other way. One must have a steel hook, on
another rope— a very useful thing; for when one is ascending
and comes to a low bluff which is yet too high for the ladder, he
swings this rope aloft like a lasso, the hook catches at the top of
the bluff, and then the tourist climbs the rope, hand over hand —
being always particular to try and forget that if the hook gives
way he will never stop falling till he arrives in some part of
Switzerland where they are not expecting him. Another impor-

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245

tant tbing— there must be a rope to tie tho whole party together
with, so that if one falls from a mountain or down a bottomleiM
chasm in a glacier, the others may brace back on the rope and
save him. One must have a silk veil, to protect his face from
snow, sleet, hail and gale, and colored goggles to protect his eyes
from that dangerous enemy, snow-blindness. Finally, there must
be some porters, to carry provisions, wine and scientific instru*
meuts, and alio blanket bags for the party to sleep in.

' FITTED OUT.

I closed my readings with a fearful adventure which Mr.
Whymper once had on the Matterhorn when he was prowling
around alone, 5,000 above the town of Breil. He was edging his
way gingerly around the corner of a precipice where the upper
edge of a sharp declivity of ice-glazed snow joined it. This decli-
vity swept down a couple of hundred feet, into a gully which
curved around and ended at a precipice 800 feet high, overlook*
ng a glacier. His foot slipped, and he fell. He says :

246

A TftiMP ABBOAD.

" My kiutpsack brought my head down first, «nd I pitched into
■ome rooks about a dozen feet below ; they caught something,
and tumbled me o£f the edge, head over heels, into the guUy ;
the baton was dashed from my hands, and I whirled downwards
in a series of bounds, each longer than the last ; now over ice,
now into rooks, striking my head four or five times, each time
with increased 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 arrested. My head fortunately
came the right side up, and a few frantic catches brought me to
a halt, in the neck of the gully and on the verge of the precipice.
Baton, hat, and veil skinmied by and disappeared, and the crash
of the rooks ^which I had started — as they fell on to the glacier,
told how narrow had been the escape from utter destruction.
As it was, I fell nearly two hundred feet in seven or eight bounds.
Ten feet more would have taken me in one gigantic leap of 800
feet on to the glacier below.

** The situation was sufficiently serious. The rocks could not
be let go for a moment, and the blood was spirting out of more
than twenty cuts. The most serious ones were in the head, and
I vainly tried, to close them with one hand, whilst holding on
with the other. It was useless ; the blood gushed out in blinding
jets at each pulsation. At last, in a moment of inspiration, I
kicked out a big lump of snow and stuck it as 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. The sun was setting when conscious-
ness returned, and it was pitch dark before the Great Staircase
was descended ; but by a combination of luok and care, the whole
forty-seven hundred feet of descent to Breil was accomplished
without a slip, or once missing the way."

His wounds kept him abed some days. Then he got up and
climbed that mountain again. That is the way with a true Alp.
climber ; the more fim he has, the more he wants.

'<': '-■ '^ff'k -

A TRiMT ABBOAD.

CHAPTER XXXTII.

AFTER I had finished my readings, I was nj longer myself; I
was tranced, uplifted, intoxicated, by the almost incredible
perils and adventures I had been following my authors through,
and the triumphs I had been sharing with them. I sat silent
some time, then turned to Harris and said —
« My mind is made up."

Something in my tone struck him ; and when he glanced at
my eye and read what was written there, his faced paled per
ceptibly. He hesitated a moment, then said—
"Speak."
I I answered with perfect calmness —

, « I WILL ASCEND THB RIFFBLBBRO."

If I had shot my poor friend he could not have fallen from
his chair more suddenly. If I had been his father he could not
have pleaded harder to get me to give up my purpose. But I
turned a deaf ear to all he said. When he perceived at last that
nothing could alter my determination, he ceased to urge, and for
a while the deep silence was broken only by his sobs. I sat in
marble resolution, with my eyes fixed upon vacancy, for in spirit
I was already wrestling with the perils of the mountains, and my
friend sat gazing at me in adoring admiration through his tears.
At last he threw himself upon me in a loviitg embrace and ex.
claimed in broken tones ;
" Your Harris will never desert you. We will die together."
I cheered the noble fellow with praises, and soon his fears were
forgotten and he was eager for the adventure. He wanted to
summon the guides at once, and leave at two in the morning, as
he supposed the custom was ; but I explained that nobody was
looking at that hour, and that the start in the dark was not
usually made from the village, but from the first night's resting'
place on the mountain side. I said we would leave the village
at three or four p. m. on the morrow ; meantime he could notify
the guides, and also let the public know of the attempt which
we proposed to uxake.

248

A TBAMP 4BB0AD.

'•I
I 111 J

I went to bed, but not to nlcep. Xo nutn enn ile^p wben he
is about to undertake one of these Alpine exploits. I tossed
feverishly all night long, and was glad enough when I heard the
clock strike half-past eleven and knew it was time to get up for
dinner. I rose jaded and rusty, and went to the noon meal,
where I found myself the centre of interest and curiosity, for
the news was already abroad. It is not/>asy to eat calmly when
you are a lion, but it is very pleasant, i^vertheless.

As usual, at Zermatt, when a great ascent is about to be under-
taken, everybody, native and foreign, laid aside his own projects
and took up a good position to observe the start. The expedi-
tion consisted of one hundred and ninety-eight persons, includ-
ing the mules ; or two hundred and five, including the cows. At
follows :

Cmm or Sravxra.

SVBOBDnrATU.

MyBelf.

1 Veterinary Sorgeoa.

Mr. Harris.

1 BuUer.

17 Guidet.

IS Waiters.

4 Surgeons.

1 Footman.

1 Geologist

1 Barber.

1 Botaniit

1 Head Cook.

t Ghaplains.

t Assistants.

S Draftsmen.

4 Pastrycooks.

16 Barkeepers.

1 Oonfeotioneiy Artist

1 Latinist

TMMMnomtxTiov, no.

a? Portem. s Coarse Washers ud IroBsn.

44 Mules. 1 Fine ditto.

4« Muleteers. , 7 Cows.

S Milkers.

Total, 154 men, 61 animals. Grand total, 206.

RA.T10K8, no.

Appabatvk.

16 Cases Hams.

26 Spring Mattrassee. ^ ;.

2 Barrels Flour.

2 Hair ditto. '

22 Barrels Whiskey.

Bedding for same.

1 Barrel Sugar.

2 MosqoitoNets.

1 Keg Lemons.

29 Tents

2,000 Cigars.

Scientific Instrumente.

1 Barrel Pies.

97 Ice-axes.

1 Ton of Peminican. . > i^^,

■ 6 Cases Dynamite.

148 Pairs Crutches.

7 Cans Nitro-glycerino. ,

2 Barrels Arnica.

22 40-foot Ladders. ^

1 ^ Bale of Lint.

2 Miles or Hope.

17 Kegs Pareaotie.

164 UasbreUss.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

S49

It WM taH four o'clock in the afternoon b«for« my CAVftlcade
mas entirely ready. At that hour it began to move. In point of
numl)er8 and spectacular effect it was the most imposing ezpe-
dition that ever marched from Zermatt.

I commanded the chief guide to arrange the men and animals
in single tile, twelve feet apart, and lash tliem all together on a
Rtrong rope. He objected that the first two miles was a dead
level, with plenty of room, and that the rope was never used
except in very dangerous places. But I would not listen to tUat.
Hy reading had taught me that very serious accidents had hap-
pened in the Alps simply from not having the people tied soon
enough ; I was not going to add one to the list. The guide then
obeyed my order.

When the procession stood at ease, roped together, and ready
to move, I never saw a finer sight. It was 3,122 feet long— over
half a mile ; every man but Harris and me was on foot, and had
on his green veil and his blue goggles, and his white rag around
his hat, and his coil of rope over one shoulder and under the
oiher, and his ice-axe in his belt, and carried his alpenstock in
his left hand, his umbrella (closed) in his right, and his crutches
slung at his back. The burdens of the pack mules and the hoins
of the cows were decked with the Edelweiss and the Alpine
rose.

I and my agent were the only persons mounted. We were in
the post of danger in the extreme rear, and tied securely to five
guides apiece. Our armor-bearer carried our ice-axes, alpenstocks
and other implements for us. We were mounted upon very
small donkeys, as a measure of saiety ; in time of peril we could
straighten our legs and stand up, and let the donkey walk from
under. Still, I cannot recommend this sort of animal — at least
for ej^cursions of mere pleasure — because his ears interrupt the
view. I and my agent possessed the regulation mountaineering
costumes, but concluded to leave them behind. Out of respect
for the great number of tourists of both sexes who would be as-
sembled in front of the hotels to see us pass, and also out of re-
spect for the many tourists, whom we expected to encounter on
our expedition, we decided to make the ascent in evening dress.

At fifteen minutes past four I gave the command to move, and
my subordinates passttd it along the line. The great crowd in

illUI

250

▲ TRAMT ABROAD.

front of the Monte Rosa hotel parted in tvrain, with a cheer, ak
the procension approached ; and as the head of it was filinc
by I gave the order — " Unlimber— make ready — hoist !" — and
with one impulse up went my half mile of umbrellas. It
was a beautiful sight, and a total surprise to the spectators.
Nothing like that had ever been seen in the Alps before. The
applause that it brought forth was deeply gratifying to me, and I
rode by with my plug hat in my hand to testify my appreciation
of it. It was the only testimony I could offer, for I was too full
to speak.

We watered the caravan at the cold stream whio h rushes down
a trough near the end of the village, and soon after ivard left the
haunts of civilization behind us. About half-past five o'clock we
arrived at a bridge which spans the Visp, and after throwing over
a detachment to see if it was safe, the caravan crossed without
accident. The way now led, by gentle ascent, carpeted with fresh
• green grass, to the church of Winklematten. Without stopping
to examine this edifice, I executed a flank movement to the right
and crossed the biidge over the Findelenbach, after first testing
its strength. Here I deployed to the right again, and presently
entered an inviting stretch of meadow land which was unoccupied
save by a couple of deserted huts towards its furthest extremity.
These meadows offered an excellent crmping place. We pitched
our tents, supped, established a proper guard, recorded the
events of the day, and then went to bed.

We rose at two in the morning and dressed by candle light.
It was a dismal and chilly business. A few stars were shining,
but the general heavens were overcast, and the great shaft of the
Matterhorn was draped in a sable pall of clouds. The chief guide
advised a delay ; he said he feared it was going to rain. We
waited until nine o'clock, and then f^ot away in tolerably clear
weather.

Our course led up some terrific steeps, densely wooded with
larches and cedars, and traversed by paths which the rains had
guttered and which were obstructed by loose stones. To add to
the danger and inconvenience, we were constantly meeting
returning tourists on foot or horseback, and as constantly being
crowded and battered by ascending tourists who were in ft hurry
and WMited to get by.

1 '

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4.'

^ M'^

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252

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Our troubles thickened. About the middle of the afternoon
the seventeen guides called a halt and held a consultation.
After consulting an hour they said their first suspicion remained
intact^that is to say, they believed they were lost. I asked if
they did not know it? No, they said, they eouldnU absolutely
know whether they were lost or not, because none of them had
ever been in that part of the country before. They had a strong
instinct that they were lost, but they had no proofs — except that
they did not know where they were. They had met no tourists
for some time, and they considered that a suspicions sign.

Plainly we » were in an ugly fix. The guides ^ere naturally
unwilling to go alone and seek a way out of the difficulty ; oo we
all went together. For better security we moved slow and cau-
tiously, for the forest was very dense. We did not move up the
mountain, but around it, hoping to strike fLcross the old trail.
Toward nightfall, when we were about tired out, we came up
against a rock as big as a cottage. This barrier took all the
remaining spirit out of the men, and a panic of fear and det^pair
ensued. They moaned and wept, and said they should never
see their homes and their dear ones again. Then they began to
upbraid me for bringing them upon this fatal expedition. Some
«ven muttered threats against me.

Clearly it was no time to show weakness. So 1 made a speech
in which I said that other Alp-cllmbers had been in as perilous
A position as this, and yet by courage and perseverance had
escaped. I promised to stand by them, I promised to rescue
them. I closed by saying we had plenty of provisions to main-
tain us for quite a siege — and did they suppose Zermatt would
allow half a mile of men and mules to mysteriously disappear
during any considerable time, right above their noses, and make
no inquiries ? No, Zermatt would send out searching-expeditions
,»nd we should be saved.

This speech had a great eflfect. The men pitched the tents
with some little show of cheerfulness, and we were snugly under
cover when the night shut down. 1 now reaped the reward of
my wisdom in providing one article which is not mentioned in
any book ol Alpine adventure but this. I refer to the paregoric.
But for that beneficent drug, not one of those men would have
^lept a moD^eot during that fearful night. But for thct gentle

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

358

[.erauftder they must have tossed, unsoothed, the night through j
for the whisky waa for me. Yes, they would have risei^ in the
morning unfitted for their heavy task. As it was, everybody
slept but my agent and me — only we two and the barkeepers. I
would not pe:'mit myself to sleep at such a time. I considered
myself responsible for all those lives. I meant to be on hand
and ready, in case of avalanches. I am aware now, that there
were no avalanches up there, but I did not know it then.

We watched the weather all throupTi that awful night, and kepi
an eye on the bfw ometer, to be prepared for the leant change

There was not the slightest change recorded by the instrument,
during the whole time. Words cannot describe the comtort that
that friendly, hopeful, steadfast thing was to me in that season oi
trouble. It was a defective barometer, and had no hand but the
stationary brass pointer, but J did not know that until afteaward.
If I should be in such a situation again, I should not wish for
any barometer but that r>no.

All hands rose at two in the morning and took breakfast, and
as soon as it was light we roped ourselves together and went at
that rock. For some time we tried the hook-rope and other
tneaoa of loaling it, but without success. That is without perfect

!#■ (M

; t

254

A TRAMP ABROAD.

"iii

III;

Buccess. 'Hie hook canf^ht once, an<l Harris started up it hand
over hand, but the hold broke and if there had not happened to
be a chaplain sitting underneath at the time, Harris would cer
tainly have been crippled. As it was, it was the chaplain. He
took to his crutches, and I ordered the hook-rope to be laid
aside. It was too dangerous an implement where so many people
were standing around.

We were puzzled for a while ; then somebody thought of th«-
ladders. One of these was leaned against the rock, and the men
went up it tied together in couples. Another ladder was s«nt up
for use in descending. At the end of half an hour everybody
was over, and that rock was conquered. We gave our first grand
shout of triumph. But the joy was short-lived, for somebody
asked how we were going to get the animals over.

This was a serious difficulty; in fact it was an impossibility.
The courage of the men began to waver immediately ; once more
we were threatened with a j^anic. But when the danger \vii>
most imminent, we were saved . in a mysterious way. A mule
which had attracted attention from the beginning by its disposi
tion to experiment, tried to eat a five-pound can of nitroglycerine.
This happened right along-side the rock. The explosion threw
us all to the ground, and covered us with dirt and debris ; it
frightened us extremely, too, for the crash it made was deai'en
ing, and the violence of the shock made the ground tremble.
However, we were grateful, for the rock was gone. Its place was
occupied by a new cellar, about thirty feet across, by fifteen feet
/ deep. Ihe explosion was heard as far as Zermatt | and an hour
* and a half afterwards, many citizens of that town were knocked
down and quite seriously injured by descending portions of mule
meat, frozen solid. This shows, better than any estimate in
figures, how high the experimenter went.

We had nothing to do, now, but bridge the cellar and proceed
on our way. With a cheer the men went at their work. I at-
tended to the engineering, myself. I appointed a strong detail
to cut down trees with ice-axes and trim them for piers to sup-
port the bridge. This was a slow business, for ice-axes are not
' ' good to cut wood with. I caused my piers to be firmly set up
in ranks in the cellar, and upon them I laid six of my forty- foot
IMders, side by side, and laid six more ou top of them. Upon

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

256

this bridge I caused a bed of boughs to be spread, and on top of
the boughs a bed of earth six inches deep. I stretched ropes
upon either side to serve as rai1;i;.<;s, and then my bridge was
complete. A train of elephants ;'.ovld have crossed it in safety
and comfort. By nightfull the carbvan was on the other side and
the ladders taken up.

Next morning we went on in good spirits for a while, though
our way was slow and difficult, by reason of the steep and rocky
nature of the ground and the thickness of the forest ; but at last
a dull despondency crept into the men's faces and it was appa-
rent that not only they, but even the guides, were now convinced
that we were lost. The fact that we still met no tourists was a
circxmistance that was but too significant. Another thing
seemed to suggest that we were not only lost, but very badly lost ;
for there must surely be searching-parties on the road before
this time, yet we had seen no sign of them.

Demoralization was spreading ; something muat be done, and
(lone quickly, too. Fortimately, I am not unfertile in expedients.
I contrived one now which commended itself to all) for it pro*
mised well. I took three-quarters of a mile of rope and fastened
one end of it around the waist of a guide, and told him to go and
find the road, whilst the caravan waited. I instructed him to
guide himself back by the rope, in case of failure ; in case of
success, he was to give the rope a series of violent jerks, where-
upon the Expedition would go to him at once. He departed,
and in two minutes had disappeared among the trees. I payed
out the rope myself, while everybody watched the crawling thing
with eager eyes. The rope crept away quite slowly, at times, at
other times with some briskness. Twice or thrice we seemed to
get the signal, and a shout was just ready to break from the men's
lips when they perceived it was a false alarm. But at last, when
over half a mile of rope had slidden away it stopped gliding and
stood absolutely still — one minute — two minutes — three — while
we held our breath and watched.

Was the guide resting ? Was he scanning the country from
some high point? Was he inquiring of a chance mountaineer?
Stop — had he fainted from excess of fatigue and anxiety ?

This thought gave us a shock. I was in the very act of detail-
ing an expedition to succor him, when the cord was assailed with

tfcj

if*
f

.;1 :

256

A TRAMP ABKOAD.

'i'l;,

a series of suoh frantic jerks that I could hardly keep hold of it.
The huzza that went up, then, was good to hear. " Savod !
saved 1" was the word that rang out, all down the long rank
the caravan.

We rose up and started at once. We found the route to be
good enough for a while, but it began to grow difficult, by and by,
and this feature steadily increased. When we judged we had
gone half a mile, we momentarily expected to see the guide ; but
no, he was not visible anywhere | neither was he waiting, for the
rope was still moving, consequently he was doing the same.
This argued that he had not found the road, yet, but was march-
mg to it with some peasant. There was nothing for us to do but
plod along — and tliis we did. At the end of three hours we were
still plodding. This was not only mysterious, but exasperating.
And very fatiguing, tooj for we had tried hard, along at first, to
oatch up with the guide, but had only fagged ourselves, in vain ;
for although he was traveling slowly he was yet able to go faster
than the hampered caravan over such ground.

At three in the afternoon we were nearly dead with exhaustion
—and still the rope was slowly gliding out. The murmurs
against the guide had been growing steadily, and at last they
were become loud and savage. A mutiny ensued. The men
refused to proceed. They declared that we had been traveling
over and over the same ground all day, in a kind of circle. They
demanded that our end of the rope be made fast to a tree, so as
to halt the guide until we could overtake him and kill him. This
was not an unreasonable requirement, so I gave the order.

As soon as the rope was tied, the Expedition moved forward
with that alacrity which the thirst for vengeance usually inspires.
But after a tiresome march of almost half a mile we came to a
hill covered thick with a crumbly rubbish of stones, and so steep
that no man of us all was now in a condition to climb it. Every
attempt failed, and ended in crippling somebody. Within twenty
minutes I had five men on crutches. Whenever a climber tried
to assist himself by the rope, it yielded and let him tumble
backwards. The frequency of this result suggested an idoi to
me. I ordered the caravan to 'bout face and form in marching
order ; I then made the tow-rope fast to the rear mule, and gave
the command —

*'Mark time-.by the right flank-^'&rward — march t"

A TBAMP ABROAD.

*207

Hie procession be^m to more to the impressive strains of a
battle-chant, and 1 said to myaelf, " Now, if the rope don't
break I judge thu will fetch that guide into the camp." I
watched the ro| e gliding down the hill, and presently when I
was all fixed for a triumph I was confronted by a bitter disap-
pointment : there was no guide tied to the rope, it was only a
fery indignant old black ram. The fury of the baflfled Expedi-
tion exceeded all bounds. They even wanted to wreak their

unreasonmg vengeance on this innocent dumb brute. But I
stood between them and their prey, menaced by a bristling wall
of ice-axes and alpenstocks, and proclaimed that there was but
one road to this murder, and it was directly over my corse.
Even as I spoke I saw that my doom was sealed, except a miracle
supervened to divert these madmen from their fell purpose. I
see that sickening wall of weapons now ; I see that advancing
host as I saw it then ; I see the hate in those cruel eyes ; I re-
member how I drooped my head upon my breast ; I feel again
the sudden earthquake shock in my rear — administered by the
very ram I was sacrificing myself to save ; I hear once more the
typhoon of laughter that burst from the assaulting column as I
olove it from van to rear like a Sepoy shot from a Hodman gun,

tic
III

^!P!

i\ Ui

> !r'>

-■■;f

I 1 !

■ m

258

A TRAMP ABROAD.

I was saved. Tes, I was saved, and by the jnerciful instinct of
ingratitude which nature had planted in the breast of that
treacherous beast. The grace which eloquence had failed to
work in those men's hearts had been wrought by a laugh. The
ram was set free and my life was spared.

We lived to find out that that guide had deserted us as soon
■8 he had placed a half mile between himself and us. To avert
suspicion, he had judged it best that the line should continue to
move ; so he caught that ram, and at the time he was sitting on
it and making the rope fast to it, we were imagining that he waa
lying in a swoon, overcome by fatigue and distress. When he
allowed the ram to get up it fell to plunging around, trying to
rid itself of the rope, and this was the signal which we had risen
up with glad shouts to obey. We had followed this ram round
and round in a circle all day — a thing which was proven by the
discovery that we had watered the Expedition seven time? at
one and the same spring in seven hours. As expert a woodman
as I am, I had somehow failed to notice this until my attention
was called to it by a hog. This hog was always wallowing there,
and as he was the only hog we saw his frequent repetition, to-
gether with his unvarying similarity to himself, finally caused
me to reflect that he must be the same hog, and this led me to
the deduction that this must be the same spring, also — which
indeed it was. ^;

I made a note of this curious thing, as showing in a striking
manner the relative difference between glacial action and the
action of the hog. It is now a well established fact that glaciers
move ; I consider that my observations go to show with equal
conclusiveness that a hog in a spring does not move. I shall be
glad to receive the opinions of other observers upon this point.

To return, for an explanatory moment, to that guide, and then
I shall be done with him. After leaving the ram tied to the
rope, he had wandered at large for a while, and then happened
to run across a cow. Judging that a cow would naturally know
more than a guide, he took her by the tail, and the result justi-
fied his judgment. She nibbled leisurely her way down hill till
it was near milking timOf then she struck for home and towed
him into Zermatt.

A TRAMP aBBOABI

CHAPTER XXXIV.

WS went into camp on that wild spot to wMnh tiufct nanb. had
brought us. The men were greatly fatigued. Iheir con-
Tiction that we were lost was forgotten in the cheer of a good
gupper, and before the reaction had a chance to set in, I loaded
them up with paregoric and put them to bed.

Next morning I was considering in my mind our desperate
tituation and trying to think of a remedy, when Harris came to
me with a Baedeker map which showed conclusively that the
mountain we were on was still in Switzerland — yes, every part of
it was in Switzerland. So we were not lost, after all. This wa»
an immense relief j it lifted the weight of two such mountains
from my breast. I inunediately had the news disseminated and
the map exhibited. The effect was wonderful. As soon as the
men saw with their own eyes that they knew whore they were,
and that it was only the summit that was lost and not themselves,
they cheered up instantly iand said with one accord, let the sum-
mit take care of itself, they were not interested in its troubles.

Our distresses being at an end, I now determined to rest the
men in camp and give the scientific department of the Expedition
a chance. First, I made a barometric observation, to get our
altitude, but I could not perceive that there was any result. I
knew, by my scientific reading, that either thermometers or
barometers ought to be boiled, to make them accurate ; I did not
know which it was, so I boiled both. There was still no result ;
60 I examined these instruments and discovered that they pos-
sessed radical blemishes : the barometer had no hand but the
brass pointer and the ball of the thermometer was stuffed with
tin foil. I might have boiled those things to rags, and never
found out anything. .

I hunted up another barometer ; it was new and perfect. I
boiled it half an hour in a pot of bean soup which the cooks were
making. Tlie result was unexpected: the instrument was not

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

1:1

II]

•ffeoted At til, but there was luch a itrong baromeier taste to
the aoup that the head cook, who was a most conscientious per-
son, changed its name in the bill of fare. The dish was so greatly
liked by all, that I ordered the cook to have barometer soup
every day. It was believed that the barometer might eventnally
be ix\jured, but I did not care for that. I had demonstrated to
my satisfaction that it could not tell how high a mountain was,
therefore I had no real use for it. Changes of the weather I
could take care of without it ; I did not wish to know when the
weather was going to be good, what 1 wanted to know was when
it was going to be bad, and this 1 could find out from Harris's
ooms. Harris had had his corns tested and regulated at the
government observatory in Heidelberg, and one could depend
upon them with confidence. So I transferred the new barometer
to the cooking department, to be used for the official mess. It
was found that even a pretty fair article of soup could be made
with the defective barometer ; so I allowed that one to be trans-
ferred to the subordinate messes.

I next boiled the thermometer, and got a most excellent result*,
the mercury went up to about 200<^ Farenheit. In the opinion of
the other scientists of the Expedition, this seemed to indicate
that we had attained the extraordinary altitude of 200,000 feet
above sea level. Science places the line of eternal snow at about
10,000 feet above sea level. There was no snow where we were^
consequently it was proven that the eternal snow line ceases
somewhere above the 10,000 foot lavel and does not begin any
more. This was an interesting fact, and one which had not been
observed by any observer before. It was as valuable as interest*
hig, too, since it would open up the deserted summits of tne
highest Alps to population and agriculture. It was a proud
thing to be where we were, yet it caused us a pang to reflect that
but for that ram we might just as well have been 200,000 feet
higher.

The success of ray last experiment induced me to try an ox
periment with my photographic apparatus. I got it out, and
boiled one of my cameras, but the thing was a failure : it made
the wood swell up and burst, and I could not see that the lenses
were any better than they were before.

I now concluded to boil a guide. It might improve him, it

A TIUMP ABBOAD.

could not impair hit oMfulness. Bui I wm not allowed to pro
eeed. Guides have no feeling for science, and this one would not
consent to be made imcomfortable in its interest.

In the midst of my scientific work, one of those needless acci
dents happened which are always occurring among the ignorant
and thoughtless. A porter shot at a chamois and missed if and
crippled the Latinist. This was not a serious matter to me, for a
l^tinist's duties are as well performed on crutches as otherwise
—but the fact remained that if the Latinist had not happened to
be in the way a mule would have got that load. That would have
been quite another matter, for when it comes down to a question
of value there is a palpable difference between a Latinist and a
mule. I could not depend on having a Latinist in the right place
every time ; so, to make things safe, I ordered that in future the
chamois must not be hunted within the limits of the camp with
any other weapon than the forefinger.

My nerves had hardly grown quiet after this affair when they
got another shake-up— one which utterly unmannea me tor a
moment. A rumor swept suddenly through the camp that one
of the barkeepers had fallen over a precipice I

However, it turned out that it was only a chaplain. I had laid
in an extra force of chaplains, purposely to be prepared for
emergencies like this, but by some unaccountable oversight had
come away rather short-handed in the matter of barkeepers.

On the following morning we moved on, well refreshed and in
good spirits. I remember this day with peculiar pleasure, because
it saw our road restored to us. Yes, we found our road again, and
in quite an extraordinary way. We had plodded along some two
hours and a half, when we came up against a solid mass of rock
about twenty feet high. I did not need to be instructed by a
mule this time. I was already beginning to know more than any
mule in the Expedit'on. I at once put in a blast of dynamite,
and lifted that rock out of the way. But to my surprise and
mortification, I found that there had been a chalet on top of it.

I picked up such members of the family as fell in my vicinity,
and subordinates of my corps collected the rest. None of these
poor people were iiyured, happily, but they were much annoyed.
I explained to the head chaleteer just how the thing happened,
and that I was only searching for the road, and would certainly

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262

A TBAMP ABROAD.

I1AT6 given him tm.- V notice if I harl known he waa np thsit 1
■Aid I had meant no aixm, and hoped I had not lowered mynelf
in his estimation by ra^isiDg him a few rods in the air. I said
other judicious things, and finnlly when I offered to rebuild

his chalet, and pay for breakages, and throw m the cellar, he w.ii
mollified and satisfied. He hadn't any cellar at all, before ; lie
would not have as good a view, now, as formerly, but what he Im
lost in view he had gained in cellar, by exact measurement
■aid there wasn't another hole like that in the mount.-iiu

A TRAMP ABROAD.

268

h« would hare beon right if the late mule hod not tried to eat up
the nitro-glycorine. ' ^

I put a hundred ai<d sixtoen men at work, nnd they rebuilt the
chalet from its own debrid in fifteen minutes. It was a good
deal more picturesque than it was before, too. Tlie man said we
were now on the Feli-Stutz, above the Schwegmatt — information
which I was glad to get, since it gave us our position to a dcji^roe
of particularity which we had not been accustomed to for a <lay
or so. We also learned that we were standing at the foot of the
Riffelberg proper, and that the initial chapter of our work was
completed.

We had a fine view from here of the energetic Visp, as it
makes its first plunge into the world from under a huge arch of
solid ice, worn through the foot-wall of the great Gomer Glacier j
and we could also see the Furggenbach, which is the outlet of
the Furggen Glacier. ' ■ '

The mule road to the summit of the RifTelberg passed right in
front of the chalet, a circumstance which we almost immediately
noticed, because a procession of tourists was filing along it pretty
much all the time.* The chaleteer's business consisted in fur-
nishing refreshments to tourists. My blast had interrupted this
trade for a few minutes by breaking all the bottles on the place ;
but I gave the man a lot of whisky to sell for Alpine champagne,
and a lot of vinegar which would answer for Bhine wine, conse-
quently trade was soon as brisk as ever.

Leaving the Expedition outside to rest, I quartered myself in
the chalet, with Harris, purposing to correct my journals and
scientific observations before continuing the ascent. I had hardly
begun my work when a tall, slender, vigorous American youth of
about twenty-three, who was on his way down the mountain, en-
tered and came toward me with that breezy self-complacency
which is the adolescent's idea of the well bred ease of the man
of the world. His hair was short and parted accurately in the
middle, and he had all the look of an American person who
would be likely to begin his signature with an initial and smU
his middle name out. He introduced himself, smiling a smirKy
smile borrowed from the courtiers of the stage, extended a fair-

f-k F

■ " Pretty much " roay not be elegant Englisli, but it is kigh time it w«a^ There
is no elegant word or phrMe which meani juiit what it means.— M- T.

1 S. ..

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264

A TRAMP ABROAD.

skinned talon, and whilst he gripped my hand in it he bent hii
body forward three times at the hips, as the stage courtier does,
and said in the airiest and most condescending and patronizing
way — I quote his exaot language—

" Very glad to make your acquaintance, 'm sure ; very glad
indeed, assure you. I've read all your little efforts and greatly
admired them, and when I heard you were here, 1"

I indicated a chair, and he sat down. This grandee was the
grandson of an American of considerable note in his day, and
not wholly forgotten yet — a man who came so near being a great
man that he was quite generally accounted one while he lived.

I slowly paced the floor, pondering scientific problems, and
heard this conversation :

Grandson. First visit to Europe f

Harris. Mine? Yes.

O. S. (With a soft reminiscent sigh suggestive of by-gone joys
that may be tasted in their freshness but once.) Ah, I know
what it is to you. A first visit 1 — ah, the romance of it I I wish
I could feel it again.

H. Yes, I find it exceeds all my dreams. It is enchantment.
I go

O. 8. (With a dainty gesture of the hand signifying, " Spare
me your callow enthusiasms, good friend.") Yes, / know, 1 know ;
you go to cathedrals, and exclaim ; and you drag through league-
long picture galleries and exclaim ; and you stand here, and
there, and yonder, upon historic ground, and continue to exclaim;
and you are permeated with your first crude conceptions of Art,
and are proud and happy. Ah, yes, proud and happy — that
expresses it. Yes-yes, ei^joy it — it is right — it is an innocent revel.

JJ. And you ? Don't you do these things now ?

G. S. II O, that is very good I My dear sir, when you are
as old a traveler as I am, you will not ask such a question as that.
/ visit the regulation gallery, moon around the regulation cathe-
dral, do the worn round of the regulation sights, yet f Excuse me I

H. Well, what do you do, then ?

G. S. Do ? I flit — and flit — for 1 am ever on the wing — ^but 1
avoid the herd. To-day I am in Paris, to-morrow in Berlin, anon
in Bome ; but you would look for me in vain in the galleries of
the Louvre or the common resorts of the gazere in those other

4 TRAMP ABROAO.

866

rapiUli. If you would find me, you muBi Icok in the unvisited
nooks and corners where others never think of going. One day
you will find me making myself at home in som<* obscure pea-
DAnt's cabin, another day you will find me in some forgotten
castle worshiping some little gem of art which the careless eye
has overlooked and which th^ unexperienced would despise ;
again you will find me a guest in the inner sanctuaries ot palaces
while the herd is content to get a hurried glimpse of the unused
chambers by feeing a servant

n. You are a guest in such placet T

0. S. And a welcome one.

H. It is surprising. How does it come 7

0. S. My grandfather's name is a passport to all the oourta
in Europe. I have only to utter that name and every door ia
open to me. I flit from court to court at my own free will and
pleasure, and am always welcome. I am as much at home in the
palaces of Europe as you are among your relatives. I know
every titled person in Europe, I think. I have my pockets full
of invitations all the time. I am under promise now, to go to
Italy, where I am to be the guest of a successioQ of the noblest
houses in the land. In Berlin my life is a continued round of
gayety in the imperial palace. It is tho same, wherever I go.

H. It must be very, pleasant. But it must make Boston seem
a little slow when you are at home.

0. S. Yes, of course it does. But I don't go home much.
There's no life there — little to feed a man's higher nature. Bos-
ton's very narrow, you know. She doesn't know it, and you
couldn't convince her of it— so I say nothing when I'm there t
Where's the use ? Yes, Boston is very narrow, but she has such
a good opinion of herself that she can't see it. A man who has
traveled as much as I have, and seen as much of the world, sees
it plain enough, but he can't cure it, you know, so the best way is
to leave it and seek a sphere which is more in harmony with his
tastes and culture. I run across there, once a year, perhaps,
when I have nothing important on hand, but I'm very soon back
again. I spend my time in Europe.

E. I see. You map out your plans and

0. S. No, excuse me. I don't map out any plans. I simply
follow the inolination of the day. I am limited by no tiei^ no n-

M%'^

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266

A TRAMP ABROAD

quirements, I am not bound in any way. I am too old a travele?
to hamper myself with deliberate purposes. lam simply a tra-
veler — an inveterate traveler — a man of the world, in a word — I
can call myself by no other name. I do not say^ " I am going
here, or I am going there " — I say nothing at all, I only act. For
Instance, next week you may find me the guest of a grandee of
Bpain, or you may find me off for Venice, or flitting toward Dres-
den. I shall probably go to Egypt presently j friends will say t9
friends, ** He a at the Nile cataracts " — and at that very momMit

they will be surprised to learn that I am away (^yonder in India
somewhere. I am a constant surprise to people. They are always
saying, " Yes, he was in Jerusalem when we heard of him last,
but goodness knows where he is now."

Presently the Grandson rose to leave — discovered he had an
appointment with some Emperor, perhaps. He did his gracei
over again : gripped me with one talon, at arm's length, pressed
hat against his stomach with the other, bent his body m tne bia
middle three times, murmuring —

** Pleasure, 'm sure ; great pleasure, *m sure. Wish yon tnucb
success."

Then he removed his gracious presence. It it 4 great end
lolenm thing to have a grandfatheir.

▲ TRAMP ABROAD.

I h.'ive not purposed to miMrcpresent this boy in any way, for
(That little indignation he excited in me soon passed and loft
Qothing behind it but compassion. One cannot keep up a grudjje
tgainst a vacuum. I have tried to repeat the lad's very wore is ;
if I have failed anywhere I have at least not failed to rei)roduce
the marrow and meaning of what he said. He and the innocent
chatterbox whom I met on the Swiss lake are the most unique
and interesting specimens of Young America I came across dur-
ing my foreign tramping. I have made honest portraits of then- ■
not caricatures. The Grandson of twenty-three referred to hiu |
self five or six times as an " old traveller," and as many as three
times (with a serene complacency which was maddening) as a
" man of the world." There was something very delicious about
his leaving Boston to her "narrowness," unreproved and un
instructed. v . ;. ;

I formed the caravan in marching order, presently, and after
riding down the line to see that it was properly roped together,
gave the command to proceed. In a little while the road carried
us to open, grassy land. We were above the troublesome forest,
now, and had an uninterrupted view, straight before us, of our
summit — the summit of the Eitfelberg.

We followed the mule road, a zigzag course, now to the right,
now to the left, but always up, and always crowded »nd incom
moded by going and coming files of reckless tourists who wer«
never, in a single instance, tied together. I was obliged to exert
the utmost care and caution, for in many places the road was not
two yards wide, and often the lower side of it sloped away in
slanting precipices eight and even nine feet deep. I had to
encourage the men constantly, to keep them from giving way to
their unmanly fears.

We might have made the summit before night, but for a delay-
caused by the loss of an umbrella. I was for allowing the um-
brella to remain lost, but the men murmured, and with reason,
for in this exposed region we stood in peculiar need of protection
against avalanches : so I went into camp and detached a strong
party to go after the missing article.

The difficulties of the next morning were severe, but our cour-
age waa bi^hi for our goal was near. At noon we conquered tlie
last impediment— we rtood at last upon the aummit; And without

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A TRABTP ABROAD.

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the loss of a single maa except the mule 90A, ate the gljoerine.
Our great achievement was achieved — thetpoBsibility of the im-
possible was demonstrated, and Harris and I walked proudly into
the great dining room of the Riifelberg Hotel and stood our alpen-
stocks up in the comer.

Yes, I had made the grand adcent ; but it was a mistake to
do it in evening dress. The plug hats were battered, the swallow-
tails were fluttering rags, mud added no grace, the general effect
was unpleasant and even disreputable.

There were about seventy-five tourists at the hotel — mainly
ladies and little children — and they gave us an admiring welcome
which paid us for all our privations and sufferings. The ascent
had been made, and the names and dates now stand recorded on
a stone monument there to prove it to all future tourists.

I boiled a thermometer and took an altitude, with a most
curious result: the summit was not as high as the point on the
mountain side where I had taken the first altitude. Suspecting
that 1 had made an important discovery, I prepared to verify i4
There happened to be a still higher summit (called the Gorner
Grat) above the hotel, and notwithstanding the fact that it over-
looks a glacier from a dizzy height, and that the ascent is dilBScult
and dangerous, I resolved to venture up there and boil a ther-
mometer. So I sent a strong party, with some borrowed hoes, in
charge of two chiefs of service, to dig a stairway in the soil all the
way, and this I ascended, roped to the guides. This breezy height
was the summit proper — so I accomplished even more than I had
originally puiposed to do. This fool-hardy exploit is recorded on
another stone monument.

I boiled my thermometer, and sure enough this spot, which
purported to be 2,000 feet higher than the locality of the hotel, ]
turned out to be 9,000 feet lower. Thus the fact was clearly de-
monstrated that, above a certain point, the higher a point seems
to be, the lower it actually is. Our ascent itself was a great
achievement, but this contribution to science was an inconceiva-
bly greater matter.

Cavilors object that water boils at a lower and lower tempera-
ture thti higher and higher you go, and hence the apparent ano-
maly. T answer that 1 do not base my theory upon what the
boiling uater does, but upon what a boiled thermometer layf.
X9M P*n't go bfbiod the thermometer.

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A TKAMP ABROAD.

209

t, which
le hotel,
early de-
nt seems
a great
ionoeiva-

I had a magnificent view of Monte Hosa, and apparently all
the rest of the Alpine world, from* that high place. All the cir-
ling horizon was piled high with a mighty tumult of snowy crests.
One might have imagined he saw before him the tented camps
of a beleaguering host of Brobdignagians.

But lonely, conspicuous, and superb, rose that wonderful up>
right wedge, the Matterhom. Its precipitous sides were pow*
dered over with snow, and the upper half hidden in thick clouds

—^ ^•j^X

which now and then dissolved to cobweb films and gave brief
glimpses of the imposing tower as through a veil. A little late*
ihe Matterhom took to himself the semblanco of a volcano ; he
was stripped naked to his apex — around this circled vast wreath*
of white cloud which strung slowly out and streamed away slant-
wise toward the sun, a twenty-mile stretch of rolling and tumb-
ling vapor, and looking just as if it were pouring out of a crater.
Later again, one of the mountain's sides was clean and clear, and
another side densely clothed from base to summit in thick
smoke-like cloud which feathered off and blew around the shaft's
sharp edge like the smoke around the corners of a burning
^uildin^ Th<» Malterhorn is always exporiinvntitig, and always

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270

A TRAMP ABROAD.

I" I 1

I 'I

gets up fine effects, too. In the sunset, when all the lower world
is palled in gloom, it points toward heaven out of the pervading
blackness like a finger of fire. In the sunrise — well, they say it
is very fine in the sunrise.

Authorities agree that there is no such tremendous "layout"
of snowy Alpine magnitude, grandeur and sublimity to be seen
from any other accessible point as the tourist may see from the
summit of the Rifielberg. Therefore, let the tourist rope him-
self up and go there ; for I have shown that with nerve, caution,
and judgment, the thing can be done.

I wish to add one remark here — in parenthesis, so to speak—
suggested by the word " snowy," which I have just used. We
have all seen hills and mountains and levels with snow on thorn,
and so we think we know all the aspects and effects produced by
snow. But indeed we do not, until we have seen the Alps. Pos-
sibly mass and distance add something — at any rate something
U added. Among other noticeable things, there is a dazzling,
hitense whiteness about the distant Alpine snow, when the sun
is on it, which one recognizes as peculiar, and not familiar to the
eye. The snow which one is accustomed to has a tint to it —
painters usually give it a bluish cast — but there is no perceptible
tint to the distant Alpine snow when it is trying to look its
whitest. As to the unimaginable splendor of it vh«n the sui» **
bUudng down <m it— well, it simply ii unimaginabl*.

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A TBAMP ABROAD.

271

m
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CHAPTER XXXV.

AOniiyfi book is a queer thing. The reader has just Been
what a man who undertakes the great ascent from Zermatt
to the RiffelDerg hotel must experience. Yet Baedeker makes
these strange statements concerning this matter :

1. Distance — three hours.

2. The road cannot be mistaken.

3. Guide unnecessary.

4. Distance from Eiffelberg hotel to the Gorner Grat, one
hour and a Aalf.

5. Ascent simple and easy. Guide unnecessary.

6. Elevation of Zermatt above sea level, 5,315 feet.

7. Elevation of Riftelberg hotel above sea level, 8,429 feet.

8. Elevation of the Gorner Grat above sea level, 10,289 feet.
I have pretty eflfectually throttle I these errors by sending him

the following demonstrated facts :

1. Distance from Zermatt to RiflEelberg hotel, seven days.

2. The road can be mistaken. If I am the first that did it, I
want the credit of it, too.

3. Guides are necessary, for none but a native can read those
finger-boards.

4. The estimate of the elevation of the several localities above
sea level is pretty correct — for Baedeker. He only miases it
about a hundred and eighty or ninety thousand feet.

I found my arnica invaluable. My men were suffering excru*
ciatingly, from the friction of sitting down so much. During two
or three days, not one of them wms able to do more than lie down
or walk about ; yet so effective was the arnica, that on the fourth
all were able to sit up. I consider, that, more than to anything
else, I owe the success of our great undertaking to arnica and
paregoric.

My men being restored to health and strength, my main per.
plexiiyi nowi was how to ^et them down the mountain again, I

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•272

▲ TRAMP ABROAD.

was not willing to expose the brave fellows to the perils, fatigues,
and hardships of that fearful route again if it could be helped.
First I thought of balloons ; but of course I had to give that idea
up, for balloons were not procurable. I thought of several other
expedients, but upon consideration discarded them, for cause.
But at last 1 hit it. I was aware that the movement of glaciers is
an established fact, for I had read it in Baedeker ; so I resolved
to take passage for Zermatt on the great Gomer Glacier.

Very good. The next thing was, how to get down to the gla-
cier comfortably — for the mule-road to it was long, and winding,
and wearisome. I set my mind at work, and soon thought out a
plan. One look? straight down upon the vast frozen river called
the Gorner Glacier, from the Gorner Grat, a sheer precipice twelve
hundred feet high. We had one hundred and fifty-four urn.
b#ollas — and what is an umbrella but a parachute ?

I mentioned this noble idea to Harris, with enthusiasm, and
was about to order the Expedition to form on the Gorner Grat,
with their umbrellas, and prepare for flight by platoons, each
platoon in command of a guide, when Harris stopped me and
urged me not to be too hasty. He asked me if this method of
descending the Alps had ever been tried before. I said no, I hiul
not heard of an instance. Then, in his opinion, it was a matter
of considerable gravity j in his opinion it would not be well to
send the whole command over the cliff at once : a better way
would be to send down a single individual, first, and see how he
fared.

I saw the wisdom of this idea instantly. I said as much, and
thanked my agent cordially, and told him to take his umbrella
and try the thing right away, and wave his hat when he got down,
if he struck in a soft place, and then I would ahro the rest right
along.

Harris was greatly touched with this mark of confidence, and
said so, in a voice that had a perceptible tremble in it ; but at
the same time he said he did not feel himself worthy of so con-
spicuous a favour j that it might cause jealousy in the commtind,
for there were plenty who would not hesitate to say he had used
underhand means to get the appo ment, whereas his conscience
would bear him witness that he Lad not sought it at all, nor evevj
in hia seci'et beftrt. desired it

A TRAMP ABROAD.

278

I said these words did him extreme credit, but that he must
not throw away the imperishable distinction cf being the first
man to descend an Alp per parachute, simply to save the feel*
ings of some envious underlings. No, I said, he must accept
the appointment — it was no longer an invitation — it was a com*
mand.

He thanked me with effusion, and said that putting the thing
in this form removed every objection. He retired, and soon re>
turned with his umbrella, his eyes flaming with gratitude and his
cheeks palid with joy. Just then the head guide passed along.
Harris's expression changed to one of infinite tenderness, and he
said —

" That man did me a cruel injury four days ago, and I said in
my heart he should live to perceive and confess that the only
noble revenge a man can take upon his enemy is to return good
foreviL I resign in his favour. Appoint him."

I threw my arms around the generous fellow and said —

" Harris, you are the noblest soul that lives. You shall not re*
gret this sublime act, neither shall the world fail to know of it.
You shall have opportunities for transcending this one, too, if I
live — remember that."

I called the head guide to me and appointed him on the spot.
But the thing aroused no enthusiasm in him. He did not take
to the idea at all. He said —

" Tie myself to an umbrella and jump over the Gomer Grat t
Excuse me, there are a great many pleasanter roads to the devil
than that."

Upon a discussion of the subject with him, it appeared that
he considered the project distinctly and decidedly dangerous. I
was not convinced, yet I was not willing to try the experiment
in any risky way — that is, in a way that might cripple the strength
and efficiency of the Expedition. I was about at my wit's end
when it occurred to me to try it on the Latinist.

He was called in. But he declined, on the plea of inexperience,
diffidence in public, lack of curiosity, and I don't know what alL
Another man declined on account of a cold in the head ; thought
he oujht to avoid exposure. Another could not jump well —
never could jump well — did not believe he could jump so lar
without Jong and patient practice. Another was afraid it wm

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274

A TRAMP ABROAD.

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goiug to rain, and his umbrella had a hole in ii. Everybody haa
an excuse, The result was what the reader has by this time
guessed : the most ma^ificent idea that was ever conceived had
to be abandoned, from sheer lack of a person with enterprise
enough to carry it out. Yes, I actually had to give that thing up
whilst doubtless I should live to see somebody use it and take
all the credit from me.

Well, I had to go overland— there was no other way. I marched
the Expedition down the steep and tedious mule path and took
up as good a position as I could upon the middle of the Glacier
— because Baedeker said the middle part travels the fastest.
As a measure of economy, however, I put some of the heavier
baggage on the shoreward parts, to go as slow freight.

I waited and waited, but the Glacier did not move. Night was
coming on, the darkness began to gather — still we did not budge.
It occurred to me then, that there might be a time-table in
Baedeker : it would be well to find out the hours of starting. I
called for the book — it could not be found. Bradshaw would
certainly contain a time table : but no Bradshaw could be found.

Very well, I must make the best of the situatiqji. So I pitched
the tents, picketed the animals, milked the cows, had supper,
paregoricked the men, established the watch, and went to bed—
with orders to call me as soon as we came in sight of Zermatt.

I awoke about half-past ten, next morning, and looked around.
We hadn't budged a peg I At first I could not understand it :
then it occurred to me that the old thing must be aground. So
I cut down some trees and rigged a spar on the starboard and
another on the port side, and fooled away upwards of three hours
trying to spar her off. But it was no use. She was half a mile
wide and fifteen or twenty miles long, and there was no telling
just whereabouts she was aground. The men began to show
uneasiness, too, and presently they came flying to me with ashy
faces, saying she had sprung a leak.

Nothing but my cool behavior at this critical time saved us
from another panic. I ordere^i tnem to show me the place,
They led me to a spot where a huge boulder lay in a deep pool ol
clear and brilliant water. It did look like a pretty bad leak, but
I kept that to myself. I made a pump and set the men to work
to pump out the glacier. We made a success of it. I perceived,

A TEAM? ABBOAD.

S75

then, that it was not a leak at all.' Thic boulder had deieended
from a precipice and stopped on the ice in the middle of the
glacier, and the aun had warmed it up, every day, and come*
quently it had melted its way deeper and deeper into the ice,
until at last it reposed, and we had found it, hx a deep pool of the
clearest and coldest water.

Presently Baedeker was found again, and I hunted eagerly for
the timetable. There was none. The book simply said the
glacier was moving all the time. This was satisfactory, so I shut
up the book and chose a good position to view the scenery as
we passed along. I stood there some time enjoying the trip, but
at last it occurred to me that we did not seem to be gaining any
on the scenery. I said to myself, " Ihis confounded old thing's
aground again, sure" — and opened Baedeker to see if I could run
across any remedy for these annoying interruptions. I soon
found a sentence which threw a dazzling light upon the matter.
It said, " The Gorner Glacier travels at an average rate of a little
less than an inch a day." I have seldom felt so outraged. I hav«
seldom had my confidence so wantonly betrayed. I made a
small calculation : 1 inch a day, say 30 feet a year ; estimated
distance to Zermatt, 3 1-18 miles. Time required to go by glacier,
a little over five hundred years I I said to myself, " I can toalk
it quicker— and before I will patronize such a fraud as this, 1 will
doit." ■ -

When I revealed to Harris the fact that'the passenger-part oi
this glacier—the central part — the lightning-express part, so to
speak—was not due in Zermatt till the sunmier of 2378, and that
the baggage, coming along the slow edge, would not arrive imtil
some generations later, he burst out with —

" That is European management, all over I An inch a day —
think of that 1 Five hundred years to go a trifle over three miles 1
But I am not a bit surprised. It's a Catholic glacier. You can
tell by the look of it. And the management."

I said, no, I believed nothing but the extreme end of it was in
a Catholic canton.

" Well, then, it's a government glacier," said Harris. " It's all
the same. Over here the government runs everything — so every
thing's slow *, e low, and ill managed. But with us, everything's
done by private enterpriee— and then there ain't much lolling

i".

276

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

vmiu.

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ftronnd, jou can depend on it. I wish Tom Scott could got hi*
hands on this torpid old slab once— -you'd m«i It take a different
gait from this."

I 8aid I was sure he would increase the speed, if there was trade
enough to justi'" it.

" He'd make ti tule," said Harris. " That's the difference be-
tween governments and individuals. Governments don't care,
individuals do. 'I'om Scott would take all the trade ; in two years
Corner stock would go to two hundred, and inside of two more
you would see all the other glaciers under the hammer for taxes."
After a reflective pause, Harris added, " A little less than an inch
a day ; a little less than an inch, mind you. Well, I'm losing my
reverence for glaciers."

I was feeling much the same way myself. I have traveled by
canal boat, ox-wagon, raft, and by the Ephesus and Smyrna rail*
way ; but when it comes down to good, solid, honest, slow motion,
I bet my money on the glacier. As a means of passenger trans*
portation, I consider the glacier a failure ; but as a vehicle for
slow freight, I think she fills the bill. In the matter of putting
the fine shades on that line of budlnesB, I judge she could teach
the Gen^sans something.

I ordered the men to break camp and prepare for the land
journey to Zermatt. At this moment a most interesting find was
made ; a dark object, bedded in the glacial ice, was cut out with
the ice-axes, and it proved to be a piece of the undressed skin of
some animal — a hair trunk, perhaps ] but a close inspection dis-
abled the hair trunk theory, and further discussion and exami-
nation exploded it entirely — that is, in the opinion of all the
scientists except the cue who had advanced it. This one clung
to Lis theory with the affectionate fidelity characteristic of origi-
nators of scientific theories, and afterwards won many itf the first
scientists of the age to his view, by a very able pamphlet which
he wrote, entitled, " Evidence going to show that the hair trunk,
in a wild state, belonged to the early glacial period, and roamed
the wastes of chaos in company with the cave bear, primeval man,
and the other Oolitics of tho Old Silurian family."

Each of our scientists had a theory of his own, and put forward
an animal of his own as a candidate for the skin. I sided with
the geologic of the Expedition in the belief that this patch of

277

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

.kill had onc«» helped to cover a Hiherian elephant, in lOine old
forgotten age — but we divided there, the geologist bellaring
that this discovery proved that Siberia had formerly b^en located
where Switierland is now, whereas I hold the oplnMri that it
merely proved that the primeval Swiss was not the dull savage h«
is represented to have been, but was a being of high intellectual
development, who liked to go to the menagerie.

We arrived that evening, after many hardships and adventures,
in some fields close to the great ice-arch where the mad Visp
boils and surges out from under the foot of the great Gomel
Glacier, and here we camped, our perils over and our magnificent
undertaking successfully completed. We mar -hed into Zt aati
the next day, and were received with the most lavish honors and
applause. A document, signed and sealed by all the authorities
was giren to me, which established and endorsed the fact that J
had made the ascent of the Riffelberg. This I wear aroimd mji
Deck, and it will be buried with me when I am no more.

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278

A TBIMP ABXtOAD.

* V

CHAPTER XXXVI.

I AM not no ignorant about glacial movement, now, aa I was
when I took passage on the Gomer Glacier. I have " read up,"
since. I am aware that these vast bodies of ice do not travel at
the same ratu of speed : whilst the Gomer Glacier makes less
than an inch a day, the Unter-Aar Glacier makes as much as
eight ; and still other glaciers are said to go twelve, sixteen, and
even twenty inches a day. One writer says that the slowest
glacier travels 25 feet a year, and the fastest 400.

What is a glacier ? It is easy to say it looks like a frozen river
which occupies the bed of a winding gorge or gully between
mountains. But that gives no notion of its vastness. For it is
sometimes 600 feet thick, and we are not accustomed to rivers
600 feet deep ; no, our rivers are six feet, twenty feet, and some-
times fifty feet deep : we are not quite able to grasp so large a
fact as an ice river 600 feet deep.

The glacier's surface is not smooth and level, but has deep
swales and swelling elevations, and sometimes has the look of a
tossing sea whose turbulent billows were frozen hard in the instant
of their most violent motion ; the glacier's surface is not a flaw-
less mass, but is a river with cracks or crevasses, some narrow,
some gaping wide. Many a man, the victim of a slip or a mis-
step, has plunged down one of these and met his death. Men
have been fished out of thenl alive, but it was when they did not
go to a great depth ; the cold of the great depths would quickly
stupefy a man, whether he was hurt or unhurt. These cracks
do not go straight down ; one can seldom see more than twenty
to forty feet down them ; consequently men who have disappear-
ed in them have been sought for, in the hope that they had stop-
ped within helping distance, whereas their case, in most instances,
had really been hopeless from the beginning.

In 1864 a party of tourists was descending Mount Blanc and
while picking their way over one of the mighty glaciers of that

A TRAMP ABROAD.

279

lof^y region, roped together, as wai proper, a young porter dis-
engaged himself from the line and started across an ioe-bridge
which spanned a crevasse. It broke under him with a crash,
and he disappeared. The others oould not see how deep he had
gone, so it might be worth while to try and rescue him. A brave
young guide named Michel Payot volunteered.

Two ropes were made fast to his leather belt, and he bore the
end of a third one in his hand to tie to the victim in case he
found him. He was lowered into the crevasse, he descended
deeper and deeper between the clear blue walls of solid ice, he
approached a bend in the crack and disappeared under it.
Down, and still down, he went, into this profound grave ; when
be had reached a depth of eighty feet he passed under another bend
in the crack, and thence descended eighty feet lower, as between
perpendicular precipices. Arrived at this stage of 160 feet below
the surface of the glacier, he peered through the twilight dim-
ness and perceived that the chasm took another turn and
stretched away at a steep slant to unknown deeps, for its course
was lost in darkness. What a place that was to be in — especially
if that leather belt should break ? The compression of the belt
threatened to sufiocate the intrepid fellow; he called to his
friends to draw him up, but could not make them hear. They
still lowered him, deeper and deeper. Then he jerked his third
cord as vigorously as he could; his friends understood, and
dragged him out of those icy jaws of death.

Then they attached a bottle to a cord and sent it down two
hundred feet, but it found no bottom. It came up covered with
congelations — evidence enough that even if the poor porter had
reached the bottom with unbroken bones, a swift death from
cold was sure, anyway.

A glacier is a stupendous, ever-proigressing, resistless plow. It
pushes ahead of it masses of boulders which are packed together,
and they stretch across the gorge, right in front of it, like a long
grave or a long, sharp roof. This is called a moraine. It also
shoves out a moraine along each side of its course.

Imposing as the modem glaciers are, they are not so huge as
were soine that once existed. For instance, Mr. Whymper says :

^ At some very remote period the Valley of Aosta was occupied
by a vast glacier, which flc — ** •*«wn its entire length from Mont

(f '

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280

▲ TBAMP ABROAD.

Blanc to the plain of Piedmont, remained gtationary, or nearly
so, at its mouth for many centuries, and deposited there eno^
mouB masses of debris. The length of this glacier exceeded
eighty miles, and it drained a basin twenty-five to thirty-five
miles across, bounded by the highest mountains in the Alps.
The great peaks rose several thousand feet above the glaciers,
and then, as now, shattered by sun and frost, poured down their
showers of rocks and stones, in witness of which there are the
immense piles of angular fragments that constitute the moraines
of Ivria.

" The moraines around Ivria are of extraoramary dimensions.
That which was on the left bank of the glacier is about thirteen
miles long, and in some places rises to a height of two thousand
one hundred and thirty feet above the floor of the valley ! The
terminal moraines (those which are pushed in front of the gla-
ciers) cover something like twenty square miles of country. At
the mouth of the Valley of the Aosta, the thickness of the gla-
cier must have been at least two thousand feet, and its width, at
that part,^«« miles and a quarter.^'

It is not easy to get at a comprehension of a mats of ice lik'j
that. If one could cleave off the butt end of such a glacier — uo
oblong block two or three miles wide by five and a quarter long
and two thousand feet thick, he could completely hide the city
of New York under it, and Trinity steeple would only stick up
into it relatively as far as a shingle nail would stick up into the
bottom of a Saratoga trunk.

" The boulders from Mont Blanc, upon the plain below Ivria,
assure us that the glacier which transported them existed for a
prodigious length of time. Their present distance from the cliffs
from which they were derived is about 420,000 feet, and if we
assume that they traveled at the rate of 400 feet per annum, their
journey must have occupied them no less than 1055 years \ In
all probability they did not travel so fast.''

Glaciers are sometimes hurried out of their characteristic snail-
pace. A marvelous spectacle is presented then. Mr. Whymper
refers to a case whish occurred in Iceland in 1721 :

" It seems that in the neighborhood of the mountain Kotlugja,
large bodies of water formed underneath, or within the glaciers
(either on account of the interior heat of the earth, or from

▲ TRAMP ABROAD.

281

other emifes), and at I«ngth acquired irresistible power, tore the
glaciers from their mooring on the land, and swept them over
every obstacle into the sea. Prodigious masses of ice were thus
borne for a distance of about ten miles over land in the space of
ft few hours ; and their bulk was so enormous that they covered
the sea for seven miles from the shore, and remained aground in
six hundred feet of water I The denundation of the land was
upon a grand scale. All superficial accumulations were swept
away, and the bed-rock was exposed. It was described in graphic
language how all irregularities and depressions were obliterated,
and a smooth surface of several miles area laid bare, and that
this area had the appearance of having heen planed by a plane."
The account translated from the Icelandic says that the moun*
tain like n~ins of this majestic glacier so covered the sea that as
far as the eye could reach no open water was discoverable, even
from the highest peaks. A monster wall or barrier of ice was
built across a considerable stretch of land, too, by this strange
irraptiont * .4

'< One can form some idea of the altitude of this barrier of ice
when it is mentioned that from Hofdabrekka farm, which lies
high up on a field, one could not see ^jorleifhofdi opposite,
which is a fell 640 feet in hei^^t; but in order to do so had to
clamber up a mountain slope east of Hofdabrekka 1,200 feet
high."

These things will help the reader to understand why it is that
a man who keeps company with glaciers comes to feel tolerably
insignificant by and by. The Alps and the glaciers together are )
able to take every bit of conceit out of a man and reduce hia
self-importance to zero if he will only remain within the influence
of their sublime presence long enough to give it a fair and rea-
sonable chance to do its work.

The Alpine glaciers move — that is granted now by everybody.
But there was a time when people scoffed at the idea; they
said you might as well expect leagues of solid rock to crawl
along the ground as expect solid leagues of ice to do it. But
proof after proof was furnished, and finally the world had to be-
lieve

The wife men not «nly said the glacier moved, but they timed
iu movement Th«y ciphered out a glaci«r'<i 4*t«, imd then eaid

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282

A TRAMP ABROAD.

confidently that it would travel just so far in so many years.
There is record of a striking and curious example of the accuracy
which may be attained in these reckonings.

In 1820 the ascent of Ifont Blanc was attempted by a Russian
and two Englishmen, with seven guides. They had reached a
prodigious altitude, and were approaching the summit, when an
avalanche swept several of the party down a sharp slope of two
hundred feet and hurled five of them (all guides > into one of the
crevasses of a glacier. The life of one of the five was saved by a
long barometer which was strapped to his back — ^it bridged the
crevasse and suspended him until help came. The alpenstock
or baton of another saved its owner in a similar way. Three men
were lost — Pierre Balmat, Pierre Carrier, and Auguste Tairraz.
They had been hurled down into the fathomless great deeps of
the crevasse.

Dr. Forbes, the English geologist, had made frequent visits to
the Mont Blanc region, and had given much attention to the
disputed question of the movement of glaciers, During one of
these visits he completed his estimates of the rate of movement
of the glacier which had swallowed up the three guides, and
uttered the prediction that the glacier would deliver up its dead
at the foot of the mountain thirty-five years from the time of the
accident, or possibly forty.

A dull, slow journey — a movement imperceptible to any eye-
but it was proceeding, nevertheless, and without cessation. 1 1
was a journey which a rolling stone would make in a few seconds
— the lofty point of departure was visible from the village below
in the valley. ,

The prediction cut curiously close to the truth ; forty-one year's
after the catastrophe, the remains were cast forth at the foot of
the glacier.

I find an interesting account of the matter in the ** Histoire du
Mont Blanc, by Stephen d'Arve." I will condense this account,
as follows: -^ ' -

On the 12th of August, 1861, at the hour of the close of mass,
a guide arrived out of breath at the mairie of the CSiamonix, and
bearing on his shoulders a very lugubrious burden. It was a
sack filled with human remains which he had gathered from tht
orifice of a crevasse in the Glacier des Bossoxmi. He eoi^eotursd

■Kr--^'*^..*:"'

▲ TRAMP ABROAD.

2H8

that theie wer« remains of the viotims of the catMtrophe of 1820,
and a minute inquest, immediately instituted by the local autho*
rities, soon demonstrated the correctness of his supposition.
The contents of the sack were spread upon a long table, and
officially inventoried, as follows :

Portions of three human skulls. Several tufts of black and
blonde hair. A human jaw, furnished with fine white teeth. A
fore-arm and hand, all the fingers of the latter intact. The flesh
was white and fresh, and both the hand and arm preserved a
degree of flexibility in the articulations.

The ring-finger had suffered a slight abrasion, and the stain of
the blood was still visible and unchanged after forty-one years.
A left foot, the flesli white and fresh.

Along with these fragments were portions of waistcoats, hats,
hob-nailed shoes and other clothing ; a wing of a pigeon, with
black feathers ; a fragment of an alpenstock ; a tin lantern ; and
lastly, a boiled leg of mutton, the only flesh among all the
remains that exhaled an unpleasant odor. The guide said that
the mutton had no odor when he took it from the glacier; an
hour's exposure to the sun had already begun the work of
decomposition upon it.

Persons were called for, to identify these poor pathetio relics,
and a touching scene ensued. Two men were still living who
had witnessed the grim catastrophe of nearly half a century
before — Marie Couttet (saved by his baton) and Julien Davouas-
B()uz, more than eighty years old, contemplated the mournful
remains mutely and with a vacant eye, for his intelligence and
his memory were torpid with age ; but Couttet's faculties were
■till perfect at 72, and he exhibited strong emotion. He said —

"Pierre Balmat was fair; he wore a straw hat. This bit of
•kuU, with the tuft of blonde hair, was his ; this is his hat. Pierre
Carrier was very dark ; this skull was his, and this felt hat. This
is Balmat's hand, I remember it so well t " and the old man bent
down and kissed it reverently, then closed his fingers upon it in
an afiectionate grasp, crying out, " I could never have dared to
believe that before quitting this world it would be granted me to
press once more the hand of one of those brave comrades, the
hand of my good friend Ealmat."

There it lomething wierdly pathetio about the picture of that

t'M

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284

A TRAMP ABROAD.

4:V

white-haired vetenm greeting with his loving hand-shake this
friend who had been dead torty years. When these hands haa
met last, they were alike in the softness and freshness of youth i
now, one was brown and wrinkled and homy with age, while
the other was still as young and fair and blemishless as if those
forty years had come and gone in a single moment, leaving no
mark of their passage. Time had gone on, in the one case •, it
had stood still in the other. A man who has not seen a friend
for a generation, keeps him in mind always as he saw him last>
and is somehow surprised, aiid is also shocked, to see the ageing
change the years have wrought when he sees him again. Marie
Couttet's experience, in finding his friend's hand imaltered from
the image of it which he had carried in his memory for forty
years, is an experience which stands alone in the history of man,
perhaps.

Couttet identified other relics : \

*' This hat belonged to Auguste Tairraz. He carried the cage
of pigeons which we proposed to set free upon the summit
Here is the wing of one of those pigeons. And here is the frag
ment of my broken baton : it was by grace of that baton that my
life was saved. Who could have told me that I should one day
have the satisfaction to look again upon this bit of wood that sup-
ported me above the grave that swallowed up my unfortunate
companions ! "

No portions of the body of Tairraz had been found. A diligent
search was made, but without result. However, another search
was instituted a year later, and this had better success. Many
fragments of clothing which had belonged to the lost guides were
<liscovered ; also, part of a lantern, and a green veil, with blood
stains on it. But the interesting feature was this :

One of the searchers came suddenly upon a sleeved arm pro-
jecting from a crevice in the ice-wall, with the hand outstretched
as if ofifering greeting I '' The nails of this white hand were still
posy, and the pose of the extended fingers seemed to express an
eloquent welcome to the long lost light of day."

The hand and arm were alone ; there was no trunk. After be-
ing removed from the ice the flesh tints quickly faded out and
the rosy nails took on the alabaster hue of death. This was the
third right hand found : therefore, all three of the lott men wsr*
«ooounted fer^ beyond cavil or questions \

A TRAMP ABROAD.

285

Dr. Hunel wm the Russian gentleman of the party which made
the ascent at the time of the famous disaster. He leftChamonix
as soon as he conveniently could after the descent ; and aa he
had shown a chilly indifference about the calamity, and offered
neither sympathy nor assistance to the widows and orphans, he
carried with him the cordial execrations of the whole community.
Four months before the first remains were found, a Chamonix

▼ILLAOB •F CHAMONIX.

iide named Balmat— a relative of one of the lost men— was iu
lx)ndon, and one day encountered a hale old gentleman in the
British museum, who said —

<* I overheard your name. Are you from Chamonix, Monsieur
Bahnat?"

"Yes, sir."

" Haven't they found the bodies of my three guides, yet ? 1
am Dr. Hamel."

" Alas, no, monsieur."

" Well, you'll find them, sooner or later."

"Yes, it is the opinion of Dr. Forbes and Mr. Tyndal, that the
glacier will sooner or Uier restore to us the remains of Die on*

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A TRAMP ABBOAD.

** ^thont » doabti without a donbt And it wOl b» • gtmi

thing for Chamonix, in the matter of attracting touristt. You
can get up a museum with those remains that will draw I''

This savage idea has not improved the odor of Dr. Uamers
name in Ohamonix by any means. But after all, the man was
sound on human nature. His idea was conveyed to the public
officials of Chamonix, and they gravely discussed it around the
official council table. They were only prevented from carrying it
into execution by the determined opposition of the friends and
descendants of the lost guides, who insisted on giving the remains
Christian burial, and succeeded in their purpose.

A close watch had to be kept upon all the poor remnants and
fragments, to prevent embezzlement. A few accessory odds and
ends were sold. Bags and scraps of the coarse clothing were
parted with at a rate equal to about twenty dollars a yard ; a piece
of a lantern and one or two other trifles brought nearly their
weight in gold ; and an Englishman offered a pound sterling for a
single breeches- button.

CHAPTER XXXVn.

^NE of the most memorable of all the Alpine catastrophes was
that of July, 1865, on the Matterhom — already slightly re<
ferred to, a few pages back. The details of it are scarcely known
in America. To the vast majority of readers they are not known
at all. Mr. Whymper's account is the only authentic one. I will
import the chief portion of it into this book, partly because of its
intrinsic interest, and partly because it gives such a vivid idea of
what the perilous pastime of Alp-climbing is. This was Mr.
Whysper's ninth attempt during a series of years, to vanquish
that steep and stubborn pillar of rock ; it succeeded, the other
eight were failures. No man had ever accomplished the ascent
before, though the attempts had been numerous.

MB. whymper's NABBATIVB. ^

We started from Zermatt on the 13th of July, at half-past five,
on a brilliant and perfectly cloudless morning. We were eight
in number— Cros (guide), old Peter Taugwalder (guide) and his two

X TfULMP ABROAD.

S87

•one ; Lord F. DouglM, Mr. Hadow, Hev. Kr. Hudson, and T. Te
ensure i(te«<iy motion, one tourist and one native walked together
The youngest Taugwalder tell to ray share. The wine-bags also
foil to my lot to carry, and throughout the day, after each drink,
I replenished them secretly with water, ho that at the next halt
they were found fuller than before ! This was considered a goo^J
omen, and little short of miraculous.

On the first day we did not intend to ascend to any great height,
and we mounted, accordingly, very leisurely. Before twelve
o'clock we had found a good position for the tent, at a height oi
11,000 feet. We passed the remaining hours of daylight — some
basking in the sunshine, some sketching, some collecting ; Hudson
made tea, I coifee, and at length we retired, each one to his
blanket-bag.

We assembled together before dawn on the 1 4th and started
directly it was light enough to move. One of the young Taug-
walders returned to Zermatt. In a few minutes we turned the
rib which bad intercepted the view of the eastern face from our
tent platform. The whole of this great slope was now revealed,
rising for 3,000 feet like a huge natural staircase. Some parts
were more, and others were less easy, but we were not once brought
k) 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 no occasion, indeed, for
the rope, and sometimes Hudson led, sometimes myself. At 6:l2U
we had attained a height of 1 2,800 feet, and halted for half an
hour ; we then continued the ascent without a break until 9:55,
when we stopped for fifty minutes at a height of 1 4,000 feet.

We had now arrived at the foot of that part which, seen from
the Rifielberg, seems perdendicular or overhanging. We couhl
no longer continue on the eastern side. For a little distance we
ascended by snow upon the arete — that is. the ridge — then turned
over to the right, or northern side. The work became difficult,
and required caution. In some places there was little to hold ;
the general slope of the mountain was less than 40", and snow
nad accumulated in, and had filled up, the interstices of the rock
face, leaving only occasional fragments projecting here and there.
These were at times covered with a thin film of ice. It was a
place which luiy fair mountaineer might paas in safety. We bore

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M:'

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289

away n««rly horimniallT for about four hundred fe«t, then *••
cended directly toward the Hummit for about sixty feet, and
doubled back to the ridge which descends toward Zermatt. A
long stride round a rather awkward corner brought us to snor
Dnce more. The last doubt vanished 1 TheMatterhornwasoursl
Nothing but two hundred feet of easy suow remained to be lui^
mounted.

The higher we rose, the more intense became the excitement.
The slope eased off, at length we could be detached, and ('rot
and I, dashing away, ran a neck and-neck race, which ended in a
dead heat. At 1:40 p. m., the world was at our feet, and the
Matterhorn was conquered I

The others arrived. 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 answered, pulling ofi
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 Kiffel — in the Val Tournanche.

We remained on the summit for one hour —

"One crowded hour of glorious life."

It passed away too quickly, and we began to prepare for th«
descent.

Hudson and I consulted as to the best and safest arrangement
of the party. We agreed that it was best for Croz to go first, and
Hadow second ; Hudson, who was almost equal to a guide in sure-
ness of foot, wished to be third ; Lord Douglas was placed next,
and old Peter, the strongest of the remainder, after him. I t ng.
gested to Hudson that we should attach a rope to the rocks on
our arrival at the difUcult bit, and hold it as we descended, as an
additional protection. He approved the idea, but it was not
definitely decided 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 afterwards I tied myself to young Peter, ran
down after the others, and caught them just as they were com«
mencing the descent of the difficult part. Great car« was b«ing

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taken. Only one man was moving at a time ] when he was firmly
planted the next advanced, and so on. They had not, however,
attached the additional rope to rocks, and nothing was said about
it. The suggestion was not made for my own sake, and I am not
■ure that it even occurred to me again. For some little distance
we two followed the others, detached from them, and should have
continued so had not Lord Douglas asked me, about 3 p. m.. to
tie on too old Peter, as he feared, he said, that Taugwalder woiiM
not be able to hold his ground if a slip occurred.

A few minutes later, a sharp-eyed lad ran into the Monte Po$a
hotel, at Zermatt, saying that he had seen an avalanche fail froiu
the summit of the Matterhorn on to the Matterhom glacier. Tlie
boy was reproved for telling idle stories ; he was right, neverthe-
less, and this was what he saw.

Michel Croz had laid aside his axe, 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 hid«len
from my sight by an intervening mass of rock, but it is my belief,
from the movements 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 exclamatiou
from Croz, then saw him and Mr. Hadow flying downwards ; in
another moment Hudson was dragged from his steps, and Lord
Douglas imme'^iately after him. All this was the work of a mo
ment. Immediately we heard Croz's exclamation, old Peter ami
I planted ourselves as firmly as the rocks would permit : the rope
was taut between us, and the jerk came on us both as on one
man. We held ; but the rope broke midway between TaugwaMer
and Lord Francis Douglas. For a few seconds we saw our untbr-
tunate companions sliding downwards on their backs, and
spreading out their hands, endeavoring to save themselves. They
passed from our sight uninjured, disappeared one by one, aiidfeii
from precipice to precipice on the Matterhorn glacier below a
distance of nearly 4,0U() feet in height. From the moment the
rope broke it was imposiiible to help them. So perished oui
comrades • ^ >

A TRAMP ABBOAD,

S91

For more than two houra sfterwards I thought almost «TOT]r
momont that the next would be my last ; for tb« Taugwalders,
utterly unnerved, were not only incapable of giving assistance,
but were in suoh a state that a slip might have been expected
from them at any moment. After a time we were able to do that
which should have been done at first, and fixed ropes to firm rocks,
in addition 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 I"

About 6 p. JXLf we arrived at the snow upon the ridge descend-
ing towards 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.
Convinced at last that they were neither within sight nor hearing,
we ceased firom our useless efibrts ; and, too cast down for speech,
silently gathered up our things, and the little effects of those who
were lost; and then completed the descent.

Such is Mr. "V;: iiymper's graphic and thrilling narrative. Zer-
matt gossip darkly hints that the elder Taugwalder cut the rope,
when the accident occurred, in order to preserve himself from
being dragged into the abyss ; but Mr. Whymper says that the
ends of the rope showed no evidence of cutting, but only of
breaking. He adds that if Taugwalder had had the disposition to
cut the rope, he would not have had time to do it, the accident
was so sudden and unexpected.

Lord Douglas's body has never been found. It probably lodged
upon some inaccessible shelf in the face of the mighty precipice.
Lord Douglas was a youth of nineteen. The three other victims
fell nearly 4,000 feet, and their bodies lay together upon the
glacier when found by Mr. Whymper and the other searchers
the next morning. Their graves are beside the little church in
Zermatt.

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OHAPTEB XXXYEIL

SWITZERLAND is simply a large, humpy, solid rook, with a
ihin skin of grass stretched over it. Consequently, they do
not dig graves, they blast them out with powder and fuse. They
cannot afford to have large graveyards, the grass skin is too cir-
cumscribed and too valuable.* It is all required for the support
of the living.

The graveyard in Zermatt occupies only about one-eighth of an
acre. The graves are sunk in the living rock, and are very per-
manent ; but occupation of them is only temporary ; the occupant
can only stay till his grave is needed by a later subject, he is
removed, then, for they do not bury one body on top of another.
Ab I understand it, a family owns a grave, just as it owns a house.
A man dies, and leaves his house to his son — and at the same
time this dead father succeeds to his own father's grave. He
moves out of the house and into the grave, and his predecessor
moves out of the grave and into the cellar of the chapel. I saw
a black box lying in the churchyard, with skull and cross-bones
painted on it, and was told that this was used in transferring
remains to the cellar.

In that cellar the bones and skulls of several hundreds of former
citizens were compactly corded lip. They made a pile eighteen
feet long, seven feet high, and eight feet wide. I was told that in
some of the receptacles of this kind in the Swiss villages, the skulU
were all marked, and if a man wished to find the skulls of his
ancestors for several generations back, he could do it by these
marks, preserved in the family records.

An English gentleman who had lived some years in this region,
said it was the cradle of compulsory education. But he said that
the English idea that compulsory education would reduce bai^tardy
and intemperance was an error — it has not that effect. He said
there was more seduction in the Protestant than in the Catholic
cantons, because the confessional protected the girls. I wonder
why it doesn't protect married women in France and Spain ?

A TBAMP ABROAD.

298

Him gentleman said that among the poorer peasante in the
Valais, it was common for the brothers in a family to cast lots to
determine which of them should have the coveted privilege of
marrying. Then the lucky one got married, and his brethren —
doomed bachelors — heroically banded themselves together to
help support the new family.

We left Zermatt in a wagon — and in a rain storm, too — for St.
Nicholas about ten o'clock one morning. Again we passed
between those grass-clad prodigious cliffs, specked with wee
dwellings peeping over at us from velvety, green walls ten and
twelve hundred feet high. It did not seem possible that the
imaginary chamois even, could climb those precipices. Lovers
on opposite cliflfs proba- ^t .^
bly kiss through a spy- "«<
glass, and correspond illLu/N
with a rifle. ^- ^ t^S

In Switzerland the ^^j*
farmer's plow is a wide p^^^ ■■■ .^
shovel, which scrapes up **'^^k *■'
and turns over the thin
earthy skin of his native rock — and : IJ^
there the man of the plow is a hero.
Now here, by our St. Nicholas road,
was a grave, and it had a tragic story.
A plowman was skinning his farm
one morning — not the steepest part
of it, but still a steep part — that is, he was not skinning the front
of his farm, but the roof of it, near the eaves — when he absent-
mindedly let go of the plow-handles to moisten his hands, in the
usual way : he lost his balance and fell out of his farm backwards 4
poor fellow, he never touched anything till he struck bottom,
1500 feet below.* We throw a halo of heroism around the life of
the soldier and the sailor, because of the deadly dangers they are
facing all the time. But we are not used to looking upon farming
as a heroic occupation. This is because we have not lived in
Switzerland.

From St. Nicholas we struck out for Visp— or Vispach — on foot.
The rain Atorms had been at work during several days, aiyi

* Tlkii WM on • Suii(U7.— M. t.

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A TBABfP ABBOAD.

had done a deal ot damage in Switzerland and Savoy. We
came to one place where a stream had changed its course and
plunged down the mountain in a new place, sweeping everything
before it. Two poor but precious farms by the roadside were
ruined. One was washed clear away, and the bed-rook exposed ;
the other was buried out of sight under a tumbled chaos of rooks,
gravel, mud, and inibbish. The resistless might of water was
well exemplified. Some saplings which had stood in the way
were bent to the ground, stripped clean of their bark, and buried
under rocky debris. The road had been swept away, too.

In another place, where the road was high up on the moun-
tain's face, and its outside edge protected by flimsy masonry, we
frequently came across spots where this masonry had caved off
and left dangerous gaps for mules to get over ; and with still
more frequency we found the masonry slightly crumbled, and
marked by mule-hoofs, thus showing that there had been danger
of an accident to somebody. When at last we came to a badly
ruptured bit of masonry, with hoof-prints evidencing a desperate
struggle to regain the lost foot-hold, I looked quite hopefully
over the diazy precipice. But there was nobody down there.

They take exceedingly good care of their rivers in Switzerland
and other portions of Europe. They wall up both banks with
slanting solid stone masonry — so that from end to end of these
rivers the banks look like the wharves at St. Louis and other
towtis on the Mississippi river.

It was during this walk from St. Nicholas, in the shadow of the
majestic Alps, that we came across some little children amusing
themselves in what seemed, at first, a most odd and original way
I— but it wasn't : it was in simply a natural and characteristic
way. They were roped together with a string, they had mimic
alpenstocks and ice-axes, and were climbing a meek and lowly
manure pile with a most blood-curdling amount of care and
caution. The ** guide" at the head of the line cut imaginary
steps, in a laborious and painstaking way, and not a monkey
budged till the step above him was vacated. If we had waited
we should have witnessed an imaginary accident, no doubt ; and
we should have heard the intrepid band hurrah when they made
the summit and looked around upon the " magnificent view,"
and seen them throw themselves down in exhausted attitudes
for a rest in that commanding situation.

A TRAMP ABROAD.

295

In Nevada I used to see the children play at silver mining.
Of course the great thing was an accident in a mine, and there
were two " star " parts ; that of the man who fell down the mimio
shaft, and that of the daring hero who was lowered into the
depthu to bring him up. I knew one small chap who always
insisted on playing both of theae parts — and he carried his point.
He would tumble into the shaft and die, and then come to th«
surface and go back after his own remains.

It is the smartest boy that gets the hero-part everywhere ; he
is head guide in Switzerland, head miner in Nevada, head bull-
fighter in Spain, etc., but I knew a preacher's son, seven years
old, who once selected a part for himself compared to which
tiiose just mentioned are tame and unimpressive. Jimmy's
father stopped him from driving imaginary horse-cars one Sun-
day — stopped him from playing captain of an imaginary steam-
boat the next Sunday — stopped him from leading an imaginary
army to battle the following Sunday — and so on. Finally, the
little fellow said —

" I've tried everything, and they won't any of them do. What
can I play ?"

" I hardly know, Jimmy ; but you must play only things that
are suitable to the Sabbath day."

Next Sunday the preacher stepped softly to a back room door
to see if the children were rightly employed. He peeped in. A
chair occupied the middle of the room, and on the back of it
hung Jimmy's cap } one of the little sisters took the cap down,
nibbled at it, then passed it to another small sister and said,
"Eat of this fruit, for it is good." The Reverend took in the
situation — alas, they were playing the Expulsion from Eden I
Yet he found one little crumb of comfort. He said to himself :
** For once Jimmy has yielded the chief role — I have been
wronging him ; 1 did not believe there was so much modesty in
him : I should have expected him to be either Adam or Eve."
This crumb of comfort lasted but a very little while ; he glanced
around and discovered Jimmy standing in an imposing attitude
in a corner, with a dark and deadly frown on his face. What
that meant was very plain — he was personating ike Deity I
Think of the guileless sublimity of that idea.
We reached Vispach at 8 p. m., only about seven hours out

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A TRAMP ABROAD.

from tit. Nicholas. So we must have made fully a mue and «
half an hour, and it was all down hill, too, and very muddy at
that. We staid all night at the Hotel du Soliel ; I remember it,
because the landlady, the portier, the waitress, and the chamber-
maid were not separate persons, but were all contained in one
neat and chipper suit of spotless muslin, and she vfas the pretti-
est jroung creature I saw in all that region. She was the land-
lord's daughter. And I remember that the only match to her I
saw in all Europe was the young daughter of the landlord of a
village inn in the Black Forest. Why don't more people in
Europe marry and keep hotel ?

Next morning we left with a family of English friends and went
by train to Brevet, and thence by boat across the lake to Ouchy
(Lausanne).

Ouchy is memorable to, me, not on account of its beautiful
situation and lovely surroundings — although these would muke
it stick long in one's memory — but as the place where I caught
the London Times dropping into humor. It was not aware of it,
though. It did not do it on purpose. An English friend called
my attention to this lapse, and cut out the reprehensible para
graph for me. Think of encountering a grin like this on the
face of that grim journal :

Ebbattjm. — We are requested by Beuter'B Telegram Ck>mpany to correct an errone-
ous announcement made in their Brisbane telegram of the 2d inst, published in our
impression of the 6th inst, stating that "Lady Kennedy had given birth to twins,
the eldest being a son." The Company explain that the message they received con-
tained the words, "Oovemor of Queensland, twina first aon.^* Being, however,
subsequently informed that Sir Arthur Kennedy was unmarried and that there must
be some mistake, a telegraphic repetition was at once demanded. It has been re-
ceived to-day (11th inst) and shows that the words really telegraphed by Keutef s
agent were "Qovemor of Queensland turnafifst aod," alluding to the Maryborough
Gympic Bailway in course of construction. The words in italics were mutilated by
the telegraph in transmission ttom Australia, and reaching the company in the fona
mentioned above gave rise to the mistake.

I had always had a deep and reverent compassion for the suf-
ferings of the *' prisoner of Chillon," whose story Byron has told
in such moving verse ; so I took the steamer and made pilgrim-
age to the dungeons of the Castle of Chillon, to see the place
where poor Bonivard endured his dreary captivity three hundred
years ago. I am glad I did that, for it took away some of the
pain I wa& feeling on the prisoner's account. His dungeon was
a nice, cool, roomy place, and I cannot see why he should have

A TRAMP ABROAD.

297

been so dissatisfied with it. If he had been imprisoned in a St
Nicholas private dwelling, where the fertilizer prevails, and the
goat sleeps with the guest, and the chickens roost on him, and
the cow comes in and bothers him when he wants to muse, it
would have been another matter altogether ; but he surely could
not have had a very cheerless time of it in that pretty dungeon.
It has romantic window-slits that let in generous bars of light,
and it has tall, noble columns, carved apparently from the living
rock ; and what is more, they are written all over with thousands
of names : some of them — like Byron's and Victor Hugo's — of
the first celebrity. Why didn't he amuse himself reading these

omLLoir.

■>ame8 ? Then there are the couriers and tourists — swarms of
them every day — ^what was to hinder him from having a good
time with them ? I think Bonivard's sufferings have been over-
rated.

Next we took the train and went to Martigny, on the way to
Mont Blanc. Next morning we started about eight o'clock on
foot. We had plenty of company, in the way of wagon-loads
and mule-loads of tourists— and dust. This scattering procession
of travelers was perhaps a mile long. The road was up hill —
interminably up hill — and tolerably steep. The weather was
blistering hot, and the man or woman who had to sit on a creep-
Bg mule or in a crawling wagon and broil in the beating sun was
an object to b« pitied. W« eould dodgo uao&g th« biiibM m4

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A TRAMP ABROAD.

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have the relief of «hade, but those people could not. They paid
for a conveyance, and to get their money's worth they rode.

We went to Tete Noir, and after we reached high ground there
was no lack of fine scenery. In one place the road was tunneled
through the shoulder of the mountain; from there one lookeil
down into a gorge with a rushing torrent in it, and on every hand
was a charming view of rocky buttresses and wooded heights.
There was a liberal allowance of pretty water-falls, too, on the
Tete Noir route.

THE TETE NOIS,

About half an hour before we reached the village of Argentiere
a vast dome of snow with the sun blazing on it, drifted into view
and framed itself in a strong V-shaped gateway of the mountain?
and we recognized Mont Blanc, the " Monarch of the Alps." With
every step, after that, this stately dome rose higher and higher
into the blue sky, and at last seemed to occupy the zenith.

Some of Mont Blanc's neighbours — bare, light-brown, steeple*
like rocks — were very peculiarly shaped. Some were whittled to
a sharp point, and islightly bent at the upper efid| like a lady'i

▲ TBAHP ABROAD.

299

finger; one monster sugar-loaf resembled a bishop's hat; it was
too steep to hold snow on its sides, but had some in the divisiion.
While we were still on very high ground, and before tlie descent
toward Argentiere began, we looked up toward a noighbourinjc;
mountain-top, and saw exquisite prismatic colors playing about
Bome white clouds whioh were so delicate ns to almost resemble
gossamer webs. The faint pinks and greens were peculiarly
beautiful; none of the colors were deep, they were the lightest
ibadM. They were bewitchingly cummingled. We sat down to

AIGUILLE DU DRU AND AIGUILLE VKBTE, IN THE MONT BLANC CHAIN'.

itudy and enjoy this singular spectacle. The tints remained
during several minutes — flitting, changing, melting into each
other; paling almost away, for a moment, then re-flushing — a
shifting, restless, unstable succession of soft opaline gleams, shim-
mering over that airy film of white cloud, and turning it into a
fabric dainty enough to clothe an angel with.

By and by we perceived what those super-delicate colors, and
their continuous play and movement, reminded us of: it is what
one sees in a soap-bubble that is drifting along, catching changes
of tint from the objects it passes. A soap-bubble ia the most

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800

A TRAMP ABROAD.

beautiful thing, and the mont exquisite, in nature : tbat lorely

phantom fabric in the sky wan suggoBtive of a soap-bubble split
open, and npread out in the sun. I wonder how much it would
take to buy a soap-bubble, if there was only one in the world?
One could buy a hatful of Koh-i-Noora with the same money, noi
doubt. I

We made the tramp from Martigny to Argentiere in eight hours. '
We beat all the mules and wagons ; we didn't usually do that-
We hired a sort of open baggage-wagon for the trip down the
valley to Chamonix, and then devoted an hour to dining. This
gave the driver time to get drunk. He had a friend with him,
and this friend also had had time to get drunk.

When we drove off, the driver said all the tourists had arrived
and gone by when we were at dinner ; " but," said he, impres-
sively, " be not disturbed by that — remain tranquil — give your-
selves no uneasiness — their dust rises far before us, you shall see
it fade and disappear far behind us — rest you tranquil, leave all
to me — I am the king of drivers. Behold I"

Down came his whip, and away we clattered. I never had such
a shaking up in my life. The recent flooding rains had washed
the road clear away in places, but we never stopped, we never
slowed down, for anything. We tore right along, over rocks rub-
bish, gullies, open fields — sometimes with one or two wheels on
the ground, but generally with none. Every now and then that
calm, good-natured madman would bend a mtgestic look over his
shoulder at us and say, " Ah, you perceive ? It is as I have said—
I am the king of drivers.'' Every time we just missed going to
destruction, he would say, with tranquil happiness, •' Enjoy iti
gentlemen, it is very rare, it is very unusual — it is given to few to j
ride with the king of drivers — and observe, it is as I have said* '
/amhe.** ■■■.^■■■* • V^^*" ' '^- - ■■

He spoke in French, and punctuated with hiccups. His friend
was French, too, but spoke in German — ^uaing the same system of
punctuation, however. The friend called himself the " Captain
of Mont Blanc," and wanted us to make the ascent with him. He
■aid he had made more ascents than any other man — forty-seven—
and his brother had made thirty-seven. His brother was the best
guid* iB th« world, except himself— but he, yeiy •bienre bin

A T&AMP ABROAD.

801

iftll— h« WM th« " CapUin of Mont Blano "^tliat Mile belonged
to none other.

The "king" wm m good m his word— he overtook that long
proceuion of touriflte and went by it like a hurricane. The re-
sult was that we got choicer rooms at the hotel in Chamonix than
we should have done if his majesty had been a slower artist — or
rather, if he hadn't most providentially got druiik before he Ufl
Argantier*.

il^

CHAPTER XXXIX.

EVERYBODY was out of doors ; everybody was in the principal
street of the village — not on the sidewalks, but all over the
street ; everybody was lounging, loafing, chatting, waiting, alert,
expectant, interested — for it was train-time. That is to say, it
waf) diligence time — the half dozen big diligences would soon be
arriving from Geneva, and the village was interested, in many
ways, in knowing how many people were coming and what sort of
folk they might be. It was altogether the livest looking street
we had seen in any village on the continent. i .

The hotel was by the side of a booming torrent, whose music
was loud and strong ; we could not see this torrent, for it was
dark, now, but one could locate it without a light. There was a
large enclosed yard in front of the hotel, and this was filled with
groups of villagers waiting to see the diligences arrive, or to hire
themselves to excursionists for the morrow. A telescope stood
in the yard, with its huge barrel canted up toward the lustrous
evening star. The long porch of the hotel was populous with
tourists, who sat in shawls and wraps under the vast overshadow-
ing bulk of Mont Blanc, and gossiped or meditated.

Never did a mountain seem so close ; its big sides seemed at
one's very elbow, and its majestic dome, and the lofty cluster of
slender minarets that were its neighbors, seemed to be almost
over one's head. It was night in the streets, and the lamps were
sparkling everjrwhere j the broad bases and shoulders of the
mountaina were in a deep gloom, but their summits swam in a
strange rich glow which was really daylight, and yet had a mellow

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A TRAMP ABROAH.

•omething about it which was rory different from the hard white
glare of the kind of daylight I waa uaod to. Its radiance wra
■trong and clear, but at the same time it was siMgularly eoft, and
•piritual, and benignant. No, it wm not our harsh, aggresglve,
realistic daylight ; it seemed propex er to an enchanted land— or
to heaven.

I had seen moonlight and daylight together before, but I had
not seen daylight and black night elbow to elbow before. At
least I had not seen the daylight resting upon an object sufficiently
oloae at hand, before, to midce the contrast startling and at war
with nature.

The daylight passed away. Presently the moon rose up behind
some of those sky-piercing fingers or pinnacles of bare rock of
which I have spoken — they were a little to the left of the crest of
Mont Blanc, and right over our heads — but she couldn't manage
to climb high enough toward heaven to get entirely above them.
She would show the glittering arch of her upper third, occasion-
ally, and scrape it along behind the comb-like row ; sometimes a
pinnacle stood straight up, like a statuette of ebony, against that
glittering white shield, then seemed to glide out of it by its own
volition and power, and become a dim spectre, whilst the next
pinnacle glided into its place and blotted the spotless disk with
the black exclamation point of its presence. The top of one
pinnacle took the shapely, clean-cut form of a rabbit's head, in
the inkiest silhouette, while it rested against the moon. The
unilluminated peaks and minarets, hovering vague and phantom-
like above us while the others were painfully white and strong
with snow and moonlight, made a peculiar effect.

But when the moon, having passed the line of pinnacles, wm
hidden behind the stupendous white swell of Mont Blanc, the
masterpiece of the evening was flung on the canvas. A rich
greenish radiance sprang into the sky from behind the mountain,
and in this some airy shreds and ribbons of vapor floated about,
and being flushed with that strange tint, went waving to and fro
like pale green flames. After a while, radiating bars—vast
broadening fa; -shaped shadows — grew up and stretched away to
the zenith from behind the mountain. It was a spectacle to take
one's breath, for tJie wonder of it, and the sublimity.

Mdeed, those mighty bars of alternate light and shadow stream

A TBAMP ABROAD.

808

ing up from behind that dark and prodigious farm and occupying
the half of the dull and opaque heavens, ira»«the mont impoiting
and impresnive marvel I had ever l^j-iked upofl. There ia no
simile for it, for nothing is like A If a child had a«ked me what
it waa, I should have said, " Ilumblo yourself, in thin presence, it
id the glory flowing from the hidden head of the Creator.' r>ne
falls shorter of the truth tiian that, sometimes, in trying to ox.
plain mysteries to the little people. 1 could have found out the
cause of this awe-compelling mir»oie hy inquiring, for it is not
infrequent at Mont Blanc- -but I "^
did not wish to know. We have
not the reverent feeling for the
rainbow that a savage has, because
we know how it is made. We have
lost as much as we gained by pry-
ing into that matter.

We took a walk down street, a
block or two, and at a place where
four streets met and the principal
shops were clustered, found the
groups of men in the roadway
thicker than ever — for this was the
Exchange of Chamonix. These
men were in the costumes of
guides and porters, and were there
to be hired. street in cuamonixT

The oflSce of that great personage, the Guide-in-Chief of the
Chamonix Gruild of Guides, was near by. This guild is a close
corporation, and is governed by strict laws. There are many
excursion-routes, some dangerous and some not, some that can
be made safely without a guide, and some that cannot. The
bureau determines these things. Where it decides that a guide
is necessary, you are forbidden to go without one. Neither are
you allowed to be a victim of extortion ; the law states what you
are to pay. The guides serve in rotation ; you cannot select the
man who is to take your life into his hands, you must take the
wordt in the lot, if it is his turn.

A guide's fee ranges all the way up from a half-dollar (for some
trHliQ|{ excursion of a few rods) to twenty dollars, according to

1 1

4 /,

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''it*

If
i t

p tin

804

A TRAMP ABROAD.

the distance traversed and the nature of the ground. A guide's
fee for taking a i>er8on to the summit of Mont Blanc and back, is
twenty dollarsr— and he earns it. The time employed is usually
three days, and there is enough early rising in it to make a man
far more " healthy and wealthy and wise" than any one man has
any right to be. The porter's fee for the same trip is ten dollars.
Several fools — no, I mean several tourists — usually go together,
and divide up the expense, and thus make it light ; for if only
one f— tourist, I mean — went, he would have to have several
guides and porten, and that would make the matter costly.

We went into the Chiefs oflBce. There were maps of moun-
tains on the walls ; also one or two lithographs of celebrated
guides, and a portrait of the scientist De Saussure.

In glass cases were some labeled fragments of boots and batons,
and other suggestive relics and remembrancers of casualties on
Mount Blanc. In a book was a record of all the ascents which
have ever been made, beginning with Nos. 1 and 2 — being those
3f Jacques Balmat and De Saussure, in 1787, and ending with No.
685, which wasn't cold yet. In fact No. 685 was standing by the
official table waiting to receive the precious official diploma which
should prove to his German household and to his descendant!
that he had once been indiscreet enough to climb to the top of
Mont Blanc. He looked very happy when he got his document ;
in fact, he spoke up and said he was happy.

I tried to buy a diploma for an invalid friend at home who had
never traveled, and whose desire all his life has been to ascend
Mont Blanc, but the Guide-in-Chief rather insolently refused to
sell me one. I was very much offended. I said I did not propose
io be discriminated against on account of my nationality ; thaf
he had just sold a diploma to this German gentleman, and my
money was as good as his ; I would see to it that he couldn't
keep shop for Germans and deny his produce to Americans ; I
would have his license taken away from him at the dropping of a
handkerchief ; if France refused vo break him, 1 would make an
international matter of it and bring on a war ; the soil should be
drenched with blood ; and not only that, but I would set up an
opposition shop and soil diplomas at half ju-ioe.

For two cents I woulil h-ve dono those tliinjis, too ; butnobodv
offered me the two cents. I tried to move tliat German's feel-

A TRAMP ABROAD.

805

Ings, but it oould not be done ; he would not giTe me ^ ^s diploma,
neither would he sell it to me. I told him my friend was sick
and could not come himself, but he said he did not care a
verdammtes pfennig, he wanted his diploma for himself— did I
suppose he was going to risk his neck for that thlag and then
giv<3 it to a sick stranger ? Indeed he wouldn't, so he wouldn't
1 i-esolved, then, that I would do all I could to injure Mont Blanc.

In the record book was a list of all the fatal accidec^^ which
bad happened on the mountain. It began with the one in 1820
when the Russian Dr.
Hamel's three guides
were lostina crevasse
of the glacier, and it
recorded the delivery
of the remains in the
valley by the slow-
moving glacier forty-
one years later. The
latest catastrophe
bore dute 1877.

Westeppedoutand
roved about the vil*
Isge a while. In
front of the little
church was a monu-
ment to the memory
of the bold guide
Jacques Balmat, the
first man who ever
stood upon the summit of Mont Blanc* He made that wild trip
solitary and alone. He accomplished the ascent a number of
times afterward. A stretch of nearly half a century lay between
bis tirst ascent and his last one. At the ripe old age of seventy-
two he was climbing around a corner of a lofty precipice of th«
Pic du Midi — nobody with him — when he slipped and fell. So
he died in the harness.

He had grown very avaricious in his old age, and used to go ofl
stealthily to hunt for nonexistent and impossible gold among
those perilous peaks and precipices. He was on a quest of that

■n

1 v*' <

;f .

'. I i U3

!*::1

»(n»

A TBAMP ABROAD.

kind when he lost his life. There was a statue to him, ano
another to De Saussure, in the hall of our hotel,, and a metal
plate on the door of a room upstail-s bore an inscription to tho
effect that that room had been occupied by Albert Smith. Balmat
and De Saussure discovered Mont Blanc — so to speak — but it was
Smith who made it a paying property. His articles in Blackwood
and his lectures on Mont Blanc in London advertised it and made
people as anxious to see it as if it owed them money.

As we strolled along the road we looked up and saw a red sig-
nal light glowing in the darkness of the mountain side. It
seemed but a trifling way up — perhaps a hundred yards, a climb
of ten minutes. It was a lucky piece of sagacity in us that we
concluded to stop a man whom we met and get a light for our
pipes from him instead of continuing the climb to that lantern to
get a light, as had been our purpose. The man said that that
lantern was on the Grands Mulcts, some 6,500 feet above the
valley I I know by our Eiffelberg experience, that it would have
taken us a good part of a week to go up there. I would sooner
not smoke at all, than take all that trouble for a light.

Even in the daytime the foreshortening effect of the mountain's
close proximity creates curious deceptions. For instance, one
sees with the naked eye a cabin up there beside the glacier, and
a little above and beyond he sees the spot where that red light
was located ; he thinks he could throw a stone from the one
place to the other. But he couldn't, for the difference between
the two altitudes is more than 3,000 feet. It looks impossible
from below that this can be true, but it is true, nevertheless.

While strolling about, we kept the run of the moon all the time,
and we still kept an eye on her after we got back to the hotel
portico. I had a theory that the gravitation of refraction, being
subsidiary to atmospheric compensation, the refrangibility of the
earth's surface would emphasize this effect in regions where
great mountain ranges occur, and possibly so even-handedly im-
pact the odic and idyllic forces together, the one upon the other
as to prevent the moon from rising higher than 12,200 feet above
sea level. This daring theory had been received with frantic
scorn by some of my fellow-scientists, and with an eager silence

by others. Among the former I may mention Prof. H y ,

and among the latter Prof. T 1. Such is professional jeal

A TRUIP ABROAD.

807

lance, one

OTuj ; a eoientiit will never show uiy kindness for » theory whidb
he did not start himself. There is no feeling of brotherhood
%mong these people. Indeed, they always resent it when I OftU
them brother. To show how far their ungenerosity can carry

them, I will state that I offered to let Prof. H y publish my

great theory as his own discovery ; I even begged him to do it ;
I even proposed to print it myself as his theory. Instead ol
thanking me, he said that if I tried to fasten that theory on him
he would sue me for slander. I was going to offer it to Mr.
Darwin, whom I understood to be a man without prejudices, but
it oceurred to me that perhaps he would not be interested in it
since it did not concern heraldry.

But I am glad, now, that I was forced to father my intrepid
theory myself, for on the night of which I am writing it was
triumphantly justified and established. Mont Blanc is nearly
16,000 feet high ; he hid the moon utterly ; near him is a peak
which is 12,216 feet high; the moon slid alooe behind the pin-
nacles, and when she approached that one I watched her with
intense interest, for my reputation as a scientist must stand ox
fall by its decision. I cannot describe the emotions which surged
like tidal waves through my breast when I saw the moon glide
behind that lofty needle and pass it by without exposing more
than two feet four inches of her upper rim above it I I was
secure, then. I knew she could rise no higher, and I was right.
She sailed behind all the peaks and never succeeded in hoisting
her disk above a single one of them.

While the moon was behind one of those sharp fingers, its
shadow was flung athwart the vacant heavens — a long, slanting,
clean-cut, dark ray — with a streaming and energetic suggestion
of forct about it, such as the ascending jet of water from a
powerful fire engine affords. It was curious to see a good strong
shadow of an earthly object cast upon so intangible a field ae
the atmosphere.

We went to bed at last, and went quickly to sleep, but I woke
up after about three hours with throbbing temples, and a head
which was physically sore, outside and in. I was dazed, dreamy.
wretched, seedy, unrefreshed. I recognized the occasion of all
this ; it was that torrent. In the mountain villages of Switier
land, and all along the roads, one has always the roar of the tcr-

V K4

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808

A TEiMP ABBOAD.

rent in hb ears. He ima/^inei it is music, and he thinks, poetio

things about it ; he liei
in his comfortable bed
and is lulled to sleep
by it. But by and by
he begins to notice that
his head is very sore —
he cannot account for
it; in solitudes where
the profoundest silence
reigns, he notices a sul-
len, distant, continuous
roar in his ears, which
is like what he would
experience if he had sea
shells pressed against
them— he cannot ac-
count for it; he is
drowsy and absent-
minded; there is no
tenacity to his mind;
he cannot keep hold of
ft thought and follow it
out ; if he sits down to
write, his vocabulary is
empty; no suitable
words will come; he
forgets what he started
to do, and remains
there, pen in hand, head
tilted up, eyes closed,
listening painfully to
the muffled roar of a
distant train in his ears ;
in his soundest sleep
+he strain continues,
he goes on listening,
always listening, intent*

A TBAMP ABROAD.

809

ly, anxiously, and wakes at last, Iiarassed, irritable, unrefreshed*
He cannot manage to account for tliese things. Day after
day he feels as if he had spent his nights in a sleeping oar*
It actually takes him weeks to find out that it is those persecu-
ting torrents that have been making all the mischief. It is time
for him to get out of Switzerland then, for as soon as he has dis-
covered the cause, the misery is magnified several fold. The
roar of the torrent is maddening then, for his imagination is
ftssisting; the physical pain it inflicts is exquisite. When he
finds he is approaching one of those streams his dread is so lively
that he is disposed to fly the track and avoid the implacable foe.

Eight or nine months after the distress of the torrents had
departed from me, the roar and thunder of the streets of Paris
brought it all back again. I moved to the sixth story of the hotel
to hunt for peace. About midnight the noises dulled away, and
I was sinking to sleep, when I heard a new and curious sound ; I
listened : evidently some joyous lunatic was softly dancing a
" double shuffle" in the room over my head. I had to wait for
him to g^ through, of course. Five long, long minutes he
smoothly shuffled away — a pause followed, then something fell
with a heavy thump on- the floor. I said to myself, " There he
is pulling off his boots — thank heavens he is done." Another
slight pause — he went to shuffling again I I said to mywelf, " Is
he trying to see what he can do with only one boot on ?" Pre-
sently came another pause and another thump on the floor. I
said, " Good he has pulled oil' his other boot — now he is done."
But he wasn't. The next moment he was shuffling again. I said,
" Confound him, he is at it in his slippers I" After a little came
that same old pause, and right after it that thump on the floor
once more. I said, " Hang him, he had on tioo pair of boots 1"
For an hour that magician went on shuffling and pulling off boots
till he had shed as many as twenty five pair, and I was hovering
on the verge of lunacy. I got my gun and stole up there. The
fellow was in the midst of an acre of sprawling boots, and he
had a boot in his hand, shuffling it — no I mean polishing it. The
mystery was explained. He hadn't been dancing. He was the
" Boots" of the hotel, and was attending to business, ' " *

\t ■•

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i *.

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810

A TfiAMP AfiBOAO.

CHAPTER XL.

AFTER breakfast, that next morning in Chamotiix, we went
out in the yard and watched the gangs of excursionizinii
tourists arriving and departing with their mules and guides und
porters ; then we took a look through the telescope at the snowy
hump of Mont Blanc. It was brilliant with sunshine, and the
vast smooth bulge seemed hardly five hundred yards away. With
the naked eye we could dimly make out the house of the Pierre
Pointue, which is located by the side of the great glacier, and is
more than 3,000 feet above the levyl of the valley ; but with the
telescope we could see all its details. While I looked, a woman
rode by the house on a mule, and I saw her with sharp distinct-
ness ; 1 could have described her dress. I saw her nod to the
people of the house, and rein up her mule, and put her hand up
to shield her eyes from the sun. I was not used to telescopes ;
in fact I never had looked through a good one before ; it seemed
incredible to me that this woman could be so far away. I was
satisfied that I could see all these details with my naked eye ;
but when I tried it, that mule and those vivid people had wholly
vanished, and the house itself was become small and vague. I
tried the telescope agaia, and again everything was vivid. The
strong black shadows of the mule and the woman were flung
against the side of the house, and I saw the mule's silhouette
wave its ears.

The telescopulist— or the telescopulariat — ^^I do not know whiah
is right— said a party were making the grand ascent, and would
come in sight on the remote upper heights, presently ; so we
waited to observe this performance.

Presently I had a superb idea. I wanted to stand with a pti ty
on the summit of Mont Blanc, merely to be able to say I had done
it, and I believed the telescope could set me within seven feet
•of the uppermost man. The telescoper assured me that it could.
I then asked him how much I owed him for as far m I had got?

A TRAMP ABROAD.

811

He said, one frano. I asked him how muoh it would eott me to
make the entire ascent ? Three francs. I at once determined
to make the entire ascent. But first I enquired if there was any
danger ? He said no — not by telescope ; said he had taken a
great many parties to the summit, and never lost a man. I asked
what he would charge to let my agent go with me, together with
Buch guides and porters as might be necessary? He said he
would let Harris go for two francs ; and that unless we were un-
usually timid, he should consider guides and porters unneces>
sary ; it was not customary to take them, when going by teles-
cope, for they were rather an incumbrance than a help. He said
that the party now on the mountain were approaching the most
difficult pt rt, and if we hurried we should overtake them within
ten minutes, and could then join them and have the benefit of
their guides and porters without their knowledge, and without
expense to us.

1 then said we would start immediately. I believe I said it
calmly, though I was conscious of a shudder and of a paling cheek,
in view of the nature of the exploit I was so unreflectingly en-
gaging in. But the old dare-devil spirit was upon me, and I said
that as I had committed myself I would not back down ; I would
ascend Mont Blanc if it cost me my life. I told the man to slant
his machine in the proper direction and let us be off.

Harris was afraid and did not want to go, but I heartened him
up and said I would hold his hand all the way ; so he gave his
consent, though he trembled a little at first. I took a last pathetic
look upon the pleasant summer scene about me, then boldly put
my eye to the glass and prepared to mount among the grim glar
ciers and the everlasting snows.

We took our way carefully and cautiously across the great Gla-
cier des Bossons, over yawning and terrific crevices and amongst
imposing crags and buttresses of ice which were fringed with
icicles of gigantic proportions. The desert of ice that stretched
far and wide about us was wild and desolate beyond description,
and the perils which beset us were so great that at times I was
minded to turn back. But I pulled my pluck together and
pushed on.

We passed the glacier safely and began to mount the steeps
beyond, with great celerity. When we were seven minutes out

812

A TRAMP ABROAD.

i i

from the starting point, we reaohed an altitude where the scene
took a new aspect ; an apparently limitless continent of gleam-
ing snow was tilted heavenward before our faces. As my eye
followed that awful acclivity far away up into the remote skies,
it seemed to me that all I had over seen before of sublimity and
magnitude was small and insignificant compared to this.

We rested a moment, and then began to mount with speed.
Within three minutes we caught sight of the party ahead of us,
and stopped to observe them. They were toiling up a long,
slanting ridge of snow — twelve persons, roped together some
fifteen feet apart, marching in single file, and strongly marked
against the clear blue sky. One was a woman. We could see
them lift their feet and put them down ,* we saw them swing their
alpenstocks forward in tmison, like so many pendulums, and then
bear their weight upon them ; we saw the lady wave her hand-
kerchief. They dragged themselves upward in a worn and weary
way, for they had beer climbing steadily from the Grands Mulets,
on the Glacier des Boi^sons, since three in the morning, and it was
eleven, now. We saw them sink down in the snow and rest, and
drink something from a bottle. After a whilb they moved on,
and as they approached the final short dash of the home-stretcb
we closed up on them and joined them.

Presently we all stood together on the summit I What a view
was spread out below ! Away off under the north-western hori-
zon rolled the silent billows of the Farnese Oberland, their snowy
crests glinting softly in the subdued lights of distance ; in the
north rose the giant form of the Wobblehorn, draped from peak
to shoulder in sable thunder-clouds ; beyond him, to the right,
stretched the grand processional summits of the Cisalpine Cor
dillera, drowned in a sensuous haze; to the east loomed the
colossal masses of the Yodelhorn, the Fuddlehorn and the
Dinnerhorn, their cloudless summits flashing white and cold in
the sun ; beyond them shimmered the faint far line of the Ghauts
of Jubbelpore and the Aiguilles des Alleghenies ; in the south
towered the smoking peak of Popocatapetl and the unapproach-
able altitudes of the peerless Scrabblehorn ; in the west-south-
west the stately range of the Himmalayas lay dreaming in a
purple gloom ; and thence all around the curving horizon the eye
roved over a troubled sea of suukisi^d Alps, and not^d| here anU

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

818

there, the noble proportions and soaring domes of the Bottle*
horn, and the Saddlehom, and the Shovelhom, and the Powder-
horn, fill bathed in the glory of noon and mottled with softly-
gliding blots, the shadows flung from drifting clouds.

Overcome by the scene, we all raised a triumphant, tremendous
shout, in unison. A startled man at my elbow said —

** Confound you, what do you yell like that for, right here in
the street?"

That brought me down to Chamonix, like a flirt. I gave that
man some spiritual advice and disposed of him, and then paid
the telescope man his full fee, and said that we were charmed
^ith the trip and would remain down, and not re-ascend and
require him to fetch us down by telescope. This pleased him
very much, for of course we could have stepped back to the
summit and put him to the trouble of bringing us home if we had
wanted to.

I judged we could get diplomas, now, anyhow ; so we went after
them, but the Chief Guide put us oflf, with one pretext or an-
other, during all the time we staid in Chamonix, and we ended
by never getting them at all. So much for his prejudice against
people's nationality. However, we worried him enough to make
him remember us and our ascent for some time. He even said,
once, that he wished there was a lunatic asylum in Chamonix.
This shows that he really had fears that we were going to drive
him mad. It was what we intended to do, but lack of time
defeated it.

I cannot venture to advise the reader one way or the other, as
to ascending Mont Blanc. I say only this : if he is at all timid,
the enjoyments of the trip will hardly make up for the hardships
and sufferings he will have to endure. But if he has good nerve,
youth, health, and a bold, firm will, and could leave his family
comfortably provided tor in case the worst happened, he would
find the ascent a wonderful experience, and the view from the
top a vision to dream about, and tell about, and recall with exul-
tation all the days of his life.

While I do not advise such a person to attempt the ascent, I
do not advise him against it. But if he elects to attempt it, let
him be warily careful of two things : choose a calm clear day •
and do not pay the telescope man m advance. There nre daiU

fey

B14

A TKAMP ABROAD.

I'ii

•tories of his |niting advance-payers on the summit and th^n
leaving them there to rot.

A frightful tragedy was once witnensed through the Chamonix
telescope!. Think of questions and answers like these on uii
inquest :

Coroner. You saw deceased lose his life t

Witnesg. I did.

0. Where was he, at tlie time ?

W. Close to the summit of Mont Blano.

C. Where were you ? •;/!

W. In the main street of Chamonix. •

C. What was the distance between you t

W. A little over Jive miles, as the bird flies.

This accident occurred in 1866, a year and a month after 'he
disaster on the Matterhorn. Three adventurous English geiuVr-
men,* of great experience in mountain climbing, made up their
minds to ascend Mont Blanc without guides or porters. All
endeavors to dissuade them from their project failed. Powerful
telescopes are numerous in Chamonix. These huge brass tube»,
mounted on their scaffoldings and pointing skyward from every
choice vantage ground, have the formidable look of artillery, and
give the town the general aspect of getting ready to i-epel a charge
of angels. The reader may easily believe that the telescopes had
plenty of custom on that August morning in 1866, for everybody
knew of the dangerous undertaking which was on foot, and all
had fears that misfortune would result. All the morning the
tubes remained directed toward the mountain heights, each with
its anxious group around it ; but the white deserts were vacant.

At last, toward eleven o'clock, the people who were looking
through the telescopes cried out " There they are 1" — and sure
enough, far up, on the loftiest terraces of the Grand Plateau, the
three pygmies appeared, climbing with remarkable vigor and
gpirit. They disappeared in the " Corridor," and were lost to
sight during an hour. Then they reappeared, and were presently
seen standing together upon the extreme summit of Mont
Blanc. So far, all was well. They remained a few minutes on
that highest point of land in Europe, a target for all the tele-
scopes, and were then seen to begin the descent. Suddenly all

* Six Gm>8* TovBg sad hit brothers JamM and AJbMt

A TRAMP ABROAD.

816

tiiree VAnished. An instant after, they appeared again, twa
thoutand feet below I

Evidently they had tripped and been shot down an almost per.
pendicular slope of ice to a point where it joined the border o(
the upper glaf'ier. Naturally the distant witneHnes supposed they
irere now looking upon three corpses ; so they could hardly be-
lieve their eyes when they presently saw two of the men rise to
their feet and bend over the third. During two hours and a half
they watched the two busying themselves over the extended form
of their brother, who seemed entirely inert. Chamonix's affairs
stood still ; everybody was in the street, all interest was centered
upon what was going on upon that lofty and isolated stage five
miles away. Finally the two — one of them walking with great
difficulty — were seen to begin the descent, abandoning the third,
who was no doubt lifeless. Their movements were followed, step
by step, until they reached the " Corridor" and disappeared
behind its ridge. Before they had had time to traverse the
" Corridor" and reappear, twilight was come, and the power of
the telescopes was at an end.

The survivors had a most perilous journey before them in the
gathering darkness, for they must get down to the Grands Mulcts
before they would find a safe stopping place — a long and tedious
descent, and perilous enough even in good day-light. The oldest
guides expressed the opinion that they could not succeed ; that
all the chances were that they would lose their lives.

Yet those brave men did succeed. They reached the Grands
Mulets in safety. Even the fearful shock which their nerves had
sustained was not sufficient to overcome their coolness and
courage. It would appear from the official account that they
were treading their way down through those dangers from the
closing in of twilight until two o'clock in the morning, or later,
because the rescuing party from Chamonix reached the Grands
Mulets about three in the morning and moved thence toward the
scene of the disaster under the leadership of Sir George Young,
''who had only just arrived."

After having been on his feet twenty-four hours, in the ex-
hausting work of mountain-climbing, Sir George began the re-
ascent at the head of the relief party of six guides, to recover
the corpse of his brother. Ihis was considered a new impru-

Ul^lf

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I. I

relief
their
thele
aglioa
l-hii
early

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guide
and t
witho
three
oordii
lantei
ters VI
At
ascen
took

4 TIAMP ABBOAD.

817

daiMMi M tli« number wm too few for the terrice required.
Another relief perty presently arrived at the cabin on the Grande
Ifulete and quartered themselven there to await events. Ten
hours after Sir George's departure toward the summit, this new
relief were still Boaun ig the snowy altitudes above them from
their own high percii among the ice-deserts 10,000 feet above
the level of the sea, but the whole forenoon had passed without
a glimpse of any livmg thing appearing up there.

lliis was alarming. Half a dozen of their number set out, then
early in the afternoon, to seek and suooor Sir George and his

CABIN ON THE ORANDS MULETS.

guides. The persons remaining at the cabin saw these disappear,
and then ensued another distressing wait. Four hours passed,
without tidings. Then at five o'clock another relief, consistingof
three guides, set forward from the cabin. They carried food and
cordiflAs for the refreshment of their predecessors; they took
lanterns with them, too ; night was coming on, and to makermut*
ters worse, a fine, cold rain had begun to fall. js

At the same hour that these three began their dangerous
ascent, the official Guide-in-Chief of the Mont Blanc region under*
tO(dL tha dangeroua descent to Chamonix, all alone, to get reiik

«• r

918

A TBAXP ABBOAD.

foreMBento. Howerer, a couple of houra Ifttor, at mtco p. m.,
the anxious lolioitude came to an end, and happily. A bugle
note was heard, and a cluster of black specks was distinguishable
against the snows of the upper heights. The watchers counted
theae specks eagerly — fourteen — nobody was missing. An bom
•nd a half later they were all safe under the roof of the eabin.
They had brought the corpse with them. Sir George Young
tarried there but a few minutes, and then began the long and
troublesome descent from the cabin to Chamoniz. He probably
reached there about two or three o'clock in the morning, aflei
haring been afoot among the rocks and glaciers during two dayt
Mid two nights. His endurance was equal to his daring.

The cause of the unaccountable delay of Sir George and the
ralief parties among the heights where the disaster had happened
was a thick fog->or, partly that and partly the slow and di£Bcult
work of oonveyhig the dead body down the perilous steeps.

The corpse^ upon being viewed at the inquest, showed no
bruises, and it was some time before the surgeons discoverec^
that the neck was broken. One of the surviving brothers had
•ustained some unimportant injuries, but the other had suffered
no hurt at alL How these men could fall 2,000 feet, almost per-
pendicularlyiand Uve afterward, is a most strange and unaccount
able thing.

A great many women have made the ascent of Mont Blanc.
An English girl. Miss Stratton, conceived the daring idea, two or
three years ago, of attempting the ascent in the middle of winter.
She tried it — and she succeeded. Moreover, she froze two of her
fingers on the way up, she fell in love with her guide on the
summit, and she married him when she got to the bottom again.
^ There is nothing in romance, in the way of a striking " situation,"
which can beat this love-scene in mid-heaven on an isolated ice-
crest with the thermometer at zero and an Arctic gale blowing.

The first woman who ascended Mont Blanc was a girl aged 22—
Mile. Maria Paradis —1809. Nobody was with her but her sweet-
heart) and he was not a guide. The sex then took a rest ioj
•bout thirty years, when a Mile. d'Angeville made the ascent—
1838. In Chamonix I picked up a rude old lithograph of that
day which pictured her '^ in the act."

However, I value it less as a work of art than as a fashion plate.

A TRAMP ABBOAIft.

819

IGss d*Angeyille put on a pair of men*8 pantaloons to olimb in,
which was wise ; but she cramped their utility by adding her
petticoat, which was idiotic.

One of the mourufulest calamities which men's disposition to
climb dangerous mountains has resulted in, happened on Mont
Blanc in September, 1870. Mr. d'Arve tells the story briefly in
his '' Histoire du Mont Blanc." In the next chapter I will oop)
its chief features.

CHAPTEB XLI.

ON the 5ih of September, 1870, a caravan of eleven persons de-
parted from Chamonix to make the ascent of Mont Blanc,
lliree of the party were tourists : Messrs. Randall and Bean,
Americans, and Mr. George Corkindale, a Scotch gentleman;
there were three guides and five porters. The cabin on the Grands
Mulets was reached that day ; the ascent was resumed early the
next morning, Sept. 6. The day was fine and clear, and the
movements of the party were observed through the telescopes ol
Chamonix ; at two o'clock in the afternoon they were seen to
reach the summit. A few minutes later they were seen making
the first steps of the descent ; tben a cloud closed around them
and hid them from view.

i^ght hours passed, the cloud still remained, night came, no
one had returned to the Grands Mulets. Sylvain Couttet, keeper
of the cabin there, suspected a misfortune, and sent down to the
valley for help. A detachment of guides went up, but by the
time they had made the tedious trip and reached the cabin, a
raging storm had set in. They had to wait -j nothing could be
attempted in such a tempest.

The wild storm lasted more than a week, without ceasing ; but
on tk) 17th, Ck>uttet, with several guides, left the cabin and suc-
ceeded in making the ascent. In the snowy wastes near the 8um«
mil they came upon five bodies, lying upon their sides in a
reposeful attitude which suggested that possibly they had fallen
asleep, there, while exhausted with fatigue and hunger, and be-
numbed with cold, and never knew when death stole upon them.
Gottttet moved a few stefe farther and discovered five mora

\s) *'

8do

A TBIMP ABBOAO.

bodies. The elerenth corpse— that of a porter — was not (band,
although diligent search was made for it.

In the pocket of Mr. Bean, one of the Americans, was found a
note-book in which had been penciled some sentences which
admit us, in flesh and spirit, as it were, to the presence of these
men during their last hours of life, and to the grisly horrors which
their fading vision looked upon and their failing consciousneu
took cognizance of :

Tuesday, Sept. 6. I have made the aieent of Mont Blano, with ten penoni— «ight
guides, and Mr. Gorkindale'and Mr. BandaL We reaohed the aammit at half-put
two. Immediately after quitting it we were enveloped in clouds of snow. We pused
the night in a grotto hollowed in tha mow, which afforded bat poor shelter, and I
was ill all night.

Sept. 7— Morning. The cold if ozoessiTd. The snow falls heavily and without
interruption. The guides take no rest

Evening, My Dear Hessie, we have been two days on Mont Blanc, in the midit of
• terrible hurricane of qnow, we have lost our way, and are in a hole scooped in the
enow, at an altitude oi! fifteen thousand feet I have no longer any hope of descend'
fng.'

They had wandered around, and around, in that blinding snow
storm, hopelessly lost, in a space only a hundred yards square;
and when cold and fatigue vanquished them at last, they scooped
their cave and lay down there to die by inches, unatoare that Jive
9tep» more would have brought them into the true path. They
were so near to life and safety as that, and did not suspect it.
The thought of this gives the sharpest pang that the tragic story
conveys.

The author of the '' Histoire du Mont Blanc '* Introduces the
closing sentence of Mr. Bean's pathetic record thus :

" Here the characters are large and unsteady ; the hand which
traces them is become chilled and torpid ; but the spirit sur-
vives, and the faith and resignation of the dying man are ei
pressed with a sublime simplicity :

Perhaps this note book will be found and sent to yon. We have nothing to es\
my feet are already ftozen, and I am exhausted ; I have strength to write only a fe r
words more. I have left means for C.*b education; I know you will employ theic
wisely. I die with faith in God, and with loving thoughts of you. Farewell to all
We shall meet again, in Heaven. • * • i think of you always.

It is the way of the Alps to deliver death to their victims with
« merciful swiftness, but here the rule failed. These men suf-
fered the bitterest death that has been recorded in the history
-of those mountainS| freighted im that history is with gi-isly trar
•gediea*

■ i<

and without

CHAPTER XLn.

If ft. HARRIS and I took some guides and porters and ascended
iVl to the Hotel des Pyramides, which Is perched on the high
moraine which borders the Glacier des Bossons. The road led
•harply up hill all the way, through grass and flowers and woodsy
ind was a pleasant walk, barring the fatigue of the climb.

From the hotel we could view the huge glacier at very close
range. After a rest we followed down a path which had been
made in the steep inner frontage of the moraine, and stepped
upon the glacier itself. One of the shows of the place was a
tunnel-like cavern which had been hewn in the glacier. The
proprietor of this tunnel took candles and conducted us into it.
It was three or four feet wide and about six feet high. Its walls
of pure and solid ice emitted a soft and rich blue light that pro*
iuced a lovely effect, and suggested enchanted caves, and
that sort of thing. When we had proceeded some yards and
were entering darkness, we turned about and had a dainty sun-
lit picture of distant woods and heights hnmed in the strong
arch of the tunnel and seen through (he tender blue radiance of
the tunnel's atmosphere.

The cavern was nearly a hundred yards iong, and when we
reached its inner limit the proprietor stepped into a branch tun-
nel with his candles and left us buried in the bowels of the gla-
cier, and in pitch darkness. We judged his purpose was murder
and robbery ; so we got out our matches and prepared to sell our
lives as dearly as possible, by setting fire to the glacier, if tl^e
worst came to the worst — but we soon perceived that this man
had changed his mind ; he began to sing, in a deep, melodious
voice, and woke some curious and pleasing echoes. By and by
he came back and pretended that that was what he had gone
behind there for. We believed as much of that as we wanted tOw

Thus onr lives had been once more in imminent peril, but by
ths exercise of the swift sagacity Mtd oool courage which laad

J- 'V ril

A TBAMr ABBOAD.

saved us so often, we had added another escape to the long lUt
The tourist should visit that ice-cavern, by all means, for it it
well worth the trouble ; but I would advise him to go only with
a strong and well-armed force. I do not consider artillery necei
sary, yet it would not be unadvisable to take it along if convu
nient. The journey, going and coming, is about three miles and
a half, three of which are jn level ground. We made it in les?
than a day, but I would counsel the unpracticed — if not pressed
for time — to allow themselves two. Nothing is gained in the
Alps by over-exertion ; nothing is gained by crowding two Uay'j
work into one for the poor sake of being able to boast of the
exploit afterward. It will be found much better in the long run
to do the thing in two days, and then subtract one of them from
the narrative. This saves fatigue, and doea not injure the narra
tive. All the more thoughtful among the Alpine tourists do this,
We now called upon the Guide-in-Chief, and asked for a squad
ron of guides and porters for the ascent of the Montanvert. Ths
idiot glared at us, and said —
<< You don't need guides and porters to go to the Montanvert."
"What do we need, then?"
" Such as you f — an ambulance I'*

I was BO stung by this brutal remark that I took my custom
elsewhere.

Betimes, next morning, we had reached an altitude of 5,0u(]
feet above the l9vel of the sea. Here we camped and break-
fasted. There was a cabin there^-the spot is called the Caillei
—-and a spring of ice-cold water. On the door of the cabin was
a sign, in French, to the effect that " One may here see a liv-
ing chamois for fifty centimes." We did not invest j what we
wanted was to see a dead one.

A little after noon we ended the ascent and arrived at the new
hotel on the Montanvert, and had a view of six miles right up
the great glacier, the famous Mer de Qlace. At this point it is
like a sea whose deep swales and long, rolling swells have been
caught in mid-movement and frozen solid ; but further up it is
broken up into wildly-tossing billows of ice.

We descended a ticklish path in the steep side of the moraine,
and invaded the glacier. There were tourists of both sexes
Boattered far and wide over it everywhere, and it had the festive
look of a skating rink<

A TtLMMP ABB0A9.

The Empress Josephine came this far, onoe. 8h»i
the Hontanvert in 1810 — but not alone ; a small army of
preceded her to clear the path — and carpet it, perhaps — and sIm
followed, under the protection of Hxty-eight guides.

Her successor visited Chamonix later, but in far different styl*.
It was seven weeks after the first fall of the Empire, and poor
Bfarie Louise, ex-Empress, was a fugitive. She came at nighty
and in a storm, with only two attendants, and stood before a
peasant's hut, tired, bedraggled, soaked with rain, " the red print
of her lost crown still girdling her brow," and implored admit-
tance — and was refused I A few days before the adulations and
applauses of a nation were sounding in her ears, and now ah*
was come to this I

We crossed the Mer de Glace in safety, but we had misgivinga.
The crevasses in the ice yawned deep and Uue and mysterioaa,
and it made one nervous to traverse them. The huge round
waves of ice were slippery and difficult to climb, and tha ohanoe«
of tripping and sliding down them and darting into a crevaise
were too many to he comfortable.

In the bottom of a deep swale, between two of the biggest ol
the ice-waves, we found a fraud who pretended to be outting
steps to insure the safety of tourists. He was " soldiering " when
we came upon him, but he hopped up and chipped out a ooupl«
of steps about big enough for a oat, and charged us a fttmo or
two for it. Then he sat down again, to doze till the next party
should come along. He had collected black mail from two or
three hundred people already that day, but had not chipped out
ice enough to impair the glacier perceptibly. I have heard of a
good many soft sinecures, but it seems to me that keeping toll*
bridge on a glacier is the softest one I have encountered yet.

That was a blazing hot day, and it brought a persistent and
persecuting thirst with it. What an unspeakable luxury it waa
to slake that thirst with the pure and limpid ice-water of th«
glacier 1 Down the sides of every great rib of ice poured limpid
rills in gutters carved by their own attrition ; better still, wher*
ever a rock had lain, there was now a bowl-shaped hole, with
smooth white sides and bottom of ice, and tlus bowl was brim*
mlng with water of such absolute clearness that the careless ob-
lerver would not mo it at all» but would think th« bowliTM

I *(

■Mb]
K

-, thy "^

A nUMP ABBOAD«

•Biptjr. TI1M6 fonntains bad such an allaring look tbat I often
•tretobed myielf out when I was not thirsty and dipped my face
n and drank till my teeth ached. Everywhere among the Swiss
mountains we had at hand the blessing — not to be found in
Europe txctpi in the mc'untains — of water capable of quenching
thirst. Everywhere in the Swiss highlands brilliant little rills of
exquisitely cold water went dancing along by the roadsides, and
my comrade and I were always drinking and always delivering
nir deep gratitude.

But in Europe everywhere, except in the mountains, the water
I0 flat and insipid beyond the power of words to describe. It u

•erved lukewarm ; but no matter, ice could not help it ; it is in-
curably flat, incurably insipid. It is only good to wash with ; I
wonder it doesn't occur to the average inhabitant to try it for
that In Europe the people say contemptuously, " Nobody drinks
water here." Indeed they have a sound and sufiScient reason.
In many places they even have what may be called prohibitory
reasons. In Paris and Munich, for instance, they say, " Don't
drink the water, it is simply poison."

Either America is healthier than Europe, notwithstanding her
" deadly " indulgence in ice wateri or the does not keep the nm

A TIAMP ABIOiD.

of her d«ftth*nite m sharply as Europe dees. I think we do keef
up the death statistics accurately ; and if we do, our cities arc
healthier than the cities of Europe. Every month the German
government tabulates the death-rate of the world and publishes
it. I scrap-booked these reports duHng several months, and it
was curious to see how regularly and persistently each city re-
peated its same death-rate month after month. The tables might
as well have been stereotyped, they varied so little. These tables
were based upon weekly reports showing the average of deaths
in each 1,000 of population for a year. Mimich was always pre-
sent with her 33 deaths in each 1,000 of her population (yearly
average), Chicago was as constant with her 15 or 17, Dublin with
her 48 — and so on.

Only a few American cities appear in these tables, but they
are scattered so widely over the country that they furnish a good
general average of city health in the United States ; and I think
it will be granted that our towns and villages are healthier than
our cities.

Here is the average of the only American cities reported in
the German tables :

Chicago, deaths in 1,000 of population annually, 16 ; Philadel
phia, 18 ; St. Louis, 18 ; San Francisco, 19; New York (the Dublin
of America), 23.

See how the figures jump up, as soon as one arrives at the
transatlantic list :

Paris, 27 ; Glasgow, 27 ; London, 28 ; Vienna, 28 ; Augsburg,
28 ; Braunschweig, 28 ; Eonigsberg, 29 ; Colonge, 29 ; Dresden,
29 ; Hamburg, 29 ; Berlin, 30; Bombay, 30 ; Warsaw, 31 ; Breslau
31 ; Odessa, 32 ; Munich, 33 ; Strasburg, 33 ; Pesth, 35 ; Cassel,
35 ; Lisbon, 36 ; Liverpool, 37 ; Prague, 37 ; Madras, 37 ; Bucharest]
39; St. Petersburg, 40; Triest, 40; Alexandria (Egypt), 43;
Dublin, 48 ; Calcutta, 55 ;

Edinburg is as healthy as New York — 23 ; but there is no eiiy
in the entire list which is healthier, except Frankfort-on-the-
Main— 20. But Frankfort is not as healthy as Chicago, San Fran
Cisco, St. Louis, or Philadelphia.

Perhaps a strict average of the world might develop the fact
that where 1 in 1,000 of America's population dies^ 2 in 1.000 <||
Uie oUier populationa of the eitrth s^cciunl^

* '/■.'(

■0 I

I. m

^^^' if

la^

i i'ijt

A TBAXP ABIOAD.

I do not like to make insinufttioiu, but I do think the eboT*
■ttttistioe darkly suggest that these people over here drink thii
detestable water " on the sly."

We climbed the moraine on the opposite side of the glacier,
and then crept along its sharp ridge a hundred yards or so, in
pretty constant danger of a tumble to the glacier below, llie
fftll would have been only 100 feet, but it would have closed me
out as e£feotually as 1,000, therefore I respected the distance
accordingly, and was glad when the trip was done. A moraine
is an ugly thing to assault head-firtt At a distance it looks like

an andless grave of fine sand, accurately shaped and nicely
smoothed ; but close by, it is found to be made mainly o^ rough
boulders of all sizes, from that of a man's head to that of a cottage.
By and by we came to the MauvaU Pas, or, the Villanous
Road, to translate it feelingly. It was a break-neck path around
the face of a precipice forty or fifty feet high, and nothing to
hang on to but some iron railings. I got idong, slowly, safely,
and uncomfortably, and finally reached the middle. My hopes
began to rise a little, but they were quickly blighted ; for there
I met a hog— a long-nosed, bristly fellow, that held up his snoul
and worked his nostrils at me inquiringly. A hog on a pleasure
excursion in Switzerland — think of it. It is striking and unusual ;
a body might write a poem about it. He could not retreat, if ho.
had been dispooed to do iU It would have b^on fooUiU to stand

4 TBAMt ABIOAD.

9S7

upon oar dignity In a place where there was hardly room to
stand upon our feet, so we did nothing of the sort. There were
twenty or thirty ladies and gentlemen behind us ; we all turned
about and went back, and the hog followed behind. The crea-
ture did not seem set up by what he had done } he had probably
done it before.

We reached the restaurant on the height called the Chapeau
at four in the afternoon. It was a memento-factory, and the
stock was large, cheap and varied. I bought the usual paper-
cutter to remember the place by, and had Mont Blanc, the
Mauvais Fas, and the rest of the region branded on my alpen-
stock ; then we descended to the valley and walked home with-
out being tied together. This was not dangerous, for the valley
was five miles wide, and quite level.

We reached the hotel before nine o'clock. Next morning we
left for Qeneva on top of the diligence, under shelter of a gay
awning. If J remember rightly, there were more than twenty
people up there. It was so high that the ascent was made by
ladder. The huge vehicle was full everywhere, inside and out
Five other diligences left at the same time, all full. We had
engaged our seats two days beforehand, to make sure, and paid
the regulation price, five dollars each ; but the rest of the com-
pany were wiser ; they had trusted Baedeker, and waited ;
consequently some of them got their seats for one or two dollars.
Baedeker knows all about hotels, railway and diligence companies,
and speaks his mind freely. He is a trustworthy friend of the
traveler.

We never saw Mont Blanc at his best until we were many miles
away; then he lifted his majestic proportions high into the
heavens, all white and cold and solemn, and made the rest of the
world seem little and plebeian, and cheap and trivial.

As he passed out of sight at last, an old Englishman settled
bimself in his seat and said —

*' Well, I am satisfied, I have seen the principal features of
Swiss scenery— Mont Blanc and the goitre— now for homo I"

!» i'A

^'^ • :i'-fr

. *- ■

'\iK- ':\. ^:>,>>

828

A TBAMF AIBOAD.

CHAPTER XLm.

WE spent a few pleasant restful days at Genera, that delight-
ful city where accurate time pieces are made for all the rest
of the world, but whose own clocks never give the correct time
of day by any accident.

Geneva is filled with pretty little shops, and the shops are
filled with the most enticing gimcrackery, but if one enters one
of these places he is at once poimced upon, and followed up, and
■o persecuted to buy this, that, and the other thing, that he is
Tery grateful to get out again, and is not at all apt to repeat his
experiment. The shopkeepers of the smaller sort, in Geneva,
are as troublesome and persistent as are the salesmen of that
monster hive in Paris, the Grand Magasin du Louvre— an estab-
lishment where ill-mannered pestering, pursuing and insistance
have been reduced to a science.

In Geneva, prices in the smaller shops are very elastic — that is
another bad feature. I was looking in at a window at a very
pretty string of beads, suitable for a child. I was only admiring
them ; I had no use for them ; I hardly ever wear beads. The
shopwoman came out and offered them to me for thirty-five francs.
I said it was cheap, but I did not need them.

'' Ah, but monsieur, they are so beautiful I '*

I confessed it, but said they were not suitable for one of my
age and simplicity of character. She darted in and brought them
out and tried to force them into my hands, saying —

" Ah, but only see how lovely they are I Surely monsieur will
take them ; monsieur shall have them for thirty francs. There.
I have said it — it is a loss, but one must live."

I dropped my hands, and tried to move her to respect my un-
protected situation. But no, she daiigl<)d the beads in the sun
before my face, exclaiming, '< Ah, moudieur cannot resist them !"
She hung them on my coat button, folded her hands resignedly
and said, " Gone — and for thirty francs, the lovely things — it is
Ipotr^dible t — ^b^t the ^^ood Go4 wiU sMictify the sm^rifice to WQ*"

K=sJ!

4 TBAKP ABBOAD.

I remored them gently, returned them, and walked away thak*
Jig my head and smiling a amilo of silly embarrassment while the
passers-by halted to observe. The woman leaned out of her door,
■hook the beads, and screamed after me—

« Monsieur shall have them lor twenty-eight I"

I shook my head.

'< Twenty-seven I It ia a cruel lots, it it ruin— but take them,
only take them."

I still retreated, still wagging my head.

" Mon Dieu, they shall even go for twenty-six 1 There, I have
said it. Come I" ">'t

I wagged another negative. A nurse and a little English girl
had been near me, and were following me, now. The shopwoman
ran to the nurse, thrust her beads into her hands, and said —

" Monsieur shall have them for twenty-five I Take them to the
hotel— he shall send me the money to-morrow — next day — ^when
he likes." Then to the child: " When thy father sends me the
money, come thou also, my angel, and thou shalt have something
oh so pretty!"

I was thus providentially saved. The nurse refused the beads
•quarely and fimlyy aod that ended the mattaB.

A nUMr IBBOIS.

The ** tlghto" of GwieTa wr% not numerotw. I made one attempt
to hunt up the houses once inhabited by those two disagreeable
people, Rousseau and Calvin, but had no success. Then I con
eluded to go home. I found it was easier to propose to do that
than to do it ; for that town is a bewildering place. I got lost in
ft tangle of narrow and crooked streets, and staid lost for an houi
or two. Finally I found a street which looked somewhat familiar,
and said to myself, " Now I am at home, I judge." But I wa:
wrong , this was " Hell street." Presently I found another place
which had a familiar look, and said to myself, " Now I am at
home sure." It was another error. This was " Purgatory
•treet." After a little I said, " Now I've got to the right place,

anyway no, this is * Parcidise street;' I'm ftirther from

'home than I was in the beginning." Those were queer names-
Calvin was the author of them, likely. " Hell" and " Purgatory"
fitted those two streets like a glove, but the " Paradise" appeared
to be sarcastic.

I came out on the lake front, at last, and then I knew where I
was. I was walking along before the glittering jewelry shops
when I saw a curious performance. A lady passed by, and a trim
dandy lounged across the walk in such an apparently carefully-
timed way as to bring himself exactly in front of her when she
got to him ; he made no offer to step out of the way ; he did not
apologize ; he did not even notice her. She had to stop still and
let him lounge by. I wondered if he had done that piece of
brutality purposely. He strolled to a chair and seated himself at
a small table ; two or three other males were sitting at similar
tables sipping sweetened water. I waited, presently a youth
came by, and this fellow got up and served him the same trick.
Still, it did not seem possible that any one could do such a thing
deliberately. To satisfy my curiosity I went around the block,
and sure enough, as I approached, at a good roimd speedy he got
up and lounged lazily across my path, fouling my course exactly
at the right moment to receive all my weight. This proved that
his previous performances had not been accidental, but in-
tentionaL

I saw that dandy's curious game played afterwards in Paris, but
not for amusement ; not with a motive of any sort| indeed, but
•imply from a selfiah indifference to other people'f oom&vi and

4 TBAMP ABBOAH.

881

righto. On« does not ■•« it m frequently in P»rii m 1i« might
exp«ot to, for there the Iaw SAys, in effect, " it is the buainese of
the weak to get out of the way of the strong." We fine a rah-
man if he runa over a oitiien ; Paris fines the citizen for being
run oyer. At leaat so everybody says — but I saw something which
caused me to doubt ; I saw a horseman run over an old woman
one day — the police arrested him and took him away. Tliat
looked as if they meant to punish him.

It will not do for me to find merit in American manners — for
are they not the standing butt for the jests of critical and polished
Europe? Still I must venture to claim one little matter of
luperiority in our manners : a lady may traverse our streets all
day, going and coming as she chooses, and she will never be
molested by any man ; but if a lady, unattended, walks abroad in
the streeto of London, even at noon-day, she will be pretty likely
to be accosted and insulted — and not by drunken sailors, but by
men who carry the look and wear the dress of gentlemen. It is
maintained that these people are not gentlemen, but are a lower
sort, disguised as gentlemen. The case of Colonel Valentine
fiaker obstructs that argument, for a man cannot become an
officer in the British army except he hold the rank of gentleman.
This person, finding himself alone in a railway compartment with
an unprotected girl — but it is an atrocious story, and doubtless
the reader remembers it weH enough. London must have been
more or less accustomed to Bakers, and the ways of Bakers, else
London would have been offended, and excited. Baker was
" imprisoned" — in a parlor ; and he could not have been more
visited, or more overwhelmed with attentions, if he had commit*
ted six murders and then — while the gallows was preparing —
" got religion" — after the manner of the holy Charles Peace, of
saintly memory. Arkansaw — it seems a little indelicate to be
trumpeting forth our own superiorities, and comparisons are
always odious, but still — Arkansaw would certainly have hanged
Baker. I do not say she would have tried him first, but she would
have hanged him, anyway.

Even the most degraded woman can walk our streets immo*
lasted, her sex and her weakness being her sufiScient protection.
She will encounter less polish than she would in the old world,
but she will ran aoroM enough humanity to make up for it*

'IK-

':8 f

iiL.

if.-
' i

i .r.

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882

A TEAMP ABROAD.

Hie music of a donkey awoke vm early in the morning, and wt
rcse up and made ready for a pretty formidable walk — to Italy ;
but the road was so level that we took the train. We lost a good
deal of time by this, but it was no matter, we were not in a hurry.
We were four hours going to Chambery. The Swiss trains goi
upwards of three miles an hour, in places, but they are quite safe.]

That aged French town of Chambery was as quaint and crooked '
Ika Heilbronn. A drowsy, reposeful quiet reigned in the back '
streets which made strolling through them very pleasant, barring
4ie almost unbearable heat of the sun. In ona of these atreets ,

which was eight feet wide, gracefully curved, and built up with
small antiquated houses, I saw three fat hogs lying asleep, and a
boy (also asleep) taking care of them. From queei-y old-fashioned
windows along the curve, projected boxes of bright flowers, and
over the edge of one of these boxes hung the head and shoulders
of a cat — asleep. The five sleeping creatures were the only j
living things visible in that street. There was not a sound;
absolute stillness prevailed. It was Sunday ; one is not used to
such dreamy Sundays on the Continent. In our part of the town
it was different that night. A regiment of brown and battered
•oidiers had arrived home from Algiers, and I judged they got
thirsty on the way. They sang and drank till dawn, in the plea
sant open air.

We left for Turin at ten the nest morning by a railway whicb
waa j^iofttsely decorated with tunnela. Wa fiMfoi to take alas

▲ ThJJif ABAOAO.

lam along, eonaeqnently we misMd «U the seenery. Oar eom*
partment wm full. A ponderous, tow-headed Swiu woman who
put on many fine-lady airs, but was evidently more used to
irashing linen than wearing it, sat in a comer seat and put her
legs across into the opposite one, propping them intermediately
mih her upended valine. In the seat thus pirated, sat two
Americans, greatly incommoded by that woman's majestic coffin-
3lad feet. One of them begged her, politely, to remove them.
She opened her wide eyes and gave him a stare, but answered
Qothing. By and by he preferred his request again, with great

■fr. ■■■■'*■ t.t!:^t

respectfulness. She said, in good English, and in a deeply
ott'ended tone, that she had paid her passage and was not going
to be bullied out of her " rights" by ill-bred foreigners, even if
she was alone and unprotected.

'' But I have rights, also, madam. My ticket entitles me to a
seat, but you are occupying half of it."

" 1 will not talk with you, sir. What right have you to speak
to me ? I do not know you. One would know you came from a
land where there are no gentlemen. No /^en/^eman would treat
a lady as you have treated me." -

" I come from a region where a lady would hardly give me the
ume provocation."

^ «■ i ! i

- f

''ill-

\ ■ i

A TBUfP ABIOAD.

''Yon IwTe insulted me, sir I Yon have intimated that I am
BOt a lady— and I hope I am not one, after the pattern of your
eountry."

''I beg that you will give yourself no alarm on that head,
madam ; but at the same time I must insist — always respectfully
—that you let me have my seat."

Here the fhigile laundress burst into tears and sobs.

** I never was so insulted before ! Never, never t It is shame-
All, it is brutal, it is base, to bully and abuse an unprotected lady
who has lost the use of her limbs and cannot put her feet to the
floor without agony I"

''Good heavens, madam, why didn't you say that at first I 1
oflTer a thousand pardons. And I offer them most sincerely. I
did not know — ^I could not know — that anything was the matter.
Vou are most welcome to the seat, and would have been from the
first if I had only known. 1 am truly sorry it all happened, I do
assure you."

But he couldn't get a word of forgiveness out of her. She
simply sobbed and snuffled in a subdued but wholly unappeasable
way for two long hours, meantime crowding the man more than
ever with her undertaker-furniture and naying no sort of atten.
tion to his frequent and humble little eff' rts to do something for
her comfort. Then the train halted at tne Italian line and she
hopped up and marched out of the car with as firm a leg as any
washerwoman of all her tribe I And how siok I was, to see how
she had fooled me.

Turin is a very fine city in the matt^ of roominess. It trans-
cends anything that was ever dreamed of oefore, I fancy. It sits
in the midst of a vast dead-level, and one is obliged to imagine
that land may be had for the asking, and no taxes to pay, so
lavishly do they use it. The streets are extravagantly wide, the
paved squares are prodigious, the houses are huge and handsome,
and compacted into uniform blocks that stretch away as straight
as an arrow, into the distance. The sidewalks are about as wide
as ordinary European atreeta, and are covered over with a double
arcade supported on great stone piers or columns. One walks
flroM one end to the other of these spacious streets, under shelter
all the time, and all his course is lined with the prettiest of shops
and the most inviting dining-houses.

A TIAMP ABBOID.

There b a Irid© and lengthy court, glittering with the moet
«rickedly-enticing shops, which is roofed with glass, high aloft
over head, and paved with soft- toned marbles laid in graceful
figures ) and at night when this place is brilliant with gas and
populous with a sauntering and chatting and laughing of the
pleasure-seekers, it is a spectacle worth seeing. Everything is
on a large scale ; the public buildings, for instance— and they are
architecturally imposing, too, as well as large. The big squares
have big bronze monuments in them. At tlie hotel they give ui

well the weatner requirea no nre m ino puriot, fot * chmK one
might as well have tried to warm a pnrk. The place would hnvo
a warm look, though, in any weather, for the window curtoina
were of red silk damask, and the walls were covered with the
same fire-hued goodg — so, also, were the four sofas and the bri-
gade of chairs. The furniture, the ornaments, the cliandeliers,
the carpets, were all new and bright and costly. We did not
need a parlor, at all, but they said it belonged to the two bed-
rooms and we might use it if we chose. Since it was to cost
Qothiug, we were not averse from using it, of course.

•■I "

I.;

'II

J* .

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f.L I

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886

A TRAMP ABROAD.

Turin mutt rarely read » good deal, for it bas more book f tore»
to the square rod than any other town I know of. And it ban
its own share of military folk. The Italian officers' uniforms are
very much the most beautiful I have ever seen ; and as a general
thing the men in them were as handsome as the clothes. They
were not. large men, but they had fine forms, fine features, rich
olive complexions and lustrous black eyes.

For several weeks I had . been culling all the information 1
could about Italy, from tourists. The tourists were all agreed
upon one thing — one must expect to be cheated at every turn bv
the Italians. I took an evening walk in Turin, and presently
came across a little Punch and Judy show in one of the great
squares. Twelve or fifteen people constituted the audience.
This miniature theatre was not much bigger than a man's coffin
stood on end ; the upper part was open and displayed a tinseled
parlour — a good-sized handkerchief would have answered for a
drop-curtain ] the footlights consisted of a couple of candle-ends
an inch long ; variouK manikins the size of dolls appeared on the>
stage and made long speeches at each other, gesticulating a good
deal, and they generally had a fight before they got through.
They were worked by strings from above, and the illusion was not
perfect, for one saw not only the strings but the brawny hand that
manipulated them — and the actors and actresses all talked in the
same voice, too. The audience stood in front of the theatre, and
seemed to enjoy the performance heartily.

When the play was done, a youth in his shirt sleeves started
around with a small copper saucer to make a collection. I did
not know how much to put in, but thought I would be guided by
my predecessors. Unluckily I only had two of these and they
did not help me much because they did not put in anything. I
had no Italian money, so I put in a small Swiss coin worth about
ten cents. The youth finished his .collection trip and emptied
the result on the stage ; he had some very animated talk with
the concealed manager, then he came working his way through
the little crowd— seeking me, 1 thought. I had a mind to slip
away, but concluded 1 wouldn't j 1 would stand my ground, and
confront the villany, whatever it was. The youth stood before
me and held up that Swiss coin, sure enough, and said something.
I did not understand him, but I Judged ho was n^quiiing Italian

k T&Alff ABBOAfi..

money of mi. The crowd gathered close, to Uiiw. I wm irri*

tated, and said— in English, of course —

'* I know it's Swiss, but you'll take that or none. I haven't any
other."

He tried to put the coin in my hand, and spoke again. I drew
my hand away, and said, —

** NOf sir. I know all about you people. Tou can't play any
of your fraudful tricks on me. If there is a discount on that
coin, I am sorry, but I am not going to make it good. I noticed
that some of the audience didn't pay you anything at all. You
let them go, without a word, but you come after me because you
think I'm a stranger and will put up with an extortion rather
than have a scene. But you are mistaken this time — ^you'll take
that Swiss money or none."

The youth stood there with the coin in his fingers nonplussed,
and bewildered ; of course he had not understood a word. An
English-speaking Italian spoke up, now, and said —

" You are misunderstanding the boy. He does not mean any
harm. He did not suppose you -ive him so much money pur*
posely, so he hurried back to return you the coin lest you might
get away before you discovered your mistake. Take it, and give
him a penny— that will make everything smooth agr^in."

I probably blushed, then, for there was occasion. Through the
interpreter I begged the boy's pardon, but I nobly refused to
take back the ten cents. I said I was accustomed to squandering
large sums in that way — it was the kind of person I was. Then
I retired to make a note to the effect that in Italy, persons con-
nected with the drama do not cheat.

The episode with the showman reminds me of a dark chapter
in my history. I once robbed an aged and blind beggar-woman
of four dolliEtrs — in a church. It happened in this way. When I
was out with the Innocents Abroad, the ship stopped in the
Russian port of Odessa, and I went ashore, with others, to view
the town. I got separated from the rest, and wandered about
alone, until late in the afternoon, when I entered a Greek church
io see what it was like. When I was ready to leave I observed
two wrinkled old women standing stifiQy upright against the in*
ner wall, near the door, with their brown palms open to reoeiv*
alms. I contributed to the nearer one, and passed out. I bMl

1, s

A rtuJtf ABB0A9.

gone fifty yarcfi, perhaps, when it occurred to me that I mtut re
main ashore all night, as I had heard that the ship's businesi
would carry her away at fou.' o'clock and keep her away until
morning. It was a little after four now. I had come ashore
with only two pieces of money, both about the same size, but
differing largely in value — one was a French gold piece worth
four dollars, the other a Turkish coin worth two cents and a hall
With a sudden and horrified misgiving I put my hand in m^
pocket now, and sure enough I fetched out that Turkish penny I
Here was a situation. A hotel would require pay in advance —
[ must walk the streets all night, and perhaps be arrested as a
auspicious character. There waa but one way out of the diflB

cult} . I flew back to the church, and softly entered. There
stood the old woman yet, and in the palm of the nearest one
■till lay my gold piece. 1 was grateful. I crept close, feeling
unspeakably mean ; I got my Turkish penny ready, and was ex-
tending a trembling hand to make the nefarious exchange, when
1 heard a cough beliind me. I jumped back as if I had been
accused, and stood quaking while a worshiper entered and
passed up the aisle.

I was there a year trying to steal that money ; that is, it seemed
ft year, though of course it must have been much less. The wor-
shipers went and came ; there were hardly ever three in the
ftiuroh at once, but there was always oue or more. Every tims

»*»■■

A TSAMP ABBOA».

I tried io oCmunit my crime ■omebod.y e«me fat or tomebody
started out, and I was prevented ; but at last my opportunity
came ; for one moment there was nobody in the church but tlM
two beggar-women and me. I whipped the gold piece out of th«
poor old pauper's palm and dropped my Turkish penny in its
place. Poor old thing, she murmured her thanks — they smot*
me to the heart. Then I sped away in a guilty hurry, and even
when I was a mile from the church I was still glancing back
every moment to see if I was being pursued.

That experience has been of priceless value and benefit to met
for I resolved then that as long as I lived I would never again
rob a blind beggar-woman in a church ; and I have always kepi
my word. The most permanent lessons in morals are thoM
which come, not of book teaching, but of ezpehenoa.

»■ M

CHAPTER XLIV.

IN Milan we spent most of olir time in the vast and beautiful
Arcade or Gallery, or whatever it is called. Blocks of tall new
buildings of the most sumptuous sort, rich with decoration and
graced with statues, the streets between these blocks roofed over
with |Ums at a great height, the pavements all of smooth and
variegated marble, arranged in tasteful patterns — little tables all
over these marble streets, people sitting at them, eating, drink-
ing,or smoking— crowds of other people strolling by-Hiuch is the
Arcade. I should like to live in it all the time. The windows
of the sumptuous restaurants stand open, and one break&sta
there and enjoys the passing show.

We wandered all over the town, enjoying whatever was going
on in the streets. We took one onmibus ride, and as I did not
•peak Italian and could not ask the price, I held out some copper
coins to the conductor, and he took two. Then he went and got
his tariff-card and showed me that he had taken only the right
sum. So I made a note — Italian omnibus conductors do not cheat.

Near the Cathedral I saw another instance of probity. An old
man was peddling dolls and toy fans. Two small Amerioaa
ehildren bought fiuisi and one gave the old man a franc and thret

'it

! ;

k TIUMP ABtUIAD*

eopf>«r odog, aad both sUrtftd away ; but tbey were called baob
and the fhmo and one of the coppers were restored to them.
Hence it is plain that in Italy, parties connected with the drama
and with the omnibus and toy interests do not cheat.

The stocks of goods in the shops were not extensive, generally.
In the vestibule of what seemed to be a clothing store, we saw
eight or ten wooden dummies grouped together, clothed in
woolen business-suits and each suit marked with its price. One
suit was marked forty-five francs — nine dollars. Harris stepped
and in said he wanted a suit like that. Nothing easier : the old
merchant dragged in the dummy, brushed him off with a broom,
stripped him, and shipped the clothes to the hotel. He said he
did not keep two suits of the same kind in stock, but manufac-
tured a second when it was needed to re-clothe the dummy.

In another quarter we found six Italians engaged in a violent
quarrel. They danced fiercely about, gesticulating with their
heads, their arms, their legs, their whole bodies ; they would rush
forward occasionally in a sudden access of passion and shake
their fists in each other's very faces. We lost half an hour there,
waiting to help cord up the deacf, but they finally embraced each
other affectionately, and the trouble was all over. The episode
was interesting, but we could not have afforded all that time to
it if we had known nothing was going to come of it but a recon-
ciliation. Note made — in Italy, people who quarrel cheat the
spectator.

We had another disappointment, afterward. We approached
ft deeply interested crowd, and in the midst of it found a fellow
wildly chattering and gesticulating over a box on the ground
which was covered with a piece of old blanket. Every little while
he would bend down and take hold of the edge of the blanket
with the extreme tips of his fingers, as if to show there was no
deception— chattering away all the while — but always, just as I
was expecting to see a wonderful feat of legerdemain, he would
let go the blanket and rise to explain further. However, at last
he uncovered the box and got out a spoon with a liquid in it, and
held it fair and fhinkly around, for people to see that it was al}
right and he was taking no advantage — ^his chatter became more
•xoited than ever. I supposed he was going to set fire to the
liquid and awaliow it, ao I was greatly wrought up and interested.

A TtLAUP ABftOAD.

841

I got a cent ready in one hand and a florin in the other, intend*
in/ar to give him the former if he survived and the latter if he
killed himself— for his loss would be my gain in a literary way,
and I was willing to pay a fair price for the item — but this im*
postor ended his intensely moving performance by simply adding
some powder to the liquid and polishing the spoon 1 Then he
hold it aloft, and he could not have shown a wilder exultation if
he had achieved an immortal miracle. The crowd applauded in
a gratified way, and it seemed to me that history speaks the truth
when it says these children of the south are easily entertained.

We spent an impressive hour in the noble cathedral, where
long shafts of tinted light were cleaving through the solemn dipi-
ness from the lofty windows and falling on a pillar here, a pic*
tare there, and a kneeling worshiper yonder. The organ was
muttering, censors were swinging, candles were glinting on the
distant alter, and robed priests were filing silently past them ] the
scene was one to sweep all frivolous thoughts away and steep
(he soul in a holy calm. A trim young American lady paused a
]>ard or two from me, fixed her eyes on the mellow sparks fleck*
ing the far-off altar, bent her head reverently a moment, then
itraightened up, kicked her train into the air with her heel,
taught it deftly in her hand, and marched briskly out.

We visited the picture galleries and other regulation " sights*'
of Milan — not because I wanted to write about them again, but
to see if I had learned anything in twelve years. 1 afterwards
visited the great galleries of £ome and Florence for the same
purpose. I found I had learned one thing. When I wrote about
the Old Masters before, I said the copies were better than the
originals. That was a mistake of large dimensions. The Old
Masters were still unpleasing to me, but they were truly divine
contrasted with the copies. The copy is to the original as the
pallid, smart, insane new wax-work- group is to the vigorous,
earnest, dignified group of living men and women whom it pro*
fesses to duplicate. There is a mellow richness, a subdued color,
in the old pictures, which is to the eye what muffled and mellowed
sound is to the ear. That is the merit which is most loudly praised
in the old picture, and' is the one which the copy most con*
ipicuously lacks, and which the copyist must not hope to compass,
[t was generally conceded by the artists with whom I talked, thai

^'. ^

849

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

thftt subdued splendor, that mellow richness, is imparted to the

picture by age. Then why should we worship the Old Mester foi

it, who didn't impart it, instead of worshiping Old Time, who did 1

Perhaps the picture was a clanging bell, until time muffled it and

sweetened it.

In conversation with an artist in Venice, I asked —

" What is it that people see in the Old Masters ? I have been

n the Doge's Palace and I saw several acres of very bad drawing,

very bad perspective, and very incorrect proportions. Paul

Veronese's dogs do not resemble dogs ; all the horses look like

bladders on legs ; one man had a right leg on the left side of his

body ; in the large picture where the Emperor (Barbarossa?) is

prostrate before the Pope, there are three men in the foreground

who are over thirty feet high, if one may judge by the size of a

kneeling little boy in the centre of the foreground ; and accord*

mg to the same scale, the Pope is seven feet high and the Doge

is a shriveled dwarf of four feet." .

The artist said — '

" Yes, the Old Masters often drew badly ; they did not care

much for truth and exactness in minor details ; but after all, in

«pite of bad drawing, bad perspective, bad proportions, and a

choice of subjects which no longer appeal to people as strongly

M they did three hundred years ago, there is a something about

their pictures which is divine — a something which is above and

beyond the art of any epoch since — a something whicli would be

the despair of artists but that they never hope to expect to attain

it, and therefore do not worry about it."

That is what he said — and he s&id what he believed; and not
only believed, but felt.

Reasoning — especially reasoning without technical knowledge
>-must be put aside, in cases of this kind. It cannot assist the
enquirer. It will lead him, in the most logical progression, to
what, in the eyes of artists, would be a most illogical conclusion.
Thus : bad drawing, bad proportion, bad perspecti^re, indififerenca
to truthfid detail, color which gets its merit from time, and not
from the artist — these things constitute the Old Master ; conclu-
•ioni the Old Master was a bad painter, the Old Master was not
an Old Master at all, but an Old Apprentice. Tour friend the
artitt willifraat your premises, but deny your ooncluaion ) ho will

«:•

A TRAirP ABROAD.

848

inaintain that notwithstanding this formidable liii of oonfeaaed
defeats, there is still a something that is divine and unapproaoh-
aMe about the Old Master, and that there is no arguing the fact
away by any system of reasoning whatever.

I can believe that. There are women who have an indefinable
rharm in their faces which makes them beautiful to their inti'
mates ; but a cold stranger who tried to reason the matter out
and find thia beauty would fail. He would aay of one of these

women : This chin is too short, this nose is too long, this fore-
head is too high, this hair is too red, this complexion is too pallid,
the perspective of the entire composition is incoq^ect ; conclusioui
the woman is not beautiful. But her nearest friend might say,
and say truly, " Your premises are right, your logic is faultless,
but your conclusion is wrong, nevertheless ) she is an Old Master
—she is beautiful, but only to such as know her ; it is a beauty
which cannot be formulated, but it is there, just the same."

I found more pleasure in contemplating the Old Masters this
time than I did when I was in Europe in former years, but still it

■■h

844

A TRAMP ABBOAD.

was a calm pleiuure ; there was nothing OT«r<heat«cl about it
"When I was in Venice before, I think I found no picture which
stirred nie much, but this time there were two which enticed me
to the Doge's palace dny after day, and kept me there hours at a
time. One uf thene woh Tintoretto's three-acre picture in the
Great Council Chamber. When I saw it twelve years ago, I was
not strongly attracted to it — the guide told me it was aa insur*
rection in heaven — but this was an error.

'Hie movement of this groat work is very fine. There are ten
thousand Hgures, and they are all doing something. There is •
wonderful *' go" to the whole composition. Some of the figures
are diving headlong downward, with clasped hands, others are
swimming through the cloud-shoals — some on their faces, some on
their backs — great processions of bishops, martyrs and angels
are pouring swiftly centerwards from various outlying diroctions
—everywhere is enthusiastic joy, there is rushing movement
everywhere. There are fifteen or twenty figures scattered here
and there, with books, but they cannot keep their attention on
their reading — they offer the books to others, but no one wishes
to read, now. The Lion of St. Mark is there with his book ; St.
Mark is there with his pen uplifted ; he and the Lion are looking
each other earnestly in the face, disputing about the way to spell
a word — the Lion looks up in wrapt admiration while St. Mark
spells. This is wonderfully interpreted by the artist. It is the
master-stroke of this incomparable painting.
. I visited the place daily, and never grew tired of looking at that
grand picture. As I have intimated, the movement is almost
unimaginably vigofus : the figures are singing, hosannahing, and
many are blowing trumpets. So vividly is noise suggested, that
spectators who become absorbed in the picture almost always
fall to shouting comments in each other's ears, making ear-trum*
pets of their curved hands, fearing they may not otherwise be
heard. One often sees a tourist, with the eloquent tears pouring
down his cheeks, funnel his hands at his wife's ear, and hears him
roar through them, "O, TO BE THERE AND AT REST I"

None but the supremely great in art can produce effects lik«
these with the silent brush.

Twelve years ago I could not have appreciated this picture.
One year ago I could not have appreciated it. My study of Ail

4 TRAMF ABBOAD.

m HeidelbMi haa baeft » noblo education to me. All thai I am
to-day in Art, I owe to that.

The other great work which fascinated me was Bastano*a im
mortal Hair Trunk. This is in the Chamber of the Council oi
Ten. It is one of the three forty-foot pictures which decorate
the walls of the room. The composition of thia picture is be
yond praise. The Uair Trunk is not hurled at the stranger's
head — so to speak — as the chief feature of an immortal work so
often is | no, it is carefully guarded from prominence, it is subor-
dinated, it is restr<uned, it ia moat deftly and cleverly held in re*
serve, it is most cautiously and ingeniously led up to, by the
master, and consequently when the spectator reaci es it at last,
be is taken unawares, he is unprepared, and it bur^ a upon him
with a stupefying surprise.

One is lost in wonder at all the thought and care whlo'u th d
elaborate planning must have cost. A general glawce at ..le
picture could never suggest that there was a hair trunk it it ; the
Hair Trunk is not mentioned in the title even —which is, " Pope
Alexander III. and the Doge Ziani, the Conqueror of the i ^
peror Frederick Barbarossa;" you see, the title is actually ul lize i
to help divert attention from the Trunk ; thus, as I say, nothing
suggests the presence of the Trunk by any hint, yet everything
studiedly leads up to it, step by step. Let us examine into this,
and ob.serve the exquisitely artful artlessness of the plan.

At the extreme left end of the picture are a couple of women,
one of them with a child looking over her shoulder at a wounded
man sitting with bandaged head on the ground. These people
geem needless — but no, they are there for a purpose ; one can-
not look at them without seeing the gorgeo"s procession of
grandees, bishops, halberdiers, and bannorbea > tvhich ia pass-
ing along behind them ; one cannot see the procession without
feeling a curiosity to follow it and learn whither it is going; it
leads him to the Pope, in the centre of th- picture, who is talk-
ing with the bonnetless Doge — talking tranquilly, too, although
within twelve feet of them a man is beating a drum, and not far
from the drummer two persons are blowing horns, and many
horsemen are plunging and rioting about ; indeed, twenty-two
feet of this great work is all a deep antl happy holiday serenity
and Sunday-school procession. ai\d iheu we come suddenly upon

W*'

^f. ■

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846

A TBUIP ABBOAD.

eleren md a half feet of turmoil and nckei wid ininbordinaticii.
rhis latter stale of things is not an accident, it has it« purpose.
But for it one would linger upon the Pope and the Doge, think-
mg them to be the motive and supreme feature of the picture ;
irhereas one is drawn along almost unconsciously to see what the
trouble is all about. Now, at the very end of this riot, within
four feet of the end of the picture, and full thirty-six feet from
the beginning of it, the Hair Trunk bursts with an electrifying
suddenness upon the spectator, in all its matchless perfection,
And the great master's triumph is sweeping and complbte. From

tliut moment no other thing in those forty feet of canvas has any
charm ; one sees the Hair Trunk, and the Hair Trunk only—
and to see it is to worship it. Bassano even placed objects ui
the immediate vicinity of the Supreme Feature whose pretended
purpose was to divert attention from it yet a little longer and
thus delay and augment the surprise ] for insi'^ance, to the right
of it he has placed a stooping man with a cap so red that it is
sure to hold the eye for a moment ; to the left of it, some si.x
feet away, he has placed a red-coated man on an inflated horse.
and that coat plucks your eye to that locality the next momeot

A TBAMP ABBOAD.

847

—then, between the Trunk and the red horsenum he hM in>
truded a man, naked to his waist, who is carrying a fancy flour
sack on the middle of his back instead of on his shoulder — this
admirable feat interests you, of course — keeps you at bay a little
longer, like a sock or a jacket thrown to the pursuing wolf— but
at last, in spite of all distractions and detentions, the eye of even
the most dull and heedless spectator is sure to fall upon tlie
World's Masterpiece, and* in that moment he totten to his chair
or leans upon his guide for support.

Descriptions of such a work as this must necessarily be imper-
fect, yet they are of value. The top of the Trunk is arched ; the
arch is a perfect half circle, in the Roman style of architecture,
for in the then rapid decadence of Greek art, the rising influence
of Rome was already beginning to be felt in the art of the Re
public. The Trunk is bound or bordered with leather all around
where the lid joins the main body. Many critics consider this
leather too cold in tone ; but I consider this its highest merit,
since it was evidently made so to emphasize by contrast the im-
passioned fervor of the hasp. The high lights in this part of the
work are cleverly managed, the motif is admirably subordinated
to the ground tints, and the technique is very fine. The brass
nail-heads are in the purest style of early renaissance. The strokes
here are very firm and bold — every nail-head is a portrait The
handle on the end of the trunk has evidently been retouched —
I think, with a piece of chalk — but one can still see the inspira
tion of the Old Master in the tranquil, almost too tranquil, hang
of it. llie hair of this trunk is real hab — so to speak— white in
patches, brown in patches. The details are finely worked out ;
the repose proper to hair in a recumbent and inactive attitude is
charmingly expressed. There is a feeling about this part of the
work which lifts it to the highest altitudes of art ; the sense of
sordid realism vanishes away — one recognizes that there is soul
here. View this Trunk as you will, it is a gem, it is a marvel, it
is a miracle. Some of the efiects are very daring, approachirg
even to the boldest flights of the rococo, the sirocco, and the By,
lantine schools — ^yet the master's hand never falters — it moves
on, calm, majestic, confident— and with that art which conceals
art, it finally casts over the tout engemble, by mysterious methods
of its own, a subtle something which refines, subdues, etherealizes

= 1

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848

A TRAMP ABROAD.

the ardent oompononts and endaes them iHth the deep ohann
and gracious witchery of poesy.

Among the art treasures of Europe there are pictures which
approach the Hair Trunk— there are two which may be said to
equal it, possibly — but there is none that surpasses it. So pei I'ect
IS the Hair Trunk that it moves even persons who ordinarily have
no feeling for art. When an Erie baggage-master saw it two years
ago, he could hardly keep from checking it ; and once when a
customs inspector was brought into its presence, he gazed tipon
it in silent rapture for some moments, then slowly and uncon-
sciously placed one hand behind him with the palm uppermosti
and got out his ohalk with the other. These facts speak for them-
selves.

CHAPTER XLV.

ONE lingers about the Cathedral a good deal, In Venice. There
is a strong fascination about it— partly because it is so old.
and partly because it is so ugly. Too many of the world's fainoiifi
buildings fail of one chief virtue — harmony ; they are made up ot
a methodless mixture of the ugly and the beautiful ; this is bad ;
it is confusing ; it is unrestful. One has a sense of uneasiness, of
distress, without knowing why. But one is calm before St. Mark,
one is calm within it, one would be calm on top of it, calm iu tho
cellar; for its details are masterfully ugly, no misplaced and imper-
tinent beauties are intruded anywhere ; and the consequent result
is a QTi.Jxd harmonious whole, of sootliing, entrancing, tranquiliz-
mg, soul-satisfying uglinesa. One's admiration of a perfect thing
always grows, never declines ; a'^ "" this is the surest evidence to
him that it »« perfect. St. Mark is perfect. To me it soon grew
to be so nobly, so augustly ugly, that it was difficult to stay away
from it, even for a little while. Every time its squat domes disap-
peared from my view, I had a despondent feeling ; whenever thej
retippeared, I felt an honest rapture — I have not known any hap-
pier hours than those I daily spent in front of Florian's, looking
across the Great Square at it. Propped on its long row of low
thick-legged columns, its back knobbed with domes, it seemed
like a vast waity bug taking a meditative walk.

A TBAMP ABBOAB.

8t If ftrk it not the old«tt bailding in the worid, of oonne, but
it leeins the oldett, and looks the oldeet— eepecially iniide. When
the ancient mosaics in its walls become damaged, they are repaired
bnt not altered ; the grotesque old pattern ^i preserred. Antiquity
has a charm of its own, and to smarten It u'v would only damage
it One day I was sitting on a red marble bench in the Testibnto
leoking up at an, ancient piece of apprentice-work, in mosait,
illustrati?e of the command to " multiply and replenish the
earth." The Cathedral itself had seemed Tery old; but this
picture w*s illustrating a period in history which made the build-
ing seem young by comparison. But I presently found an antique
which was older than either the battered Cathedral or the date
assigned to that piece of history ; it was a spiral-shaped fossil as
large as the crown of a bat; it was embedded in the marble bench,
and had been sat upon by tourists until it was worn smooth.
Contrasted with the inconceivable antiquity of this modest fossil,
those other things were flippantly modern— jejune — mere matters
of day-before-yesterday. The sense of the oldnees of the Cathe-
dral vanished away under the influence of this trqly venerable
presence.

St Mark's is monumental ; it is an imperishable remembrancer
(«f the profound and simple piety of the Middle Ages. Whoever
could ravish a column from a pagan t«mple, did it and contributed
his swag to this Christian one. So this fane is Upheld if>y several
hundred acquisitions procured in that peculiar way. In our day
it would be immoral to go on the highway to get bricks for a
church, but it was no sin in the old times. St. Mark^s was itself
the victim of a curious robbery, once. The thing is set down in
the history of Venice, but it might be smuggled into the Arabian
Nights and not seem out of place there :

Nearly four hundred and fifty years ago, a Candian named
Stammato, in the suite of a prince of the house of Este, was allowed
to view the riches of St Mark. His sinful eye was dazzled and
he bid himself behind an altar, with an evil purpose in his heart,
but a priest discovered him and turned him out Afterward he
got in again — by false keys, this time. He went there, night after
night, and worked hard and patiently, all alone, overcoming diffi-
culty after difficulty with his toil, and at last succeeded in removing
a great block of the marble paneling which walled the lower pari

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A tBAll» AMU>At>.

«f tht trMiory ; thii block he fixed so that he ooold take It out and
pot it in at will After that, for weeks, he spent all his midnighti
in hii magnificent mine, inspecting it in secarity, gloating oTer its
marrels at his leisore, and always slipping back to his obscure
lodgings before dawn, with a duke's ransom under his cloak. He
did not need to grab, haphazard, and run — there was no hurry.
Be coald make deliberate and well-considered selections; he could
■ottMiIt his nsthetic tastes. One comprehends how undisturbed
he was, and how safe irom any danger of interruption, when it is
■tated that he even carried off a unicorn's hom-^a mere curiosity
—which would not pass through tlie egress entire, but had to be
•awn in two— a bit of work which cost him hours of tedious
labor. He continued to store up his treasures at home until his
occupation lost the charm of novelty and became monotonous;
then he ceased from it, contented. Well he might be; for his col-
lection, raised to modem values, represented nearly 950,000,000 1

He could have gone home much the richest citizen of his coun-
try, and it might have been years before the plunder was missed ;
but he ws« human — he could not enjoy his delight alone, he must
have somebody to talk about it with. So he exacted a solemn
oath from a Candian noble named Crioni, than led him to his
lodgings and nearly took his breath away with a sight of his glit-
tering hoard. He detected a look in his friend's face which excited
his suspicion, and was about to slip a stiletto into him when Crioni
■aved himself by explaining that that look was only an expression
of supreme and happy astonishment. Stammato made Orioni a
present of one of the State's principal jewels — a huge carbuncle,
which afterward figured in the Ducal cap of State — and the pair
parted. Orioni went at once to the palace, denounced the criminal,
> and handed over the carbuncle as evidence. Stammato was
arrested, tried, and condemned, with the old-time Venetian
promptness. He was hanged between the two great columns in
the Piatia — with a gilded rope, out of compliment to his love of
gold, perhapa. He got no good of his booty at all— it was mU
fMOTered.

In Venice we had a luxury which very seldom fell to our lot
•m the continent — a home dinner, with a private family. If one
oonld always stop with private families, when traveling, Europe
would have a charm which it now lacks. As it is, one muat live

k nUMP ABBOAO.

851

in Um kotab, of oonne, and that ia a aorrowfhl ImainflH. A
accnttomed to American food and American domettic cookery
woald not itaire to death snddenly in Sorope ; bat I think h«
would gradually waste away, and eyentually die.

He would have to do without his accustomed morning meaL
That is too formidable a change altogether ; he would necessarily
sufTw from it He could get the shadow, the sham, the base
counterfeit of that meal ; but that would do him no goed, and
money could not buy the reality.

To particularize : the average American's simplest and common-
est form of breakfast consists of coffee and bee&teak ; well, in
Europe, coffee is an unknown beverage. You can get what the
European hotel keeper thinks is coffee, but it resembles the real
thing as hypocrisy resembles holiness. It is a feeble, character-
less, uninspiring sort of stuff, and almast as nndrinkable as if it
had been made in an American hoteL The milk used for it it \
what the French call "Christian" milk— milk which has be«n
baptized.

After a fisw months* acquaintance with European " coffee,** one*i
mind weakens, and his faith with it, and he begins to wonder if ,
the rich beverage of home, with its clotted layer of yellow croam '
on top of it, is not a mere dream, after all, and a thing which never
existed.

Neit fjomes the European bread — fair enough, good enough, f
after a fashion, but cold ; cold and tough, and unsympathetic ; and
nev^r any change, never any variety — always ^e same tiresome
thing.

Next, the butter— the sham and tasteless batter ; no salt in it, |
snd made of goodness knows what. *

Then there is the beefsteak. They have it in Europe, but they ' y
don't know how to cook it. Neither will they cut it right It
comes on the table in a small, round, pewter platter. It lies in
the centre of this platter, in a bordering bed of grease-sdaked
potatoes; it is the size, shape, and thickness of a man's hand with
the thumb and fingers cut off. It is a little overdone, is rather
dry, it tastes pretty insipidly, it rouses no enthusiasm.

Imagine a poor exile contemplating that inert thing ; and ima*
guie an angel suddenly sweeping down out of a better land and .
9^(/liag boluie him » mighty porter-house steak an mch and a hall i

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A TBIMP iBMMB.

thick, hot tnd •plnttering from the griddle; dotted with fragrant
pepper ; enriched with little melting bite of butter of the moit
tmimpeachable freshness and genoineneae ; the precious juices of
the meat trickling out and joining the grary, archipelagoed with
mushrooms ; a township or two of tender, yellowish fat gracing an
outlying district of this ample county of beeftteak ; the long white
bone which divides the sirloin from the tenderloin still in its
place ; and imagine that the angel also adds a great cap of Ameri-
can home-made coffee, with the cream a-froth on top, some real
butt«r, firm and yell6w and fi«sh, some smoking hot biscuits, a
plate of hot buckwheat cakes, with transparent syrup— could words
describe the gratitude of this exile t

The European dinner is better than the European breakfast, but
it has its faults and inferiorities, it does not satisfy. He comes to
the table eager and hungry ; he swallows his soup — there is an

' nndefinable lack about it somewhere ; thinks the fish is going to
be the thing he wants — eats it and isn't sure : thinks the next dish
(s perhaps the one that will hit the hungry place— tries it, and is
conscious that there was a something wanting about it, also. And
thus he goes on, from dish to dish, like a boy after a butterfly

' which just misses getting caught every time it alights, but some-
how doesn't get caught after all ; and at the end the exile and the

'■ boy have fared about alike : the one is full, but grievously unsatis-

' fied, the other has had plenty of exercise, plenty of interest, and a
fine lot of hopes, but he hasn't got any butterfly. There is here
and there an American who will say he can remember rising from
.a European table d'hote perfectly satisfied ; but we must not over-
ilook the fact that there is also here and there an American who
Ntvill lie.

" The number of dishes is sufficient ; but then it is such a mono-
tonous variety of unstriking dishes. It is an inane dead level of
' " fair-tomiddling." There is nothing to accent it. Perhaps if
the roast of mutton or of beef— a big generous one — were brought
. on the table and carved in full view of the client, that might give
the right sense of earnestness and reality to the thing ; but they
don't do that, they pass the sliced meat around on a dish, and so
, you are perfectly calm, it does not stir you in the least. Now a
'Vast roast turkey, stretched on the broad of his back, with his
Viieels in the air and (he rich juices oozmg from his fat sides

tal Idtaj M win ftop ih«ra, for they would not know how t«
«x>k him. They can't eren oook a chicken reBpeotably ; and if
fur oanring it, they do that with a halehat

Thia ia about the customary table d'hote bill in ■ummer i

Soup (characterless).

Fish— lole, salmon, or whittng— nraally tolerably good.

Roast — mutton or beef— tasteless, and some last year's potatoes*

A pate, or some other made-dish — xisually good — '' considering.'*

One /egetable — ^brought on in state, and all alone — usually iA*
lipid lentils, or string beans, or indifferent asparagus.

B^'-ast chicken, as tasteless as paper.

Lettuce^udad — tolerably good.

Decayed strawberries or cherries.

Sometimes the apricots and figs are flresh, but this is no adyan*
tsge, as these fruits are of no account anyway.

The grapes are generally good, acd sometimes them is a tolar
iUgr good peach, by miataJce.

VS.

It *3 f •

A TmiKP ABMAD.

11i« Tftrifttioni of tk« abore bill are trifling. After « fortnight
«&6 ditoorart that the Tftrifttions are only apparent^ not real ; in
the third week you get what you had the first, and in the fourth
week you get what you had the second. Three or four months of
this weary sameness will kill the robustest appetite.

It has now been many months, at the present writing, since I
lave had a nourishing meal, but I shall soon have one—a modest,
private affair, all to mysell 1 have selected a few dishes, and
made out a little bill of fare, which will go home in the steamer
that precedes me, and be hot when I arrive— •• follows :

Badiihei. Baked »ppl«h ^^ cttaa.

FriAdoyiten; itowed ojratan. IVogi.

▲merieaa ooltf, with real onud.

Amerioui bnttar.

Fried ohloken, Southern etjle.

Forter-hooM itekk.

Saratogs potatoee.

Broiled ohioken, Amerieaii ^U.

HotbiMoita, Sonlfaeni atijte.

Hot wheat-bread, Southern etjrla.

Hot buokwhea* Mkea.

Amerioaa toaat Clear mapla vrap.

Virginia baoon, broiled.

Blue pointa, on the half ahaD.

Oherr7<«tone elama.

San Krandaco muaaela. ateamsd.

Oyster soup. 01am aonp.

Philadelphia Ter^pin aonp.

Baoon and greena, Southam alif la.

Homlnjr. Boiled oniona. Tosntpa.

Poapkin. Sfuaah Aflparagna.

Butter beana. Sweet potatoea.

Lettnoe. Suoootash. String baaaa.

lisdied potatoea. Oataup.

Boiled potatoea, in their aUna.

New potatoea, minus the aUna.

Early rose potatoes roasted in the aahea.

ktouthem style, serred hot
Slieed tomatoes, with sugar or vliiegar.

Stewed tomatoea.
Qxaan earn, cut fram the ear and aerred

with bnttar and pepper.

O^Mera roaated in aheO— Northern style.
Soft^eheU eraba. Conneotiont ahad.
Baltimore pereh.

Brook tront, from Sierra Nerada.
Lake trout, from Tahoe.
She^heiklaaA notkitn, tnm New Or-

Blaok base tnm iha WaalaBlppL

Amadean roaat beef. \

BoaatToikay. ThanksgiTlvg style.

Oranbenry sanae. Oaleiy.

Boaat wild turkey. Woodooek.

OanTaa-baok<dnek, from Bdtimore.

Slaiile hena, frtnn niinola.

Miaaouri partildgaa^ biolM.

Poasnm. Ooon.

Boston baoon and beans.

Green ooin, on the ear.

Hot oom-pomk with ehifUags, Boatbsm

al^
Ho* hoa 9ak% Soothem stylok
Hoi egg-bread, Southern style.
Hot li^t-bread, Southern atyle.
Bnttemdlk.
leed aweat milk,
^ple dumplings, with real ora«B.
Apple pie. Apple frittera.
Apple pnflli, Southern style.
Feadh oobbler, Southern atyla.
P each pie. Ajnerioan minea pla
Pumpkin pie. Squash pie.
All sorts of Amarlean vtmtrj.

Vmah Amerioan frnita of all sorts, Indndlng strawbaniaa ivlilohareaol tobe doled
out aa if they were Jewelry, but In a more liberal way.

iprayawdiatlia ta a ft e taa l foUal, tal in Iho

A nUMP ABIOAS,

AaaricMift fntMiding to ipend s year or m la SofopMs botoli^
will do woll to oopj Uib bill and oarry it along. Thoy will te4
it an oxooUont thing to get up an appetite with in th» diifiriti
ing preaenoe of the squalid table d'hote.

Foreignen oaanot enjoy our food, I guppoae, any move than
we can ei\joy theira. It is not strange ; for tastea are aadei nol
bom. I might glorify my bill of fare until I was tired } b«t after
all the Sootohman would shake his head and say, ''Where's your
haggis f" and the F\jian would sigh and say, ''Where's your
missi(maryf*

I hare a neat talent in matters pertaining to nonrishmeBi.
This has met with professional recognition. I hare often fur-
nished recipes for cook-books. Here are some designs for piea
and things, which I recently prepared for a friend's prqfeeted
cook-book, but as I forgot to furnish diagrams and perapeotiTeii
they had to be left out, of oourse.

Bbcipb ros AS Aim-CAMM,

Take a lot of water and add to it a lot of coarse Indian meal
and about a quarter of a lot of salt. Mix well together, knead
into the form of a " pone," and let the pone stand a while — not
on its 'iSdge, but the other way. Bake away a place among tha
embers, lay it there, and cover it an inch deep with hot ashea.
When it is done, remove it ; blow off all the ashes but one layer |
butter that one and eat.

N. B. — ^No household should ever be without this talisman. II
has been noticed that tramps never return for another ash-oake.

Bsoin FOB New Enolahd Pn.

To make this ezoellent breakfast dish, proceed aa fbllows i
Take a sufficiency of water and a sufficiency of flour, and con*
struct a bullet-proof dough. Work this into the form of a disk,
wcith the edges turned uy some> three-fourths of an inch* Tou j^en
anid ki^-djy it a couple of days ip a mild but unvaxying temper^
%jl(Ure.. Construct a cover for thia redoubt in the sam* way and
of i^ same^ material. Fill with stewed dried applea i %ggmf%im
Ki^ clones, Ijemon-P^el *i^d, slabs of citron ; add two. portions of
New Orleans sugar, then solder on the lid and set in a safe plaea
^ iA ip»^ri£l|»a^ S^inre col,d a^t breaM<Mt Mid inyit^ xom «^^^«

■\f:':

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4 TBAMF ABIOAO.

Saoira fOB OmuM Covm.

TiIm a baml of waUr and bring it to « boQ ; rab » ohieoory
borryagainBt » coffee beny, then oonvej the former into the
Wftter. Continue the boiling and evaporation until the inteniity
of the flavor and aroma of the coffee and chiccory hee been
diminiihed to a proper degree; then set aside to cool. Nowun-
hamese the remains of a once cow from the plow, insert them in
a hydraulic press, and when you shall have acquired a teaspoon-
All of that pale blue juice which a German superstition regards
as milk, modify the malignity of its strength in a bucket of tepid
water, and ring up the breakfast Mix the beverage in a cold
oup, partake with moderation, and keep a wet rag around your
haad to guard against over«excitement.

To Carve Fowls in tub Gbbmajt Faihiov*
Ufa a clubf and avoid the joints*

CHAPTEB XLVI.

I WONDER wh/ some things are ? For instance, Art is allowed
as much indecent license to-day as in earlier times — but t^xa
privileges of Literature in this respect have been sharply cur-
tailed within the past eighty or ninety years. Fielding and
Smollet could portray the beastliness of their day in the beastliest
language ; we have plenty pi foul subjects to deal with In our
day, but we are not allowed to approach them very near, even
with nice and guarded forms of speech. But not so with Art*
The brush may still deal freely with any subject, however re*
voltsng or indelicate. It makes a body ooze lilurcasm at every
pore, to fpi about Home and Florence and see what this last
generation has been doing with the statues. These works, which
, had stood in innocent nakedness for ages, are all' fig-leaved now.
«^ Yes, every one of them. Nobody noticed their nakedness before,
\ {iierhaps ; nobody can help noticing it now, the f|g-leaf makes it
. so conspiououf. But the comical thing about it idl is, that the
fig-leaf is confined to cold and pallid marble, which would be
•till 00)4 W)4 iwang^estiTO witlnmi tbi» ^M^ iiid o»tont«|ii(kit

knun iHMAB).

■ymbol of AodMty, wh«rMw WArmbloocUd {Ndniingi which d»
TtMlly ii««d it b«Te in no oam be«n fiimiahed with it.

At the door of the Ufiiii) in Florence, one ia oonfttrnted by
•Utuee of a nun end e women, noselete, bettered, bleok with
ecoumuleted grime— they hardly luggesthumen beingi — yet theee
ridiouluuB oreaturea have been thoughtftilly and ooneoientioiuly
fif-leaved by thie fiMtidioiM generation. You enter, and pro^
oeed to that moit>Tieited little gallery that eziate in the world—
the Tribune — and there, againit the wall, without obatruoting
rag or leaf, you may look your fill upon the foulest, the vileeti
the obsoenett picture the world posseues — ^Titian'e Venus. It
isn't that she is naked and stretched out on a bed — no, it is the
attitude of one of her arms and hand. If I ventured to describe
that attitude, there would be a fine howl — but there the Venus
lies, for anybody to gloat over that wants to — and there she has
a right to lie, for she is a work of art, and Art has its privileges.
I saw young girls stealing furtive glances at her ; I saw young
men gaie long and absorbedly at her ; I saw aged, infirm men
hang upon her charms with a pathetic interest. How I should
like to describe her— just to see what a holy indignation I could
stir up in the world— juat to hear the unreflecting average man
deliverhimself about my grossness and coarseness, and all that.
The world says that no worded description of a moving spectacle
is a hundredth part as moving as the same spectacle seen with
one's own eyes — yet the world is willing to let Its son and its
daughter and itself look at Titian's beast, but won't stand a de-
scription of it in words. Which shows that the world is not as
consistent as it might be.

There are pictures of nude women which suggest no impure
thought— I am well aware of that. I am not railing at such.
What I am trying to emphasise is the fact that Titian's Venus ia
very far from being one of that sort. Without any question it
was painted for a bagnio and it was probably refused because it
was a trifle too strong. In truth it is too strong for any place but
a public Art Gallery. Titian has two Venuaes in the Tribune j
persons who have seep them will easily remember which one I
am referring to.

In every gallery in Europe there are hideoua pictures of blood,
oenia|e» ooiin^ biaiiu, putraf^otioD— ^^ioturee ^rtni^rinf iiit9lf9>

^1-^

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A VlAlir mOAB.

•bl« raAirinf— frfotoTM aUt« with •▼•17 oonodlT»bl« iMtrror,
vrroughi oat in drMMlAU detail— mod simOAr piotarti §n being
put on the ouitm erery d*y tad pnblioly exhibited— without e
growl from anybody — for they ere innooent| Ihey ere inoflfonaiTe,
beinic works of ert But euppoee a literary artiet rentnred to go
into a painitaking and elaborate description of one of these
grisly tbinga. the oritios would skin him ali?e. Well, lei it go^
It cannot be helped } Art retains her priTilegesi literature has
lost hers. Somebody else may cipher out the whys and the
wherefores and the consistencies of it— I haren't got time.

Titian's Venus defiles and disgraces the Tribune, there is no
softening that foot, but his " Moses " glorifies it The simple
truthftilness of this noble work wins the heart and the applause
of every visitor, be he learned or ignorant After wearying one-
self with the acree of stuffy, sappy, expressionless babies that
jpopulate the cauTases of the Old Masters in Italy, it is reftreshing
ito stand before this peerless child and feel that thrill which tells
you you are at last in the presence of the real thing. This is a
human child, this is genuine. Ton hare seen him a thousand
times— you have seen him just as he is here— and you confess;
without reserve, that Titian wot a Master. The doll-faces of
other painted babes may mean one thinf^ they may mean an-
other, but with the ^ Moses " the case is different The most
famous of all the art critics has said, ** There is no room for doubt
here— plainly this chUd is in trouble.'*

I consider that the " Moses " has no equal among the works of
the Old Masters, except it be the divine Hair Trunk of Bassano.
I feel sure that if all the other Old Masters were lost and only
these two preserved, the world would be the gainer by it

My sole purpose in going to Florence was to see this immortsl
** Moses," and by good fortune I was just in time, for Uiey were
already preparing to remove it to a more private and better pro.
tected place because a fashion of robbing the great galleries was
prevailing in Europe at the time.

I got a capable artist to copy the picture ; Pannemaker, the
•ngraver of Dore's books, engraved it for me, and I have the
pleasure of laying it before the reader in this volume.*

We took a turn to Borne and some other Italian oiUea— tiienfl*

A nUMr ABBOAD.

$99

to KoBloh, uid ihmiM to ParU— partly for •xer«lM, bat inalnly
b«<MuiM thet« thing were in our projected prognanme, uid it wm
only right that we ihould be faithAil to it.

From Parii I branched out and walked throa|^ Holland and
Belgium, procuring an occasional lift by rail or canal when tired,
4nd I had a tolerably good time of it " by and large." I worked
4pain and other regions through agents to saTe tim« and sho*
leather.

We crossed to England, and th*jn made the homeward passage
In the Gunarder, Oallia, a Tory fine ship. I was glad to get home-
immeasurably glad ; so glad, in fact, that it did not seem possible
that anything could ever get me out of the country again. I had
not ei\ioyed a pleasure abroad which seemed to me to compare
with the pleasure I felt in seeing New York harbor again.
Europe has many advantages which we have not, but they do not
compensate for a good many still more yaluable ones which exist
nowhere but in our own country. Then we are such a homeless
let when we are over there 1 So are Europeans themselves, for
that matter. They live in dark and chilly vast tomba—ooetly
enough may be, but.without conveniences. To be condemned to
live as the average European family lives would make life a pretty
heavy bardan to the average American family.

On the whole, I think that short visits to F vope are better for
us than long ones. The former preserve us from becoming Euro*
peanised ; they keep our pride of country intact, and at the same
time they intensify our affection for our country and our people *,
whereas long visits have the effect of dulling those feelings — at
least in the majority of cases. I think that one who mixes muob
with Americans long resident abroad must arrive at tbia oob-
eliiaiMi*

'^f-

I • )

f..'V

f.:i:V\:, VA' ; ..'vV? «..t.

APPENDIX.

.| 0.r.-

"Halhing gives such weight and

dignity to a book as an Appendix.'*

''Herodotus

APPENDIX.

>::

»■

THE PORTDfiR.

' Omvt Ehayam, the poet-prophet of PenU, writing mon thaa
eight hundred yean ago, has said :

" In the four parts of the earth are many thftt are able to write
learned books, many that are able to lead armies, and many also
that are able to goTem Idngdoms and empires ; but few there be
that can keep hoteL"

A word about the European hotel portimr. He is a most admir-
able inrention, a most yaluable convenience. He always wears a
conspicuous uniform ; he can always be found when he is wanted,
for he sticks closely to his post at the front door ; he is as polite
as a duke; bespeaks from four to ten languages; he is your surest
help and refuge in time of trouble or perplexity. He is not the
clerk, he is not the landlord ; he ranks above the clerk, and repre-
sents the landlord, who is seldom seen. Instead of going to the
clerk for informatiozii, as we do at home, yon go to the portier.
It is the pride of our average hotel clerk to know nothing what-
ever ; it is the pYide of the portier to know everything. You ask
the portier at what hours the trains leavb — be tells you instantly ;
or you ask him who is the best physician in town ; or what is the
Hack tariff; or how many children the mayor has; or what days
the galleries are open, and whether a permit is required, and
where you are to get it, and what you must pay for it ; or when
the theatres open and close, what the plays are to be, and the price
of seats ; or what is the newest thing in hats ; or how the bills
•^f mortality average ; ar " who struck Billy Patterson.** It does
not matter what you ask him : in nine cases out of ten he knows,
and m the tenth case he will find out for you before you can turn
Mmnd tiiiit tuBM. Than is nothing he will not pot hit hMidt«.

iili^

AFPINbCt.

SappoM you tell him you wish to go from Hamborg to Peking by
the way of Jericho, and are ignorant of routes and prices — the
next morning he will hand you a piece of paper with the whole
thing worked out on it to the last detail. Before yon have been
long on European soil, you find yourself still taying you are rely-
ing OB Providence, but when you come to look closer you will see
that in reality yon are relying on the portier. He discoTers what
is puzzling you, or what is troubling you, or what your need is,
before you can get the half of it out, and he promptly says, " Leave
that to me." Consequently you easily drift into the habit of
leaving everything to him. There is a certain embarrassment
about applying to the average American hotel clerk, a certain
hesitancy, a sense of insecurity against rebuff; but you feel no
embarrassment in your intercourse with the portier ; he receives
your propositions with an enthusiasm which cheers, and plunges
into their accomplishment with an alacrity which almost inebriates.
The more requirements you can pile upon him, the better he likes
it. Of course the result is that you cease from doing anything for
yourself. He calls a hack when you want one ; puts you into it ;
tells the driver whither to take you ; receives you like a long lost
child when you return ; senda you about your business, does all
the quarreling with the hackman himself, and pays him his money
out of his own pocket. He semis for your theatre tickets, and
pays for them ; he sends for any possible article you can require,
be it a doctor, an elephant, or a postage stamp ; and when you
leave, at last, you will find a subordinate seated with the cab driver
who will put you in your railway compartment, buy your tickets,
have your baggage weighed, bring you the printed tags, and tell
you everything is in your bill and paid for. At home you get
* such elaborate, excellent, and willing service as this only in the
best hotels of our large cities ; but in Europe you get it in the
mere back country towns just as well.

What is the secret of the portier's devotion I Tt is very simple :
he gets/ef«, and no idlary. His fee if* pretty closely regulated,
too. If you stay a week in the house, you give him five marks —
a dollar and a quarter, or about eighteen cents a day. If you stay
a month, you reduce this average somewhat. If you stay two ot
three mouths or longer, you cut it down hal^ or even more than
half. If you sta^ only one day, jou give the portier a luiydi.

.jU

T» hmd waiter's fee is a shade less than Uiii ]^rtiei*B ; the
Boots, who not only blacks yonr boots and brashes yow cl-othes,
bat is usually the porter and handles yonr baggage, gets a some-
what smaller fee than the head waiter; the chamberma.^d*s fee
ranks below that of the Boots. Ton fee only these four, and no
one else. A German gentleman told me that when he remained
a week in a hotel, he gave the portier five niarks, the he»d waiter
four, the Boots three, and the chambermaid two ; and if he staid
three months he divided ninety marks among them, in aY^ut the
above proportions. Ninety marks make $22.60.

None of these fees are ever paid until you leave the hotel,
though it be a year — except one of these four servanta should go
away in the meantime; in that case he will be sure to come and
bid you good-bye and give you the opportunity to pay him what
is fairly coming to him. It is considered very bad policy to fee a
servant while you are still to remain longer in the hotel, because
if you gave him too little he might neglect you afterward, and if
jou gave him too much he might neglect somebody else to attend
to you. 'It is considered best to keep his expectations "on a
string" until your stay is concluded.

I do not know whether hotel servants in New York get any
wages or not, but I do know that m some of the hotels there the
feeing system in vogue is a heavy burden. The waiter expects a
quarter at breakfast — and gets it. You have a different waiter at
luncheon, and so he gets a quarter. Your waiter at dinner is
another stranger — consequently he gets a quarter. The boy who
carries your satchel to your room and lights jour gas, fumbles
around and hangs u'ound significantly, and you fee him to get rid
of him. Now you may ring for ice water ; and ten minutes later
for a lemonade ; and ten minutes afterwards, for a cigar ; and by
and by for a newspaper — and what is the result ? Why, a new
boy has appeared every time and fooled and fumbled around until
you have paid him something. Suppose you boldly put your foot
down, and say it is the hotel's business to pay its servants ?— and
suppose you staL J your ground and stop feeing ? You will have
to ring your bell tenor fifteen times before you get a servant there;
and when he goes off to fill your order you will grow old and
infirm before you see him again. You may straggle nobly for

864

twHity-fbw houn, maybe, if yon are an aaamaatioe ■ortof ptnon,
but in the meantime yon will hare been lo wretchedly lerred, and
■o insolently, that you will haul down yonr colon, and go to im*
poveriahing yourself with feee.

It teems to me that it woald be a happy idea to import the '
Buropean feeing system into America. I believe it would-resolt
in getting even the bells of the Philadelphia hotels answered, and
chewfbl service rendered.

The greatest Americaii hotels keep a number of clerks and a
cashier, and pay them salaries which mount up to a considerable
total in the course of a year. The great continental hotels keep a
cashier on a trifling salary, and a poriier who pay* the hotel a
ialary. By the latter system both the hotel and the public save
money and are better served than by our system. One of our
consuls told me that the portier of a great Berlin hotel paid $6,000
a year for his position, and yet cleared $6,000 for himself. The
position of portier in the chief hotels of Saratoga, Long Branch,
New York, and similar centres of resort, would be one which the
holder could afford to pay even more than $5,000 for, perhaps.

When we borrowed the feeing fashion from Europe a dozen
years ago, the salary system ought to have been discontinued, of
course. We might make this correction now, I should think.
And we might add the portier, too. Since I first began to study
the portier, I have had opportunities to observe him in the chief
cities of (Germany, Switzerland, and Italy ; and the more I bdve
seen of him the more I have wished that he might be adopted iu
America, and become there, as he is in Europe, the stranger^s
guardian angel.

Yes, what was true eight hundred years ago, is just as true to-
day : *' Few there be that can keep hotel." Perhaps it is because
the landlords and their subordinates have in too many cases taken
up their trade without first learning it. In Europe the trade of
hotel-keeper is taught. The apprentice begins at the bottom of
the ladder and masters the several grades one after the other.
Just as in our country printing-offices the apprentice first learns
how to sweep out and bring water ; then learns to " roll ;" then
to sort " pi ;" then to set type ; and finally rounds and completai
hia adttcation witb |ob-work and presa-wovk; w tbe »«~«iai»

9BB MBTHB.

969

appnatlM terrel it call-boy; then m tiDd«r>wtIt«r ; ChiB m %
parlor- waiter ; then as head-waiter, in which potitioa be often bat
to make oat all the bills ; then as clerk or cashier ; then aa portier.
His trade is learned now, and by and by he will Assame the atyla
and dignity of landlord, and be found condtictlbg a botd of Us
own. ' .

Now in Europe, the same aa in America, when a man has kept a
betel so thoroughly well during a number ot years as to giTe it a
great reputation, he has his reward. Re can lire proaperonaly oa
that reputation. He can let his hotel run down to the last degree
of shabbiness and yet have it full ol people all the time. For
instance, there is the Hotel de Yllle, in Milan. It swarms with
mice and fleas, and if the rest ot the world was destroyed it could
famish dirt enough to start, another one with. The food would
create an insurrection in a poor-house ; and yet if you go outaida
to get your meals that hotel makes up its loss by overcharging you
on all sorts of trifles — and without making any denials mr excuiei
about it, either. But the Hotel de Ville's old excellent reputation
iMU keeps its dreary rooms crowded with travelers who would b«
elsewhere if tltey had only bad some wise fdend ^o warn th«m.

>fc-:

HEIDSLBEBO CASTLE

Heide11>«rg Castle must have been very beautiiyd ht/hn th.
French battered and bruised and scorched it two hundred yeat-g
afo. The stone is brown, with a pinkish tint, and does not seem
to stain easily. The dainty and eUborate ornamentation upon
its two chief fironts is as delicately carved as if it had been in-
tended for the interior of a drawing-room rather than for the
outside of a house. Many fruit and flower-clusters, human heads
and grim, projecting lion's heads are still as perfect in every detail
as if they were new. But the statues which are ranked between
the windows have suffered. These are life size statues of old-time
emperors, electors, and similar grandees, clad in mail and bearing
ponderous swords. Some have lost an arm. some ahead, and one
poor fellow is chopped off at the middle. There is a saying that
if a stranger will pass over the draw-bridge and walk across the
court of the castle front without saying anything, he can make a
wish and it will be fulfilled. But they say that the truth of this
thing has never had a chance to be proved, for the reason that
before any stranger can walk from the draw-bridge to the appoint-
ed place, the beauty of the palace front will extort an ezclam iion
of delight from him. ''

A ruin must be rightly situated, to be effective. This one could
not have been better placed. It stands upon a commanding ele-
vation, it is buried in green woods, there is no level ground about
it, but on the contrary there are wooded terraces upon terraces,
and one looks down through shining leaves into profound chasms
and abysses where twilight reigns and the sun cfir.not intrude.
Nature knows how to garnish a ruin to get the best effect. One
of these old towers is split down the middle, and one half has
tumbled aside. It tumpled in such a way as to establish itself in
a picturesque attitude. Then all it lacked was a fitting drapery,
and Nature has furnished that ; she has robed the rugged mass
in flowers and verdure, and made i; .<. charm to the eye. The

BKIDKLBRIIO OASTXJI.

807

itending half •zpoees its arched and oaTemous roomi toyoti, lik«
open, toothless mouths ; there, too, the vines and flowers haT«
done their work of grace. The rear portion of the towAr has not
been neglected, either, but is clothed with a clinging garment of
polished ivy which hides the wounds and stains of time. Even
the top is not left bare, but is crowned with a flourishing group o/
trees and shrubs. Misfortune has done for this old tower what
it has done for the human character sometimes — improved it.

A gentleman remarked, one day, that it might have been fine
to live in the castle in the day of its prime, but that we had one
advantage which its varnished inhabitants lacked— the advantage
of having a charming ruin to visit and muse over. But that was
ft hasty idea. Those people had the advantage of ua. They had
the fine castle to live in, and they could cross the Bhine valley
and muse over the stately ruin of Trifels besides. The Trifels
people, in their day, five hundred years ago, could go and muse
over majestic ruins which have vanished, now, to the last stone.
There have always been ruins, no doubt ] and there have always
be«n pensive people to sigh over them, and asses to scratch upon
them their names and the important date of their visit Within
ft hundred years after Adam left Eden, the guide probably gave
the usual general flourish with his hand and said : " Place where
the animals were named, ladies and gentlemen ; place where the
tree of the forbidden fruit stood ; exact spot where Adam and
Eve first met ; and here, ladies and gentlemen, adorned and
Hallowed by the names and addresses of three generations of
tourists, we have the crumbling remains of Cain's altar— fine old
ruin 1" Then, no donbt, he taxed them a shekel a piece axid let
them go. "^

An illumination of Heidelberg Castle is one of the sights of
Europe. The Castle's picturesque shape ; its commanding situa-
tion, midway up the steep and wooded mountain side ; its vast
size — these features combine to make an illumination a most
effective spectacle. It is necessarily an expensive show, and
consequently rather infrequent. Therefore whenever one of these
exliibitions is to take place, the news goes about in the papers
and Heidelberg is sure to be full of people on that night. I and
my agent had one of these opportunities, and improved it.

About half-past seven on the appointed evening we crossed

h <

868

APPEHtftt

tlie Imrv bridge with some American tludeniB, {n A ponring rnfo.
and started up the road which borders the Nuenfaeim side of the
river. This roadway was densely packed with carriages and foot
passengers: the former of all ages, and the latter of all ages and
both sexes. This black and solid mass was struggling painfully
onward through the slop, the darkness, and the deluge. W«
waded along for three-quarters of a mile, and finally took up a
position in an unsheltered beer garden, directly opposite tho
Castle. We could not see the Castle— or anything else, for that
matter — but we could dimly discern the outlines of the moun-
tain over the way through the pervading blackness, and know
whereabouts the Castle was located. We stood on one of t)ke
hundred benches in the garden, under our umbrellas ; the other
nlnety^nine were occupied by standing men and women, and
they also had umbrellas. All the region round about, and up
and down the river road, was a dense wilderness of humanity
hidden under an unbroken pavement of carriage-tops and um-
brellas. Thus we stood during two drenching hours. No rain
fell on my head, but the converging whalebone points of a dozen
neighboring umbrellas poured little cooling streams of water
down my neck, and sometimes into my ears, and thus kept me
from getting hot and impatient. I had the rheumatism, too, and
had heard that this was good for it. Afterward, however, I was
led to believe that the water treatment is not good for rheuma-
tism. There were even little girls in that dreadful place. A
man held one in his arms, just in front of me, for as much as an
hour, with umbrella-drippings soaking into her clothing all the
time.

In the circumstances, two hours was a good while for us to have
to wait, but when the illumination did at last come, we felt re-
paid. It came unexpectedly, of course — things always do, tliat
have been long looked and longed for. With a perfectly breatli-
taking suddenness several vast sheaves of vari-colored rockf^ts
were vomited skyward out of the black throats of the Castle
towers, accompanied by a thundering crash of sound, and instant-
ly every detail of the prodigious ruin stood revealed against the
mountain side and glowing with an almost intolerable splendor
^f fi^e and color. For some little time the whole building was a
blin<iinjg ciCJg^pn mass, the towers continued to spout thick col-

BBIDBLBEBO 0A8TLB.

869

amni of rocketa aloft, and overhead the aky was radiant with
arrowy bolta which clove their way to the zenith, paused, curved
gracefully downward, then burst into brilliant fountain sprays oi
richly colored sparks. The red fires died slowly down within
the castle, and presently the shell grew nearly black outside ; the
angry glare that shone out through the broken arches and innu*
merable sashless windows, now, reproduced the aspect which the
Castle must have borne in the old time when the French spoilers
Baw the monster bonfire which they had m^de there fading and
smouldering toward extinction.

While we still gazed and enjoyed, the ruin was suddenly en*
veloped in rolling and tumbling volumes of vaporous green fire }
(hen in dazzling purple ones ; then a mixture of many colors fol*
lowed, and drowned the great fabrio in its blended splendors.
Meantime the nearest bridge had been illuminated, and from
several rafts anchored in the river, meteor showers of rockets,
Roman candles, bombs, serpents, and Catharine wheels were
being discharged in wasteful profusion into the sky — a marveloua
sight indeed to a person as little used to such a spectacle as 1
was. For a while the whole region about us seemed as bright as
day, and yot the rain was falling in torrents all the time, llie
evening's entertainment presently closed, and we joined the in<
numerable caravan of half-drowned spectators, and waded home
again.

The Castle grounds are very ample and very beautiful ; and aa
they joined the hotel grounds, with no fences to climb, but only
some nobly shaded stone stairways to descend, we spent a part
of nearly every day in idling through their smooth walks and
leafy gi'oves. There was an attractive spot among the trees
where were a great many wooden tables and benches ; and there
one could sit in the shade and pretend to sip at his foamy beaker
of beer while he inspected the crowd. I say pretend, because I
only pretended to sip, without really sipping. That is the polite
way ; but when you are ready to go, you empty the beaker at a
draught. There was a brass band, and it furnished excellent
music everj afternoon. Sometimes so many people came that
every seat was occupied, every table filled. And never a rough
in the assemblage— all nicely-dressed fathers and mothers, young
gentlemen and laditfts and children } and plenty of univevsity

070

APFKHDIX.

•tndentfl and glltterinp^ officers; with h«re and there a gray pro-
feoBor, or a peaceful old lady with her knitting ; and alwnys «
sprinkling of gawky foreignrr«. Everybody lin \ h is glass of beer
before him, or his cup of colloo, or his bottle ' wine, or his hot
cutlet and potatoes ; young ladies chatted, or fanned themselves,
or wrought at their crocheting or embroidering ; the studenU
fed sugar to their log;*, or discussed duels, or illustrated nen
fencing- tricks with their little canes ; and everywhere was com
fort and enjoyment, and everywhere peace and goo<l-will to mea
The trees were jubilant with birds, and the paths with rollicking
children. One could have a seat in that place and plenty of
music, any afternoon, for about eight cents, or a family ticket for
the season for two dollars.

For a change, when you wanted one, you could stroll to the
castle, and buqrow among its dungeons, or climb about its ruined
towers, or visit its interior shows — the great Heidelberg Tun, for
instance. Everybody has heard of the great Heidelberg Tun, and
most people iiave seen it, no doubt. It is a wine cask as big as a
cott-age, and some traditions say it holds eighteen hundred thou-
sand bottles, and other traditions say it holds eighteen hundred
million barrels. I think it likely that one of these st-atements is
a mistake, end the other one a lie. However, the mere matter
of capacity ii:< a thing of no sort of consequence, since the cask is
empty, and indeed has always been empty, history says. An
empty cask the si''^ of a cathedral could excite but little emotion
in me. I do not see any wisdom in building a monster cask to
hoard up emptiness in, when you can get a better quality, outside,
ftny day, free of expense. What could this cask have been built
for? The more one studies over that, the more uncertain and
unhftppy he becomes. Some historians say that thirty couples,
some say thirty thousand couples, can dance on the head of this
cask at the same time. Even this does not seem to me to account
for the building of it. It does not even throw light on it. A
profound and scholarly Englishman — a specialist— who had made
the great Heidelberg Tun his sole study for fifteen years, told me
he had at last satisfied himself that the ancients built it to make
German cream in. He said that the average German cow yielded
from one to two and a half teaspoonfuls of milk, when she was
not worked in the plow or the hay wa^on nuire than eightoen or

BVtDKLBno OAfTUi.

871

ninstMii Yumn * day. Thia milk WM Teiy iweet tnd good, uid
of » beautiful transparent bluish tint ; but in order to get oreaa
from it in the most economical way, a peculiar proceM was ne-
cessary. Now he believed that the habit of the ancients was to
collect several milkings in a teacup, pour it into the Great Tun,
fill ap with water, and then skim off the cream from time to tim«
as the needs of the Oerman Empire demanded.

This began to look reasonable. It certainly began to aooount
for the Oerman cream which I had encountered and marveled
over in bo many hotels and restauranta. But a thought struck
me —

" Why did not each ancient dairyman take his own teacup oi
milk and his own cask of water, and mix them, without making a
government matter of it ?"

** Where could he get a cask large enough to contain the right
proportion of water ?"

Very true. It was plain that the Englishman had studied the
matter from all sides. Still I thought I might catch him on one
point ; so I asked him why the modern empire did not make the
nation's cream in the Heidelberg Tun, instead of leaving it to rot
away unused. But he answered as one prepared —

** A patient and diligent examination of the modem German
cream has satisfied me that they do not use the Great Tun now,
because they have got a bigger one hid away somewhere. Either
that is the case or they empty the spring milkings into the
mountain torrents and then skim the Rhine all summer."

There is a museum of antiquities in the castle, and among its
most treasured relics are ancient manuscripts connected with
German history. There are hundreds of these, and their dates
stretch back through many centuries. One of them is a decree
signed and sealed by the hand of a successor of Charlemagne, in
the year 896. A signature made by a hand which vanished out of
this life near a thousand years ago, is a more impressive thing than
even a ruined castle. Luther's wedding ring was s^own me ; also
a fork belonging to a time anterior to our era, <.ad an early boot-
jack. And there was a plaster cast of the head of a man who
was assassinated about sixty years ago. The stab-wounds in the
ino% were duplicated with unpleasant fidelit/. One or two leal

IMAGE EVALUATION
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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER. N.Y. M5S0

(716)872-4503

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hain itUl reBiAined atioldng in the eyebrowg of th« cut Thai
trifle seemed to almost change the counterfeit into a corpse.

There are many aged portraits — some valuable, some worth-
less ; some of great interest, some of none at all. I bought a
couple — one a gorgeous duke of the olden time, and the other s
comely, blue-eyed damsel, a princess, may be. I bought them t«
start a portrait gallery of my ancestors with. I paid a dollar and
a half for the duke and two and a half for the princess. One can
lay in ancestors at eren cheaper rates than these, in Europe, if
Im will Boiiae axaoDg old- picture shops and look out for ctumces

TffB COLLEGE PRI80H.

It Menu that the stodent may lkr«ak a good many of the publie
laws without having to answer to the public authorities. His
c«ee must come before the University for trial and punishment,
h a policeman catches him in an unlawful act and proceeds to
airest him, the offender proclaims that he is a student, and per*
iuiya shows his matriculation card, whereupon the oflScer asks for
his address, then goes his way, and reports the matter at head*
quMfters. If the offence is one over which the city has no juris-
dicwon, the authorities report the case officially to the University,
ana give themselves no further concern about it. The University
court send for the student, listen to the evidence, and pronounce
juagment. The punishment usually inflicted is imprisonment in
the University prison. As I understand it, a student's case is
of%en tried without his being present at alL Then something
like this happens : A constable in the service of the University
visits the lodgings of the said student, knocks, is invited to come
in, doe» so, and. says politely —

** If you please, I am here to conduct you to prison."

** Ah," says the student, ** I was not expecting it. What have
Ibeen doing?"

" Two weeks ago the public peace had the honor to be disturbed
by you."

** It is true ; I had forgotten it. Very well : I have been com*
plained of, tried, and found guilty — is that it ?"

** Exactly. You are sentenced to two days' solitary Gonfino>
ment in the College prison, and I am sent to fetch you."

Student. « O, I can't go tonlay 1"

Ojffieer. •< If you please— why ?"

Student ** Because I've got an engagement."

Officer, " To-morrow, then, perhaps ?"

Student, '* No, I am going to the opera, to-morroir.''

Officer, ^ Gould you come Friday ?*'

IIP

.fi:

874

APPWDIX.

Student (Reflectirely). "Let me lee— Friday— Friday, j
don't teem to have anything on hand Friday."

Offictr. " Then, if you please, I will expect you on Friday.**

Student. " All right, I'll come around Friday."

Officer, "Thank you. Good day, sir."

Student. "Good day."

So on Friday the student goes to the prison of his own accord,
and Is admitted.

It is questionable if the woild's criminal history can show a
custom more odd than this. Nobody knows, now, how it origi-
nated. There have always been many noblemen among the
students, and it is presumed that all students are gentlemen ; in
the old times it was usual to mar the convenience of such folk as
little as possible ; perhaps this indulgent custom owes its origin
to this.

One day I was listening to some conversation upon this subject
#rhen an American student said that for some time he had been
under sentence for a slight breach of the peace and had promised
the constable that he would presently find an unoccupied day
and betake himself to prison. I asked the young gentleman to
do me the kindness to go to jail as soon as he conveniently could,
BO that I might try to get in there and visit him, and see what
oollege-captivity was like. He said he would appoint the Tery
first day he could spare.

His confinement was to endure twenty-four hours. He shortly
chose his day, and sent me word. I started immediately. When
I reached the University Place, I saw two gentlemen talking
together, and as they had portfolios under their arms, I judged
they were tutors or elderly students ; so I asked them in English
to show me the college jail. I had learned to take it for granted
that anybody in Germany who knows anything, knows English,
so I had stopped afiiicting people with my German. These
gentlemen seemed a trifle amused — and a trifle confused, too—
but one of them said he would walk around the comer with me
and show me the place. He asked me why I wanted to get in
there, and I said to see a friend — and for curiosty. He doubted
if I would be admitted, but volunteered to put in a word <nr two
for me with the custodian.

He nog the bell, a door openedi and we stepped into a pftfed

TRB OOLLKH PUBOII.

87S

w«7 and th«» into a small living-room, where we were reoeired by
a hearty and good naiured Qerman woman of fifty. She threw
up her hands with a surprised, " Aoh Gott, Herf Professor I" and
exhibited a mighty deference for my new acquaintance. By the
sparkle in her eye I judged she was a good deal amused, too.
The " Herr Professor" talked to her in German, and I understood
enough of it to know that he was bringing very pladiible reasons
to bear for admitting me. They were successful. So the Herr
Professor received my earnest thanks and departed. The old
dame got her keys, took me up two or three flints of stairs, un-
locked a door, and we stood in the presence of the criminal,
rhen she went into a jolly and eager description of all that had
occurred down stairs, and what the Herr Professor had said, and
so forth and so on. Plainly she regarded it as quite a superior
joke that I had waylaid a Professor and employed him in so odd
a service. But I wouldn't have done it if I had known he was a
Professor ; therefore my conscience was not disturbed.

Now the dame left us to ourselves. The cell was not a roomy
one ; still it was a little larger than an ordinary prison cell. It
had a window of good size, iron-grated; a small stove; two
wooden chairs ; two oaken tables, very old and most elaborately
carved with names, mottoes, faces, armorial bearings, etc. — the
work of several generations of imprisoned students ; and a narrow
wooden bedstead with a villanous old straw mattress, but no
sheets, pillows, blankets or coverlets — for these the student must
iurnish at his own cost if he wants them. There was no carpet,
of course. t;

The ceiling was completely covered with names, dates, and
monograms, done with candle smoke. The walls were thickly
covered with pictures and portraits (in profile) some done with
ink, some with soot, some with a pencil, and some with red, blue,
and green chalks; and wherever an inch or two of space had re-
mained between the pictures, the captives had written plaintive
verses, or names and dates. I do not think I was ever in a more
elaborately frescoed apartment.

Against the wall hung a placard containing the prison laws. I
made a note of one or two of these. For instance : '' The pri-
soner must pay for the ' privilege * of entering, a sum equivalent
to twenty cents of our money } for the privilege of leaving^ when

t i ■

876

AFPEMOIX.

his t«nn hM expired, twenty cents ; for everj daf spent in the
prison, twelve cents ; for fire and light, twelve cents a day." The
jailor furnishes coffee, mominga, for a small sum ; dinners and
suppers may be ordered from outside if the prisoner chooses—
and he is allowed to pay for them, too.

Here and there on the walls appeared the names of American
students, and in one place the American arms and motto were
displayed in colored chalks.

With the help of my friend I translated many of the inscrip-
tions. Some of them were cheerful, others the reverse. I will
give the reader a few specimens :

" In my tenth semestre (my best one), I am cast here through
the camplaints of others. Let those who follow me take warn-
ing."

" III Tage ohne Grundangeblich aus Neugierde." Which is to
say, he had a curiosity to know what prison-life was like ; so he
made a breach in some law and got three days for it. It was
more than likely that he never had the same curiosity again.

(Translation.) '' E. GlinickCi four days for being too eager a
spectator of a row." S "^ i ^ ,

" F. Graf Bismarck— 27-29, 11, 74." Which means that Count
Bismarck, son of the great statesman, was a prisoner two days
in 1874.

{Tramlation.) "R. Diergandt— for love — four days." Many
people in this world caught it heavier than that for the same
indiscretion."

This one is tei'se. I translate.
• ** Four weeka for misinterpreted gallan^."

I wish the sufferer had explained a little more fully. A four
weeks' term ie rather a serious matter.

There were many uncomplimentary references, on the walls, to
a certain unpopular college dignitary. One sufferer had got three
days for not saluting him. Another had " here two days slept
and three nights lain awake," on acccunt of the same " Dr. K."
In one place was a picture of Dr. K. hanging on a gallows.
) Here and there, lonesome prisoners had eased the heavy tim
by altering the records left by predecessors. Leaving the name
standing, and the date and length of the captivity, they had erased
the description of the misdemeanor, and written in its place, in

wor<

TBI OOLLIOI PIU8<m.

877

■taring eapitalif ** won mnr t" or ** won Mumoim T or some other
gaudy crime. In ooe place, all by itself, stood this blood-curdling
wordt

**RaohiI»»*

There was no name signed, and no data. It was an inscrip.
tion well calculated to pique curiosity. One would greatly like
to know the nature of the wrong that had been done, and what
sort of vengeance was wanted, and whether the prisoner ever
achieved it or not. But there was no way of finding out these
things.

Occasionally a name was followed simply by the remark, '' II
days, for disturbing the peace," and without comment upon the
justice or injustice of the sentence.

In one place was a hilarious picture of a student of the green-
cap corps with a bottle pf champagne in each hand ; and below
was the legend: "These make an evil fate endurable."

There were two prison cells, and neither had space left on walls
or ceiling for another name or portrait or picture. The inside
surfaces of the two doors were completely covered with cartes de
visite of former prisoners, ingeniously let into the wood and pro-
tected from dirt and injury by glass.

I very much wanted one of the sorry old tables which the pri-
soners had spent so many years in ornamenting with their pocket-
knives, but red tape was in the way. The custodian could not
sell one without an order from a superior, and that superior
would have to get it from Ms superior, and this one would have
to get it from a higher one — and so on up and up until the fac-
ulty should sit on the matter and deliver final judgment. The
system was right, and nobody could find fault with it ; but it did
not seem justifiable to bother so many people, so I proceeded no
further. It might have cost me more than I could ahord, anyway ;
for one of these prison tables, which was at that time in a pri-
vate museum in Heidelberg, was afterwards sold at auction for
two hdndred and fifty dollars. It was not worth more than a
dollar, or possibly a dollar and a half, before the captive students
began their work on it. Persons who saw it at the auction said
it was so curiously and wonderfully carved that it was worth the
money that was paid for i'

•Bereng*.

;? '

ii«

•7B

AFFBn>OL

Among Ui« mutj who hftre tut«d th« college priton'i dreerj
hoepitelitj wee e UtoIj yonng fellow from one of the Southern
States of America, whose first year's experience of German imi-
▼ersity life was rather peculiar. The day he arrived in Heidel
berg he enrolled his name on the college books, and was so
elated with the fsot that his dearest hope had found fruition ana
he was actually a student of the old and renowned university,
that he set to work that very night to celebrate the event by a
grand lark in company with some other students. In the course
of his lark he managed to make a wide breach in one of the uni-
versity's most stringent law£. Sequel : before noon, next day,
he was in the college prison — booked for three months. The
twelve long weeks dragged slowly by, and the day of deliverance
came at last. A great crowd of sympathizing fellow-students re-
ceived him with a rousing demonstration as he came forth, and
of course there was another grand lark — in the course of which
he managed to make a wide breach in one of the city's mott
stringent laws. Sequel : before noon, next day, he was safe in
the city lock-up— booked for three months. The second tedious
captivity drew to an end in the course of time, and again a great
crowd of sypathizing fellow-students gave him a rousing recep-
tion as he came forth ; but his delight in his freedom was so
boundless that he could not proceed soberly and calmly, but
must go hopping and skipping and jumping down the sleety
street from sheer excess of joy. Sequel : he slipped and broke
his leg, and actually lay in the hospital during the next three
months I-

When he at last became a free man again, he said he believed
he would hunt up a brisker seat of learning; the Heidelberg
lectures might be good, but the opportunities of attending them
were too rare, the educational process too slow ; he said he had
•ome to Europe with the idea that the acquirement of an educa
tion was only a matter of time, but if he had averaged the
Heidelberg system correctly, it was rather a matter of eternity.

-' -i... s .■*

■ :J':'. -•'■,■

THB AWFUL GERMAN LANOUAGI.

A lltil* teMitiag m»kM tha whole world kin.— ProTorbt nsU. f.

I went often to look at the collection of curiosities in Heidel*
berg Castle, and one day 1 , surprised the keeper of it with my
German. I spoke entirely in that language. He was greatly
interested ; and after I had talked awhile he said my German was
▼ery rare, possibly a " unique ;" and wanted to add it to his
museum.

If he had known what it had cost me to acquire my art, he
would also have known that it would break any collector to buy
it. Harris and I had been hard at work on our German during
several weeks at that time, and although we had made good
progress, it had been accomplished under great diflSculty and
annoyance, for three of our teachers had died in the meantime.
A person who has not studied German can form no idea of what
a perplexing language it is.

Surely there is not another language that is so slip- shod and
systemlesa, and so sli^^pery and elusive to the grasp. One is
washed about in it, hither and hither, in the most helpless way ;
and when at last he thinks he has captured a rule which offers
firm ground to take a rest on amid the general rage and tu r.iH
of the ten parts of speech, he turns over the page and rer 'g,
** Let the pupil make careful note of the following exceptions."
He runs his eye down and finds that there are more exceptiona
to the rule than instances of it. So overboard he goes again, to
hunt for another Ararat and find another quicksand. Such has
been, and continues to be, my experience. Every time I think
I have got one of these four confusing ''cases" where I am
master of it, a seemingly insignificant preposition intrudes itself
into my sentence, clothed with an awful and unsuspected power,
and crumbles the ground from under me. For instance, my
book enquires after a certain bird — (it is always enquiring after
things which are of no sort of consequence to anybody) : " Wher(>

lip!

880

APPBNDIX.

is the birdt" Now th« aniwer to thii qnoation— aooording to
the book— it that the bird U waiting in the blAoksmith shop on
account of the rain. Of course no bird would do that, but then
you must stick to the book. Very well, I begin to cipher out
the German for that answer. I begin at the wrong end, neoes*
oessarily, for that is the Qerman idea. I say to myself, " Begen
(rain) is masculine— or maybe it is feminine— or possibly neuter
— it is too much trouble to look, now. Therefore, it is either der
(the) Regen, or die (the) Regen, or da» (the) Regen, according to
which gender it may turn out to be when I look. In the interest
of science, I will cipher it out on the hypothesis that it is mascu-
line. Very well — then the rain is der Regen, if it is simply in
the quiescent state of being mentioned, without enlargement or
discussion — Nominative case ; but if this rain is lying around, in
a kind of a general way on the ground, it is then definitely
located, it is doing something — that is, resting (which is one of
the German grammar's ideas of doing something), and this throw:*
the rain into the Dative case, and makes it dem Regen. However,
this rain is not resting, but is doing something actively — it is
falling — ^to interfere with the bird, likely — and this indicates
movement, which has the e£feot of sliding it into the Accusative
case and changing dem Regen into den Regen." Having com
pleted the grammatical horoscope of this matter, I answer up
confidently and state in German that the bird is staying in the
blacksmith shop '' wegen (on account of) den Regen." Then the
teacher lets me softly down with the remark that whenever the
word " wegen" drops into a sentence, it always throws that sub-
ject into the Genitive case, regardless of consequences— and that
therefore this bird staid in the blacksmith shop "wegen des
Regens."

N. B. — I was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there
was an '' exception" which permits me to say *' wegen den Regen"
in certain peculiar and complex circumstances, but that this
exception is not extended to anything hut rain.

There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome.
An average sentence, in a German newspaper, is a sublime and
impressive curiosity ; it occupies a quarter of a column ; it con-
tains all the ten part«i of speech — not in regular order, but mixed ;
H is built mainly of compound words constructed by the writer

TBI OBBMAII L. TOUAOB.

881

OB the spot, and not to b« found in any dietioiAiy— ftlx or Mvea
words oompaotod into one, without joint or team — that ia, with*
out hyphens ; it treat* of fourteen or fifteen different •ubjecti,
each enoloaed in a parenthesis of its own, with here and there
extra parenthesis which re-enclose three or four of the minor
parentliesis, making pens within pens ; finally, all the parenthesis
and re- parenthesis are massed together between a couple of king*
parenthesis, one of which is placed in the first lino of the mnjestio
sentence and the other in the middle of the lost line of it— after
which eomea the vkrb, and you find out for the first time what the
man has been talking about ; and after the verb — merely by way
of ornament, as far as I can make out—the writer shovels in
" haben tind gewesen gehabt haben getcorden aein,** or words to
that effect, and the monument is finiuhed. 1 suppose that this
closing hurrah is in the nature of the flouiish to a man's signa-
ture-— not necessary, but pretty. German books are easy enough
to read when you hold them before the looking-glass or stand on
your head— BO as to reverse the construction— but 1 think that
to learn to read and understand a German newspaper is a thing
which must always remain an impossibility to a foreigner.

Yet even the German books are not entirely free from attacks
of the Parenthesis distemper — though they are usually so mild as
to cover only a few lines, and therefore when you at last get down
to the verb, it carries some meaning to your mind, because you
are able to remember a good deal of what has gone before.

Kow here is a sentence from a popular and excellent German
novel — with a slight parenthesis in it. I will make a perfectly
literal translation, and throw in the parenthesis-marks and somu
hyphens for the assistance of the reader — tliough in the original
there are no parenthesis-marks or hyphens, and the reader is lelt
to flounder through to the remote verb the best way he can :

** But when he, upon the street, the (in satin-and'silk-covered*
BOW-very unconstrainedly-after-the- newest -fashion-dressed) gov*
ernment counsellor's wife met," etc., etc.'"

That is from "The Old Mamselle's .Secret," by Mrs. Marlitt.
knd that sentence is constructed upon the most approved Ger*

* Wmk tr aWr snf der Straaie dm in Sammt und Seide gebulttcn Jtis Mht

grtTtldslM BsgUwMgWStbin begnnn.'*

APFIHDXX.

Biod«L Ton obMfT* how ftur that T«rh U firom th* rMdei'i
of op«i«tioiui ; well, in m Oerman newspaper they put their
▼•rb away orer on the next page ; and I have heard that aomA-
tioMS after stringing along on exciting preliminaries and paren
thesis for a column or two, they get in a hurry and have to go to
press without getting to the verb at alL Of course, then, the
reader is left in a very exhausted and ignorant state.

We have the Parenthesis disease in our literature, too ; and
one u'lay see oases of it every day in our books and newspapers:
but with us it is the mark and sign of an unpractised writer or a
eloudy intellect, whereas with the Germans it is doubtless the
mark and sign of a practised pen and of the presence of that sort
of luminous intellectual fog which stands for clearness among
these people. For surely it is no < clearness^it necessarily can't
be clearness. Even a jury would have penetration enough to
discover that. A writer's ideas must be a good deal confused, i
good deal out of line and sequence, when he starts out to say that
ft man met a counsellor's wife in the street, and then right in the
midst of this so simple undertaking halts these approaching
people and makes them stand still until he jots down an invent-
ory of the woman's dress. This is manifestly absurd. It reminds
a person of those dentists who secure your instant and breathless
interest in a tooth by taking a grip on it with the forcej>s, and
then stand there and drawl through a tedious anecdote before
they give the dreaded jerk. Parenthesis in literature and den-
tistry are in bad taste.

The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they
make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the be-
ginning of an exciting chapter and the other half at the end of it
Can anyone conceive of anything more confusin/c than thatT
These things are called ** separable verbs.*^ The German gram-
mar is blistered all over with separable verbs ; and the wider the
two portions of one of them are spread apart, the better the
author of the crime is pleased with his performance. A favorite
one is reiste ab — which means, departed. Here is an example
which I culled from a novel and reduced to English :

" The trunks being now ready, he DE- after kissing his mother
•nd sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored
Qretohen, who. dressed in ainnr)lp white mndin ♦••jth a single tube

fBB OBBMAII UliaDAtt.

i8t

roM Ib th« Ample folds of o«r rioh brown hair, had toiUrad foobly
down ih* lUin, still pale from the terror end ezoitement of the
past e?ening^ but longing ic laj her poor aohing head yet onoe
again upon the breest of him whom she loved more deaily thaa
life iteelf, PAJRTED."

HowoTer. it ia not well to dwell too muoh on the separable
Terbs. One is sure to lose hb temper early } and if he stiolm to
the suliyect, and will not be warned, it will at last either soften
his brain or petrify it Personal pronouns and acyeotives are a
fruitfid nuisance in this language, arid should hare been left out.
For instance, the same sound sis, means yoit, and it means «A«y
and it means Asr, and it means t^ and it means Msy, and it means
them. Think of the ragged poverty of a language wluch has to
make one word do the work of six — and a poor little weak thing
of only three letters at that. But mainly, think of^e ezaapera*
tion of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is
trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says n$
to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.

Now observe the Adjective. Here was a case where simplicity
would have been an advantage ; therefore, for no other reasooy
the inventor of this language complicated it all he could. When
we wish to speak of our " good friend or friends," in our enlight"
ened tongue, we stick to the one form and have no trouble or
hard feeling about it ; but with the German tongue it is different.
When a German gets his hands on an ac^ective, he declines it,
and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined
out of it. It is aa bad as Latin. He sayt, for instance :

SINOULAB.

Nominative — ^Mein gut«r Freund, my good friend.

Oenitioe — Meines gnten Freunde«, of my good friend.

Datioe — Meinem gutcn Freund, to my good friend.

Plural — Meinen gut«n Freund, my good friend.

N. — Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.

G. — ^Meiner gut«n Freunde, of my good friends.

D. — Meinen gut«n Freund«», to my good friends.

A. — ^Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.

Now let the candidate for the asylum try to memorise thoae'
variations, and see how soon he will be elected. One might
better go wilhont friends in Germany than take all this troubto

I'i

AmUDO.

ftboai them. I have Bhown what a bother it is to dc jliiie a good
(nude) friend ; well, this is only a third of the work, for there ii
a variety of new distortions of the ac^ectiTe to be luamed when
the object is femininei and still another when tiae object ii
neuter. Now there are more adjectives in this language than
there are black cats in Switaerland, and they must all be as
elaborately declined as the examples above suggested. Diffi-
cult T — troublesome ? — these words cannot descrite it I heard
a Californian student in Heidelberg say, in one of his calmesl
moods, that he would rather decline two drinks than one German
adjective.

The inventor of the language seems to have taken pleasure in
complicating it in every way he could think of. For instance, It
(me is casually referring to a house, EauSf or a horse, Pferd, or a
dog, Hundf he spells these ivords as I have indicated ; but if he
is referring to them in the Dative case, he sticks on a foolish and
unnecessary « and spells them Hause, Fferde, Hunde. So, as an
added e often signifies the plural, as the * does with us, the new
student is likely to go on for a month making twins out of a
Pative dog before he discovers his mistake ; and on the other
hand, many a new student who could ill afford loss, has bought
and paid for two dogs and only got one of them, because he igno-
rantly bought that dog in the Dative singular when he really sup-
posed he was talking plural — which left the law on the seller's
aide, of course, by the strict rules of grammar, and therefore a
■uit for recovery could not lie.

In German, all the Nouns begin with a capital letter. Now that
Is a good idea ; and a good idea, in this language, is necessarily
oonspicuoT?" from its lonesomeness. I consider this capitalizing
of nouns a good idea, because by reason of it you are almoit
always able to tell a noun the minute you see it. You fall into
error occasionally, because you mistake the name of a person for
the name ot a thing^.and waste a good deal of time trying to dig
a meaning out of it. German names almost always do mean
•omething, and this helps to deceive the student. I translated a
passage one day, which said that " the infm'iated tigress broke
loose and utterly ate up the unfortunate fir-forest" {Tannenwald).
When I was girding up my loins to doubt this, I found out that
Vanaenwald, in this instancoi was a man's name.

naauM lawivaoi.

Srtrf BOOB Imr m gandAr, and there la no seni • or tjuUm in
fhe distribution) ao the gender of each muat be learned separ-
ately and bgr hewi. Tliere is no other way. To do this, one haa
to have a memory like a memorandum book. In Qerman, •
jroung lady has no sex, while a turnip has. Think what over*
wrought reyerence that shows for the turnip, and what oalloua
disrespect for the girl. See how it looks in print — I translate
this from a conversation in one of the best of the German 8un>
d*y-school books :

" Oretehen. Wilhelm, where is the turnip ?*'

" Wilhelm, She has gone to the kitchen."

" Qreiehtn. Where is the accomplished and beautiful Bngliah
maiden?"

« WilMm. It has gone to the opera."

To continue with the German genders : a tree is male, ita buda
%te female, ita leaves are neuter ; horses are sexless ; dogs are
dale ; oats are female — ^Tom-cats included, of course ; a person's
mouth, neck, bosom, elbows, fingers, nails, feet and body are of
the male sex, and his head is male or neuter according to the
word selected to signify it, and not according to the sex of the
individual who wei^^rs it^for in Germany all the women weai
•ither male heads o^^ sexless ones ; a person's nose, lips, shoulders,
breast, hands, hips, and toes are of the female 8%x ; and his hair,
ears, eyes, chin, legs, knees, heart, and conscience haven't any
aex at all. The inventor of the language probably got what he
knew about a conscience from hearsay.

Now, by the above dissection, the reader will see that in Ger
many a man may think he is a man, but when he comes to look
into the matter closely he is boimd to have his doubts ; he finds
that in sober truth he is a most ridiculous mixture ; and if he ends
by trjring to comfort himself with the thought that he can at
least depend on a third of this mess as being manly and masou
line, the humiliating second thought will quickly remind him
that in this roHpect he is no better off than any woman or cow
in the land.

In the German it is true that by some oversight of the inventor
of the language, a woman is a female, but a Wife ( Wtib) is not
— whioh is unfortunate. A Wife, here, has no sex ; she is neuter )
H^ aooording to the grammar, a fish is A^ hia aoalea ar* «l4^ hal

>■ i

886

AFraifDIX.

» fifhwife ii neither. To desoribe a wife m lexleis, may be cMVd
under-desoription ; that is bad enough, but over-description i^
surely worse. A Oerman speaks of an Englishman as the Eng
lander; to change the sex, he adds inn, and that stands for Eng-
lishwoman — Englanderinn. That seems descriptive enough, hut
still it is not exact enough for a Qerman, so he precedes the
word with that article which indicates that the creature to fol-
low is feminine, and writes it down thus : ^ die Englandertnn"—
which means "the ihe-Engliehwoman." I consider that that
person is over-described.

Well, after the student has learned the sex of a great number
of nouns, he is still in a diflSculty, because he finds it impossible
to persuade his tongue to refer to tubings as " he " and '' ehe," and
" Aim" and " her" which it has been always accustomed to refer
to as " U." When he even frames a Qerman sentence in his
mind, with the hims and hers in the right places, and then works
up his courage to the utterance-point, it is no use — the moment
he begins to speak his tongue flies the track and all those labored
males and females come out as " itt." And even when he is
reading Qerman to himself, he always calls those things '< it ;"
whereas he ought to read in this way :

1'alb of thb Fishwitb akd Iti Sad Fatb.*

It is a bleak Bay. Hear the Rain, how he pours, and the Hall.
how he rattles ; and see the Snow, how he drifts along, and oh
the Mud, how deep he is I Ah the poor Fishwife, it is stuck fast
in the Mire ; it has dropped its Basket of Fishes ; and its Handa
have been cut by the Scales as it seized some of the falling Crea-
tures ) and one Scale has even got into its Eye, and it cannot get
her out. It opens its Mouth to cry for Help ; but if any Sound
comes out of him, alas he is drowned by the raging of the Storm.
And now a Tomcat has got one of the Fishes and ehe will surely
escape with him. No, she bites off a Fin, she holds her in her
Mouth — will she swallow her ? No, the Fishwife's brave Mother
Dog deserts its Puppies and rescues the Fin — which he eats, him-
self, as a Reward. 0, horror, the Lightning has struck the Fish-
basket ; he sets him on Fire ; see the Flame, how she licks the
doomed Utensil with her red and angry Tongue ; now she attacks

• I W9it«UM tlie M«M is 4)0

(saA aaoiovt I^ngUth) fsiWQa.

IBB aiBXAH LAMOVlOlt

f be oaiip.)
riptioii in
the JBug
la for Eng.
aough, hut
cedes the
ure to fol-
derinn"^
that that

it number
mpossible
* the," and
id to refer
ice in his
hen works
e moment
Be labored
rhen he u
ng8«t</"

the Hail.
ig, and oh
»tuck fast
its Handi
ling Crea-
onnotget
ay Sound
le Storm,
ill surely
r in her
5 Mother
ats, him-
the Fish-
icks the
> ftitAcks

ttia helpleM Hshwife's Foot — she bums him up, all but fh« big
Toe, and 6T6n ihe is partly consumed ; and still she spreads, still
•he waves her fiery Tongues ; she attacks the FJBh wife's Leg and
destroys it ; she attacks its Hand and destroys her ; she attacks
its poor worn Garment and destroys her also ; she attacks its Body
and consumes him: "^ wreathes herself about its Heart and it
is consumed ; next about its Breast, and in a Moment tht is a
Cinder ; now she reaches its Neck — he goes ; now its Chin — it
goes ; now its Nose — she goes'. In another Moment, except Help
come, the Fishwife will be no more. Time presses — is tSere none
to succor and save ? Yes I Joy, joy, with flying Feet the she-
Englishwoman comes ! But alas, the generous she-Female is too
late : where now is the fated Fishwife ? It has ceased from ite
Suflferings, it has gone to a better Land ; all that is left of it for
its loved Ones to lament over, is this poor smoldering Ash-heap.
Ah, woful, woful Ash-heap I Let us take him up tenderly, rjsver*
ently, upon the lowly Shovel, and bear him to his long Rest, with
the Prayer that when he rises again it will be in a Realm where
he will have one good square responsible Sex, and have it all to
himself, instead of having a mangy lot of assorted Sexes scattered
all over him in Spots.

There, now, the reader can see for himself that this pronoun-
business is a very awkward thing for ihe unaccustomed tongue.

I suppose that in all languages the similarities of look and sound
between words which have no similarity in meaning are a fruitful
source of perplexity to the foreigner. It is so in our tongue, and
it is notably the case in the German. Now there is that trouble*
some word vermahlt : to me it has so close a resemblance — either
real or fancied — to three or four other words, that I never know
whether it means despised, painted, suspected, or married ; until
I look in the dictionary, and then I find it means the latter. There
are lots of such words, and they are a great torment. To increase
tlie difficulty there are words which seem to resemble each other
and yet do not ; but they make just as much trouble as if they
did- For instance, there is the word vertniethen (to let, to lease,
to hire) ; and the word verheirathen (another way of saying to
marry). I heard of an Englishman who knocked at a man's door
in Heidelberg and proposed, m the best German he could com

'11

i^i

• V

Arpnn>iz«

mand, to ** rerheirathen " that house. Then there an somu
words which mean one thingwhen you emphasize the first syllabic,
but mean something very different it 70U throw the emphasis
on the last syllable. For instance, there is a word which men 1 is-
a runaway, or the act of glancing through a book, according ic
the placing of the emphasis ; and another which signifies to assn
date with a man, or to avoidhim, according to where you put tht;
emphasis — and you can generally depend on putting it in tU<)
wrong place and getting into trouble.

There are some exceedingly useful words in this language.
Sehlag, for example ; and Zug. There are three quarters of a
column of Schlags in the dictionary, and a column and a hnlf o(
Zugs. The word Schlag means Blow, Stroke, Dash, Hit, Shock,
Clap, Slap, Time, Bar, Coin, Stamp, Kind, Sort, Manner, Way,
Apoplexy, Wood-Cutting, Enclosure, Field, Forest-Clearing. This
IS its simple and exact meaning — that is to say, its restricted, its
fettered meaning ; but there are ways by which you can set it
free, so that it can soar away, as on the wings of the morning, and
never be at rest. You can hang any word you please to its tail,
and make it mean anything you want to. You can begin with
Schlag-ader, which means artery, and you can hang on the whole
dictionary, word by word, clear through the alphabet to Schlag-
toasscr, which means bilge- water — and including Schlag-muiter
which means mother-in-law.

Just the same with Zug. Strictly speaking, Zug means Pull,
Pug, Draught, Procession, March, Progress, Flight, Direction,
Expedition, Train, Caravan, Passage, Stroke, Touch, Line, Flourish,
Trait of Character, Feature, Lineament, Chess-move, Orgeuistop,
Team, Whiff, Bias, Drawer, Propensity, Inhalation, Disposition :
out that thing which it does not mean— when all its legitimate
pendants have been hung on, has not been discovered yet.

One cannot over-estimate the usefulness cf Schlag and Zug.
Armed just with these two, and the word Also^ what cannot the
foreigner on German soil accomplish? The German word Alst
is the equivalent of the English phrase " You know," and does
not mean anything at all — in talk, though it sometimes does in
print. Every time a German opens his mouth an Also falls out ;
and every time lie shuts it ^e bites ope in two that was trying to

$€t out,

Hew,
master <
him pou
word,le
are, thai
heave a
the hol<
wf AU
the nee
iionalg
Drtwoj
rest of
#rith th
Nothing
toaGei
"Also'a
Inm]
July

was BUG

near H

opened

contain

over th<

That

the moi

of Gen

have a,

Freu

Dille

Stad

Thea

Andtl

time«

he has

music,

Itake

Mrosa

way I

amr A« lahovam.

KoWi Ifte fiBreign«r, •qaipp«d with these three noble wordi, it
ouster of the situation. Let him talk right along, feerlestly ) lei
him poar his indifferent German forth, and when he lacks for a
word, let him heare a Sehlag into the Taonum ; all the chances
are, that it fits it like a plug ; but if he doesn't, let him promptly
heaTe a Zug after it ; Uie two together can hardly fail to bung
the hole ; but if, by a miracle, they »hould fail, let him simply
•ay Alto I and this will give him a moment's chance to think of
the needfiil word. In Oermany, when you load yonr oonTcrsa*
tional gun it is always best to throw in a Sehlag or two and a Zug
M two ;; beeause it doesn't make any difference how much the
rest of the charge may scatter, you are bound to bag something
with them. Then you blandly say AltOf and load up again.
Nothing gives such an air of grace and elegance and imconstraint
to a German or an English conTcrsation aa to scatter it full of
«« Also's" or " You knows."

In my note<book I find this entry :

July 1 .— In the hospital, yesterday, a word of thirteen syllables
was successfully removed from a patient — a North-German tram
near Hamburg; but as most unfortunately the surgeons had
opened him in the wrong place, under the impression that he
contained a panorama, he died. The sad event has cast a gloom
over the whole community.

That paragraph furnishes a text for a few remarks about one of
the mo&t curious and notable features of my subject — the length
of German words. Some German words are so long that they
have a perspective. Observe these examples <

Freundsohaftsbezeigungen.

Dilletantenaufdringlichkeiten.

Stadtverordnetenversammlungen.

These things are not words, they are alphabetical processions.
And they are nOt rare ; one can open a German newspaper any
time and see them marching miyestically across the page— and if
he has any imagination he can see the banners and hear the
music, too. They impart a martial thrill to the meekest subject.
1 take a great interest in these curiosities. Whenever I come
?scross a good one, I stuff it and put it in my museum. In thii
way I have made quite a valuable collection. When I get dupli-
oatM, I exohan^ with otk^er oolleotors, «nd thm inorvase tht

• \ I

ato

▲FFIMMZ.

Tari«ty of mj stook. Here are lome ipeoimens wlii«1i t Utelj
bought At an auotion sale of the •ffeoU of a bankrupt brio-a-bnM
hunter :
GBNBRALaTAAnTimoiKBTByyiftSAifMLinrem.

ALTlBTHUMBWiaUNOHAFTIN.

KnrDBBBBWAHBUHOSAKSTALTIlf.

UVABVABiroIOUtinBRKLABRUNOnr.

WlBOBBBBBSTBLLVNOSBBSTRBBUNOBir.

WAFrBiriTILL8TAMD8VNTBRHAMOLUNOBir.

Of courie when one of these grand mountain ranges goes
stretching across the printed page, it adorns and ennobles that
literary landscape — but at the same time it is a great distress to
the new studentf for it blocks up his way ; he cannot crawl under
it| or climb over it or tunnel through it So he resorts to the
dictionary for help ; but there is no help there. The dictionary
must draw the line somewhere— so it leaves this sort of words
out. And it is right, because these long things are hardly legiti-
mate words, but are rather combinations of words, and the inven<
tor of them ought to have been killed. They are compound
words, with the hyphens left out. The various words used in
building them are in the dictionary, but in a very scattered con-
dition ; so you can hunt the materials out, one by one, and get at
the meaning at last, but it is a tedious and harassing business.
I have tried this process upon some of the above examples.
*' Freundschaftsbezeigungen" seems to be "Friendship demon-
itrations," which is only a foolish and clumsy way of saying
** demonstrations of friendship." " Unabhaengigkeitserklaerun*
gen" seems to be ** Independence declarations," which is no im-
provement upon " Declarations of Independence," so far as I can
see. "Generalstaatsverordnetenversammlungen" seems to be
" Generalstatesrepresentativesmeetings," as nearly as I can get
at it — a mere rythmical, gushy euphuism for " meetings of the
legislature," I judge. We used to have a good deal of this sort
oi crime in our literature, but it has gone out, now. We used to
speak of a thing as a " never-to be-forf;otten" circumstance, in-
stead of cramping it into the simple and sufficient word " memo-
rable" and then going calmly about our business as if nothing
had happened. In those days we were not content to embalm
the thing and bury it deoentl^r, we wanted \o build • monument

TBI Omflff LAVOTTAOl.

891

Bat in our newipapera the compounding-diseMe ling«n a littU
to the present day, but with the hyphens left out, in the German
fashion. This is the shape it takes : instead of saying " Mr. Sim-
mons, clerk of the county and district courts, was in town yester*
day," the new form puts it thus: "Clerk of the County and
District Court Simmons was in town yesterday.^ This saves
neither time nor ink, and has an awkward sound besides. One
often sees a remark like this in our papers : " Mr». Assistant Dis*
trict Attorney Johnson returned to her city residence yesterday
for the season." That is a case of really unjustifiable compound-
ing ; because it not only saves no time or trouble, but confers a
title on Mrs. Johnson which she has no right to. But these little
instances are trifles indeed, contrasted with the ponderous and
dismal German system of piling jumbled compounds together. I
wish to submit the following local item, from a Mannheim journal,
by way of illustration :

"In the daybeforeyesterdayshortlyaftereleveno'clock Night,
the inthistownstandingtavem called 'The Wagoner* was down-
burnt. When the fire to the onthedownbuminghouseresting
Stork's Nest reached, flew the parent Storks away. But when
the bytheraging, firesurrounded Nest itaelf caught Fire, straight-
way plunged the quickret uj;^ g Mother-Stork into the Flames
and died, her Wings over CS^oung ones outspread."

Even the cumbersome German construction is not able to take
the pathos out of that picture — indeed it somehow seems to
strengthen it. This item is dated away back yonder months ago.
I could have used it sooner, but I was waiting to hear from the
Father-Stork. I am still waiting.

"Also!" If I have not shown that the German is a difficult
language, I have at least intended to do it. I have heard of an
American student who was asked how he was getting along with
his German, and who answered promptly : " I am not getting
•long at all. I have worked at it hard for three level months,
and all I have got to show for it is one solitary German phrase—
' Zwei glas ' " (two glasses of beer). He paused a moment, re-
flectively, then added with feeling, "But I've got that solid I"

And if I have not also shown that German is a harassing and
InAiriating study, my execution has been at fault, and not my
titenii I heard lately of a worn and sorely tried Amerioao «^

d«nt who uMd U>ftjio% o«rUin Oaraum word tn nh%t when he
eould bear up under hie eggraTation no longer^— the only word
in the whole language whoee sound wae tweet and precious to hit
ear and healing to his lacerated spirit. This was the word Damit.
It was only the tound that helped him, not the meaning* ; and
■o, at last, when he learned that the emphasis was not on the first
syllable, his only stay and support was gone, and he iS»ded away
and died.

I think that a description of any loud, stirring tumultuous,
episode must be tamer in German than in English. Our descrip-
tive words of this character have such a deep, strong, resonant
sound, while their German equiTalents do seem so thin and mild
and energyless. Boom, burst, crash, roar, storm, bellow, blow.
thunder, explosion, howl, cry, shout, yell, groan, battle, holi.
These are magnificent words : they have a loroe and magnitude
of sound befitting the things which they describe. But their
German equivalente would be ever so nice to sing the children to
sleep with, or else my awe-inspiring ears were made for display
and not for superior usefulness in analyzing sounds. Would uiiy
man want to die in a battle which was called by so tame a term as
a Sehlaeht f Or would not a consumptive feel too much bundled
up, who was about to go out, in a shirt collar and a seal ring, into
a storm which the bird-song word Oewitter was employed to de-
scribe T And observe the strongest of the several German equi-
valents for explosion — Auibrueh. Our word Toothbrush is more
powerful than that. It seems to me that the. Germans could do
worse than import it into their language to describe particularly
tremendous explosions with. The German word for hell — HoUe,
— soimds more like helly than anything else; therefore, how
necessarily chipper, frivolous and unimpressive it is. If a man
were told in German to go there, could he really rise to the dignity
of feeling insulted 7

Having now pomted out, in detail, the several vices of this
language, I now come to the brief and pleasant task of pointing
•ut its virtues. The capitalizing of the nouns, I have already
mentioned. But far before this virtue stands another— that of
spelling a word according to the sound of it. After one short
lesson in the alphabet, the student can tell how any German

•»

la Hi |«Mr|) mm "Mrpm/ih'^'

tSB OnMAII LAlKIOia.

wotd if pronoaiio«d, without hftTing to Mk ; wheMM in our Ian-
gOAge if a •tadant should inquire of ui ** Whftt does B, O, W,
spell f we should be obliged to reply, ** Nobody can tell what it
spells, when you set it off by itself— you can only tell by referring
to the context and finding out what it signifies — whether it is a
thing to shoot arrows with, or a nod of one's head, or the forward
end of a boat.

There are some German words which are singularly and power*
ftiUy effectiye. For instance, those which describe lowly, peace*
fill and affectionate home life ; those which deal with lore, in any
and all forms, from mere kindly feeling and honest good wiU
toward the passing stranger, clear up to courtship ; those which
deal with out-door Nature, in its softest and loveliest aspects —
with meadows, and forests, and birds and fiowers, the fragrance
aud Bunshine of summer, and the moonlight of peaceful winter
nights 'j in a word, those which deal with any and all forms of
rest, repose, and peace ; those also which deal with the creatures
and marvels of fairyland ; and lastly and chiefiy, in those words
which express pathos, is the language surpassingly rich and effec-
tive. There are German songs which can make a stranger to the
language cry. That shows that the sound of the words is correct
—it interprets the meanings with truth and with exactness ; and
so the ear is informed, and through the ear, the heart.

The Germans do not seem to be afraid to repeat a word when
it is the right one. They repeat it several times, if they choose.
That is wise. But in English when we have used a word a couple
of times in a paragraph, we imagine we are growing tautological ;
and so we are weak enough to exchange it for some other word
which only approximates exactness, to escape what we wrongly
fancy is a greater blemish. Bepetition may be bad, but surely
inexactness is worse.

There are people in the world who will take a great deal ol
trouble to point out the faults in a religion or a language, and
then go blandly about their business without suggesting any rem-
edy. I am not that kind of a person. I have shown that the
German language needs reforming. Very well, I am ready to
reform it. At least I am ready to make ^e proper suggestions.
dooh a oonri* as this might be immodest in another ; but I have
dtMlMiaywaidaof niiM full weeks, first and laat^toftMitlal

APPBMDXX.

and orlUoAl itudy of iMi tongue, and thui hm Mqtilr«d a oonll-
denoe in my ability to reform it which nomeresuperfioial culture
eould have conferred upon me.

In the first place, I would leave out the DatiTe Caae. It eon*
ftises the plurals ; and besides, nobody ever knows when he is ia
the Dative Case, except he discovers it by accident— and then he
does not know when or where it was that he got into it, or how
long he has been in it, or how he is ever going to get out of it
again. The Dative case is but an ornamental folly— it is better
/ to discard it.

In the next place, I would move the Verb further up to the
Aront. You may load up with ever so good a Verb, but I notice
that you never really bring down a subject with it at the present
German range — you only cripple it. So I insist that this import*
ant part of speech should be brought forward to a position where
it may be easily seen with the naked eye.

Thirdly, I would import some strong words from the English
tongue — to swear with, and also to use in describing all sorts ol
vigorous things in a vigorous way.* \

Fourthly, I would reorganize the sexes, and distribute them
According to the will of the Creator. This as a tribute of respect,
if nothing else.

Fifthly, I would do away with those great, long, compounded
words ; or require the speaker to deliver them in sections, with
intermissions for refreshments. To wholly do away with them
would be best, for ideas are more easily received and digested
when they come one at a time than when they come in bulk.
Intellectual food is like any other ; it is pleasanter and more
beneficial to take it with a spoon than with a shoveL
t Sixthly, I would require a speaker to stop when he is done,
and not hang on a string of those useless <' haben sind gewesen

* " Ferdamme,*' and its TwUtioiu and enlargements, are words which hare plenty
of meaning, but the sound* are so mild and inefTectiial that German ladies ean use
them without sin. German ladies who oonld not be induced to commit a sin hj anj
persuasion or compulsion, promptly rip out one of these hannless little words when
they tear their dresses or don't like the soup. It sounds about as wiciced as enr " My
gracious." German ladies are constantly saying, " Ach Ctott I" " Mein Gott I" '< OotI
in Himmel I" " Herr Gott I** " Der Herr Jesus I" eto. They think our ladies have
the same custom, perhaps, for I once heard a gentle and lorely old Oennaa lady say
to a sweet young American girl, "The two languages an ■•
ftai ia • we say <« Aeh I Qatt !*• jre« BiV ** OoMmi.* ••

Tins OVlllAV LAMOUAAI.

805

gehftbt hab«ii geworden letnt " lo the end of his oration. This
lort of gewgaws undignify a spaoch, initoad of adding a grace.
They are therefore an offenoe, and should be diiearded.

Serenthly, I would discard the parenthesif. Also the re-paren-
thesis, the re-re-parenthesis, and the re-rere-re-re-reparenthcftis
and likewise the final, wide-reaching, all-enclosing, Kingparen*
thesis* I would require oTery individual, be he high or low, to
unfold a plain, straightforward tale^'or else coil it and sit on it
and hold his peace. Infractions of this law should be punishable
with death.

And eighthly and lastly, I would retain Zug and Sehlag, with
their pendants, and discerd the rest of the rooabulary. Thif
would simplify the language.

I have now named what I regard as the most necessary and
important changes. These are perhaps all I could be expected
to name for nothing ; but there are other suggestions which I
can and will make in case my proposed application shall result
in my being formerly employed by the government in the work
ot reforming the language.

My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person
ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in
thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years.
It seems manifest, then, that the latter tongue ought to be
trimmed down and repaired. If it is to remain as it is, it
ought to be gently and reverently set aside among the dead
languages, for only the dead have time to laam it.

A FOUKTH OF JULT ObATION IN TBI QeRMAN ToNOUB, DbUVBRID

AT A Banqubt of thb Anglo-Ambbioan Club of Stuobxts bt

THB Author of this Book.

Gbntlbmbn : Since I arrived, a month ago, in this old wonder
land, this vast garden of Germany, my English tongue has so
often proved a useless piece of baggage to me, and so trouble
some to carry around in a country where they haven't the check
ing system for luggage, that I finally set to work, last week, and
learned the German language. Also I Es freut mich dass dier
so ist, denn es muss, in ein hauptsachlioh degree, hoflich sein,
dass man auf ein oooasion like this, sein Rede in die Sprache del
Landes worin be boards, ausspreohen soli. Dafiir habe iohy aua

896

Amin>nL

rainitehe Veolegenheit— no VargangenhAil — no, mean itoflieh-
li«it — MM reinische Hoflichkeit hftb« ioh resolved to Uckle thii
buiin«M in the German language, um Gottei willen I Also t
8ie miusen so freundlich sein, und venein mich die interlardinp
▼on ein oder iwai Englischer Worte, hie und da, denn ich findo
dau die deutoho is not a very copious language, and so when
you've really got anything to say, you've got to draw on a lan-
guage that can stand the stram.

Wenn aber man kann nicht meinem Rede verstehen, sowerde
ich ihm spater dasselbe ubersetz, wenn er solche Dienst ver-
langen woUen baben warden sollen sein hatte. (I don't know
what wollen haben werden sollen sein hatte means, but I notice
they always put it at the end of a German sentence— merely for
general literary gorgeousness, I suppose.)

This is a great and justly honoured day— a day which is worthy
of the veneration in which it is held by the true patriots of all
dimes and nationalities — a day which offers a fruitful theme for
thoughtand speech ; und meinem Freunde — no, meinen Freuden —
meiuM Freuncfet — well, take your choice, they're all the same
price ; I don't know which one is right— Jtlso ! ich habe gehabt
haben, worden, gewesen, sein, as Goethe says, in his Paradise
Lost — ich — ich— that is to say — ich — but let us change cars.

Also I Die Anblick so viele Grossbrittanisoher und Amerikan
isoher hier zusammengetroffen in Bruderliche concord, ist zwar a
welcome and inspiriting spectacle. And what has moved you to
it 7 Can the terse German tongue rise to the expression of this
impulse 7 Is the Freundschaftsbezeigungeustadtverordnetenver.
sammlungenfamilieneigenthumlichkeiten 7 Nein, o nein I This
is a crisp and noble word, but it fails to pierce the marrow of the
impulse which has gathered this friendly meeting and produced
diese Anblick — eine Anblick welche ist gut zu schen — gut fur die
Augen in a foreign land and a far country — eine Anblick solche
ale in die gewonliche Heidelberger phrase nennt man ein " sohones
Aussichtl" Ja, freilich naturlich wahrscheinlioh ebensowohl!
Also ! Die Aussicht auf dem Konigstuhl mehr gross'oror ist aber
geistlische spfechend nicht so schon lob' Gott I Because sie sind
hier lusammengetroffen, in Bruderlichem concord, ein grossen
Tag su feiem, whose high benefits were not for one land and one
localiij onlyy bui have conlen-ed a measure of good upon all landa

.uat kaoD
warendie
sind sie 1
fellowship
remain; i
be stainec
willbekii
•ay, " fAi
*'•) deace

m anufm lanouaoi.

89)

«ckle this
n I Also I
terlardinp
1 ich flndo
1 so when
on » Ian-

, 10 warde
•ienst ver-
on't know
it I notice
nerely for

is worthy
iota of all
theme for
Freuden —

the same
be gehabt
I Paradise

cars.
Amerikan

ist zwar a
ired you to
ion of this
Inetenver.
)in I This
row of the

produced
gut fur die
ick solche
I "sohones
ensowohl 1
er ist aber
se sie sind
n grossen
id and one
naUlamU

.uat kaow liberty to^y, and lore it Hunderi Jahre ^mber
waren dU Englander und die Amerikaner Feinde ; aber heut«
sind sie herslicben Freunde, Oott sr-i Dank I May this good
fellowship endure ; may these banners hern blended in amity, so
remain ; may they never any more wav« over r]>p sing hosts, or
be stained with blood which was kindred, is kindred, and always
will be kindred, until a line drawn u^^on n ump thall he able to
tajf ** Tkii bars the ancestral blood from flowing in tlie veiito ol
* <^ descendant r

r-^-^-^

A>i?lH'

,-v , ,-1, ;

x4 ^ K§

^fj-^'-'^"^^^- -^W^y^'

■■ ■^:;^ 'J N V

<^;|5)r^?^ ■■; - ^^ '• ' '

^'^ ?^-^^5^

■\<*S'^-r^ ..

\:fT^..^ J /a ^Rli'fc

-*-r-.? ^-.a- rjfs^."/ .

• • *

LEGEND OF THE CASTLESL

** swallow's NBST " AND " THE BBOTHBBS,** AS Ott S I UWM I)
VSOM THB captain's TALE.

In the neighbourhood of three hundred years ago the Swallow's
Nest and the larger castle between it and Neckarsteinaoh were
owned and occupied by two old knights who were twin brothers,
and bachelors. They had no relatives. They were very rioh.
They had fought through the wars and retired to private life —
covered with honorable scars. They were honest, honorable men
in their dealings, but the people had given them a couple of nick-
names which were very suggestive — Herr Givenaught and Herr
Heartless. The old knights were so proud of these names that
if tk burghar called them by their right ones they would correct
him.

Tht most renowned scholar in Europe, at that time, was the
Herr Doctor Frani Reikmann, who lived in Heidelberg. All Oer<
many was proud of the venerable scholar, who lived in the sim-
plest way, for great scholars are always poor. He was poor, as to
money, but very sioh in his sweet young daughter Hildegarde and
his library. He had been all his life collecting his library, book
by book, and he loved it as a miser loves his hoarded gold. He
sth.d the two strings of his heart were rooted, the one in his
daughter, the other in his books ; %nd that if either were severed
he must die. Now in an evil hour, hoping to win a marriage por-
tion for his child, this simple old man had entrusted his small
savings to a sharper to be ventured in a glittering speculation.
But that was not the worst of it : he signed a paper— without
reading it. That is the way with poets and scholars, they always
sign without reading. This cunning paper made him responsible
for heaps of things. The result was, that one night he found
himself in debt to the sharper eight thousand pieces of gold I—
an amount so prodigious that it simply stupified him to think o|
it. It WM a night of woe in that hooM.

APPENDIX.

'* I mtiit part with my library — I have nothing elstf. So pe^
(•^68 one heartstring," said the old man.
•' What Will it bring, father?" asked the girl.
" Nothing I It is worth seven hundred pieces of gold ; but by
auction it will go for little or nothing/'

" Then you will have parted with the half of your heart and
the joy of your life to no purpose, since so mighty a burden of
debt will remain behind."

" There is no help for it, my child. Our darlings must ]>am
under the hammer. We must pay what we can."

« Hy father, I have a feeling that the dear Virgin will come to
our help. Let us not loose heart."

'' She cannot devise a miracle that will turn nothing into eight
thousand gold pieces, and lesser help will bring us little peace."
" She can do even greater things, my father. She will save us,
I know she will."

Toward morning, while the old man sat exhausted and asleep
in his chair where he had been sitting before his books as one
who watches by his beloved dead and prints the features on hiv
memory for a solace in the aftertime of empty desolation, hia
daughter sprang into the room and gently woke him, saying —

" My presentiment was true I She will save us. Three times
has she appeared to me in my dreams, and said^ ' Go to the Herr
Givenaught;go to the Herr Heartless, ask them to come and bid."
There, did I not tell you she would save us, the thrice blessed
Virgin I"
Sad as the old man was, he was obliged to laugh.
" Thou mighest as well appeal to the rocks their castles stand
upon as to the harder ones that lie in those men's breasts, nij
child. They bid on books writ in the learned tongues I— they
0an scarce read their own."

But Hildegarde's faith was in no wise shaken. Bright and early
•he was on her way up the Neckar road, as joyous as a bird.

Meantime Herr Givenaught and Herr Heartless were having m
early breakfast in the former's castle — the Sparrow's Nest— aiul
ilavoring it with a quarrel j for although these twins bore a love
for each other which almost amounted to worship, there was one
/lubject upon which they could not touch without calling each
other hard names— ftwd yet it was the subject whicli they oi'tenesl
louched upo%

LBOEHD 09 TBB OiBTLIf .

401

* I tell you," said Givenaugnt, ** you will beggar yourself yet,
with your insane squanderings of money upon what you choose
to consider poor and worthy objects. All these years I have
implored you to stop this foolish custom and husband your means,
but all in vain. You are always lying to me about these secret
benevolences, but you never have managed to deceive me yet.
Every time a poor devil has been set upon his feet I have detected
your hand in it— incorrigible aas I"

" Every time you didn't set him on his feet yourself, you
mean. W)iere I give one unfortunate a little private lift, you do
the same for a dozen. The idea of your swelling around the
country and putting yourself with the nickname of Givenaught
— intolerable humbug ! Before I would be such a fraud as that,
I would cut my right hand off. Your life is a continual lie. But
go on, I have tried my best to save you from beggaring yourself
by your riotous charities —now for the thousandth time I wash
my hands of the consequences. A maundering old fool ! that's
what you are."

" And you a blethering old idiot 1" roared Givenaught, spring*
ingup.

" I won't stay in the presence of a man who has no more deli-
eacy than to call me such names. Mannerless swine 1"

So saying, Herr Heartless sprang up, in a passion. But some
lucky accident intervened, as usual, to change the subject, and
the daily quarrel ended in the customary daily loving reconcilia-
tion. The grey-headed old eccentrics parted, and Herr Heartless
walked off to his own castle.

Half an hour later, Hildegarde was standing in the presence of
Herr Givenaught. He heard her story, and said —

" I am sorry for you, my child, but I am very poor^ I care noth-
ing for bookish rubbish, I shall not be there."

He said the hard words kindly, but they nearly broke poor
Hildegarde's heart, nevertheless. When she was gone the old
heart-breaker muttered, rubbing his hands —

It was a good stroke. I have saved my brother's pocket this
time, in spite of him. Nothing else would have prevented his
rushing off to rescue the old scholar, the pride of Germany, from
his troubles. The poor child won't venture near him after tha
rebuff she has received from his brother, the Givenaught.**

402

AtraiDix.

• But he WM misUken. The Virgin had comnumded, and H!l-
degarde would obey. She went to Herr Heartleia and told her
story. But he said coldly —

" I am very poor, my child, and books are nothing to me. I
wish you well, but I shall not come."

When Hildegarde was gone, he chuckled and said —

" How my fool of a soft-beaded, soit-hearted brother would
rage if he knew how cunningly I have saved his pocket. Hom
he would have flown to the old man's rescue I But the girl won't
venture near him now." • •

When Hildegarde reached home, her father asked her how she
had prospered. She said —

" The Virgin has promised, and she will keep her word, but
not in the way I thought. She knows her' own ways, and thej
are best."

The old man patted her on the head, and smiled a doubting
smilci but he honored her for her brave faith, nevertheleu.

11.

Next day the people assembled in the great hall of the Bitter
tavern to witness the auction — for the proprietor had said the
treasure of Germany's most honored son should be bartered
away in no meaner place. Hildegarde and her father sat close
to the books, silent and sorrowful, and holding each other's
hands. Inhere was a great crowd of people present. The bid
ding began—

" How much for this precious library) just as it ftandiian com*
plete 7" called the auctioneer.

"Fifty pieces of gold 1"

"A hundred I"

"Two hundred!"

"Three I"

"Four I"

" Five hundred !"

" Five twenty-five !••

A brief pause.

"Five forty!"

A longer pause, while th« auotionMr radoobltd hia pMnMBom.

LMXRD OV TBI OASTLEt.

408

A hMT7 dr»g— Ui« auotioneer persuaded, pleaded^ implored—
It WM useless, everybody remained silent—

*' Well, then — going, going— one^two—

" Five hundred and fifty I"

Ihis in a shrill voice, from a bent old man, all bung witn rags,
and with a green patch over his left eye. Everybody in his
vicinity turned and gazed at him. It was Qivenaught in disguise.
He was using a disguised voice, too.

"Good!" cried the auctioneer. "Going, going — one — two — "

" Five hundred and sixty 1"

This in a deep, harsh voice, from the midst of the crowd at the
other end of the room. The people near by turned, and saw an
old man, in a strange costume, supporting himself on crutclics.
He wore a long rhite beard, and blue spectacles. It was Herr
Heartless in disguise, and using a disguised voice.

** Good again 1 Going, going — one"

« Six hundred I»

Sensation. The crowd raised a cheer, and some one cried out,
"Gk> it, Green-patch 1" This tickled the audience, and a score
of voices shouted, " Go it, Green-patch 1"

"Going — going — going — third and last call — one, two—*'

" Seven hundred I "

M Huzzah I — ^well done. Crutches I" cried a voice. The crowd
took it upi and shouted all together, " Well done. Crutches 1"

" Splendid, gentlemen I you are doing magniil^ently. Going,
going—"

"A thousand!"

" Three cheers for Green-patch I Up and at him, Crutohes I"

" Going — going-^"

"Two thousand I"

And while the people cheered and shouted, " Crutches " mut-
tered, " Who the devil can this be that is fighting so to get these
useless books ? But no matter, he shan't have them. The pride
3f Germany shall have his booka it it beggars me to buy them
tor him."

" Going, going, going— »'

"Three thousand I"

** Come, eveiybody — give a rouser for Green-patch I"

And while they did it^ "Green-patch" muttered, " Thiaorippl*

404

AI»rENt)Tl.

k plainly a Innatio ; bnt the old scholar ihall haTd hii booka,
nererthelest, though my pocket iweat for ii.**

"Going — going — "

** Four thousand 1"

«Hu«ial"

•< Five thousand r*

« Huzza I"

» Six thousand I'*

« Huzza I"

" Seve n thousand V*

" Huzza 1"

** Eight thousand I"

"We are saved, father! I told you the Holy Virgin would
keep her word I" " Blessed be her sacred name 1" said the old
scholar, with emotion. The crowd roared, " Huzza, huzza, huzza,
—at him again, Green-patch I"

*' Going— going — "

** Ten thousand I" As Givenaughf shouted this, his excitement
was so great that he forgot himself and used his natural voice.
His brother recognized it, and muttered, under cover of the storm
of cheers—

"Aha, you are there, are you, besotted old fool? Take the
books, I know what you'll do with them 1"

So saying, he slipped out of the place and the auction was at
an end. Givenaught shouldered his way to Hildegarde, whisper-
ed a word in her ear, and then he, also, vanished. The old scholar
and his daughter embraced, and the former said, " Truly the
Holy Mother has done more than she promised, child, for she has
given you a splendid marriage portion — think of it, two thousand
pieces of gold I"

" And more still," cried Hildegarde, " for she has given you
biick your books ; the stranger whispered me that he wotAd none
of them — ' the honored son of Germany must keep them,' so he
•aid. I would I might have asked his name and kissed his hand
and begged his blessing ; but he was Our Lady's angel, and it is
not meet that we of earth should venture speech with them that
dw«Uabof«.»

(^*;|

OERMAN JOURN AlA

' Th« dftily journals of Hamburg, Frankfort, Baden, Mvnicn and
Augsburg are all constructed on the same general plan. I speak
of these because I am more familiar with them than with any
other German papers. They contain bo " editorials" whatever ;
no " personals" — and this is rather a merit than a demerit, per*
haps ; no funny-paragraph column ; no police court reports ; no
reports of proceedings of higher courts; no information about
prize fights or other dog fights, horse races, walking-matches,
yachting contests, rifle-matches, or other sporting matters of any
sort ; no reports of banquet-speeches ; no department of curious
odds and ends of floating fact and gossip.; no " rumors" about
anything or anybody ; no prognostications or prophecies about
anything or anybody ; no lists of patents granted or sought, o>
any reference to such things ; no abuse of public officials, big or
little, or complaints against them, or praises of them ; no religious
column Saturdays, no rehash of cold sermons Mondays ; no
** weather indications ;" no " local item" unveilings of what is
happening in town — nothing of a local nature, indeed, is men*
tioned, beyond the movements of some prince or the ' proposed
meeting of some deliberate body.

After so formidable a list of what one can't find in a German
daily, the question may well be asked. What can be found in it 7
It is easily answered : A child's handful of telegrams, mainly
about European national and international political movements ;
letter-correspoedence about the same things; market reports.
There you have it. That is what a German daily is made of. A
German daily is the slowest and saddest and dreariest of the in-
ventions of man. Our own dailies infuriate the reader, pretty
often ; the German daily only stupefies him. Once a week the
German daily of the highest class lightens up its heavy columns
— that is, it thinks it lightens them up — with a profound, aa
abysmal, book criticism; a criticism which carries you down^
down, dowOi into the scieuiitiu bowels of the subject — for th«

' ^ t

406

AFPmDEL.

German critic ii nothing if not scientific — and when you come up
at last and seen ( the fresh air and see the bonny daylight once
more, you resolve without a dissenting voice that a book-criticism
is a mistaken way to lighten up a German daily Sometimes, in
place of the criticism, the first-class daily gives you what it thinks
is a gay and chipper essay — about ancient Grecian Tuneral oustomB,
or the ancient Egyptian method of tarring a mummy, or the
reasons tor believing that some of the peoples who existed before
the flood did not approve of cats. These are not unpleasant
subjects ; they are not uninteresting subjects ; they are even ex-
citing subjects — until one of these massive scientists gets hold of
them. He soon convinces you that even these matters can be
handled in such a way as to make a person low-spirited.

As 1 have said, the average Geiinan daily is made up solely of
correspondence — a trifle of it by telegraph, the rest of it by mail.
Every paragraph has the side-head " London," Vienna," or some
other town, and a date. And always, before the name of the
town, is placed a letter or a sign, to indicate who the correspond
^ ent is, so that the a i^ 'lorities can find him when they want to
hang him. Stars, crosses, triangles, squares, half-moons, suns-
such are some of the signs ased by correspondents.

Some of the dailies move too fast, others too slowly. For
instance, my Heidelberg daily was always twenty-four hours old
when it arrived at the hotel ; but one of my Munich evening
papers used to come a full twenty-four hours before it was due.

Some of the less important dailies giv3 one a tablespoonful of a
continued story every day ; it is strung across the bottom of the
pag9, in the French fashion. By subscribing for the paper for
five years, I judge that a man might succeed in getting pretty
much all of the story.

If you ask a citizen of Mimich which is the best Munich daily
journal, he will always tell you that there is only one good Munich
daily, and that it is published in Augsburg, forty or fifty miles
away. It is like saying that the best daily paper in New York is
published out in New Jersey somewhere. Yes, the Augsburg
Allgemtine Zeitung is '* the best Munich paper," and it is the one
I had in my mind when I was describing a " first-class Gemum
daily" above. The entire paper, opened out, is not quite as large
M » singla paf* of the New York Ewfild^ It is printed on botb

OIBIOll J0I7BRALI.

407

■idea, of ooune ; but in Ruoh Urge type that its entire content!
oould be put, in Herald type, upon a single page of the Heratd—
and there would still be iy>om enough on the page for the
Zsitung^t " supplement" and some portion of the Zeitung^t next
day's contents.

Such is the first-class daily. The dailies actually printed in
Munich are all called second-class by the public. If you ask
which is the best of these second-class papers they say there is
no difference, one is as good as another. I have preserved a copy
of one of them ; it is called the Munehe ner Tagea-Anteiger, nnd
bears date January 25, 1879. Comparisons are odious, but they
need not be malicious ; and without any malice I wish to compare
this journal, published in a German city of 170,(XX) inhabitants,
with journals of other countries. I know of no other Way to
enable the reader to <' size" the thing.

A column of an average daily paper in America contains from
ISOO to 2500 words ; the reading matter in a single issue consists
of from 25,000 to 50,000 words. The reading matter in my copy
of the Munich journal consists of a total of 1,654 words— for I
counted them. That would be nearly a column of one of, our
dailies. A single issue of the bulkiest daily newspaper in the
world — the London Times — often contains 100,000 words of read-
in matter. Considering that the Daily Anzeiger issues the usual
26 numbers per month, the reading matter in a single number of
the London Times would keep it in " copy" two months and a
half!

The Anzeiger is an eight-page paper : its page is one inch wider
and one inch longer than a foolscap page ; that is to say, the
dimensions of its page are somewhere between those of a school-
boy's slate and a lady's pocket handkerchief. One-fourth of the
first page is taken up with the heading of the journal ; this gives
it a rather top-heavy appearance ; the rest of the first page is
reading matter ; all of the second page is reading matter ; the
other six pages are devoted to advertisements.

The reading matter is compressed into two hundred Mid five
■mall pica lines, and is lighted up with eight pica head lines.
The bill of fare is as follows : First, under a pica head-line, to en-
Clorce attention and respect, is a four line sermon urging nunkind
to remember thai although they im pilgrims here below, they are

406

AFPniDtX.

■ /

yet heiri of heaTMi ; and that " When they depart tram earth
they soar to heaven." Perhaps a four-line sermon in a Saturday
paper is the suAoient Qerman equivalent to the eight or ten
columns of sermons which the New Yorkers get in their Monday
morning papers. The latest news (two days old), follows the four
line sermon, under the pica headline " Telegrams," — these are
" telegraphed" with a pair of scissors out of the Augsburger Zei-
tung of the day before. These telegrams consist of fourteen and
two-thirds lines from Berlin, fifteen lines from Vienna, and two
and five-eighths lines from Calcutta, lliirty-three small pica
lines of telegraphic news in a daily journal in a King's Capital of
170,000 inhabitants, is surely n^^t an over-dose. Next, we have
the pica heading, " News of the Bay," under which the following
facts are set forth : Prince Leopold is going on a visit to Vienna,
six lines ; Prince Amulph is coming back from Russia, two lines;
the Landtag will meet at ten o'clock in the morning and consider
an election law, three lines and one word over ; a city govern-
ment item, five and one-half lines ; prices of tickets to the pro-
posed Grand Charity Ball, twenty three lines — for this one item
occupies almost one-fourth of the entire first page ; there is to
be a wonderful Wagner concert in Frankfort-on-the-Main, with an
orchestra of one hundred and eight instruments, seven and one-
balf lines. That concludes the first page. Eighty-fivo lines alto-
gether, on that page, including three head-lines. About fifty of
those lines, as one perceives, deal with local matters ; so the re-
porters are not over-worked.

Exactly one-half of the second page is occupied with an opera-
criticism, fifty-three lines (three of them being head-lines), and
** Death Notices," ten Unes.

The other half of the second page is made up of two paragraphs
under the head of " Miscellaneous News." One of these para-
graphs tells about a quarrel between the Czar of Russia and his
eldest son, twenty-one and a half lines ; and the other tells about
theatrocio..3 destruction of a peasant child by its parents, forty
lineSf or one-fifth of the total of the reading matter contained in
the paper.

Consider what a fifth part of the reading matter of an Ameri-
can daily paper issued in a city of 170,000 inhabitants amounts
lot Think what a mass it is. Would any on* auppoae I could

«IBMA1I JOmUIALS.

» •«rtb
turdajr
or t«n
fondftjr

•o raaglj toek awa> luoh a iham in » ehapter of this book Ui»t it
would b« difBoult to And it again if the reader loet his place f
Surely not. I will translate that ohiUl-murder word for word, to
give the reader a realizing sense of what a fifth part of the read*
ing matter of a Munioh daily actually is when it comes under
measurement of the eye :

** From (Jberkreusberg, January 21, the Donan Zeitung receives
a long account of a crime, which we Rhortenaii follows : In Knnie*
<uach, a village near Eppensohlag, lived n young married couple
with two children, one of which, a boy nged five, was born three
years before the marriage. For this reason, und also because a
relative at Iggensbach had bequeathed M4iXJ '.|iOO) to the boy,
the heartless father considered him in the way ; so the unna-
tural parents determined to sacrifice him in the cruelest posHible
manner. They proceeded to starve him slowly to death, mean-
time frightfully maltreating him— as the village people now make
known, when it is too late. The boy was shut up in a hole, and
when people passed by he cried, and implored them to give him
bread. His long-continued tortures and deprivations destroyed
him at last, on the third of January. The sudden (tie) death of
the child created suspicion, the more so as the body was im-
mediately clothed and laid upon the bier. Therefore, the coroner
gave notice, and an inquest was held on the sixth. What a piti-
ful spectacle was disclosed thenl The body was a complete
skeleton. The stomach and intestines were utterly empty, they
contained nothing whatever. The flesh on the corpse was not as
thick as the back of a knife, and incisions in it brought not a drop
of blood. There was not a piece of sound skin the size of a dollar
on the whole body ; wounds, scars, bruises, discolored extravastud
blood, everywhere — even on the soles of the feet there were
wounds. The cruel parents asserted that the boy had been so
bad that they had been obliged to use severe punishments, and
that he finally fell over a bench and broke his neck. However,
they were arrested two weeks after the inquest and put in the
prison at Deggendorf."

Yes, they were arrested "two weeks alter the inquest." What
ft home-soimd that has. That kind of police briskness rather
more reminds me of my native land than German journalism
doea.

410

▲rriMDiz.

I think A 0«niiAa cuuij Journal doMn't do any good to tpMk
off but at th« Muna time it doem't do any harm. That b a very
largo merit, and should not be lightly weighed^ nor lightly thought
of.

The Oerman humorous papers are beautifully printed, upon
fino paper, and the illustrationi are finely drawn, finely en-
graved, and are not vapidly funny, but delioiously so. So also,
generally speaking, are the two or three terse sentences which
accompany the pictures. I remember one of these pictures— a
most dilapidated tramp b ruefully contemplating some coins
which lie in his open palm ; he says, " Well, begging is getting
played out. Only about five marks (11.25) for the whole day;
many an official makes more 1" And I call to mind a picture ol
a commercial traveler who b about to unroll hb samples :

JVereAant— (pettishly) — No, don't. I don't want to buy any-
thing I

Drummer— 1\ you please, I was only going to show you—

Mtrehant — But I don't wish to see them i

Drummtr — (after a pause, pleadingly) — But do you kul^ lei
ting m« look at them? — I haven't seen them for three weeks I

BOBS PUBUBHIHO OO.'B BOOKS.

■pMk
• rery

loughi

upon
•ly en-
ftUo,
which
rea— «
coins
itting
i day;
iure oi

MlfCBIXAMBOVB I
Clotli Bitra, •!.••. Pai^i

•A DAT OF FATB. By lUr. K. P. Ro«.

A DOUBLE LIFE. By AUan Pinknrtoii.

ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER, Th«i niMlnted. By Mark Tmtdn.

AT HIS GATES. ' >y Mn. OUphMit

A WIFE'S TRAGEDY. By M*y AgiMi FUnl^. . .

fA CHANGED HEART. By M*y AgnM FlMtii«.

A WOMAN'S REASON. By W. D. HowcUi.

•BASTONNAIS, Th«. A TM* of th* AnMrioM IbtmIm «I Omm(U la m&-70.

By Jchn LMpaimnoe.
BESSIE'S FORTUNE. By Mary Jam HoIibm. ' *

BOYHOOD HOURS. A CoUmOob of Pomm, Songi tmi OcIm. By Arab

MoAlpine Taylor.' ^

CANADIAN IN EUROPE, A. By WOliam a WIthrow, M.A
CANOLLES : The FortonM of a Partisan of '81. By John & Cooke.
CHATEAU D'OR, Nobah akd Knrr Cbaio. By Mary J. Uohnee.
CHILDREN OF NATURE. A Stoiy ni Modam London. By the Earl of

Deeart
CHIPS FROM MANY BLOCKS. By Elihn Borritt
CLAUDE MELNOTTB AS A DETECTIVE; and oth«r Stories. By

Allan Piukerton.
tCOMMON SENSE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. By Marion HarUnd.
tCITY BALLADS. By WiU Carleton. )

EDITH LYLE. By Mn. Mary Jana Holmes.
EVERGREEN LEAVES. By Toofle.
EVE'S DAUGHTERS, or COMMON SENSE FOR MAID, WIFK

AND MOTHER. By Marion HarUnd.
FABLES IN SONG. By Robert Lord Lytton, ("Owen Meredith.")
FALLEN LEAVES, The. By Wilkie Collina.
FOOTSTEPS OF THE MASTER. By Harriet Beecher Stowe.
FORREST HOUSE. By Mary J. Hohnee.

OBTTING ON IN THE WORLD. By Prof. William Mathews, LL.D.
* In paper covers only. f In doth oovecs only.

BOSS PT7BLISHINO OO.'S BOOKS.

HISCEIXANEOIJS lamot.

Cloth Extra, ^LOO. Paper Covert, ftOcti.

GOLD THREAD, The. By the late Norman MacLeod, D.D. ,

HEART AND SCIENCE, A story of the preiwot time. By Wilkie CoUina.

HB FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE. By Rev. E. P. Roe.

HIS SOMIiRE RIVALS. By Rev. E. P. Roe.

HOME COOK BOOK. By the Ladies of Toronto. '

HOURS WITH MEN AND BOOKS. By Prof. William Mathews, Lli.D.

INFELICK By Augusta J. Evans Wilson. :^; %:,•(,

IN HONOUR BOUND. By Charles Gibbon. ' \ / y

JANET DONCASTER. By Mrs. M. G. Fawoett. j / ,

LADY ANNA. By Anthony Trollope.

LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK, The. By W. D. Howells.

LEGEND OF THE ROSES. The, AND RAVLAN. By a J. Watson.

LITERARY STYLE, and other Essays. By WilUivm Mathews, LL.D.

LOST FOR A WOMAN. By May Agnes Fleming.

LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS. By C. P. Mulvaney and A. H.
Chandler.

MANUAL OF VOCAL MUSIC, A. By H. F. Sefton. \\

MISSION OF LOVE, The. And other Poems. By Caris Sima.

MODERN SYMPOSIUM, A. By W. R. Greg.

MONKS OF THELEMA. By Beasant and Rice.

MY WAYWARD PARDNER. By Joaiah Allan's Wife.

•OCEAN TO OCEAN. By Rev. George M. Grant.

OLD LIEUTENANT AND HIS SON, The. By the Ute Norman
Madeod, D.D.

PARISIANS, The. A Novel by Edward Bulwer, (Lord Lytton).

PEARL FOUNTAIN, The. By Bridget and Julia Kavanagh.

PHYSICAL LIFE OF WOMAN, The. By Dr. G. H. Napheys, A.M. ,M D.

POEMS AND SONGS. By Alexander McLachlin.

POGANUC PEOPLE. By Mrs. Harriet lieecher Stowe.

POOR MISS FINCH. By Wilkie CoUina.

PRINCE AND THE PAUPER, ITie. By Mark Twain.

PRIDE AND PASSION. By May Agnes Fleming.

PRINCE PEDRO. By J. H. Gamier. M.D.

PROFESSIONAL THIEVES AND THE Di<:Tl!.CTIVE. By Allan
Pinkerton.

QUEENIE HETHERTON. By Mary J. Holmes.

* In paper covers onl^

A. H.

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