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The, .^ aU well Robertson^ IScoBit Books. icanCousiiT' is worid^da ^^^*^*y Our Amer fJIS GRANDM0THER8.--FrjrT ahouldbuj^^read^^ so^.m-iaw M ILDBEP."~BY MBS^uTr'vT V"*- Holmes. "Mrs Hnht?. / "'^^^^ J- pleasant and fascinating wS V ^^'""'^^1^ always entertaining, and she l^Bf>?^'' ''°?^^ a»e ot enlisting the svTnTVnVf, , ^ *^® ""are facujfcv 1 TOM'S WIPE, AND HOW ttt, :*■ MANAGED HEH wt^ JlUVV HE „ ' c.mted«,ejjjt_erK^f,,«hort stones have "■'"".jB entertaining, and sljfilinVfv ""?^^ are ot enlisting the svTnTVnVf, , ^ *^® ""are facujfcv readers, <^idolTSalh'^w «%'I"''*.^x'^« «^^«r — - -th deep and aMlng'i^nt""*?.*^ ^^- readers, and of hniriinn *ir"-'' ""ouoojus pag.swithd^S'SoXiS^^^ -pHAT^JFE OF MINE -TT?^ of^n3^^^^-thisl,ootexi;de/tS^^ M,ner. it is a booK- full^f^Sffro^T o^TS Th- K *'^^^ «MMMENS- WINDOW as-'Thf ]>nL*'..PVV''ii1lf^ "' *!>« Same cover ^ ::^yopiaior^^^x^^^^^^ «*'^"?*" I THE PHANTOM wj^mia~r;n^ ' authoress Tbx^i^^I^}*^ct'''*?^*l^«greatUeaiS THEY ALL DO IT~BV tt??. ,\ DanburyNervsman TJ^ \:T, ^ ■'^^HE i5_im^ou7wisS5dl^^^^^ "«iPa r^?^i,~-^ LOVE STORY~IIrv ^vondeSty- WeS'"- 'pi^^/* characters are , "There i^io douS^nf Th^^*'"^"' W'^^iSl |^^^^^^:=^?^iSi; ^ popularity of this TH A T L A S S 'To WRTF 'Q ~~ I ature."~j;r. y. jttJ-aid • X ,*^® ^"^Id of liter- powerful woric A^fn *^ ^*'. ^?°^ »' no more fish languaS^^ no fiv^""""" ^^'^'l i" theEte! , George M&s.^-'bZZ TroT^''^^ *^« »>«et ff iBonooftheverv best nf £^"!T^''' "The novel I •. iiy I'^flwardEt'i'lfist,,,, „.,^>._..^r^^ l;ew,t„tii,^^j>j^^^™Eggta^^ acme of keen Mt ^a^'^^L^E^.^'J:.^ 't the very U\^^IBP^^ anFWtsy We, liberty, and the nnf.-i*' #^*'le women to which maybe read bvm« 4k"' "'}PP^ne««. but sex without iniurvtl^^^^^^P "^ 'he sterner "This book ieXdil^ated to mv^r' ?' **^« ^ ner Josiah, whom Tilth ,■ / h ^ T° ^'^'^f"! Pard- *«/,,^httle 'upwardrofl • /earsTl'sH?, ^^^ ''°'^«°rt eastjroii daYOtflduesa.'" years), i still love with a 'PHAT "husband — Th« great si^jQggg^ OP T^E NEW~SCHOOL MA'AM~ -~-.-^'^»'^:_^harminglvtoM ^'~ -Ptivati„,.tory. Time i« flyinf af^^^^ ' F^^.fl? /],^EAT BOOKS IN ONE ind_;.J;armi^g,^^Qj;,?^lted^;'^^^ A ?^^^^/9?,fer--piWbooks .T. Holmes f'^Tt 81 ,rw^^;i^'^'" "^^ ^rs. m7i? '•The Crew of^ho sin tew^?'" ^7,B^^^ ton; ''Meokla'a Twinses or«,a Tr*'/°^" Hal,ber- I ?^^« ^"'-^aiS^e^^^&t^s UNDER THE - lSA~ef;i:^S? ^^ new book Hi-t r,'i ~" ^'^' ^ XHTxC ' those famous books ''Littli^v^;/^"?,"' author of I its first I0,0M, in th?Ttft.^ir2'!:^^ I ;t.,TK i/ . FIIE8. B. ;lon« sell for local (iealerB / a»o all well idiged.. [OW HE "Will appre- vel. RANGES ;e Eliot of itories have JY THE ook. " Bipe fun.'; j_: RY— BY iracters are •8' Weekly. rlt>' of this HE'S.— 'hat LasSo' )rld of liter- of no more in the Eag- ;he beat of "The novel «8, and the k and coii- rant. 3FtHE n: ward acquaintance, unless we may except the long man in long overcoat, a dilapidated hat, and long chin- whiskers, who, having made twenty voyages across the ocean, and been spared by an inscrutable Providence to start on the twenty-first, was now enlight* ening all on board on such points as the weather, the s ils, the course, and the prospects. There was a lazy swellj to the ocean, which gave the vessel a graceful, rolling motion that was much admired. The lengtht of admiration varied with the strength of the constitution of the admirers. When a man got his till of admiration he made for the rail precipitately, and cast hib bread upon the waters, neither hoping nor caring for a return. A visible thinness in the congregation was painfully conspicuous ; and, by the time all the stars were out, the deck was cleared for action. Some lingered to see the stars ; lingered to gaze dreamily into the dark blue waters ; then they shot down stairs, and screamed for a basin. There was a fair sprinkling of passenger ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. on deck the next day ; for, although not a calm (lay, it was neverthelesB pleasant, and the sea was not rough. Those who were not affected kept well on their legs, and alternated a look seaward with a scrutiny of the private property of the vessel. Of those affected, a few had the good sense to remain on deck, and " tire away " at the waves ; but much the greater number went below, and, locking their staterooms, wres- tled alone with the great agony. As they convalesced, they, with few exceptions, returned to the deck ; every day bringing new additions to the sitters and promena- ders. But many kept to their rooms during the entire trip It is the nature of the disease to allay the thirst for sight-seeing ; and it is only by a great effort of the will that the victims can overcome the inertia, and keep on deck. The terrors of seasickness may be modified by keeping a well-ordered stomach on the day of sailing. Bidding champagne farewells and whiskey-punch adieus to Irieudsat home is a sure forerunner of the sickness in its worst form. There was the case of young Munson of Danbury, who went to EurOjje last season. Born of Puritan parents, and reared amid the refining and wholesome influenc«3 of a New-England home, he caie- fully dieted himself the week before sailing. He dte freely of oatmeal and bran-bread, and eschewod greasy food and stimulating drinks. The night before sailing he went down to New York in the flush of health and hope, and, stopping at Norwalkto a clam-bake, tilled up with roast clams and gin, getting down to the city just in time to take the boat. For three days he pranced around on the edge of eternity, kicking up his heels, swinging his arms, and turning himself inside out in a most reprehensible manner. He held then a position in the Third National Bank ; but, on returning home, he did not report for duty for a whole week, fearing that, among other things, he had thrown up this berth. None of the officers of "The Abyssinia " lost a day through seasickness. The second day was much like the first, with the exception that it grew cooler at night. On the morning of the third day it rained and the rolling motion increased. The wind was fickle, and the sailors were kept busy with the sails. To see them climbing the dizzy heights of the masts, with the rain pouring down upon them (for they are not permitted to carry umbrellas), made a most thrilling spectacle. The fourth day was equally unpleasant. On the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth days the vessel rolled from side to side without inter- mission, the wind blew stiffly across the beam (coming from the starboard aide, wherever that is), and the rain and flyins spray kept the deck comparatively free of people. Of those who ventured up stairs during this continuous and disagreeable siege, the ladies huddled into the cabin on deck provided for them ; the gentlemen took the smoking-cabin, also on deck, or shelter- ed themselves in the lee of the amoko-staok. This last place was a favourite resort for the steerage passengers, who, chewing plug to- bacco, and spitting against the wind, added a charm to the occasion that was indescrib- able. The smoking-cabiu is the best patronized. Here the passengers of sporting tendencies gather to buy and sell pools on the time the vessel makes in the twentyfour hours ; and here is done some of the proudest and grand- est lying ever heard. It is astonishing the amount of extraordinary facts an idle brain will evolve. No pen can do justice to the suffering en- tailed by the rolling motion of the vessel. On the wet deck it is impossible to move any distance, or to stand still a monent, without grasping a rope or guard. At the dining-table the crash of rolling atid sliding dishes, and the splashing of their spilling contents, is deafening and disheartening. The stewards and waiters walk on the sides of their feet, and plank down the right dish in the right place with a precision that is supernatural. Each of the eight tables is provided with racks, which keep the plates from sliding way across, but do not always prevent their coming tog;ether, and deposit- ing in one's lap a pleasing variety of soups, ice-water, and hot gravies. But in the state- rooms the greatest misery is experienced. A state-room has no free walls. .Opposite the two berths is a lounge, which can be made into a hird berth. To sic on this lounge, and to be thrown to the opposite side, with the skin of your advanced leg scraping the under edge of the lower berth, and your head smashing against the upper berth, is a sensation I have experienced about eleven hundred times in the past week. When I went alone, I didn't mind it so much ; but to have Mrs. Bailey avalanche atop of me, and with her weight increase my momentum, has almost made me swear. Any boy who is striving for a prize on the grounds of a strictly upright life should forego the pleasure of seeing Europe until after be has got his prize. And so we have been tossed about, and bumped and bruised, for seven long days and nights, until every bone aches, and every muscle is stretched to its utmost ten- sion, 1 balanci room a rthe lov by a su hours a This is woman WHICH The] nailed I forget t town, the afte each on directio Then the saili through It was s gers; ai mity of matter < a few ot midnigh or break I didn't Inth€ in a stil was no ] ped, am small pi There on betw nia, " an( I in the bad give up along ponderf)i The mor voices ; know wi really no describal ^ The p aboard ol again. ' fast, and ' landing V •breakfast ■were aln 'bold outl could see the hedgt went to J inized mo We mo of us too Imstant. ■ \ ENGLANI» EROM A BACK-WIXDOW. across the oard side, and flying ely free of up stairs lisagreeable he cabin on blemeu took or shelter- moko-stack. (sort for the ing plug to- vind, added a indescrib- b patronized. J tendencies the time the r hours ; and stand grand- ionishing the n idle brain suffering en- if the vessel, ible to move il a moment, rd. At the g atid sliding their spilling iisheartening. : on the sides he right dish nsion that is jight tables is ep th« plates not always and deposit- ty of soups, in the state- experienced. .Opposite hich can be sic on this the opposite advanced leg lower berth, ist the upper experienced in the past didn't mind it iley avalanche it increase my le swear. Any >u the grounds Id forego the after he has I about, and en long days aches, and s utmost ten- 18 Lo sion, in the constant effort to maintain a balance. Five times have I gone to my state- room and found Mrs. Bailey wedged under \';he lower berth, where she had been thrown by a sudden lurch of the vessel ; and for two hours after each occasion she refused to speak. This is rather remarkable, I believe — in a woman. CHAPTER II. WHICH RELATia TO TUB ARRIVAL IN EUROPE. The last day of a long ocean voyage is sig- nalled by feverish expectation. I shall never forget the night before our arrivaljat Queens- town. We had expected to sight land all the afternoon ; and, as night closed upon us, each one on deck strained his eyes in the direction he had decided land should appear. Then the wind changed to the head ; all the sails were taken indoors, and we steaned through the rolling seas and an intense fog. It was an excitable evening to the passen- gers ; and I imagine the fog and the proxi- mity of a dangerous coast made the sail a matter of interest to the boat people. With., a few others I remained on deck till after midnight, hanging on to the sails and ropes, or breaking some of my bones against things I didn't know the name of. In the morning I awoke to find the vessel in a still sea. It was a still sea ; but there was no land in sight. The vessel had stop- ped, and the fog permitted us to see several ■mall pilot- boats about us. There was an animated conversation going on between Capt. Haines, of *' The A) vssi nia," and a short-necked, red faced scoundrel in the pilot-boat near us. The pilot-boat had given us its rope, but was afraid to come up alongside, under the impression that the ponderous "Abyssinia" might step on it. The morning air was rent by the contending voices ; and, as neither party appeared to know what the other was saying (which is really not necessary in this country), an in- describable charm was added to the scene. The pilot dually consented to be drawn aboard of our boat, and we steamed away again. Then we went down stairs to break- fast, and discussed the probabilities of the ' landing with an excellent bill-of-fare. After breakfast wf went back to the deck, and were almost immediately electrified by the -bold outlands of Queenstown Harbour. We •could see the green fields, the earthworks, ^he hedges, and the trees. Every object that Iwent to make up the dear sight was scruti- inized most intensely. :| We moved by and into the bay ; but none ;|of us took our eyea from the land for one '^stant. There had been a time when it had seemed that the waste of troubled waters was to for- ever accompauv us ; that the land which we had so gladly loft was never again to greet our sight. But here was the glad earth before us ; not a myth, not a dream, but the dear, solid land, with its cobble stones, pitoh-hules, and fever and a^ue. Not a livmg soul on board of that vessel thought to inquire what kind of laud it was. I was glad of it. The custom-house tender came out from Queenstown to meet us, and took the mails and several passengers and their luggage. This was the first perceptible fractiire in the social fabric nine d&ya of sea-life had reared. Next to a sight of land, the greatest sur* prise was the sudden appearance of the male passengers in high cilk hats. To have men, whom you have seen every day, and every hour of the day, for ten days, in low caps or rumpled soft hats, appear in high hats, is to work a transformation that is most exciting. I haven't had anything work me up to such a degree since the surrender of Cornwallis. Singularly enough, although we had made the acquaintance of these people within a week, and had no reasonable prospect of ever seeing or having anything to do with them in the future, and knew nothing what- ever of their past, there was a tinge of regret at their going. We looked over the boat at them as *hey took their departure, and waved whs as handy as long as they were in sight ; and then we moved on to Liver- pool. In the evening, with the fog and moonlight struggling in the air, we promenaded the dec' , sang our songs, told over our plans, and dreaded the morrow, — the morrow that was to break us up, and scatter us all over a continent. One of the sad episodes of the evening was my borrowing a knife from a smoker of plug tobacco to peel an orange for one of the ladies. At six o'clock the next morning we reach- ed the harbour of Liverpool. Two custom-house boats came off for the luggage and passengers. The former was taken into the lower cabin, and the latter fol- lowed after, — both for inspection. I had heard of the custom inspection at foreign ports, and had come to have a wholesale dread of the ordeal. I hurried down the— the — the com- pauion-way, I believe they call it, with » hundred others, and waited and watched while the uniformed po.s«e went about among packages, scrutinizing the contents of the owners. A New York friend, with his x)wn ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. •nd the luuKAgfi oi several lady friends, SBBsed aafcly through the examination in ve ininutea after the beginning, and was up on deck, looking for a light, inside of another minute. Being open to hints, and finding the dingy darkness and the crowded con- dition of the lower cabin unbearable,! slipped • shilling into the hand of one of the inquisi- tors ; and a moment later m/ luggage was passed, and I was also on the decK, looking for a light. From "The Abyssinia" we were trans- ferred to the tender ; and a half hour later were deposited on land, which we pressed most aSeotionately with our feet. It was Sunday, and its city was very quiet. As we drove through the streets, we watched each building and face with a fervour that was complimentary to the former but was hardly enjoyable to the latter. We never hear of Liverpool unless in connection with commerce of a cosmopolitan character. It has no specialty in trade to fasten it on the mind of the general reader ; it has no antiquities ; it has no history. There is nothing about this place in common with the country of which it forms a part ; and to the tourist it is simply a landing- place. CHAPTER III. GIVES A FIRST VIEW OF LONDOIT. That London differs in all important and in many unimportant features from the metropolis of America is a fact that grows upon the visitor, and the degree of his sense of the fact is proportionate to his "tay in the city. This impression would be re- ceived the moment lie drove through its atteets, if he came direct from New York to it ; but he first lands at an English-Ameri- can town, where the contrasts so blend, that the distinguishing lines are dulled to bia comprehension. He approaches London's characteristics through a gradation of sensa- tions ; and, on his arrival in the great metropolis, the only feeling of surprise he experiences is at the'absence of all surprise. If he is a close reader of history, he has already formed in his mind how London should look. He understands that Liver- pool is esseniially cosmopolite ; and the ■mall shock he feeh on arriving there in no way affects his picture of London, — a city (and he repeats the reflection with unction) that is one of the oldest in existence. When he reaches London he is annoyed, as the prominence of its modem completely hides the vestiges of its ancient or historicid 'features. London, like Liverpool, is built of brick, — the same kind of brick too, only a trifle* dingier if possible, — not the red brick we have in America, although that is profusely used in the country mansions, but a dull brown or yellow brick. The most of them are mottled with these two tints ; but many are wholly yellow, or wholly brown. In a new building the effect is more curious than gratifying ; but a few months of the smoke they have here establishes a uniform tint. An American is in time overpowered by the lack of architectural adornment in the buildings, and the consequent uniformity in their construction. The lack of variety and beauty is just as conspicuous in the streets devoted to the dwellings of the aristocracy as in the lanes of the working people. Buckingham Palaee, the residence of the Queen, is an immense building, but not spe- cially attractive in its exterior. Marlborough House, the home of the Prince of Wales, is a red brick structure ; large, but in nowise remarbable, not even as a bonded warehouse in New York. I have seen a host of flner railroad depot- buildings than is St. James's Palace. I have always had my own ideas of .a palace. Probably they corresponded with the ideas of others, and possibly they did not ; but they rose immeasurably above square three-stc-y buildings with flat roofs. Reading of palaces has Tost its charm for ^ me for ever. ^ Those of the houses which are not of flat surface are of crescent-shaped front. All the roofs are of tile or lead. There are no shingle roofs to rot away and leak, and make the owner swear ; and no tin roofs to turn the sunshine into a curse and annoy ance, or keep you awake when it rains thinking of tinkers' dams. But the array of chimney-pots is calcu- lated to absorb and astonish the stranger, In this department the English excel, an^ whatever of money or taste the have to spare is lavished on chimney pots. Each chimney has two o; more. They are of red, black, and whit colours. They are made of the tile clay, and in variety of shapes are equal to the idiosyn' crasies of a stove-pipe. They are a^'. the» way from two feet to ten feet in height. TSM family is without them. f The front door to every house has its letter- 1 box. Nearly all of the doors are closed bj^; spring-locks ; and, in consequence, catchinj^ the skirts of your coat in the door in passingf out is a most embarrassing proceeding,-^ especially if the street is very public, an' the housekeeper very deaf. parati The fronts inside show They tempt are ab of she closing ing, plentj theatr Stra0( blaze ehops, marke as I hi ENGLAND FROM A BAOK-WINDOW. uilt of brick, — , only * trifle* red brick we j lat ia profusely j )D8, but a dull I moat of them intB ; but m»ny jj brown. I is more curious • mouths of the ^ ishes a uniform j )verpowered by ' lornment in the ; at uniformity in j k of variety and ' is in the streets i the aristocracy | K people. ! residence of the ig, but not spe- or. J home of the jrick structure ; liable, not even ew York. r railroad depot- i Palace. own ideas of a rresponded with issibly they did iasurably aboye | I with flat roofs. >3t its charm for jh are not of flatj iped front. Allj There are no^ and leak, aDd| d no tin roofs to| urse and annoy- 1| when it rains, 3 I speak from experience. I would respectfully call the attention of the American people to the fact that the knob is in the middle of the front-door. It is a stationary knob, and is valueless as a meant of entrance, but is a oomforting Article to hold on to when immersed in thought. A man rarely attempts a second time to use it for any other purpose. Each front door has a knocker, generally of iron, and quite frequently large enough to oarry a boy into a circus, or buy five pacKs of iire-oraokers. In addition to the knocker are two or more bells, the number depending upon the number of tenants in the building. In'such neighbourhoods as that of the Seven Dials there are four-story buildings (formerly tenements), occupied by attornejy^a, under- takers, workers in mtitals, and other people, which have seven bells to the door. Those who can afford it have theit names on a little brass plate to their bell8,and their customers kave no trouble. Where opulence does not reign, the cus- tomer has an opportunity of trying all the bells, and bringing a variety of people down stairs before he hits on the right man. This can never fail to improve the most 1. 'Y' -pots is calcu-| ah the 8tranger.| glish excel, and| taste they| led on chimney has two 0: black, and whit the tile clay, and- ^1 to the idiosyn-| They are a'' thef et in height. Nft| % ouse has its letter' | ors are closed bjji iquence, catching le door in passing | jing proceeding, very public, an' indifferent mind. Each door is not but has its chain, of "the clanking doors swung open. only always kept locked, You remember, of course, ahain as the ponderous revealing a dark, crouch- ing figure, " &c. The chain is a chain with- out doubt, hanging lifttlessly down the door- casing, but looking as little like clanking as a pint of scup. There are no window-blinda to the dwell- ings of London ; but there is a profusion of lace curtains. It is a sad thing to think of a city of nearly four million people being window-bliudless ; but the curtains permit one to look out and uoe what the neighbour across the way has ou, with a feeling of com- parative comfort and safety. The shops fairly boil over with plate glass fronts. They are not roomy nor elaborate inside ; but their windows make the finest show of any shap-wii^dows in the world. They are ablaze -^th goods arranged in most tempting ways. I came near to saying they are ablaze with light ; but the better class of shops are not lighted at all just now, closing right after seven o'clock in the even- ing, thus giving the hard-worked clerks plenty of time to store their minds with theatricals and punch. The shops on the Strand and similar second-clasa avenues blaze away until nine o'clock. The cigar- shops, chop-houses, and many of the hsh- markets, keep going all the while, I gueas, M I have found them open, and inclined to be sociable, as late as an hour after midnight; and a man who doesn't shut up business at midnight will never get another such oppor- tunity. I have said the ahopa close early. It is a lamentable fact in thia connection, that they do not open early. Oo along any of the business-streets as late as ten o'clock, and you will find men ad Voys with coarse aprons before the sh s, burnishing the brass plates, scouring the stone sills, and sweeping the walks ; and, as late as eleven o'clock, the clerks and proprietors are arranging the goods for the day's display. *" Every other store prominently announces the fact that it is doing business by " special appointment to H. M. the Queen," or " to H. R. H. the Prince of Wales." Feeling an unquenchable longing one afternoon to see the Queen, I stepped into a shou store which announced itself aa attending to her shod- ding, and waited very patiently for an hoar for her to call in " to see if that shoe waa fixed ; " but I did not see her. " By special appointment," &c., has stared me in the face at every turn : but I bore it uncomplainingly until I saw over a stovepipe-hat store the announcement " By special appointment to H. M. the Queen." Then I caved. By a careful and unbiassed calculation, 1 learn that there are at present administering to the various needs of Queen Victoria, 11,000 grocers, 2,160 stationers, 8,093 dry-goods merchants, 1,608 tinners. 16,040 butchers, 1,100 jewellers, 3,840 tobacconists, 243 hat- ters, 1,240 carriage-makers, 26,432 miscel- laneous. No wonder the country is in debt. But business is stimulated. London is called a dingy and dirty city. The houses in Loudon are dull in appearance, made so by the smoke from its thousands and thousands of chimneys. The humidity and weight of the atmosphere keep down the smoke among the buildings ; and the amoke itself is most villianous in its nature, coming from a soft coal which ia burned here, and which is similar to the coal used by our blacksmiths. Dingy seems a little too strong a term ; but dirty is an emphatic lie. London is far ahead of New York in clean- liness ; and, were its buildings of the same cheerful hue as are those of New York, it would be called just what it is — a marvellously clean city. Its streets are not altogether broad or straight, but they are well paved. And yet that hardly gives you an idea of their excel- lent condition. But when I say well paved, I mean in this coimection that they are aa 8 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. smouth as a floor, aa hard as marble, as free of ruts as the brow of Venus, aad as clear of filth as is the character of an honest man. The system of sev^^erage is perfect — oi, at least, it works to the satisfaction of every- body ; and that, 1 take it, is perfection, or a very good substitute for it. In addition, they are well lighted. In the more important thoroughfares a line of lights extends through the middle of the street, with a stone-post-guarded enclosure about each lamp — a sort of temporary city of re- fuge for the pedestrian who is fleeing before the impetuosity of the hurrying teams. And then there if a policeman at every important crossing, who stands among the crowding and struggling cabs, 'buses, and drays,, like — like (I forget the god's name) among the driving elements, and brings order and females out of chaos with a despatch that is most commendable. CHAPTER IV. AKLATES Ky^lEKLY TO THE BKACTY OF ENO- JLANT). The glory of England is its country, A grander scene than an English landscape cannot be found from sunrise to sunset. Its vFonderful turf, which is everywhere; its fine variety of hill, plain, and dale, meadow, field, and forest ; its broad white roads, its luxuriatit foliatje, its quaint, comfortable farmhounes, and its nestling red brick vil- lages, form a picture that, for loveliness, surpasses any effort of the imagination. l/he journey by rail from Liverpool to Lon- don is through an excellent country, and the traveller with any appreciation of nature and rustic art is charmed and delighted at evory mile. The glory of auch a scene no pen, unless it J9 mine, can adequately describe ; and to pass through its beauties, only to be swindled iu the end by a red-haired cabman, is one of the saddest pisodes in this vale of tears. But the scenery of rural England is seen to the least advantage from a swift railway train. It is like looking into a beautiful kaleidoscope, tuned by a boy, who thinks he hears a band in the street. Every impres- sion is hardly set before it is obliterated by the next, and that immediately smothered by the succeeding, and so on. But from the roof of a 8tage-coe.ah the pa- norama is unrolled before the observer in all its loveliness, new beauties unfolding as the old are digested ; and the pure air of the heavens and the fragrance of the fields and TTOodi minister to the body while the mind it being regaled. The railways have killed off the regular coach-lines, but have not rubbed out from the English mind the remembrance of the comfort and pleasure they afforded ; and so, in the last few years, sor i of the gentry re- vived a coach-line from Londoc into the rural districts, cae of the points being Dork- ing, which Dickens made famous in " The Pickwick Papers." Here the "Marquis of Granby " still affords rest and refreshment for man and beast. These coaches, exact patterns of their de- ceased ancestors, commence running on the 1st of Ma}', and continue through summer. To make the " illusion " the more perfect, they start from that old and famous coach- starting point in Piccadilly, the White Horse Cellar, and bring up at some equally aged and reputable hostelry in the terminal town. And so the first day of May was an active and animated day in Piccadilly. All the reveren^ers of the stage-coach (and they are many), with scores of all classes — admirers of that noble animal, the horse — from the active newsboy up to the aristocratic mem- ber of the Four-in-Hand Club, assembled be- fore the ancient White Horse Cellar inn, a little after nine o'clock that morning. The coaches were to start at ten, and the crowd were determined to be on hand iu time. Of Piccadilly you and I have often read. In the pages of history and other kinds of fiction it has figured frequently ; but what sort of a place it was I never knew. In my mind it was associatsd with a variety of oc- rurrences, whose characteristics I expected were in some so^t of way stamped upon it, and by which it might be recognized at a glance. I did expect, '^r rather had a vague impression, that a sig.it of the place would recall all the occurrences ever associated with it, and bring tlem out with a vivid- ness, the printed pa|>e was incapable cf do- ing. Not Piccadilly in particular was to possess this virtue, but all the equally fa- mous places. . Piccadilly is a street of course, a business street, with nothing but its name painted on the corners to indicate what it has been. Thid was a shock to m*e, and will be a shook to those familiar with London thoroughfares in connection with stirring and im- portant events, but whose eyes have never rested upon their wondrous clean pavements, and rows of dingy houses and glaring shops. The White Horse Cellar (its modern name is Hatchett's Hotel) is four stories high (very low stories) ; is built of brick (dark, muddy -looking brick) ; has no architectural pretensions ; no swinging sign witb a white horse prancing ou three legs ; no broad arch- way with a vista of coaches, carts, and \ (bed out from ibrance of the trded ; and so, the gentry re- idoc into the ts being Dork- laous in "The > " Marquis of id refreshment as of their de- unning on the rough summer. B more perfect, famous coach- le White Horse 5 equally aged terminal town. y was an active lilly. All the h (and they are isses — admirers orse — from the stocratic mem- , assembled be- se Cellar inn, a morning. The and the crowd id in time, ve often read, other kinds of Qtly ; but what knew. In my variety of oc- ;ics I expected mped upon it, •ecognized at a er had a vague he place would iver associated with a vivid- ncapable cf do- irticular was to ihe equally fa- rse, a business irae painted on at it has been, will be a shook n thoroughfaies ng and im- sc eyes have ?ir wondrous f dingy houses H modern name ir stories high brick (dark, lo architectural n with a white no broad arch- es, carta, and ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. mock-frocks ; no fat landlord, with a very red nose and a very bald head. The White Horse Cellar has none of these attractions. It is simply a dingy-faced building now ; but once it had all of these features, and was the pride and glory of a score of Tony Wellers. But nevet in its prime was the White Horse Cellar as busy and bustling and as cheerful as now. The sound of a horn is heard. The ci'owd sway from side to side ; and through the line thus formed, and up to the door of the happy old house drove the Tunbridge- Wells coach, with its four fat and sleek steeds gorgeously harnessed, and adorned with flowers, while itself fairly shone with new paint and polished brasses. I knew everybody was excited ; I knew it because I was a trifle inflamed myself. It seemed as if I could feel every hair on my head refuse to "sit down in front," while gallons of blood I knew nothing of hereto- fore rushed through my veins with a pres- sure that threatened to burst them. A thousand pictures of the happy coach- ing-days of old crowded my vision, until my h 3ad swam to such a degree that I feared I would drop down in a ttt, and be bled by an expensive surgeon. But how excited everybody was ! and how loud they laughed 1 It didn't seem as if they wanted to express any particular idea, but simply to yell, and get rid of the pressure. That's the way I felt ; and that's the way they felt, — I know by their looks. Heaven bl«s8 them ! I could have cheerfully given anybody a half-sovereign to have stepped on my foot, that I might have screamed. But I rubbed my head for lack of other re- lief; and then felt of the horses and their har- ness, and peered into the coach, and up at the wide roomy seats on the roof ; and then took hold of the wluels ; and finally got down on my hands and knees, and looked over the bright and running parts ; in which position I narrowly escaped being bucked over by the (^oach itself, and losing some of my legs. Heavens, what an ecstasy it all was ! Then the passengers who had booked the ^ places having taken thei^ seats, the whip, ^. » fine gentleman in tight-fitting drab clothes, §^.*"iherea up the reins, the boots gave a flour- Hish with -the horn, the people shouted (you ought to have heard my yell ; but perhaps , you did), and the stage and grand horses sahot down the street ; and the crowd closed iaround the new-comer, the Windsor coach, "Kwhich, similarly equipped, and loading ra- Ipidly, also sounded its home, and bore away for Windsor Castle and its famous neighbour- hood. These are the ten o'clock c taches. An hour passes, and firstof thecoaches fixed for this time is the Guilford, which is greet- ed with a cheer as it swings up to the door, and its splendid team champ their bits and toss their proud heads. I was going on the Guilford, — going down into old Surrey on a three hour's stretch, with a fine English dinner at the end, and a glorious return-drive after a reviving smoke. I put my thumbs into the arm-holes of my vest, and allowed my chest to bulge some- what. Any impartial beholder could have told at a glance that I was either going on that coach, or owned it. I had booked an outside place, the first seat back of thebox,and in easy punching dis- ♦^^ance of the driver. I could almost hear my legs tremble as I climbed up to it. I had hardly got settled, and was only half way through a triumphant glance over the crowd, when the cloths were removed from the backs of the impatient steeds. Col. Dickson gathered up the reins with deliberate ease, neither seeing the people, nor realizing {apparently) that they were trying to per- forate him with their eyes, and ingulf him within their extended mouths. The boots, sparkling with flat brass buttons, sounded the bugle most cheerily, the word was given and we were away. Down Piccadilly we went at a sharp gait j the leaders, with their cocked ears and arched necks, running straight ahead to edify the people ; while the heavier wheel horses brought along the coach. Through the crowd at the Wellington Statue, and into Knightsbridge,we moved along at an ex- hilarating gait, the people stopping on the walk to admire the gay turnout and the in- telligent appearance of the passengers. Down Brompton Road, and amidst its full tide of vehicles, we bowled along without the least abatement of our speed, the horn of the boots clearing the way before us M efi'ectually as if it had buen a simoom loaded with vitriol. And so on, on, on, into Ful- ham Road, by gaping butchers, and ad- miring bakers, and envious grocers ; the lethargic donkey-carts and gruif 'buses, and insolent cabs, and aristocratic drags, taking the side of the road with alacrity, while we passed through at a sparkling trot, and held on to the rail to keep our breath and senses. T(y shops and homes, and terraces and garden-walls, and screaming children and smiling parents, we bowled .long at the same exhilarating trot ; the oliokina of the animals' hoofs on the smooth flint road mak> 10 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. ! I ing a maeio that filled our souls with delight, and our blood with needles. And so on over Putney Bridfije, with the lazy Thames rolling beneath, up the hill of Putney High Street, with its pretty cottages and terraced wilderness of dowers, and so out into the country — the broad, open country of rustic England. And still there is no halting in the lively gait of the gallant beasts ; no break in the steady, even click of their iron hoof on the hard flint. We are out of the crowded thoroughfares now, and beyond the supervision of the city's vigilant street commissioners ; but the road is still broad and white, and hard and smooth ; and wherever it may lead — over common or across heath, up hill or down dale, by field or by park — it will still bo broad and white, and hard and smooth. What a wonderful road is the Eaglish highway, to be sure ! what astonishing pro- digality of ground in the midst of an over- crowded territory ! Why, all America, with its thousands of square miles of idle land, cannot boast of an artery like this ; nor, with all its capital and labour, has it yet succeeded in keeping a highway in such per- fect order. How broad and smooth it is as it stretches before us ! how even and green is its marvel- lous turf, that belts each side of the carriage- way, whose white line cuts through its shining green as straight and sharp as ever the gravelly way cut through the turf of a model garden ! In all the space of its flinty sur- face, from London down to Guilford town, there is not a rut sufficiently large to hold the purse of L&zarus. We are running across Wimbledon Com- mon now, where H«r Majesty's troops make a pleasure-day for other people by making an uncomfortable one for themselves, and where there is the line of an ancient en- trenchment dating away back in the un- healthy fog of the Roman age. Wimbledon Common is wild grass, gravel- pits, and yellow blossoming furze, where sheep and bad boys gambol away the pre- cious time. Putney Heath, near to has many features M common, excepting that it is heavily dot- ted with sombre firs mstead of bilious furze. How clear and beautiful the air is out here in the country ! We left the smoky and hazy atmosphere when we left the pave- ment ; and now the sky is blue again, and the air is laden with the odour of lilac, hed'ge and meadow-land. Down into old Kingston, and through its ancient market-square, with the carts and people standing and looking sa they did centuries ago, undoubtedly, we rattled along — the bugle's lusty strains clearing the street, and filling the windows — and drawing rein at the venerable hostlery of the Horn and Bell, in whose archway stood the smiling hostler and the change of horses, the pas- sengers descended, and stretched their legs, while a fresh team were put in, and the jaded beasts trotted up the paved way to the stables. I gazed- hungrily at the Horn and Bell. This was something like I had read of, but not quite ; although I imagined I detected in the loungers who were now helping to put in the horses an excellent counterfeit of the loungers who moved to a similar service a hundred years ago. But we were off again in a moment, and the clicking hoofs and musical bugle sounded as before. On the right of us lay the Thames ; be- yond, the trees of Hampton Cour' (that for- mer residence of royalty), and the Park of Bushy, with its wonderful array of chestnut- trees ; on the left were the old street-front, its gentry homes, paved lanes and courts, and staring people. Out again into the country we flew, by a gentleman's park, ivy-covered cottage, lodge, and country church. We dipped down into dells, and rose gradual hills, and sped across level ground, with noble trees, and velvety turf, and finely-trimmed hedges on both Bides of us. We passed the plodding donkey- cart and heavily-wheeled farmer's waggon, and the spruce carriage of the land-owner, taking a brief glance at each, but looking most at the grand scenery and the little quaint houses, with their tiny panes of glass, their red-tile and gray-moss roofs, their green-embowared porches, and paling-en- cloaed gardens ; and here and there a long, rambling inn, of white wrinkled walls, and bowing roof, with lattice windows, and paved court, and thatched stables, and an array of pewter mugs, whose bright polished sides were dazzling in the sun's rays. On to Cobham we rushed, and up to the front of its hostlery, gray with age, and with the moss of centuries clinging to its walls ; and here we changed horsos again, and smiled agreeably down into the round eyes of the villagers ; and then we were off again, across Cobham Common, Whistley Heath, by cottage and mansion, park and farm, hedgo and brick wall, to Ripley. The moment we struck the paved high street of this venerable place, it seemed as if an instantaneous and radical transformation had taken place, tad we were put back to the sixteenth centu.*y, with the bustle and hurry and new-fanglttvlnesa of the Qiuete«ntu ENGLAND FROM A B 4.CK. WINDOW. II we rattled along learing the street, ind drawing rein f the Horn and itood the smiling horses, the pas- Btched their legs, I put in, and the bhe paved way to e Horn and Bell. [ had read of, but agined I detected 3W helping to put ounterfeit of the I similar service a n a moment, and cal bugle sounded iie Thames ; be< I Cour^ (that for- and the Park of irray of chestnut- old street-front, lanes and courts, try we flew, by a ed cottage, lodge, lipped down into , and sped across ;rees, and velvety hedges on both plodding donkey- armer's waggon, the land-owner, ich, but looking and the little ay panes of glass, loss roofs, their and paling-en- and there a long, iukled walls, and windows, and d stables, and an se bright polished un's rays, d, and up to the ith age, and with png to its walls ; ursjs again, and to the round eyes ve were off again, fVhistley Heath, park and farm, pley. the paved high !e, it seemed as if d transformation 'ere put back to the bustle and of the nin6te«ntk *. century, but the memory of an ill-starred dream. Years and years ago the old inn before bich we are now changing horses was amaus as a coaching-place. As gayly as trot the new relief through the cobbled way to-day, so trotted horses that have passed to ashes long ago ; and as proudly as step the hostlers to the pole this day, so passed the hostlers whose bonss have been so long crumbled into nothing, that no living per- son remembers the time. There is no change to its walls or its roof, or its halls or passage-ways, and perhaps none in the low-ceiling tap-room, whose burnished pewter mugs may have shone as brightly in the eyes of the wearers of knee- breeches and doublets, as they do now in the eyes of the rustic owners of smock-frocks, corduroy breeches, and hob- nailed shoes, whom we see about us. What a rambling old structure it is ! what a nv>n8troua high roof ! what curious gables and quaint windows ! what a capacious stable-yard, whose coarse pavement is fleck- ed with moss, and fringed with grass ! what low door-ways ! what curious nooks and crannies are visible everywhere ! Can it be possible that London, with near- ly four millions of active and energetic peo- ple, is within twenty miles of all this mil- dew ? We rattled out of Ripley as gaily as out of Piccadilly ; and in a moment the quaint, antique, low-browed, white-walled houses were out of sight, and in another moment we were again engrossed in admiration of lawn, hedges, red brick gables, parks, and bright fields of an English landscape. We fairly thundr-ed down High Street in old Guilford, jusi the trickling icks, but it is I power ; and it a post, and iring legs, arid stand before ' opposite No. )u clothe your ^ that seem to omewhere near r, that people town can clasp )d reach ; })ut BS are good oa way just wide waggon, with each side of ughfares have ries ; but the day they were >f the English, I't make a dis- y do on their I have pon- kddresses, and would under- Blood -street, R, Crreat Mer- trict), London ourt, as there the city ; and to show that [uestion is not Great Mer- protect Pine- ided with the 1 the whole i» aibility of loss &c. ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. 13 Among other things the stranger no- tices is the substantiality of every thing but the breakfasts at the boarding- houses. The Englishman is not ostentatious to a degree that is offensive in the matter of adornment ; but he is solid and substantial in whatever he builds. This is first evident in the carriages, cabs, and drays which throng the streets and parks ; unless you are in a crowd, when the first indication of hi^ great body and weight is indicated in his obnailed shoes. I don't mean to say that every Englishman wears hobnailed shoes ; but enough of them do to satisfy and con- vince you. There are no spider-webbed carriage wheels here, no gaudy colouring of the boxes, no wafer springs. Everything is stanch, plain but rich, and awful solid. I would as soon think of being run over by a steam roller as by one of their one horse carriages. There are no buggies, no Brain- ards, no phaetons, no coal boxes, but dog- carts, drags, and coaches. Some Englishmen cannot afford a whole horse ; so they do with a pony instead. The wandering and reflective tourist is surprised by the abundance of little ponies which he iiidets hitched up to carts three times as big as themselves, and drawing around people who will probably die of dropsy. Once in a while you come across something familiar ; the one thing in particular is the placarding of dead walls with advertise- ments. One of my objects in coming to Europe was to get rid of such defamation ; but here it is carried on with all the vehe- mence . depraved nature is capable of. In this connection it strikes me rather oddly, that while the advertisements in the daily papers are crowded into small space and solid type, like the dreary array of sheriff notices in a territorial paper, those in many of the weeklies are displayed to a degree that is absurd, especially on the titlepage. The name of Tom Hood's paper is " Fun ; " but,to an uninipassioncd observer, it looks very much like ' ' Eppes ' Cocoa. ' Men dressed in grotesque rigging of an advertising nature are not allowed here to scare horses, and offend fastidious tastes like mine ; but you can see numbers of them parading up and down, with announcement boards carried in front. « They are not allowed on the walks, however, but must confine their stroll to the gutters. They are {)aid fourteen-pence per diem, and ^ rarely ose a day through dyspepsia. ::',^11;^S -j,There are occasior'»lly buildings to let here, of course. It is not wholly a 'land of antiquity and hoary frost : there |is chang- ing about, lam sorry to say. gHAriSjB!' ^ Moving about town, you come across an- nouncements of rent, leading off in this mild and humble manner : '• These commanding premises," " This most noble mansion," "This majestic corner." "These lovely floors," ic. Also there are occasionallj'^ new buildings, — the mo«t of them going up on the old plan, just as their forefathers would have done it. When you see a new stone build- ing (when you do, remember), you see some- thing that involuntarily moves you to tears. The stone is of a streaked, yellowish brown tint, — such a tint as rusting and weeping iron imparts to marble ; and, to a straager who has a guide-book in every pocket, it is a spectacle that sends the hot blood flying to his head, and makes every nerve tingle. It looks like a building dug out of an ancient peat-bed ; and how often have I seen new Americans leaning up against them and crying, and the policemen hustling them away ! There is plenty of weather in London, but no stoves. The absence of stove stores is so conspicuous, no one from America can help noticing it. I spoke to an Englishman about it, and volunteered to mingle my tears with his ; but he said, — " No stove shops ? Oh, my, yes ! Plenty of them ; plenty of them. Oh, oh, oh, my ! — oh, my, yes ! Plenty of them ; plenty of them. Oh, yes, indeed !" That's the way > Englishman talks, especially if he i^ an Englishwoman. He is very fond of interjections, and always gives a rising inflection to the last word of the sentence. The representative Englishman is an altogether different-look- ing person from the representative Ameri- can ; but the masses of both sides would blend well in features and dress. But no amount of study and practice will enable an American to talk like an Englishman. There is where an Englishman has the advantage of us, thank Heaven ! But I have seen no stove-stores, neverthe- less. At the International Exhibition, in a department devoted with a flourish to stoves, I found two sickly specimens of cook-stoves, but any number of towering ranges and gor- geous firepla'^es. Every room in the London house is provided with a fireplace ; also with a hollow sheet-iron guard or fender in the front ; also with a paiv of ponderous tongs, a long poker, and a long-handled shovel. The last three articles stond up at the sides of the place. I am very particular in mentioning this fact, as it has made a deep impression upon me. A stove is bad enough to manage, especially when there is an obstinate clinker in the grate, and you IF 14 ENGLAND FROM A BACK WINDOW. lii have got on a pair of tight pants ; but I think a pair of long-legged tongs, with a poker and shovel to match, are calculated to drive a man further into insanity than a stove. I am quite confident I never approach the fireplace without knocking down all of these articles. Perhaps it is uie poker first, and that trips up the shovel ; und, in trying to save them, I become entangled in the tongs, and down they come on the sheet-iron sur- face of the hollow fender, making a crash that is exasperating beyond all power of de- scription. The entertainment is beginning to pall on the taste. The English mind is strongly conservative, and does not take kindly to change, unless it is small change. The youngsters are con- spicuous for jackets, broad linen collars, and high hats, just as the youngsters of America were similarly conspicuous twenty-live years ago, and even beyond that time, without doubt. The men dress pretty much as we do, with the exception of the head-gear. They wear but two kinds of hats — the stiflF round crown, and the high hat, or "silky." The great variety of soft hats are not known here. In fact, I have seen but one soft hat since I came to London outside the shop- windows, and but very few there. The "silky" is almost exclusively worn by the better classes and cabmen, and the round crown by the others. There are no caps to speak of. The gentlemen dress in good taste; but the ladies — Would to Heaven some other pen would make known the humiliating fact, that, in taste in dress, the English woman is far be- hind her American sister ! Many of the garments worn by the Eng- lish ladies were the American style a year ago : and I contend most earnestly that a seal-skin cloak with a linen dress, or heavy muff and victorine, with a summer silk, are not the acme of good taste ; and yet I have requently seen these combinations on the fashionable streets and promenades. Some of the ladies who occupy the Hyde- park carriages, with liveried coachman and footman on the box, are actually dowdyish in their'appearance. The English woman is not as handsome as the American woman. But I do not know as she claims to be. More handsome women can be seen in one evening on Main Street in Daubury, than in an entire afternoon on fashionable Regent Street in London. I venture to say you will see ten "couu' try-looking " belles in the boxes of a first- class London theatre, where yon will find one in the boxes of a theatre in any Ameri- can city of fifteen thousand population. The pictures of women to be found in the English illustrated paper,, gi.ve, you will re- member, ;an expression of languid refine- ment that I have often admired, and which is so uniform in the prints, tfiat I knew I should recognize an English woman the mo- ment I saw her. No one can imagine how grieved I am to record the fact, that the expression of the illustrated woman is a rare exception; the finest- looking women are to be found among the poorer classes. But, of the two, the English woman is fai; the healthier. Her red cheeks are the gift of nature : they are not store cheeks. And it is not a dead colour, like that of the buildings, but a clear, deep colour. It is not confined to any one particular class; but it is the common heritage of all. I can never forget those red cheeks : I shall never want to. The London policeman attracts the atten- tion of the tourist at once. He is dressed in a blue uniform, as aie ours ; but he is ren- dered noticeable by a stiff wool body heiuaet, which he wears in place of a cap or Panama hat. We may laugh at the "rigging;" but we must respect the eflficiency of the force. But few crimes are committed here, as the lean police records afiirm ; and an execution a year is the average. P.S. — The emotional insanity dodge is not practised ; and they convict, do those English juries, where there is a living chance. There are two other uniformed classes which attract the eye. One is the ever- busy shoeblack, in red shirt and banded cap, who has always one hand pointed reproach- fully at your soiled shoes, ami the other ap« plied respectfully to his cap. They are an organization of their own ; and each mem- ber has his stand, and pays for it according to its importance. The charge for blacking a pair of shoes (no one wears boots here) is one penny, or two cents in our money. I learned these facts from one of the band, whom I inundated with a couple of penniea for the information. He winked to himself on the receipt. He probably thought I was a second Peabody dropped doWn upon Lon- don by a beneficent Providence. The other unifol-med class is the soldiery. With their red coats, and paper-collar box caps resting on one ear, straight backs, re- tiring shoulders, and jaunty cane,necessarily make them conspicuous on all the thorough- fares. Their straight spines are abomin- able ; and the elaborate parting of their back hair and swagger are an offence in the eyes of the wayfarer. L ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 15 n any Ameri- >pulation. )e found in the re, you will re- anguid retine- jd, and which fiat I knew I roman the mo- how grieved fact, that ) illustrated a ; the fineat- Qd among the ro, the English Eer red cheeks r are not store lad colour, like sar, deep colour. )articular class; e of all. I can 9: 1 shall never racts the atten- le is dressed in ; but he is ren- ol body hejmet, cap or Pan<.ima "rigging ;" but jy of the force, sd here, as the id an execution -The emotional ised ; and they es, where there CHAPTER VI. ormed classes is the ever- nd banded cap, inted reproach- the other ap- They are an ind each mem- 'or it according •ge for blacking boots here) is ir money, me of the band, iiple of penniea iked to himself thought I was oWn upon Lon- ice. is the soldiery, aper-collar box ight backs, re- 3ane,neces»arily the thorcu^h- is are abomih- ag of their back nee in the eyes i GIVES AN OFF-HAND VIEW OF PARLIAMENT. ■: A few days ago I made application to a -J member of the House of Commons for per- '; mission to witness a session. I received a prompt answer, requesting me to be in waiting in St. Stephen's lobby ' at five o'clock that afternoon, where the ; writer would meet me, and " put me through." He didn't use that phrase ex- actly ; but that was the substance of his , note. Knowing it would not do to trifle \ with the time of a member of ho illustrious a f body, I was on hand promptly to the hour, 5, in the central hall, so called, where two ^ policemen guarded the hallway to the House. 1 1 explained my errand to one of the officers, I and was told I would have to wait there un- i til the member came out, as the House was I already in session. J I found others in waiting, and new faces J constantly arriving. Some effected an im- I mediate entrance ; others were interviewed I briefly by members with whom they had Imade engagements ; and the rest wandered 1 around as I did, and felt of the mould - rings. Sir Charles Dilke, the member to whose ^courtesy I am indebted for the view of the fHouse in session, would be, when he got [around, the fir^.c knight I had seen. I am mot much used to titled personages, my Iknowledge of them being obtained entirely |throngh prints. With the imagination thus left to itself, land being blessed with an imagination that Jjnever knew a day's sickness, I very natu- f rally constructed a party worth seeing. i§- Common sense teaches us all that a mem- Iber of the nobility is but a lump of human Jclay fashioned on models common to our l^seeing , but, unconsciously ignoring the 'teachings aforesaid, we find our mind im- bued with a being who shows traces of ;l^obility in his very step and bearing, whom 'jMo density of human crowd could hide from (lour vision. '^ Am I exaggerating this mental weakness ? jet us see. Can you conceive of a bow- legged duke ? Or is it possible for you to }cate a pimple on the nose of a viscount ? iJld no one, however diseased his imagina- lon, ever pictured a baron with an ulcerated 9g, or conceived of such a monstrous im- -^ssibility as a cross-eyed duchess. ■ No, my dear reader, the imperfections of the masses have never been associated with the title ; and, however radically practical »re the teachings of common sense, the ^noraiit fervor or the imagination has made ihe deeper impression. And so I was very soon to see a knight. I was pencillinp my came and address, with other informa*'lon,o»i the calf of George the Third's leg, when ouv') of the policemen shouted the name o* Sir Charles DUke. " Now,"thouBhtI, " he will come when he hears that. " The policeman shouted again. I looked at him very attentively, wonder- ing where he thought Sir Charles was, — oa the roof or in the crypt. Again he screamed. Then his eyes suddenly lighted on me, and an immediate change came upon his face. " Oh ! there you are, are you ? " he in- quired with come disgust. •' Why didn't you answer when I shouted ? " My name ain't DilLi., protested. " My name is " But I was cut short by a well-built gentle- man of apparently thirty-five years, with a pleasant expression of countenance, who ad- vanced and made himself known, and asked me to folxow him. I indignantly And I followed him by the policeman, and along the hall. This|was Sir Charles, a bona Jide knight ; and I examined his ap- pearance with engrossing interest. He was a well-built man, as I have said> but ordinary appearing. He might hava been a rural lawyer or school-teacher ; but he was a knight. And all the while he was- going ahead, aud all the while I was follow- ing after, I tried to clothe him with a lance and shield and helmet, and fell back from the task exhausted. In the lobby he bade megood-bye,an dwent back into the House ; and I climbed up the stairs, and came out into the galleries, aud took my first look at the House of Commons in session. It was not, to first appearance, a large apart- ment. There were galleries at the side, and one at each end. That over the Speaker's chair was devoted to shaggy-headed and bald-headed men called reporters. The opposite end gallery was devoted to the quiet and patient sight- seers. The first glance showed me that the entire place was of polished oak, which gave it a sombre appearance. Then I looked down upon the commoners. They sat in pew-seats arranged like gallery-seats, in tiers one above the other, from the middle aisle to the wall, on each side. In a heuvy oaken box with gorgeous roof, at the upper end of the aisle, sat the Speaker, in a fainting condition, ap- parently, from the enormous wig of wool on his head. In front of him, in the aisle, sat three men in gowns and wigs. In front, to the right of him, sat the conserva- tives, tiered up there in gloomy array. Oppo- site them were the fiery Radicals, similarly tiered. Each man, when occasion requires,. 16 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. can rest himself by bracing his knees agains the back of the seat in front, — all but the occupants of the front or lowest seats, who have nothing in front of them. The atmosphere below us was smoky ; and throuGih the nazy canopyappeared the states- men of educated and aristocratic Eugland, with uncovered heads aud^crossed legs. The smoke, the lounging and careless attitudes of the members, — wearing their hats, and carrying, in a great many instances, their hands in their pockets, — reminded me so forcibly of a Western hotel bar-room, that for an instant I was benumbed, and could mr-rely stare down upon the astound- ing spectacle, without the faintest attempt to understand it. A Conservative was speaking upon a Bill for regulating registration of deaths. He had a poor voice, a faulty pronunciation; and spoke so low that only an occasional word could be understood in the gallery. I watched the reporters, equally distant from him, and having no earthly interest in the subject, and wondered what sort of a report they would make of his speech ; but they scribbled on as uninterruptedly as though they heard what he was saying. The speaker continued to sink down' into the capacious folds of his chair, until h« threatened-to disappear entirely. Some of thfl members shoved their hands to the full depth of their trousers' pockets, and with hat-brims drawn down over their eyes, fell to thinking upon the condition of the coun- try. Others simply crossed their legs, and picked their teeth meditatively. Only one man listened. He was aRadical, and occupied the front-seat. His attention was explained when theConservative occupy- ing the floor sat down. Then he com- menced, talking rapidly, and reading harrow- ing statistics. Several times during his occupancy of the floor some one among the Radicals distinctly said, "hear, hear." There were other speakers. The light grew dimmer. " Aren't they going to light the gas ?" asked my compauion. I said no- thing : I always do say nothing on such occasions. I think it looks profound. Now there was a Radical talking. He was a slim man with hair frosted Avith age, and a very nervous face and quick voice. The moment he rose, \ arious groaniugs — like shouts from a deep s jwer, or the rumbling of a heavy vehicle o /er a distant bridge — ascended from the Conservatives. It was a protest against his taking the time ; a sort of stoical, wooden opposition, as if the makers of it were doing it by the day. Not the least change of position, not the least show of animation was visible where this rumbling ascended. The Radicals as stoically preserved their lounging as if the success or failure of their fellow was of no moment to them ; and both acted as if the entire debate was a dreary farce, of which they long ago had tired. When I tirst looked at the pews, and saw that the representatives of a great nation had no desk to put their feet upon, and spit under, I was sorry for them ; but I am not now. This keeping on of hats in the House of Commons was a greater shock to me than it ought to have been, with my experience of the English in assemblage. The English, represented as being burley, suspicious, reticent, and stiff,, are, on the contrary, a most polite people. I don't know as they are particularly cordial with strangers, and I cannot say that there are no'i Englishmen who are all that is above complained ; but as a people they are emphatically polite. As a stranger in Lon- don, I have had occasion to make many inquiries, and, without a single exception, have received obliging answers. It is an Englishman's habit to look a trifle dissatisfied if he cannot give you the desired informa- tion. All the tradespeople invariably »ay " Thank you," however trifling may be your purchase, or however hurried they may be ; and quite fiequently they say something pleasant about the weather. And one hau only to see this London weather to under- stand how difficult it must be to say anything pleasant about it. But the Englishman won't take off his hat where he can possibly avoid it. You will iee him with it on in the theatre, public galleries, or elsewhere indoors, except at church. To an American, who instinctively takes off his hat in the presence of ladies, the spectacle of gentlemen seated with women, with their hats on, is a disagreeable sensation. ,nd 1 iucki «nd tl |;ate I 4iucier i ify ■Jilayo «pmnili him w «inbel I But ienlive fin I Sev Aarail fndioa CHAPTER VIL AN ENGLISH MOB. Having now seen the Englishman in his more elevated phase, I desired to look upon him in a crowd ; and the opportunity was presented in the reception by the city of the Czar of all the Russias. I had heard so much of the English mob, and of its aggressive and offensive nature, that, while I determined to avail myself to the utmost to see all that could be seen, 1 also determined to be cautious of my person. The line of march for the illustrious guest Itnci ows. s Mor <||vhole >^ith t .|nen i livailal iJEven c ^he pri nets 3 The (light ind tl #ere n nnpror reil pa] the tin feeling txsurpe 1 II 01 «() of ^l;,0 ] 'iftie pn And y None c Fleet E rent hi torn, ] Whj ainguli iHii ENGIAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 17 , ,. — iud his diutinKuiahecl company was from 3re this rumbhncl^ucljin^ham Palace, througli Cliaring Cross, itoically preserved ^jjj through the Strand, Fleet Street, Lud- ccesa or failure of ^^^^ Hill, Cannon Street, to Guild Hall,— the ent to them ; and Jncient City Hall of Loudou. re debate was a -i^ jf y^y ^^i i ^ere going to see the Lord By long ago had i^ayor, we would proceed there in a cab or •pmuibus, get him down to the door, and tell ihe pews, and saw ^j^ ^^ were glad to see him, leaving him to jf a great nation jembellish the proceedings as he saw ht. let upon, and spit | gyt j^ ^j^is case the visit was a topi?, of m ; but I am not |Bnlivening conversation for a week before ; f^nd the preparation for the mile or so visit in the House of y^^^j^g ^ ostentatious as' if the Lord Mayor was ock to me than it ^^ ^^p „f ^ pinnacle in the heart of^Africa. my experience of : Royalty has its drawbacks. i Several days before the contemplated L as being hurley, |j)arade, niimy (if the shop windows on streets stiff,, are, on the ^jj^^g^j^j^^ j^^ ^tj^ ijm. ^f niatoh contained an- people. I don t Siouncements of seats and windows to be let arly cordial with Sor viewing the procession. I say many of ly that there are g^^ ghopa ; I ought to have said, nearly all of all that is above Jj^gj^ people they are || ^q^ uoI; only the shop windows, stripped k stranger m Lon- -^ their gorgeou* display, were to be for that to make many l^ay devoted to seeing the sights, as if in ex- tkihange for the months they had submicted ^o being the sights, but windows above were l^so placarded for the market. L Sunday being the day before, Saturday as devoted to preparing places for the flags '^,nd banners, and seats at the upper win- lows. single exception, nswers. It is an a trifle dissatisfied desired informa- invariably »ay ifling may be your | ^saJ^'^Shinrl ^^^'^^^ morning,at daylight,! strolled the ^y say something t^^^j^ j^^^j.j^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^ j^^ ^^^ Strand, ° ° "^ith the street otherwise deserted, I found en sawing and hammering. Wherever vailable, a platform was erected and rented. ven churchyard gates were placarded with he price of admittance to their sacred pre- iicts "for viewing the royal procession." The shop windows which on Saturday ^ight bristled with gold, precious stones, sad the costly products of Eastern looms, ere now stripped of their adjrnings; and promtu benches, disguised with green or d paper, were taking their places, giving e thoughtful Englishman an idea of the elings of his forefathers when Cromwell urped the royal Stuarts. In our country a holiday is made the occa- _j.oii of extra attention to the show windows red to look upon |^^ -places of business along the route of opportunity was^g procession; but here it was the reverse. by the city of the -^j^ y^^ both have the same object— gain. None of the business men of the Strand and the English mob, J^ieet street appeared to be too high-toned to offensive nature, f^nt his window for the accommodation of avail myself to «jo,n, Dick, and Harry, could be seen, I what astonishment I may have felt at this ^"ll„.+^mia^",fl«t#°g"l*''**«*® ^" *^*^ ^'^"®*^ class of shop- pr, eather to under- be to say anything! take off his hat ^ oid it. You wiJl theatre, public adoors, except at j who instinctively 1 esence of ladies, fj aen seated with I is a disagreeable ^IL lOB, iii'lishman in his ! illustrious guest : keepers and business men was dissipated on inriuiring the price of the sittings. Front seats in some of the win* dows were valued at two guineas a head, or, at the present valuation of gold in the United States, nearly twelve dollars. If a man had a wife and four chil- dren, he might monopolize the entire front of the window during the passing of the pro- cession for the trifling sum of seventy dol- lars. In some places the seats were four deep, the price lessening as the rear was gained. The lowest price for a front seat in a shop window was one pound (five dollars). In the upper windows the price graded with the floor — ranging from ten shillings to one pound for the first Hoor, six BhiJliiigs to fifteen shillings for the third floor. I didn't inquire any liigher thin the third. The farther a newspaper man goes in that direction, the less he feels at home. -At nine o'clock the people commenced to throng the streets through which royalty was to pass. Fleet Street was almost dazzling with sus. pended haimers and flags. There were several American fiags. One of them was graced with fifteen very apoplectic-looking stars ; another, as if frightened by the obe- sity of the other's constellation, appeared without any stars at all, the place intended for that portion of cotton astronomy being as blue and blank as the face of a defeated candidate. , At eleven o'clock the roadways were cov- ered with gravel, the sidewalks were packed with people, all public vehicles were ordered from the route, and the side-streets sparkled with roving minstrels, gymnasts. Punch and Judys, and brass bands. At twelve o'clock the crowd had most visibly increased. As far as the eye could see, on either side, were the dark masses of humanity, almost still now, for the jam was too great to permit of motion ; and the specks floating to and fro up and down the roaiiway were gathered into the great lump by the efficient police, and the yellow gravelled way shone clear and bright in the sun. To an American, used to a hot, bluster- ing, and bewildered police, and a hungry, struggling, and olFeusive "independent" crowd, this throng of intelligent-looking people, standing quietly where they happen- ed to be, and waiting patiently for the time and the procession to pass, the sight was a novel one ; need I add, most gratelul ? At half-past twelve the advance-guard of the procession appeared — mounted cuiras* siers, with shining steel breastplates and helmets, and dancing plumes, mounted on ' / '■;. 18 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. powerful horses, and awinging along at a sharp pace. Next to them came aovoral carriages, with coachmen and footmen clothed in cocked hats, and fairly smothered with gold lace. But they were covered carriagea ; and the occupants, ladies-in-waiting at court, were but imperfectly seen. Next came dashing along another body of mounted soldiery ; and rolling rapidly along after them were the royal carnages, open, and the occupants in full view. Next to the last carriage was the Princess of Wales, a plea- sant-looking lady ; but a host of as well- dressed and superior-looking women may be seen any pleasant afternoon in the carriages of Central Park. Please bear in mind that the average English woman, in court or tenement, is not handsome ; and don't get excited. But about the last carriage centred oil the interest ; and it was to this the dense majs of people >n the walks and in the windows swung thoir hats and handkerchiefs. On the front p^at sat the Prince of Wales, heir- apparent to the British throne, and the Em- peror ot Russia ; on the baok-aeat were his daughter, and her husband the Duke of Edinburgh. I swallowed the Emperor in at one famish- ing gulp, lie was a monarch, and the most mighty in the world; and it was a great grati- fication to me to see him in the neah. But there were some disappointments. He had on pants. This surprised me. I don't know why it should ; only that I expected he would look different from any one else. Perhaps I would have been more surprised if he had been without pants. Ue also had on coat and vest, and looked every inch like a well-to-do banker rolling leisurely down to the bank in a carriage presented to him the night before by a circle of admiring stockholders. That was all there was to it, excepting that the two princes were tine-looking gentlemen, and tne Emperor's daughter was a pretty-faced girl of an American cast of countenance. .vaa all over in a minute. Many of the people were so lost in admiration of the goid-iaced coachmen and footmen, that they did not recover in time to note the royal personage. The whole thing was over in a half-miu- nte. All this gravelling of the road-bed, the monopoly of the police, the hours of patient waiting by the populace, the days of preparation by the shopkeepers, were all forthis brief half-minute of glory. How tame and iusignificant the whole thinjf looked I The man who paid four guineas for him* self and wife on a front-seat in a shop-win* dow, helped his wife out of the door with* out much ceremony, and started direct for home, bumping up against everybwly with inexplicable perversity, and finding that not a single article of his clothing fitted him in any particular. So much for a London mob. CHAPTER .VIII. IS MAINLY DHVOTKIl TO DKSCRIBINO HOW TO OKT AJiOUT LONDON There are three objects of desire to th» London visitor. One is the Tower of Lon> don ; another is 8t. Paul's Cathedral ; and the third is Westminster Abbey. There are three other objects he has to see, whether he wants to or not. These are the cabmen, the hotel proprietors, and the ser* rants. As it is absolutely necessary to see these last three before he can see the first three, I shall devote this letter to an honest, if not flattering, account of them. The first Englishman the traveller meeta is a burly and red-faced gentleman, with a big metal plate on his coat (front), contain* ing a number, mounted on the back of a cab, or the front of a hackney-carriage. He will grow familiar wif-Ji this chap by the time he has been twenty-four hours ia London. He will find the race patrolling every back-street, or standing on every important thoroughfare ; and he will come to look upon them pretty much as a man looks upon a dog who has suddenly and most unexpeot* edly snapped at his leg. The reader will infer from these few re> marks that there ia something objectionable in the London cabmen ; and he is right. But, while I am free to condemn the class, I am equally free to credit them with one car* dinal virtue : they are not offensively fa* miliar. They are to be found at the depots ; but they do not block the way, and scream at you until you 'are deafened and crazy. They do not nix onions with rum and tobaoco,ana scorch you with the dreadful simoom. They do not step on yon, and jerk you off yonr feet, and jam your hat over your eyes. They do not pull off your coat and limbs, and dia- tribute your baggage into five different hacks. They are in front of you, but not under you. They are to the right and to the left ; but they open not their mouths. ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. Id e whole Hdng gnineas for him* in a ahop-wia* the door witd- arted direct for iverybody with d finding that thing fitted him h foF a Loudon IL ICRIBINO HOW (J DOW )f desire to the Tower of Lon« Cathedral ; and )boy. its he has to see. These are the '8, and the aer> lary to see these bhe first three, I 1 honest, if not traveller meets ntleman, with a (front), contain* 16 back of a cab, •riage. i*-h. this chap by ty-four hours in ^ atrolling every 3very important come to look mau looks upon most unexpect* n these few re« \g objectionable id he is right, tmn the class, I m with one car* offensively fa* le depots ; but and scream at id crazy. They md tobacco, and simoom. They : you off your our eyes. They imbs, and dis> five different mt not under ad to the left ; ha. The moment you step out of the cars into any one of the capacious depots in the city, a railway porter auks you if you will have a hack, and if you have lugf^age he calls the hack ;and, with the assistauce of the driver, loads your luggage, loads yourself, closes the door, and touches his hat to you ; and you are off in a jiffy, feeling grateful for the re- lief and attention ; while the porter stands on the platform, and curses you in the bottomest recesses of his heart for not giving him a sixpence. Such is man when in health. When you reach the hotel, " the cabby," as a hackman is here called, jumps down with alaority, and, with the assistance of the hotel porter, disembarks your luggage and yourself, charges jrou three shillings and sixpence, and is off again with an expression of purity on his countenance that is irresisti- ble. You have a vague impression of read- ing on a card inside of the hackney, that any distance of two miles or less is to be charged one shilling ; and you go into che hotel, regretting that you have not time to stand on tlie curbstone and give full play to your feelings. It may b« said that this system of extor- tion is common to all hackmen. Grunted. But there are features of the London system which aggravate it far beyond the American process, and make it almost unbearable. In the first place, this, until you become acquainted with the omnibus routes, is your only means of transfer about the city ; and your helplessness is taken advantage of. Secondly, you are an American, with the impress of yrur nativity so indelibly set upon you, that no hackman fails to take ad- vantage of your ignorance of the ways and customs of the country ; and thus the Ameri- can citizenship, upon which you have con- stantly, loudly, and almost offensively prided yourself, becomes a hated object to you. After you have got into the hotel, and cooled down, you find some consolation in the reflection that you were so helpless, that no hackman could be blamed for taking ad- vantage of you. After this, however, you'd like to see 'em, accothpanying the deduction with a move- ment of the fiit indicative of the belief that you never will see them do it again. There are hackneys and cabs : the former are four-wheelers, and the latter two- wheelers. The latter are designed for two occupants. They open in front, giving the rider a full view of the street ahead, while the driver sits on a perch at the back. They are much the pleasanter of the two to ride in ; but the pleasure is in a measure modified by the discussion, recrimination, and pers- piration which invariably follow the settling of the fare. With the four-wheelers one plucking ap- pears to be enough ; aud, once away from the depots, you are confideut to be carried two miles in any direction for a shilUng. You take a hansom (two-wheeler) for » half-mile drive, and throw the driver a shilling. He looks at it in a perplexed and commiserative manner that is beyond all imitation, and asks, — •' What's this for ?" You patiently explain to him. He says eighteen-pence is the fare. You protest that t'.e distance does not warrant that charge. He is stubborn. You can force hiin, so the card says, to drive to the nearest police station for adjudication. But you are a stranger. He may drive y(m to the first police-station, and he may drive you over the nearest embankment. You pay him a sixpence more, tfnd curse the Government under which he thrives. As long thereafter as you bear the mark of an American, so long will you be subject to the peculative tendencies of the hansom cab- driver. The shilling goes to his employer ; and the sixpence is laid up by himself ior a rainy day. It rains a great deal here. When you have mastered the intricacies of the omnibus lines, travelling about the city becomes a genuine pleasure. The English 'bus system is superior to ours, both as to the comfort of the passengers and tlie animals, who draw them. On \he box with the driver is accommodation for four persons. Running along the roof are two seats, back to back, reached by bladder on each side of the door. Here and mside are sittings for a certain number of people, the number being conspicuously marked on the 'bus ; and, when this complement is made up, no more are taken. Consequently there is no treading on corns, or punches in the chest, by passengers unable to keep their feet. Each 'bus has its conductor ; and the fares, plainly marked inside, are graded with the distance, the lowest being twopence, and the highest sixpence. The favourite place for the masculines is on top of the 'bus, and the best place is on the box alongside the driver. I know of no better point from which to view the people than the box-seat of one of their 'buses. -And the driver is a character in himself. Being naturally of a confiding nature, — although you might not suspect it, looking at him from the walk,— he thaws quickly to the man at his elbow, and will volunteer bits of nformation, sentiment, and opinion, with 90 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. !! 11 the greateiit freedom. He ia apparently » reckless driver, and su are all the Eugliah drivers ; yet, with all n»y riding about, I •aw but (ine collision, and that, being by a 'bus with a cab, was easily understood. Between the 'buH-driver and the cabman there ia a rancorous feeling of hatred, which ia most grateful to all the senses of the traveller who has suffered at the hands of the latter, because the motive-power and wheels of the former are so much greater and heavier, that the utter discomforture of the latter ie a sure thing in the event of their coming together. 1 have sat on the box for an hour at a time, and heard the driver curse the " cab- bies," and crowd them out of the way, until it did seem as if my cup of happiness was running over and drowning people. And then to see the wrath of the cabby as he takes himself out of the way of the pon- derous and unrelenting wheels would make a dead man laugh, were he not otherwise engaged. I cannot explain why this animosity exists between the two classes ; but it does exist ; and this fact should content us, without desiring to pry into ita causes. I use the term "cursing" unadvisedly, perhaps. We understand, by that, profa- nity ; but the English are not given to ' ' pro- fanity." Whether this is because of there being no stoves here, or because of their religious training, I am not prepared to state. But they do not take the name of their God in vain. It is rarely you hear it done in London, or among the better classes any- where in England. They are profuse with their "blarsted," and "Idoody," and "dom," but nothing more serious. But they have a way of saying these, when in a hurry, that rarely fails of scaring the target, especially if that target is a stranger. On the 'bus you will hear such pleasant admonitions as these delivered to people or teams in the way : " Come, now, where are you?" "Whey there, blockhead I " "Look ahi»rp, cawuf't you ? " " Don't go to sleep, old man ! " and the like, all pronounced with a breadth of accent calculated to el.ectrif}' the most atolid. CHAPTER IX. LIVING IN LONDON. How to live while in London is certainly a matter of some moment. The claim, and it is neither lare nor unostentatious, that liv- ing is Much cheaper in London than in New YorjSf, is vvithout a vestige of truth to cover its naked and repulsive form. (Copyright secured. ) The European hotel system ia much differ- ent from tlie Ameiicau hotel syatem, oa we all know ; but the ditfetence ia not entirely in the way the meals are served. But of that auoo. There are four ways of living here, — the British-American hotel, the English inn, the boarding-house, au-iicans want something vast, Londoners have put np several hotels to meet this want, and there stopped. And so we have ponderous halls, witli nothing to sit down upon ; colossal of- tices KUed with baggage, void of settees, and eulivenea by an occasional time-table ; and massive sitting-rooma, all pillars and tapes- try. There is a place to sleep, and a place to eat, and a place to shut yourself in and smoke, — as if smoking waa a penance to be under,<'oue in solitude and bitterness, — and that is all. < There is no bar (you drink in the smoking- room), no sociable sitting-room, no bustling and cheerful office, no place to lounge about in and chat. In fact, the British-American hotel is a huge sepulchre, about whose door there is no life nor animation. The guest has the pleasure of walking in marble halls, and there the ente.tainment ceases. The clerk of the house ia a woman, — a young woman, invariably dressed in black, with blftck hair and eyes, and a face sugges- tive of a severe attack of neuralgia. She is the same in one part of London as in the other, in Liverpool as in Loudon ; dresses the same, and looks the same. The singular uni- formity makes you uneasy after a while, and tills you with an aching desire to return home. What kind of a way is this, I would like to know, to play with travellers ? It is tak- ing a mean advantage of the chivalrous American nature to have his bills made out, and his wants snubbed, by a person he can't swear at. The genuine English inn, of which there are very few in London, is much superior to the hotel we have just disposed of. Its prime object is comfort ; and while its bill of fare is not exactly what we have been used to, yet the effort of its people to make every- thing pleasant and convenient is so apparent, that we feel as much at home as is possible for one to feel in a hotel. The boarding-house is just what a board- ing-house is anywhere, in one particular,— you pay so much a week for lodgings and meals. If you are away from meals, it is not deducted ; if you are too late for a hot meal, and have a cold ono served up to you instead, it is charged against you ; if you have coffee. T id much differ- system, u we is not entirely 1(1. But of that 'ing here, — the ilnitlish inn, the Ein only in the tliut Am>-;icanB ei H have put np aut, aiul there onderoua halls, on ; colossal of- 1 of settees, and ime-table ; and liars and tapes- ), and a place to rourself in and , penauue to be jitteruess, — and in the smoking- >m, no bustling bo lounge about 'ritish-Amerioan bout whose door The guest has larble halls, and es. is a woman, — a ressed in black, I a face sugges- uralgia. She is ndon as in the Ion ; dresses the le singular uni- ter a while, and esire to return ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WIN DOW. 21 ,8, I would like ers ? It is tak- the chivalrous jills made out, person he can't of which there uch superior to d of. Its prime its bill of fare been used to, to make every- is so apparent, as is possible what a board - le particular, — ' lodgings and meals, it is not for a hot meal, to you insteadj you have coffee or tea at dinner or luncheon, it is charged asainnt you. The " extras" are a sort of electrical battery, which is turned on you erery Saturday night, and makes you squirm in spite of yoursalf. The lodging is a sleep- ing-room to be obtained in any quarter of the city. The meals are served at the house where your room is, or you can get them from somi neighbouring coffee-room. This is » favourite way of living here, both with the natives and visitors. The cotTeo or dining- rooms are numerous, but not so comfortable as are ours. The " Kuropean plan " as it ;is understood in America, and the " P^uropean plan " as it is understood by Europeans themselves, has points of difference that are most frightfully oonspicuons. In the English city hotel you go into the coffee-room and give your order for the meal, and then Vait until it is cooked. Tho bill of fare mentions simply the principal dishes attainable ; such as fish, joint, and entree for dinner ; for breakfast, cold or hot meats ; for luncheon, the same as for break- fast. Roait is the acceptable mode of preparing meat here, an. I you are bombarded with roast beef jintil you fairly hate to hear the name (this refers more especially to cold roast beef) Steak, measuring full two inches in thick- ness, is broiled around the edges very nicely. Fish and cutlets are well cooked. These English are just as conservative in eating as in anythiUfj else they undertake and look not with friendly eyes upon innovation and : variety. Their meals are hearty but plain, \ the principal ingredients being roast meat 1 and ale or wine. Those who have tried the American bill of fare, with its-^ wonderful variety of dishes, and '* all the delicacies of ithe season," affect to despise it : they speak ^disdainfully of it as being "a mass of stuff little plates," which, eaten or not, is paid lor. Ah, Heavens ! how 1 would like an op- urtunity to personally despise a few of those teals I If you go into an American restaurant and jrder a plate of food, it is given you, with vegetable accompaniments, and bread and [>atter ; if you order it at an English res- mrant, you get just the specified di.'ih of food, and nothing else. But you will find — !*io difference in the price favourable to the English mode. If you want vegetables, you apecify the kind and get them, and pay for "each. If you want butter, that is also fur- nished you upon a notice to that effect, and promptly charged against yon. And both restaurants are conducted on the *' European plan." What you order you get, and onlv that. The abruptness with which the supply snap" off close to the demand is sometimes startling. Their loaf-bread has a flavour to it difficult to describn. It is solid, but not heavy ; queer, but not sour. They cut it up into square or three-cornered hunks, and serve it without butter ; in which condition it is the most polemn article of food I ever saw. The trouble with the bread is that its stale. Fresii bread, they claim, is not tit for the stomacli. I learned this by accident. Ordering a ftlate of bread and butter for tea, the land- ady aopeared to explain, with many apolo- gies, that she had nothing but fresh bread in the house. And so it was stale bread that I had been attacking the citadels of my life with, and driving my brain into chaos in the hopeless endeavour to fathom its nature. I told the landlady to bring in a few slices of the fresh article, and we would try to worry it down. I believe we did. When the American leaves his native country to come to England, he leaves pie behind. 1 have been to some of thejrint-shops to see if they have any picturestR pies ; but I can find none. They have photographs in profusion of the Royal family, and eminent men of Church and State ; but the pie of my native land is forgotten. It is a negative, but not a pho- tographer's negative. On their tables they have tarts, com- pounded in a way similar to our pies, and baked in deep dishes. And thus they have rhubarb, gooseberry, and apple tarts ; but they are poor substitutes. I see plenty of cake in the bakSra' win- dows ; but I presume it is entirely consumed by private enterprise, as neither at the hotels nor boarding-houses do I find it on the taVde. They are wonderfully careful of the American digestion. But they do have cauliflower ; yes, Ij||am quite sure they have cauliflower. If I am not greatly mistaken, they have it every day I feel safe in saying that one man will eat, in the course of a year, about four tons of boiled cauhflower. He will do it, unkas he gets a pistol and takes the law in his own hands. Living is not cheaper here than it is in the States. Board and lodging at the hotels is about three dollars a day in gold ; at the boarding house, about twelve dollars a week. In neither of these quotations are the extras included ; and they quite frequently amount to a third of the regular charge. /] 92 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. (!! li m I \ Most people n nt rooms for lodging, and take their meah at the restaurant. In a respectable portion of the city a room costs froDi three to eitiht dollars a week, and the meals not less than fifty cents each. I don't know but that a single man can " grub around " at about eight or nine dollars a week ; but the cost of taking in his clothea would about balance the saving. CHAPTER X. GOING TO THE DERBY. 1 shall conmienoe this at the beginning, and strive to write it calmly and coherently. If I should let run the enthusiarm I feel; if I should grasp the pencil, with the blood jumping through my veins as it does jump when I think of that glorious event now scarcely twenty-four hours old, there would be no intelligible aacount of the graud carni- val in this letter ; l.at it would be a mere chaos of black and white, with no form nor jomeliuess ; a perfect wreck ; a simple news- paper map of the Chicago fire, as it were. The opening of the London season, the coming of the Czar, did not crowd the great city to the same extent as did the day of the Derby. A Every hotel was thronged, and every lodging house full. The visitor who left his hotel accommodation till the day before found himself an uftj^irofi table wanderer of the streets until the sun of Derby day arose. At promptly a quarter-past eight o'clock that morning, m5'8elf and several friends reported at our booking-place ; and taking seatd on top of a pleasure van drawn by four good English horses, wo drove down through Charing Cross, across Westminster Bridge and swung out into the current to the Derby. It was a splendid day. A sharp the night had laid the dust, the fever of the earth, and moistened and re freshed every spear oi grass, and every root and twig. It was scarcely nine o'clock, and the par- ticular race called tha Derby (the foolish people here call it the Darby) was not to come off until nearly six hours later ; yet the street through which we were passinc to Epsom Downs was already alive with traps, and every feeding avenue was oontributiug to swell the current. And such a current I There was the gaily- painted pleasure 'bus ; the steady-going city 'bus ; the dashine four-in-hand drag, with the passengers all outside, and the richly upholstered inside filled with hampers (baskets) of food for the stomach, ram m cooled and jugs and bottles of food for reflection ' the two-wheeled dog cart, with four occu pants back to back ; the two-wheeled car, like the half of a li uskmelon-shell, with its four occupants face to face, and smiling like mad ; the stylish barouche ; the sober hack- neycoach ; the impudent and never-to-be- forgiven Hansom, with its Capt. Kidd at the back, nnd a pair of outraged victims in the front, holding up » basket of victuals, and yelling like demons ; the steady-going one- horse chaise ; the carriage of the aristocrat, with dumpy, gnarled, and grotesquely- jacketed postilions jf.aiping along with fea- tures as immovable as the works of a cheap watch ; the little pony phaeton ; the -'uaint cart of the costermonger, with the coster- monger himself, and the costermonger's wife and the costermonger's children, as boisterous a crowd as is on the street we are now cantering along at a lively pace. There are other traps of different kii-ls with whose cognomens J have no acquaint- ance,, but all looking clean and nice, and none ■» orked up for the occasion, as is the caso of our carryalls metamorphosed from dirt-waggons, and embellished with cheap- coloured paper. The English gentleman thinks a great deal of his horse, and wants a trap that wifl bear him proper company. We are getting out of the bustle and rattle of the city now, and are bowling along through little ^brick hamlets, b}' glorious hedges, brick- walled gardens, and staring but merry people. * Everybody knows it is the Derby, the great race day of England, and famous the world over ; and everybody from far and near is goipg to Epsom Downs, or is here along the roadside, watching the thousands who are more fortunate. We are oui; on the road now ; and there are two streams of horses and traps pouring toward the race, but not a solitary trap coming the other way. We have got the road all to ourselves ; and from the top of our van we can see ii. both d>ections a moving black mass, with here and there a white dress or hat, or a coloured parasol, to relieve the darkness. Along the roadside are hurrying pedestri- ans ; and boys who turn somersaults, and disclose the wrong side cf their pants, for the trifling sum of a penny from some good- natu ed party ; and filthy-looking women, \Fith dirty babies in their arms, begging, for the love of God, for a penny to buy food, and swearing like a trooper when the occasion required. Here and there is a weary child, raggeil and soiled, curled up on the cool grass, and ■M Di ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. 23 •odfor reflection* with four occu two-wheeled car, ion-shell, with its I, and smilin;; like 1 ; the sober hack- and never-to-be- Capt. Kidd at the id victims in the of victuals, and steady-going one- of the aristocrat, and grotesquely - J along with fea- works of a cheap .eton ; the -"uaint with the coster- le costermouger's ger's children, as on the 8t»-eet we a lively pace. >f different kinds ave no acquaint- in and nice, and :casion, as is the imorphosed from ished with cheap- thinks a great deal irap thai will bear ■e bustle and rattle bowling along lets, bj' glorious IS, and staring but the Derby, the and famous the dy from far and owns, or is here ng the thousands now ; and there nd traps pouring t a solitary trap n all to ourselves ; we can see m >lack mass, with ress or hat, or » the darkness, lurrying pedestri- Homersaults, and their pants, for from some good- -looking women, irms, begging, for y to buy food, and hen the occasion ,Ty child, le cool grass, «nd ragged f^st asleep, dreaming of the glory that his litUt legs have failed to bring him to ; and by him or over him step the walking throng, hesitating not to " chaif^f broadcloth and saiiu, but careful not to disturb the sleep of tired rags. What a grand impulse is thie of a hurry- ing, giddy English throng to guard the slum- ber of a soiled and tattered waif ! And he is thus sleeping, uncoiiacous of the haste, the noise, and the shrill gaiety passing about and over him, rests as quietly and retired as if on the roof of Schuyler Colfax's house. Mis- erable boy 1 how can he be so happy under a monarchical form of government ? I could not help but think, if he had been on a Yankee road, going to a Yankee race, the case would have assumed a different aspect. Even the recording angel would have some difficulty in accounting for him. The farther we left Loudon behind, the denser became the crowd of vehicles, and the more numerous grew the hampers and jugs. Facetious ioiiividuals with false noses and false whia.iers attract a torrent of observa- tion ; and every one passing or being passed was 8crean)ud at, and screamed back again, until our faces were as red as a country schoolhouse, and our throats too sore to breathe through. Here and there on the way was a public house, whose presence was made known by the momentary blockading of the road created by the teams turning up to its door ; and, rattling by them, we see all the para- phernalia of a l)oisterou8 crowd enjoying itself. Here are several traps unloading ; others spreading a lunch, or balancing bottles and jugs ; hostlers cj. ^nging the noses of the animals ; postilions running about ; people shouting and laughing their way in and out of the house ; negro minstrels making discor- dant uproar on inoffensive instruments ; and 'Waiters, drivers, and passengers butting into each other, and trying to get into a rage, ■bat iguominiously failing. Pretty soon we came in sight of the rail- >road, And saw train after train, loaded to its lallest carrying capacity, shooting rapidly srosB the landscape, and on the way to ipsom. It was noon ; but the people were not ^ tired. Three full hours we had been on the .>' way ; but there was no abatement of the Bpirit or ubaiiing. Every odd man, every man with two women when he ought to huvo had but one, «very man with no woman, every woman with a sunshade, every woman without a jsuunhade, everybody in general, everybody •a particular, was chaffed. It was a day when all England was demo- cratic ; when no man became responsible for his language or actions, as long as he confined them within the bounds of decency. To an American unused to such licence and have it legal, unused to such boundless good- nature in a mob and have it universal, the scene was mo',t inspiring. Being an American, I banged my heels into the roof of the 'bus, and laughed like a lunatic. I was laughing like that when we came in sight of the Downs, the grand stand, the picketed carriages, the booths, and the bubbling confusion of a great concourse of people. This was the racing-ground at Epsom — the Downs, so called. From familiarity with a place through notable events connected with it, we a-ri apt to ascribe to it features peculiar to the events in question, and which are not com- mon to any other place. Yet, after all, the Dei by is but one race of many scores on a race-track. Epsom Downs is a piece of open country. The greater portion of the track is on the slope of a ridge, which has a similar slope oppo- dite. The track is full a hundred feet in breadth, I should think, and is of turf, not in any way distinguishal)le from any portion of the Downs. The racing is in the saddle, and not by driving. There is nothing remarkable about the turf, or the earth under it, or the trees and hedges in the distance. They are just like other turf, other earth, and other trees and hedges seen from a distance. No one, unless mounted on the grand stand, can see the whole track at one view. A ridge in the centre obstructs the view, but affords room for eating-booths and extra- ordiuary side-shows. I am not over here to describe the race, the waiters, the time, or the emotions of the beholders. These are matters the interested are already acquainted with in the daily papers. I merely tell what I saw among the people ; for that was all new to me, and entertained me. Yet wherever I might go, I could see only a part of the track. Shortly ftfter our arrival, a race came off. I wan right in front of the grand stand, and flat* tered myself that I was taking it all in. I had about six square inches of room, and was enjoying myself. Pretty soon there was a* cry of " Here they come !" The crowd, which had up to this instant remained comparatively quiet, here com- menced to agitate; and, fruin tryinir to see the race, I came to have % well-grounded I 24 ENGLAND FROM a BACK-WINDOW. 1 i 1 ^ l' auxiety as to whether I should ever see my childhood's home agaiu. » I lost all interest in the race ; in fact, I forgot all about it for a moment, and fell to struggling with the mass to save my life. The more I kicked and pushed and pro- tested, the narrower space I was penned into. I began to feel scared. I told several of the people about me, that, if they didn't quit pushing, I would bring them before the highest tribunal in the land, but it had no visible effect uponr them ; although we cannot look into the hearts of men, and tell what they suffer, especially in such a crowd as I was now in. But the race was over in a moment ; and the crowd surged away to the paddocks, leaving me a chance tj get out and feel of myself. I lost no time in getting across the course through the line of carriages on the other side, and up the sloping ridge to the amusement and eating vans. In front of these there were not now many people; and here I could sit on the turf and shake my tist (figuratively) at the black mass of people opposite, and the white mafs of Uiasonry back of them. I imagine racing in England occupies a more elevated position than racing in Ame- rica. Here among this throng were nobles, priests, and peasants, everybody excited, everybody thoroughly interested. There were other features different from the same scene on American grounds. There was a great deal of loud talking and swind- ling, and grit in the liam sandwiches ; but there were no broils. When one man fell over another, he don't move away without explaining •' what in h — 11 he did that for ;" but he turned round and said, " Beg pardon, sir ;" and the other man said, ' ' All right, " und brushed himself off without any ado. There are impossible feats on the horizon- tal bar, of course, and wild Indians, and men with one eye in the middle of their valuable heads (which with two good eyes would not be worth anything;), and other monstrosities; but these are common to all countries which are civilized and have religious freedom. But there were other sights which I never saw before, and which interested me by their novelty. The most favourite recreation was the cocoanut game. It consisted of ten to twenty stakes (the number varying according to the capital of the proprietor) held upright in baskets of earth, and sustaining each a oocoanut. Back of these, as a guard, was stretched a strip of canvas. There were also u number of stakes, about fifteen inches in length, to be thrown at the stakes holding the cocoanuts. A penny entitled the thii-ster after cocoanut to three of the short etftUes. The cocoanuts were placed in a line, with Sum space of five feet between them. The throweSrer stood at the front, about thirty feet off, and^tse having spit on Ilis hands, fired away. eight If he knocked down a stake, and the co Th coanut fell outside of the basket,, he wa^aud, entitled to the luxury. I don't know how a stn the proprietor (who stood among the stakes, fasil and resnt them as they fell over) mounted ||be a those cocoanuts ; but it was rarely that one ti Th of them dropped outside the small basket. Mid They went in there with a precision that waa Iteav highly exasperating to the thrower, who, iind however indifferent he pretended to feel at other the commencemsnt of the game, grew deadly ^prd in earnest as he saw his chances dwindling. ||each When several engaged in the play at ^ I f once at a single stand, it made lletti lively work for the proprietor down among feces the standing and flying stakes. Kis own lb at' cocoanut appeared to be the only one he was the v in danger of losing. perm I don't know how it would feel to be enori struck in the pit of the stomach with one of tfuiet those stakes ; for, although 1 had some ttomp curiosity to learn, I carefully smothered the Oiontr feeling. But I imagine, from their weight i I (about two pounds), that a man running ife'-ak against one with his abdomen would have a |||8 tl very large and respectable funeral, although tbok j he might not get around in time to attend it inke himself. the gi I have said there was a canvas guard up «ours( to prevent the stakes from flying too far, Ipake or hitting innocent people. Once in a while Jyind a stake hurled by some vehement admirer of s> b( cocoanuts would go over the canvas, and ^tl^atcl alight among people who never pretended tl^ th' not to feel surprised by the occurrence. ijpeck One man kept at the sport until he won |»opl' five cocoanuts. I^e I am thankful to this hour that I did not f|)ace. have to sleep with him that night. Some of the proprietors used sawdust cushions and cheap dolls in place of the nuts. Once in a while some lady would try her^ hand at throwing the clubs. When she commenced, every married man left the neighbourhood with precipitation. The others remained until they got flattened out with a wipe along the jaw ; when they jumped up, and left too. One lady in throwing a stake struck an aunt by marriage, and broke in two of her teeth. The aunt wan standing iu rear of her, and, having got a tent between both, thought she was comparatively 8«cure. It only teaches us how mutable are the things of this earth. I don't suppose the people on the grand stand were really safe at the time. There was the game of skillets, a sort of ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 25 id in a liue, with ; I them. The throwe: thirty feet off, aud fired away, stake, and the co 1 basket,, he was I don't know hon , among the stakes, Fell over) mounted was rarely that one ) the small basket, a precision that was the thrower, who, )retended to feel at 1 game, grew deadly chances dwindling. 3d in the play at stand, it made 'ietor down among stakes. Kia own ;he only one he was would feel to be tomacb with one of lough 1 had some ally smothered the fr'^m their weiglit t a man running men would have a e funeral, although in time to attend it canvas guard up om flying too far, . Once in a while ihement admirer of ir the canvas, and never pretended le occurrence, port until he won our that I did not it night. ore used sawdust I place of the nuts. Ay would try her clubs. When she 3d man left the jcipitation. The got flattened out jaw ; when they i stake struck an ie in two of her nding in rear of t between both, ively secure. It le are the things 3po8e the people really safe at the dumsy ninepins, the pins being knocked Over by a huge flat circular block of lignum- vitie thrown by a person standing off some eight or ten feet. The platforms used were of course boards ; tffxd, when the pins came down among them, tt stranger with his back to the affair was easily pardoned for jumping straight up in the air without premeditation. There were all sorts of peoplt about me, pnd most all English. There were men with heavy top-boots, and others with leggings, ftnd others in full suits of velveteen, and others with knee-breeches, and many in. Ijprduroy, and a few with flaming red vests iteaching down to their hips. I didn't hear the uproarious bluster in the betting, characteristic of the few American iftces a kind Providence has permitted me to attend. The excitement of the raen in the wagering was of that intense kind that permitted of but little noisy escape. But enormous sums were exchanged in a very quiet way ; ar i Ihe losers didn't make anj- ^mplaint, although they sought to exert no Control over their lower jaws. I was standing on this central ridge I ^a>^:;ak of, and opposite the grand stand and jl^ thronged *ving8, when the Derby race took place. I saw the horses go around to tifcke the jiosition (for they do not start from the giand stand, and m^ke the circuit of the urse in a heat, but take position back, and iiake but three-quarters of the course, ^nd ij^ind up at the grand stand) ; and knowing it ^ be the Derby, the famous FJerby, I -patched the proceedings intently. Away li^ the course, on each side, was^a mass of l^ckled black and gray, which were the ople. The course could not be seen for e multitude ; for they thronged every ce. Then the police, the wonderfully cient London police, swooped down upon ihe occupiers of the course ; and, in a very few moments, not a single human foot pressed its soft turf. It was free, and shone op among the dense mass of people like an emerald band around the neck of a mortified individual. A rather pretty simile, I take it. All of us strained our eyes to the long •Weep of course visible to us. Every breath ■eemed to be held in abeyance ; and for a full moment there was a dead silence, where but as instant before was a Babd of voices. Then Otftne the cry of " There they oorae ! " And Wire enough, there they came around the tarn — the fleet horses, with their monkeyish •ttired jockeys on their backs, just as you l|lve seen it in the public prints a score of es. The tails of the animals stuck stiaitjht out, killetft, a sort of Attd they tore down that course as if some cruel devil had been fooling around them with lighted eamphene. We could see tliem bound over the greensward between the lines of the massed humanity, and hear the shouts of the people as the red shirt, and blue shirt, and white shirt, and yellow shirt whizzed past. Then thoy reached the grand stand, and the black and gray multitude surged like a stormy sea out into the course again, and moved irr. sistibly up to that point. The great Derby was over ; the event of the year had gone to be numbered with the past ; and thousands of pounds were lost and won, and thousands of expectations realized and blasted. And after that the enormous throng of people, with their twenty thousand vehicles, began to look about for the home-start ; and from that time until near midnight the huge army was in motion. Many hundreds of people had come to Epsom by the cars to-day who had previously gone by road. On this day there can be no class distinctions in the trains — the greasy and dirty and profane crowd in with the clean, the upright, and the decent ; but the dust of the road is so blinding and strangu- lating that many run the risk of indecent language and putrefied breaths to get rid of the dust. But it had rained the night before, and the road out was as free of dust as the kitchen of a New England farmhouse ; yet many of the gentlemen taking the road had provided green veils, which were idly twisted about their black and white hats, and added a picturesque effect to the scene. If the drive out was a season of gayety, the drive in was a grand carnival. The frolic now became more definitely boisterous. Each of the drags, and many of the omnibuses, were provided with bugles. Scores of men had taken on falue noses and whiskers, or adorned themselves with little wooden dolls of pliable limbs, which they worked in all directions, according as their taste suggested, or the occasion seemed to demand. These dolls were stuck in their hat-bands, pinned to their breasts, or held in the hand. I do not doubt that there were at least five thousand of them on the line home- wards. It is an odd conceit ; but crowds arO given to odd conct'ts. There was also another feature of the pro- cession which was not quite so harmless as that of the dolls. It was the pea-shootera M ith which the outside passengers had pro- vided themselves, and busily used on passing fellows, to the great danger of their eye- sight. We finally got away from the grounds, 26 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. and took our place as a particle in the mass which was rapidly melting off and escaping through the caaunel of the highway to Lon- don. The road w»i thronged, was frequently blocked, and at no tirue passableat a greater speed than a walk. But the chaffing, and flying peas, and con- vulsive dolls iftntinued without abatement. We branched off to another road for relief, but succeeded only in reaching another and equally strong current of leather, flesh and wood, and jumping into it at the first open- ing, our gaily-coloured van was swept along with the current. Wliat a jolly, rollicking crowd was that ! Uow they huzzaed and sang and laughed, and chaffed their neighbours and villagers,' and sounded their bugles ! Every one of the numerous villages of brick and cobble we passed through contri- buted its enthusiastic witnesses to the pa- geant ; and, as we rolled through the paved and narrow high street, we were saluted from every door and window, «nd*saluted in return with a vigour that show- ed there was nothing small about us. Old men in the procession whooped with the reat. Middle-aged and fleshy women, resting back in their seats, shook sandwiches and vegetables at their turbulent fellows ; while others, mounting their handkerchiefs on their sticks, swung them to the breeze, or waved wine-bottles and wint-glasoes above their heads. Men, women, and children, in the carriage, on the walk, or in the window, threw kisses, winks, amorous glft>.ces, and rather broad innuendoes, at each other, with a freedom that was appalling to a stranger. Some of the ladies looking over garden- walls or from lattice windows, did not seem to ap- preciate the delicate attentions spooney young men were levelling at them from the top of the 'buses and drags ; but others answered back as cordially as was sent to lihem. Here and there on the green turf, by the roadside, a family had drawn up their trap, and, with a white cloth before them, had spread out a tempting meal, and were doing ample justice to it, cutting, chewing, drink- .ing, and shouting in one breath. Here, in a garden to a public -house, in front of which were a stamping and noisy orowd of men and horses, were long tables hastily set, with scores of our fellow-travel- lers taking tea, ale, wine, and sandwiches as coolly and as calmly as if the road, which a hedge separated from them, was not trem- bling beneath the weight of an uproarious Derby crowd. pro en It was nine o'clock, and still daylight, an Yoi we were three hours on the road ; but yet v^jth had not come into London. pjjg j^ All about were broad green fields, acres juBin* smooth turf and beautiful park, hedges aijlerka gardens, blossoms and scents, cottage an^^^i hall. ;^e sei The roar of the multitude grew in magiim^i tude. Imagine a hundred and fifty thousais^„]j, people bent on having fun, and hurting n> l)ody, let loose through two noble highway^ and you get an idea of the society I fouug^^ myself in. It was such a good-natured throng, and susceptible to sensation ! It laugned at^]^.; hedge, screamed at a tree, shouted at a cloui^ and roared at a breeze. We came into the suburbs of London lili a victorious army encumbered with spoiijiiDina The crowds on the walks grew denser as \^^ v< progressed, until it did seem as if auothtjik^tar universe had turned out to meet us. ^1 g^ The chaffing grew fearfully thick at th^yinj stage ; and little boys, with each a pqund down flour held together by the feeble offices of jtidex- paper bag, stole surreptitiously alongside liorse our vans and cars, and donated us the p^und y eels with a heartiness that spoke well Uplajes their generosity, but wore on the paper. Ti^ high party on our van looked like a crowd of ii Ri„ diguant millers trying to climb a fence. rfaid" ■axen CHAPTER XL Red 1 le a th It is only of such sights as may be obtaiiSiien ed from the top of an omnibus that I speal S^aAnrl These are common to the eye of every pede^ff^p.w trian, and are the contrasts to his own cityest a which most directly appeal to him. 1£ I should go down into the depths woe in this great city, I am afraid there not paper enough in Paternoster Row to giv| the details of the poverty, crime, and habit|^ of the denizens. To tell the truth, the moii I go about London, the more painfully am beatin impressed with the impossibility of seeing a.| of it, or even half of it. I wish I could ' certain of seeing one-third of it uuring ml sojourn of siiC weeks. And yet there ai[ Americans by the thousand who remain i| London scarcely one week, and hasten on Paris to stay a month. The streets of London do not claim attei| tion by their breadth, straightness, or comtj liness of buildings ; but the life and aninir*^ tion characterizing them from nine o'clocjj ' a.m. to twelve o'clock p.m. attract, anij quite frequently fascinate, the stranger. London is made up of Englishmen, Auier^ cans, and foreigners ; and the last-named atT 80 scarce 9s to be i»uu»«?diately noticeable. STREET SCENES. \ ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 27 '*? ^*'"/*y''8^*' anSrou do not see here an English builder ^the road; but yet ^T^tj^Qerman workmen and Irish servants. "' - . The merchants.the manufacturerers, and the green nelds, acres juginess-men generally, arc English ; their tul park, hedges aii,igj.kg ^nd workmen are English; the coach- scents, cottage an^en are English ; the porters are English ; . , . :he servant-girls are English ; the newsboys ;itude grew in magnj^d bootblacks, and gamins generally, are red and fifty thousa^i^gliHl,. ' s, b j fun, and hurting n^ Wherever you turn, you see English, two noble highwajm,„ii8h, English. It is an imposing specta [ the society I fouujjgf Broad jaws, sloping shoulders, red cheeks, itured throng, and ^^^^ hair, side whiskers, gaiters, round •n ! It laugned at jack-coats, stiff hats, canes, umbrellas, and ie, shouted at a clou,jye.j^iagse8„ai) Er .lish. There is the large , , Englishman just coming along in a suit of burbsof London hlote^.]^ goods, with broad chest, swelling imbered with sp(.iJg^,o,i,ach, fat cheeks delicately checked with ks grow denser as Vr6d veins. The stick he carries in his hand 1 seem as if anothig gtanch enough to knock down a horse. I 6 to meet us. ^na going to say a bullock, only I recollect sirfu.iy thick at tlijiaving seen a man at a cattle-market knock with each a pqund down bullock after bullock - ith simply the the feeble offices of intiex-fiDger of his right hand; so I say titiously alongside horse advisedly. He uses that stick too, donated us the p:^»nd you can distinctly see every time he that spoke well Upjj^ gj, jj (|own on the pavement. He wears • ' ahigh hat. of i' Eiuht behind him is a thin )re on the paper d like a crowd cliinb a fence, R XL ;enes. young man in plaid suit, with a round-top hat, a light Saxen moustache, blue eyes, a scarcely de- fined line of hair on each cheek, He has a cane also, but carefully guards against strik- ing; the pavement with it. He wears a pro- its as may be obtaiinjJnent nose. mnibus that I speal And next to him is a pair of very flowing e eye of every pedegide-whiskers, a suit of black with white 'asis to his own city^t and enormo"8 seals, blue eyes, red )eal to him. cJiecks, and a stick grasped in the middle, into the depths (j^nd carried at an angle of forty-five or less am afraid there idegrees. ernoster Row to giv Then there is the oldish man, with very y, crime, and hahilittle whiskers anyway, in rusty black, with the truth, the rndtj^ gilk ha^ that seems to have just come from more painfully am Ideating a score of boys out of a yard. He ssibihty of seeing a^ a forelock combed to the front: has wa- I wish I could literj' eyes, and a nose that requires a great ird of it uuring II deal of attention, but is neglected, I And yet there '"^fcr- and who remain i^'hen,too, there is the clerk, in a suit of ek, and hasten on ti^ck, with white tie, a thin body, thinner l^s.no beard, and a high hat. I don't uuder- do not claim attti stand him ; for he is not distinctly English. kraightness, orconul think I have seen hitn before. the life and aninir— ;^l)out these are men in caps, heavy white m from nine o'cldc jpi-ons, and loose sack-coats, who are either p.m. attract, ai porters or mechanics. , the stranger, -And among them all is the London boy. Englishmen, Amor f.-never get tired of studying the Londi.n d the last-named a! bov There is so much of him !— not in- iately noticeable dividually, but collectively. Individual he is slim, with generally a white, unhealthy face, spindling legs, and rather narrow back of the head. He wears pants tight to his shrinking shanks, and a cap that makes him look like an orphan boarding with a maiden aunt, who, in early life, met with a disappoint- ment. He is a poor boy, without doubt, always on the street, and always in the way. I never saw such a boy in any other city. He is Hot quarrelsome, not saucy, not ad- dicted to smoking ; and I never heard one of them swear, even under the most favour- able circumstances. To tell the truth, I never heard them say much of anything. He is a helpless youth, addicted to store windows, rubbing against buildings, and toppling over obstructions. He has a dread- ful tendency to be always backing up against soniethiug, and always missing it, to the detriment of his bones. Only they do not fall with sufficient force to break a bone. I have seen one of thern slide from the side of a lamp-post, turn a part somers.'iult, recover himself, hit up against the post again, slip off the curb, and gradually get down on his back in the gutter, taking in all some dozen seconds to do it ; while an American boy would go down, and stave a hole in the back of his head, and make a doctor's bill of eighteen dollars, iu less than a second. But the English are so conservative I We don't see snch quaint-looking charac- ters at home as we do here. The oddities of the several nations are so blended in America as to be materially dulled ; but here, where there are no new and diverse elements coming in and uniting with the native, the quaint is well defined and well preserved. I have always i;thoiight thafDickens and Cruickshank were fearful exaggerators ; but I have met with a revulsion of feeling. But whatever that is odd, in figure, dress, or speech, to a visitor, seems to be all right to the people here, sacredly as they are de- voted to chaffing. Into a restiaurant the other day came a man who was a marvel of angles and an- tiquity. He was over six feet in height, but would not weigh a hundred and twenty- five pounds. His clothing was black, and most wonderfully ill-fitting. He wore a black stock, over which his sharp chin dangled in a desponding manner. There were black cotton gloves on his wonderfully long hands ; and he carried them as if they were.fuU to the brim of precious liquids. His was a large mouth, of the shape of a letter-box aperture ; and his very red and very prominent gums shone conspicuously through. He had a large nose of the colour 28 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. of the gums ; large, watery eyes. His hair was light Itrown, rather thiu, and plastered down to his head, his cheeks, and his neck. A rusty-looking black hat with an enormous crape band completed the spectacle. He was a clergyman, without doubt ; and a dissenter, perhaps. Remembering that a graveyard was near, I moved about uneasily; but the attendants and gulsts took no par- ticular notice of him. He bought a penny bun, asking the price in a sepulchral voice ; and stood in the middle of the floor, and ground away at the insignificant bread as if he were a grist-mill, with a half-ton of corn in each clutch. The photograph windows are objects of great interest here as elsewhere ; but it is noticeable how fond the English are of view- ing the pictures of royalty. Wherever they are exposed, there is sure to be a knot of in- ttiuse admirers. I think they attract even more attention thau the pictures of bare- legged actresses ; and would say so if I were sure of being believed. I suppose every one of us who come here has an unquenchable lon»ing to look with our own eyes upon a member of the royal family. It is not to admire them that we have this desire ; but we want to abhor them. I think that is the feeeling. I made many an effort to get at the royal family, that I might abhor them, before success crowned my attempts. I have gone twenty miles to abhor a single member of the Queen's household. There are but few advantages to the many drawbacks of being royal. A royal person in business has the advantage, when travel- ling, of not having to look up an hotel, on arriving at his destination, under the tortur- ing supervision of a hardened cabman. That is about the only advantage 1 can detect. But to offset this is a multitude of disad- vantages, and it takes a multitude to do it. The Queen goes nowhere really. She is the ruler ot all Britain ; but I wager there are hundreds of streets in her own city of Lon- don which she never saw. How often she has heard of Cheapside, and wondered how it looked ! How much she has read of the gaiety of the watering places, and sighe.i for just one glimpse ! How frequentlyshe has been told of the excitement of the Derby road, the exhilaration of a ride on the top of a stage coach, the fascination of legerdemain, the glory of the ballet, the comfort of old inns, the rustic beauty of England's farm- houses, the glitter and charm of the lighted shops, the wonders of ,the underground rail- ways, the delight of a soda-watt r fountain in full blast, and many, many other things _'W0 .« at Butt. I'^e doll / wli imat (lit which the commonest subject enjoys, which she is eternally shut out from ! She has her palace and her walh gardens ; and, standing there, 'the can to the people of London, " Here you ca come. " But they, with their miles of stn^cone th and multitude of glories, can jaw back ay tl their Queen, " Here you can't come !" einsul 1 never go by these walled gardens, but Here think that there are just as envious eyes Jflure one side of the masonry as on the other, want She can walk there as much as she lik and by herself ; but there is no swappi* #eue gossip and preserve receipts over the f,'aIPK>''"i with the woman in the next house ; ndriWtty run out in the afternoon to see Mrs. Jono« lailie shawl, and to show her own. ed, f What does she know of neighbourly coii4 in forts ? What does she know of the exquisJft ban enjoyment of badgering a shopkeeper inPtuuus lunacy over a paper of hairpins, or of t Whetl subtle excitement of hoarding up old rags ■houlc exchange for new tin ? ^ tsome However, I was going to speak of roy.-il The la photographed ; and to show' that the aai!rk. This trophy belongs to him by riyht ^e performance of duty. But Ue does not gallery on the fac*'* '* sent around to the house after the enough to accoirenumy ; he shoves it into his pocket at the Queen pjoiny i'"®- in quest of a ])h-A- wule-awake active prince, with a plea- and twenty nohlA* exterior, picks up many a penny in this f dozen knights *y» ^^^^ ^'^"S keeps the wolf from the rteen squires aht ..or. back of her twel\^*""' '^^ *"P "^ *h® omnibus we frequent ne u •ts )f four yards lon| them, the loi ps, all the forei; ord mayor, a coupl oldiers back of tl assortment low archways, up which we catch a e of business that astonishes. They business lanes or courts of London, idth is generally eight feet, sometimes more, and sometimes a trifie less, I rry to say. They are paved with flag- them.and thehii»«» a"*^ yo" enter and leave them througu g up the rear ini( *'*^'- In this narrow, choked way are blie houses, book-shops, chemists' shops, ould stand that«l*ve» dry-goods shops; not dingy whole- could, his stair® ;fl»ces, but bright, showy retail shops, nice spectacle Pf^^^^ probably let into the sides of the with the lord mayi^W^K^ which form the lane centuries ago, each ambassador <^^^ people became progressive, and de- «a to spread ; and they are too valuable to ling around wit*<^"P- There are a score of such places in )aper of hair-piii3^^> limits,— the old city, 1 mean. And the wrotched vv then there are little courts of no pretension, which seem to sneak along between two buildings, and suddenly disappear in the yawning door of a public-house ; but on ap- proaching the door, you see a narrow way to the right or left, a sort of forgotten entrance to a backyard, and, pushing through it,— two cannot pass it at once. — you are in a bustling street or court devoted to business or residences. The immense house of Rout- ledge & Sims, the well-known publishers, is in just such a court. We occasionally meet a man pushing a cart before him, and keeping well in the gut- ter. He has a pile of sorry-looking meat before him. Once in a while he stops ; and a boy or girl comes to th<- cart, gets a piece of the meat, pays him a penny or so for it, and retires, and he goes on. I was watching him the other day, when I observed him draw up before a cat standing on the walk. I heard him say, " Well, Kitty, is that you ?" and then cut ^ a piece of meat. He held down hip unoc^ ^lied band, and the cat dropped a penny into it. This freed her mouth, and enabled her to take the meat which he now passed her. Then he said, "Good-bye, Kitty," and trundled away; and the cat stepped into the opposite store. I have frequently seen dogs come out to trade with this cat-and-dog-meat merchant ; but I never knew one of them to bicker about the price. What a lesson this is to humanity ! Sitting on the top of the omnibus, we find there are several popular institutions miss- ing. We don't see any street shaUe trees, rarely a hitching- post, still more rarely a street-sweeper, and no milkman's rattling cart and cheery beli. Th^ milkmen here are called cowket pers. That 18 a pretty name ; but they don't keep cows, which rather dims the lustre of their escutcheon (whatever that is). They get their milk, as we do ours, from outsiders, and carry it around in two cans suspended from a yoke carried over the shoulder. That doesn't look as pretty as our four-wheeled, gaudily-painted affairs ; but it suits Lon- doners, as it doesn't deprive them of sleep, and it gives the carrier an expression of . thoughtfulness (especially when the cans _ are full) that is quite captivating. Londoners don't seem to like noises. They have nothing but the clocks tc» apprise them of the working and knocking-off hour ; no nice cast-iron bell in a cupola, rung by a bullet-headed youth ; no nice whistle on the top of a mill. They don't like such thingy, these Londoners don't. But thoy have chimes, — forty of them within the space of 30 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. a quarter of a mile, — that not only ring out the hour in a strain that drives you mad, but sound every blessed quurter in the same manner. You don't much mind them through the day, when the carts and waggons take off the edge ; but when in the stilly night you are on your couch, dreaming that an angel is beading over you with a harp in one haad, and a post-office appoint- ment in the other, it attracts your attention, and seems to disturb the angel. CHAPTER XII. IK THE UILDKW. London has several world-known churches. St. Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, the Temple Church, and St. Bartholomew the Greater, are prominent in the number. Four-tif ths of the noted men of the past with whom the American people are ac- quainted lie buried in London, and within a radius of ten miles. Their ashes are glori- fied on tablets of stone, and still flourish in the neighbouring vegetation. As a theatre and sepulchre, Westminster Abbey and the Temple Church are tlie most prominent ; but, as a landscape view, St. Paul's Cathedral is the most conspicuous. I should like to say that its majestic dome with glowing ball of gold is the tirst indica- tion to the traveller of his approach to the wonderful city ; but truth compels me to write that it is a man in blue, who demands your ticket. St. Paul's is hemmed in by narrow streets, and dingy buildings devoted to commerce. It stands at the head of the crowded thoroughfare called Ludgate Hill, where it divides the stream of life, which meets again at the other side, and forms Cheapsido. The diversioas are called St. Paul's Cliurch- yard ; the one on the right or river side being devoted to the wholesale trade, while the other is given up to hoaieiy, dry-goods, and fried tripe. The building itself is an elaborate example of what London smoke will do. It was built of a whitish stone, and, when erected, must have presented a very fine appearance. But the two hundred years which have in- tervened since that time have worked a wonderful transformation. The sides of the pillars aud other prouxinences exposed to the steadiest wind-quarter are blackened. The surfaces generally are alternately black and grayish white ; and the appearance now is as 5 it were a dark building emerging from a coating of frost, the blackened portions first receivimjtherays of the sun. In the cool of early morning this impression is so strong as to ic voluntarily startle the beholder. jona The presence of stone is imposing. YoSBarl feet rests upon it, without a bright-tinteMric< pliable carpet to intervene. You stretch o^ ha your hands to grasp it ; you lift up yolS^il's, eyes and contemplate it. jiih ji: Everything about the altar, choir, a^^^oui pulpit, is rich with colour, and massivo j conception. In painful contrast are the places of t^ worshippers. Their sittings are beneath ti dome, and extend away back through nave to the front entrance. At the fro|| the seats are straight-backed aud hard bdj tomed chairs. Back of these are long wooi en benches, of repulsive simplicity. T| only advantage of these benches is broug out during an especially interesting seivicit when the humble worshipper can use tlK4»4 chi to elevate himself above those who do Df|Bing care to make themselves so conspicuous, ^h J These benches are seamed and scarrfOmen, with the knife of the autographic fiend. Tiome a bases of the pillars are in many cases siilM^e m larly blasted. ^S^'^^' About on the walls are notices prohibit! ?*orgi people from walking about during the s We 1 vice. In an American meeting-houso .t the ] such notice is ever seen. There, when trepresi service commences, no one thinks of str Joriptu ing about the church ; for every Amei i i»d a ' ineetiug-house has a deacon fifty-eight yi.»l theo] old, with steel-blue eyes, and a beard lil (Tarm-t currycomb, alongside of whom the fanre opei Spanish Inquisition tones down to a c'lntet of \ performance. ipon t The bearing of the Englishman in Ine visi church is moat respectful. They are a dsng stai religious people, and in all outward forms h« whi not lacking. The Methodists, Bapti It is i Congregationalists, and all otiiijid it i not of the Church of Englai^pm a are here called dissenters ; and tmm floo places of worship are not known as churclM-jets but simply chapels. They are not consccihia saci ed to God with the forms of the Establi.slfeont h( Church, and are, in consequence, not c; ing are sidered as being strictly holy temples. Tions on dissenters themselves further this custom Then • title by always speaking of their temple efoi'' tl chapels. They do not say " going »»ins c church," but " going to chapel." atticuh The Englishman, on going into his chui»onoton takes off his hat ; and everybody who i*^i« i companies him is obliged to do the same, fil^leoi one IS allowedlin their churches|at any tii tne he duringservic. Dr a week-day, with his li^tade of i cov.^red. I have seen the sexton of a core«»-the try church, at work in the churchyard, liiaok vel occasion to enter the door several times wiJeded oi in an hour : and on each occasion he reniSEtMt of ed his hat. w motl The Englishman who is a dissenter is 'J^» as A. ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 81 is impo8inf?. Yi 9Ut a bright-tiut Qe. You stretch o you lift up yoi articular in his chapel when tliere ia no have been to several services at St. i'fl, and on each occasion found police- nen in attendance, — in an official capacity, [le altar, choir, aif course. It was a novel sight. There was »ur, and maasivo i]io a certain degree of novelty in seeing a Httlgrcgation waving to and fro, coming in •e the places of itnA going out during the service, always in tings are beneath tiMI*Jon, always animated, always pleasant Y back through tiod cheerful ; and then to step out of the ance. At the f rodprch, and find the walks alive with smiling icked and hard bd(|ple, and the omnibuses and cabs thunder- tliese are long wo(jp over the pavement as if it were a Mon- ive simplicity. Tl»y morning or a Saturday evening ; and benches is broug^r still, as twilight came, to find the r interesting servicHftons in a blaze of light, and men, women liipper can use tluJOT children in Sunday toggery going in and e those who do wonning out. 8 so conspicuous. Ah ! brazen-faced men, and impudent seamed and scarnrWnen, and hardened youth, why do you [tographic fiend. Tiome and go at the front of the saloon ? Is in many casea siifawe no back-door in England ? Is it all in kmerica ? re notices prohibitiA#)rgive the disgression. bout during the s^W^- have looked at the bass-reliefs, stared ,n meeting 4iouse .t the paintings in the summit of the dome I, There, when trepresenting. with poor light, scenes in one thinks of sir kaipture distory), taken in the vista, and for every Amerititti a wondering gaze over the inner mass aeon fifty-eight yei(Uieologi9al masonry, so different from our es and a beard lil.tVIKrm-tiuted churches at home ; and now of whom the f a mW open on the, finance. There areanum- les down to a circ»«* of vergers within these pious walls, who, ipon the payment of admission, conduct Englishman in he visitor into the crypt, and up the wind- They are a deWt staircase of cold and gloomy stone to 11 outward formsMwhispering- gallery, bell-tower, and hall. ethodists, BaptisfflP is a sixpence to go down into the crypt, and all otliJPtt it is cheap. I never before got so much ch of Englaifibom and woe for a sixpence. It is a flag- enters ; and thi|^ floor and many low arches, lighted by known as churcli| ley are not consec ms of the Establislif )t floor ets ; for it is always on exhibition, is sacred place of the dead. They lie all t here. Tinder nearly every bit of fiag- nsequence, not o Uig are one or more bodies, as the inscrip- _r holy temples, lions ou it tell. irther this custom Then we pass to an inner crypt, and stand of their templeafii^^ the sarcophagus containing the re- not say "going HP'* ^^ Wellington. Tiie verger taps a chapel." Macular block of stone in the side, and roing into his chuvioaotonously explains that there lies all everybody who i** is mortal of the man who " basted " d to do the same. IMoleon. One is deeply aflfected. Beyond hurcheslat any tii tne hearse, whose ponderous wheels were -day. with his lit*ade of the cannon his noble army captured he sexton of a co^tt'^t'^e French. Over it is the gorgeous he churchyard, liiaok velvet pall which covered it as it pro- ■or several times' wi»« ^° ^ there was |not an ounce of cam phoi- within sixteen thousand miles of the spot. I don't mind moths much myself ; but my wife always goes for one when she sees it. Farther beyond is the sarcophagus of Hfl- son, the famous naval hero, and one of the noblest of England's best. A feeling of sadness came over me : it always does when standing before any sarcophagus. The most ostentatious whipping I ever got was for spelling the second syllable with a jf. We afterward ascended a staircase of solid stone to the first corridor in the dome, which is called the whispering gallery, from the fact that, while it is almost impossible to make one hear in hallooing across the space, yet, by putting the face to the wall, an ordinary tone of voice will go way around the vast space, and appear to be in the wall behind the listener wherever he may stand. It is not patented, I believe. From the whispering gallery we go straight tv the tower, which was on our right as we entered the church. This is the bell-tower. The other is in a state of chronic scaffolding. We approach the bell by a series of stone steps starting from the wall, and sustained only by themselves. There is no newel* post : each step depends for position on the rest in the wall, and on each other. The verger tells you it is just as secure as the earth ; but you can't help preferring the earth as you wind up, and think of your business. I walked up stairs for about four miles ; then I stopped to reflect. I believe there are other things to live for ; and so I re- traced my way, and for a fortnight after felt as if my thighs were stuffed with lead. We pass down Ludgate Street, under the bridge of the Dover and Chatham Railway, and are in the Fleet. Passing through its crowd for a way, we come to what is called Temple Bar, which now divides Fleet Street from the Strand, but which was once the city gate on the road to Westminister. When the Queen goes to the city, she passes through this gate, the keys of whicli are given her in token that the city is surrendered to her ; or some other tomfoolery to the same effect. It is a gateway without the supporting walls. There is the main gate, always choked with teams, and the smaller side- arches, and two effigies of stone in the cos- tume of seven hundred years ago. From this gateway, many centuries aero, were sus- pended, on poles, the heads of those who sacrificed themselves to the fury of the reigning parties. A head thus exposed for a couple of weeks became so damaged by the action of the weather as to rarely be of any value to the owner. S2 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. liili m !;! It is all intensely historical about lu^re, •nd I enjoy riding over the grouod on an omnibus. Just before we reMch Temple Bar, and on the right, is a projecting front of a building, ornamenteil with bright colours and gold-leaf. It is a hair-dressing saloon. Just under the uoraiue is the announcement that the building was the palace of Henry the Eighth and Cardinal Wolsey. There is an archway with a ponderous wooden gate ; and passing througn this arch brings the curious traveller into a region as foreign and unexpected as Stonewall Jackson used to be. Here are the buildings and squares which go to make up the Temple — that abode of law- yers and law-students, which corresponds to Lincoln's Inn in Chancery Lane, and Gray's Inn off Holborn. We pass down the alley-way into the open air. Just before us is the famous Church of the Knights Templars of eight hundred years ago. It was the Church of the Templars cen- turies ago ; but, when they were overcome atid annihilated, it reverted to the Crown ; and King James the First gave it to the lawyers, who were already occupying the tenemented buildings about it, and which they rented from the Templars three hun- dred years before. It is a grand church, with beautifully tinted and arched ceilings, elaborate pillars, bright coloured tiles, oaken seats, an ex- quisite altar, and a grand organ, the choice of the Tammany Judge Jeffries. Scattered over the floor of what is called the Round, being a circular building be- tween the porch and choir, are the prostrate ■effigies of those bra^e knights, who, eight hundred years ago, left Merrie England, lovers' joys, the theatre and skittles, to wrest Palestine from the ignoble Saracens. If I am not mistaken in my history, the reigning king at that period cheerfully en- couraged this remarkable filibustering ex- peilition, as it rid him of some noblemen who were rather prejudiced against his tenure of office, and who were too sharp for him, and not sufficiently sharp for them- selves. However this may be, it is just as well they went. Had they remained behind, and kept their health long enough, Crom- well would have croqueted them. Under each one of these effigies repose the remains of a filibuster. I presume — although I have no other authority — that each one of tlies.4 ' effigies is an exact copy of the original, not only in dress and accoutrements, but in; features. They were not remarkable men in iicight ■or breadth, but, dressed in the present re. fashion, would have made respectable-look iug bank-clerks and book-keepers. They were like ourselves of to-day thought, in feeling, in hope, in purpose, i ambition ; just like ourselves in every spect, excepting the liver. They had goa livers. No man with a diseased liver wouL go prancing around Palestine with a half ton of old iron and steel about him. Thuy feared death just as we do ; thet had the same clinging to life that we ivn\ have ; although in our leart of hearts we if not give them credit for it. 1 never realized it before; but I do now. I am standing within a few feet of all tha, is left of those men of whom I have hean since a child, in song, in romance, and ii history. So long ago is it since they wer clotlied in flesh, that they have seemed i myths to me, or beings who were born U live tragically, die tragically, and make enj tertaining reading for future generations. They came back from the Holy Lam I'ttttdo. arl ►w tmi f&l Inst 10 ft 8< rh( bi rd 'th( g »rk af ipp tec h en tor covered with glory, and filled with rheuiii>_Q|. ^^^ tism ; and I will wager all I own that tl^^ q. glory was frequently forgotten in the rhei-p ^jj, matism. The Just opposite the porch, as I came outi^jpg ^ the church, I found another arched openini. and, passing through it, I came into auotli court, flagged to the uttermost inch, un banked about with a wall of sombre bii tenements. The law -students are here alh" and in the middle of the court is a pumi and close to it a sewer-opening, and into tl, opening a girl with one eye is pouring a jn in 'IB, marrei the pa the ce visit, just C( ed thi aervici — - - — — . M^O'6 of slops. I stop to look at her. She is tlij^j^ig only one-eyed girl I have seen here. But tbcm • is surprising the number of one-eyed intpgopig who are to be found haunting the back-strtt 'go ^^j.] and alleys of the city. q^ ' Across in the farther corner is another an verger a smaller arch. I pass through it to a Ian jj© ^^^ and down the lane a few steps, and conic '(jiioge i a flagged plaza. Across it a most refreslsi sight comes to view. There is a little jn of turf, gravelled walks, and trees ; and the centre is a right lively fountain, filli the 'air with its grateful spray. Do y x^^ ^s a recognize that fountain, dear reader ? [}mt p^ you remember the bluff, hearty fellow wl the kii courted Sam's sister in "Martin Chuzzl-the sol wit " ? and cannot you recall how he and ti t© Xiii Kiode'st maiden watched the play of tliE^Je Iduntain in silence, and then sought <^i There .p^her's eyes, and read the sweet revelatioi Thei r- I hasten back to Fleet Street, under Uttmndi impressicdh that it has fell through the out takes e crust which Professor Tyndall talks abciiyou ar because, although within a few yards of i-^y ti its multifarious noises are not heard here, rented I pass through Temple Bar and «mergn for hov But adornr Westn ENGLAND PROM A BACK-WINDOW. 3S» T ie respectable-look jf^ g^^^^^l^ ^„j ^^wu the Sfcran.l, acrosn t-keepers. diaring Cross, through White-hull, aii.l elves of to-day ii^^aor the very window out of which liope, in purpose, iQjj^,.jgg the First steppcl in full ■selves in every r.^^^. ^j ^ frightened people trying to justify jr. 1 hey had K"; tije.nselves, and submitted to havinsr his diseased liver w..u j j^^^^j chopped oflf. Beyon.l is West- lestine with a hali^^^^g^ Abbey. Black and gray, soot and about hun. ^^^^ ^^^^^ ;^^^^ tj^^j, ^^^k right well ; and ust as we do ; ttu v^^g frost effect is reproduced here, although to life that we n.-v ^^^ ^^ elaborately as at St. Paul's, •eart of hearts wo I 'w^^^^ ia the customary graveyard about ^^' , , J tine building ; only, in this case, the bed is of )re; but I do now jj^j.^^ gravel, instead of turf. Here and there a few feet of all tlia|g ^jjg yj^P,^^ which is more like a common, *hom 1 have hear i^ gravestones let into the surface, and in romance, ami i marking the resting-place of some one who I it since they wcr ^ .^g ^^^^ ^j^^ f^^ous walls as he could, and ley have seemed s gj^-,pgj| jj^^q ^jjg^g j^g ja^ apparently con - 1 who were born t^^ted. cally, and make ei When this Abbey was built, what are its iture generations, dimt-'nsions and cost, I refer the reader to •om the Holy l"i"hi,tory, etc., for the information. If I have tilled with rheum; jp,^. <.„ gjy^ |.^g length, width, depth, age.and r all I own that 11^,0,^. „f gyg^y historical building, I shall give rgotten in the rhei„p ^i.e trip, and go home. The interior beauty of this grand struc- rch, as I came out i^Pe exoels the exterior in that it is not ther arched opeuiii!: ^^rred by smoke ; but it is sadly marred by I came into auotli. ^1,^ partition and stalls of wood which choke uttermost inch., an ^^ central pillars. I entered it, on my first vail of sombre mv vigit, at the side entrance, and a service was idents are here al^ jm,t commencing. I took a seat, and watch- he court isapuuiied the people drop in. All the while the ipening, and into tl.j^vice continued. The singing and responses eye is pouring a ]);i ,fere beautiful when I did not look at the at her. She la tlijj|tie boys in whita robeg who performed e seen here. -""^ flpui ; but seeing them yawn, and eye the er of one-eyed me^ple reproachfully for dragging them out iting the back-strtt!|0 g^rly in the morning, considerably modi- fled my enjovment. Aftei* the service the orner is another an vergers came down from their stalls, and fell through it to a lan'to work collecting admission fees from V steps, and conn ifchose who desired to investigate the build - it a most refresliii jug, here is a little parg|^ut it is hardly to see the building, or its rnnient, that an American comes to istminster. The edifice is attractive to as an historical tomb. Within its Walls, principally under its floors, are buried king, the wit, the poet, the genius, and soldier, from Edward the Confessor down Livingstone the Confounder. All this iderful pressure of history is right here. 1 then sought * i^ There are no branch concerns, le sweet revelatioi There is so much of tragic history sur- st Street, under tlxo«tiding the lives of these people, that it U through the out takes some moments to grasp the fact that yndall talks alxu you are at their very graves, treading where n a few yards of i they trod, and seeing what their very eyes •e not heard hero, rested upon. You would fain stand there J Bar and «mergfl ifgjf hours, and panorama before your mind's and trees ; and ely fountain, filli ful spray. Do y dear reader ? ', hearty fellow wl "Martin Chuzzli 8call how he and tl d the play of tli vision all the scenes and incidents which made them famous ; but there is the verger going through his monotonous drawl, and poking you along farther into the maae. That is the great nuisance of sight-seeing here. You are rushed about from point to point; anil, from trying to store your mind with impreHsi.'tus, y<,u fall to looking out for the siifety of your legs. You are up to your neck in romance, and over your head in his« tory ; and your whole performance is a reck* less and aimless effort to cluw your way out. The impressions which you receive are but transitory ; they come and go like a Hash ; and, after you are bowed out doors, you feel as if you had taken a prominent part in a boiler explosion, and are just about as clear as to the details I passed by scores of kings and queens and pt^ers ent'unbed, I walked over acres of others, and wondeied how they could be so careless with their dead. I got up from the service which I witne^Hud on en- tering the building, and found I had been sitting on an entire family. I was glad when we reached the chapel of Edward the Confessor — that unapprtiaciiabje fraud of the eleventh century — because here everything is so unique and antique, that even the verger could not prevent me fiom noting it. It is but a panelled portion of the grand nave of the church, and was built by one of the multitudinous Henrys. In it is iihe lofty shrine, the most imposing in the country, of Edward, the weakest and most insignificant of England's kings. At one side of the chapel, near the entrance, is the tomb of Edward the First, who, being a tall, gaunt cliap, was appropriately dubbed " Longshanks " by an affectionate people. The tomb of Longshanks is remarkably homely; but is warm and comfortable inside, I presume. There are several sculptures along the walls representing the Confessor seeing the Devil dance on some money-casks, having an interview with St. John the apostle, and blind people recovering their sight by washing their eyes in his soap-suds, and other equally sensible and important phases ascribed to his life. But the object of most engrossing interest is the chair in which Edward the First was crowned six hundred years ago. It is a rough specimen of work, and in America would have long ago " made the kettle boil;" but here it is not only preserved, but used, as every reigning man and woman since his time have received their coronation in it. Time has destroyed what beauty there ever was to it, and the unsparing knife of the autographic demon has been even more aggressive than the scythe. Beneath this emblematical chair is an 34 ENGLAND FROM A BACICWINDOW. r ;9 irregular shaped stone, nearly black, and Weichiiig about fifty pounds, ou which the ancient Kings of oootland were crowned. It is said to be the same stone on which Jacob rested his head when he hud his won- derful dream ; but, owing to an indulgence in a plate of cherries quite lato the night be- fore, I was not well enough to give that credence to the story which it undoubtedly deserves. \ One very objectionable feature of the Abbey mauAgoment is the permission given to bullet-headed young men to make copies of the brass etiigie»> on the tombs. This is done by covering them with a sheet of white paper, and reproducing the impression by rasping over the paper with a smooth bit of wood. When you were a boy, you did nearly the same thing on a cent, but, I cha- ritably hope, without any idea of what it would degenerate into. There were two young men engaged in this devilish work while our verger was grinding out the programme. I tried to drive them through the opposite w»ll with a fiery eye, but was not successful. I won- dered why the verger didn't call for an axe, and split them open from But he didn't. Finally, just as I was about to crawl under one of the tombs, out of hearing, a tall Ohioan in the party, equally distressed with myself, called out, — " Come, young gentlemen, don't you see you are disturbing people?" They looked around, " I should think you would know better," he went on to say, " than to bring such work in a place like this. If the sacred and holy associations of this temple, with its illustrious dead, don't soften you, I will. " They didn't say anything ; but I saw by their looks that they decidedly preferred the illustrious dead as a softener ; and the rasp- ing was not resumed in our hearing. CHAPTER XII. TREATS OF THE BAE8 AND BAR-MAIDS. The great number and novel appearance of the public-houses (or bar-rooms) im- mediately attract the visitor, especially if her is dry. They are located, for the greater part, on corners, and are quite uniform in appear- ance, and quite different from other places of business. They stand forth boldly, known in day by their yellow-panelled fronts, which exteuid half way up and are completed with a single plate of French glass, and by their marbleized pilasters ; and at night by the numerous gas-jets, t,which fairly flood the IS common is served and, just to all« at the before The place with light. The panelling is either otl oiled oak, or grained to imitate that colour ; and the whole front is made at. extensive and attraoti'.' as possible. There is no shrinking behind " oysters in every style," billiard-saloons, cigar-storcH, and green shades. They invariably have two, and in many cases three entrances ; aud| are subdivided accordingly. These com partments are indicated on the glais of the; doors ; viz., public l)ar, private (or lunch eon) bar,and jug (or wholesale) bar. The bar stands very near the entrances, —I with a view, perhaps, to discourage loungin); by visitors, — and is almost uniformly tend- ed by young women. This ia a novel sight to an American, and makes him curious as to the crowd whom these maids serve. Drinking in England classes. Ale or sherry family dinner and supper , , ^ retiring, the family nave their grog, grog in question consists mainly of gin, cold or hot. The divine, the hard-headed merchant, the scheming lawyer, the industrious farmer all close the day with grog or wine. Many of them don't appear to care for the , liquor, but drink it because it is the national ii custom ; and no family is expected to be : without a single liquor, while those whose , means permit have numerous kinds. I have frequently seen rum, gin, brandy, and whiskey, with two or three kinds of wine, brought out of an evening fora party oi >\ four. Accompanying these are the genial ^" soda and the soothing seltzer. With such a state of society, it follows th.it the bar-rooms should be open and at tractive. The young women who attend the bars are lady-like ; and the people who drink there are, as a general thing, well-behaved. Sometimes the former hear something un- pleasant ; but they are given time, after the day is over, to retire and have a gooii cry. The" liquors are not displayed in gaudy de- canters ; and the reason is obvious. They are sold by the measure, and not by thti glass. Of the alcoholic iquore, there are fourpenny and sixpenny's worth. These are the usual drinks. The amount called for is _ driwn from the wood into a measuring pot of pewter, and then emptied into the glass. With this is served cold or hot water ; and _ . the Englishman, after filling up the glass with virater, pours the fearfully diluted spirit into his stomach. In the lower salDons a "tuppenny-worth " worth of liquor^ can be bought ^■ Is 1 a 9|<1 n A ^m ii tttl Sw M it w "' W> 'i' Ji jt H the crowd whonii is common to all ' is served at the • ; and, just befor« 3 their grog. The mainly of gin, cold [-headed merchant. I industrious farmer og or wine, jpear to care for tlu iise it is the national ' is expected to be 1 while those whose rous kinds, rum, gin, brandy, or three kinds of rening for a party oi lese are the genial tzer. society, it follows 1 be open and at o attenjd the bars people who drink ing, well-behaved. Lear something un- given time, after and have a Rood ayed in gaudy de- obvious. They and not by the worth. These are nount called for is a measuring pot led into the glass. r hot water; ami ling up the glass fearfully diluted In the lower ih " worth of liquor Whiskey is a modern beverage with them; (for, ten ye.irs ago,it was but little called for [Now it is much sought after. The principal [•aloon drink is ale, and the next gin. Mixed or fancy drinks are unknown, only !«• American history informs them. But an immense quantity of malt liquor is [disposed of here. It is far superior to the I American ales, in that it is devoid of the bil- ious-producing ingredients so common to [ those ales. Every family has itj ale; so does every workman ; and in many brauehes of business it is part of the contract, that tho labourer ihall have his pint of ale daily. It is served in the hospitals and to the charity children. %t is given to visitors, and helps forward church ociuvo iitions. To the English it is like water. mUer I Why— But I will let it > ^o. It is one of the bfest jokes I everjlheard. u When water becomes as common in Eng- S land as is ale, the Hnesv, draiaage ever invent- V -ed will not save the country. They drink differently from what we do. Noticeably they (dilute their liquor until its i 'entity is sunken from sight. And, again, • i common to many to purchase a pint ot ir a sixpenny worth of gin, and divide V' alternate sips with their friends. This ite common among the labouring clasHes. a. . ...v'e seen a brawny working-man take his % wife and her mother into the bar, and dip their respective noses into the same mug with a freedom that was refreshing to the friends of democracy. The man generally helps himsolf first, which is hardly etiquette ; but self-preservation is the first law of nature. There are three kinds of ale, pale, bitter, and mild. The bitter is the favourite, and pint tankards of it are in popular demand. 5 Until midnight these saloons are in full % feather. They blaze with lighted gas ; and ; the saloons on the Strand are of themselves sufficient to illuminate the entire thorough- fare. A ride down that street or Fleet Street ' between eleven and twelve oolock at night ' is a constantly-recurring carnival. The illu- 1f minated theatres discharging their audiences, % the hosts of lighted carriages, cabs, and orn- ' uibuses, the throngs of gay men and still ^„j _. .. _men, the bright saloons, and the many street-lamps, go to make up a scene _that fills the stranger with surprise and de- "^light. Pouring in and out of the saloons is a never-ceasing throng of ladias and gentle- -jnen. , \ One minute after twelve, and those daz- ' zling palaces are dark and silent. Midnight is 'thtj hour by law established for closing the saloons, arid the English people have an un- ■pleasant habit of enforcing their laws. iquore, there are gayer women, the bright saloons. This is one reason, perhaps, why Americans do not linger in England. The multiplicity of youn , women in the saloons and other places of business in Eng< lan» is not sufficient to pay the keep- ing. Chewing-tobacco, excepting the plug, can- not be obtained in all England. One tobac- conist in London tried to smuggle some of it here ; but, our American chewing-tobacco being an adulterated article, his whole stock was confiscated. He confidently told me there were other ways'of amusing himself loss costly and injurious than smuggling fine- out tobacco into England ^or the edification of travelling Americans. He had a brand manufactured in Balti" more. It was pure fine-cut. It was like chewing fiddle-strings. There was a man named Phillips staying at my hotel. He 2ame from Pennsylvania, and was an inveterate tobacco-chewer. Before he left home, an Englishman told him he could get tobacco and everything else in Lon- don. He didn't bring any tobacco with him, because of this information from an English source. He told me that sea-sickness was a box at the opera in comparison to the agony he endured. Had it not been for the pros- pect of getting "solace" in London, he would have jun.j/ed overboard, and had the com- pany sued by his wife's father. When he got here and found no tobar-jo, his grief was terrible. It was like the Dan- bury boy's ball which fell into a ditch ; it 'W\ 36 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 1 1 ill) knew no bounds. He haunted the tobacco stores. He paraded the streets like a spec- tre out of health. He chewed bits of cigars, smoking-tobacco, and all the ravellings out of every pocket in which he had ever carried tobacco. He would talk by the hour of the tobacco he had seen thrown away because of its being damaged, and distinctly remember- ed having throvn away a paper of tobacco himself twenty-two years ago last Mar3h. With «qual clearness he remembered every occasii. \ lie had emptied his pockets of the tobacco-dust accumulated therein, "and," he shrieked in a burst of remorse, " flung it away as if it had been so much worthless sand. " The point on vuich he dwelt with the most pain was the fact, that, for a period of six months, he voluntarily went without tobacco some twelve years ago. He invaria- bly shivered and turned white when revert- ing to it. When Schenck, the American Minister, re- turned to London from his journey home for a bride, Phillips went at once to his house in the almost hopeless hope of getting a chew — "just one 'ittle chew," he said to me. But Schecnk didn't use the Aveed ; and the poor devil came back almost wild with dis- appointment. The next day he returned to America, solemnly promising, that if Heaven spared his life, he would find that Englishman and kill him. And he will keep his ■ivord. And now we come to shaving. It is a little singular, that a city occupied and sustained by over three million people cannot afford the luxury of a human shave. There are barber-shops, or hair-dressing sa- loons as they are called here, in abundance, and they jdl shave ; but it is evident that shaving is not their "main holt." In their signs they bargain to do curling, cutting and shampooing, but barely a word about slaving. And it is just as well they don't brag about it. Better, I think. My first shave was undergone in a shop on Great Portland Street, in the fashionable West End. I got there 60 as to have a luxurious shave. It was a hair-dresser's shop, with a checirful array of wooden skulls cover- ed by the" wrong hair. In a back-room I found the harbor's assistant, a little girl ; she called him through another ; and he speedily smerged, wiping his breakfasting lops on his tonsorial apron. I was glad to sen that. he haa tliia whiskers, light coloured weak eyes, and a feeble voice. I was glad to see such a man, because I had learned from Dick- ens that there were very few of any other kind in England. He had been eating his breakfast. All ordinary shopkeepers live on the same floor with their places of business, and through the glass door can bo seen at the proper time partaking of the sweat of their brow. This is not only convenient, but saves the- hire of another clerk. Having wiped his mouth, he bade me take an ordinary cane-seat chair in the middle of the room (and the apartment looked as little- like a barber-shop as the garret of a hypo- chondriac), and fell to work in a most mourn- ful manner to hunt up the various instru- ments for the business. These found, he spread a napkin over my. bolt-upright form, and began the shave. I asked him if any one had borrowed his regu« lar chair. He aswered mildly in the nega- tive " You don't mean to say, " I expostu- lated, " that you shave the myriads which, go to make up life in this straight-backed, hard-bottomed chair ?" He said he did, and that the chair wasn't worried much either. I learnt from him that the English shave but little, and do the most of that themselves. It would not pay him to get an . ^erican chair. I learned t'le same story elsewhere many times since then ; and I have not yet seen one of ;the barber-chairs ao common in America. Ther are cases where an upright stick, with a cross-piece at the top, is nailed to the common house chair. As it is permanently fastened, the victim's comfort during the shave depeuda very much on his anatomy. Once in a while, I daresay, some one geta into the ^hair who corresponds in length and sham to the man for whom it was first arranged ; then there is comfort : otherwise the cross-piece is as likely to tear his scalp, or injure his spin%l cord, as to let him off un- scathed. The shaving went on, in this case, with- out injury. I sat up as long tm I conld stand it with my mind on the operation, and then- I peppered him with questions. I asked him about his country, and his queen, and hi» taxes, and his sufferings, and elicted from, him either a plain negative or affirmative to all the questions. Finally he put the razor up, pointed to a basin and towel, and stood patiently waiting my movements. Wondering why he did not clean my face himself, I took advantage of the basin and towel. When I got through, he said, "Three ha'pence, sir ;" aad I understood by that th.it the procession was ovei. If I had ask- ed him, he would have arranged my hair, brushing it by machinery ; but I was too dumbfounded to say anything, and walked mechanieally away. They do differently in some of the shops,. iif kii„^JSU ENGLAND PROM A BACK-WINDOW. 37 >reakfa8t. All the same floor- I, and through ihe proper time r brow. , but saves the- B bade me take the middle of looked as little- •et of a hypo- a moat mourn- ,'arious instru- ipkin over my. the shave. I •owed his regu* ly in the nega- ly," I expostu- myriads which, raight-backed, ^id he did, and much either. English shave lat themselves. an . ^erican tory elsewhere have not yet so common in upright stick, is nailed to the is permanently rt during the his anatomy. 3ome one gets ads in length )m it was first ort: otherwise cear his scalp, let him off \xn- lis case, with- K T conld stand tion, and then> IS. I asked him c|ueen, and hi» i elicted from' or affirmative y he put the and towel, and r movements, clean my face' the basin and e said, "Three- stood by that If I had ask- aged my hair, >ut I was too ;, and walked I of the shops,. asking you if you will have your hair brush- 'ed, but not offering to do it unless you wish. The general price of a shave is twopence •(four cents), and foufpence (eight cents) for the brush. They all »io their brushing by machinery, and after tumbhng up your hair, and fracturing your scalp, go at it with haud- brushes, using the comb sparingly. We Americans are a nervous, active peo- ple ; and the English are represented to be slow and methodical. We lounge in the barber's chair for a quarter-hour at a time, and make the operation of shaving a positive rest and refreshment. This reminds me of an incident. An American recently, visiting Loudon, asked an English friend for a good barber-shop. The Englishman took him to where was a conspicuous and comforting an- nouncement, — "A good shave for a penny." The Ameiican went in, took the cane-seat chair, and passed through the operation in b, sort of inexplicable stupor. When he got through, and hafernal pHrformance. " Well, you see," said the barber, with exasperatiujj complacency, knowing his customer to be an American, " the English people are so fast in their ways that they never could wait to be shaved scientifically, but must sit down and have it over in a minute, and be gone again to busi- ness. " "Oh !" exclaimed the bewildered Ameri- can, as he put his hat on wrong, and stum- bled out into the street. Having enumerated three of tho daily amusements indulged in by the Engiidh, I now proceed to the fourth. London grasps and holds the talenu of England, whether we consider literature, drama, or art. It is not to England what New York is to America : it is to England what all the leading cities of ours combined are to our country. It is the repository of English fashion, English literature, English law, English art, English amusement. It ia the grand focus about which everything bright, brilliant.aud attractive centres. And here the drama makes its debut and •«a,;*ns its success. There are scores of theatres devoted to the legitimate drama, fashionable opera, and varieties. Drury Lane 4ind Covent Garden Theatres are licensed by Her Majesty and controlled by Her Majesty. The playwrights are Her Majesty's I' «ervant8, and the royal troops guard these theatres. At both of these the opera in its tranuost conception flourishes nightly. The traud abounds with theatres, and scores of others are scattered about the great and •wonderful city. When it is considered that a hundred and sixty thousand strangers pour 'into London daily, some idea of the preparation to en- tertain them can be formed. The prices of admission at all the places of amusement are graded to meet the wants and desires of all. Ir. a theatre where the private box costs twenty dollars, admittance may be gained for twenty-five cents. The Alhambra, near the foot of Regent Street, is the largest theatre in the city. As it de- votes itself to burlesque operas and the female leg, it is the best patrionized by re- spectable people, especially merchants and professional men. To the promenade, which partly encircles ■ the orchestra-floor, the admittance is but a shilling of English money ; and this promen- ade is nightly lulled with fiue-looking men, and handsome Women of a sociable turn. The admittance to the gallery is but a six- pence, and to the private boxes twenty dollars. The terraces to the old Haymarket, of which you and I read wheii we were children, are divided into awkward stalls, for which the prices are from sixty-three cents to two dollars. This old theatre looks like a Chinese pagoda heavily mortgaged. All the theatres are provided with con- venient bars, tended by young women. .' And these young women who tend bars in EngUnd get from seventy-five to one hun- dred dollars a yea'* and their board. They rarely found hospitals. There id one very disagreeable feature of London theatres, and that is charging for the programmes. It is only rarely that you come acroHS a place where the programme is free ; ani the fact is conspicuously advertis- ed. Ah a general thing, the programme costs from four to twenty-five cents. There are generally three pieces played, — an introductory farce, the main play, and an afterpiece. Some of the places commence at a quarter before seven, and many do not close until n.idnight. The concert saloons are liberally patron- ized by both the doubtful and undoubted of English society, I have seen at these places the rake and prostitute aide by side with the honest tradesman and his wife and children, all drinking beer, and intently watching the stage ; and yet the latter heard nothing to offend them. At the tables w^ill be men engaged in discussion, others in smoking, and many drinking ; and among them move the young women at- tendants, taking orders, and being free from unhealthy familiarities. I must onnfesa^ I do Jnot understand it. Of London it can truly ire said, there is 38 ENGL D FROM A BACK WINDOW. III license without oflFeuce, and law without outrage. • .The Cremorne Gardens, of which you have frequently heard, are located on the banks of the Thames, about two miles below Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. It is a magnifi- cent pl&ce, — a great garden of turf, concrete walks, Jbrees, shrubs bar-rooms, arbours, grottos, dancing-hall, theatre, band stands, promenades, diningooms, restau- rants, parlors, — and all ablaze with gas. Here the lawyer, doctor, merchant, states- man, and politician rest from their labours ; and here the scarlet woman spins the thread which reaches out into every avenue of the greatest city the world ever saw, seeking whom it may devour, and quite frequently devouring them. CHAPTER XIV. MOTH, MILDEW, AND MAKTYK3. It is said that the three greatest curiosities in London are the Tower, St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey ; but the three in my estimation are the hackmen, costermongers, and Spurgeon. The second Sunday morning in London I was arakened by the paper boys and the sellers of water-cresses and strawberries. Water-creases are a species of fruit I rarely patronize. I am afraid of swallowing the rits, and choking to death. I don't wish to be understood, by my reference to paper boys on this day, that the London dailies issue a Sunday paper ; because they do not. They are rather slow concerns, are these London dailies. They crowd their adver- tisers into repulsive limits ; they mix up their matter without anj'^ regard to classifica- tion ; they publish but a beggarly handful of American news ; they report in full the most insignificant speeches ; they don't seem to realize that there is such an attraction as condensed news paragraphs; they issue no Sunday paper, and but one or two have a weekly; they ignore agriculture and science, personals and gossip; they carefully exclude all humour and head lines, and come to their readers every week-day a sombre and mourn- ful spectacle that is most exasperating to be- hold. These papers which are cried about the streets of a Sunday morning are weeklies, and the boys and men who shout them are scArcely less gloomy and vague than their wa>es. No living man is able to decipher their meaning, unless he sees their stock. The hawkers of water-cresses and fruits are equal- ally intemperate in articulation ; and you are always surprised and grieved, on follow- ing them up, to learn that they are vending water-cresses and berries, instead of rhinoce- roses and whippoorwills. An omnibus acrose Westminster Bridge takes you over the Thames to that part of the great city where is the Tabernacle, Spurgeon's church. It is a severely plain building, with a yard held in by an iron fence at the front. When we arrived, omni- buses, cabs and carriages were depositing their contents in front of the doors, while hundreds on foot were surging in through the gates. The place directly in front was a solid mass of people waiting for the doors to open. And there was another mass crowding in by a side- entrance, which we joined on the payment of a small fee for the sustenance and education of young candi- dates for the ministry. By this dodge (that is, plan) a good seat could be secured with- out discomfort, and the interests of the ministry were considerably advanced. The thoughtless would call this killing two birds with one piece of pavement. We got a seat in one of the galleries, and found ourselves in an oblong building, with several tiers of galleries, and a wide spread of floor, capable, in all, of seating ten thousand per- sons. Ten thousand people quietly seated, and filled witl> religious emotioi^s and cologne, is a speot; cle rarely vouchsafed to mortal's gaze. Hert they were, spread out before me like a shbst of fly-paper on a druggist's show-case ; and all the little eccentricities of a congregation, but rarely noticed in the average gathering, swelled into a volume of startling dimensions in this huge audience. The change of position, which is but a perceptible rustle in the average body of worshippers on the close of a prayer or hymn, here became a rustling sound like the break- ing away of a great body of water ; and the preparatory cough or hawking as the hymn was given out arose from ten thousand throats, and became magnified into a clap of prolonged thunder. The man who steps on the end of a foot- stool and tips it up, so that it frightens an entire ordinary audience, was here mhlti- plied by thirty with the most cheer on a druggist's ttle eccentricities ly noticed in the into a volume of 1 huge audience. which is but a average body of a prayer or hymn, od like the break - f water ; and the :ing as the hymn )m ten thousand aified into a clap he end of a foot- at it frightens an was here mhlti- e most ched benches, and exasperatingly backed qii ire, and thaiSwirs. The sittings are not stationary, but It was a moil are competent to be moved about like the !) the footsteps < iJlilifcees in our Sunday schools. Did you ever impressive chinting. filijll over one of those settees which had been piecemeal for thesfSWed without your knowledge by the hacked and cut bv "tther ieliov^ V What happy days were nwell ; and to-d;r, those ! They will never come again, you iserably broken pil toow. There is no carpet. Blank stone inuing the struggii &Hff9 are what the English delight iu for their churches. A stone floor is not so sightly or comforting as a carpet, but is better adapted for burying people beneath. You could plant them under a carpet, I sup pose ; but it wouldn't be so pleasant, espe" cially in dog days. Some of the churches have floors of partly coloured tile, which are very pretty, and would answer, perhaps, the natural craving in our country for a carpet ; but, with snow on the heel of the incoming worshipper, the result would be most disastrous to the first half-dozen pews from the door. CHAPTER XV. A RAMBLE OVER LONDON. There is more to see in London than is comprised within the philosophy of any com- piler of guide-books. And " of making many" (guide) "books there is no end." Routledge's (English) and Pascoe's (Ameri- can) are the best. But I advise my readers who contemplate visiting London to buy all the guide-books they can get hold of. Each one contains matter different from what can be found in all of the other s; and the first object of the touiist should be to sift down the contents of all, and go to work in an in- telligent mai'.ier to see everything worth being seen in. the most wonderful city in the wc-ld. A thorough observation of London and Great Britain gives the observer a new interest in history, and confers an additional charm upon fiction; and yet all the guide- books combined fall short of the work. The chief dependence of the visitor is in prowling around. He should burrow into strange courts, and thread all passable streets. He should keep open eyes and a ready tongue, and what the former cannot fathom the lat- ter should bring to light. The English are obliging to strangers ; and, if a searcher after information does not get it, the fault must lie with himself. The next numerous volumes are railway guides. The chief is Bradshaw's, much larger than Appleton's.so common in America, and costing but twelve cents, or less than one-quarter of the American work. Then there are a number much smaller than Brad- shaw's, which can be bought for two cents each, and oven less than that where a party takes a barrel of them ; but it is rarely a tra- veller needs that quantity. Besides these, the companies themselves issue a guide every month or so, — a voluminous work, giving the time and stations on their main and branch lines, and sold for two cents. These i-ailway guides are the very essence of all that is mad- dening ; and there is nothing, unless it is a Tf I* ^'1 42 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. contrary woman, which will drive a man so delirious as these very guides. They are mak- ing people morose and discontented, dividing families, and crowdiog the lunatic asylums. It is no wonder there is so much drinking here. A single page o£ Bradshaw's would break up a nest of hornets, and drive full two-thirds of them into drunkards' graves. The very centre of Loudon life is at the junction of the several streets in front of the Bank, Mansion House, and Royal Exchange. The Bank is a one-story granite fabric, about high enough to sling a five-year-old boy over ; and the Icoyal Exchange is an open court, with statue, benches, conceited and slim-leg- ged clerks, and greasy loungers. The Man- sion House is the official residence of the lord mayor ; and of a moruing in ' ' the sea- son," his brilliant equipage, with scarlet coachmen and scarlet footmen, may be seen working through the jam of vehicles which choke up these thoroughfarp><, If his chariot is not in sight, the patient vvaiter is sure to be rewai'ded by the gorgeous turn out of the lord high sheriff, with its purple and gold livery, and pink silk stockings, and powder- ed wigs. To a republican with fifteen dollars in his pocket this sight is very enervating. It costs several millions of dollars annually to carry on this city government (the expense of the officers merely); and, when the price is compared with the municipality, the dis- crepancy is simply ridiculous. The lord mayor and the lord sheriff control only that inaignificaut portion of London called "the city," whose limits are no greater now than when Westminster was separated from it by fields, with the little village of Charing Cross between. AH the brick and mortar and pave ments adjoining are separate parishes,— with the exception of Westminster, which is a city, — and are governed by the church war- dens of each parish. The lord mayor has no more to do with them than an Egyptian vio- linist has. But it is all called London. Opening off from this neighbourhood is Can- non Street, where stands St. Swithin's Church. In a sm 11 recess in this church is a small stone, of irregular shape and inoffen- sive appearance. You have passed thousands of just such bits of rock as this, and fallen over some of them without feeling your bump of reverence elevate itself, unless you happen- ed to strike squarely upon it. And yet this recess was built into this holy edifice solely to accommodate this stone, and an iron grat- ing is over it to protect it from the people. They could have taken down the grating when I was about. Centuries before your grandfather cut his first tetth, this stone had graduated in po- litical honours. It stood in the middle of the street ; and every crowned monarch was ( pected to strike his sword against it, proclaim himself king. It is the 8a:j stone Jack Cade struck with his weapon, delicately insinuated that he was Lord! London. There are many people who til, the Jack Cade was a martyr to principle. ^\'jJ" I was a boy, I vialked five miles throuj;!! rain-storm to borrow a yellow-covered Ixjj called "Jack Cade," under the impressji that it was a companion-volume to " D| Turpin." I have since then had my opinion respecting him, and never miss i a pl-"^ opportunity, when in I;he presence of on Cades, to vent that opinion with empliaiK usee It was a large stone in those days ; IjButer, people got to putting their hands onUMJd tor the sake of its associations ; and'^Wt commenced to wear so rapidly, t^lfc^" it was taken up and put here. I rolled ff^ my sleeves, worked my hand through oed grating, and touched the sacred rook niysJBWJh and have felt much better ever since, bootblack who was present, and oyerhe the conversation between myself and f rieif rolled up his sleeve also, and received magic contact. He had been stationed 5 two years at this spot, and never knew iiftT wi now the sacred nature of the stone. I afraid that the money and clothing whic! have contributed to the education of heathen abroad in the past ten years hi| been misapplied. When the Romans occupied London,! fore the advent of our Saviour, this st(i was used by them as a standard of distanc! Watli ; ^'-street, which is near by, is 8uppo| to have been the Roman road which i across the centre of London of that day, extended the full length of the couuD None of us know who are the descendant! the ancient Romans, but all of us know are not. I refer to the road commissioneni the nineteenth century. The post-office, just before six p.m., isji object of interest to a stranger. At ti? hour the night-mail closes to the usual \yi. age ; but, by paying a penny extra, a let! can be posted for it until half- past sevj Twopence will give you until nine o'clocW get your letter off, and with a heavierl you gain two hours more. I judge by t«l that the night-mail leaves at eleven o'clix^ and instead of keeping the bags open U^* mail until that time, as is done in Amtr*-?.^ they close them to all but the fees after ^^®^ o'clock, and thus add an important iteii^ *°.^ the post-office revenue. At five minutes* ^'' six o*clock the rush to the lotter-box I something remarkable. The crowd is ci posed mostly of clerks, some of whom lil bags full of letters ; and during the five ^ ENGLAND EROM A BACK-WINDOW. 43: wned monarch was as i^ question the flutter of letters as they sword against it, .nto the opening can be plainly heard in ug. It is the s;i middle of the street, if it doesn't look i. with his weapon, ^muoh like rain. that he was Lord Within a fewrods of the post-office is Guild aany people who t li 1, the City Hall of London ; and a little yr to principle. ^\ Jber on is Bishopsgate-street, and Crosby 1 five miles tlirou-ll, Tpkere Richard the Third held revelc. , yellow-covered i) is now a huge restaurant, and the famous under the imprt .^iqueting-rooni accommodates city diners lion-volume to "Hi the other day accommodated me, where ce then had my ,it for a half-hour wrestling with a chop 11, and never mif-si a plate of cold cauliflower, and speculat- ihe presence of on the oak carvings, where the famous pinion with emphaig used to scratch his back when he wore in those days ; uiater, without doubt, and on the grand ig their hands oiined windows, through which he swore at associations ; and* Weather. It is a singular fancy, convert- ir so rapidly, t; an historical place into a restaurant ; but ut here. I rolleil food restaurant and a relic aie both sus- ly hand through :aed by the plan, and the heart and bhe sacred rook mysmach are both strengthened. In this better ever since, ghbourhood are the taverns where the resent, and oyerhtjts and professionals of bygone times held een myself and frit'ds — whose walls have echoed to the Iso, and received >nts of Jolinson, Hook, Shakcpeare, Hood, lad been stationed "told, and others whose nai > we are fa- and never knew liar with, but of whose an .sSa we fortu- e of the stone. I tely know little, and clothing whiclSere Smith the divine thundered his ana- the education of imas, and Smithj the wit /ontilated 1 is e past ten years li »-«to<*', and Smith the soldier strode his •ide, and Smith the orator burned with occupied London, >qnence, and Smith the ruler gave forth ir Saviour, this st » law. and Smith the poet sang his songs, , standard of di8taiu4e||niith the Roman statesman displayed is near by, is suppoi^|B'^> ^"^^ Smith the Druid chanted his kOman road which '|[8> ondon of that day, alt is noticeable that when anything has agth of the counten going on the Smiths were round. art the descendant rhere are a host of Londoners who never but all of us know n*^ ^^^ inside of these taverns ; never were ! roadcominissionii-'idfl of the Tower of Loudon nor St. Paul's jr. thedral ; but there are a host of those whe i,ve been inside of Newgate, which is not i' ofif. The Newgate Prison of Jack Shep- ,,rd's and Jonathan Wild's day is not here. ■""' a hundred years ago. Lord Gordon's "No Popery " rascals flred the old to release their fellows, and a new has taken its place, e prison looks very much like the at eleven o'cl i '^rv""' on Eagle Street, Albany : only its ig the bags open tr'H*r*re blackened by smoke. There is a as is done in Ann i '^'^''^ a stranger. At OSes to the usual a penny extra, a 1< tl mtil half- past sevi ou until nine o'clock] nd with a heavier ore. I judge by ives don't know as if it materially differs from any other jail. The court-yard, where the executions take place, and where a scaiTold was now being put in readiness, and taking on its awful shape ; the stocks, where the prisoners to be flogged are secured while the delicate sensation is being produced ; the casts of murderers executed here, taken after the fatal choking, and all bearing the im> press of it in their nostrils ; the irons which Jack Phcppard wore, and which a dry-goods clerk could hardly lift ; and the tri-square fiassage, beneath whose flagging lies what is eft of those who have suffered death here, — were the chief objects of interest. I must confess that I am just morbid enough to have lingered a few minutes in the passage of sepulchre. There was a strange interest to me in reading the rudely carved initials in the wall over where may have been the heads of the owners. Immediately after the execution the body is brought here and dropped into a hole beneath one of the flags, covered with lime (as if the poor wretch had not been slack enough in liis life) topped oflf with earth, and the flagging ia replaced ; and unless some rough but good- natured warder cuts his initials ou the wall adjoining, the place of his disappeaiauce is never known. In a brief space of time the body which some fond mother has laughingly cuddled in her arms is rotted and absorbed, and room made for the next comer. A yard enclosed by a huge sombre stone wall separates Newgate from the Old Bailey. In through a gate drives the prison van daily with its precious freiuht. An underground passage communicates from the court to the prison. The court itself, although much the older building of the two, is of the same ma- terial and design, and is similar in all its outward features. There are several rooms for the holding of courts; but the most in- teresting is that for the trial of important criminals. In the box where Slieppard, Turpin and Duval figured is a stairway lead« ing to the vaults below, where the prisoners remain after being removed from the jail,and waiting for their turn up stairs. The first cell is thst said to have been occupied by Sheppard. The policeman who escorted me over the prison tried to make me believe that Sheppard lies buried in the lime under the passage. I told him I had heard the interment was St. Giles-iu-the-Fields ; but he said bodies were not allowed to be removed from the Erison after execution, and so the house- reaker must have been interred here. But Sheppard « ,*8 not executed at Newgate, but at Tyburn ; and it is not probable his body mmmmmmm I< 44 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. was returned to the prison. Both Sheppard and Turpin (Palmer) W6re|buried in the yard of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, opposite Charing Cross Hotel; and are there yet, as contented as is possible for men of their temperament to be. ^ Newgate Street runs parallel with Fleet Street, and slants into Holborn. The prison- er was put on his coffin in a cart, and the procession made up of the condemned, the clergy, sherifiF, prison-wardens, and hang- man. Accompanied by a mixed rabble, which rapidly augmented as they proceeded, they came out into Holborn, and drew up in front of the veneral)Ie pile called the Church of St. Sepulchre, where the hero received a bouquet ot flowers and a spiritual injunc- tion, and then proceeded up High Holborn to where it becomes Oxford Street, through Oxford Street to where is now the* Oxford Street entrance to Hyde Park, but which was then an open common ; and here the execution took place. Sixteen- Btrmg Jack, in 1774, was the last to receive the bouquet from the steps of St. Sepulchre. A base in the stone plate in Hyde Park fence, just opposite Beresford Hope's house, bears this simple inscription: "Here stood Tyburn gate in 1829. " I suppose there is no means of knowing the number of people who gave up their lives on this spot, both for political and society offences. Seventy-five years ago there were months when twenty and thirty executions came off, and it was not until the commence- ment of the present century that capital pun- ishment was restricted to the greater crimes. As late as fifty odd years ago, the laws of England punished the theft of five shillings with death. In conies of " The Gentleman's Magazine" published in 1776 are the accounts of the execution of young and old for the niosttriHing misdemeanors. Blacking the face when stealing at night, or even defacing Westminster Bridge, was punished by hang- ing. If ever a tree bore evil fruit, it was this gallows-tree at Tyburn. But who would think it ? Omnibuses, drays, and carriages roll over the pavement, and children play and romp and shout on the greensward, wiiere so many thousands met violent and disgraceful deaths with hearts petrified with despair. In back of Oxford Street to-day are blocks ■upon blocks of quality residences, owned by certain dukes and earls, and rented on a hundred-years' lease to aristocratic tenants at a price that makes the English stare by ts magnitude, and makes ns Americans augh by its insignificance. It is a little sin- gular, that, in this circumscribed and crowd- ed territory, property and rents should be a I Jng, ea of iVkte an( less than broad and roomy America. » «oul is so. Up at St. John's Wood, m lioUoui west end of the city looks over it g th fences into waving fields of grain, iking story tenement can be hired for tM»ut tii dred dollars a year. Try to do tl with a similar dwelling similarly h .•o^ t( New York City, and the owner wduiaa, an gle you up on the roof, and throv\ and no jury could be found to blann I may have stated before that th" ] part of the metropolis is owned Ir dozen or so powerful noblemen, who i," ground for a land-rent, for a small mih! surf; Eeriod of ninety-nine years, when it undre ack to them, with all its improvenu i' to proportion to the territory there reiill}' like, a small amount of freehold property 3 nve land ; and property becomes somewha '• I inconsequence. There are sections «'• Al is rented for ever at so much a y;ii;> *"^ per annum, and is owned by numeio/ ^^^ pie. A piece of property is bought dJ»* way for a penny a yard. Improveniui /***" ' place in its neighbourhood ; and its vtheir i increases, that the holder sells it to n( ^ibstai else at twopence a yard; and the thir^ho*"® soon disposes of it to a fourth for ' *^® '^ advance ; and so it goes, if valuation j Ji'inba until it gets into the possession of iiu r<*4 party. He pays his rent to the sevi^ **** . to the sixth, and so on, till it return;**®'' ^' first hands. '.®* " This way of purchasing would hai^™ ^^^ come popular in our country, and I a i®** ' there is no necessity for it. But tin ' ®'"** landlord quite frequently shines alii)\^*'^®d, In this section of London, west ol °*®^' Street, are several very handsoruc •. ^ small but beautiful, which are priva:^^g'^^o perty, belonging to the noblemen ow i *^^ "^ property about them, and which ai i exclusive use of their tenants. Tlir^ are from an acre to three acres in exti The English must have grass to i and trees to lie under, and fiower.s of. How many times, in going out of by the railways, have I looked down broken windows of wretched teneniei found a little pot of plants struggling i its might to get the best of its surrom And, not content with its great of park-lands in the city, i magnificent retreats and gorgeoiu pies in the suburbs, prin along the Thames. Of a pleasant day, the little steamers and shon ul sha iful pr ew ste le fron pjiall,- ring t b]^^llia itwitl to th SAOriti 'Imam SB Tall izene i ^notl will be crowded with visitors ; whiK®'^'"*' (_V„erce s asare routes leading to Kensal-green Hampton Heath, Crystal Palace, an i-esorts, are equally loaded ; and v''*8'^fi enormous city parks do not loolc -mi maassmmmmmimi r. ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 45 1 roomy America. rlBfc' had gone out of the city. It is John's Wood, w heilons where all these people are stowed ty looks over it.g the w i.k. fields of grain, ;iuung of ttie Thames reminds nae that it I be hired for tM>nt time I sp'oke of this great thorough- ^ear. Try to do ll:,j^ Uing similarly l<,jj||f to believe the Thames was a silvery ■n, and in later years came to look upon a turbulent stream crowded with iog, lined with docks, with numerous es of gloomy arches, from which un- gate people have been prompted to e, and bury their troubles beneath its surface. By the time I had got within id the owner won roof, and throw be found to blann ad before that th'; i polis is owned 1 ul noblemen, who i, rent, for a small mi aadred and fifty miles of England, I what the Thames was LIB io on, ine years, when it [lalHtsimprovenu:' .to wonder erritory there reall/ li*6' .,,,,, ,,, , freehold property a nyer is about the breadth of average IT becomes somewha.'. I hardly know how else to give its rhere are sections u'. Above the city, beyond Hammer- at 80 much a yai , . au*^ along through Wmdsor, it is a owned by numemY stream with delightful shores; but, property is bought^ f»« precincts of London, it is a dirty yard. Improvemei ^*b » ferocious tide. The English, ourhood • and its vthieir well-known love for the beautiful holder sells it to hi ubstantial, have made a garden of the k yard; and the thii shore from Westminster Bridge to it to a fourth for ; *he Temple, by the Thames and Vic- • goes if valuation > Embankments. These embankments he possession of mJO»A roadways, raised some ten or ■ rent to the sevtiteet above high tide, and faced on till it retuiii-*ter side with hnely cut blocks of }e. Here and there are broad flights chasing would hiu i™ leading down to the water where lur country, and la ieat and pretty piers for the river tv for it But the '^rs- The roadways ai e very broad and cmentlv'shines al-.^ved, and flanked with broad walks of London, west <.t ""^Jf'^"^*? ^ocks and lines of gas very handson.e •. j[he eff-ect in the night from one of which are priva^ighbouring bridges is beautiful. Trees the noblemen o^^:»f« been added, and in time will add a and which ai i °* shade to the other attractions of the . tenants. Tlu^f"! pr'^nifnades , ,, , , three acres in ext,ew«teps through any of the streets Bt have grass to j'g from Feet Street, the Strand, or ler and flower-s t'l»all'— ^^^ parallel to the river,— |e8,'in going outoflW^^^ pedestrian into a beautiful tve I looked down . ^^^ "^^^ blossoming flowers, and wretched teneni. n\t^th verdure, through which he can Dlantsstrueeliii'Mt^ the Embankment. Fancy New -bestof it8 8urr<)ui«*«"fi"°gan"arterof its water-front 4. ,;4.v. ;i.o „^^„f'k« and promenades ! But is London Tie ' ci4 iS^luable for giving the humblest of fcts and gorgeou«a°oPPO'-t"°i*y ^ gai d to the position of the coUai , . ®''® f^ they are so particular as to have a colf.*^* Not far from Bishopsgate commeiic''^^ street well known to the London i T^f^ whose name is familiar to thousani'*" never saw London. Generations "I'l'i'^^j''), ^ rations of thieves and vagabonds it .'M ooi mount and graduated, and bids fair to seud*^ ? many more generations of the same swItJt^ Such a reproach had its name becomeX™®'^ a few years ago it was removed, and kZ^ one substituted. It is now in the diie|*'^^* and on the maps, as Middlesex Street^^^ all the whitewashing in the world wif~^ * blot out its old title, — Petticoat Lane. ^J^.'^ Whitechapel is but one of the ^""".g-*},'' of a section of which Petticoat Lam; ..| ., heart. It is but a lane, crooked ^'io^F*^;, slimy enough to be a snake.' Its eiit^^^ from Whitechapel is appropriataly ^'jiatj,, by two low rum-shops, frofft whose sfj^A* trfmd doors escapes a convivial 'steam that in the least inviting. irand I was particularly warned by ff'sJ^j-r, newspaper articles, and guide-books, i ^pj venture within its precincts, unless i* ^„ the guardianship of a policeman. \T;-.„ xj^ feeling of almost hjsterical exultation, j lishmen had dwelt upon the striking, ^^ ness of English pickpockets ; au- f *" 'faif Lane became especially known ton:>3:^|^:^ ^ plaee where the stranger lost his jx * 'i I r. ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 47 iridth at one hundi f«BB»*<"chief at one end, and found it hanR- its roadway is si^g ™P ^or sale at the other. I thought I a walk on eacli ioalet of roadway, and from a foot to two teet f sidewalk. There were bloated women, and one-eyed len, and deformed children, and repulsive warfa, among the dirty horde who lounged never can get tli.Q the walks, or loitered in the street. A h a custom-hoin. i">»%' peculiarity of the tenements was ioroughly searchcl, ^exr size, but few of them exceediuK two abundance of „Hn;«"f in height. There were no half-dozen 9 leg, short- taile,l ights of crazy stairs to climb up or fall and cravats of s O'™ » °" fourth, fifth, or sixth story win- • classes of EnylaiiO'^. *» *0PPl« o"' of. and injure the pave- . to spotted neck. 1 '^jjr i e \. • \ a t a \ blue ground • aiul ^'" 'O'^sea were of bnck, defaced by age ut the neck witlm^d dirt ; and the first floors to all of them on of the collar , ere either on a level with the street, or a foot iar as to have a id- "<* ^^^°^ ^*' 'T'lere were an abundance of )arts and alleys adjoining, and in them the ishopsgate coninK.„?«i««*"'^'»J«"'^^ ™»'^^,fffi°"l*y in making to §ie London i"''"**y' Some of the alleys were so narrow, lat four people could not walk through ^em abreast ; and, when their smalluess J an hour, watcln into the shops ; n issed or hurrying tonous. It seeiiir isplanted into i J a peculiar peopli . mark of Cain <>ii ,mp of Lazarus v\ a attire. The shop ling of second-hau 1 , and were atteul uiliar to tliousau Lrenera ions "i"'".jgQQjjgj^gpg^ j^ ^^^ really wonderful the .a vagabonds it Ik.^^^^,. ^f ^^.^^'^^i they contained. they I found boys and girls here in the full en- ,na bids fair to sim tiona of the same «" ^ of happiness, and acting dreadfully lad itsname becoiiu '^ . tj. i, 1.1. iu 1 i. j. , I atural. It brought the tears to my eyes to was removea, a>"^ -j^geventy-five of them helping to raise akite, 'ai^^T."^ 0/ !>«>« unbounded exasperation of the boy iS Middlesex St. eet,j^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^j ^^^ ^^^J^^. ^^^^ ^^^^ ^ ^^^l^ Jigin the world ^^-jjBen of them came rushing by me with a. -Petticoat Italic. ^^^^ attached to a cord, I felt too full ^ It one of the boun^ ^^^^ j ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^ ch Petticoat Laue ,y^^' ^^ ^ ^ ; ane, crooked enouj,j^.^^^^« Lan4 j^ the home of the .colter- snaKe. l s en ^ggg^g whom we meet in the more reape^t- * oroughfarea at all hours of th^ (Uy or e a is appropriataly ips, frotfi whose ivi vial 'steam that warned by on costermongers are an 4aAtitution m themselves ; they ace , generally -looking men. Their st^ck of goods - I li. i.- '•'^••'^'•' v»*'vx,>'^-»>" >» v^» shifting of the sterical exultation, yijjjjgl ^j ^^^^^ r^j^^y remain in one spot, upon the striking j^^^ ^^^^^^ ^ ia required. SometimM kpockets ; an- I e |j| »re on the move for hours without a lally known to m3 :imgg except to attend to a customer. They ranger lost his p do not cry out their wares ; they-do not come upon the sidewalk. Thev are to be found in the narrow and crowded thorough- fares, as w'jU as in the more retired portions of the city. They fight for right of way with the pow«jrful omnibuses and leviathan drays; but I never heard of one of them be- ing run over ; and, in turn, they never run vver the drays and omnibuses. They sell every thini;, but i^rincipally fruit and shell- fish. They nearly monoplize both of these markets. This is a good ffuit year, I ahould I'udge ; and that which is sold is similar in :iua to ours, being cherries, pears, plums, f (rapes, apricots, strawberries, and red rasp- jerries. I believe they have no blackberries here; but the English eat strawberries just as we eat cherries, and, between the acts in a play, run out to the first costermonger, and buy a paper ot them. At the hotels and dining-houses strawberries are served with the stems, and the guest hulls them himself; or can eat them without hulling, if he choose. But the costermonger who to-day sells fruit may to-morrow sell something else. He watches the market and popular taste, and rarely has the same articles on sale several days in succession. To-dcy he is selling fruit; to-morrow oysters .nd snails; the day after, fresh fish ; and the fourth iJay, necRties. It is dreadful to think of. Let us pass on. Green apples are a staple article here; and the little Loudon boys, who have no apple- ti ees to climb, snap up this fruit with greedy haste. The other day I passed one of these green- apple stands. An English and an American friend were with me. The Eng- lishman, pointing to the stock, said, ' ' We use these for tarta ; what do you make of them ?" ', '* Cholera-morbus," pnmptly replied thq, .-American. ■ -i" Ah ! cholera-morbu'J, eh ? — that's odd," said the Euglishmau. ,The costeroiougers who took up nearly all the available space in Petticoat Lane to-day were selling fresh tish and shell fish. The denizens of the neighbour- hood had undoubtedly cloyed theniaelves with fruit and neckties, and were now re- velling in snails and soles. . Snails are a favouiite dish with the Eng- lish. I have never thought there was any- thing particular to admire about a srail, unless it is speed ; but the English utilize them in a happy way, and have been the means of introducing this sombre animal into a circle ^of gaiety and|^dissipation ^that must be a decided innovation upon its past life. The snail occupies here the positiou I 8 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. held by the oyster in America. Being of » humV)k'.r nature, it in oontent to still itself two for a cent ; while the more aristocratic oyster holds itself at from five to eight cents a head. The enjoyment of eating oysters at t.'.at price has is drawbacks, auy flat that they have the full re8p«ct and 3y r'Hi; \m ENGLAND FROM A BACK WINDOW. 40 CHAPTER XVII. TMB WONUERlfDL ENOLISH RAILWAYS. thy of ftll respeotable people, and, thus back- h smoker almost i^^p^ bio almost omaipotent in maintaining ) light his weed, ^nyg^, o borrowing from tl a|i, tlje custom of our people, on return- iKi^r. [fllprom Eogland, to take, as a memento ided arefusees.adaii^^iVijector interest, something character- wind. There arr :(,^iQ „f t^e couii try. [ but, after you na j think I shall bring homo a whole police- at a burning fuH ik. 3 equally numcn »rs ; but they a r dark. From ui midnight they arc apparently well- to Iti ig a long time before an American be- lase. They are of 'jonMs tired of looking at an English rail- of fifty-five 8um!iii(f(|«bcar ; then he becomes Very tired of it. Many of taem afjj|to call them carriages here ; and a very out with them qn 'jrojper name it is, as they are coach-bodied. I have met suciitnsize they are one-third shorter and one- o'clock in the ni(ir;;htnl narrower than the American oar, and love of God that)£ r»ther plain exterior. eir penny bouquet |§ is a well-known fact that'they are di- patronize them, biij^^Kl into class compartments. Each car Ingly invite thorn lat three or four of these compartments, and They are among tUJi the classes : so the third-class man makes le's population, must the same speed as does his loft«t«d from him by merely an inch-board tunate recipients lartition. )f matrimony, and :i The c mpirtmenis run across the carriig'', biny with a traviiil rith entrances at the sides of t'le carriage, jfibo, and, if I couln-^ind of the compartment. There is a seat )d. But, innocent oa^ijjach side, made to hold five persons. hem J "^^0 ten people have got into a compart- y that Petticoat kiittit, they just fill its seating capacity, and piest light. At tio one is allowed to enter it. There is a day it is the bnaii vindow each side of the door, and a glass busiest. The cost ilide in the door. The lamp is in the ceil- rays ; and those wM^and is supplied and lighted from the eived a call to go I'^fSHm Consequently, there is no brakeman ied by sufficient ca»tl»ddling the sev.ts before you in a pair of a cart, plauk dcidarmingly frail pants. row strip of paveim When you are seated, your knees and the alk, and sing out ixnees of the party opposite can shake hands ages of their goods vithout rising. The upholstering of the eople in their holiiiionipartment makes the class. A Hrst-class cipallyof a breastpXWipartment is cushioned with blue-black the vendors, bi»k doth, and the sittings are divided by arm- chaffing each otbests. The cushions in the second class are jody's way. I iliiif l«»ther. and there are no arm-rests. The y this neighbourliy'OBhioning of the third-class compartment is ents of vice and i )erformod by nature. rom disturbances. In riding from Derby, the central point ' its lanes and couQ England, to liOndon,a distance of one hun- tor a policeman. IwdUand thirty miles, you pay six dollars luld not expect to "Ud % half to siton a blue-black cloth cushion, Perl'aps it is bccaton* dollars and a half to sit on a leather effiicent, that t'.i^W**^^. and two dollars and seventy-five ttough, without th'ente to sit on a board. , , . 1 the turbulent mv.>: The mods of heating the compartments is et of their success >y A** can.'< of hot water. These cans are 1 respect and syni; • about thirty inches long, ten in breadth, and three in thickness. There are two to each compartment ; and, while they do not ap- pear to affect the temperature, they are comfortable to the feet. Somecimt-s your companions are hoggish in disposition, and monopolize all they can. At other times, especially in the second-class compartments, the porters omit to put in the cans at all. The third-class passen^ersride without them. The English thermometer does not indulge in the excesses the American thermometer does ; but the cold of England has (1amp< ness with it, which causes it to penetrate to the innermost recesses of the hnninn form divine. The Europeans carry lap robes on their travels in the cold season, and thus manage to keep a trifle cornfortiil e. The result of this style of car is, that you are obliged to take your seat before the car starts, which is not always pleasant nor con- venient, and to remain juat there, however offensive your companions may be, until the tr.iin reaches the next station, 'i'his confine- ment to one small space makes travelling more wearisome than it is in our country. But you never have to give up your seat to a lady ; for, if there is no vacant sitting, she is not permitted to enter : and there ia< no boy with a steam-whistle voice knucking; into fragments your discourse with the man across the aisle, and poking ytiu back of the- ear with a box of books, or filling your lap- with opprobrious candy. And it may be well to mention .also, in^ this connection, that there is no boy to come • along with a glass o/ ice-water when you are sweltering with boat and smothering with » dust. I came near to forgetting that. There is the ad\ antage of a good loaf and smoke, if you happen to be alone in the compartment ; which quite frequently hap- pens by accident, if you have taken the pre- caution to " see " the conductor. The first-class compartments are not so • largely patronized as Auiericaus imagine, or • as they would be were thdy in vogue in America, where "appearance" is alnoit < everything. They have a saying here, that "none but princes, Americans, and fools ride • first-class." I don't know anything about princes and fools ; but I can see a delicate appreciation of the American character in the a proverb, that appears almost supernatural. Tradesmen, the better class of farmers,-, tourists, reduced gentlemen, and wealthy people fond of economy, patronize the second- class ; while the third-class is a mixture of good, bad, and indifferent. Many whop.- 1« ronize first-class in winter prefer the cool boards of the third-class in midsummer, in preference to the dirty cushions and sweaty /(■] 60 ENGLAND FKO.Nf A BACK- WINDOW. f,' leather of the other class. But I have known a piece < f board to communicate a great deal of warmth in the summer-time, when I was a boy. The carriages are not especially attractive in colouring; but chey are clean inside, as the English do not chew tobacco. They are very fond of the pipe, though ; aud each class has one or more smoking compartments, accord- ing to the length of the train. But you get in and out of them at the stations, as there is no other comuiunication with the rest of theti-aiu. This reminds me that some of ihe third-class carriages are open the whole length, the partitions coming only to the shoulder of the sitter. One of the com- partments ia devoted to smoking ; and the officials are particular to have the lovers of the weed get in there, although the smoke sails all over the car. The luggage system is abominable, to speak miklly. No checks are used. The baggage is simply labelled to its destination, and the passenger is expected to look after it himself. When he changes roads, or arrives at his place, he must hurry to the luggage- van and pick out his property. To a man with eitiht trunks there is nothing particu- larly attractive in the scenery he passas ti. rough. Ami quite frequently the traveller has some difficulty in delecting his trunk, unless it is small and shabby ; ia which case he can take tke first fat one that comes to light, put it on a cab aud maae ofT. Every precaution is taken here to guard against accident. The road-beds are in ex- cellent condition, a perfect code of signals is in operation on every line, and active em- ployees both guide and guard the traveller. Crossing the hue is allowed only under the direction of an employee. When a train draws up at a station it comes alongside of a platform, ani the pas- sengers must get out on that side. Porters are in attendance to call the name of the statiou, and direct those who are to embark to their carriag " : the doors are closed, but not often locked, and the train moves awav. There is no dashing out of the depot-door with a mouthful of cake, and a bound into the car, by the dilatory passen- ger. The d. p. sees the train move away without him ; and no profanity of his, how- ever sincere, will bring it back. The car-doors are not so frequently locked as was the custom a short time ago. Aud a vory good rule it was with this style of car, »8 the door swings over the station platform ; and, in the case of an express-train, a sud- denly-opened door as it drove through the station might seriously inconvenience ac meditative person standing in the way. The railways are not rulers in England It 13 a vast business, aud their lines cove the country like a web ; but their projec tors and builders were not permitted to driv them where they pleased. This accounts, in part, for the great nujr. ber of tunnels piercing the hills. Whet the owner of au estate did not want lu property marred by a gaping cut, the con pany were obligeu to go lower down, ai, burrow under. Another cause of the in melons tunnels is the great desire of tl, English to go straight. There are numeroo iuetances where roads might have gone tw or three miles around a hill, and taken i; another \illage ; but they went through tt hiJl instead, and saved the distance," at a: enormous expense. They apparently took the item of distanc rather than money into considcation, on tfc start ; and the result shows the wisdom u the choice. The North-western road has a viaduct which coat it five million dollars to builii It saved tiftecn miles by that operation, an; has got the money back long before this. The rail is not allowed to cro.s8 the turc pike at a grade where it can possibly h helped. The exceptions are at stations i. flat lands ; aud there a gate is kept by ♦!!: station -agent ; and, when a train is nearl due, the turnpike is shut off, and not opcue. until after the train has passed In the larg: cities the road runs either above the house or under them. When we consider how conservative, d, fogyish, aud slow the English are reputed t be, we are puzzled to understand why tL speed of their trains is half again greate than the trains of the nervous and impatieii Americans. And, as great as the speed a, ready is, these Englishmen are not satitid; They are looking about for means to Incre^is it. The lowest speed of the English expres; train is forty miles an hour, the highti sixty miles. It is positive wickedness for a man to fo around in front of one of those trains in k bast suit of clothes. > Every road )« obliged to run daily a pa: liamentary or people's train, at one penny mile. The stations (they do not call them depoU are marvels (jf compactness, convenience and attractiveness. They are built of eitht brick or stone, are commodious, and have i abundance of platform-room ; and the plai forms are faced up with ponderous stone and surfaced with either concrete or flags ENGLAND FEOM A BACK- WINDOW. 61 f iucouvenieuce at ng in the way. rulers in lingLini d their lines covt. > ; but their projec ot permitted to driv i. t, for the great nuir. the hills, \\\m did not want li; ;aping cut, the com o lower down, an r cause of the im great desire of tl. There are iiumer; a Pullman time, will come to i8 will come down ; will sit looking one ction going, instead y are now obliged, gine. otives, another evi- change. They are ly unpretentious, rnished steel and ick walnut cab and rhe engine co» sists e-pipe, and steam- imagine it consists listle; but that is ilways criswl under ; ; I can't help it. And as for the 18 of England did ble to have a house ibsence of it could ick of humanity ; if America before )U8, but inhuman, and stoker unpru- d nothing but the em ; but of kte a added, behind vhen the sleet or too strong. But, rest, the driver of the storm, lehalf of this stylo tter control of the is not lulled into bh and comfort of led by the several I occurred through led by the cold, weather is not so That is so ; but soak one to the id hail and frost, Tuzen dead to ex- t. But the sheet- sffort to curl over )g to a roof, ii a it ^ncession to our way ; and the day will •Ome also when these locomotives will have 0»bs, even if they are painted all over a dead jpreen, as the locomotives themselves are. ' , The man who is called a conductor in imeriea in a *'gaard" here. The guard that the train starts on time, and then •ps into his van and takes a high seat ^neith where tlie roof is r.iised to accommo- ite liim, and siiled with glass, that he may e along the top of the train on either side his carriage. All trains running twenty ,iles or more without >t pping are provided with a cord stretched ah»ng the outside of 16 carriage, over the doors, and within ich of tlie passenger. In case of assault, or sudduii illness, or any other cause requir- ing a stoppinc; of the train, the cord is «lled, and, if in the. day, a flag is raised on B carriage, or, in the night, a light is J^own. The flag or light is observed by the ^anl, the train is stopped, and he, having le location, proceeds to attend to the matter, the van with the guard is the brakeman brakeman if the train is a long one), who jplifes the brake to the car which they jcupy. The brake on the engine with this .^ecks the train. There is no brake on any ji^ the passenger-carriages, excepting on ■;lome of the first-class trams, where the air- Ifrake is used. In the case of the shunting >r switching) of several passenger cars, their ringing up depends on the calculation of the iver. . Our American style of brake can only be ifttroduced here upon the advent of the American coaches. A short train is managed by the guard alone; and there is no baggage-master, the luggage being taken care of by the station ftgent or porters. The guard d>es not examine or take up the tickets, and has no Imsinesa communication Vith the passengers.' Ho merely starts the train, and accompanies it to take care of it. The vMges paid on the railways differ Bomewhat from ours. The guard, or con- ductor, receives between seven and eight dollars a week; driver, ten and eleven dol- lars; riroman, six dollars; and brakeman,from *our to five dollars. The stockholders make more money than "'^ihat. The freight cars, here called goods car- •Wages, are of the size of the passenger 0oaches, but are not roofed, being built pen- ^shion. The goods, when necessary, are .protected from the weather by oilcloth iovers. ■ The stranger notices the names of various husinpHs firms on the freight cars, and is puzzled to understand it. These cars are private property, belonging to the firms whose names they bear, and who find H heaper to furnish them. A few evenings ago, while in a company at a public house in a little Derbyshire vil- lage, the conversation turned on railways ; and a rakish looking gentleman of sixty-five years, and ferocious memory, asked us if we knew where the first railway to carry pas- sengers by a steam engine was located. A Manchester gentleman promptly replied, "From Manchester to Liverpool." — "Wrong," said the «gedand attentive indivi- dual, "it was from 'Stockton to' Darlington;" and, looking about the company, impressive- ly added, "and anybody but a numskull would know it." A sharp discussion be- tween the two followed, and a wager was laid to decide the result. They were to meet in Manchester a week from that evening; and looking at me, and seeing the great variety of intelligence beaming from my eye, I was unanimously chosen umpire. A move- ment so wise could hardly fail of being au omen of success, and I attended full of hope. The rakish gent of sixty-five English winters was not on hand < but the Manchester party appeared, followed by two porteis reeling under a pyramid of oppressive looking books. The authorities were consulted, and the Manchester disputant proved ri,:;ht. The Stockton and Darlington Road was built in 1825 for the hauling of coals, and the Man- chester and Liverpool Road was opened in 1830 for the carrying of passengers. CHAPTER XVIIL WHICH GIVES A DASH INTO RURAL ENG- LAND. History interests us in England's places ; fiction, in its ruins ; and report, in its agri- cultural and social life. Having attended the places of note, I yearned for ruins and rural life. I thought to get into some retired nook, and spend the sunshine in quiet lanes and blossoming fields. I went to Guilford to take a preparatory look. I found the fields and lanes to be all I desired, and the board- bill — to be much more than I cmUl aff« rl. F;fty dollars a week for two is too much to pay in a quiet rural retreat in the midst of a cheap country. Then I went to Dorking because of Tony Weller and the Marquis of Granby. I found Dorking to be twenty odd miles from London, in famous Surrey, surrounded by parks and fancy-gardening, with a healthy air, no ruins, and fifty dollars a week. I backed,aw»y from Dorking with a g eat deal of awe. /I 54 ENGLAND FROM A B AC iv- WINDOW. f i 1 i Then a cood London friend came to the rescue, au . packed me off to King's Lynn, in antique, historical, and agricultural Norfolk. And here I am, and here I should like to stay the rest of my bi/jj^irn in Europe. It was a mellow twilight when the train drew up to the Lynn Station. We had passed through Cambridge and much marshy land beyond ; and here we were in the old town, and in a quiet station, feeling around for a 'bus or a hearse, and fortunately find- ing? the former. We rolled through a quiet street, with walls of dingy brick on each side, and built as compactly as if it were a city of a million people, with land at a guinea the square inch. We passed into another and still narrower street ; and I looked for signs of life and business, and found but precious little of the former, and none whatever of the latter. We went on into another street with no change at all. I began to think I had missed the 'bus, and got into the other vehicle, after all my care. Presently we ambled on to a paved square, across it to a frowning- looking structure, and were set down in front of an archway, down whose court shone a light from a mary-paued window. And this was the Duke's Head. There was a bustle in the archway on our arrival. The boots took our luggage ; a chambermaid appeared, armed with a can- dle ; and then I found a stairway leading direct from the paved court up into the building. And such a stairway ! — broad enough for six men to go up abreast, and containing au amount of timber sufficient to build a man- of-war. It was built of oak, browned by oil and age, and its steps so polished by bees- wax as to be, beyond the carpeting, unsafe to stand upon. Several centuries have come and gone since these stairs were erected. The huge newel- post and neatly-carved balustrades were made before machinery for the work •vas known or dreamed of : and, ■when I look at what the untutored sons of those dark ages performed, I am filled with awe ; then I get over on the beeswax and slip and strain myself, and crawl back to the carpet, and slope gradually away. It is a splendid evidence of the substan- tial architectural ideas of three hundred years ago ; and the only time I can restrain tny adiniri-tioii of it|^is when I find at the bottom that I have forgotten something at the top. The house is full of narrow passages, odd nooks, low ceilings, and capacious parlours or sitting-rooms. When I ge*^^ tired of roaming about it, I go up the paved archway, and into a paveLbat n court with low brick stables on each side, all £ and watch the hostler clean the traps (cai shrin riages). beattt There is nothing particularly excitiusfttt^t about cleaning a carriage, unless it preventUir* tl you from going on a pic-nic ; buii this hostlemainb is just such a hostler as I have read of. Heftod I wears leggings, touches his cap when speakln tihe ing to you, and makes a hissing noise witb Mei his lips while at work. He may miss somibobna particular portion of the vehicle; but htmet w never misses the hiss, but keeps it goin^any without cessation throughout the job. 1 like I have said there was a square in front o: Bat the house. It is full three acres in exteDt,differ and every inch of it was cobbled. So are thiriw m streets and lanes and courts opening into itEvery Lynn in America is not more cobbled thatvrould is this English Lynn. tho ba This is the Tuesday market-square, and oJt is h it is the Corn Exchange (all grain is calletion the corn in England). Then tliere is the Saturthe 8h day market-place, in the shidow of the venehecaus rable St. Margaret. becaus Lynn is built entirely of dingy brick, col>p08ses ble, and concrete. Its streets, with few exnabit ; ceptions, are very narrow, absurdly crooked,of it and all cobbh d. It boasts of seveuteethftbit, thousand inhabitants, but does not coveflent tj near the ground of a New England village oiwhich half the population. The houses are puigoods close together, presenting an unbroken watoD I ^ at the front ; and every few rods there is iH^ o^ long, narrow court, choking with tenementidie*! ^ Every street is paved, and every sidewalk The flagged. «»»» f High Street is narrow and wayward in itip*rtia] course. The roadway ic of just such a width^own and, as the foundations of the houses art"*'^*!! irregular at the front, the sidewalks are variei^P • he in their widths — either spread out full six feet{''l**\ * or squeezed into one foot. In consequence'^ ^^^_ many of the people are crowded off into th^od, ii roadway, and walk there with their back.*^?.!' up. Of a Saturday evening both the roaii **^- - way and walks are thronged with people *1? with not a team in sight ; and the scene i£J^*^" quite picturesque and uncomfortable. i**'''^i Lynn looks, with '♦■■s two and three storie*d wl houses, as if it had been beaten into thy '^**"^ earth with a gigantic mallet. ^^ Many of the houses have their second stc*™?"' ries protruding over the walk. That was P/'^'" very ecouoraioal way of building two hut"^^"^'" dred years ago, as there was no cost for air*'' /[ * and the builder got more room on the secom*?''*'"' floor than he could get from his deed on tb*'?^*^ first. During a rain-storm the protuberanctP**'*'" are nice to stand under and watch bouu*'*^*" body go by with your umbrella. , . I am rather particular in describing Lynii'*J^*'" ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 66 ay, and into a pavecW^ot too much so ; for it is a prototype cf cables on each side, ftttlbiislish country towns — close built, as if ean the traps (catshie^ikiug from God's sunshine and nature's b««llltie8, and as scrupulously paved as if a larticularly excitiiiiStifeet commissioner M'ere a myth, and not B, unless it preventlive tiesh and blood. I have been inio a nic ; bui this hostleinajwber of English towns in the past mo-'th, I have read of. HtUiid I have noticed no important difference his cap when speakin tbeir architectural features. V hissing noise with 'llien in smock-frocks, corduroy pants, and He may miss somfhalWBailed shoes are common, nul are to be he vehicle ; but htlriijwwith on every street. T lere are also but keeps it goinjiiuay knee-breeches and stockinged calves. ;hout the job. ^lli® ^" ^^^ them. a square in front o: ^^pt Lynn and the country towns generally hree acres in exteut,diOTr from London in one important aspect, cobbled. So are thtXllpiEmen are not habituated to umbrellas, urts opening into itB^l^y Londoner carries an umbrella, and it more cobbled thatWOtftd as soon think of going out without the back of his head as without an umbrella. larket-square, and oiltil his constant companion at every step — I (all grain is calleconthe promenade, at church, the play, at a there is the Saturtbi shop, everywhere. He doesn't carry it shadow of the veneheo*use he has a special fondness for it, or because there is any particular virtue in its of dingy brick, coVpowession ; but he carries it because it is a treets, with few ex&abtt ; and he could no more break himself V, absurdly crookedof it than he could break from any other boasts of seveuteechHrMt, unless ho should diet himself, and con- hut does not covei8"tial to a stick. From the nobleman >f just such a widtli"*wn to what is expressively called a of the houses art"!i|l|odhopper," all carry sticks. At a farm- sidewalks are variei**»bo"se I recently visited I saw no less )read out full six feeithtttt twelve substantial sticks hanging up t. In consequeuceW ¥» ball. They were used by himself ; srowded off into th**^ >" looking over them, I was very much e with their back***ttek by a remark he made. It was, — ling both the road ?*I must be having a new stick soon." rouged with people ;isi^ English town is not so jheeiful ap- aud the scene ijjwing as an American town : far from it. comfortable. TbuMro are no wooden buildings ; none paint- wo and three stoiit®'!.'*'*^!*^® with green blinds ; no gardens, beaten into tl,^'**^*t-ti'ees, shrubs, turf, and neatly-painted llet. fOHte at the front. The residences, like the ve their second 3tf*^^^^» ^•"^ built dose to the walk, are devoid walk. That was i"fj^*>^""'' (except the dingy colour of the building two hui^'I*?^' "•" gobbles of which they are compos- was no cost for aif*"')' *""^ make no pretence whatever to archi- room on the secoiu*"^*"""^ display. That is reserved for the om his deed on tli^'^S^*'*''*'*''*- rb*'re are a few exceptions to this n the protuberaiu I P'°*'^''*' ' ''"* *^^° general aspect is depressing and watch 8oiiu*o,«nAmeric.-ia inbrella. ^^ * town of seventeen thousand popu- iu describing Lvul^**'^'^ '^^^ *'**'* count on his fingers the num- ber of fashionably-dressed ladies (as we un- derstand the fashion) to be met on High Street sny pleasant afternoon. Perhaps the upper c [asses, the gentry or quality, where we shoidd look for the latest fashions and th« costliest dress, keep themselves secludeo . Pevha ;)s, again. High Street is so narrow, so dingy, and so impoverished as to side- walk, th) it Fashion is afraid to stride through it. In the olden time of very warm politics, and in \V.e later season of red-hot religion, Lynn ai^d all Norfolk was up to its ears in trouble. Lynn was then a walled city, and in the country round about were walled and moated castles. One of the gates to Lynn still stands, — a square, pyramidal tower, with a narrow arch beneath, through which the affic to the populous country beyond passes. Above are several rooms where the warder and guards were then stationed, and where now numerous doves are providing for future successes in agriculture. Here and there are fragments of the old wall, built heterogeneously of brick, stone, cobble, and mortar, and bidding fair to remain, if left to time, five centuries, hence. All the "churches about here — and, wher- ever yoa find a cli ster of houses, you find a parish and a church — are of oretty much the same pattern. They were built by the Catholics ; are of gray stone, brown-shell car stone, or broken fiint. The last is used promiscuously with brick in most of the structures. The fiint is an irregular-shaped stone about the size of your fist when you are not feeling particularly mad, with a light- coloured surface. When broken, the inside shows a steel-blue colour that jpnakes a very tasteful facing to a building. But when these old churches were built, the fiint-stones were put in whole, or, if broken, mixed up with brick, without any regard to details, but looking merely for a symmetrical whole. The building consists of a high square tower at the front, with fiat top. Running back from this is the body of the buihling, with very steep roof and Norman windows. They are pretty much all alike in ontside appearance, the only difference beini» in the number of windows. I should judge they were built under one contract, and from oiia model. The walls are plastered ; the- ceil- ings are of oak-timber, plain or carved ; and the floors are of flagging. Frequently there Is a matting ; but gene- rally the flagging is bare, the only warning influence to it being the eulogies of the dead they cover ane here to-day, iv, *>*d tape Bohemians, travelling by waggon is a mechanic '• i "* p'^sii-cart from market-town to market- town. They are well patronized, notwith- standing Lynn is abundantly supplied with merchants, who look upon their gipsy rivals very much as a man would look upon a streak of lightning, — something unpleasant, but hardly to be averted. Monday night they begin to arrive ; and, as the twilight sets in, they fall to and put up the frame§ to their canvas. I believe they work all night, as they very well can j for in England, in the summer season twi- light follows daylight till about ten p.m., and is again succeeded by daylight at two a.m. It is never dark. But the cattle market is the most inte- resting in Tuesday's proceedings. 1 can walk for an hour at a time through the sheep lanes without weariness. The sheep (iind the animal predominates here) are no differ- ent from the sheep at home ; but the people are who attend them. Here are corduroy clothes, hobnailed shoes, smock frocks, and little round hats in profusion. Here also are striding, red-faced, bluff-hearty English far- mers, with drab suits, high silk hats, and the inevitable and inextinguisliable stick. Here is the constant " ah !" and " oy 1" and " unh !" and " whey-whey 1" and " aye !" sounded by high and low. Here is the "bloody lot" stigmatized, and the " blarsted eyes'' apostrophized, and the " dirty beggars" threatened. But amid all the hurry, discussion, yelping of dogs, and bleating of sheep, cannot be distinguishe I a single oath. I don't understand it. It makes me lonesome. CHAPTER XIX. BRINGS US TO ENGLISH FARM-LIFE, When I broached to a London friond my desire to go among the English farmers, and learn something about them, he gravely shook his head. " The English farmer," said he," is a curi- ous specimen of perverse humanity. He is re- ticent, suspicious, jealous. The farming country of England is divided into the large estates of noblemen and squires. These estates are subdivided into farms,and rented out to the men who form a most important class in this country. They hold these farms by good behaviour : and it is the tenant's ambition to keep his place all his life, and bequeath it to his oldest son on his death. Many of the present ])ossessor3 of farms were born on them, as their fathers were before them ; it is not only their home, but their ancestral hall ; and they guard it against the advances of rivals with jealous care. Many a man has lost his farm through 08 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. Ill J!l It -li sooie indiscreet remark made in the presence of a neighbour who coveted his place, and lost no time in creating an unfavourable im- pression of him at head-quarters. Then, again, as his farm is not his own, but always, so to speak, in the market, he is careful to keep the proceeds from it a secret ; so that, if he is dointr well, no neighbour will strive to get his farm by bidding higher, and thus increase the price of his rent to retain it. There are other things, perhaps, I do not understand, that go to make the English farmer tight-headed ; and while I am quite certain none of them will treat you disrespect- fully, yet I am positive you will not get a chance to go over their farms, or mix with their households ; and, as far as gaining a knowledge of them is concerned, your mis- sion will be fruitless." When I got my letters of introduction, and started down into Norfolk, 1 made about as floomy a procession as ev^r entered that lossoming section of England. I would make a strong push for help ; but it was a melancholy resolution. One of the letters •was to a farmer. I hung about Lynn three or four days, just as a boy who has shirked school and the chores hovers about the de- sired but dreaded homestead at night, mus- tering up courage to present that letter. This gave time for the author to get a note down to the farmer in question ; and, the next day after its receipt, the tiller of the soil was in Lyun hunting me up, and from that time forth the hospitality and kindness which flowed from that one letter were simply re- markable. The English are hospitable to a fault. We found every house open to us, and everything done to make us torget that three thousand mdes lay between here and home. The contrast between this and the picture drawn by the wise Londoner needs no paint to bring it out. There is this important difference between holding farm property in America and farm property.in England. In the States it is the rule to own the farm. The proprietor is thus his own master' If the farm is not a profitable one, his sons go West and start one for themselves ; if it is proHtable, they either run in debt aad mortgage it, or go to the city to distinguish themselves behind a store-counter, li they are not aspiring or dissolute, they take the farm, and work it during their generation ; and all the risks their father ran as to suc- cession they now incur. If there are several sons, they cannot with their families exist on this single farm ; and in this case there is a split up of either the farm or the family, and quite frequently of both. In the ex- ceptional case of a rented farm, the tenant, ' aira ck, ess being a true American, stays on the fi .e| i^ the centre, supported by a fat-bellied es are filled, si ill tclMr of foaming ale, the advance and family from gcmiaioriei of the nineteenth century sank out of 3 explains why the v^t and memory. have remained m But they needed the deep window-recess- day of the Con(juer and broad benches in those days to have ^ct today as whtu urted in. There were then no mohair ed them to his clanfaj, Tfith spiral springs running up through 38t son takes the lior hwd you on ; and, if our ancestors had 3, if therebeno sui;,peiided strictly on the stiff ungainly a life, start themscliaini for their wooing, this world of ours her. I am awaro tbtlld to-day be for rent, inst this peculiar di The Norfolk parish where I spent so many there is this much easwit di'.ys is called West Winch. It is is kept in the tanias than a dozen miles from Lynn, and is Fection which a-^c vned by Lord Clare. There are about management. iventy-tivo farmhouses in the parish. The ustomed from infaambridge turnpike runs through the place, of rooms and ail id on the turnpike is the parish church lak^a change. Aid the churchyard. The church is of rub- there,as time recjuiile-work of course, and is five hundred dom petitioned t.t- jars old. It is supposed to be the site of nd erect a more m Roman burial-place, from the relics of and if he incurs irabs which the sexton's spade has brought itation, it is an nt light. Noticeably among these evidences a stone cofiiii. There are but few of the vesinthe same fi.d English parish churches that have not them occupied ; ae or more stone coffins. They are hollowed retty much tli( om au oblong block of stone, broad at the efore them the s>3ad,aud narrow at the foot,aud|have a stone era and mothers wab of the same shape for a cover. When we find to-day in ^<^up for the funeral, one of them would ^ssages, low ceilin|||^K about a half-ton ; and to be a pall- fireplaces, miiiS^Rin those days must have been a most windows, huge dOOHSy and sombre undertaking. Adjoining on s four-poster lie church is the parsonage, the venerable 3 who contributioctopant of which has Leen here thirty gin Queen. Tlieneirs, and will remain till "called up high- Ik farmhouse, \\\i:" He has a pretty home, embowered in mher, and wliii ! y, and guarded on every side by flaming e of looking at. tses. Opposite is a public-house ; and tile, and worn iong the road about a mile, where was once of generations "t flourishing market-town, but is now a cluster of a half-dozen houses, are two more Eublic-houses ; and, as they sell nothing ut liquors, I don't understand how they make out to support themselves. About a quarter-mile off from the road ia a common of two hundred acres ; and along this common, with a lane ingress and esress, live the bulk of the inhabitants of West Winch, being farmers. Each farmer has the privilege of pasturing so many cows, hogs and horses on this common. Once or twice a year, at about three o'clock in the morning, the farmer is awakened from refreshing sleep (which only those who till the soil and edit newspapers en- joy) by the cry of the *' common driver," who, having been bom after Lindley Murray's death, shouts in stento- rian tonee, " Wake up I the common's to be drove !" The farmer jumps out of bed and into his clothes, and in the dim light of morning Avatches .the drivers get together the cattle. They are then counted ; and, if it is found that he has more than his share on the pasture, that farmer wishes he had died years before his birth. His extra stock ia confiscated, and he is shut out from the privilege of the pasturage. My friend has two hundred acres which he farms. He has the most of it in wheat. It is a singular feature of this climate, that, while their grain is up above ground when the soil of New England has hardly escaped from the fetters of frost, yet the harvest is no earlier than ours. He cut his grass the 1st of July, and his grain the middle of August. He has four men and two boys in his employ. They are the farm labourers you hear so much about through Mr. Arch and other agitators. I am not qualified to carry on u discussion of the English farm labour question. There is much to be said on both sides, perhaps, which is not heard. They have agricultural lock-outs here, where the labourers of a section, in answer to a be- hest from their Union, make a strike for in- creased pay, do not get it, and are shut out from work. Much destitution naturally fol- lows ; but then they are in a great measure compensated by processions, flags, bands of music, speeches, and beautifully-framed re- solutions. All of us can get along well enough without bread and clothes, and might, possibly put in a few more weeks on this globe without processions, flags, and music ; but we couldn't exist fourteen minutes in the absence of speeches and re- solutions. The farm labourer here dresses in corduroy pants, wearing an over-shirt of coarse white stuff, which reaches nearly to his knees. It is called a emock-frock. He is further 60 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. arlorned with a course wool hat having low, round crown (of the shape of a boil), and a narrow brim rolling up at the sides, and a pair of very heavy shoes, whose hob- nails leave a dJHtinot mark in soft earth and the dust of the road. Pictures a hundred years old give this same costume, excepting that the corduroy trousers reached only to the knees then, and were finished with black stockings. The stockinged legs are occasion- ally seen now, but are not common. As a sort of homage to that fashion, the labourer of to-day ties a red string about his pants- leg just below the knee. I asked a gentle- man why they did it, but he could not ex- plain. I said I didn't see any sense in it ; and he dryly added, that perhaps the wear- ers of the reil string didn't see any sense in our weariniT two buttons on the back of our coats. However, we wora them. This soothed my curiosity. The labourers support themselves and pay their own rent, living in little plain stone cottages near to the farms — cottages which the lord of the mamr has erected for their accommodation. The wages which they as- pire to, and which in some sections is paid, n three dollars and three quarters a week. In some places they work for only two dol- lars and a quarter a wcjk. In busy times, the wife and those of the children old enough go into the field Some of the fa-m labour- ers, with an income of less than three dollars a week, support a family of four or five. Awful, isn't it ? But, dear reader, do you remembi that, before our unhappy war, common labourers in Amercia receiv- ed but six dollars a week ? I knew of one who had six children, mak- ing a jfamily of eight, who succeeded in keeping out of debt on six dollars a week ; and in those times he paid more for his clothing thac the English farm labourer pays, and it wore him a less time. It is not extraordinary for a pair of English shoes to last over two years, and a pair of corduroy pants to wear five years. The latter can be bought for less than two dollars. I do not wish to defend the system of wages in Eng- land, neither do I desire to drive the poor and helpless into corduroy breeches. I think the farmers ought to pay their help all they can ; and I hesitate to attack them, for fear they do. It is said (and it must be so, as I have the word of several London gentlemen) that many of the farm labourers never touch a mouthful of meat from one year's end to an- other. But they get along very well without it. I have seen hundreds of them and their families ; and a reJder-faced, brighter-eyed lot of people 1 never saw, even in a hotel where there i^ an abundance of meat. I bi a honestly advise all farm labourers tdevi clear of meat in the future, if tlicv tliit their health. ite They have roses on the walls of tli to i tages, of course ; they smoke (and ;li, froi beginning to chew), and they have tli.;iic-h If they prefer beer to beef, whose busimbli it ? Their rents are not so high iparh American farm labourer, who lives brheet self. Twenty dollars a year is the liiger. I believe. There are places where t nevolent wealthy have erected nioil«l co tages at a still less rent. On the estattae Prince of Wales, at Sandringham, thiself, quite a number of these cottages, liltet, stone, with peiked roofs, containing iitly five rooms, with a bit of garden attiulati The rent ia fifteen dollars per annum. )wu are neat places, well ventilated, an Oi from lightning-rods. In fact, there ara thei cious few lightning-rods in all Eiitmort) which is remarkable, considering the Krnooi people's dread of a thunder storm, of 8 for they are always careful to speak in tlurs, at respectful terms, calling it a '* tempest't api s wit CHAPTER XX. ding gup MORE ABOUT THE FARM. weelc ed » In discussing the relative wages of X i^e can and English labourers and mechaii.y ob is well to take into consideration the s had t equivalent their labour furnishes for el. it wages. I contend that the American a bat the harder of the two. If he is on a lia'^« he must be up and at work, choring ai 'nrera at five o'clock ; and he has but little wn p;ico. It is ' not a violently swift well ventilated, an One farmer assured me that his men a. In fact, there ars then getting to work at eight o'clock in ing-rods in all Eii;:inoMiing, and quitting at three in the »le, considering the Krnoon. i thunder storm, (if 8 for the mechanics, they have still less ireful to speak in tluM, and a half-day on Saturday. They jailing it a " tempest't appear to be impairing their constitu- s wHh hard work. Right opposite is a ijing (if stone, fifteen by twenty-two, .'g up. The first stone was laid about weeks ago, and three men have been em- 'e4 on it every day since. They have e relative wages (if .\ ttM first floor done. A' Scotch friend bourers and mechamy observes, that if English mechanics consideration the s hlif|vthe supreme charge of the Tower of abour furnishos ford^sw is o'lif- probable there would have that the American mj^m o-'e language to ihis day. wo. If he is on v nave had many talks with these .'arm at work, choring ai »orerB about America. They like to con- he has but littlo ^ifjl^on that country ; but they don't o'clock in the e\® ^^'^^ ^^ ^ farm for this section ia about h. labourer can ha"* dollars per acre ; the road, poor and ood) to cultivate forl^' rates, and taxes, are about five lent of from one 'Wlf ffaore : making, in all, twelve dollars to two dollai'^^ per acre per annum. All grain is here called corn, ancl is sown in drillB, and hoed like potatoes and maize, the weeds cut down, and the earth loosened. I once made an item to the effect that a Texan farmer was hiteing his buckwheat for tha second time. It was a very good joke ; but the English payers did not copy it. The chief weeds with which the English farmer haa to contend are this- tles and poppies. There is nothing remark- able about thistles, unless you are barefooted; but the idea of a poppy being a weed ia striking enough. You know how choice we are of them in our gardens at home, and what an addition to a plot are a half-dozen of these brilliantly-flowered plants. Try, then, to conjure up thousands of them in one enclosure. They are called "red weed "in England. They flourish principally in the grain-fields, where their deep red contrasts magnificently with the dark green of the wheat and barle^ and ( its. I have seen fields aoa' ounding with poppiea, that they lo&ked as though they were aplotched with blood. I have seen great beds of them spiinging from newly-turned earth along the railways, and their beauty I never saw equalled in nature. Surely Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like unto these ; nor smelt like them, I hope. Rearing their scarlet heads among the dark green grain, they present a picture that must touch every heart, although differently I have seen two men stand at a fence on op- posite sides of a field, and gaze for a half- hour at the wonderful blending of colour. The one was speechless, his eyes glistening with the most exquisite delight ; he was a tourist. The other was speechless also ; but his eyes did not glisten : he was the owner of the field. Rural England ia like rural America in that it possesses the same geological and natural features. We lack the neatness and tidinesa which centuries of teaching and practice have established about these rural homes and lands, and that solidity which age has impressed upon this country, and which you always notice, and never i e » f . i We have the same gravel, with the same qualities for removing skin from that portion of the human frame coming in violant con- tact with it ; the same lumpy dirt in the gar- dens ; the samo trees, shrubs, vegetablea, grain, and fruit, as do they. To look over into an English garden ia like looking into an American garden. Those products which are not here, or are here and not at home, are so few as not to be noticeable to the casual observer. There are cabbages, and pea- vines curling about pea-brush (the roots turning bilious at 62 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. .m ■ w the prof(re88 of the tops), and lettuce, and pie-plaut (under which a rubber ball rolls, and is not discovered until the season is over), potatoes, radishes, strawberries, rasp- berry and currant bushes, and fruit-trees. The ^raB8 is just the same in blade as ours, and leaves exactly the same tint on the seat of a pair of white linen pants, — the only greenback in circulation here. What we may miss in the view are tomatoes (which are hardly established here as an article of food), beans, and our elaborate squashes. Tliere is not a corn-held in all England. They call our corn maize, and use large quantities to feed stock, but import it prin- cipally from America. I have seen three stalks of corn since being in this country. Two of them are growing in Shakespeare's garden at Htratford, where they share with the immortal bard the admiration of Ameri- can visitors ; the other is fighting for dear life in a liower-pot in an Edinburgh hotel. They say they have no frosts here until the middle of October. Jiut they don't need therii before that : the weather is cold enough without them. It is now the middle of August, and we have hovered over a lire for the last four days. The fire is in a grate, of course. The English won't use stoves, be- jauso they like to see she dame, it is so cheer- ful and cosy. Once in a while I like to/eel it ; but 1 carefully refrain from saying so. I have seen an Englishman sit shivering for an hour in front of a fireplace, his face lighted up with a smile. lie liked to see the hre, it was so cheerful and^cosy. They don't hive beansjeither : I mean the white cooking-bean. They t?row a yellowish- browo bean— fields of it — ot the colour and nearly the shape of a marrowfat pea. This is the only bean they harvest for the winter ; and that they grind up, and feed to their stock. When I told them of our white beans, ripened in the field, and cooked during the winter and following spring for the table, they looked so unfriendly that I dropped the subject at once. They don't have pumpkins — those great yellow fellows, which make Buch grand pies and such rich milk. They have a little summer squash for the table, Jbut they know nothing of the big fellows shown at the American fairs. They wouldn't eat dried beans ; but they do eat ' crows. To tell the truth, I have concealed one or two crows about my own person in the past mouth. It is not tae carrion-crow ; O heavens, no ! But it is the other crow, which lives in the farmhouse trees, and is here ce.Vid a rook. He looks just like his carrion bro- ther ; and I don't know how they distinguish them apart, unless it is by their breaths. When a man is partaking of a crow-pie, be doesn't want to be inquisitive. It m^rrmh festivities. mk Their standard fruits they cultivati ,i tli house and fence walls, as their sunimr iggoi is not Buffioiently continuous andlpour ntr: ripen the fruit without the auxiliaiy k the stone and Lrick. But there in n livui Fdnasnre in seeing a tree nailed up Im d ht ike a grape-vine. In such a positilves looks more like a criminal than a fricile y man. at n The English use heavy horses, and All are required for the work. I have tol.ve how hi'avy and substantial are the Knauti carriages ; but they are half worn-out. witi samer alongside of the English farm-nd roJ Their carts measure /oHr/ce^ around tlidth it| and the rest in proportion. A farm-watiou weighs a full ton, and will carry a \h« bed nearly four times as great. This hugeftioa is propelled by from three to four hid ro rarely four, driven tandem. I have mile fe seen a load of farm-stuff drawn by l.>ligec abreast. Why, with their splendid tows and small farms, they should deem it iily di sary to have such monstrous carts le Ne waggons, can only be explained by tlieirdy ( that their forefathers did so ; le be« their forefathers are safer to copy *y8 a> than their American cousins. I belifiuter spoke in one of my London letters of'diau great number of little ponies in that *ves They are plenty all over the country, "sforo were suddenly introduced into Kiul ft»h many years ago, when a tax was levitM^ i every horse of twelve hands in heigl The over. We are descended from the Eni'o-wl The people near the common in * car Winch have a lane which scoops arouiide,^w the sliape of a crescent, taking in the if®" *" road above and below the church. ^"'^ '^^■ call it a lane. It is about thirty feet lirW ^^ has a good road and perfect sidewalk, ireoti( a four-feet hedge of hawthorn on each ^'K®'^' This hedge was in blossom when 1 »© oar there, and, besides being additionally lie*ck, t ful for this reason, was also pleasantly**^ "' grant. •, These complete sidewalks sj^*'* . country roads are common in EnglPO«'» There is a road in Derbyshire, running"® "*' tween two towns, which for a mile hi' ^^^l good a sidewalk a. you will find in onta, 1 American town of fifteen th/^usand ini*^** "° tants. Part of it is of fine gravel, an **ose part is of concrete, and the third and gr.^^^^" portion is of flagging ; and along the \ •'• ^^ is a curbing of granite. The villages v'^Sy^ it connects cannot boast unitedly a po*^^*^^ tion of three thousand. It is a deligh**"*® ^ walk along these roads and lanes, with^ "^ browed publichouses at convenient di-^ ^' ces, with beautiful fields, and comfor:»^* ** %•«.; ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 63 inquisitive. It tmrmhuu^r-i, and flowering gardens, and ndecoiiH windmills, on the ri^ht and left, th gOdiln vans, and ^aily-paintud ginsy- i^gona, and heavy, subutadtial farmer .nd ntry trajia, and respectful and civil louriu;,' men meeting you every little while. 'uitatheycultivati ills, as thuir Hunn ontinuoua nndlpdvi hout the auxiliary {. But there is ii < a tree nailed up tn In such a posi criminal than n I'l i lave p iHsud many aa hour in this pleasant d healthful recreation. The Knglish them- l/M ftru ^rcfit walkers. I tiave seen faflhion- le youfi)^ ladies walk to and from church, lit mill" liistant, and not brag of it either, heavy horses, ami All tli^ farmliouses about West Winch } work. I have t iLve ivy growing over them. It ia very bstantial are the i: autiful indeed, and is generally accompani- ly are half worn-(/iit. with dampness and red lice. The gardens the English farm-id roadways abound with holly, which, i jour feet around / 1 ith lit rtn\ berry, forms an inspiring ad- tportion A farm w tioa to the winter social gatherings. Like and will carry a w.e hedges and some other shrubs, it re- (great. This hn- aim green and bright through the winter, im three to four hid roDS that season of many of the disagree- tandem. I havi! iir )le features which we New-Englandors are n-stuff drawn l)y i iliged to put up with. They have no such ith their splendid tow« aa we do ; no such frosts as occasion- ey should deem it niy dip down two and even three feet into h monstrous carts* New-England soil, slaughtering the moat be explained by thektdj of wintering plants. But we have got athers did bo ; * l*est of them in two particulars. Our ire safer to copy diy* Ve a trifle longer athan theirs in the in cousins. I beliejaiktet ; and we have autumnal tints and an ■/ London letters ofidUin suinmer, and they have neither. The tie ponies in that *ves to their trees simply bleed to death over the country, "iforo the frost reaches the sap, become troduced into I A a»hy hue, and drop unnoticed and un- hen a tax was lt\h*r«dior' /elve hands in lui;.i The favourite trap in the country is a anded from the l/i.^TO-whcijler. There are two kinds. One the common in • <*' capable of holding four, two on'each which scoops aro HI dttSwith their' knees together, and theia mt, taking in the #«• turned to the hedges : the other holds ow the church, l^r also, two on the front-seat and two on about thirty feet kWlwwl'-seat, each pair facing in opposite perfect sidewalk, iJMstion.), with the backs of their heads hawthorn on each !l|^«*i»«r. When you get in at the back of blossom when iS^Wir, the thills bob up to the animal's eingadditionallyki^»ft'i'lmake you nervous, through fear .^-^^t 1-.. 1 — .1 will cut the animal in jolts your bowels out common in Enol position on the front ; aud, if you are on erbyshire runnim"* b*ck-seat, all pleasure of the ride is lost hich for a mile In* desperate and almost maddening endea- will find incurs to keep from falling into the road. A v&B also pleasantljl** tibe under band tplete sidewalks sff* The other trap you pitro hours' rid% on the back-seat of one of If teen thousand -v ^ i. i j ^ -n • i i iu )f fine gravel an w"*^ two-wheeled traps will sprinkle the id the third and gtP^m^^ ^^^'^ ^'ith gray hairs. and along the w * '^^'^ "O** y^^ ^®®" * y^*^® °^ oxen. Ihe te The villages ^t'^Si''^*^ <^^*^ "o* know what they miss by not [okst unitedly a pcr»«i'»« oxen. A country must in time be- id It is a deIii'li**'*'*^°^'''P*"*'^'^ *°" depressed that does .Is" aud lanes, with^' ^v« o^«n *» stir it up. They are like Is at convenient dll^ ''*»"fi' a^^e oxen. One yoke of them will Kelda, and comfort»* over more ground in one hour than a barrel of oysters will in a day. Give me au ox for speed. There are no tin pedlars here to cheat and swindle, and leave the doors open. There ia but little tin used anyway. In the dairy they use great earthen dishes for the milk, and a servant-girl has to drop one of them pretty hard to break it ; but as ser- vant-girls rarely get over tweuty-live dollars per annum, their mind naturally runs into other channels than breaking dishes. Sheep are an important stock with Eng- lish farmers. The J'^uglish people ^are fond of mutton as an article uf food, and have it quite steadily. When they tire of mut- ton, they have lamb. Beef they never neglect. They are the most docile and un- complaining of people when beef is around. Their sheep are the best iu the world, I believe. You have peon pictures of shep- herds with the proverbial crook in their hands ? I didn't think a party could be a shepherd without this crook, any more than a man could l>e the leader of on orchestra without a pair of pants. I was glad that the first man whom 1 saw tending sheep carried one of those crooks. I didn't know what a crook was for, but always believed it was a badge of the occupation, whose origin I could not fathom, handed down from century to century since the time when sheep were invented. Imagine my genuine disgust when I saw this shepherd use the sacred crook to capture the straying animals by catching hold of one of their hind-legs and ti ipping them up 1 The awful truth came upon me like a flash ; and 1 sat down heavilj, a broken-hearted man, I had thought it a beautiful emblem, and it proves to be a hind-leg suatcher I Thus floated the wind from another sweet vision of youth. I don't hardly understand how an English- man should look so hearty aud rugged. He is not a hearty eater ; he will " stuff" his guests, however. His breakfast is light, consisting of a si. all bit of bacon and au egg. At oue o clock he has the regular dinner of roast meat and boiled cauliliower. At five o'clock he partakes of thinly-cut brea.ble buildings. It was so contrary to the spirit of gain displayed in America, that I coul'l not comprehend it. And all thesa romances spolie of cwitles inhabited in part, and ruined in the balance, or of halls r assy with age, but never spoke of a new cootie, or of one being in , , process of construction. In the dead of ni he 1 have frequently awoke to v.onder if casi^ and old halls were ever built. Rather, n-* *.^ they not created with the world, and by ",^^|J^ sane mysterious force ? If they were by human hands, who did it ? Did tli tractor do it by the day, or job ? If latter, did he lose money ? Did the men carry their dinner3 ? Did th*^y apples from tho neighbouring orchards their boys have to carry them hot after coming out of school at noon ? they in favour of the eight Did they have piocessions on Day ? Did they get in debt ? fake, who were they ? what The mystery shrouding by ^\■| hour St. Patric For Heavr were tl these The iieh n lany ellar .ion .//ere 1 ', ranit* ^yf just . ow tl 'y'%em 1 erstai f con rete, "Vhen — their needs, hopes, aspirations. loves, sv' .• pathies.and everything else calculated to tablish their humanity, and give them at m. ' gible shape in the practical eyes of this; — is perfectly dreadful. , „ ^ Ruins are scattered all over England, s r,.. it is a very poor county indeed that hasii • half-dozen of them ; and these ruins are .. scattered through the country po''tiiw,Qrtaf England alone, but can be found in -^ j very heart of the ci^es, with the W'. of unceasing traffic beating against their vt^, walls. ecturd There are two theories in accounting gy^ral the presence of ruins in Europe. The lirs*.^ jj a reverential sentiment, which is opposto^jj^j^j, desecrating what age has sanctified : "inlj.ijich second— perhaps less sentimental, but i; ^^ ^ the less effective — is the enormous strea;^^ ^^ of the walls. An attempt was ma«'"'^J For He.u I '7hen ttiey were in their prime, rheu- must hav3 been in thr heyday of its e eight isions on in debt ? y ? what were rouding these , aspirations, loves, v,^^j.jgj^ ng else calculated to^^^^^ y, and give them n ; xhe'mound-floors to many of the houses ractical eyes of thn ^^ occupied are of stone ; but it is not so I ■„ T, , , :id M oil-cloth. I all over England, , Th^ cedent in the walls of the various ity indeed that ''■I'^'iaina Excites the attention of many people. and th( Be mina are ,y^^^ ^ j^. jg impossible to make as lirm ;ne country portio, ^^^.-^^^^ j^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ig hard— harder can be found m han losing an eight-'hundred-dollar horse. I ities, with the ^va ^^g nothing to say against the cuteuess of !ating against their v^^, anoit^nts, except in the matter of archi- ecture and painting. I cannot forget that anea in accounting gy^^^l.jjm^jred-year-old revolver and in Europe. The lir^^^jj^.l^.^^lgr which I saw in the Tower of t, which 18 oppost^Qjj^jjj, The ancients did many things las sanctified : au'lyhich we are just discovering and proclaini- sentimental, but i^g ^^^ q^, q^^ invention, and I do not doubt the enormous stn:i|,aj. ^ ^.jn j.^t be found that they had ittempt was mali i^j^jg opg^jug behind. But lot us not anti- idge out of Hoeh(:jp^l^^ king a couple of m- ^^ jt jg interesting to speculate on the cartloads of mater^jgil of ruins. What puzzlad me when I lea retired in desii^j^ j,f ruing ^far off was to understand ow thoy became so. In what year, and all sightly, of ceiu m acliitectural or . i^jj^j. j^j^y^ and what hour of the' day, did ,re very insigniti [j^y throw off the respectable use of useful- ess, and sink into architectural loaferism ? 'or several huadred years these caitles have leen loafers — co.'ner-loafers at that. And rhyt Well, in the first place, ti:ey were luilt wlien protection against foes was i essential as protection against er. They were not ornamental, had hallowevl by tim The owners art treat thera with ; America do not n\ an does a woman lerstand what i» Ilk dress belongin; or. In a Scotch t walls of an old )nt-yard. It shuts „at|^;,j, made safe lo bay-windows, and were French-rootless, ^^'"¥hett civilization so far advanced that every in his possessions, and )f the street. n>'t*w nsurped violence, the occupation of >8e crumbling wall? ^e"|giil,ling, its speuiilty, was done away fountain. Why i yith. It became a loafer. In some instan- i are scores of fam ,eB, as in that of Warwick Castle particular- Id get a five tliousy^ t^ev T^ere modernized and improved up- all the wealth on ,a, and are to-day in business, and doinp irs beneath the e%jj,ii. p,ut in most cases thev wore deserted for more comfortable dwellings ; and, being too strongly built to be taken apart with eco- nomy, their walls wjre left. As for the wood-work, it was wroi\,ched out for fuel ; and as for the window-glass, where one could boast such a luxury, it was undoubtedly stoned out by the neighboring hoys on Satur- day afternoons. As to why the wood-work was not carefully removed, and used in parts of the new structure, I would mention that it was mostly of oak, and most respectfully refer you for full information to some car- penter who lias taken down an old oaken building, and undertaken to re-use the ma- ' terial. Anybody who has attempted to drive a cast-iron nail into a venerible oak board will be pleased to give you any information you may desire, if he is alive. Sometimes the occupants were forced to skedade that of might, and when the stronger of it the congregation bwo neighbouring barons could,and frequent- and worship in the y did, wrest away the other's property. To [ sanctity. They uihe tenants it made but little difference, I for anybody wJio Mmspsct, to whom they paid their rents, any of the broken stHatt way up the staircase is an opening in 1 an opposite dinAe ceiling, through which the besieged, when iho ruin of a chtuJhe enemy gained the stairway, poured hot < is called ; and if >il and molten lead on the besiegers. When , with not even a i * n«wi got a quart of molten lead down his bone window-casini'aoack he left at once, and rarely called again church, this is cm/or tJw hot oil. It is a trifling incident ; but if ground in the imi shows that the people of those days were ivith nothing more il act wholly grasping and avaricious, as his- h approaching, Wtory would have ua believe, a mass of broken at At the top of the stairway we came upon i sheep being well Ml open door, and passed into a unique Bars ago it had pra;apwtment. It was an irregular shaped s, christenings, et(3. room of about fifteen square feet, with mon- jtrous deep recesses to the little window; but It was the singular blending of the modern md ancient furniture tb%t excited the atten- tion. It was the cooking and dining room d each other's lees ^^ ^^^ family. A huge fireplace was at one vn each other's'' b'^'^^''^ of ^''® apartment, and about it were the le little girls, and **'di|»ns and utensils for the preparation of I ted, and aged and ''h® ^"'^'^^^ ^*'P*^*'- -^ table in the centre, '•omen have enjoyed with venerable legs in rich carving, was cov- , on this spot. But sred With crumbs, and here and there a ring id, if they o'ould a^° *^' surface about the size of a tumbler or •ecognize nothing ai'^*"^*'"^'* ^* *^« ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ highly ' and hardly ',5arved and buildiii{,'3 ■■ha»«>- those things have •ch ; lor there i nor even a morsel 1 their burial rch, ges, and remarkably straight-backed They were handsome enough ; but ime have flitted a^° mortal could sit in one of them, and iven the face of the J*®' K^®'*^'*°* ^^^"""^ ^'^ neighbours, I do en ; and unless tliev^^^'^'^®'' ""^'^ ^^^^ ^^^ ancestors were so who wore a bustle ?TO°*^ blood, and suffered death sosatisfac- led shoes, they w '""^y* -^"^ '"^'^ ^^° ^**' ^" °"® "^ those e disappointment '^i**™ f"'' thirty years must have found death , I am afraid. ^^ *'*® stake or blojk a positive luxury. J le thread of mv There was also an enormous ciiest with ng fabric belongs to I'**'*'* ^^^ gracefully executed devices in 9 sheep- pasture ]>»k» and bound about with brass. It looked lardly affords shark*'"'^8*D* ^^"^ defiant enough as it sat there in 1 not touch it \\^^^ corner; hut the baggage-master of the lich Lady Howard -^o^^^^t and poorest railwaj in America grammar-school „ ''^**'*^*^ ^'^'^^ *'*® conceit out of it inside of two nd the same sentiii"*^*"**^^' '^^^ chest was about half full of It is this I susB^'^fel P^'^^^^fv^^'l from the castle. About the ie people of this com W^f ^*^^^y-°i«*h^« ""^'«';8«!"1 1^« P^"" uable in the w i drying, and exuding a delicate odour. ?t and putting it in^'^ *^® ''.'?^* ^^ *^® fireplace |was a stair pas ing unprincipled to the caaUc ^^Tlic ^^^^^ ^^°^^' warped oaken floor, and nar- in one corner oii™*^'"8y window. Tt was the bedroom of ) ffrmin.i T+;=,>,.t8iil**Ma, the queen of Edward the Second, f stone a rath n '*"®^*'* ^^n** here by her husband on the The castle was us. ^^'°°^*;:y «f her amour with a young chap n in the feudal i "*"**" Mortimer. The young chap supple- on*>rnf;«„ „ ' ;«Bea%8d the loss of his heart with the loss of operation appearci^ j^^^^ ^^^ ,.^^^ here many years after ^3^e leading to a largo room above. It was aot a remarkable apartment, with its bare the death of her husband, and died here, in t act.' We crawled up a circular staircase to the top of the walls, and I stood out on the ragged summit and looked down. One brief glance sufficed me. We returned to the head of the main staircase, and, crawling through a narrow passage, came into a cor- ridor which went entirely round the four sides of the main building. Its floor was on a level with the banqueting hall ; but there is no banqueting hall here now, — nothing but the open air. The musicians were stationed in this corridor, and performed during the feasts, Tliere was no end of revelry in these halls centuries ago. Wax tapers lighted them up, and made glorious the satins, the jewels, and bright eyes of the hosts which have come and gone since the castle was reared. There is a depressing silence about the place, broken only by the twittering of sparrows, and the swaying of the weeds and nettles which spring from the ruins ; and it seems a mock- ery to try to restore, even in the imagination, the gaiety and pftasure which once' peopled it all. ^ ^ And a vagabond policeman with a slovenly wife boiling tea, and playing "God save the Queen " on a debilitated violin, i^ the end of it all, the humiliating JiP's of a glorious career. The castle, like many other ruins I have seen, is formed of a curious mixture of stone chips, cobbles, and brick, the walls not plas- tered inside. How their ugliness was hid I do not knov»'. Perhaps it was not concealed at all, but was just as we now And it. In such a case there must have been trouble. Imagine young Lord de liowbeer, whose father recently came over with the Conqueror,, dancing a set with a bewitching partner. In . the excitement of the dance he is struck against by Baron Ovonner, also recently from No aandy, and sent spinning against the nuti eg-grater wall. You will have no trouble in imagining him getting on his feet in a way to conceal the damage to his pants, and with . the blood trickling down his face, his sword drawn, and shaking with passion, inviting the baron to step out into the back -yard aiul get •* nailed " between the eyes. With equal ease we can imagine the baron, later in the night, , awakened from a sound, virtuous sleep by a lump of concrete falling from the wall of his ^ bed-chamber, and striking him on the nose. We will not pause to listen to his remarks. CHAPTER XXII. ENGLISH CIIARITV. Castle Rising is infinitesimally small ; but 68 ENGLAND PEOM A BACK- WINDOW. it illustrates a. peculiar feature of Englis" villages. It is compact, orderly, and clean* There are no brokeu-down fences, strolling cattle iu the tad, yards tilled witii plau- taia an 1 srnartweed, uor chips aad dtbris iu front of the houses. There is uot even a single gate ou one hinge. However poor an En^I ah hamlet may be, there is about it a comp ictness and neatness which strike the atttu ion at once. The houses are plain and unattractive ; but the gai'densare rilled with healthy vegetables, and clean grass, and bright tlowers. There are well-detined side- walks, aud a smooth, hard turnpike. Even the harshness of the castle-walls is toned down by the unbroken sea of grass about it. The Black Horse is a quaint old inn, attend- ed by a woman, with a tiny bar, and a Ldr pa-Ku with t o tables, a bench all aroutd the room, anid a sandeil lloor. The neigh- bours gather here of an evening, and sip their ale, and smoke long clay pipes, and talk about crops, aud the humble matters of such a neighbourhood. The inn is shaded by a huge tree ; and tliere are two which meet together over the reptile roof of tlie blacksmith shop, which is a few yards be- yond. The blacksmith shop is one of stone, of course, as all the other buildings are. A few mouths ago, if any one had told me that a blacksmith shop could have^been made of stone, I would have laughed at him. How could they build of that ma- terial so as to leave an opening, every ten inches, of an inch in width, for the wind and snow to come through ? Now that we have got into the subject, I should really like to know what chance for success a village blacksmith shop would have iu Ame- rica in which the customer could not freeze both of his leijs. Just around the black- smith shop of Castle Kisiug runs a road down Dy the church — a hard, sn'ooth road, with a pretty sidewalk. Opposite the church is a building setting a little below the street level, haviug sharp gables aud a number of them, and a substantial stone wall in front. It is built of dingy brick, and would hardly elicit but a casual glance from the passing stranger ; but it is one of those institutions which are common all over England, and illustrates most forcibly a prominent charac- teristic of the English people — charity. The village of Castle Rising has scarcely a population of a hundred souls ; but it has a Norman church, a ruined castle, and a hospital. This low, odd-shaped building is a charity hospital, for the sole accommoda- tion of old women. It was founded by a Lord Howard, who was an Earl of North- amberland iu the reign of James the First, fer the b«uelit of old women who were with- out pecuniary support, and were of a g conversation and prudent behaviou ozen money endowed it for an everlasting' n ment to his thoughtfuluess aud kiudm heart. It has stood hero for two Inn. years, and will stand here when jii 1;;: day dawns. This hospital forms the four sides grass court. All the rooms open out the court. Each room for the occupat: , an old woman is about eight feet sqium ,^'^° = it she Uvea and sleeps. Each i^l'^'^n^g with a window and a fireplace. J^^"' ' lean ture is furnished by themselves, i'iie has the privilege of doing needle rjy^^ other light work for sale. They live Cjggpg, fortably, and appear to be very happy ;jjg pj. contented. The rooms were sorupukjj^mg j clean, and every article was iu place. )ijgp g, of the old ladies were sitting by the (• Yes" doors, knittiug. Ou Sundays aud sainti.' ][)q^' they appear at church in scarlet cloaks i^gpg ] high peaked hats, — a la Mother Hublji|^,pg , The English are remarkable as the autii^g^ ^q of endowment. The land fairly bris^gi. ^g with monuments of this trait, in the sl^fflieti of hospitals, schools, drinkiDg-fouutaiu8,.jjto tl the like ; and, in addition, corporations jQm.f municipalities and parishes take a hanujijQ^ aud are doing their level best to make vras tl land a surprise to strangers, and a deliglnhuir the Divine Protector of the widowed {mpre fatherless. ^^\ x> No wonder this English nation is was p wealthy, so powerful, aud so famous, diaeas I have visited several of the alnis-hou! '£\^^ and rind them uniform in appearance itig 1 conduct. The most interesting is tha«t)ein: the village of Darwenham. There were aiing li oue hundred inmates iu all. They vof hia mostly old men and women. There Vf^hat some boys aud girls, and a ^tiin m ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 69 ort, and were oi a t; ; »rudent Lehavioiu. ^^*^ for an everlasting^ n fulness and kindiu I here for two d here when jii ave idiots, found lUl, In every alms-house I several idiots. An Enjj- ish physician tells me that the large ercentage of idiocy in England is due, in a feat degree, to the beer-sottishnesa of the aothm*. The keeper of this alma-house ;ave me the same opinion. The men were dressed in corduroy, and he women in linsey-woolsey. We passed hrottgh the bed department ; and the V 1 - ''"^ :eeper turned down the clothes, and pulled jeps. iuacn If I"<'^,othebeddinc. to show me how neat and a nrepiace. Ihc by themselves, us the four sides e rooms open out om for the occupat )ut eight feet squar ip th6 bedding, to show me how lean the beds were kept. And they were . , "'leatttid clean. We passed into the dining- ey have been aocust, ^^^ j^,^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^„/ ^^^ them partaking entered upon :le substantial, )r generations) life and i their or roast one room about it sat supper, which consisted of bread knd tea. In the morning this is supple- , , , c ^, "neiited with bacon, and a#noon they have lie features of the ,„^ ^.^^ ,,f vegetables, and boiled uniformity which ^^^ .^^ looked hearty. In ;he dreariness to a.j^^^^ ^^.^^ ^ ^i.^ burning ; and 8. ine mantels v,^ygp^ ^,^^y ^^Yd men, leaning oa the head hina, plaster-ot pans^f ^.j^^j^ ^jj^^j^g rpj^ ^^^^ red-eyed and Lid against some ol ^^^^^,^,^^^1 t^g^bling with age. My com- hthographs of the n^^^^Qj^^ a well-to-do; blnff, hearty, generous jther familiar churaigQgjjgh farmer, had lived in this neighbour- >• lood some years before, and recognized and twenty occupants .1:^,^, recognized by several of the inmates, tal, vheir ages 'iHyhom he had known in better circumstances, uety-three years. Ij^ gjj^,,,!^ hands with them most heartily, week, a h^sey-w 1 jjj^ g^ppg,^ gm-^gp^j^iQ^g shillings into their Id a ton and a quuit ,^1,^8^ jjo^ glad they were to see him ! t *■.**"* ,"^®- ^'"'tnd how their dull eyes brightened up as he ; furnish her own i^oalled past incidents of mutual knowledge, ge of doing iieeulc There was an old woman who was house- • sale. T*i®y "^'*' 'ceeper for a neighbouring lord wh^n he left • to be very happy jjjg pjace twenty years before. He gave his oms were sorupuLiame and old neighbourhood. She shielded icle was in place. ),Qp eyes, and looked earnestly at him. e sitting by the *Y9», yes, I know you," she said slowly; ibunday8and8aiiiU«|jQt»_a p^ygg ^nd a look,— "but you •ch in Bcarletcloaks^epe lame then, I thought." •' And I am % la Mother H"'' ame yet,"he said, taking a few steps before imarkable as the aut j^p ^ show her, and looking as pleased over tie land fairly I'l'ier delight as if his intirmity were not an this trait, in tlie Siffligtion, but a genuine benefit. We went ,drinking-fouutaiiis,n^jlje hospital, and, in passing across the dition, corporation- jourf to it, were arrested by music in one of heifini^S' -nd paused to listen to it. It was the Ijoys and girls singing grace after their sujiper. It sounded very sweet and impressive. In the hospital we found seve- ral prostrate and suffering. One of them 'was propped ud in bed, dying from heart- diaeaae. !ral of the alnis-hoii; Xitere was something startling in watch- urm in appearance feg this man wrestling with the awful interesting is ths^iawttiy, which had him by the throat, chok- nham. There were abjng Mfe, hope, gladness, and everything out iS in all. They wof hu heart but the memorp of the i>ast and women. There vwtot might have been. Dying on a pallet girls, and a of straw, with strange faces about him, and arishes take a haim evel best to make rangers, and a delii; r of the widovvei English nation 1, and so famous. whitewashed walla and fellow-misery to witness the terrible and losing fight which he was carrying on ; contesting, inch by inch, in the agony of despair, the ground which was being wrested from him, — was this pauper, whose boyish head of brown hair, less than thirty years :.go, was caressed and kissed by hands and lips which thought to ever be with him, and take him up to a pitying God, but which were now moulder- ing in the churchyard hard by. Just such another fight as this took place in this very room less than twelve hours ago ; and the victim lay stiff and ashy in a cortin in the apartment below, with the straw which formed his winding-sheet bub- bling over the edges of the plain deal box. In still another room was an ohl man very sick, who awakened as we stepped softly into his room. He said, looking at the keeper, and speaking like one coming out of a dream, "I thought I was in North Amer- iky with my boy Jim : I must have dreamed it." "You ara not in America; but America is here," said the keeper, point- ing to me. It was an almshouse-keeper's idea of a joke. The old man brightened up at this, and wanted to know if I had seen his boy Jim, who lived in Sandusky, O. I have often been asked a similar question in this country, and hardly felt put out at not being able to give the necessary informa- tion ; but it gave me keen pain to tell this old man that I did not know his boy Jim. Many of the English have a peculiar and very startling idea of the extent ' £ America. At one hotel where I stopped v as a family from Michigan. I never saw them before. An English friend said to me, " Did you know the Fergusons before you came V •'I did not." "That's odd," said he in a perplexed voice : "they are from the same country you are." I felt obliged to explain to him that, besides the Fergusons, there were some three other families in America with whom I was not personally acquainted, it was such a large place. CHAPTER XXIII. AMUSEMENTS. I took a run down to Manchester one day, and spent a very exciting and interesting forty-eight hours there. While there I visited the office of the American consul, Mr. Newton Crane, for- merly companion editor of the lamented Charley Leonard on " The St Louis Demo- crat ;" and with that gentlemen I spent a pleasant half-hour, and witnessed an incident containing a world of suggestion. The her» m 70 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. was a coloured man, who chewed tobacco under many disadvantacjes, having an expan- sive mouth, large, irregular, and broken teeth, and rather depressive looking gums. He must have been nearly tifty years of age, and was indifferently clad. He had a pleasant, mutton-tallow voice. He said he had called to tind a means of returning to America. " You are from America then ?" said Mr. Crane. '•Yes, sir." •' What brought you here ?'' "Well, sir, 1 thought I should like to come over and see the raor^/ter-country. " (Sensation among the company. ) " And so you came over to see her. Did you think you could do better here ?" •' Well— yes, sir. I was told by the Eng- lish and Scotch and Irish people what come to our country that a coloured man general- ly intelligent could do well over here, and would be much thought of ; and so I come. " " And you haven't done well over here ?" " No, sir, 1 ain't. It's kept going from bad to worse. There ain't no work to be got, an' I don't stand any chanoe to get what there is ; an' I'm in a bad way generally, sir. I have worked for two lords an cook, but I got out with them ; an' I've been a- goin' down all the while." ** Don't they treat you well over here ?" " Oh, yes, sir, they treat me well ; but I don't get anythin' to eat ; and thought I should like to take my old bones back to the States." It will be gratifying to my readers to learn that his old bones were shipped in that di- rection the next day. A negro at a distance is an object of ad- miration to the English people. In the evening we went to Belle Vue. Whether it is at a theatre, or any other entertainment, the Englishman abandons himself to a full enjoyment of what he be- holds. So he naturally runs to gardens, as better calculated to indulge this desire ; and as he builds his house as plainly as possible, and throws Lis weight in architecture on his church, so he looks not so much at a garden at home, but makes the public affair as ela- borate as money and taste can do it. We do not think much of Manchester, ex- cept as a manufactory of cotton-goods ; and yet America has but one city as large as it ; and New York, with all its wealth, taste, and reputation, has no public garden to com- pare with eitlier of the two with which Manchester is provided. The Belle Vue is the smaller, but the best known of the two gardens. There are trips, or what we would call cursions, made to it two or three im^^^ ^^^ J week from the adjoining towns and comr.Lgmj It is better known to many English jit ^ n^^ than is Manchester itself, I am sorry to ij^jj, Belle Vue comprises a museum of cuii^j.^^^^ ties, a menagerie that would put to 8lia,_yiggJ the travelling concerns l)y that namel*^ ^jj^ America (by the way, I should like to wa^uje fg that one of the. Belle Vue bears would jv ^^^j flight an entire American menagerit;, Dgarl even scare the ticket-master, and then ^^^ back home in time for au early teai.yjjgthi aviary, an aquarium, and a pond with imp^yj^^gl row and three miniature steam boats. Iways | Then there is a painting on wood ol q^ .,^1 battle of Waterloo, arranged in terra^jpmJe with openings ailing the imitated hills ^^\,eil ridges for the manoeuvring of troops. everal painting is in the open air, and remains ^Q ^{f^^ until the expiration of a year, when v \ hac taken down, and some other historicel ineprivs dent of tragic interest is substituted for Chester succeeding year. ,ble cu Opposite this is a stand for the band, w^ere a flanking galleries capable of seating Veretf thousand people ; and between these gi ,nj^ ge ries and the painting is a platform wi mirea three hundred couples can dance at uLyho po Under the galle/ies are extensive tea iq the t bar rooms. One of the tea rooms is a s^er ; a pence, and the other a shilling departmi ;old us and the shilling entitles you to a pot m cnown and a half-dozen slices of bread and biitjopulai which were neither cut nor spread by a suiotnen, mother. I have seen no caterers in Eiiglijtrt adi who imagine Providence has beqeuathed tliw spea a popular place of entertainment for the iieighb press purpose of swindling the patrons, ivere t( As the sun went down, and twilight t We mystic halo which crowns England from who ki disappearance to the reappearance ot jartmi sunlight) succeeded, the crowds incn: cheotli quite visibly, and it was safe to say tMill-p« fully ten thousand people were present. Tftiill-gi elephant, which all the afternoon had bediateli carrying loads of jolly children about about grounds with a solemnity befitting his tasthe to had retired ; and across the gravelled plf I wt rode mounted men in armour, taking tk The way to the mysterious recesses of \Vat«ppea loo. We mounted into the galleihour with thousands of others, and patiOuujond, waited uutil ten o'clock. As that luthis. struck, the field of Waterloo renewed llhi carnage and terrific uproar. A balloon, slitchildi ing innumerable blue lights, suddenly startmiUs upward ; rockets, Komau candles, and bllias tl lights flashed forth ; the hills and ridges Iprote came alive with cavalry, infantry, a: Wl brigadier-generals ; cannon-crackers, caiBuffei nons, and musketry pealed forth their thacentu r^%i' ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 71 what we would call t, i..i n i • i i two or three til. "■' '**"^°'^''8'' wavod ; music sounded; Mug towns and couni'^ thecriesof the combatants filled the air ) n.anv English i,!**®"* ''^'■" "', '"^ fo^g-'ound took hre ; and iself, I am sorrv t ^^ ^^"^^^ '""' "^ up through the roof, addmg is a museum of cii, '''"' «''a'''^,^»»« "^"^^ *''f«"'« ^« ^^^ general if M/«„i,i ,...i i. , 3rror. (charge atter charge was made and It would put to S ij 1 J n II 4.U 17 u rnn K,, +v>»4. ipulscd ; naallv the 1< reuch Were overcome, rns oy that naiuf s xu 4.1 i- j 1 i. 1 I should lik t ^^ cannonading and musketry be- Vue bears wnnhi' *'*™® **"'ly awful, and the scene closed. iPriL^ I! '"' AH, all for a shilling ! Herican menacren. D^ar reader, wl not come to England ? And the police were there, of course. anrl o , i' •. , '^ ' Vhethcr the entertainment is of public or kirfi «Lo^K T ""rivatej furnishing, they are always about, meuagerit:, master, and tliuu for au early ten and rowdies, aiTaiii?ed * + ' ^^ ^^^^ '"■re infinitely worse than either, i.u •- ■. "\ ,'?!''■' mpadent country boors ; and in all the KriiL f t ^"'^'*-umber at this cheap entertainment, with « „; ''oops. ieveral bar-rooms within its limits, there was n air, and remains ,« dwturbance. ?i a year, when r 1 biid read so much of the sufTerings and other historicel i:;eprivations of the operatives in the Man- is substituted for .^q^^^j cotton-mills, that I had a parcbn- Lr, 1 <• 4.U 1 1 '^^^ curiosity to see them. We proceedea and tor the band, Mbeye at once. The location of the mill we iff seating Verfrto visit my friend was uncertaia about; I between these gal^na»,getting into its neighbourhood, he in- [ IS a platform wLjuire^ of a labouring-woman on the street, i can dance at oLyho pointed out the building. As it led us are extensive tea ^ the direction she was going, we went with '® ,* .''°'""^ *** ■' ler ; and she proceeded to a discourse. .She . Shilling departm. old us that the mill in question was hardly Bs you to a pot ui tuovp by the firm's name, and gave the ot bread and but;>opiair name, which was a most filthy cog- t nor spread by a m^ujM. She didn't blush when she said it, 10 caterers in Engh,tit'^rt,ifcted that she was almost ashamed ie has beqeuathed ti ;o gpeak it when she first came into the rtainnient for the neighbourhood. We left her, where we ling the patrons, ^^re to turn off, with sincere regret, i^n, and twilight (t! We found an obliging manager in charge, wns England from (rho kindly took us through the different de- reappearanee ofipai^tBfttsnts, and intelligently explained to us ;he crowds incimbhe offices of the machinery. But it was the vas safe to say i nill-people I wanted to see, and the typical pie were present, irill-girl in particular. I saw her imme- > afternoon had i diately. Her name was Blanche. She was y children about ;aboat forty-eight years old, had a wen on ity befitting his tii;fchA|0p of iier head, and no upper teeth. 8 the gravelled pli^Wls satisfied. armour, taking tl^-^ro mill was very clean, and everything 3 recesses of W atappeared in order. One o'clock was the iuto the galltihoitt for quitting ; and, prompt to the se- hers, aud patiOuBondj: work was stopped. I was surprised at ock, As that luthis. ^'^aterloo renewet! There are thousands of men, women, and mr. A balloon, sii.children working in the cotton and other ;hts, suddenly stariraiUi of Manchester ; but the Government an caudles, and 1 l^b»*#iem in charge, and they are most amply e hills and ridgea 1 protected. ^iry, infantry, x Whatever of oppression, poverty, and nnon-crackers, cmmSgnag that is said to have prevailed half a led forth their tliuic^tary ago is not apparent now. i The employers have not changed ; they are just as selfish and human as they were then ; but the inexorable law of this country has stretched forth its iron hand over them, and the least deviation from the path of prescribed action closes the merciless fingers upon them. The operatives get to work at six o'clock, have breakfast between seven and eight, quit at one, recommence at two, and cease for good at half-past five or six o'clock. If a manufacturer should keep them a minute over time, and was reported, he would be promptly hoisted in front of the nearest magistrate, and subjected to a fine of two hundred and fifty dollars, with the addi- tional discomfort of having hi(> name aud offence paraded in print. As to wages, the children earn from a dollar to a dollar and a half per week ; the women from two to four dollars ; and the men from five to seven dollars. The women and children wear a coarse shoe with a heavy wooden sole ; and when the hundreds and thousands pass over the pavement to and from work, the clicking of the wooden soles is almost deafening. They, aa well as all Lancashire working-people have an un- f )rtuuate habit of nicknaming; and so popu- lar become these titles, that men have been known to almost forget their surnames, while their neighbours entirely lose sight of them. If a man's given name is Tom, he is called so by everybody, to the complete ex- clusion of his family name. If he has a son. the son's name and the father's are blended. For instance, if the son's name is Bill, he is known and ever spoken of or addressed an Bill of Tom ; and so on. I had just time to take a run out to the Pomona Palace, which is the dis- guising title of the companion garden to Belle Vue. A dog-show was the principal feature, and I am extravagantly fond of dogs. The af- ternoon 1 came into the city, 1 found two mastiffs in the depot. In the confusion, I thought they were two freight-cars that had by some inscrutable means got off the track. I was glad to find they were dogs. The larger of the two was called the champion of England, and added other laurels by carry- ing off the prize at the show. It is a very nice thing in England, as well as in America, to have the champion animal of the country? for as long as shows are kept up, so lons; is the owner assured of an income. This was the largest dog I ever saw : it was the largest dog any tv > people ever saw. I tlHjught at first I would buy him, but partly hesitated on learning the price (one thousand dollars), and co.mpletely gave ^^©VHAT THE ENGLISH THINK OF US. We are all more or less bigoted until we travel. Oar own institutions and cus- toms grow to be considereii i Th( gown. Silk costs much less here than it extrei in America, to be sure ; but this is i by inl by the fact of wages being mucli less tions than thei'e. Ue The English err in some other tliiiit silver garding us, but pardonably, I believe. , looke the style of American journalism, cspn and ] in the Far West, to exaggerate ; it i.s ,il> a few style to jest on tragic subjects. Tlusi; i Amei gerations aud jests are readily se'zed u^y. A i English journals as illustrative of our him t racteristics,and sowed broadcast amoni,'; been people. It is the misfortune of the I'.n. lars o not to understand an American joke, pockt fatal consequence can be imagined. T dirrii believe of all America just as the pciiii Bu the Eastern States believe of the Tei rit a mis and California, when, if the trutli i to A known, there is less cutting and slashin, stock the Far West than in the Far East. from An able school-teacher in Norfolk a^ An me the other day if all American gentk mach did not either have a pistol or knife cone temp ed about their person. ment In the estimation of those who have fesse seen him, a full-blooded American is a • l^is o of perambulating arsenal, constantly si there ding bullets, bowies and torpedoes. mom The predisposition of the untrav{^ laiad, English to believe that Amer er » ladies are lacking in refinement is Ame terially aggravated by an English p. fhe wright, who has written " An Anicr io tl La(ly," which is rendered nightly to largi Fi appreciative audiences at the Criterion T t"® * tre in London. The American lady : '''^'""' exhibited is hoydenish, slangy, mascu! thar swaggering, bullying, and indescribably or of ti 81 ve. I could icadily see by the expressioi ]^^^ those in the audience near to me that i *®^- accepted the character as a very fair re; _ ^ sentation of an American lady. **"' A n English woman on making a call i ^^ her best, which is considered as a compliiL 5-7® to the person called upon. On receii 1 cal 8, she takes equal care not to do her 1' JJf^^ for fear she may excel her caller, wi ^^^ would be a discourtesy. '®*^ ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. 73 e taate in selectii 8 : and there is i is the English IKl the otFenue of a that ia too dec Uc Thero 13 a genuine delicacy of feeling in this custom. Whatover the English may believe of our institutions and customs, many of them have ennobling idoaa of money-making in Anie- lioA. Numbers have left here for America with a view to making a fortune in three or four f fears without much effort, and returning to ive in a castle with hot and cold water on every floor. where are they ? There are others who fall into the other extrenic, and 1 have been very much eclificd by intelligent but rather lengthy dist^uiai- tioiM on the valuelessness of our money. Here, where the money is hard gold and silver and obese copper, the currency is looked upon with a great deal of curiosity ; and pt'ojde are much surprised to learn that a few tiiHes are still purchasable with it in America. A man can conveniently carry around with him a thousand dollars of our money, I have d broadcast among ilwBU told ; but a man with a thousand dol- iafortune of the EDg|ffc?« of tiie current money of England in his 1 American joke, f jkMjket would have to be lifted about with a an be imagined, Bj^Wick, ja just as the peoplt "Bittt there is no doubt that it ia freq ntly 8 mistake for the English working-mau lo go to America. Our labour-market is over- stocked, and our labour is much different tx&n what it is here. ^American manufacturer of agricultural lilt the matter were . it would be foun I Idle classes in An. a the same class in woman does no; t mless she has on . ch leas here than i; ure ; but this is , being much less 1 some other tliin. onably, I believe, n journalism, e.s|)( r exaggerate ; it is ids : subjects. The.si^ i •e readily se'zed up illustrative of our lelieve of the Tenit^ len, if the truth cutting and slasiiin. 1 the Far East, icher in Norfolk ak dl American gentler. ISJllwhiuery, who has good custom here, con- templated a branch factory ; but the experi- ment proved a failure. He found and con- fessed that, with the higher price uf iron in his own country, he could make the machines there, and pay the shipments here, for less money than it cost to manufacture in Eng- latad. In the States he got the wood cheap- er ; but the main item wai in V.he labour. American labour cost more primarily ; but the Yankee mechanic did double the work . pistol or knife com u. of those who have ded American is i senal, constantly - nnd torpedoes. n of the untiavi ye that Aniii in refinement i.s by an P^nglisli written " An AnuruJi Bred nightly to large )8 at the Criterion T e American lady sh, slangy, mascu'J; and indescribably by e same hours. om what I have seen on the farm and in' j^ahops and mills, I judge that the English ■knuiu does more talking, and less work, l his American brother ; and a great deal me is lost in stepping out for beer. The wages of mechanics in England vary, like those in America, according to the mar- j^ the country they get from seventy-five J . ^oeftls to a dollar and a quarter a day, and in I on making a call «*^8 ^i'^y from a dollar to a dollar and seventy- sidered as a compliiiil.i,^*;e»ts. il upon. On reoen^' This is somewhat leas than American care not to do her Ijtf;-^^'^^ ' b"** ^^ niust be taken into considera- ccel her caller, vL-''fcir.i- 1 ihouldu't have thought it could do it. reluctantly decline 1 have not seen a pair of boots since I have been in England. Shoes arb the universal J give up carrying' nftrticdie of foot-wear ; and those pulled around 3-pocket. The opinbyihe labourers are thickly studded with ,and restoring it t staring nail-heads. Eight ounces of these ther too conspicu nails are frequently used on a pair of shoes. and some pairs used by miners have from a f taxes. poand and a half to two pounds of these iron nailsin tliem. owns nor rents pr ^ favourite fashion with the ladies is wear- f ;=* "®V""' «-'^ing black or lead-coloured stockings— I am xt js taxed. ^^^^ ^ removed the dun And there seems to be about as much mar- necessary cousuiiirying here as in America. ■iage, he pays a t; rs and seventy- lii I, and of five dolla: f it is a four-wlu le articles taxed i (ler ; others that v is no duty on watcl ^uments. An Englis; lys two dollars an ege : and, if he waul )f hunting, he pa; r. If he is no betb rimrods who hovi CHAPTER XX V. AN APFALLINO CUSTOM. The extent to which feeing is carried on in Europe, more especially in the King- dfflttPBf Xireat Britain, is something extra- or(|iii|kry ; and I propose in this chapter to sjptftiit at length of the system . The Ameri- eSlfiiiraveller first runs against the custom on "hcaill^ of the steamer that brings him over. Heues the steward,the '• boots, "hisj waiter, and ihny body who may be handy to him as he is disembarking. When he gets ashore a boy calls a cab for him, and charf,es twelve cents fur the service. At the hotel the hall porter has a trifle for taking in his luggage, The next morning ho proceeds on his way, after feeing the waiter who brought him his food, the " boots " who blackei his shoes, and tlie hotel porter who seeb that his lug* gage is again mounted on the cib. Arriving at the station, a railway porter officially hands him out, sees that the trunk is properly labelled to its destination, ard acccnpaniea him to the carriage door for < bviouH reasons. If he wishes a compartment by himself, he gives the guard or conductor twenty-fivo cents ; and others whoeml).'irk along the line have to stand some squeezing before the dis- penser of twenty-live cents is troubled with company. He should not comi)lain of this expenditure, and does not ; but it is rough on the other passengers, and is pernicious without reserve. It was some little time be- fore I could pluck up the necessaay courage to tamper with a railway guard. In appearance he dol;i, rci.mi, fiirty-eight cents : total, two dollars ; was no*; IcvoHimI aj.und eiglity-ei^ht cents. fees, but tho \,:\\„ Add twenty-eight cents as O' pretniiiin on rm was suppose! \. gold, and you have a first cost of throe dollars e made in the int. ;, and (Jxtfeii cents per day, or what would bo m behalf of buiill equal in America, with its market anw it is feeing th. of a guest who dm- " it is feeing both. {lish people pay t! ice charge, and let ! )f them, and all A':i •aj'^, and find tiiey; ing. You occasidiia o gratuities to the well enough in ]iii;*trap for three hours' use, with a driver, liey put it in tin n When wo gjt back, I gave the driver a shil- 33, the servants of ought not to be le them, and cai i: l>y which they tlir; citation difficult nedy is not the ao attempt whatuv lelp adequate w;il evil. The defieiw lie guest; while i n amply pai;'. fo;- icefuUy escapes t ly paid," I speak i instance, the char. nth the same kind" latter charges fn r day (includiiii; ts a variety of dis le iJnglish hotel, a ling. It is rarely I part with my money, but I had had a pleasant drive, and felt generous and good-natured. What was my surprise nud disgust when the man asked me tor another shilling ! He had no right to demand a penny, of course, being in the employ of the hotel proprietor, to whom I was to make my payment for the trap ; bat I gave him the extra shilling, and bat Up two- thirds the night assigning him to various i)lace3 iu the dim and uncertain future. Several days later he took me out agaia for a half-day ; and, when we return- ed, I left him w itiiout any reward. I want- e^^^j^ see what he would do. He came after Stripe next morning, with hat in his hand, an«;1; knuckling his forehead with due re- — *ipoked at him with unconcealed dislike ; forilB was a leech of the first water. **tcome, sir, to see about the hire, please, ;uest more en ioj'ii f ^'"^'""g yo" oat yesterday, sir." han he o.nn nhtnh " *><> vou own the trap ? ' I as] ire — trap Toioe of illy-suppressed disgust. ** No, sir ; I only drives it. " asked iua and w hat is your charge t" stinging emphasis ou the last " Exactly said I, wiih word. "Three shillings, if you please, sir." Was the man mad ? I locked at him m a sort of stupor for full a minute, 'J'here he stood, with his old hut in his band, hia rusty coat looking more rusty tlian ever, and his hair tumbled in all directions. He would get this three shillings out of me, and then laugh in his patched sleeve at my greenness; and Saturday night he would re- ceive from his employer payment for that day he drove me, and 1 would .eimbuise the landlord for his expenditure. J paid him the three shillings with clench- e the work. When the family are in the city, four servants are ^^° in charge of the country-house. W Ame four servants find to keep them busv an unoccupied thr^e-story building is ter imagined than described. Less servants and better pay \vi prove a welcome reform. In business communications the sys: of fees is no less rampant. An Eiii: friend owns a brick-yard. Driving out v him one day, we stopped where a building going up, his brick being used in the, struction. He had a short chat with builder, and was about to drive away, v ^^§*^? the later said, — " This is pretty dry work, Mr. " My friend took out a pocket-book gave the rjs-pectable contractor two ■ lings, and we then went on. In answer to a question, my compa; explained that this was a toll Jupon . which he was forced to pay, or lose th of supplying the brick to this or any k^" " ing this contractor may erect. '^^ contractor himself was not ° * buyer. He did the work by the day, ii< . ^^ the custom in England, the owner fum^tu ing the material at the contractor's u :c gestion. He .: uld thus turn the trade: g , the market that paid him best, witi„ j j regard to his employer's interests. v i If a man came to his yard f'ljreec' barrow of bricks, he expected ^,j„]j<.j demanded the price of a glass of beer^j^ he would take his barrow to some yard « jjouse he could get it. It was immaterial t" |,pjj,„ vvhat the bricks cost, as he did i^ot hn y^■\■^^, thol feosi A sous, is thi got a and, I ha\ hack frien( for tl red ii Th charjE ter. small cabm day f must can b pay for them. And this despicable s}: extends more or less to nearly every 1 of business. CHAPTER XXVi. geiiu. aixpe. he ta ly c 1 I thu SKIPS FROM TUE CAB TO THE HEAKSE. — wh While on tho subject of extortion, I sh j^||j ^ like to take another pull with my ancient 'pj,, the English cabman. Whatever his faresr^jj^^^^ be as arranged by law, he has the rightjui^g claim. It is only when he deni^jergo; more than that amount (and thatQ(,^ pretty much all the while) that ho cH?i.en< under the same head as the driver of a barii^yo of bricks, a contractor tor building, aiit' \o eig proprietor of a hotel. Foreigners are his (jgt of cipal prey ; and as they at home have lire p< to do with hackmen, doing the bulk of tJregs* riding in street-cars and omnibuses, amljandf wholly dependent on the hackmun when hitreai they become seusi'de of his exesses, and dmih themselves constantly on the aggresihere against him. Thus arises much of the lire m complaint against the class from our i UaLJM4 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 79 , four aervanta an sountry-house. V keep tliem bus; -atory building is acribetl. ;l better pay w rrn. lunications the am pant. An Driving out who are apparently not aware that the American hackman is a greater scamp than the English cabby, to say nothing of nis of- fensive bearing, A shilling for a mile for one or two per- aons, and a sixpence for each additional mile, ^ is the highest charge here. The cabman will ^ , got an extra sixpence out of you, if possible ; l',;^ and, once in a while, will try for a shilling. '" I have paid sixteen shillings for the use of a hack to be taken a mile and a half, and a ard. ledwhereabuildinu ^^^^^ of mine was charged twenty shillings being used in thej ^^^.^j^^ ^^^^^ distance. It is to be sincerely a short chat with ^^^^^t^.l th^t both of these instances occur- ,ut to drive away, ^^ ^^ ^^^ York, and not in London. The law which regulates the English cab charges knows more than I about the mat- ter. But still the charge appears to be a small sum, when it is understood that ihe cabman pays from six to ten shillings a day fo" the use of the establish nent, and must drive that number of farea before he can begin to make anything for himself. They generjdly bite me, and it mal- s me mad onoagh to knock their heads off |^and yet I ■y work, Mr. out a pocket-book contractor two ent on. estion, my compn was a toll Jupon . .1 to pay, or lose tli k to this or any hi. r may erect, was not am w>rry for the poor de ^s. They have work by the day, as ^^ ^ ^-^^.^.^ somebody, I suppose, xo make and, the owner f»rii g^^h guds meet. Still it would Ce much bet- t the contractor s ^^^ jj people did not have two ends, thus turn the trade. g„|. ^j^^y j^j^.^ gcorch me so badly as they aid him best, wiu^j^p^j ^^ ^^^ j j^ave played a march on them by donning a pair of English reeches. These yard i»!|)i.eeches are * light-coloured, and cling so er's interests, his s to nearly every ER XXVi. I to , he expected tightly to mv body and legs, that, every of a glass of beer,jj„^g j ,gj,j ^ygr, the people in the next rrow to some yard wijjQ^gg ^^j^y^ it_ ^h^a^ I gi vge a cab, I was immaterial to i^'^g ^y legs conspicuously to the front. , as he did uot ha t^'j^gn i,^^ driver looks into my open and in- this despicable ^v g^j^g^yg countenance, he is tempted to charge aixpence; but, on glancing down at my legs, he takes another thouulit, and unhesitating- iy compromises on a threepence. The money [ than 6) ve I give to the 8outli sea Islanders CAB TO THE HEAKst—wheni meet them. But this is not a pleasant subject. Let us ect of extortion, I shimjj ^f funerals. pull with my ancient The English fairly spread themselves in Whatever his faresajmy^gra of woe. Thoir hearses are moim- aw, he has the rigli!t»int of gloom. The body is heavy, cuin- ly when he dein-bensome, and agonizingly black. They are amount (and thatQ^i; lighted off with sheets of glittering ! while) that ho c(f j^uoh plate and silver ornaments. Tliey as the driver of a bar^i^ve no bay-windows. On top an? from six tor tor building, aiu' to eight three-story plumes, presenting a for- Foreigners are his i jgt of waving gloom. Among the plumes they at home have 'ire jperohed quite frequently the pall-bearers, doing the bulk of tiresaed in Nitrifying black, with heavy and omnibuses, and jands of mourning about their hats, and 1 the hackmun when litraamiug down their backs. The driv'er is le of his exesses, ami timilarly arrayed. Accompanyingthe hearse itly on the aggresihere is one coach, r.nd perhaps two. They arises much of the !ir« mourning carriages, built with all tha le class from our i trappings of woe ; and should cremation ob- tain, they Would be a dead loss to the owner, as they are not by nature adapted to any other but the most lugubrious work. They have no such funeral processions as we do, formed of all sorts of vehicles, from the crafty hack to the effervescing buck-board. None but mourning coaches are permitted in the line, and rarely but one of those. Neither is there a procession on foot in the city fu- nerals. The gait of the sombre cavalcade for- bids pedestrianism. You'd hardly believe if, especially from seeing the amount of woe in the appearance of the carriage ; but the Lon- don funerals trip along through the crowded thoroughfares at a smart trot. It is a ghast- ly spectacle. lu the country the custom is somewhat different. Processions of friends precede the hearse, the men wearing the streaming bands of mourning about their hats. I witnessed a rural funeral recently. First came the doc- tor, and with him the apothecary, — as a sort of accomplice, I suspect ; next came the un- dertaker, and by his side was the draper who sold the material for the mourning gar- ments; next six pall-bearers (who do not bear the body, that being done by men engaged by the undertaker), and after them frieuds of the deceased. The hearse did not pass into the churchyard. The coffin war removed at the gate, placed on a rack, coiered with a black velvet pall, and taken upon the shoulders of the hired bearerd, who carried it to the c' urch, and after the service, to the grave. The coffin was plain, and of oak, which appears to be the national wootl for every use but fuel. There was no rough box; rough boxes are rarely used here, and some undertakers never heard of them. I was asking one of those dismal people, the other day, the price of coffins; and he said he could put me up a tidy article for fifty shillings. I told him I guess I would wait until he got in his spring styles. I am sorry now I didn't take it, as it was a marvellously cheap coffin at the price. All the boxes are made after the chilling pattern of a century ago. Thecoun- try undertakers are mostly joiners and buililers, and keep no stock on hand ; those who dO; have a dreary monotony. The Eng- lish undertaker seems t>, have sunk into a distressing lethargy. He isn't that sharp, nervouH, cheerful individual who caters to dead people in the Rocky Mountains. You don't see in tljp windows of the undertaking establishments here «iuch alluring notices as " Closing out I'^^eap to make room for n^ JT 8t(«ik ; " " Coffins, caskets, and cabi- nets below cost for the next thirty days ; " "The largest stock of coffins in town for ♦iie holiday trade ; " "Call and examine before 83 EKGLA.ND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. purchasing elsewhere ; " ''No charge for showing goods ; " &c. London has a " Kefornied Funeral As- sociation." It proposes to relieve the poor and middle classes from the heavy expense w lich they are under in interring their dead n the outside cemeteries. A tew years ago the interment of the dead was prohibited in the city graveyards, and cemeteries were constructed outside. From the centre of that enc mous city to the nearest outside " city of tlie dead"' is a distance of several miles, and funeral exj ensea have borne quite heavj' on the poorer classes. I would have thought this Act put a stop to Westminster Abbey sepulchre ; but it doesn't. In Norfolk County they have a hearse and coach combined ; the place for the coffin being at the front, and a place in the rear for four mourners. In p mother section of the country the same result is obtained by a sort of carryall, capable of seating twenty people, with a platform underneath, slung to the axles, for the body. This, I imagine, would have the appearance of a picnic, and impart a bright^ and cheerful aspect to the occasion. It is called a " funeral "bus." In the part of the country where j^it prevails — Sheffield and thereabouts — they have " mutes." These are chaps who carry staffs and say nothing, and are paid for hanging around and looking sad. They wear streani- ers,and are the genuine "trappings of woe." The idea of hiring any one to feel bad because of your death must l,e the very height ot felicity. Another feature of English funerals, and a not always acceptable one,is the obligation upon every one attending to wear black. It is not always possible to borrow black gar- ments, aud it is a grain or t\"o beyondVeason to expect the neighbour to go to the expense of buying a wardrobe for the occasion. In our country the fuutral generally oc- curs the third day after th*? death ; here the body ic frequently kept a week, and some- times eight or ten days ; seldom, if ever, less than tive days, unltss in the case of a contagious disease. The English don't in- tend to bury their friends alive for lack of %irae to prove them dead. They think onr haste is indecent, and I don't ^contradict them. CHAPTER XXVII. IN A grocer's cellar. We don't look for much growth in the old country. We read the figures furnished by immigration, and deduce therefrom the impresaioa tLat we receive the surplus population of the mother-land, and tin .,ygj, cities \ihich go to make it up reiuai j.jjg , about the same figure. We have ;ihgr|_ t known London to be a colossal city ; Imi^v^quI great bulk of Americans (including iw^i^ ^ do not realize that it is a city of en(jni,jjeifi vitality. Of its size, no one, not cvtpgop Londoner, has a proper idea. And Vfct^jieir city, vast as it is, is growing at a marvi (,q h rate. Its population is supposed to be n^jomb ly four millions, and it is growing evmerr hour. It is not a mushroom growth, now though the figures appear so ; but it is and structed as solidly as tliat portion of it wl j took form under the careful and tedious -^yail veillance of the fogies of the sixteenth jng a tury. ' horr' Approaching the suburbs in any dini they from the heart, new streets and new Ije In ings are found. Where were fields in th hedges five years ago are now paved str^ down and compact walls of masonry, with paraj necessary policemen and hydrants. skull One of the Chicago cities of Euglan Ric Leicester. It is in the red-brick region, bleed mean by that, that the brick used in And construction of its houses is as red as t his b which we use. Leicester and the neit^lih the ing city of Derby are built with this ds there and, the moment an American strikes' lb neighbourhood, he assumes a pleased Vjridg pression. It is rarely he meets such a bri, there red anywhere else in English building, little^ Twenty-five years ago, Leicester was : roofs, half so large as it now is. Its present po and n latiou is a hundred and ten thousand, at on bslieve that there are one or t\vo cititi the United States which have not doii! their census in the past quarter of a cents Leicester is, consequently, more nioi than many of its contemporaries ; but ■ it can show by occult evidence that it vi watei toth the ' 148o. Th; place of some importance several huui W'l years before Edward the Confessor made specu appearance. In fact, Leicester combines: tagen extreme modern with the extreme antu drovf In the depressed portion of the city qtiait) creek or river, neither deep nor wide. (' mati' this is a low bridge, strong and substau' learn as they build everything in this couir whet but not noticeable. It la called the \ they Bridge. I do not know how old the bri hearc is ; but it is certain that its arches si went here four hundred years ago, as at that t bone: the bridge became conspicuous iu tradit ^on VVe see a great many old structures ^i^^ travelling through England, of which th f®at*> is not a scrap of information as to the i: °S*^* of origin. **' th Over this bridge, four hundred years a the SI Richard the Third marched his armies to ^'I'l ' fated field of Boaworth. When Ue r.Lpud [ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOV/. ither-land, and thiu^ygyj^;^ lie struck his heel against one end of make it up reiu;*i;j.jjg pa^pet ; and an old woman who nbserv- iire. We have ;iivg^ ^jj^ meidetit prophesied that his head a colossal city ; l)i\yould be broken against the same stone on icaus (mcludiiig iiiyhig retnvn. He was defeated ^n Bogworth It 18 a city of eu()io,jjQid^ and killed there ; and the excited lize, no one, not evipgople of Leicester saw the naked body of jer idea. And ytt tJ^gir monarch brought across that bridge growingat a marvtontheb'ick of a horse. All Leicester had 1 is supposed to be I gQ^j^ued its resources for days to make d it 13 growing tjj^erty iu the presence of their king, and mushroom growth, Qovvho; was broaght back to them a naked ppear so ; but it is and outraged corpse. that portion of it w, I ^igh "l had the power to describe the careful and tedious ^j^l 0^ agony wluch came up from their ach- 3 of the sixteenth jng atid bleeding hearts at the sight of this horrid spectacle. Only they didn't wail ; iiburbs in any dinv they didn't wail worth a cent, streets and new 1,; In fact, so careless were they in bringing Where were lields in the anointed body, that the head, hanging ;o are now paved stirdowQ the horse's side, struck the stone in the of masonry, withpai^pet that his heel had grazed, and the md hydrants. Bkull was broken. go cities of Euglan; Kichard Avas no longer king ; he was a he red-brick region, bleeding, dust-covered, disgraced corpse. the brick useu iiiAnd tlicse Leicester people dragged around houses is as red as ; his body in derision ; and they threw it over the bri'lge into the little river, and left it theVfi for eel-bait. It was very quiet and beautiful by the old assumes a pleascil bridge iu the summer afternoon that I stood Mie meets such a 111 thei'e. I'he houses about it were old and little, with drooping lattices and moss-grov.'n roofs. The scene was very quiet, very cosy, and nir,-;t beautiful. The house tliat itood at one end of the bridge, and part way in tlio Winter, liad an inscription on one of its stones to thiM effect : — "Niar this spot lie the remains of Richard the Tiiird, the last of the Plantagenets. 1485." That was a long while ago to die. Whil<; we were looking at the place, and BpecQlating on the probabilities of Mr. Plan- tagen»t's whereabouts, a Leicester physician drove ,1 long with whom my party wp'-e ac- quainted, and stopped to spill a littl^ infor- mati'in in regard to the weather. Wo loarnc.l from him that a few months ago, when L' Ijourers were dredging out the stream, they < line across the skeleton of a man. He as ; jster and the neiglu ire built with this i ! n American strikes English building, ago, Leicester was W II 18. Its present \if and ten thousand, e one or U\o citu: vhich have not doxv at quarter of a cent', quenlly, more iu< utemporarics ; but evidence that it w ance several hun: le Confessor uiatU Leicester coinbiiu> the extreme ant lortion of the cit\ leep nor wide. ' trong and substai, thing iu this cmii, It 18 called thi' i w how old the I : that its arches heard of- the discovery shortly after, and went t'l the workmen to get a sight of the rs ago, as at tliat ! hones, uul perhaps preserve them for the nspicuous iu traJit l(*'ial luu-icum, but they were gone. ny old structuir gland, of which t nation as to th( ur hundred yeai'^ rcbed his armies to )rth. AVheu ho r He be- lieved that it was the skeleton of tho de- feated ami disgraced king, preserved until now by the chemical qualities of the bottom of the river. S(.ine one else had entertained the s'ani"^ belief, and had taken the skeh;ton and shipped it up to the British Museun* at Londo.i, where it is now doing duty iu the Egyptian collection as one of the Pharaohs. When the English people Knd a skeleton they can't explain, they sond it to the British Museum, and label it "Rameses the Third." The two most important features of the city, in the estimation of the Leicester peo- pie, are the remnants of tlie oocupatioa by the Romans. One of these relics I found in a corner gro- cery. My friend invited me in, and I fol- lowed, tliinking he h,ad some business with the proprietor. It was a small grocery, with the proprietor anil liis wife and a cierk in charge. My fiiend exolianged a few words wir.li the proprietor, who lighted a candle and started for the cellar, followed by my companion, wlio beckoned to me. I pricked up my ears at this, pnd picked up my legs, too, as I thought they were going to'sample some old liquors. We went down into the cellar, and the proprietor lighted a gas-jet in one corner ; and then I saM- a sight that made me catch my breath abruptly. It was tho other relic left to Leicester by the Romans. It was the parlour-floor of one of their palaces. The light from the gas shone down upon thousands of square bits of stones of various colours, set in mosaic, representing scores of different patterns. It was very beautiful. The stones were set with won- derful skill, each joint being nerfect. and tho tii!ures represented with marked fidelity. There were kegs of salt fish, and barrels of oil, and boxes of soap, &c., about the cellar — a grotesque society for this elegant work- manship. The bit of floor was about eight- een feet square, and about three feet above the level of the cellar. Two sides of the square ran into the cellar-wall, and the full extent of the whole piece is not known. It may continue in the adjoining earth for se- veral yards. It was discovered when digging the cellar ; and its value being recognized, it was care- fully preserved. There are portions of lioinan flooring in the British Museum in London, but they M'ore brought from excava- tions in Italy ; and, althout'h laiil just as in the original, .siill they have lost, in their transfer, much of their interest. But this bit in the Leicester i-rocer's cellar is not only of general, but also of local interest. It is now exactly as it was laid two thousand years ago. It was formed just hero by i»eo- ple who were standing just where we staml. And this cellar, whi(;h hasn't echoed to an excitement any more remarkable than that contained in the rfmarks of a clerk who in- cidentally raps his head against a beam, was oncealdaze of light, and resounded to the merry shouts and gay laughter fif revellers iu togas and sandala. It is hard to realize it 82 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. /i!i !HiI iii and smell the oil and groceries at the same time. But it is so, thank Heaven 1 The mosaic floor is some live or six feet below the street. Some very important changes have taken place in the world since this place was on a level with the street. That voracious institution, the British Museum, not satistied with robbing Leicester of its skeleton, is moving its grasping fingers toward this Roman floor. What Leicester should do is to buy the grocer out, convert the building into a sort of pavilion, publish a romance with plenty of love and poison in regard to it, and charge an entranced public a shilling a head lor ad- mittance. I throw out these suggestions in a perfectly disinterested manner, and Leices- ter is welcome to benefit herself by them without cost. One more incident, and I am done. F. T. Barnum was onoe here. He came to buy a suit of clothes. It is a remarkable coin- cidence that I bought clothes in Leicester. But the difference in the transaction, and which may border a trifle on the supernatural to some people, is, that he went there for clothes and didn't get them, and I didn't go there for clothes, but did get them. How- ever, we will not say any more about that, as I do not wish people to get the impression that I aim to praise my own clothes. But thia suit that Barnum went after ba- longed to the late Daniel Lambert. It is now in possession of the proprietor of one of the Leicester papers. Daniel was a resident of this city, ana held his first levee here. He was s, remarkably sensitive man, and felt offended by any reference to his size. Mr Lambert was a whale on legs. A good idea of hia enormous size is gained from this suit, of clothes. It consists of a jacket, waistcoat, and a pair of pants. The pants at thew: n I >; at te across the fields in the directiuu of tli, was lage, following what we call a cart-jii; Cott this direction. The path became !t>in. tinct as I proceeded ; and in a shoi t t The found myself Id front of afarni-gat( l cum into a rather exten8ivlate c K>ok tl the midst of unlimited fi'eldsy' I didn't ck[**°''*., the) buildings which go to make up the ■ ■ cient village of Elstow ; but I am contii^l""?®* there were not more than fifty of them ; with but three exceptions, they were habitations of the poor. A few steps -. the street brought me opposite the 11 house, as ancient and as stony .s its ft i The i-indows were of lattice-worlv swung on hinges. Those on the fii>^^ »o,neii were open, and a girl leaned part way ou; „,^ . , one of them; while two healthy-lookntJ boys stood on the outside, and kept herfi.^ ^ falling out. On a bench the other sukeedle the door sat two old men, both smoking, i,--^ i dividing between themselve^i a pint tanK ^^^ of ale. Learning from them that the h'g'^, ^^ of Bunyan was still standing, and was aslj^^gg^ distance down the street, I pressed on, m^.-^ t , mument later .eached it. ' Thei A not very pretentious shell is that wliVabitB contained tho germ of the " Pilgrim's I'phgy , gress." It stood^here the street commeue^rved knd (/n ;he he . was J lating, he col lescen vomer ■..rfrnfm an t n m'' ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 83 I became aware i.: ~ little village of Ills to straggle into detached cottages of homely 1 spent a good slia!**t*rior, aud low in size. It was jv warm ;he aften, )on I stt**ternoon, and the door stood open. Over it he directiuii of tlit W" » board with the inscription, "Banyan's I we call a cart-pntCottage. " I stepped to the door, and looked e path became kssin. It was a room about ten feet square, ; and in a short t The furniture was excessively plain and it of a farm-gate li c**'n^'"8ome, as is to be found in the cot- iv*^ barn-yard, ami tagea of the English labourer. A woman a suspicion of ,i( forty or fifty years of age, and a girl about the gate, and then twenty years of age, were the only occu- his was a delightful P**^t* o^ *''*"' room. It looked as little like out mv legs, and 1* show-house as can be imagined. The the gate in glooui} 1*''"^ ^^ *b® house went on without inter- there some ten niii]t''*P'*<*'* 5 meat was fried, soup cooked, and do when a womai^™*^ made, without the least reference at' the other end *" *^^ associations of the spot. Here .ranbackintothi I.B'injfan sp.^nt the greater part of his life; man in a smfck *"*^ "^ ^^*^ kitchen he has partaken of many jorduroypantscaim*^"™''^^ '»«*'' eating h^s soup without a and after eyeint; t^'"''* *"'^^'^"'*^®"'*^^y''^1'^'""Stbe P^'i'ticular I through the yan!,"S,1**«^«o"'5'"gt'ii"g'**"'^«^<^h-" , r me into the road a; The elder of tlie two women took me up stain into the garret, and showed me the i, jjj^^. room where John slept, and pondered over I from this farm.k"lf g"^*^* question he -was wrestling with it struck me then ■»^"®* ^^ returned to the kitchen, where I n my memory, as i "«»^.f y na^f. and, being a trifle hungry street I ever saw i wked if 1 could have acup of tea and bread the width of the ,u^ butter 1 thought it would be some- bsigu of the buiiau**»^°f *"*''" *^V°,^gJ« vjxi it. ji- and uroioctini' w yontn Bunyan had taken his bread m his '^ "' - ' land. There was an abundance of goose- jerry bushe? in the garden ; and so I had a )late of the fruit with the tea and bread, and ;ook them on a bench just outside the back loor. The bread was dark, and there was 10 milk for the tea, and the sugar for the jerries was lumpy and hard ; but I straddled .he bench, and chewed up the food and fruit, ' md fljalped down the tea, as decorously as ; ihe hero himself could have done it, although '. was far less deserving of it. While I was s, ana projecting u lot a modern feAtui and the houses \ ler as if they wn [ity, instead of In ir I fields. Ididu'i- to make up tie but I am coiili lan fifty of them tions, they wen. r. A few steps : e opposite the ii as stony ..s its fci of lattice-work hose on the tir-i eaned part way lacing, I learned that the family took care of •he cottage for ;^the rent, and were in nowise lescended from the famous preacher. The yomen were lace- workers, and the husband lud father was a labourer. The younger of he two worked at her trade in the garden and plied her two healthy-lot/i> lide and kept her L^j^p ^^j ^^^^^ j ^^^ sitting, and plied Inch the other suk^gg^ji^ ^i^j^ ^^^^ marvellous dexterity, that en, both smoking, ' - - ... . •> selves a them that . o' ".was fascinated into asking her how much ^^'^^. '^^"H good lace-maker would earn in a day ; and at the hi'jiQ ^pj^^ ^^ ^ half-crown, v/hich is sixty- |nding,andwa8a^l.jjre««ents. That ended the conversation, Pt, I pressed on, ai. j^-, j returned to my supper. * 1. 11 • XL ■ 1 There is but little to learn of Bunyan's us shell 18 that wybilatjf life j^om the people of Elstow. I tho 1 ilgrim 8 ll'hey were born since he lived, and liave pre- |the street commeurerved no traditions. 1 talked with my hostess and several old people of the village ; but they knew nothing of Bunyan : all they knew was Canada. Some one had left Elstow fifteen years ago for Canada, with £12,750, or nearly $65,000, and had bought Squire Wilson's place, an^r generally reserves at the lop of his house to store his seed- corn. The old lady took me tlience to the garden, and gave me a bunch of posies, and talked tenderly and reverently of the dead poet. She said the entire charge would be eightuence. Cheap euougli. . Thence I went to the church, a grand old building in an enormous churchyard, and looked upon the tomb of Shakspeare. The church is much like the others of the estab- lished faith. Shakspeare and his wife ho K'f' ENGLAND FROM A B ACK-WINDO W. burifetl within the altar-rail, and some others of his family with thom. Charges reason- able. " New Place" is the name ot the house where he dwelt • after getting his re- reputation and some money. Part of tlie cellar and the grounds, surrounded by a high wall, opposite a pleasant-looking hotel, and on the corner of the street, are all that is left of the place where he died. At the house next door I found a lady who conduct- ed me over the grounds. She took a great interest in Shakspeare. I am afraid some one had been around the day before trying to imbue her mind with doubts of Shak- speare's pecuniary welfare. She talked like it. She took me over the garden, with its trim walks and tine turf and elegant cab- bages, and said, " Doen this look as if he sull'cred for the necessarien of life ?" "It does not," I promptly affirmed.' •* It doesn't indeed, does it ?" she added. "I hope to never die if itdoe3,";I de- clared in a lirni and unbroken voice. Then she showed me the extent of the foundations of the building, and said — " Does this look as if he suffered for the necessaries of life ?" And I said, " It does not." And she said, " It doesn't indeed, does it?" And I said, '* I hope never to die if it doe?." Then we went into her house, and she showed me a museura, and some of the mouldings which had once decorated the walls of the parlours in "New Place," and said— " Does this look -as if he suffered for the necessaries of life ?" Whereupon I observed, " It does not." And then she remarked, "It doesn't in- deed, does it ?" Which led me to asseverate, " I hope to never die if it does." I then paid the charges, and decamped. When I first went there it struck me as being rather odd that the old tenement in which he was born should be standing, while his far more elaborate residence should have dwindled uown to the cellar walla. Some time after his death it passed out of the family's iiands, and a late owner tore it down. He was a clergyman, and diiln't set much store by Shaksjjeare, I told the old lady, if she woald be kind enough to point out his present abode, I would step round tliure and kill him: but she said he was not ab«mt Stratford now. Next in order came the residence of Anne Hathaway, a'i, Shottcry. Those whom I asked said it was just across the fields, about a half-mile. These English people are regu- lar Peabodys in giving you distance. You think you have only a half-mile, but are surprised and gratified, on examination, to find tliat they have smuggled in an extra mile without attracting your notice. That's what I call true delicacy. I followed a broad pathway across several fields, and came into Sliottcry, with its forty or fifty buildings, all antique and frigidly simple. Anne|s cottage was on the opposite side. It sat with its end to the road, and was long enough to be occupied by two families, as it indeed was. The family that lived at the end toward the road had all the relics, leav- ing the other tenants nothing but the privi- lege of sitting outdoors and cursing an in- human world. The woman in charge here was angular, and forty- five (these figures refer to her years, and not to the degrees of her angle). She was poor; the house was poor; her father and husband, who were sitting inside, smoking, were poor; and the dog which they kept was poor, but his spirit was not crush- ed. The garden was a mass of irregularly- kept flowers of the simple kind, with a few cream-coloured roses and a great abundance of weeds. A rickety gate opened at the cor- ner of the building into the broken stone path which led by her door and the door of her aggrieved neighbour. Across the path from her door was a little well with no cuib; and she let down a rusty tin pail, and hooked me up seme delicious water. Then I followed her into the house, and was made acquainted with her father, a very old man, who was hugging the fire-place, although there was no fire in it, and pulling away at a pipe. He was eighty odd years old. I wanted to ask him if he did not think smoking was undermining his constitution ; but concluded not to, as it was growing late. ' It was a wonderful fire-place ; so broad, that the old gentleman sat comfortably with- in the jamb winter evenings, while a roaring fire was in progress. There was room for another chair and occupant on the other side. The room was good-sized, and thoroughly begrimed with smoke and age A number of strmgs of onions were hanging from a beam overhead. The furniture was clumsy, and blackened by time. Here Anne and AYill sat and sipped beer and nectar. Poor Shak- speare ! The great burden of courting was not lightened to him by peanuts. He died without ever seeing them. I went up a rather trembling old stairway of oak, much similar to that in Bunyan'a house, to the room where Anne slept, and pondertd, undoubtedly, when her folks had 86 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. njl '"I h M company down stairs. I well remember what a terrible bore company was to me when I was in "love. It was a little room, with drooping ceiling, and bare — no, the walls were not bare ; they were as closely vained as those in Shuk- speare's birth-chamber, with lead - pencil marks. Anne's bed took up a jjood part of the room, and near the foot of it was thestair-openinj?. Whether she ever got out of bed for,a drink in the night, and fell down that stairway, his- tory does not say. On the bed were the quilts and clothes which Anne's industrious ringers had woven and ornamented. Time and moths had eaten into the work ; but the skilful needle of my guide had repaired the breach. She is a Hathaway herself by marriage, and is becomingly [)roud of it. I planked my name on the register, and confideutially told her, should any one come along and ofiFer her twenty pounds to cut it out forhim, not to do it. I don't believe she will. The autograph of Dickens was there. It was written so lamely, that some subsequent visitor had rocovered it to posterity by writ- ing beneath it, "This is the name of Charles Dickens." Dickens was sitting on a stone near the well when the book was brought to him for signature, he being a man of too much talent to get up and go to the 'oook. The penful of ink hardly proved enough to go round : hence the indistinctness. The man who wrote the explanation was a direct encourager of snobbery. When I left, Mrs. Baker picked some flowers. Outside the gate I met a little girl wicli a single rose, which she oiTered for a penny. A little farther on, I was besieged by a half-dozen more on the same errand. The people about Stratford treat the memory of Shakspeare with great reverence; but the author of their most favourite litera- ture is not Shakspeare. A prophet is hardly appreciated in his own country. Shakspeare has a world-wide reputation, and his writ- ings are quoted everywhere ; but in Strat- ford the sayings of another are lifted up to public view, and that other is nameless. His uirthplacp is uuknoVvn ; his grave is a mys- tery. Wherever the English language is spoken, his famous utterances are before all eyes ; but he himself is as if he had never been. I refer to those two well-known lines — POST NO BILLS HERE I COMMIT NO NUISANCE I Why are not the impassioned breathings of Shakspeare painted in black letters on white ground, and nailed to the walls of Stratford- upon-Avon ? That's what's the matter with —that is,! mean why art they not? In conclusion, I wish to that the number of visitors to old habitation of Shakspeare is not any means large. Stratford is out of way, and rather awkward to reach. Shakspeaie's birthplace could be moved to some more convenient place, like Derby or Manchester or Leicester, on some through line of travel, the number who would visit it would be one hundred to one in its present situation. The extra fees thus obtained would very Boon pay the expense of removal. I have spoken to several English people about it, and they are strongly in favour of having it done. say the by the If CHAPTER XXX. GIVES A FEW OP THE PECULIARITIES OF AN ENGLISH WINTER. Clear, cold, and crisp was my Derbyshire Christmas. I wouldn't have missed spend- ing the day in England. As England is the embodiment of all expressed by the term •'home," 1.0 we may expect to find in its re- sources the proper observance of a home festival. Derbyshire had taken on a little snow and a freezing rain nearly six weeks before, uud had not yet got rid of it : in fact, for eight- een days this section of the mother country had good sleighing. But three days before the dawn of the glad anniversary the winter heavens tumbled down the contents of the treasury, and the entire earth was whitened. Derbyshire was very proud. Many years had passed since anything like it had been seen ; and now there was no other part of England, not even along the Scottish border, which could point to eighteen days of good- sleighing. Firmly but kindly old Derby- shire levelled its index-finger at this achieve- ment, itud all England stood abaslied. And yet there was something grotesque in this pride. A woman with a camel s-hair shawl and soiled stockings, a boy with a sled without irons, a man with a fob without a watch, are iu just such a pitiable state as Derbyshire finds itself with its eighteen days of good sleighing. If there is a sleigh in Derbyshire, if there is a sleigh in all England, J know of it only by rumour : I have not seen one, neither on the road nor in the barn. The children have no sleds. I saw a boy visiting in Derbyshire who said he had a sled at his home. ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 87 lings of white atford- er with Bay the not by of the h. If ved to erby or through visit it present >btaine(l 111 oval. le about ' having He was a rosy-chee'iced, honest-eyed b.»y,and I believed him. Then there was a boy in Lewes who pointed out to me, one day in autumn, a very steep street which he rode down in winter on a bona fide sled. He was a slender lad, w\th a pale face ; but there was in his face such an expression of true worth, that I took in his statement at once. I suppose there were some two hundred boys and girls in this Derbyshire village, and they had facilities in the way of coasting en- joyed by no other children outside of Swit- zerland ; but they had no sleds. There was not a sled in the whole village. They had good skating and skates. It hurt them worse to fall than it does American children ; for they are not so used to it. You could see at once, by the awkward way thoy fell, that they lacked practice. But the fact that there were no sleds struck me as oeing a stupendous miscalcula- tion or mistake on the part of Nature. I said to a little boy — " Where's your sled ?" "I aiu't g(»t one, sir." " What do you ride down hill on ?" Then I hastily changed the query to, " I mean, what do you do for coasting?" because I knew what be rode on. " For sledding, sir?" "Yes." "I don't doit: I hain't got nothinkto sled, sir." " Do all the little boys here sledding? Don't any of them hill ?" "Oh, yes, sir ! Some rides on their feet ; and some has a smooth stone, and rides on that." Then I told him what the American boy resorted to when he had no sleigh — such as an old straight-backed chair, a jumper made of two staves, a length of stove-pipe, or even a piece of oil-cloth. I told him how a jumper was made, and he went off to see his father about it. I saw the old gentleman the next day, and asked him if he had fixed the boy ; but he replied iu the negative. However, I was determined that the jumper should be made: so I set about to tell him the way. I got down on my knees.aad draughted the fabric on the snow. I figured up the expense at almost nothing. 1 en- larged upon the joy and comfort a jumper would bring to his heir's heart with all the eloquence I could hoist; but he didn't fire up at all ; he smouldered away as before. He thought it was a good idea to make a jumper; and then he smiled feebly, and be^an to talk of America. If it wasn't for America, I could make more progress with this people. go without ride down These swift-running English trains have been busy for the three days preceding Christmas, taking people here and there for the holiday. Along the complicated mass of iron threads have been woven the jolly gatherings an 1 blessed reunions which crown this day to all hearts. For once in a whole year the railway octopod of England is not a feeder to Loudon, but a drainer thereof. Every train which leaves St. Pancras, Vic- toria, Charing-cross, Waterloo, and Ludgate- hill is loaded with the hopeful and fun-loving of London people. They go with bags and hampers, and pipes and sticks. There are the old and the young, the nobleman and the plebeian, the merchant and the clerk, the politician and the statesman. It is the English Thanksgiving — a time for feasting and praise, for union and congratulation, for giving and taking. But those trains were full. The limit pre- scribed by law was in this case disregarded, and every seat held as many as it could ; while the floor was tilled with fat hampers and the nervous feet of the travellers. I never saw such uncomfortable and plea- sant travelling as was on the London train down to Derbyshire. There were three ladies in the compartment ; and their hats were on wrong, owing to the crush ; but they laughed all the while. One old gen- tleman laughed unbrokenly for a half hour because his hat fell otT and somebody stepped on it. It was strictly an English crowd bent on fun, and bound to have it at any sacrifice, except of decency and good temper. I was pinched up to that extent, that I could use only one lung to breathe with ; but I grinned all the way at their chaffing. And we all grinned at each oihei when there was nothing else to do. We couldn't help it. It was like a bursted pipe of good humour. It kept bubbling up and gushing forth without any effort on our part. I stood down at the little station the after- noon before Christmas, and saw three express trains goby. They were long trains, and they wore heavily laden. I watched the signal-post, and saw the announcement of a train passing the lower station on its way to us ; and then I waited, and looked in the direction of its coming. Finally the front of the locomotive ap- peared around the curve. The air was full of iroat. It rose up in waves from the valley, and veiled the hill tops from sight. Beneath this canopy so white and beautiful came thj flying train. It could not be heard. It mikht have been standing still, for all the sound that came to us nearer, we could see it but, as it drew vibrate under the I 88 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. ,? »l Fli ! I "Si mighty pulsation of its powtr. It grew lar^jtir aiiJ larger ; the vibration iucrt^uaeil till it RueinO'l to be fairly utagguring oil its frail path. We all iuatiiictively drew back as far at) poHuible from the traeii, M-hile it seemed aa if a weiyht were op])reH8iug both braiu and lieart. It was the Manchester Expre88, one half hour behind time. It was a Been but unheard monster, coming toward uu with awful velocity. Within litteeu seuouds of its appearance around the curve it shot through the station with a roar that was deafening ; and, before we could catcii our suspended breath, it had plunged into the tunnel, and was gone. " Wiiat rate of spcod do you call that?" said I to jny friend the station-master, while I vainly strove to suppress a shiver. " About sixty miles an hour; it is behind time, you see," he explained. Nearly every home in that Derbyshire village was full of haupy guests. There was happiness in the air and in the trees and liedges ; it Uamed up in the red cheeks, and Hashed from the bright eyes, and rang out in the hearty laughter and glad shouts. Tlie music commenced at midnight. As the two hands of the viliage clock met at the figure twelve, tliecliimes rang out their glail Boug ; and so the day was ushered in, and even its lighf met and escorted into Derby- shire by tlie cheery bells. All through England, in city and village and hamlet, tiie Christmas chimes were sounding out the glad uewB, " Christmas has come 1" And it had (!ome,the dear Christmas Day 1 It had come to this home country, with its freight of joy and domestic peace. It needed no chimes, no trumpets, to proclaim to a stranger tlje yladuess of the day. After breakfast the sounds of music came up the hill. The viliage baud were station- ed in front of the squire's house, and were straining their brass throats to the utmost. Througli the village streets weut bands of the musical villagers with violin and cornet, and drum and cymbal, stopping here and there to serenacle a neighbour, and catch up the willing pennies to make a Christmas cheer. All outdoors was bright and sunshiny, aai sliouting and laughing ; while indoors was bustle and business. The home was a miniature bower. From the walls hung wreaths and festoons of ev, "greens ; and suspended, thereon were mottoes and scrip- tural texts, worked with the glistening holly- leaves ; and sprigs of holly, with the red bfjrries shining through, touched olF the windows and the doors. Drawing-room, dining-room, and kitchen fared alike. In the first uanied stood in secluded grandeur the Christmas-tree, bristling with gifts, and gleaming with white wax tapers, wait- ing for the electric touch to turn the sombre green into a daK/ling glare. And in the servants' hall was a destructive feature in a pen ^\ 4 % ^ V 'O^ c> ^ a % yr^' 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 SL* ^ ^. ^ ^ 90 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. ' If America has a larger fielJ, there is greater competition. Merit and perseve- rance will win the goal anywhere, or "bust" the universe. Despite the age of this nation, and the many advantages it has enjoyed in the past three centuries, many of its people are bow- legged. This is owing, I think, to continu- ous standing on their feet at an extremely early age, admiring the general aspect of the national debt. It is what might be called the bow-legacy of a national debt. There is no present danger of a similar affliction resting upon America. Our debt is so large, that we can see it without standing up. The common use of endearing terms in the family circle makes a lively impression on the stranger. "Love," "lovey," and "my love," and "dear," "deary," and " my dear," are the popular and most sooth- ing interchange of adjectives, which are constantly flying around the domestic circle. I think it is sometimes rather overdone whju four or five "loves" or " dears " season a simple request. Yet it sounds infinitely better than our "old man" and "old woman," or even " mutton-head." I never knew the latter to work well as a term of endearment ; still it is useful. Among the numerous things to which we are accustomed at home, but do not see here, are surprise-parties, clam-bakes, euchre, negroes, seven-up, and skunks. I have seen less than a half-dozen Africans in England and Scotland, and none of the other articles. I inadvertently mentioned skunks at a party one evening, and was obliged to give an elaborate description of the shrub very much tc my embarrassment. I find that the ladies here easily tire of the topic, and crave something else. I do not press it upon them. I thought everybody had skunks. Sewing-machines are not so common here, by any means, as they are in free and un- trammelled America ; but they are nume- rous. The English machine is a very crude affair, being mostly required to be fastened to a table. It sells for from twelve to fifteen dollars. The American machines are the most popular, like American pianos and organs. Wheeler & Wilson's, Singer's, Howe's, and Willcox k Gibbs', are well known liere. They retail from thirty to forty dollars, or some twenty dollars cheaper than they can be bought in the country where they are manufactured. This is a nut for the political economist to mash his thumb with. Many a man has fallen from an upper-story window in Eng- land without crippling several sewing-ma- chine agents. No man has done it in the Both the post" are own'jd by States in the past ten years, offices and telegraph-offices the Government, and both are in admirable working order. You will see little towns — so small that the postmaster keeps the office in his home — having its telegraph wire. The postmaster must also be an operator, unless his salary is sufficient to supply one; and he is not appointed by every new government, but holds his office so long as he proves worthy of it. In telegraphing, twenty-five cents will carry twenty words to any part of the kingdom ; above that number, it is two cents a word. There is still, however, a trifle of old fogyism about the post-office department. Mail carts are frequently used where the rail could more efl"ectively do the work. For instance, the mail from London to the interior of Norfolk Jcounty is carried by rail to Ely; there it is transferred to carts, by which it is carried to Lynn, though the rail turns to Lynn ; thence again by cart to all the coast towns, following the line of the railway. I am not prepared to explain this extraordinary proceeding. The Postmaster-General.is an'exquisite any country should bo proud of ; but he does not know how to run the mails, excepting by cart. There are no wooden houses here; and this fact recently placed an English friend in a rather embarrassing position. He had sojourned in the States several years, and returned to his native land fully primed with valuable information. Several nights after his return, while entertaining a few friends in a private bar-parlour of the White Horse tavern, he ventured on the astounding asser- tion that he had seen a house moved ; and becoming reckless by the^horrified expression on the faces of his companions, and the utter impossibility of backing safely out, he fol- lowed up the sensation by boldly announcing that he had seen a three-story tenement going down the middle of a street. Imme- diately an oppressive and ominous silence fell upon the auditors ; and very soon thejr arose, one by one, and, with glances of signi- ficant pity on the audacious narrator, mood- ily retired from the room, leaving him en- tirely alone with his seared conscience. The last one to leave took occasion to overhaul his predecessor in the entry, and , to observe in a gloomy whisper that "that was the bloodiest lie that he had ever heard." And to this day that returned Englishman is eyed with suspicion. So much for being observant and communi- cative. As I have said before, the English imbibe only plain drinks, and water them fearfully. we do ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 91 But there are two or three American bars in Loudon ; and they have paved the way for others, whioh will soon follow. To be par- ticular, there are just two ; and botli are owned by Spiers and Pond, the famous cater- ers, and Great British iSmashers of mouopo- lieF. The tirst one they started, with their other refreshment saloons, in the Kensington Museum ; and the second they have at the Criterion Buildint;, adjoining Regent Cir- cus. At the front of the Criterion 'bar (which from six o'clock Sunday afternoon to eleven o'clock Sunday night, as well as at all times on week days, is in a blaze of gas,— no ladies admitted after eight p.m.) is a little apart- ment, about ten feet square, devoted to tlie concoction of American drinks. A genuine American, being from Philadelphia, has been imported expressly for the purpose. He was rather lonesome the nrst fortnight ; but company is beginning to gild his hours. Among his drinks are a few that will possess the attraction of novelty, if nothing else, to my American readers. They are, sherry blush, ladies' blush, ^in fix, bosom-caresser, dog's-nose, pick-me-up, gin and tansy (?), John Collins, rattlesnake, saddle-rock, even- ing star, Leo'i own, co.-pse reviver, and flash - of-lightning. There are forty-eight different kinds of driuku in all. They marry and give in marriage just as we do ; only they precede the marrying with a form that we do not. I was at an Euglish church in a count:'y village the other day, where the announce- ments of six marriages were read by the venerable and consumptive-looking clerk. These announcements specified that he and she bad come into an agreement to unite their fortunes for life, if no jimpediment ex- isted ; and if any one in the congregation knew any reason why these two should not be made one, now was the time to rise and explain, or ever after hold his peace. Myself and the rest preserved silence. These banns are called the number of Sundays the groom can afford, as the clerk has to be paid for doing it. It is never less than one Sunday, and seldom more than three. The custom would not do in America. You see no cakes of ice on the sidewalk here; and I can- readily imagine that an American city street iu the morning must fill an Englishman with surprise. An Ameri- can misses the great variety of vegetables, meats, and breads served up at his home hotel, and the equal variety of mixed drinks dealt out at his home bar ; but I think ho misses ice more than all these. I feel safe in asserting that seven-ejghths of the bar- rooms, ana full that proportion of the hotels, are not regularly supplied with ice ; and I have yet to see the restaurant with a single pitcher of ice-water. And, of the two countries, England stands more in need of ice than we do, as its drinking-water ia generally inferior. They have a singular custom here : it is to require the party who presents a tive- pound-note to endorse his name on the back. I have asked tradespeople who have request- ed me to do this why it is done ; but they cannot explain. One of them said, it was in case the note should prove spurious, when he could "come back " on me for it. As I never saw him before,and expected never to see him again, this seemed likely enough. And just as if a counterfeiter would endorse his own name on the note ! A trusting and childlike people are they ! The pound-notes are of white paper of parchment appearance. The design is simple lines prinned in black ink. They are so wonderfully simple that it is difficult to associate them with any value. The shopman rings the sovereign on his counter, not to test its genniiieneas, but its soundness. They are afraid of cracked sovereigns. I do not know what a cracked sovereign is, as I have not seen any. Some people say Queen Victoria is one. Although the English chew but little to- bacco, they consume great quantities of the weed in smoking and snuffing. I have seen a number of young people addicted to the latter habit. I don't care who snufiFs, if he will only keep away from my victuals. In many of the old-fashioned English inns snuff-boxea or snufF-horns are to be found in the smok ing-ruom, from which the guest helps him- self without charge. The same inn keeps a stock of long-stemmed clay pipes on hand for the use of patrons. Clay pipes are in such favour here, that some of them are dignified with an amber mouthpiece. A New York manufacturer^of meerschaum pipes once told me that he could sell me a pipe as low as I could buy it in Vienna. I wanted ten doll ars for one that can be bought here for three dollars ; end they say that that is as cheap as it can bo bought in Vienna. I am obliged to think the New York man prevaricated. But I shall wait til I reach Vienna before investing in a meerschaum pipe. This reminds me of an American who w as going to buy a pipe in Vienna; but he fiualiy bought it here, as ho gave up go- ing to Vienna, ,and went back home, for the extraordinary reason that he ciould not get hash here. He was so fond of hash, that he employed it at two meals daily. Here it is not iu use, and he mide several efTorts to have it compounded. The article they prepared had all the ingredients, but 92 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOVV. seemed to lack that mystery •which is the chief charm of hash ; and so he gave up in dis2U3t, and went home. There is another feature of English life that will rather surprise New Enj^land peo- ple. Tliey do not lay in vegetables in the lall for winter use. What they want they buy as they need ; and that dear old November spectacle of putting a half-dozen barrels to rights, and mashing your linger in the operation, cr disjointing your spine in carrying a barrel of potatoes down a cellar stairway, is never witnessed here. Their pork is smoked or dried, but not corned, and is called bacon. But then, as they do not eat beans, why should they have salt pork ? The oUier day I said to a little f);irl, "What did Santa Cl\us ^ive yon last Christmas ?" "Saata Clans ?" said her mother. " Why, yes : don't you have Santa Glaus?" I asked, in some consternation. -No." " We do," 1 said, with enthusiasm. "We'd never think of getting over Christmas with- out Santa Claus. " " Well, wo shall have Santa Claus," said she with detirmination. " Howls it made ?" With undirguised sorrow I explained that Santa Claus was not a Christmas dish, bnt a respectable Dntchman from the Rhine, who had emigrated to America, been naturalized, and was now the crowned king of tlie chil- dren. And these people never heard of the dear saint, and in all these geneiations have gone to bed of a Christnraa eve with their stockinijs on. The say. bloody, blasted beggars as thev CHATPER XXXI I. BRINGS US INTO SCOTLAND. It was evening, and raining, when we reached Edinburgh ; and the drive down the main street (Princes) to the hotel was by a bank of nloaed and dripping shops, with an occasional street-light to show up the mois- ture and the puddles. I got to bed early, after vainly looking for the tiers of lights ■which T vvns told streamed in a weird blaze from the lofty buildings of Scotland's fair city, J • I had heard so much of 'the elevated loca- tion of Edinburgh, that I was prepared not to enjoy my sojourn there. I do not like to climb precipitous streets ; and sitting be- hind a horse, and see him straining in the ascent until the effort reverses the pupils of his eyes, is a torture I shrink from. I did wonder how near the station was to the city {for, of course, the train could uot ascend the hill into the city) ; and I also speculated whether there would be eight or only four horses attached to the cabs. E'lliiiburuh is built upon three parallel ridges. The central ridge commences in the Hat where Holyrood Palace stands, and ijradnally ascends, forming the old High Street, until it abruptly terminates in a mass of rock, with a fiont altitude of three hun- dred feet or so. This ridge is about a mile in length. The rock contains tlie famous Edinburgh Castle ; an.i the tJiree open aides are so steep that it seems to l>e impossible of ascent. The rock is juyt as it was in appear- ance the day it was formed, there having been no attempt whatever to smooth and adorn its merged sides. The ridge and the ravine on the south Avhich forms the street called Cowgate, are the Old Town. The ridge on the north runs counter to the cen- tral. It is also broader, and has less ascent ; in fact, the ascent is hardly noticed. It ter- minates in a huge knoll called Calton Hill, where are several monuments, a good view of the entire city, and a singular failure to establish a Parthenon. Ediid)nrgh people have long been convinced that all their city needed to be an Athens was a Parthenon : so on Calton Hill, their Acropolis, they started the Parthenon, and only abandoned it when they discovered that their means were not CO- equal with their zeal. Every family should have a Parthenon. Tliey are nice to stand in when it rains. This north ridge is the New Town. The Edinburgh of to-day exists most- ly on the north ridge. Its main and front street is Princes. It is a broad avenue of shops and hotels on ono siiie, and the terraced park which skirts its side of the ravine on the other. Its buildings face the Old Town. Back of and parallel with it are several broad avenues of residences, and cutting across arc similar streets. These, with their buildings, remind me of upper New York, they are so quit-t and so select. The Old Town is much different in appearance and occupation from the new. Its liouses are from five to ten stories in height, built of block stone, o" o*" chip stone covered with concrete, with s' r^rp crow-step gables, narrow windows, low door- ways, stone floors, and freciuently ci'-cular stone stairways. Trke the natural elevation of the site, with the extraordinary height of the buildings and their rock-like'simplicity, and you have in the Old Tom'U an imposing city indeed. The Bide of the ravine facing the New Town is altogether too steep and too brief to permit of " roof towering above roof in castel- lated array," as some one writes. I have looked over there several hundred times ; but I can see but two tiers of roof really. Still ■■■■Ml ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 93 bs. B parallel ces in the itls, and old High ilia muss iree huii. lut a mile I he famous )pen Rides possible of in appear- '6 having looth and I and the the street I'wn. The I the cen- 38 ascent ; I. It ter. Iton Hill, »no(l view failure to ^h people their city henon : so ey started 3cl it when were not lily should ;o stand in s the New sists niost- and front avenue of le terraced ravine ou D1<1 Town, eral broad across arc liuildings, ley are so n is much ition from ve to ten >!)C, C* 0*^ •ith s' arp low door- ■ oi''cular elevation height of implicity, imposing the New o brief to in castel- I have imes ; but ly. StUl the impoHing feature is there, and cannot b® denied. But it is all in the location. Ther® is no more architectural merit to the build' ings than there is to an ice chest. Thoy are quaint lookinj;, but no more. IE you ever as- sisted in getting an ice chest up a back stair- way, you may have noticed some quaint features about it. As for " the tiers of weirl light shimmering in the darkness like a tiara of diamonds," it is a good idea ; but it isn't so. I had the impression, from this and similar misrepresentations, that the occupants of the various lloors, or flats as thoy are call- ed here, had innumerable gas jets to Avork in every room. I didn't know then, as I well do now, that maiij^ of the possessors of those flats are too poor to keep their linen clean, and are only too thankful to have a bed to crawl into, without the aid of a tallow dip even. The Old Town is hoary with age, and is builded like nothing we can show in Ameri- ca. But these people will persist in showing vou their new features. They don t realize that we of America have more and better than they cati produce ; and that, tiring of the elegance and splendour, we have come htr-i to see and feast on the antique and unique of Europe. When I was revelling in the broad level lielda and straight smooth roads of Nor- folk, they would talk of nothing but the glorious peaks and mountains and glens and ridges of Derbyshire. Hills indeed ! A higii old variety hills form to a New Englauder ! The main street of the Old Town is full of business and tenements ; but the former is entirely composed of small retail shops, pat- ronized exclusively by the straitened tenants of the dirty and gloomy and homely tene- ments. The whole length of the High Street, from the Palace to the Castle, is punctured with lanes, some of them running through to the Cannongate Backs and Cowgace, and others ending in courts Some oi them are wide enough for four people to walk abreast others are barely three feet in width. All of them are liued with tenements. They are called ch)se3 and wynds ; but the for- mer is the more proper name. How human beings can remain in such places, eating and sleeping, surrounded by the close, dark atmosphere, and not be smothered by the stench, is something I do not understand. Advocates' Close, to look down it, shows but a ribbon of light at the other end ; but in some places it is nearly live feet wide. Such breadths must be genuine plazas to the inhabitants, although it must worry them to see so much space going to waste. White-horae Close, down near the Tolbooth, opens in through an arch under one of tac street-buildings. Passing through, the visitor comes into a court. The uuildinga which line^ its sides are but two low stonea high ; but they are very, very old. Even a smart coat of white wash cannot conceal the wrinkles which several hundred years have wrought on their surface. Tiiey are full of little gables and turrets, wiih dormer-win- dows irregularly sot in their long, sloping roofs. They are ;nassively built, with tremendous stone stairs leading up into them On one of tlie stoops is a sore-eyed man playing a violin. On fhe other stoop.s, and over the pavement of the court, are chihlren in short clothes, wallowing about, begrimed with dirt, and inquisitively tasting every thing in reach. There is a little puddle of green water in the centre of the court, — the emptyings from some w.ash-tub, I should ju;ige, if there were anything else in sight to corroborate the evidence of a wasli-tub. — and in it one of the dirtiest of tlie iliciiy lot is sailing a bit of pasteboard ; and another is dipping up the liquid in his hande, and pouring it over his own head. It is nnguid- ed instinct telling him he ought to be wash- ed. At the back end is a double house ; at least, it has two half-moon turrets at the frc-nt, with a stoop between that branches off half-way up and ascends into both of them. There are three old men an:! one old woman on the stair and its branches. One of the old men is asleep ; another ii smoking a short clay pipe; the tnird siw with liis chin in his hands, Hiiuking of the poliiii'al dissen- sions in iTapan. The (>ld woman is splitting up a piece of wood with a heavy knife. To the right of the stoop, and bcIow one of the turrets, are two doors, or rather doorways, as 1 can see no di((>rs. Several children are tumoling fr.iin the pavement down through them. On the left of the stoop, and beneath the o:hBr turret, is a narrow passage into the North Back of Caunongate. Pick your way through it carefully, m its floor is covered With tilth. This is a prototype of the clones ;nid tlie wyndi?, whether ihey be oil' the High Street or the Cowgate, exce[jtiiig th;?t the build- ings in mo^t of the others tower up to a much greater heigiit. There are drunken, brawling men ami women, idiots, ci i|)ple8, loathsomely-scarred people, prostitutes arrayed in gaudily-striped petticoats or skirts, dirty, crying children, and, among all, the decent poor, struggling against poverty and crime for bread to enable them to stay longer in the misery, and to endure more of it. Such is life, here and everywhere. It is Saturday evening on the High Street As far as you can see down it or up it are (4 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. masses of humana. Hardly a vehicle can be seen. The very pavenunb is hiddea beneatii their moving forms. Here, sitting against a pump, is a blind man playing on a windy demon called bagpipes ; but a few feet from him are a family of five, bringing godd musio out of as many violins ; near to them are two girls, with young forms and old faces and pinched features, singing in a grained, cracked voice that hurts my heart more than its offends my ear ; and but a short distance below it a strolling brass band. I never saw a place like E.linburgh for street music. All the main thoroughfares are alive ! with it every pleasant evening. The brass bands play British tune8,which are not always good. They are Germans. The sopranos must be Irish, as they sing but little else than Kdlarney. The others are Italians,French,&c. Edinburgh is the crucible for actors and writers, so claimed ; I am generous enough to award them therausicians as well ; otherwise I do not understand why there should be so much more of them here than in any other city in Britain. VVe may walk down the whole length of the High Street, and see no abatement of the crowd or of the squalor. The high build- ings are closely tenanted ; and from many or the windows young children, pipe-smoking men, and crooning old women, are leaning out, and staring stolidly down upon the animation below them. You and I could not live there. Why do they ? Simply because i hey qf,n get a room here for from eightpeuce to a shilling and eightpence a week ; in our language, from eight dollars and thirty-two cents to eigh- teen doUjirs and seventy-two cents a' year. It is rarely that a family needs more than one room ; and to be centrally located in a ten story building, within five minutes' walk of the post-office and principal theatres, is no unworthy object in this life. And the price is dreadfully cheap. Cowgate, as I have said, runs from the inver8«3 apex of the south ravine. It has the same buildings and courts and closes as figure along High Street ; but it is more ob- scure than High Street, and of itself is sufficiently filthy without the auxiliaries. It has beeu rendered much darker than it was by the throwing of ponderous aiich bridges over it at stated intervals, to make easier communication across the city. I want thi'ougii thereat a little after midnight. The liquor places had been closed since eleven o'clock ; but the drunkenness was intense. Such yelling and cursing and clawing, by ir.en, women, and children, 1 never before witnessed. It was both harrow- ing and deafening. I believe I am safe in saying, that, within a space often 'minutes, I saw thirty women with blackened eyes and bruised faces ; and I care not to gi -e the number of men, tattered and bleeding, who I assod mo. I shinned up out of that locali- ty without wickedly wasting time, you can bet ; that is, you may be sure. I have been among the British people so long, that I find I am becc <".ing quite slangy. I must break myself o^ it. The High Street il, or left in tho street, — tho condemndest spec- tacle you ever saw, as the historian Hutnj has observed. As years went round on their ceaseles-. course the peo[)le became more polished and refined, and dressed their meat at proper places, and introduced forks and more liquors, and procured vessels to hohl the same, until they could get time to empty them out of the front drawing-room window. It is singular the great number of temper- ance hotels in this thoroughfare. There are no less than a dozen of them. In the midst of the rum and ruin they rear their brazen fronts. But, after all, it is a plsasant place to visit, because of its antiquities. One seem? to never tire of looking at them, and speculating on their past. Some important ones have been torn down in the past few years ; and the City Improvement Society is already at work on others. Those standing are strong enough to sustain themselves for a thousand years to come ; but, fifty years hence, precious few of them will be in existenoe. The hand of improvement is spreading its vampin; lingers over the fabrics, and constant- ly compressing their limitr. Holyrood Palace, which everybody goes to see, is important nov/ only as it contains relics of the past ; but it was once a significant building, and has a history that should, and undoul>ted!y will, preserve it as long as one stone remains upon another. It contains a picture-gallery of the kings of Scotland for the past tvi ^ thousand centuries. They were ordinary-looking men, and only needed shav- ing, and their hair cut, to make them pre- sentable pedestrians for the streets of the nineteenth century. The portraits may be considered accurate, as they were painted after several hundred years of anxious study by the artist. There were several pictures of Robert l?ruce, and a mighty hard struggle to spell his name in mongrel English or Latin. They had it Evgenvis Ptobertvis Brvssivs. I don't know what Evgenvis was for ; but I presume it M'as where they ploughed around to get a start. From the picture-gallery is a passiige leading into the tower, and on the floors above are shown the apartments of Queen Mary and her unfortunate husband, Lord Darnley. Darnley's rooms were on the floor below thise of his wife. For some time she had neglect- new. ENGLAND FxiOM A BACK-WINDOW. 97 ndy goes to itii'ins relics signiricaiit houW, aii'A ong as one contains a -otland for They were ■edeil sliav- . tliem pre- ■eets ot the it8 may he We painted [xious study pictures of struggle to ih or Latin. s Brvssivs. (iivis was ivhere they From tiie |e leading above are . Mary anil fd Darnley. oelow those ad neglect- ed him— even to shutting him out from her chambers, whea a favourite, an Italian named Rizzio, was admitted. Tlioy had many quarrels, when he would talk back, and she would throw skillets and roUiug- pins. I never heard any one say so ; but I am married myself. Mary was a schemer | (being a widow before marrying Darnley) ; | and Uizzio was a schemer also, in the inter- i csts of Franco and Spain. The Scotch no- bility became alarmed at the influence of the ^ foreigner over their queen ; and several of them conspired together to hang him to the j city cross. Darnley was glad of the oppor- j tunity; and, the night the conspirators came to the palace, he met them in this little room where be slept (and where I am now staring at the walls), and conducted them up a pri- vate stairway to the audience chamber. Olf from the audience-chamber opens a little room, said to be the supper-room of the queen. She was there with Rizzio when the conspirators came in and told Rizzio that that was no place for him. The queen sprang to her feet ; and the Italian, with character- istic courage, fell on his knees behind her. They were up to a trick or two in those days that we think we have originated. Rizzio put his arm about Mary's waist, and clung Icenaciously to her : ^whereupon one of the party just bent back his midale finger and Mr. R. let go at once. I have been led to drop articles I had become attached to be the same convincing argument. Darnlay then held his wife ; and Rizzio was pulled out of the room, and dragged across the audience- chamber, their daggers plying into his shrinking and writhing body at everA step. At the door they finished him. It was an awful murder, and we are apt to con- demn the perpetrators. But we cannot properly understand and appreciate the cause for it. Perhaps Rizzio owned a hand-organ : Italians do. However, it would have been But the visitor is staggered on looking into what was the fair queen's dressing-room. It is an apartment that no two women could lace their shoes in; and how she, with her stiff bodice, lace furbelows, and long train, ever turned around after getting into the room, and got out again, is a matter on which history is o nniously silent. As near as I can remember, the room is about nine feet long and four feet wide, and lighted by a single, narrow, deep-recessed window. The polished steel plate with which she arranged her back hair is here ; so are many of her toilet articles. She always carried her own comb and brush, and never borrowed from thi' servants at the hotels where she stopped. A close resemblance between Mary and my- self in this particular has struck the notice of a number of people, who have frequently commented upon it. Mary's writin/^-deak is still preserved. I wondered, as I looked at it, if the people in those days used to spoil sheets of paper by dating w ith the old year instead of the new for the first fortnight of the latter,and swear at their luck, as I have heard respectable merchants do. I forgot to tell you that at the entrance to the pUace is a regularly- ordained ticket - office, where you buy your admission just the same as at a cir- cus. It, like most ot these objects of inter- est, is on a paying basis. And I am glad of it. An old gentlemen stands in the Uroofiesa abbey, where he has a stand of photographs, &c., for sale. On making a purchase, I gave him a sovereign ; and, in returning chancre, he said (I had exchanged no words with him except asking the price), "I suppose yo'i can count our money. The piece you £1 ve me is a sovereign, which is twenty shillings. This is a half-crown, or two shil- lings and sixpence; here is another, making ^„„„ , I five shillings ; this is a two shilling piece.' much better if Darnley had made the quarrel | ^n^ go he went on, doling out the change to his own, and brought a suit agamst Rizzio fcr sixty thou-iand doUarsJdamagt • andcosts^ if this was her supper-room she was a slow queen, and had fallen far behind her French-court education. It is an irregular- shaped apartment, and hardly large enough for four people to eat a baked apple withm Her bedroom was not extensive ; but it must have been a handsome apartment when the tinsel and lustre of its tapestry were in their prime. The bed is still here— a four- poster, with a canopy and hangings, and an elaborate quilt spread over it ; but every- hiug is tarnished by the three hundred years that have expired since they were new. 7 me, and explaining with scrupulous care the value of every piece ; while I looked on, too full of wrath to speak. Then there wag another disagreeable in- cident. On the ticket-window shelf was a huge cat, with an invitingly glossy coat. I set to smoothing it ; when she gave me a lick Bo sudden and unexpected, that I broke a pair of five shilling suspenders in the shock. Benevolence has also done mueh for Edin- burgh in the endowment of several splendid schools, hospitals, and asylums, which are erected in the suburbs, and surrounded by beautiful grounds. On the High Street there are several rag> 98 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. s god schools, humble and unpretentious, but doing good work. I Hpent a fow iriini'tes in one of the schools- It was kept in one of the old aristocratic houses, six stories high, in a narrow close. The first room I was shown into was the schoolroom, where two classes of little boys and girls were receiving instruction. Thoy wero mostly white-htnded, and all were barefooted, None of the boys in the insti- tution can boost a pair of shoes. The mana- ger could not explain why they wore clothed and not shod. 1 passed into different rooms and found them all engaged in different kinds of labour. The latest comers wcre^cutting blocks of wood up into kindling to be sold to the citizens. In the millwright room I found boys twelve years oM tending lathes, which were turning handles of various sorts from w6od ; and they were doin^ tlie work most creditably. Other boys were engaged in making scrubbing-brushes ; some were shoe- making ; and others, again, were tailoring. They were of all ages, from five years to six- teen yjars, and all busy. The occupants are those found on the streets at night, begging from AmericanSjOr trying to sell them fusee- matches. They are first taken to a magis- trate, where their circamstances are carefully looked into ; and if they have parents or guardians, and they will not keep them from the streets, they are sent by these authorities to the schools. Edinburgh has several peculiar features. Next to its site, the feature which most im- presses a stranger is the gieat number of boys. There are about two million boys in Edinburgh, whose ages range from twelve to fifteen years ; and all but nine of them wear Scotch bonnets, either of the Glengarry or other pattern. These boys can be found on every street after dark ; but the greater part of them congregate on Priqces Street, mostly at the Post Office ; and, having two tubes instead of one in their throats, their facilities for making themselves heard are very superior. Still another feature is the fish-women. They may be seen at nearly all hours of the day, but more especially in the morning They dress in blue linsey-woolsey, consist ing of a skirt which reaches just below the knees, and an upper garment, something like the waterproof worn by our ladies, which is worn over the shoulders and hips in pleasant weather, and made to protect the head dur- ing a storm. They wear no other head- covering. They wear low shoes with wooden soles. At their back they carry a basket which is two feet square and about three feet deep, with another basket, in the shape of a bowl, sitting in the top. A strap fastened to the ba«ket, and passing around the forehead of the carrier, keeps the goods in ahat/e. Thus equipped, the dame waltzes arouna the city, and sells fish. They are straight, well-built women, but n(tt particularly comely in feature. Down by the river, in the suburbs of the city, is their town. It is called Newhaven and is almost oxclusively occupied by them and the smell of fish. There are also two or three taverns there, where a splendid meal of fish can be obtained. The houses are two or three hundred years oM, about two stories high, with sharp roofs and enormous stone stoops. On the several back courts the space over the pavement is devoted to lines, from which dangle bladders, corks, underclothes and otlipr articles. The ppople are Scandinavians,orwer3Scan. dinaviana several centuries ago, and have not intermarried much since. The men make distant sea-trips, being gone for several days, and after enduring much hardship, and no inconsiderable,! amount of danger, return with a load of fish, and smelling as loud as a fog-horn. They are a hardy, ,cou- rageous set of people, and form a favourite nursery for the British navy. They talk good English, but deal particularly in a dia- lect of their own, which a wise and bene- volent Providence restricts exclusively to themselves. The women remain at home, opening mussels, baiting the hooks with the contents, attending to the household duties, and selling the produce. They are the banker"?, from whom the men must draw what money they need. Being over in the Old Town one day, I noticed a building bearing the date of 1792. It looked so absurd and impudent, thrusting its beardless faee under the nose of its venerable companions, that I went in to the owner, and told him he ought to be ashamed of himself to stick such a young, inex- perienced building among the hoary relics of the dim past. He was very much affected. He said he would have it taken down at once. In another stroll, this time along Prin'ies Street,! was astounded beyond expresaoa by the sign of a dyer, which contained thew ell- known addition, " By special appointment to Her Majesty the Queen." I have read this announcement on hat-stores without a wink, and even perused it over the doors of tobacconists, gents' furnishing-goods stores, and the like, without barely a perceptible quiver ; but this was too much— altogether too much. Queen Victoria the patron of a dyer ! Imagine the autumnal conversa- tion at Windsor : — tiring. ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW, 99 passing carrier, equipped, and sells t Avonien, feature. )8 of the fewhavcn I by them ! also two niiid meal are two or wo stories lOUH stone 3 the space ines, from derclothes •wer3 Scan- and have The men for several hardship, jf danger, imelling as ardj', ,cou. a favourite They talk ly in a dia- and bene- lusively to c, opening le contents, ties, and he bankers, vhat money te one day, I of 1792. thrusting lose of its in to the be ashamed mng, inex- ry relics of oh affected, n down at ng Prinf^es press'oa by lied thewell- ppoinlment have read without a he doors of ods stores, perceptible -altogether patron of a 1 conversa- " Albert Edward, will you bo so good as to step into Mr. Cameron's when you are in Edinburgh, and see if my carpet-rags are done ?" Or, " Alexandra, you had better wear your brown poplin this week, aud havo Mr. Cameron clean your blue silk in time for tlie next drawing-room."| Or, "Beatrice, tell the Duko of Connaught to leave out his gray trousers before he goes away, that I may' send them around to the dyer's this afternoon, with tliose hair-ribbons of yours which are to be cleaned. " And she queen of the most powerful nation on the face of the earth ! It is awful ! I was talking with a gentleman on the subject in the smoking-room that evening. He said there was a one-leggeil dealer in hair-pins, shoe laces, and tlie like, on Leith Street, who was patronized by nearly all the crowned heads in Europe. 1 hurried around there early the next morning to interview him ; but I did not go in. His name was over the door : it was Comhs, Edinburgh has one institution that can be found nowhere else in the United ^King- dom : it is two quarts of peanuts. They are in a store- window on Market Street, and have probably been there for years. I was startled on beholding them. I couldn't have been more surprised to have met Nia- gara Falls. Speaking of stores Reminds me that Edin- burgh had many handsome ones. Nowhere else in Scotland will you find suc'^ a display of Scotch goods. There are plai f every kind in dres? goods ; and tney are used to display the ingenuity of man in book- cover?, card-cases, napkin-rings, &c. The Scotch are a clannish people, and not even in Mid- Highlands is it so r mpant as in Mid- Lothian. The plaids make a fine store front and a most picturesque costume. I meet one or more F .ghland-dresaed people every day. To be a true Highlander requires a noble courage, sandy whiskers, and a pair of clean legs. The King of Denmark came to Edinburgh while 1 was there ; and the Princess of Wales, his daughler,caino to see him. How singular and inhuman-like royal people ap- pear ! The princess came to see him with- out her children, and unattended by her husband. I don't understand why the husband did not come. I never heard there was anything objectionable about a father- in-law. And the King didn't go to see the Queen, and the Queen didn't come to see him. He got over her fence ; but she did not go out to greet him, nor send to inquire do : they are too well-bred. I wonder if the old gentleman didn't hunger to see hia grandchildren. He had his vessel in the harbour, and came ashore every day, stop, ping at the Douglas, a quiet, unpretentious hotel. Whenever he came ashore, or returned to his vessel, there was a crowd present. I united my commanding presence on the occasion of his last departure, to give tone to the proceedings. The street in front of the hotel was jammed with anxious faces. It was raining. Wo waited full an hour. There were three carriages drawn up In front of the curb, in waiting. Every five or ten minutes a portly chap would run out aud re- arranjje one of the carriages. Every time he did it I would creep up on my toes, and stretch my neck to its utmost tension ; but nothing came of it. I had just reached the conclusion to go around there and knock hiii head off, when the King appeared.and walk- ed down the carpets to the carriage. The Princess came immediately behind him. He is a pleasant-looking gentleman, but nothing remarkable. There is no satisfaction in con- templating a king. That is one of the things I have found out since being in Europe. The Princess wore a blue water-proof, and a rather shabby -looking jockey. Had she not been a princess she would have met that crowd in the rain, with a light-blue satia dress and a hundred dollar hat; but she would not have received a more cordial mani- festation of delight than came from that crowd of moist but enthusiastic individuals. Even I emitted a half-yell of pleasure. It is rather singular, that, with all my goings to and fro, I have not seen a lord. F have seen princes and dukes, and a few kings, but never a lord. I devoted one day to Melrose Abbey. It is a well-conducted ruin. The heart of Bruce lies within its walls, and about ten thousand Pringles are buried just outside of them. The Pringle family must have prov- ed a perfect godsend to the undertakers in the neighbourhood. Tnere are nearly five hundred old castles in this vicinity. Queen Mary was imprison- ed in all of them. That unfortunate must have been in jail about four- fifths of the; time. What I now want, what I really pant after, is a ruin that wasn't her prison, that Sir Walter Scott hasn't written about, and that Queen Victoria dio quietly beautiful, that an observer would allow his cigar to remain idly in his hands be- fore he would so wantonly encroach upon the spell as to ask for a light. When scenery lets a man's cigar go out, it is scenery worth visiting, We ascended Loch Fyue to a place called Ardrishaig (if you are going to pronounce those Scotch names, you must be in earnest about it: the man who pauses to fool around them is irretrievably lost). Here we are to take a steamer through the Criuan Canal — a short cut betwee^i Loch Fyne and the sea. channel. We left " The lona." and, grasp- ing our carpet-bag tight in our hand, fought our way to the canal-steamer through a mil- lion boys deteripined to do something to us ; but as they couched their intentions in pure Gaelic, slightly adulterated with an infusion of unfortunate Englioh, I didn't make out what they were up to. I subsequently as- certained that they wanted to carry my w lise. I presume this might bo called the High- lands of Scotland ; but s^everal weeks' resi- dence here has taaght me that the Highlands are something like " ou'i West" in the Statss — a section vaguely located just beyond, and partaliing somewhat of the characteristic populaily attributed to the flea. But there is no doubt that it is the lund of Benjamin. There are Ben Lomond, and Ben Nevis, and Ben Lee" and Ben Cruachan, and Ben La- waher, and every other Ben of any note ex- cepting Ben Butler. The lower side of the cS.nal is extensively cultivated in grass. We passed numerous fie.'ds where the haymakers were at work securing the crop. The men mowed; and the women followed after,turn- ing over the swath with their hands, or making the cured hay into piles. Not a rake was to be seen in the fields. All the work was performed by the women with their hands. They worked hard, and got thirty cents a day; that is, a dollar and eighty cents a week. They wore a short skirt, and some of them sported a breastpin. But they were not a proud set. W^e passed through nine locks in succes- sion; and, while the boat was thus tediously progressing, most of us got off and walked the distance along the tow-path. I walkied part of the way with an old gen- tleman who was nearly eighty years of age. He said he had often, when young, walked forty miles in a day; but he was old now, and could only creep along. I made several attempts to make a suitable reply ; but it took so much of my wind to keep up with him, that I had to forego the pleasure. He would have laughed forty treadmills to scorn. On leaving the canal at the little village of Crinan we were transferred to a commodious steamer, and pursued our way to Oban. .Here the large bulk of passengers dwindled to a si.iall number, as Oban is the sailirg- point to lona and Staffa Islands, and has the best hotel accommodation of any place on the Lake route. It is a new village compara- tively, and owes what size it has attained to tourisSs. From the boat can be seen the ruins of Dunnolly Castle. It used to be a tempestuous place of residence when the MacOougals slashed and killed as they pleas- ed, and feasted on the fat of the land with- out napkins. It now belongs to the youthful and flaxen-haired Marquis of Lome, who married a daughter of Queen Victoria. My landlord at Oreenock had him for a several hours' guest a few weeks ago, and mentioned iri a oroken voice that the marquis caller" lor his mutton-chop in the coffee-room, and ate it as composedly as an ordinary chap could have done. Tlie castle was admirably located for defence, being on a bold headland of rock at the water's edge. The workmen muHt have come from the city, and were probably killed when the building was finish- ed,to avoid paying them. Many a poor devil has been open! on far less pi Near to C Jura and Sci pool which H fiction as a pi power of its eaornious mo u be concealed For a thousar tatioa of this ed. Now so ward and clai tide, broken have got a re investigated believing wh£ I might see. vacated the ^ as waiters in We reachei just before di passed throui ranges on the lake was as p ard tunmltiu for the privil belonged to method for The next ; ed for u six It was a be was in excel the Highlai precipitous turnpikes u^ roads I ha\ level, while lowlands, at and admi About village proi strugKling houses, dirt every aspec try, and th are the woi holiday, be the children tha day ; Huge piles < quarries, la; formed iut hundred ye with soil ai ing them, view, and t M ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 103 ut there enjamin. svis, and Ben La- uote ex- e of the ss. We vmakers he men er.turn- ands, or Not a All the th their thirty ty cents nd some ley were has been openly murdered in bonnie Scotland on far leas provocation. Near to Oban, between the Islands of Jura and Scarbra, is the celebrated whirl- pool which figures in legend and modern fiction as a place of destruction through the power of its current, and the rapacity of eaoruious monsters which art; supposed to jj be concealed within its appalling surface. For a thousand years or so, the awful repu- tation of this spot has continued unimpair- ed. Now some sc'entirio people come for- ward and claim that it is merely a strong tide, broken by a submarine rock, I could have got a row-boat at Oban, and personally investigated the whirlpool, but preferred believing what I heard to trusting to what I might see. As for the monsters, they have vacated the whirlpool, and taken positions as waiters in the hotels. We reached the liitle pier at Ballachulish just before dusk, having, since leaving Oban, passeil through some of the finest mountain ranges on the trip, while the bosom of the lake was as placid as the shores were rugged ard tumultuous. We paid eight cents each for the privilege of landing on the pier, which belonged to Lord Somebody, who took this method for reimbursing himself. CHAPTER XXXV. A RUINED UPBUKST. The next morning, after breakfast, I start' ed for a six mile walk up the Glen of Coe* It was a beautiful morning, and the road was in excellent condition. I noticed that the Highlanders understand the uses of precipitous hills, and do not attempt to run turnpikes up them. These, and all other roads I have traversed, were comparatively level, while the residences are built on the lowlands. They keep the hills here to look at and admire. About a mile on the way I came to the village proper of Ballachulish, — a long, struggling street, with one-story stone houses, dirty, ill-kept, !and squalid from every aspect. It is a slate-quarrying coun- try, and the people who occupy these dens are the workers in the mines. It was a holiday, being pay-day ; and some few of the children were washed, out of respect to ths day ; and the men were idling about. Huge piles of broken slate, the refuse of the quarries, lay on every side, in some spots formed into enormous hillocks. A few hundred years hence they will be covered with soil and vefi;etation ; and, on excavat- ing them, the broken slate will come to view, and the entire world of geology and science will be convulsed with excitement over the singular development. Miserable and broken roofs would naturally be expected in this country of slate ; and here they are. It is always the carpenter's gate that won't shut ^rell.and the shoemaker's wife that goes poorly shod. The children were active beggars. They swarm- ed from the cottages, and followed behind me, screaming for pennies. Poor bairns ! they little dreamed that I was an editor. The The people were none of the brightest, men were soggy-looking, and, in an- wer to simple questions, worked with great difficulty. On passing one cottage, the sound of a iife was heard. The player was trying to catnh the air of Old Hundred. All fife-learners start on that abused tune. I once felt a call to play a fife, and made my debut with that tune. My father used to stand it ao long as he could ; then he would pull his hat down over his eyes, and dash madly out of the house. The cultivation of his ear had been neglected in his youth. The road, as it entered the glen, crossed the turbulent little stream which is the River Coe, and followed it up to its head. I had asked several people on the way how far it was to the site of the massacre ; but they could not tell me. I explained to one of them what massacre meant ; and he immediately inquired in a shocked voice, "Did it happen o' late?"— '« About two hundred years ago," I incidenlhUy observed. He went away. I continued to move along the road. On my right rose the hills to the light flying clouds ; on my left were harvesters at work in the grain, the crooked river, morris, and swamps ; beyond them the opposing host of hills. Here and there a mountain-stream rushed across the road, and I was obliged to pick ray way over it on the exposed bits of stone. I saw three boys approaching. When they saw me they stepped from the road in among the grass and bushes, and presently returned, bearing something in their hands. The something proved to be a half dozeil bits of coarse weed, which they pressed me to purchase, under the delusion that they were flowers. They wanted a penny each for them ; but they finally com- promised for a halfpenny. ' They knew no. thing of thcplace of the massacre. The minds of horticulturists don't run much to history, I have noticed. I passed but two cottages ; but the addults were away in the fields. I pressed on. the valley or glen narrowing as I advanced, but maintaining the same features just noticed. ^ 104 ENGLAND FROM A BACK WINDOW. I had read a full description of the glen. The writer said, — "It is the gloomiest, wildest, most im- pressive, of the Highland glens ; presents aspects of grandeur, savageness, and mys- tery, that tell powerfully on a vivid imagina- tion. ... Its flanks so closely confront each other flank to flank, soar so weirdly from barren base to shattered summit, abound so profusely in caverns, fissures, and tottering clifls, and shut out so darkly the light of day, as to seem to be rather an up- burst from a ruined world than any portion of the fair snrface of the earth." This bit of description pleased me very much.and I committed it tomemory. I liked it becaute there was nothing flowery about it ; but it was just a simple and ^unostenta- tious explanation of the glen and its promi- nent features. All about me was pretty, but rather tame. I wanted to get among the weirdness and upbursts, so in keeping with the atrocious crime which has given its nime to history. I had gone about six miles, when I met a party. They had been two miles beyond the point of our meeting, but had not seen the site of the massacre ; neither had they found any one who could give them the de- sired information. I described the place, giving the gable of a ruined pottage as the landmark. They had passed that, but had paid no attention to it. It was a few hun- dred yards beyond. What they expected to find was a monument, and perhaps one or two bodies. • But there was neither, — nothing whatever to indicate the awful spot but this simple, tottering gable of a ruined cottage. Tradition saj's it was the home of the Macdonald, the old chief of the clan ; but the tradition is not local, as no one in this neighbourhood, descendants of the Inspected old clan, knows aught of the mas- sacre, let alone any of the particulars or lo- cation. But it Mas here that, nearly two hundred years ago, the massacre took place. AVilliam the Third was on the throne, James the Seventh had forfeited his crown, and was a fugitive in France. The Highlanders, being Catholics, were loyal to the skedad- dling monarch,and opposed to the Protestant reign of William. Battles and skirmishes, murders, etc., were common between the loyal and the disaffected. Finally the patience of WiHiani wag exhausted ; and at the suggestion of the Secretary of State of Scotland, a proclamation was issued, calling upon the chiefs of the clans to give in their adhesion to the new Govcrnmenion a certain day or their people would bo annihilated. The chiefs hastened to oVujy; but Macdonald, wishing to bo the last, delayed until just be ore the day appointed, when a heavy snow-storm so blocked up the roads, that, although he used all haste, he did not arrive at the post until several days after the re- quired date. The sheriff", however, received his pledge, and forwarded it to the State De- partment : but the wily Secretary, desiring to gratify a private grudge against the old chief, kept the truth from William ; and that monarch ordered the torch and sword to be turne I upon the.inhabitanta of Glencoe. It was a snowy day when the King's troops came upon the little village. They came with protestations of friendship, and were hospitably received, and for several daj's were entertained by the'unsuspecting people. At midnight, after they had tested to the utmost the kindness of the Macdon- ald s, they arose, and burst upon the people with the suddenness of a simoom. Old and young, men and women, the bowed man and prattling child, fell beneath the unmerciful bullet and cruel steel, or were brained by the axe, or perished in the flames of their homes. Many of the Macdonalds escaped by the git ns, but only by a miracle, as it was an intense ly cold night, and they were thinly clad. Thirty-eight were murdered outright, and a number froze to death on the hills. That was their idea of persuasion in those days. It is very quiet now. There is not a ves- tage of the slaughter — nothing but this old gable, I turned away, and slowly retraced my steps, thinking of that January night in the seventeenth century. There is a disappointment in the features of the glen. Those tremendous precipices, and gloonjy glens, and weird peaks, are not to be seen. It is a pretty valley ; the ridges are majestic, the fields bright and golden, the river a silver band winding among them. But, to find the sombre and gloomy points, one must be excessively bilious.lt won't do to seek the oppressive in Glencoe while carrying an active liver in your anatomy, you may take my word for that. I saw only one object that seemed to agree with the extract I have copied. He was asleep on a pile of stones, and was rag- ged and airty to excess. I awoke him, and asked him if he was an upburst from a ruined world. He said he wasn't ; but I could uee he was prevaricating. That evening the boat came up to the pier again. Again we paid a fourpence, and sailed away through Loch Linnhie, around th"! base of the mountains to Banuavie,where we disembarked, were packed into an omni- bus, .^'td drifted away, through a mile of dark- ness, to the LochArms. A steaming supper ^m fl ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. 105 was in waiting in the coffee-room. My Eng- lish friends suggested supper; but I declined. I had been there before ; and I was too tired to carry on through the night, and fight whole battalions of deformed fiends. I saw the hungry ones pass into the coffee- room, and smelt the steak until I lost my balance and joined the procession. I took steak twice, and a few cups of tea, and some hot pickles. Then I went to bed. This was e'e ■'en o'clock. About two o'clock A.M. I stepped out of bed at the rate of about a mile and a half to the minute, and rang for a Sedilitz. The boots brought it at once, filled a tumbler half full of water, and added tl!3 powder ; but there was nothing to stir it with. I said I would look in my clothes for a pencil. But ho said he could manage it well enough, and immediately drew forth a venerable pocket-comb, and proceeded to agitate the powder with it in a prompt yet graceful manner, and then passed the glass to me. I thanked him for the infinitude of his resources, but told him I would let the powder settle before I drank it, as the sedi- ments distnrbbd my stomach. In the morning wo walked beyond several canal-locks to the boat, — a canal steamer of good size and speed, — and began our trip to Inverness. Opposite Bannavie is a mountain whose summit is perpetually covered with snow, and there is one man who hopes it always will be so. He has a ^rm at the base, and holds the lease without payment until the snow disappears from the mountain top. Twice within his occupation has the August sun deprived him of his home. It is a ain- , lar contract, but no more so than many which exist throughout the old country, arising from the eccentricity of the lords of the soil. In the suburbs of London a man has a block of buildings. He pays the ground rent regularly, as his fathers did before him. The ground rent is a single barleycorn, which he carries to the noble owner, with becoming gravity, every Michaelmas Day ; and the owner receives it as circumspectly as if it were several hundred pounds. Dean Stanley rents a property for which he receives a lump of earth every rent-day. But, then, this is more [sensible than either the snow or barleycorn ; for, if he keeps every lump of earth, he will soon have an- other piece of real estate. The artificial channel, or that portion of the Caledonia Canal which connects Lochs Oich and Ness, abounds with locks. We have several which lift us up to a level high above the lakes, and another series which let us down to the lake level. We got out again at the beginning of the locks, and walked to Fort Augustus,— three miles. As we approached Fort Augustus, we met several women selling oatcake and milk. The oatmearcake is common in this coun- try. One of the national characteristics of Scotland is oatmeal. Made into cal^os, it is thin, a whitish brown, and resembles some- what home-made yeast-^jakes. I can des- cribe its appearance with ease, but no words of mine c / of any other man can give an ade- quate idea of its taste. It was the staple article of food in the early wars of the people ; and, after taking a bite, one ceases to wonder at the reckless bravery they displayed. I ate only two square inches of a thin cake, and was im- mediately seized with a ferocions desire to stab somebody. In fact, I tried to inveigle the boatswain back of the pilot-house, with a sincere determination to cut him open ; and, had he not been otherwise engaged, he would to- day have been gathered to his fathers and other relatives. I have not touched the cake since. Another article of sale at Fort Augustus was walking-sticks. Those would be about the last article you would 8uppoi?e any one would buy ; but the Scotch and English pas- sengers made purchases. Some of them had a stick already ; but they each got another one. One man had three sticks and an um- brella ; but he bought one of the Fort Au- gustus sticks. He told me that none of us could tell what might happen ; our lives hung by a thread as it were ; and we couldn't have too many sticks. We now entered on Logh Ness, with i^ountains on both sides, and sailed away at a good speed. A gentleman who came on the boat at one of the piers, a resident in the neighbour- hood, told me that the loch was never frozen ; and that, during the ea,rih- quake at Lisbon, it was considerably agitat- ed. How to account for thia he did not know; but such was the fact. At Foyers, merely a pier (fourpence), the boat stopped to enable the passengers to see the celebrated falls. Two 'buses were in waiting, and were immediately filled ;^ while a number of us took a short cut up the side of the ridge, or rather shoulder, of the moun- tainous range which hid the cataract from us. On a level road, the distance would not have been mor< than a mi'' ; but up the p^-th we struggled along it was .kbout twelve milep goina and a half mile returning. W"e stopped at the top with the 'busses ; ; and, passing through a rough gate, we let 1*1 108 ENGLAND FROM A BACk-WINDOW. ourselves down the steep side, with the roar of the cataract sounding in our ears. Nearer and nearer it grew as we slipped and slid toward the point where we were to observe it, uutil we came out from the birchens, and in sudden and unexpected sight of the spec- tacle. The Niagara Falls and I are natives of the same country. I steadily clung to this fact all the way up and over the hill ; and I was fully prepared to laugh at this contemptuous attempt of the Suotch to get up a fall. But 1 did not laugh. I stood on a jutting point of rock, about half way from the caldron to the top of the falls ; and I had the whole immediately ia front of me. And so grand a spectacle I never before witnessed. A hundred feet or more, the rock towered on each side above where the river escaped over the precipice. Where it spurted over the edge, it was hardly more than two feet in diameter, coming through an aperture of that size worn into the rock, and coming with such force into the confined channel, that it was actually twisted partly around as it es- caped, and plunged a hundred and fifty feet down the precipitous rock. Below was a caldron, boiling, whirling, wriggling, strug- gling, conquering, and then shooting away with a defiant roar through the gorge be- yond. A mile and a half away from this spot the little river commences its wonderful descent, bounding over rocks running along bits of level tracks, lapping up every rivulet on the way, and gathering all its power and re- Bources for this one grand leap. Niagara drops down from its height with Roman dig- nity ; the falls in the Yosemite Valley spend their strength before they reach the base, and fall in tatters; but the Foyers rush through that aperture like a rocket, and descend into the distant caldron below with unabated speed. Rising from its descent, as if to veil its anger,is an eternal column of mist,always moving, always there. About on all sides are the blackened crags, wet and melancholy; and here and there on their scarred and dreadful faces are beds of bright green moss, and springing trees of silver-birch, with weeping twigs and leaves. So grand, so solemnly beautiful, is the scene, that I feel as if I could drop down on the jutting rock, and feast my eyes for ever upon its glory; but on a boatman crying out, "Hi, there ! it's time to go," I amend the resolution, and leave forthwith. If any one asks you what sort of a coun- try Scotland is, you can reply, without the faintest vestige of emotion, that it is lumpy. CHAPTER XXXVI. HIGHLAND FEATURES. There is nothing of special historical in- terest about Inverness. It is a flourishing city of a few antique and many modern streets, and is called "The Queen of the Highlands." Its cemetery occupies an eminence called Tomnahurch, where, a long time ago, the fairies resorted on moqulight excursions, and had dances, ginger pop, and cakes. There are no fairies now. The past hundred years have been poor years for them. A day or two after our arrival it was cheese market day, when on several of the streets were drawn up an array of farmers' carts containin2 cakes of the luscious delicacy. The people of Great Britain are mighty fond of cheese, and are doing a vast service to other nations by destroying great quantities of dangerous stuff. Most of the carts were attended by bux- , om women, with white close musliu caps, called mutches, on their heads. And not only these, but all the women of the lower classes to be met with in the Highlands, wear a similar head gear. Here and there on the main streets are little stands for the vending of toys and mo- lasses cakes. They are attended by old women in mutches, come on the morning v.f market day, and in the evening go again, — whither I don't know. Inverness is valuablle to a tourist as giving him a good glimpse of Highland life and cus- toms. The Highland women of the lower .lass- es — and it is these classes you find in abun- dance in the cities, as there are many poor in Britain — are of masculine cast, and wonder- fully happy in appearance. They are mostly bare-armed, and you meet them on every street. Their lungs would shame many a blacksmith bellows ; and when one of them comes out of a close, and calls "Sandy !" thatyoung man promptly appears. The Scotch areevenmore strict in parental discipline than are the English ; and that seems needless. The juveniles are got to bed at an early hour; those in the better classes retiring at eight o'clock in the summer, and even earlier in winter. And it is not only the fact that they are got to bed ; but they go as promptly and as irresistibly as if fired out of a mortar. At the table they ask for what they want, and preserve a petrified tongue throughout the meal, unless spoken to. I huve had the pleasure of being entertained by many fa- milies in this country ; but I can recall no act of fretfuluess by children at the table. An English gentleman, the father of four lovely oh Idreu, told me, if he thought his ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 107 chililreu would grow up rude and disagree- able, he would prefer yielding them to the grave now. The Highland women form a picturesque object when washing out blankets and quilts, as they stamp them with their bare feet, their skirts being pinned up to their knees. But this is only done in the washing of heavy ar- ticles, and not with the cleansing of linen, as the photographic cards in the Lowland print shops would indicate. To a greater extent here than in England do the women perform outdoor labour. They are in charge of a far- mer's cart of produce ; they work in the potato and harvest fields (even cultivating the grain), in the fisheries, and also in the peat beds. To all appearance they are as strong as the men, and, justice compels me to add, more active. The men and women have a strong brogue, and are frequently difficult to understand. "Dinna"»for didn't, "yon" for those or that, " muckle" for much, and " ken" for know, are broad daylight to a good part of their phrases. When they go exclusively into the Gaelic, the hearer collapses at once ; even a Welshman will run on such an occa- sion. They are poorer than any othei people I have yet come across ; but they are hard working, and the poverty is not alto- gether their fault. The Highland costume is common in In- verness ; but it is not a common garb to the people. It is worn mostly by the gentry in the hunting season, and is a favourite garb with the Duke of Edinburgh when in the Highlands. The measure adopted after the relielJion of the clans in favunr of Prince Charles Edward, prohibiting clan meetings and clan dress, struck, the deathblow tathe most picturesque masculine costume ever in vogue, from Adam to Dr. Mary Walker. Quite frequently, however, I meet some far- mer in the kilt and stockings ; and there are a few in the Highlands who wear them the J ear round. They are not a most com- fortable dress in these breezy, wet autunm days ; and are much less so in the winter, when these hills and moors are covered with snow.and a keen frosty wind sweeps through the glens. The dress consists now of a sack- coat,— instead of the plaid wrapped about the laody for protection, — a kilt, or a yard or two of tartan gathered in tucks at the upper edge, and wound about the hips ; and fastened at the waist, and of sufficient width to permit it to reach within one or three i "hes of the knees. Under this is a pair of muslin or woollen drawers of sufficient length to cover the thighs, but hardly long enough to be reassuring to the sensitive observer on a windy day. From these drawers to the tops of the stockings, which come nearly up to the knees, the legs are bare, and are exposed to all kinds of weather. Yet the wearers do not suffer from tiie exposure any more than one does from having his face uncovered. I can understand this with those who were brought up in the dress, and wear it the year round ; but how those who adopt it only occasionally— the autumn hunting season being one of the occasions- keep comfortable these chilly days is beyond my comprehension. It is not a dress adapted to blackberry ing, nor to a mole on the leg. I was much struck with the patient, hope- ful expression of all classes of the Highland people when it rained. They moved about without umbrellas, and were' as composed as if in a tunnel. When it rains very hard they put on an opera glass, and sail around with a smile. And it rains here when you ain't looking. There has been but one clear day in the past three weeks, and then I thought it was going to snow. The weather is astonishingly uneven. In the morning the sun will cor"e forth as clear aa amber, and an hour later it will be drearily raining. Another morning the sky will be lea- den, and dripping with moisture, and every, thing look favouraldefor a "line-storm." You step into the hall for an umbrella ; and when you come forth the sun is shining, and people aro swearing at the street sprinkler for a hi . neglectful wretch. J he wages of mechanics are just about the same as they are in England ; but Scotch farm labourers are now better j)aid, getting fifteen and twenty shillings (three dollars nd seventy-five cents and five dollars per week. It was not long ago that they got less than two dollars a week. In harvest time they get, in some places, six per cent, above present prices. The natural indepen- dence of the people explains this. When they cannot get enough money here to sup- port themselves, they go elsewhere. At one time it did look as if the farming population would dwindle entirely away, and the far- mers were obliged to increase the pay. There was no Arch here ; it was simply the law of supply and demand regulating matters. The labourers are hired every six months. For this purpose there is held twice a year, in the large cities, a " feeing- market." It continues two days ; and, duriuj its session, the High Street the city is crowded full of farm ahnds waiting for an engagement, and of farmers looking for help. The former are accompa- nied by their sweethearts or wives, and the latter frequently have their women-folks a'ong. The scene is naturally one of anima- '".f mm!ssmi::,im'^Jf ;he rug. it to its phe hardy las shown and its o people tish folk. them is listeners iudepen- trikingly who was to pur- law one im, and ided to wanted to fat not be old man, e. Then mo other : the stick ould you nterview. ;ch lower scorn to sell. out rid- and sail' was stop- down to observed ly pocket but the observed lough the onsed by eturn, he ver sink- eased me bbed my ich time !— that's I of!" I 'er ; and ould you " Then felt well spared to o to the extent that it is in England ; but there is enouiih of it, in all const ience. And they do not look hai>pier than the English receiver of fees. Scotland is well supplied wicli churches; has an abundance of reading-rooms and libra- ries, and charities. Its peoplo are better educated (thanks to John Knox) than any other — excepting, perhaps, tlie Prussians — of European nations ; they are hospitable, polite, sharply intelligent, and possess a fund of humour that appears to be pretty evenly distributed among ihem. The Sunday observances are rather strict. Liquor saloons are closed on Sunday : and the hotels are not permitted to sell spirits, excepting to their guests. To constitute a traveller, a native in search of a drink must go the distance of eight miles from his place. He then becomes a traveller, and is entitled to his dram from the nearest public house. There is a report that there have 'een cases when seven and a half miles have fetched the coveted beverage ; but I cannot believe it. All business, shaving, &c., is suspended on Sunday. There is one feature of Scotch and English towns that is not pleasant to travellers who love cheerfulness, however gratifying it may be to clerks ; and that is the early closing movement. Here, before seven o'clock ot ai; evening, the bright shops are closed, and the etreets are apparent only by the street lamps. On Saturday there is a half holiday; and all the shops but the grocers' put up their shutters at noon, and maintain a gloomy silence until evening. Scotch shop- keepers always speak of the weather when you go in to trade, and always speak of it with such vivacity that you are led to expect further communication. But they generally dry up at rnce, in .despair, perhaps, of the Weather doing it. What they say to you is, " This isaduU day, sir." AScotch almanac is not an elaborate work, being simply, "About this time look out for rain." But we are over here to see history and ruins, and must move along. CuUoden station is four miles, by the Highland Railway, from Inverness. We got down there to visit the battle-Held which witnessed the final attempt of the house of Stuart to overcome the house of Hanover. We republican!) cannot be expected to understand how a young refugee from France could coiumana the influence and muscle of thousands of British in the overthrow of their ruler. In our country we elect our rulers for a certain length of time ; and, at the end, the majority reinstate or re})lace. Andrew Johnson would have a nice time raising an army to displace Mr. Grant. Hat Charles Edward, a prince of the tleposed house of Stuart, attempted something equally improbable one hundred and thirty years ago. He came over to Scovland, raised an army and marched into England, retreated back into Scotland before the Duke of Cumberland, of the liouso of Hanover (then in possession of the throne), gathered an army of seven thousand men here at CuUoden for a final stand against his cousin of Cumberland, and expected by " cleaning him out" here, to so far encou- rage his sympathizers throughout Great Britain as to rally sufficient nunihers arouud his standard to restore it. And so the two forces met at CtUloden ; and, after a despe- rate fight, the Kighlauders who backed the prince were defeated by the Lowlanders who opposed him ; and the young man, after sore wanderings and futile attempts at resusci ca- tion, got back to his relative the King of France. He pursued a wrong course ; and behold how disastrous the result ! What he should have done was to take the money con- tributed by zealous followers, sue the house of Hanover for ten thousand dollars' damages (thus get his name before the public), and then gone into the lecture-field at two hun- dred aud fifty dollars per night. Or he might have bought a saloon in New York, got on the Board of Public Works, and died worth a million,and universally respected by everybody. All this country is intermediate to the north coast of Scotland ; and from the third century, when the religion of our Saviour was introduced into Scotland from Ireland, this part of the country has been busy. The stene circles abound all about here, but more numerously in the back mountains. They are simply whole or broken concentric circles or upright boulders. They are supposed to be relics of the Druidical religion ; aud as I am not prepared to doubt the supposition, I discreetly keep silence when people show them to me. Right where we are now skimming along at the rate of thirty^miles an hour, the fishy- smelling Norwegians toiled over the sands, aud met the big-limbed and not particularly fiue-liavoured Scots and whipped them out, and stole whom they didn't kill,ai:d destroy- ed what tbt^y couldn't lift. And here also the Danes came, and were beaten back by Macbeth, the clief of King Duncan's army, and an aspirant to his master's throne : so I have understood. The vessels of the Nor- wegians were shaped like a dragon, and frightened the people. After inventing the dragon, it is noticeable that man has not at- tempted to outdo the job. Every body, upon seeing a dragon, frankly admits that it is the m 110 ENGLAND PROxM A BACK-WINDOW. climax of woe. So these boats were shaped like a dragou, with the grinning head as a prow cleaving the waters, and bringing death, agony and garlic to this fair land. Each boat had a dingle sail, formed of the American national colours ; and the crew ■working at their long oars, santr, " Three cheers for the red, white, and blue !" " Who will care for mother now ?" and other Nor- wegian anthems of that dim and misty long ago. One of the Norwegian chiefs met with a singular fate. He had killed a brave Scotchman called Buck-Tooth — from the fact that one of his front-teeth protruded unplea- santly — and cut off his head., as was allowed in those times, and fastened it into his girdle and galloped away. He was going to have it mounted with silver, for a bosom-pin; but, in the motion of the gallop, the buck-tooth wore into his thi^h, and made a wound, from whi.ch he died. This opens the question, What sort of tobacco did the people of those days chew? A few miles beyond Culloden is Forres, where I stopped for two hours. No one says much of Forres ; but it is a little place of considerable interest. Forres has a witcii-stoue (on which three of those miser- able women were executed by people who showed in themselves that there was a peg lower iu the scale of depravity than that on which witchcraft hung), and a stone calledSweuo's Stone, which is certainly worth going to see. This curious monument is of grayish granite, oblong in shape. It rises twenty feet above ground, and is said to be the same length beneath the earth. It is about two feet in width, and about half that in tluckness at the base, and tapers to less than half that at the top, beii wedge-shap- ed. The top is covered with sheet lead to protect it. On one side is carved a runic crosH, formed of runic knots, and very finely done. Below the cross are four figures, two of them bending over some object. On the reverse side are innumerable figures, stand- ing horizontally and perpendicularly, with an expression to their bodies as if they were feeling their way oyer thin ice, — a very common characteristic of all ancient sculp- tures. The stone stands in a wheat-field, sur- rounded by a stockade of rough timber, about ten feet from the road, and is ap- proached by crawling through a hedge. Its origin no one knows. A bookseller in For- res, who contemplated issuing a guide to his village next summer, told tiie that he Eresumed it was raised when the Danes fili- ustered here, and commemorates one of their battles, wherein three of their kings met their death. He knew nothing of M nor executed such a themselves were not of time to have per- Sweno. The figures are so indistinct, that no intelligible sigi-.ificance can be attached to them. I do not favour the Dane theory. The rude people they came to rob could neither have designed work ; and the l)anes here a sufficient length formed it ; and, had,they been, it is not at all likely the fiery and avenging Soots would have permitted it to remain any longer than was necessary to break it down. It is rarely that 1 go into an abstruse quts- tion like this ; but, when I do, a general feeling of satisfaction and contentment follows. An English gentleman complimented me recently on the historical features of my let- ters. Ho told me that I was putting an entirely new face on matters. He said others may follow Macaulay, White, Motley, and all the rest ; but I am the historian for his money. This naturally gratified me. To tell the truth, I have not been satisfied in the last fifteen years with the way history is managed. These Britons won't know their history when I get through with it. It was at Forres that Shakspearo locates his Macbeth. I don't know what siza For- res could have been at that time (eight hun- dred years ago) ; but it now has three thou- sand population ; and, as it is still growing, there is no telling to what limits it will push iu the next twenty-five or thirty centuries. The blasted heath where Macbeth met the three witches, — there was no daily press in those days, — and learned of his perfermeut at court, is still in this neighbourhood, and is as scrawny and scraggy as ev^r. Near the station are the ruin of the castle where Macbeth and his fair wife entertained King Duncan, and wound up the entertain- ment by stabbing the old gentleman. It was a very filling feast for him. But two of the basement arches are stand- ing, and the first floor is now c >vered by turf and grass formed tiiere in the past several centuries by the winds of heaven. I went down into the vaults and fell over a box, and meditated on the tragic scene that wasenacte 1 there. I have subsequently ascertained that the ruins are of a building which a Forres town officer, with more aspiration than means, started for his own glory and occupation in the last century, pnd didn't get above the fir?t floor, and that King Duncau was killed iu battle at Elgin. I have started for Elgin to learn the parti- culars. ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WIN DOW. Ill !t, that clied to theory. could such a 'ere not ave per. ot at all would Uev thaa tod me niy let- iig an l<; Raid iMotley, riaa for me. To od ia the istory ia CHAPTER XXVII. ELGIN AND 1X8 SIOHTS. The Romans p.re the only travellers who did not enjoy thi^ country. They remained about Stirling and below there for years, but stayed here no longer than was necessary to repack their luggage. Tliis country must have been wild and rugged then, with a people clothed in skins, and coloured with pigment. There were no hotels nor ruins from Aberdeen to the base of the mountains. History had woven no spell over the country. I don't blame them for not staying. But it is different now. There is not a square foot of Miis ground but has tasted blood, or witnessed intrigue : there are not two square feet, anyway, but are thus distin- guished. To go over thjs section of Scot- land, observing every old castle and ruin and battle-scene, would be a labour of months. For the matter of ruins, Elgin will hold its own against any place in Scotland, excepting, perhaps, St. Andrew's. A cu- rious place IS Elgin. It is a village of eight thousand population ; but I never heard of it till I came to Scotland. But I don't sup- Eose there is a soul in Scotland who has not eard of Duluth. Elgin has two railway- stations, one^of them covered with iron and glass ; while pendent from the roof are deli- cate vines, with bunched of flowers that sweep within a foot of the passenger's head. It has two hotels, and about forty inns, which accommodate nothing but thirst, and appear to be full all the time. It has a High Street — long, narrow, and irregular — quaint ancient buildings along its sides, and a venerable cross iaits centre, with the closest, mustiest, and gloomiest closes outside of Edinburgh. From the dates on some of these tenements, they are from two to three hundred years old, and bid fair to stand three times that length of time. Like all the old buildings throughout Scotland, they are built of fence-wall stone, covered with a cement of concrete, and whitewashed. Many of the roofs are made of grey-stone flags, lapping like 8lates,but quarried before dates were known here. The red tile, so common in I']iigland, is but little used here compara- tively. At one end of the High Street is a grassy knoll, with a lofty monument to a Duke of Gordon, and the broken walls of a castle that was in ruins several hundred years ago, and which are now but mere stone stubble. The stones are melting away, leaving the much harder mortar to continue the battle against the elements. Nobody knows how they made their mortar so outrageously hard in those days ; and nobody wants to, unless he is building for himself. There is but a por- tion of the hill devoted to the stumpy walls of the castle ; but it must have, at one time, covered the entire surface, as they did not go in much for croquet lawns in those days, and generally planned where their apyle- peelings and other swill could go down ihe hill out of smelliug-diatance when flung from a back window. It is said of this castle, that once, when it was occupied, a pest iu the shape of a ball of blue fire descended from heaven upon it, and infected all the inmates, and that the 8uper>)titious inhabi- tants of the village gathered together and covered the castle with earth, burying the occupants in a living tomb. It was done iu one night. The only trouble with that story is its corpulency. Imagine, if you can, a couple of hundred men, with shovels, at the base of a hill fifty feet high, covering a quarter of an acre of castle at the top with dirt. But the tradi- tion does not say i hat they used shovels : perhaps they merely sat on the castle. A short distance down the High Street is the old town cross, from which pniclamations were once made ; but the town crier now oc- cupies the square when delivering his deadly harangues. The cross is a sliaft of granite, round, and M^oru smooth by the little Scotch- men who have climbed it iu the past cen- turies. Near the top it is four square, and ou each* face is a sun dial ; above is a unicorn. Sun dials are on nearly all the old buildings ; and although this sun dial lias been iu use many, many generat'ons, it keeps time as correctly as the Greenwich Observatory. I have not yet seen a sun dial that was incor- rect ; and yet we laugh at the ancients. At the foot of High Street are the ruins of Elgin Cathedral. It is safe to say, that, where one person visits Elgin Cathedral, twenty- five go to view Melrose Abbey ; and yet the cathedral, for extent and beauty, ia the peer of the abbey. The building is nearly six hundred years old, and has had vicissitudes enough to make it an interesting monument. It was hardly completed when a young man named Stuart, a sou of King Robert the Second, who had taken to the mountains, — just as high-spirited boys in these days run away and take to the canal, — and soon gra- duated into a vfery successftl thief, was, for some deviltry of unusual magnitude, e«com- municated by the bisliop of the diocese. In revenge he came down from the mountains with his gang, sacked the sacred edifice, near- ly destroying it, and burned the bishop's house and a good part of the city. Where the cross now stands he got down on his bare knees, and begged pardon j and it was grant- 112 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW ed, on tho condition that ho would foot the expeupe of repairing tho cathedral. A cen- tury or HO latur, " tho lord of the isles," who- ever that inilividul was, swooped down upon the church, and robbed it oi its gold and silver. Still later, it was the theatre of deeds of violence committed by two neiglibouring families, — tho Junes, and Duubars, who were constantly in hot water with each other ; uiid so great was their feud, that not even tho sanctity of tlie cathedral atforded a protection. The Dunbars were surprised one night while worshipping there, and were put to death ; and, in retaliation, a party of tho Innes met the same fate in front of the altar at the hands of the Dunbars. The fruits of this dreadful warfare are still seen in New Eug- land, where hosts of the people go winter- greening or clamming in preference to run- nmg the risk of losing their ''ves while quiet- ly worshipping in church. The feuds of these two families give a very good idea of the untamed passions of those days, in that several tradesmen entered a protest against the draught on their time made by sittiug on juries to settle the differ- ences. The hardship was somewhat aggra- vated by the fact that they had no inteiest in the matters, and, as the petition dryly ob- serves, ' knaw na thing thairof mair nor thai that dwallis in Jherusalom." So our jury system of this day has age, if not sense, to sanction it. Among its other relics of the past, £Igiu has a charity called " Bide House. " It was endowed by somebody who die I centuries ago. Over the arch is this text, in Old Eng- lish, — "Blessed is he that cousidereth the poor : tho Lord will deliver him in time of trouble." Millions can testify to the truth of this ut- terance. The house accommodates four men, who are tradesmen of indigent circumstances. When one dies, his wifeif he has one, ceases to reap further benetit from the institution ; and his place is tilled by some other unfortunate. The only discharge is by death. The re- cipients of charity are called " Bide men ;" und each one has a share of the house, a bit Of garden to cultivate, and fifty-two dollars and a half in money per annum for his sup- port. Uis apartments are by himself, aud his patch oi ground is opposite his door : so he has really a nice little home all to himself and wife, and can live comfortably the ba- lance of his days. Before England aud Scotland perfected an amicable union, there used to be slight differ- ences between them ;a'.d every little while each party would go over into the other's country to see about it. However many or few went over to see about it, far less returned. The English at one time lost thirty thousand of their number m one of these little culls. To shut off those excursions, tho birder- people erected square towers of stone, and a number of them are still remaining. A similar tower called " The Cax- ton," from tho name of the family build- iug it, stands within four miles of Jilgin. It is about twenty feet square and forty feet high, and has three tloora, besides a sort of cellar, where tho good farmer on whoso land it stands keeps his milk. The entrance to the first floor is about eight foot from tho ground, and was once approached by a lad- der, but, on these peaceful days, has a series of substantial stone steps. It is entirely lire-proof, there being no wood about it but that used in the door ; and this is backed by strong lattice of iron. Its walla are of enor- mous thickness ; ajid its roof is of flagging laid together like a floor. The walls are pierced for the defenders to fire fr.)m ; and the door is protected by two turrets leading offfromthetop floor, and so pierced that those occupying them could cover the en- trance with their guns. It was an ingenious and successful contrivance by the Caxtons to protect themselves from their too sociable neighbours, who, like many Americans of the present day, were addicted to giving "surprise-parties." Not that 1 wish to be understood as representing that they were of a similar nature as the modern affairs. Heaven forbid that I should slander the dead 1 About three miles from Caxton Tower is a clmrch of the Druids, — that mystical and brutal priesthood who flourished in Britain until the dav/n of Christ's kingdom. They were a simple and unostentatious people in their editices if not in their rites. The churches where they gathered consisted sim- ply of a circle formed by boulders planted ^in the earth. These were the walls of their temples, and the heavens the roofs. It was a cheap roof, but disastrous to the interests of builders. The walls of the old Druid church near Urquha'-t are perfect, although two thousand years, if not four thousand, have come and gone since they were erected. There are scores of boulders about Daubury just like these. There are six of them ; but there were nine when the circle was com- plete. It was then about forty feet in dia- meter. It was a simple ruin, simply sur- rounded, being in a meadow near the road. You might pass them forty times without taking much notice of them, excepting re- marking upon their number. It was a lone- some place for a church, and almost too lonesome for a ruin. There m as not a house insight, — merely a stretch of fields rising KNGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 113 and falling as far as the eye could reach What an altogether different aspect, when the Druids, with their Howing beards and robes, stood within this charmed circle, and plunged the kuife into the human sacritice, and lucauted as the victim convulsed in the fatal grip of the last enemy I The peaceful pursuit of agriculture was un- known. Dark forests spread their veil over hill and dale, untouched by the patentee uf " purely vegetable extracts." I'hia reminds me that the descendants of the Druids, the present British people, sell spinach l)y the pound, (ish and fowls by the piece, and that the grocers, while cheerfully delivering your purchases to any part of the city, tirmly but kindly decline to include eggs in the delivery. The customer must attend to the eggs himself, or go without them. CHAPTER XXXVIII. TUBOWINO THE CAPKR. There was to be an exhibition by a district Athletic Society, in the little village of Tomintoul, while I was in Elgin ; ami, as the programme included Highland games, I determined to attend. Tomintoul is strictly a Highland village, but so obscure, that Scotch tnends advised me not to go. They said it was fourteen miles from the nearest railway station, and was altogether dilapi- dated. When I heard that, 1 became sim- ply feverish for the trip. Two reporters went along. We reached a station called Balliudalloch, and there found a machine in wailing. When 1 say "si machine, I do not wish to be understood as referring to a patent saw mill, or anything of that kind. , The iScotch address as " a machine" what the English denominate " a trap," and what we would call " a carriage." The animal which proi)elled, and the elderly gentleman who instigated the auims.), were both of about the same age, — seventy odd, — and had, undoubtedly, experienced similar vicis- situdes through the long course of their lives. The ride to Tomintoul was a most enjoy- able one, even under these circumstances. The old gentleman was talkative and posted, and the few traditions and local incidents which slipped through his lingers could not have atnouuted to much. The road ran through Uleulevit for a greater part of the way, passing the famous distillery which takes Its name from the district, by two castle ruins and several temples of tlie Druiils. It skirted one of the ridges, and kept a pretty good level the entire distance, 8 although the oonntry was remarkably moun* tainoua. We went by one burn (brook) where once a terrible battle wab fought between two venomous clans ; and so deadly and disastrous was the light, that the watem of the burn ran red with blood for three days. There can be no doubt of this, as the burn is still here. The old party became (luite animated in relating the valorous leats of the Highlanders ; and, seeing the subject pleased him, I kindly dipped into ■joine particulars myself, and fervidly re- viewed the battles of the clans of which I had either read or heard. The country we passed through partook of all the features of genuine Higliland scenerj*. There were cultivated fields, slopes of pas- ture, running water, glens, hills of lir, moun- tains of heather, and levels of peat. When about half through our journey, we came upon an exclusively bleak section. The principal product appeared to be peat, of which there were immense beds. Most of the labour was performed by man's dearett . earthly treasure, — woman. The ladies wheeltd the peat from the beds to the drying Hats, and reared it into artjstic piles. 1 haraly know how the wheels of govern- ment and peat barrows would revolve if it . were not tor the fair sex, as some one calls them. Wild moors stretched away to the moun- tains on each side, and over them the wind whistled mournfully. Here and there was a squalid cottage, with its dingy walls, once wnitewashed, and its broken roof of thatch. Occasionally there was a collection of them, with a post oltice in one, and one - or two of the others containing boards, with the announcement in little black letters, " Licensed to sell tea and tobacco." A more cheerless and unattractive . district cannot be found in the Rocky Mountains. The only relief to it was the heather, whose purple blossom, now in full bloom, softened the lofty contour of the . mouuiaius, and veiled their nigged faces. Coming over the hill upon ioinintoul, we = saw before us a line of stoufe houses, with more thatched than slate roofs. The build- ings appeared to be pretty much of one pat- tern, and the most of them were rather squalid. Almost the entire village was built ou the High Street, which was devoid of pavement, and showed numerous signs of neglect. Queen Victoria passed through here when on her Highland tour, and in her - book spoke disparagingly of Tomintoul. The public square, ot some two acres, isj d vided by the High Street. In one of the lUvisions the games were held, and the' observers had already assembled. They i: ml tm •m\ '^tmmmitmii^. 114 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. consiated, for the most part, of plain-lookiny country-people. The feinales were cheerful- ly decked in bright colours, selected and blended with rural taste. The masculines moved around uneasily in their holiday clothes, and smoked clay pipes. Of course there were exceptions ; but this was the ap- pearance of the mass. 1 judge there were scarcely two hundred men, women and chil- dren present, with a promising assortment of dogs. About a half-aore of ground was enclosed by a rope, and withia this space the prizes were competed for. Around three sides of the square, both inside and outside uf the rope, were grouped the observers, the great- er part of them standing. I had expected to Bee a large green enclosed by boards, with several hundred people, two or three refresh- ment-stands, a bana of music, aud a price of admission. But here it was, with a rope merely for appearance, and free to all, — a humble, unique gathering, which interested me by its novelty, and pleased me by the hearty good-nature of everybody. Tomiu- toul is a poverty-stricken section, and every thing was unpretentious and humble ; but that they enjoyed it heartily, unmindful of their rusty village, and miserable High Street, and squalid suburbs, there can be no doubt. For ages these Highland games have been in vogue. Generations ago, when clan organizations were maintained, the several 'families participating marshalled their clans to the music of the bagpipe ; and, with ban- xwrs flying and every man in kilt, they gaily approached the rendezvous, forming a spec- tacle that must have been very exhilarating. But now they straggle tO;f;ether, like our peaple going to a fair. Few are in High- land costume, and the parade and pomp of former days^have disappeared with things of the past. About fifteen or twentyof those assembled to-day were in full tartan, coat and all, with the purse, with its tufts of hair, hang- ing at the front, and a dirk, sheathed in the I stocking, on the right leg. The games commenced with the throwing of the stone, being a boulder weighing some twenty pounds. They call it " putting the stone." There Avere six competitors, all from the neighbourhood, and, like those competing through the day, the straitest kind of Highlander. A party named Flem- ing, powerfully as well as shapely built, won the first prize, throwing the boulder nearly forty feet. He is a professional in the busi- ness, and makes a good bit of money in the course of a twelvemonth, my old gentleman informed me. Next was the throwing of the heavy ham- mer. There were nine competitors. T.So ham- mer consisted of an iron ball weighing twenty- two pounds, with a wooden liandle about three feet in length. The competitor first braced himself with his back to the sjiacc, and then, carefully taking a proper giip of ttie hiiudle, swung the hammer several times ill a circle on a level with his head, and then flung it. It was a heulthy exercise, without doubt, but not to the observer, who had no means of knowing how Hrmly that heavy ball was secured to the handle. Every time one swung it, I was sorely tempted to got behind the first building ; but I kept to my post, and enjoyed it as well as I could with my hair inclining to stand end- ways. Fleming was again the victor, making a distance of eighty-six feet. The throwing of the light hammer follow- ed, and again Fleming won. The hammer business took up some two hours' time ; and during the progress, the first piper made his appearance, aud marched several times about the grounds, playing with all his soul and lungs. Pipe-music, as a Scotch friend observed, sounds bonny coming over a hill, if you are going over the next hill at the same time. He was a gallantly-dressed Highlander, and, to a totally deaf party, must have been a cheering spectacle. Shortly after, two other pipers came on the field. One of them was piper to Sir George Macpheraon Grant, whose estate is at Ballindalloch. Nearly all the Highland noblemen keep one or two pipers on their estates. One piper succeeded the other in furnishing music ; aud, during a lull in the heavy games, they each gave their best efforts, marching about in a square as they played, in competition for prizes. There are worse things than a bagpipe, ex- cept when it id being tuned. The tuning of a single bagpipe will embitter the lives of three hundred people at once. The "throwing of the caber" was the point in the programme which interested me the most, because I did not know what a caber was. It followed the light hammer, and oroved the most difficult to perform of all the feats. The caber used on this occa- sion was the trunk of a young tree twenty feet in length, with a butt eight inches, and a top four inches in diameter, I don't know the weight of it ; but you have the dimen- sions, aud can figure up the f pounds on ,the basis of a very sappy trunk. The competi- tor took his position, and two men ended the oaber in front of him. He raised it so that one. hand could grasp it at the butt, and then, balancing it, ran a few steps, and ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. threw it bo that the upper end ahould strike the grouiKl, and the log turn over. There apt)eareil to be no dtifiuiilty,in this trial, for the competitors to make the '. pper end of the lo^ strike the turf ; but it would not go over, and, in most instances, scarcely reached a perpendicular. At Fleming's third trial he made a complete turn of the caber, and won the first prize. A foot was then taken from the butt, and the other com[ietitor8 wrestled again with the leviathan. One younji; man, who had been looking on the wine when it was red, was i.oarly snc- cessful in heaving the caber across my spine. I would not permit him to apologize for the failure. I told him I was not one of the ex- acting kind. The high leap revealed considerable skill and other things. In preparing for the leap, the competitors commenced to shed their clothes. A man with red hair, and red face, and red whiskers, was dressed in the Royal Stuart plaid, of course, from his shoo to and including his Glengarry bonnet. He looked like a bonfire. I saw him strip. He un- v/ound liis plaid, and gave it to a friend ; he took off another sheet of flame in the shape of his coat (this left him iu his undershir!;, the kilt or skirt which hung from his hips, and the stockings) ; then he took hold of the fastening of the kilt, and commenced to undo it. The perspiration started out on my forehead. What if, in the haste of coming to the gathering, he had forgotten his drawers? Slowly the kilt dropped off, and there Ye stood. He had remembered the drawers. There they were, in all about a half yard of unbleached muslin, no more than covering bis thighs. Thence to his fltocking-tops he was bare and unshaven. And they were not bald-headed legs by any means. He was so pinched and contracted, that I expected every moment the keen wind which was sweeping across the square would carry him away. He once took hold of the drawers as if to undo them, but did not. He must have seen the frown on my face. Several others stripped in the same way. I was in hopes that Fleming would jump as he was. His body was covered with a gray sack coat; but his kilt was short, and of green plaid. In bending over, or in the movement of the skirt by the wind, not a vestige of drawers could be seen ; and I thought with horror of hi5 leaping over the rod. He took oflf his sack and then undid the kilt. I turned my back. When I had plucked up the necessary cou- rage to look around, he stood there, clothed m an undershirt, a little fold of cloth about his thighs (just as professional gymnasts wear), id his stockings. For the sake of decency, he had left his dirl: in the right atooking. The handle screened a part of his nakedneas. The dancing, which closed the games, was on a small platform laid on the turf. High> laiid reels led oH". There were nine competi< tors engaged at once to the tornado harmony of the pipes. Then there was a Highland fling, in which seven seuarately participated; and these were succeeaed by the hnUzchan, or reel o' Tulloch, dauced by four Highland- ers with great spirit. In all this danciug there was genuine poetry of motion, without the hilarious rattle of American and Irish jigs. The dancers either rested one hand o/er their hips, crooked the other above their head, or kept the arms down, and snapped their fingers. One of the number gave forth a whoop. In this dancing there was a sem- blance to an Indian festivity. Two thousan.l years ago these people went almost naked, and painted their bodies, and lived by hunt- ing, and were organized into tribes. The years progressed, and refining influences came in : they put on more clothes, rubbed o'u the pai§t, and became emerged into predatory clans, with a chief to rule. To-day the bare knees, the shadow of c) nship, and the whoop in the dance, are about all that arc left of the Indian features of two thousand years ago. I would like to respectfully but firmly suggest that the Scotch Indians of two thousand years ago left the Highlands of this country to take to th*^ Highlands of America, and that they are the authors of the present Mo- docs and peace commissions in America. I think they are the chaps who wiped out the mound builders. The gaiety of the dancing WM most curi- ously framed. Here were the plaids waving in the air, bare legs ambling and revolving, the pipes v/histling ; overhead was a leaden sky ; along the horizon were the bald ridges of mountains ; about us were the gloomy looking stone buildings, some of them roof- less, and all of them deserted. The sword dance wound up the perform- ance. There were several competitors. Two swords were laid on the platform, with blades crossed. Each dancer was expected to ex- ecute some ten minutes of motions about and among the blades without touching them. As the dance progressed, the strains of the bagpipes increased in speed, and faster and faster the bold Highlander's legs flew among the glistening blades. It was an exciting spectacle. And, radically opposite to that wh'ch fol-> lowed, a prize was offered to the best dressed Highlander — at his own expense. There wero five competitors. Our fiery friend was au^oag the number. He blazed forth like a fresh comet. There was a squatty looking chap in 116 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. m 1, a peculiar blending of colours not common in their plaida. Then there was another, a fine- looking gentleman, clothed throughout in gray plaid, looking less picturesque than the bright colours, and aombwhat out of place among the rest, but tastefully dressed throughout They stood in a row, looking straight ahead in a businesslike manner, without a smile upon their faces. They stood there some ten minutes, while the fudges passed around them, examining them as if they were strange cattle suspected of disease. The comet got the prize. He was the be!»t dressed — at his oion expense. That is, it was merely a test of cost, not of taste. Then there was a foot race from thy foot of the rugged High Street to the square. After that the competitors and observers dropped the'r identity, and mintjled to- gether. Every room in the low, squatty Gordon Arms, and in the low, squatty Bichmond Arms, was tilled, as wan also the stairways, with people. The young maids were kept busy running up and down the stairs from the bar to every nook and cr^k in the two buildings capable of holding two people and two glasses. Men and women mingled ; and the clinking of glasses, tread of feet on the bare floors, and loud voices of those in debate, with snatches ot songs from the more convivial, made up a scene that defies the power of my pen. All the pover- ty and deprivations and bleakness of High- land life in the Tomintoul region was for the time put far from memory. The people were getting ready for the ball in the even- ing, and every soul in the villat^e capable of being out of bed was in or aboiit those two inns. The Grants were in this room, sitting on the bed, lined against the walls, occupying the chairs, and communing it the top of their respective voices ; in am ther were the Gordons, similarly engaged ; ia a third, the Stewarts ; and so on all over the house. The Scotch drink less than the English ; but there is far more drunkenness here than in England. And, vhen they are full, Demosthenes nor George Francis 'T'rain could begin to talk T?ith them, and a boiler factory is not one-sixth as noisy. Neither one of the caravansaries had any cigare. Tomintoulers couldn't afford the luxury of cigars. This M'ill i^ive you a com- prehensive glimpse of the ticancial prosperi- ty of this Highland settlement. As the shades of evening descended, we mounted our machine to return to Ballin- dalloch for the night. Enthusiastic friends followed us out of doors, aud swore they would never desert us, aud forthwith pro- ceeded to put their purpose into execution by clambering up on the machine. Two o , them got across my legs, and suddenly fell into a most violent altercation on the some- what I tiexpected subject of carrots ; while a third, wishing to engage my attention to a few remarks he was about to make on the subject of infant baptism, pounded my feet with a knife-handle until it seemed I would gc mad. Thj old party who drove us, and who, from frequent congratulations on the auspi- cious events of the day, was now in a state to resent almost anything, suddenly whipped up his ?teed ; and the movement made a thorough sweep of both the carrots and the baptism advocates. We reached BallindalLcL in good time, having a delightful drive through the quiet twilight which covered mouutain aud moor, and, after a sound sleep in the little solitary inn, felt like a giant refreshed for a return to my cathedral town. Speaking of Elgin reminds me of a reply our driver made to a question about the fishing in a burn we were passing. "It's nae great amoont of Hsh ye'U find there, " he said. " Fish be as scarce here- abouts as soop (soap) in a cathedral toon (town)." Volumes could hardly give a more com- prehensive idea of one feature o^ a cathedral town. CHAPTER XXXIX. A JCMPING-OFF LUXURY. There is nothing particularly exciting in the country between Elgin and Aberdeen ; but Aberdeen furnishes quite a contrast to Elgin, Id has a population of bome ninety thousand people, and is mostly built of granite : if I am not disastrously mistaken it is called the '* Granite City." Its r.amo is familiar to every American who akcs an interest in graveyards. I remember the first stone from its workshops which was erected n the Danbury cemetery. It was two years before it had a fellow, and in that time was visited frequently by everybody, as its polished shaft attracted attention from all directions in the grounds. We call ic Abenleen marble. I was always interested in it from its almost supernatural resem* biance to a Bologna sausage. Aberdeen is a sort of new town ard old town combined. The new town has Union Street for its principal averiue ; and a very fine avenue it is. I did not learn its length but it is as long as one cares to look a. when living at a hotel, and is of good breadth. At tae head of Union Street fs the square ; and rouiu breec under tion, an ex The and with who banc appea were many appes But Th lery The of and of gf presi to St cust( shar Se they ENGLAND FROM. A BACK- WINDOW, 117 |wo o, fell laome- I while pu to a the feet Iwould who, |auspi> state lipped ide a id the evenings I used to amuse myself by going to the square, and looking through the broad, straight avenue, marked by its two lines of glittering gas-lights. They shoot down it like two trails of Hamo, and presented a spectacle I never saw equalled in street scepery. For its size, Aberdeen is probably the largest city in the world. Prom ten o'clock ill the morning until that hour in the evening Union Street presented the appearance ot some one having jumped out of a window in a fit of insanity. Several times in the first •three days of my visit I worked my waj' into' the crowd in the hope of seeing a shattered piece of humanity. I need not dwell on the disappointment I experienced : it is the most acute the world affords. Union Street is a modern street ; and its suburbs are decidedly American, with their front lawns, broad sidewalks, and ample shade-trees. The city end of the avfinue is a square, or rather triangle, where the markets are held. In the evening the square was occupied by fruit stands and auction stalls, and loungers and musicians. Saturday is the chief market-day, and on the Saturday I was in Aberdeen the square presented a most singular appearance. No market-day I have yet seen can compare with it. Two-thirds of the space was covered with booths, and the collection consisted almost entirely of stcond-hand clothing. The monu- ment to the Duke of Gordon was the centre of this fratfio, and the iron fence which sur- rounded it was hidden from si^ht by patched breeches, Joseph coats, and red- flannel nndershirts ; while the Duke, from his eleva tion, looked down on the motley mass with an expression of the liveliest astonishment. The booths consisted simply of four poles, and a flat canvas roof artistically fringed with articles of cast-oflf wear. The people who tended them looked as fully second- hand as their goods, and even their smiles appeared to be about worn out. The articles were in all stages of progress toward ruin, many of them being so unhealthy as to appear to be beyond all hope of recovery. But they found buyers. There were also picture-dealers, and cut- lery merchants, and old junk sellers. The chief articles in the stock of the last named were rusty, nails and crippled hinges. I thought of getting a couple of each for birthday presents.but was afraid I would not be able to smuggle them across the Atlantic, the custom-house officers are so dreadfully sharp. Second-hand clocks which looked as if they had been 'second-handed before, and second-hand cradles, were also object^ of interest. I saw three purchasers of cra- dles: they were females, and about sixty years old. Each one took up her purchase, and made off with it. I saw no young wo- man buy a cradle. That struck me as being 80 extraordinary, that I spoke to a policeman about it. All he said was to wink ; which appeared to be so sensible, that I winked too; and there the matter rests. Between the booths and the arrival of tl e tramway-cars the customers divided their attention. The city terminua of the tr i- way was in the equaro. It had been ruui g about five days, and it was the first street- car performance the Aberdeen people had seen. I never saw people so thoroughly en- grossed in a subject as they were in this tramway. The arrival of a car was a signal for the gathering together of everybody in easy access of the spot. They looked upon its painted exterior aud upholstered seats with hungering eyes, and beheld with hush- ed breath the changing of the horses ; and when the gong sounded, and the d'-iver gathered up the reins for the start, it seemed as if the excited populace would just sink into the earth in an excess of delirious amazement. The boys appeared to be the only ones to retain their presence of mind. Those of them who could not raise money enough to secure a ride invested what they did have in toy torpedoes, which they insinuated on the rails ; and when the car passed over them, a sharp explosion followed, causing nervous persons to lose the topic of thendertaking, work- ing my way down to the fish district of Aber« deen. The street along the river was broken in pavement, narrow m walk, and pretty thickly populated with a tarry-flavoured people. On getting across the stream to a neck of land where the fishermen were lo- cated, I found the mud about three inches deep, and the smell about four feet square. Various sheds and pens covered the place, with heie and there an opening for the bar- rels in which the fish were packed. I found a man in the midst of several hundred bar- rels, busily engaged in branding them. Al- though he had many irons in the fire, yet he found time to coi. verse with me. The fish which Aberdeen chiefly deals in are herrings. The present season's catch has been a good one ; and the brauder of the barrels was, in consequence, disposed to be friendly and sociable. I had the impression that the boatmen were doing business on their own account ; but it appears that sev- eral men own and equip the boats, and hire the brawny, tarry individuals to play on the credulity of the herring. When brought face to face with the fresh herring, I was very much surprised to find that he differs astcmishingly from the boxed herring. I can't say that civilization has done much for herrings, or mackerel or codfish. It has pre- served their good qualities at the sacrifice of their personal appearance. Anybody who has looked a salt mackerel square in the eys will bear me out in this view. The brander of barrels had about him some dozen or so of women, who were adding brine to the barrels. The inspector had just been there examining, and put his mark on the barrels of fish. He had found every bar- rel to be in good condition, and this also tended to lift up the spirits of my friend. He had thirty boats of his own ; and the most of them had got in the day before, and unloaded their cargoes. He touk me to a large pen, where twenty women were opening the fish, taking out their mainsprings, and preparing them for the brine. The fish were brought to them in large, square baskets, and, after being attended to, were "thrown into a box. ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. 119 Each woman stood before a board, and held in her right hand a knife ; with her left hand she picked up a herring, inserted the point of the knife into its stomach, drew ont some- thing which she flung aside, and threw the fish into the box before her. I hardly want to say that she opened and disposed of a fish in less than a second, and to say that there was a fish in the air all the while would be a gross injustice to her acquirements. There was an unbroken procession of them, leadint; from the right hand to the box. There was no slip of the knife, no picking up a fish wrong end first, no interruption at all. I was charmed beyond expression, and stood rooted to the spot.drinkmg in the wonderful beauty of the scene, and holding my nose. The fish I used to carry home on the end of two yards of string was generally about two inches and a half long. The reflection that weighel heavily upon me all the way home was the fact that that fiiih had to be cleaned before I could dispose of it, and that 1 had to clean it. This finally inspired me with a dislike to my prey, and led me to wonder why fish were provided with insides and scales. On reaching home, and dispos- ing of a cold supper, I hunted up a clean board, got the largest knife to be found in the house, and began the task in the kitchen by the light of a kerosene-lamp. First I went to work at the scales, holding on to the tail u.:til that gave out, and then catching hold of the body until the tension caused the fish to burst open and spill over me. Sometimes the fish would slip into the sink, but more frequently on the floor. At the expiration of a quarter of an hour I had removed some fif- teen scales, ten of which were up my sleeve, and the others on my nose, being transferred from my hand to that feature while engaged in rubbing my eye, which invariably itches on such an occasion. About this time my nu)ther would make her appearance, and just in time to see the kerosene-lamp narrowly escape coing over on the floor. With the help of a pair of tongs I was in- duced to transfer my operations to the back yard, and continue them in the starlight. Here I would struggle with that contrary and exasperating fish for a full hour, at the end of which time I had screwed off its head and wrenched away its tail, and made its body look something like Lazarus' shirt. The nex*; morning, an hour would be lost in pre- vailing upon the hired girl to smuggle »my fish into the frying-pan ; and it eventually came to the table an inch long, and look- ing so insignificant, that my father quite fre- quently took it down by accident.aud didn't tinil out the error until the spare scales got in his windpipe, and threatened to stranglejhim. No wonder I was charmed with the speed with which these women dressed these her- rings; although it made me sad to feel that the herrings were not alive ; and conseo quently could not realize and appreciate the artistic way in wliic h they were being han- dled. They received twenty-five cents for clean- ing and packing away a cran (barrel) of these fish. Each cran contains from eight hundred to twelve hundred fish, according to thtlr size ; and, when I tell you that each of those women earned five dollars a day, you can form an idea of how swiftly they worked. If I could be sure of cleaning as many fish as I could eat, and do nothing else, I should feel satisfied. Have you made a note' of these wages ? I have occasionally spoken to these people of our hat-makers, and told them that there are men in Danbury who earned ten dollars a day, and women who earned four dollars a day. The last has surprised them more than the first. An Aberdeen merchant (a draper) thought women ; who could earn such wages must be of great value to his business. But here are women in his own town who earn more money. But his trade has not profited in proportion. The fish-cleaners of Aberdeen dress in the coarse garments of their fellow-labourers on farms, and appear to have no soul above their employment, and chafling the great hulks of fellows who go down to the sea in ships. If four dollars a day earned by an Ameri- can woman h so startling a statement that these old-ccantry people must ask for time to credit it, what are we to think of the Aberdeen fish-cleaner's wages ? The five dollars which they make in a day is in gold : and, making due allowance for the diff'erence in the cost of living in the two countries, it would be fully equal to double that money in the States. If any one knows of a branch of business in America which pays the female operatives ten dollars a day, I hope he will not neglect to speak of it, Speakina; of the difference between the two countries in cost of living, I cannot for- bear just to call attention to a peculiar fea- ture. The cheapness of living in this coun- try depends entirely on your nationality. One day last summer 1 was talking with au Eng- lish shoemaker on the subject of prices. He showed me hin goods, and expatiated at great length on their superiority to American goods, and their wonderful cheapness as compared with trans- Atlantic prices. When I told him that I paid eight dollars for the makiug of the shoes I wore, he appeared very much distressed. He did not think they were worth more than three dollars, I B i:o ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. pondered over this mattor for a week, and then gave liim my measure for a pair. He ^nished them and sent in the hiU—five dol- lars and a half — which would go just as far with him as ten dollars wouM with a pira- tical American fhoemaker. Bnt I didn't miud tde price — although it nearly knocked me over — because I knew they would wear me several years. Two months later I was obliged to have them soled. The shoes made by the swindling American went six months without repairs. An American lady who had shocked some Euglish ladies by the extraordinary statement that she had paid ten dollars for the making of a plain silk dress at home was subsequently able to revive them some- what by paying an English seamstress six dollars in gold for manufacturing an over- skirt. These and a few other incidents which have come under my notice lead me to the solemn conclusion that it is a glorious thing to be an American, if you don't look too much like an American when abroad. Wo bade good-bye to the'Highland region at Aberdeen. And I take this opportunity to mention a growing evil. I have com- mented upon the absence of forests and the abundance of heather covering the mountain and hil' ranges. A good part of thi^ land, apparently going to waste, was once culti- vated. It is now a cover for gaihe, such as rabbits, hares, partridges, and the like ; and that portion of it not owned by noblemen fond of sporting is owHed by those gentry who are not, and they throw it open to the public at so much per head the season. Over this hunt a class who have no land of their own, an 1 another class, a?so game-landleas, but who do not hunt for the pleasure of it, but for its profit. They are objects of dis- like to the residents. They shoot every- thing they come to and can hit. and sell it. Hunting has thus become an indiscriminate s'.aughteras a sacrlRce to Mammon ; and the landowners find the business so profitable, that they devote more and more land to the purpose every year, and the farms are ijeuominj); less and less in arrearage. You would hardly believe it, but tha en- ■Bvity which once raged so strongly between the Highland and Lowland people is still cherished by many of the former. There •were people about sequestered Tomiutoul, where I witnessed the gameg, who have a strong feeling against Lowland people. When a liowlander is about they hide their oatmeal ■cake, and are unhappy. Buudoe is somewhat larger than Aberdeen, %vA is not so handsome. But it has many iius public buildings. Its principal manu- facture is jute, great quantities of which arc shipped to Afnerica;in fact, Dundee is large- ly indebted to the States for its prosperity. It will be remembered, that during the ter- rible war in our country, when the horizon was darkened with clouds of distress, the American ladies came nobly f ( r yard, and wore jute almost entirely as back hair. There is an opportunity here to say some- thing about Scotch newspapers, as Dundee presents a phenomenon in this business. "The Dundee Advertiser " is a daily, with a weekly edition. It also publislies two week- ly papers of a literary turn. One of those has a circulation of sixty thousand, and the other of a hundred and twenty-five thousand copies. Frankness compels me to say that the literary paper published by "The Adver- tiser," which has the circulation of a hun- dred and twenty-five thousand ("The Peo- ple's Journal"), would not have a circulation of five thousand in our country. It is simply a four page paper, and has only one or two serials, with no illustrations ; but it has got a hold on the people of Scotland, and its enormous circulation is steadily increasing. Dundcv^ has a hundred and ten thousand population, and has only two daily papers. Aberdeen has a population of neaily a hun- dred thousand, and has only one daily paper. Places in Scotland of from fifteen to twenty thousand inhabitants have no daily papers. The Scotch papers look more like American papers than any others in the British king- dom. They have display advertisements, and will not turn theit backs on head lines. Speaking of our late war and Scotch news- papers reminds me of an incident. When our war broke out, there daily paper in Edinburgh, strong anti slavery man, ground in favour of the his paper to strengthen the North, and did valiant battle for its cause; but they would'not sustain him. All the'other Edinburgh papers predicted the success of the South, and were bicked up by liberal patronage. Our friend's paper lost ground every day. Subscribers deserted him, and advertisers withdrew their favours. Finally it became apparent that the North would win, and the other Edinburgh papers trimmed their sails accordingly. " Now," thought our friend, " the people will see and applaud my foresight." But they did not. A man who predicts contrary to ttie masses should take care that his prog- nostications are not verified. The masses don't like to bo mistaken : it is a sort of reflection upon their well-known wisdom. Our friend was obliged to give up his busi- ness : it was closed under the hammer, and he is uuw engaged in another busiuesa. was a fiourishin^ Its editor was a and took strong Union. He used ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. 121 I saw an Englishman the other day who 18 now a clerk. He had a good lumber busi- ness when the war of the Rebellion broke out ; but hti took the side of the North, and it was his ruin. This is a solemn warnins; to us all. CHAPTER XLI. A SAMPLE OP THE GOOD OLD TIMES, We reached Stirling on a Saturday evening. It had been the market day : ^d although the business which had callec^the masses \together was transacted, still the people lingered ; and ■ the narrow mala street was crowded from .the centre of the pavement to the buildings, with here and there an ine- briated but not ill-natured soldier to enliven the scene. The markets and fruit-stalk, and bars and cigar-shops, were in a blaze of light. This was Bakei* Street, It ran up the hill to the Castle. Its buildings were narrow, three and four stories high; and some of them were in need of repairs two hundred years ago. In the matter of historical interest I will back Stirling against any place of its siz'i in the United Kingdom. It was once the court of S otland, and once witnessed the con- summation of the most awful revenge on re- corc'. Four hundred and sixty odd years ago a king of S itland had two sons, anrt both of the boys had an uncle. In those degenerate times, nothing corrupted a man so much as being an uncle. But that was many years ago, and now an uncle is considered to bo about as rerpectablo as anybody. As a mat- ter of course, this uncle aspired to his bro- ther's throne ; and to do this, 'without com- mitting himself, he murdered the oldest son, and caused the second son to be capt'nod and imprisoned by tho King of England. Scotland was not then strong enough to make England give up its prey, and no attempt was made to recover the young prince. The old gentleman died of a broken heart. The uncle took posses- sion of the government. He was the Duke of Albany, and a healthy mess he made of aflfairs during his regency. The more power- ful noblemen oppressed and robbed the middle classes ; and the Duke, who dare not oppose them for fear of losing his regency, gnnued and submitted. He couldn't curb them : he wasn't their uncle. The King of England gas'e the Scotch prince a good edu- cation, and plenty of pocket-money ; and the young man studied hard. He was a fine young fellow ; but he would write poetry. He allowed his hair to grow down his back, omitted to clean his nails, ami stole all the candles he could lay his hands on to write poetry by. Every issue of " The Literary Repository " contained from twelve to twenty-seven verses from liia prolific pen. In the few years he was at Windsor he fur- nished for publication no less than two hundred "Odes to Spring," with a large as- sortment of " Lines to J." This letter stood for Jane, the nume of a lady of the Rufort family, — a "ery beautiful girl, with whom he sensibly fell in love. There is no record of the amount of his other work. One of his best pieces was " Christ's Kirk on the Green." He was also the author of "Willie, we have missed you," " Beautiful Snow," and " Over the Hill to the Poor- House." He married Jane. This event had such a ma' ked influence upon his poetry, that, as a matter of self-defence, the publishers of the several liter-iry weeklies met at Exeter Hall, and drew up a petition to the king to send the young man back to Scotland. His uncle was dead, and was succeeded l)y his cousin. The cousin was displaced by the English ; and young James, with his English bride, assumed the reins of government. He had been with the English nineteen years ; and the bill they brought in for his board, lodging, lights, and clothing, was two mil- lion dollars. So, after all, living was not much cheaper in England then than it ia now. He found Scotland in the hands cf the oppressive and murderous barons, and the Highlands swarming with brigands of various types. Business was unsettled, and farms were lying waste. The young man, having seen in some American newspaper (where it occasionally appears to this day) the statement that the "p«u is mightier than the S'vord," carefully veiled his intentions from his noblemen. He issued a proclama- tion, calling a Parliament at Perth (a nice sandwich can be bought for twopence at the railway restaurant in Perth), in which the powerful rascals assembled. He let them vent their oratory, and appropriate the Gov- ernment stationery for a whole week ; then he ma.ched a body of armed men upon them, and made twenty-six of the most powerful and unprincipled of them his prisoners. Among the prisoners wa& the Duke of Albany, son of the crafty uncle, his two sons, and his father-in-law, the Earl of Len- nox. Against this family the king had a long and bitter account to settle ; and he settled it. Near Castle H°ll, and within ten minutes' walk of my hotel, is a crag called Heading Hill. There he settled the aceount, and took a receipt in full from the blood of the four men. Some people think he had no Bi 1;f: BrwS^ 122 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. 1 right to kill these four men ; but they seem to forget that he was a poet, aad a poet's license coders about everything. Well, he put down disorder, and hung or beheaded tlie disorderly ; and he very soon had a country worth living in. Business re- vived, fields blossomed, and tourists return- ed ; but the family of Albany nursed their wrongs. Thirteen years later he came to Perth again, he and his family, to spend Christmas. The festivities were over. He stood before a tire in his dressing-gown and slippers, commenting, with his wife and her lady friends, on the enjoyment of the day and evening. Suddenly a body of armed men made a descent on the place. He fled into a vault to save himself from what he well knew to expect ; but he was cornered, and in a few minutes stabbed almost beyond recognition. Two noblemen (brothers) named Hall, and a nobleman named Graham, were the as- sassins. Within two months they were ap- Erehended ; and the wife of the murdered ing, transformed into a demon by her loss, took her revenge. The Halls were taken to Edinburgh, stripped naked, tied to crosses which were set up in carts, and driven through the streets to the place of execution. The executioner stood behind them, and picked oflf bits of their flesh with pincers, until the Vdood ran in unbroken rivulets down their legs. At the scafi'old their heads were hewed off with a dull axe. Wasn't that awful ? But, brutal as it was, it was a promenade concert alongside of the agony dealt out to Graham, the man who first plunged hi-s sword into the body of James. He was tortured here in this quaint, quiet city. Here are two boys, at this very moment, fighting for the. possession of the stump of a cigar in the middle of the very street where he endured the great suffering. There are gay shouts and light laughter floating down this avenue every day ; but it must have seemed, to the people who cowered before that spectacle four hundred years ago, that never again would the voice of pleasure sound between its walls. They put him in a cart, and fastened him to a post, with the fatal sword driven through his right hand. He was entirely naked. The cart moved up this street ; and, during the frightful march, two hangmen, with red hot pincers, griped his flesh from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet, until he presented a gory mass of pulp, with his blood covering the cart, and drip- ping through the crevices to the pavement tor tile dogs to lap up. With the circuit oncG made, the false arm was hacked off ; and again the procession resumed its march. All that human flesh could bo made to suffer he had undergone. But he was to receiva another blow, and this upon his heart. At the scaffold, his only son was disembowelled alive before his eyes. That is the little revenge I called your attention to at the opening of this letter. Those were the good old times, you know, before modern politics had corrupted and prostituted people. Everybody had what they earned then ; and people were not carried awav by vanity, and taken into captivity b5fR-ivolities. Stirling Castle, like its co-famous Edin- burgh fellow, is at the point of a crag. The castle is fortified, like that at Edin- burgh ; has its moat, portcullis, &c. ; and consists of a number of buildings of various styles of architecture. James the First dwelt here ; and they show the window out of which his son, James the Second, threw the body of one of the Douglases whom he slew when engaged in a heated discussion. They were a wonder- fully sociable people in those days. Castle Rock in Stirling has been made more of in the way of comfort than Castle Rock in Edinburgh. Its front side has been terraced into beautiful walks amply shaded, and it is a favourite resort with the town people on pleasant Sundays. It also differs from its Edinburgh fellow in that it is com- paratively isolated, rising out of a plain,and conspicuous for miles around. From its buildinijs can be obtained one of the finest landscapes I ever saw. The River Forth flows through the plain,and its links shimmer up in the rays of the sun like the curling of an enormous snake. For miles toward Edinburgh the view is unobstructed. Meadows and grain fields, turupikes.f jrests, villages, and castles, dot the plain, with here and there moving shadows from the fleecy clouds above. In point of location, Stirling is to be envied. That it is also ap- preciated is evident from the swarm of visitors which comes down upon it every season. One of those double churches so common in Scotland is to be found in Stirling, close to the castle. It is called the High Church, and is about four hun- dred years old. When I went up to its door, I found the ojd lady who takes care of it ' owing out* two American ladies. They W( re jocKeys on their middle-aged heads, ai>d large noses on their hard-drawn faces. They were probably crusaders. I shall never forgot the smile the old lady fetched me when she saw me bearing down upon her. It gushed over her face, and ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. inarch, vcle to was to )on his ion was your er. know, d and i what re not m into Edin- . crag. Edin- ; and various 123 fairly lighted up her hair. But it made me sick. I was afraid I had not sufficient money about me to satisfy her. Sho showed me over the churches, and then took me to a quaint old building across the way, where were stored relics of the dim past. The building is a hospital, which was endowed by aa old buffer named Cowane for the welfave of decayed merchants : not when they are too much decayed, however. The coat of arms is the fitjure 4. The guide books say that represents that Stirling was one of the four royal burghs ; but the old lady communicated to me in a whisper that it referred to the factthftt Mr. Cowane never sold anything at a less proHt than a four- pence. Although of only fifteen thousand population, Stirling has four of these bene- volences. One of them is called after a party named Spittal, who distinguished him- self several centuries ago in the manufacture of breeches. A tablet commemorating his benevolence closes in this concise manner : " Forget not, reader, that the scissors of this man do more honour to human natun than the swords of conquerors. " I am sorry, now, that I left my saissors at home. In addition to the old graveyard is a fine cemetery, with walks, grottos, lookout, and a dtinking fountain. It has the tombs of several martyrs. The most conspicuous monument, and really a beautiful piece of sculpture, is to the " Virgin Martyrs." The inscription reads, " Margaret, virgin martyr of the ocean wave, with her like- minded sister Agnes." In May, 16^, Margaret Wilson aged eighteen years, Agnes her sister, aged four- teen years (daughters of a small farmer), and Margaret MacLachlan, an old woman, were tied to stakes at low water in the bay of Wigton, with a view to drowning them for holding to the opinions of the Covenanters. Owing to the extreme youthfulness of Agnes, and one hundred pounds which her agonized father scraped together, the hearts of the saints who Mere engaged in the mur- der were touched, and she was released. The two Margarets were drowned, crying out to a pitying Jesus to have mercy upon them. Those good old times are gone by now. There is no assembling in caves and damp forests to serve God. Peace, security, and prosperity cover the land. Everybody wor- shijis his Maker according to the dictates of his own conscience ; and every town has an abundance of schools, and one or two cannon from Sebastopol. • On the wall of the old church is a list of the rates for interment ; and I herewith re- produce a few of them : — For a hearse with four horses (including grave diprffiDK). . . . ^7.50 * or a hearse with two horses (including grave digging), . . .4.50 On shoulders (uicluding grave digging), 6..53 On spokes (under twelve years), . 1.25 On spokes (above), . . . 2.00 Child in arms , , , 1 25 Ushers, each ... 2.5 Bag for bono , . , .25 In Stirling are the traces of the Walls of what is called Cambuskenneth Abbey. There are the tower and the lines of the founda- tions. It must have been an extensive building, or rather collection of buildings. The abbey was built some seven hundred years ago. If I remember correctly, there are three floors to the tower. Eacli one of them contains relics of mouldings, cornices, pedestals, &c., gathered from the ruins, and preserved, because it doesn't cost anything to do it. A woman with about twenty-seven children living in a long, low- cottage near by, has charge of the place. She had just finished showing a party of Ameri- cans over the tower, and, having to attend Do household duties, left me in charge of one of the boys. The ground floor of the tower was very well filled with these bits of ornamental stone- work ; and, besides these, there Mas an up- turned dry goods box, on which M'ere ar- ranged several bottles of soda water, lemon- ade, and ginger betr. The boy shouldered the entire responsibility of these wares, light- ening and cheering the hours of toil by knocking a bit of stone with a hammer. On the third floor was a canoe, — a canoe about fifteen feet long. It was cut out of a solid log. A few months ago it was taken from the "river bottom near the abbey, and now looked very much crestfallen. It is safe to say that that canoe was built before the age of iron. It was constructed with stone tools. Coals of fire were put on the green log, and, when they expired, they were swept off, and the charred portion was chipped out with stone chisels ; and then fresh coals were aided, and the same operation gone over, until the hollow was mad> . and the outside took a conformable shape. No one can tell the days that were devoted to the comple- tion of this task. Stilling has still another claim on the at- tention of tourists. It was a gathering place for the Romans when they were here sixteen hundred years ago, and relics of their occu- pation still remain. Near the field of Ban- nockburn is a remnant of one of their ruads, so it is said ; but Sam Weller's coveted eye- glasses would fail to discover it. However, tiiere are the complete outlines of one of their camps at Ardoch, a few miles above Stirling. 124 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. I went over there one afternoon and took a good look at it. The outer embankments, with exterior ditches, are singularly perfect, considering the centuries of weather they have endured. Banks, ditches, and plazas are covered with grass, and furnish pasturage to some fifty cows. I learned that a clergyman some two miles oflf took considerable interest in these mat- ters, and I footed it over to his house to get the particulars of the encampment. When I knocked at the door, a sour-looking woman made her appearance, holding the door : so it would have ueen utterly impossible for me to have entered, unless I had been shot out of a colu'ubia i. •* la the rector at home ?" I inquired with' a hopeful smile. " Yes," short, sharp, and decisive, as if I were directly responsible for his being in. " Can I see him ?" I asked, with the same smile cut down fully one-half. " He is engaged." " I have been visiting the Roman encamp- ment ; and, learning that he was in posses- sion of information regarding it, I came over to have a few minutes' conversation with him." This was a frank and noble exposition of my errand, and deserved some encourage- ment. But she never said a word : she mere- ly moved the door six inches nearer to. I felt the smile pining away. " Will be be disengaged soon ?" I gasped. •• No." I turned to go, and the door slammed shut. Th^ Scotch call this independence ; but I have turned my back on encampments of the Roman pattern. CHAPTER XLII. THE TERRORS OF A JAUNTING CAR. A steamer from Greenock, in Scotland,con- veyed me to Belfast, where I first struck Ireland. Going over there showed up the inconvenience of the baggage system here. When I got to the station in Glasgow, the porter asked my destination. Ho then put a Belfast label on the trunk, and shipped it by first train to Greenock ; but I was not going until a later (express) train. When I came to start, I could not find my trunk. I had my ticket and a couple of sandwiches, but no trunk. I never made time go so far as I did the next five minutes ; but the only comfort I could secure was, that the trunk had probably gone on an earlier train, and was n»w lyicg in the station at Greenock, a temptation to some dishonest maa. I hurried down to Greenock as soon as the train would permit, and, after n search, heird of a strange and unclaimed trunk lying on the steamer's pier. That was my trunk, and I got it. Wo reached Belfast at daylight the next morning. We got into a 'bus, and rolled away to the hot«l. It was too early for business, and we Sassed but several drays and one cart. The rays set low down between the wheels, and the cart was drawn by a bald-headed donkey. There were three of the famous jaunting-cars at the pier ; but of them anon. After break- fast I took a stroll. It was about half past seven ; but the streeh were (juiet. Wher- ever I met a dray, I found it setting down between the wheels in a very despondent s«rt of fashion ; and every cart was drawn by a bald-headed donkey. Belfast is about eight hours' sail from Greenock, and several boats run between the two places. In such a case you would imagine that the two places might amalgamate their peculiar characteristics. But it is not so. Belfast is just as different from Greenock as though they were twenty thousand miles apart, Th« drays are different ; the horses are differ- ent, being smaller. Grtsenock h«s hacks, and Belfast deals mostly in jaunting cars. But Belfast is a wonderfully busy place. It is the head centre of linen manufacture, and thousands of its people are employed in its factories. All about it are evidences of thrift ; and in the outskirtsare pretty drives, fine villas, and an industrious and well-to-do farming community. The agriculture of Belfast consists, however, of grazing, as there are few roots and little grain raised. Belfast consumes an abundance of milk. In fact, all through Ireland there is a proneness to run to grass. It requires less capital than other farming, and, for that reason, is the general choice. . It doesn't seem at all probable ; but these people who go to make up Great Britain, even vary in their table. The English believe in stale, solid bread , the Scotch hang their hopes on shortcake ; and the Irish are simply coatent with light, white, fresh bread. This is at the hotels in the several countries. At the breakfast in Belfast I was genuinely shocked to see a plate of steaming potatoes coming on to the table in their j'ckets. They were bursting open; and their floury contents were flaking off, and rolling outside their brown coats. From that day forth, in Ireland, we found potatoes cooked in their jackets, — the only human way of boiling the delicious bivalres. Belfast is not only a prosperous city, but is going to be a handsome city. Its 1 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 125 eird of a iig on tbo Ilk, aad I the next fay to the 18, and we iart. The heels, and id donkey, inting-cara "ter break- half past Wher- ting down spondent rus drawn it is about nd several In such ; the two peculiar Belfast is as though lea apart, are differ- fast deals iisy place, nufacture, iiployed in idences of tty drivei, well- to- do nilture of )g,a3 thtire I. Belfast In fact, all ess to run than other he general but these it Britain, e English he Sootch i the Irish lite, fresh he several Ifast I wa« I steaming in their ipen ; and g off, and 8. From id potatoes dy human 3S. city, but jity.' Its villas are numerous, are architecturally handsome, and are surrounded by tasteful grounds. It has several fine churches, the spire to the Congregational church being the most graceful and cruamental work of the kind in the kingdom. Both the Methodists and Presbyterians have enormous colleges, built of bright red brick, with impos- ing fronts and ample grounds. In the pro- motion of education, the development of in- f'ustry, and the conservatism of pleasure, Belfast is an enviable city. It can bo said of Belfast, what cannot be claimed for any other city in Ireland, except its neighbour Londonderry, it is growmg. Hero are the changes in the past thirty years of places with not less than fifteen thousand population in 1841: — 1841. Belfast 76,441 Cork 82,748 Dublin Gal war 17.638 Kilkenny 19,337 Limeiick 49 205 •Londonderry.... 15,196 DroKheda 16,324 Watcziord 23 606 1851. 1!^61. 1871. 100,915 121.602 174,394 87,758 80,121 78,(J42 254.808 246 326 24,192 16,967 13,184 12.710 53,782 44.476 39,353 25.242 13,310 23,341' Londonderry has increased two-thirds in the past thirty years ; and in the same time Belfast has more than doubled its population, with a young city as a surplus. Both places are in the north of Ireland. I took considerable notice of the jaunting- cars. I found them on every street, on the corners, and in front of the hotels; I also saw them in motion, going by at a lively pace, and tearing around the corners with the greatest ease. The more I looked at them, the more anxious I became to get on one. I am not content to stand off and admire an object: I must get up to it, and go to f«oliug' around it. A j&unting-car sets well up two wheels. It It has a seat at each side, operated by hinges, so as to dropdown for use, or close up when not needed, like the folding steps to a stage- coach. Both seats drop over the wheels. This is an excellent idea, as in the case of a collision with another team, or running too close to a post, the wheel of the vehicle is protected from injury, and only the passen- ger's legs are broken. Each car accommodates four passengers, sit- ting! bacK to back; and the platform between their backs is used for any little luggage they may have. At the front the driver has a seat for himself when full, but on other occasions he sits on one of the side seats. I loitered about one of these vehicles for a half-hour, and then, plucking up sufficient courage, got on board for a ride. The driver asked m« vhere I wanted to go ; but I had no choice. In fact, tlie seat tipped down so far when I got on it, and I appeared to bo in such imminent danger of sliding off on my face, that it did not seem right, in the pre- sence of the danger, to be dictatorial ; so ha went where he wanted to. We Hew through street after street, and J never before was so shaken up. We dashed by teams in such close prcxiniity to them, that I felt my breath leaving me, and went around corners with such swiftness as to cause my knees to involuntaiily tiy up to my shoulders. Pretty soon we got into the country, and he began to talk about the objects wc pass- ed. But I am tired of scenery, I have seen so much of it ; and so, while he talked, I dug my toes into the foot-rist, pulled my hat over my eyes and ears to ke» p it on my head, clinched my teeth together, and clung to the seat with all the desperation of a drowning man clutching a plank. 1 appeared to be the most seriously affected in the pit of my stomach. He seemed to be pretty well posted about the country, and tne circumstances of the people whose places we passed. I enjoyed his conversation very much, and felt every moment that I was being improved mental- ly, even if I were incurring irretrievable in- jury physically. When we got back to the hotel, and I had got down and pried my jaws apart, 1 made my rirst remark. I said, " Here is your money, you infernal sctuiidrel !" Then I sent out and bought a truss, and put it on ; and in a few days I could get around quite comfortably M'ith the help of a cane. The handsomest grocery I ever saw, or ever expect to see, is in Balfast. I have never mentioned it, but it is a fact, that tliese oppressed and down-trodden British people do have handsome groceries. The riuer ones are called Italian warehouses, from the fact that they deal in macaroni, fruits, &c,, from that sunny clime. They do not sell flour, or salt meats, or fish, or vegetables. Their stores are high, have plate-glass fronts, and are very taste- fully dressed. The grocery in Belfast is owned by a Quaker named Foster Green. It has a grand Irout on two streets. The goods are arranged with the best effect. Ihe ornamental wood-work is of black walnut traced with gold. The floor would answer for a ball-room. Innumerable gas-jets flood the place m ith light, and gorgeous mirrors double the brilliancy. And he is a Quaker. Just think of it ! Sixty clerks are employed in this establith- ment, mostly young men, and neatly dressed. 126 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. You could shake hands with any one of them, and not smell for two hours after like a, mackerel. He boards and lodges all of them. Their dining-room through the day becomes their sitting-room in the evening. And he not only gets the work out of them for his money, but he also keeps a careful eye ou their personal interests. Belfast young men who incline to a mercantile life have a proper anxiety to get in his employ. People go from Belfast to visit the Giant's Causeway. It is on the north coast, and about eight miles from the nearest railway- station, which is Port Rush ; and Port Hush is some sixty miles from Belfast. The rail- way runs tnrough a tine grazing country. The farmhouses are not lofty structures, and hardly compare with those in England ; but they are generally neat. A peculiarity of the scenery is enormous gate-posts. They are built of mason-work, are from two to three feet in diameter, have a conical top, and are whitewashed. When there is a break in the hedge or stone wall for a gateway^ two of the posts appear. We could see men at work digging potatoes or peat, and also women in the helds. Farm labourers in Ireland get from tenpence to one shilling a day, and their meat and rent. In the busy time of harvest they are paid higher wages. A large number of farm-labourers go over to England every harvest, as they can get so much better wages there as to pay for the trip. Ihejf run over from Dublin on the steamer. They occupy the forward- deck : and each one carries a bundle done up in a handkerchief, and carried by a stick over the shoulder. An English friend aeked me, on one of these occasions,if I ever wondered what were the contents of those bundles. He said that, in years of observation, he had not detected one of the bundles differing so much as the sixteenth of an inch in size from its fellows ; and he Ivad ue^'er seen one of them opened. The harvesters have plenty of whisKey with them, which they first drink; then they dance and whoop ; and after that they lie down on the deck, and press their hands across their stomachs, and — and gape. I*, is a very rough sea between Dublin and Holyhead. The country from Belfast, until we draw near to Port Rush, is an almost unbroken massof verdv.r3, aad is pleasantly diversified with hill, valley, and plain. I had heard Ireland denominated " the gem of the sea," and I began to think it was not an exaggera- tion. But we will not anticipate. The next morning I got a team, and rode to the Giant's Causeway. The road akirted the coast for a greater part of the way, giving us a grand view of the sea, and a peep at the grotesque and wonderful formations made in the solid rock by the dash of the "".rf. Ou a bold headland the driver pointed out a seiies of crumbling walla as the ruins 6i Dun- luce Castle. No sane man in this age would think of making his residence on that cold and exposed and dreary spot, where, when- ever anything rolled out of the window, it would be irretrievably lost, unless he very much despised cats .But the Dunlucors lived in that good old time when the highest aspi- ration of people was to make cold mutton of their neighbours. Had the man who established pistol-pockets in breeches lived at that period, he could have bought up any congressional district in America. Just beyond the castle we verged off from the coast, and pretty soon struck into a strag- gling village. There was nothing particular about this place, except that in front of near- ly every door was a column block of darkish stone, in octagonal, hexagonal, and other agonal shapes. The driver mentioned that they came from the Giant's Causeway. We left the village, and ascended a road with a high bank, with fields on one side, and a high wall with a forest on the other. Trees united their branches over our heads, making a refreshing shade. The driver spoke of the owner of the property which the wall enclosed. He had an income of three hun- dred thousand dollars a year, and only one child to leave it to. He had a deer park, and acres of heather full of rabbits (of which we could see an abundance),and beautiful groves and fair fields ; but he was not satisfied, and preferred staying in London frfr four-fifths of his time, hanging around the Alhambra, and Spiers and Pond's, I suppose, although the driver did not say so. When part way up the avenue, and I was about to call attention to the quiet beauty of the scene, a man with one leg suddenly ap- peared at the side of the carriage, and ex- claimed, — " Please sir, help a poor man who has lost his limbs, and can't find work to earn his bread." Then he said, — *' Please, sir, help a poor man wh has lost his limbs, and can't find work it earn his bread." And further observed, — " Please, sir, help a poor man who has lost his limbs, and can't find work to ea? d his bread." We didn't give him any money ; but wo looked at him with tender sympathy. We had no sooner got rid of him than four boys appeared, two on each side of the carriage. ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 127 Each liad a package of views in his haml,and guile in his eye. They all saiil, — *' Please buy twenty-five views of the Causeway for one shilliu'j. Only one shilling, sir. None better, sir. Only otje shilling, sir. Twenty-Hve for a shilling, sir. All of the Causeway, sir." "That^will do now," said Major A., one of our party. "I will take some of i hose pictures ; that is what I came for. I don't care to see the Causeway : .[ only came to get the pictures. Just tell me uow, are ihose views lithogrims ?" "Yes, sir 1" shouted the boys in chorus. " Ah, now, tha*^ is too bad ! ' said the Ma- jor, with considerable feeling. " 1 wanted anglopridmatics. I shall never buy a litho- grim as long as I have my reason. — Go on, driver," And the carriage rolled on, leaving the four boys staring distrustfully at each other, I shall not attempt to give a descri]:tiun of the Giant's Causeway. Both you and I have seen it pictured in our geographies when we were children, and have read everbody's sensations and views ,of it, from Joues to Jenkins. The Causeway itself consists, briefly speak- ing, of column blocks of dusky stone. They alope away into the sea like a bank of rock. They vary in diamater from live to fifteen iuches, and vary fully as much in sides, al- though the greater number are either live, Bix,or seven sided. But, whatever the number of sider each piece may contain, they are all joined together with a nicety of joint that no oabiuet-maker can hope to surpass. The surface ia uneven, and, after a rain, rather difficult to traverse, unless a man is a giant, and used to it. In the Causeway the columns are, of course, perpendicular; but iu the banks tbey are both perpendicular and hori- zontal. At one place they are stacked in the air, like chimneys; at another they stand in the steep sides of the cliff, like the reeds to an organ. Thus we have the Giant's Causeway, the Giant's Chimneys, the Giant's Organ, &c. The columns which form the Causeway are in sections, varying in length, and fitted together by convex and concave surfaces. On the outskirts these sections are easily dislodged, which accounts for the pieces in front of the houses at Bushmills. The visitor is aware, before he reaches the Causeway and its adjuncts, that they consist of basaltic rock, and that science has decided that they were formed by fusion under heat, and cracked, in cobling, into ithe singularly regular shapes we see. (I sometimes think that scientific men were formed by fusion under heat, and have subsequently cooled. ) "When you get there, you find that there are Eeople about you who have lived iu the neigh- ourhood all their days, and who are as con- fident as that they live that giants really built this Causeway from Ireland to Scotland. A smgular formation is visible on the Island of Staffa, on the Scotch coast, where it slopes into the sea toward tlie Irish side' How far either point extends under the water, and whether they really meet, and form a continuous pathway between the two countries, under the sea, no one knows. No one, as far as I can learn, has cared to inves- tigate; although, with the improved diving apparatus now iu vogu», it could be easily ascertained. Tradition varies as to the cause which led to the building of this footway ; but it unites in attributing it to the enterprise of giants. One explanation is to the effect that it was built by a company (limited?) of Irish giantry, that a famous Scotch giant might come over and prove that he was as good a man as he claimed to be. Of course he was whipped, as all the courage and skill was then, as now, strictly confined to Ireland. Another solution is in the shape of a famous Irish giant falling in love with the daughter of a Scotch leviathan, through an advertise- ment which she inserted in " The Waverley Magazine;" and this roadw^ay was built to bring her over to the Emerald Isle. Her husband thought she was motherless; but, on discovering that she was not, he caused the rocky bed to sink into the sea. This last seems so sensible and human-like, that it has become a favourite with me ; and, while I should hesitate to throw any disrespect upon science, still 1 must hold to this tradition. And now to explain how the Major and I saw the sights. As the road ascended the cliffs which form the background to the sea at this point, we saw a hotel at the left, and a half-dozen men standing at the entrance to the hotel grounds, who.the driver intimated, were guides. The sight made me shiver. I have en- countered so many of these dreadful people, that I have come to have an uncontrollable dislike of them. It is immaterial how estab- lished is their fee, or if they are not to be fee'd at all; they are simply leeches, who ex- pect two dollars for ten cents' worth of infor- mation. Every lineament of their features, every wrinkle in their clothes, every hair in their heads, is gasping for money. Travel- lers are their legitimate prey ; and,,'while they would not take a cent from a neighbour because of the law, both conscience and court acquit them of wrong impulses in de- predations on unprotected strangers who are so unfortunate as to be natives of a free and glorious republic. 128 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. CHAPTER XLIII. DOING TIIS CAUSEWAY, AND MCDOOLBY. A Belfast friend warned me a|;ainst these guidcH, and aatiured mo that I could see as mucli, aiul to bettor advantapo, without them ; and so I determined to eache>v their aooiuty. But when one of them bustled up to the carriage, anil fastened his cold jjrey eyca gravely and Beriouply upon my countu- nance, 1 felt such a sensation of humiliation and reproach, that it seemed as if I could never wipe out with an age of tears the wrong 1 had done him. He was a snmll Mian, with largo hands and feet ; and the back of his hanila and his face were mottled with browu spots. His nose turned up so sharp as to bo uncomtortable to look at ; and his hair was cut straight around his head. So- lomon in his prime was a decided idiot along- side of this man. But the Major was not affected aa I was. Yoais of sigUtaeeing and connection with these people liad given him a heart of lig- numvilae, and a countenance which no com- bination of circumstances could apparently move. Nature had designed him for a traveller, and she could risk her reputation on him at any time. The guiile came up to the carriage with a volume in his hand. "Hallo, Do Aubrey !" shouted the Major with cordiality, " 1 am glad to see you, and looking '^0 well too !" And then, not noticing the look of surprise on the man's face, but glancing down at hijs book, " At it again, I see. 1 can tell you, my boy, study is a good thing ; but too much of it is good for nothiuj{. 1 can see horw you are wearing away under it. Now, I dare say you are forty feet in the most abstruse mathematics this very moment." The guide, who had been staring from the Major to me in unconcealed perplexity, man- aged to gasp, — " You are under a mistake, sir. I am the guide to the Causeway." " Wnai's that?" said the Major, putting up his eye-glass, and staring hard at the guide. " Aien't you a De Aubrey of the Do Aubreys at Wexford ?" " No, air. My Uiime is McDooley,an' I'm a guide here. This book " — " Exictly !" said the Major, /restoring his glass in some perplexity. " But your Joi>ks much like the De Ai-.breys ! — the same bold proKle and towering frame; only your occiput is dift'ereut. Your occiput is more like — like the MiHitmoreucys' I think." And th* Major dropped into a profound study over the fatal miotake of the occiput ; while the owner thereof stood a moment, trying to o/uth ; but as the break- ers, which were dashing against its mouth, were about seven hundred feet high, I con- Vluded not to run the risk. The rowers had, without doubt, large families depending npou them for support. The guile was rather anxious for us to make an excursion inside ; which the Major seeing, thoughtfully Huggestvd that he might • go in, and we would wait outaido with the > boat. The guide tried to laugh iis if it were < a joke ; but it was plain to be seen that he . eyed the Major with considerable uneasines'j. He was pretty well posted in the geological terms used to express ideas in connection . with the formations of this neighbourhood ;.. although it did not appear at all probable that he understood the signification of one- sixteenth of the phrases he used. The Major was quick to perceive this, and also the pride the guide felt in airing his knowledge. ASs. we moved along toward t n Causeway, the ^ guide held forth on the various strata of rock, , and composition of the same. i He said, — •• We have also a layer of sulphur. If you will be so good as to look at the base of the > rock at the left of the organ, you will per- ceive a thin yellow streak. That is a lieposit . of sulphur. Many opinions have been ex- pressed by the scientific gentlemen that I've > taken over this place ; but they can't satis- factorily account for its origin. But it is there, an' that's plain enough." " Do you mean to say that that is a layer - of sulphur ?" suddenly demanded the Major. . " VVh\ , yes, sir !" gasped the guide. "Sulphur of majitum, or tlie carbonated I sulphur ?" again demanded the Major, with . some sternness. " I — don't — know," said the guide, with evident hesitation. " Some say one, and. some say the other." " Oh, indeed 1 Well, Mr. McFugle"— " McDooley," mildly suggested theguide^>. "Ah, yesl Well, Mr. McJooIey"— The guide groaned. " I would like tj huv" yea explain bow" either the sulphur of majiium, or even sul- 130 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. phur in th« form of carbon,caa rest beneath a basaltic formation." Mr. McDooley rabbed his heitd, and look- ed around uneasily. " Do you mean to say," continued the Major, ** that a tibrous rock cati contain, for even a year's time, a molecular substance ?" " N — no I" stammered the guide. " Of course not ; and yet you present that absurd proposition to me. j^'ow, Mr. Foodie, juat answer me one simple question : What is the percentage of auimalcula in a resinous rock, when amalgamated under a tempera- ture of one hundred and twelve degrees Farenheit ?" " I don't— don't remember," stammered the unhappy Mr. McDooley. '* Well, Mr. McJoogle. let me g.veyoua bit •of advice," said the Major with some asperi- ty : " When you undertake to escort another .professor of psychology over the coast, just urub up your knowledge of chronology, and • don't attempt to impose upon him the i absurd ratiocinations of a set of addle-pated '. lachrymalariaus. " And the Major wiped his brow with his handkerchief, and looked i.around upon the amazed crew with offended • digni* ; while the unfortunate Mr. Mc- . Dooley sank back abashed, and never again •opened his mouth on the subject of ge 'ogy • during tht trip. We had seen the Giant's Chapd and \e • Giant's Eye, when the boat stopped. One • of the men passed me a little shaky box of i spar, and another passed a simi lar one to ' the Major. It was done with an sAr sugges- itive of — " We have got you out here away from • all help, and you either buy these boxes, or . go to tlic bottom. " In some alarm, I was about to inquire the Erice ; when the Major, after a glance at the oxes, and then at the guide, broke in with — " And what is this ? Ballast ?" " No, sir," said the puide humbly : " it is : spar, that the men wish to sell you for you itc take home." " Well, Mr. McHooghly, permit me to explain to the crew, through you, that we came here on a pleasure-trip, and not to buy up paviag-stones. " The boxes were taken back, and the boat started on, landing us in a few minutes on the Causeway, and so adroitly, that both of us were caught on the legs by an iacoming ■wave. The guide whispered i< lie that the boat- men would expect a fee. " What for ? " I asked. " Doesn't the woman who owns the boats pay them ?" " No, sir : they depend on what visitors may give them." He thought a sixpence or so to each of them would do. One of them came up just then, and the Major handed him three shil- lings. He ducked his head, and asked for another shilling to make even money. " Were you ever a corsair ?"demanded the Major. '• No, sir," said the man, looking dubiously at him. " Well," said the major, handing him an- other shilling, " the next vacancy that oc- curs, I will recommend you." We had hardly got on the Causeway whpn a shadow of a boy assailed us with a haiulful of photographs. At every turn he kept close to us, grinding out his programme. Finally the Major turned on him : " Look here, boy : here is a half-crown for you. And now you get off from this Cause- way, and out of this country as quick as you can, or I'll look you over ; and, if I find a piece of flesh on you, I will stick a knife in it" The boy clutched^the money, and scamper- ed olF. "I am glad he is f ne," said the Major with a sigh, " or he'd . falling into some of these crevices and losing his life. We made a careful survey of the surface of the Causeway ; and although the items were similar in feature, yet the whole was very interesting. There was the Giant's Well, where the removal of a section of a column left room for a couple of pailfuls of clear cold water ; also the Wishing Seat, where several pillars, projecting above their fellows, made a rude attempt at a chair. The guide sa'd, if we sat there and made a wish, it would be fulfilled inside of a twelvemonth, I took his advice, and wish- ed thax, I might have a pair of side-whiskers. The M.^jor gave his %vish aloud, to the effect that the guide might give his time to the intelligent study of geology ; which >.\ade Mr. McDooley wince. When we got down from the seat, we found two dowagers peddl- ing a crab and some very shrivelled apples' They were kind-hearted people. One of them was smoking a pipe, and I was smek- ing a cigar, — a circumstance that made a most favourable impression upon her. " Arrah !" shouted she, ' the gentleman shmokin' a segare, an' the ole woman a pipe ! An' that's the way the money goes." " Pop goes the weasel," gravely suggested the Major. " An' you're a foine gintlemin !" saiJ the old lady admiringly. " It's the likes of sujh as you that wouldn't see an' old woma'i struggliu' for the bread that kapes her body an' soul togither, when buyin' a nice foine apple would help her." ENGLAND THOU A BACK-WINDOW. 131 " Two pritty gintlemin like thitn," added the other aowapjei with considerable feeling " have money for a good purpis. Sure a foincr crab than this, man,' holding it, up tenderly by its left leg, " uiver walked the say. " *' And thechapeness ov it !" chimed in the apple-merchant sympathetically. " Sure nayther ov thim gintlemin is wantin' in knowledge ov a good article." " Muaha, Mistress Finn," said her com- panion, who appeared to be a woman of con- siderable penetration, " a bat at broad noon couid see their intilligence, an' how they are miu ov the world, an' scholars ov high de- gree. " The Major, who had been looking gravely at both of them during their appreciative observations, now spoke : — " By my soul, ladies, but you quite over- come my friend and myself by the ease of your speech ; and as for the freshness and vivacity of your persons, sure the wares in your basket bear eloquent witness ; for the apples have shrivelled up in envy of your cheeks, and the crab has gone madly bilious over your suppleness. And I can say in full confidence, that it is not an Ulster crab that is easily put down." This beautiful tribute to their grace of speech and persons actually doubled up the dowagers for an instant ; and, before they could rally, the Majoi- tossed each of them a sixpence, and, catching me by the arm, hurried away from the shower of "blessings'' which was propelled after us. Leaving the Causeway, we came upon the Wishing Spring, where an able-bodied man mixed its magic waters with liquid hydro- phobia for tired and unsuspecting travellers. The Major stopped for a driuk. Being an Irishman himself, he said it would not look well for him to turn his back on poteen in any shape. While the Major benumbed himself with the stuff, the guide took me a short distance back of a pile of rocks and earth, ostensibly for the purpose of getting a close look at several pillars standing in the bank, whose claimed altitude I had disputed, but actually to sell me a bit of mineral which he had in his pocket. He said, on the way, that any amount of samples of the various deposits was sold in the neighbourhood ; but he did not care to do any such business, as it was foreign to his tastes. However, he had with him a very valuable piece of mineral, w'hich he had designed saving for his own gratifica- tion ; but, noticing the intense interest I took in the various strata and formations, he had resolved, after a sellish struggle, to part with it to me. I saw that he was going to present it to me ; but, out of courtesy, I asked its price. He said he thought ten shillings would not be any too much for it. I almost said, " Well, I hope to be hanged !" but checked myself in time, and with forced oomposurc assured him that I would not give ten cents for all the minerals he could hold in his cheek. I was much amused by his reply : — " Well, sir, I couldn't hold many there." Then he tried to sell me a fossil ; but I told him I lived in a New England village. He made one more effort on a bit of polished coal ; but, the Major coming up, he dropped the subject as if it had been a bar of hot iron. We took the car Trom the spring, and were jolted up to th«house,and there settled the bill. When he asked the guide what his charge was, he smiled pleasantly, and said it was from two shillings aucl sixpence to five shillings, according to the extent of the trip • but he left it entirely to the kind- ness of thf visitor. They all do it, I am sorry to say. When we left, the Major took the guide to one iide and oontidentially whispered to him, — "When you see the owner of the Cause- way, Mr. McHooghley, please present him my compliments, and tell him that, in my estimation, the best thing he can do with the place is to seed it down with square- ribbed timothy ; and in the meantime, if I come across 'a second-hand pier that can be bought cheap, I will immediately write and let him know. Good-bye,my malarious koh-i- noor ! Heaven bless you !" And with that we rode awry, the Major smiling sweetly «pon everybody in reach. CHAPTER XLIV. GETTING ON THE WALL. From Port Push I went to Enniskillen by way of Londonderry. I stopped at Londonder- ry two or three hours to see the old city wall. If I am not disastrously mistaken, London- derry is the only city in the United Kingdom boasting a complete wall about it. It is something' to see a walled city. Aside from the wall, I do not know as there is anything of particular interest in Londonderry. " will tell you how I saw the wall. I le^t ttie station, and passed into a street of Vk ..re- houses and dingy stores, with here and there an eating saloon. I stopped at a tobacco store for soma cigars, and asked the proprie- tor for the address of the wall. He told me to keep on nrtil I reached a broad, open thorourj'atare; I would find the wall there, I kept ja. When I got on the broad, ope a 132 t:ngland from a back window. thoroughfare, I saw opposite the blank side of a wall of masonry. Two arches pierced it, showing through each a vista of street. I knew that wa.th as a mirror ; while the distant isle appears like a castellated city of the olden tim3. It is only by a row boat that the trip is now made ; and I took it in company with a gentlem.n from Pennsylvania, who was visit- in^; Enniskillen at the lime. The propeller of the boat was a short and spare-built man, with a &tout, peculiar white face, which denoted the presence of the strength of his people — consumption. No people live out doors so much as the Irish, and no people suffer so much from this dreadful disease ; anut watch towers at the base of ridges, un- ess they possessed a kind of ic'iocy superior to anything this age knows o';; still another, that they were constructed as bell towers. That they were for protection is evident by the doors being so far from the ground, and there beinti no remnant of steps or stoops. A man who had his door from ten to fifteen feet from the ground would hardly be care- less or indifferent in the building of a stoop. There is as much difference of opinion aa to their age^as to their purpose. A claim has been put in to the effect that they were built before the beginning of the Christian era ; but I give no encouragement to those penple. I think they ought to be arrested. I have tried to crowd in a theory that they are ancient wells, thrown up to the surface by some volcanic movement, and roofed in the sharp, conical form by an affrighted people, with a view to turning them over, and driv- ing them into the earth again. This is the most sensible idea on the subject that I have yet heard. All that I need to make a sure thing of it is to fi-id somebody who will ex- plain why they didn't do it. As that is the easiest end of the argument, there ought to be no trouble in tindina him. The owner of this island is a proud man, — a round^tower, church, priory, stone coffin, oratory, graveyard, and pasturage for forty cows, in one lump. A noy with red tops to his boots is in the slough of despond along- side of this chap. When I got back to the boat, I found the crew smoking a pipe, and the Pennsylvanian on the beach, trying to get a pair of tight boots over a pair of wet stockings. He had got one boot on, and had nearly conquered the other ; but he had ruined that beach. In getting on the boots, he ^ad gone over a strip of ground about eighty feet in length and thirty in width, and had torn up the earth over every inch of it. When I came up he was as red in the face as a beet, and was yelling, and stamping his foot in a perfect ecstasy of rage. However, we soon fixed it, and put off for a continuation of the trip. The wind still held fair ; and I took the helm, while the Pennsylvanian took a seat in the bow, and became immediately wrapped up in re- flection. We passed several islands of no moment, and M'ent by three or four farm houses. The scenery was quiet and impressive. No life was seen on the shore, and no sound came to us but the rippling of the water against the boat. There was a heavy bank of black clouds coming up above the horizon; but one could look upon it calmly, as this was an inland sheet of water, w ell protected by high ground. We passed a high ridge, and came out into an open and exposed part. Half- way across the wind struck us with some considerable force, and the rain came down in torrents. The sail filled so rapidly as to cause the boat to careen half way over. It seemed as if a gale were tearing over the lake. The vessel rode on its edge ;*and I expected every moment we -would upset, and wet ourselves. I still hung to the helm and an umbrella, and kept to the upper side of the sloop. The crew hung to the sail with all his might, and the Pennsylvanian buried a face which had assumed the colour of unbolted flour beneath the friendly cover of his umbrella. All the while, the storm increased in vio- lence; and the boat was now riding in such a position, that it was only by lapping my elbow over the taffrail that I kept myself ,' from being spilled out. The crew wanted i me to keep out to sea ; but I concluded, if IT was to be wrecked, I would prefer being j wrecked on land ; and, which was of more ■: importance, the umbrella was borrowe I did not want to lose it. So I ran the l>arque«' for the first land ; and we came upon thQ>! shore with a precision that was gratifying to^- 136 fENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. me as « pilot, but with a force that very nearly dislocaterl the spine of the crew. We got out of the boat as soon as possible; but it was not a hospitable shore. There were no trees, but a small thorn growing out of the bank, and no shelter of any kind from the keen wind and driving rain. There we stood for three-quarters of an hour, keeping the tops of oyr heads perfectly dry with the umbrellas. If anybody could have observed us, he would have undoubtedly wandered where allthe water came from which vas running down our legs. It was a pleasure party ; and we were tourists who had nothing to do bnt to travel around and enjoy ourselves, and live at hotels. Several times I spoke to the Pennsylvanian about it; but he didn't seem to enter into the spirit of the remark. He said, if he could only get safely back to the Cumberland Mountains, he would never leave them ""? such an outlandish and cussed country as this. I like to see a man show spirit. The rain stopped, and we once more tried the boat; but we didn't put up the sail. The Pennsylvanian said he would pull his arms out of their sockets first. Oar next point of interest was the Island of Irinismaosaint. There is a church rum upon it; but it was a peculiar cross that I wanted to see. We reached there in about an hour. The cross was hardly worth the coming to see; it was rude in execution, and peculiar in construction, being of one piece, as if cut flut of a rough slab. The boatman viewed the stone with considerable rever- ence. " Is there anything remarkable about that ?" I asked. " Yes, sir. Every Easter morn, at the crowing of the cock, the cross jumps out ov the airth, and turns aroond thrice. " " Will you be good enough to repeat that remarkable statement ? " asked the Pennsyl- vanian with breathless interest. The crew complied. " Did you ever see it perform that little .exercise ? " The crew said he had not. " Or anybody who has seen it? " The crew shook his head. " I wouldn't stand so close to it, if I were you," said the Pennsylvanian kindly : " it may jump out of the ground and kick you into Lhe lake. " Oh ! it don't come out only at Easter," said the man innocently. "You can't always tell," said Penn. "This is just like Easter weather, and the •cross may have mislaid its almanac. " The crew shook his head. The gentle- man's excessive faith rather staggered him. We got back to Enniskillen at dark, well tired, thoroughly wet, and two-thirds starved. The next day was butter market, and scores of country people were in-town. Theircounter- paits can been seen in Castle Garden on the arrival of an emigrant ship. There was a large number of Counanght men, the pure Irish, — so pure as not to have mastered the English language, — who brought inter- preters with them to enable them to make bargains with the village people. TheJ' wore corduroy pants, and long frieze coats, and decayed stovepipe hats. They are dying out, are the old Irish, and a new people are crowding them out ; and the day will come when the pure Irish will have passed into history and legend. Go up and down the principal streets of Belfast, Dublin, Cork, or any other Irish city, and four-fifths of the names on the places of business are not familiar as Irish names to as Americans. And why not ? Ireland is a fine country, has excellent seaports, good soil, and is most healthfully located. The Irish themselves are deserting it, and enterprising men of other countries are pushing in there. The result is as certain as the kick of the mule. CHAPTER XLVI. AN ANCIENT CANT>Y-PULL. I have always had the impression that Wales could show nore ruins than any of the three countries which help it to make up the United Kingdom ; but I am beginning to waver. Ireland abounds in ruins. It would be absurd in me to give a detailed descrip- tion of the many I have seen, or even to refer to them separately. I haven't the time, nor you the patience, to permit. AH that I can do is to say that they exist in every direction, are to be found on the hill- tops and the valleys, and consist of castles, fortifications, tombs, churches, &c. The only objection that any one can ha' e to them is their dismal similarity. Shake them up together in a blanket, and turn them out again, and I doubt if the owners of the two- thirds of them could select their property. This is a frightful state of things. America's principal interest and sympathy is with England's history ; Scotland comes next, Ireland third, and Wales fourth : so the local history of the ruins of Ireland interests us much less than the local history of those of either England or Scotland. Bnt the traditions, legends, and records of these ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 137 Irish ruins are sufficiently gray)hic to satisfy the most exacting in ghostly lore or heroic memories. Both Ireland and Wales would have got along much better on the start if their early heroes had possessed reasonable cognomens. Wo soon tired of a mm whose name we can't pronounce ; and it is not to be expected, that, at this great di8t.*nce, we «an t.ike the sli8;hte3\< interest in the affairs of Hi Failse, Magh LiflTe Majlmordha, CoUa- dachuch, Uidhir, and other people of like names. There was, for instance, St. Moeog, — a good man, undoubtedly ; hut just think of hia name, and the names he descended from I His father's name was Aedh. His mother came of Amhalgaidha, who was the son of Tiachra, who was the son of Eochaidh Muighmedhoin. They didn't have directories in those days. That is the only thing that saved them. The fact is, the early history of Ireland has beei simply self containing ; it has not influenced the outside world ; it has operated only on itself ; and, for centuries, it consist- ed simply of family and sectional broils. Bo' •*; has spilled blood enough to make its Boil t. /ichest in the kingdom. Oncrf Ireland was divided into four king- donia, each having a separate court ; and the whol:; country ia scarcely three hundred miles in its greatest length, and not two hundred milea at its greatest breadth. Those divisions remain unto the present day, and are called Ulster (the north), Connaught (the west), Leinster (the east), and Munster (the south). Belfast is the chief city of the first ; Gahvay, of the second ; Dublin, of the third ; and Cork, of the fourth. I went direct to Dublin from Enniskillen, as I was obliged to go to England in a few days. Ou my return I left Dublin, and took a cut acroRS the country to Galway, How much I had heard of the " men of Galway," and how I longed to see them ! The lide was wofully lacking in interest. We passed through Maynooth, MuUingar, and Athloue, whose names yt)U are familiar with. They M'ere straggling towns, built upon the same model ; a fe"' prominent houses in the centre, with a belt of low, whitewashed, thatched -roofed dwellings of the poor, making the suburbs. It had been raining all the night before, and the streets were muddy and dreary in the extreme. For the greater part of the route the country was barren, and the houses wretch- ed. I might say that all I passed, so few were the exceptions, were one-story stone buildings, with whitewashed Avails and thatched roofs They frequently set down in a hollow, with no card -for grounds around them, with scarcely a length of fence about them. It had been raining ; and the one or two cows and horse of the occupants had cut up the soft turf ab uut the doors, making mud and mud-puddlea. The fields were, to a great extent, uncultivated, and, by their appearance, afforded slim pasturage. The staple production appeared t3 be pota- toes ; and the Irish know how to raise pota- toes, and, better still, how to cook them. The nea) er we approached Galway, the poorer and more desolate became the coun- try ; and within a few miles of that city we came upon a stony district, the format'on being not greatly dissimilar to that at the Giant's Causeway. We also passed here a number of shells of stone shanties, the roofs and doors being gone. The Irish, as you are probally aware, are partial to immigration. They go to America in great numbers to better themselves. It is a great place for that purpose, and these roofless and doorless shanties were once oc- cupied by people who are now in America. " They couldn't take them to their new home ; they were not theirs to sell. They left tlie»J!. And, once alone and unprotected, the neigh- bours and the elements have done the rest. But it may be inquired here, did not the landlord have an interest in this matter ? and why did he nottakecare of his property? These are pertinent iiiq'Tiries. The generally received idea of a landlord is a man who guards his property with a jealous eye, and exacts his own to the utmost farthing. And so I don't understand this Irish-landlord question. I hear of absent and careless landlords, and tyrannizing and avaricious landlonls ; but these terms do not explain the trouble. They are not synonymous, if I know my- self "; but they are both used to express the same result. I am told, that as the landlords are absent from their property, and indifferent to the interests of their tenants, the tenants sufi'er. And another scholar and philosopher says the landlord divides up his property into small farms from five to twenty acres each, with a view to getting the most money out of it; and a man with so little land makes hardly sufficient to get food for his family ; and that is the reason the laud is desolate, and the houses mere shanties. But this don't explain those stripped houses, because the farms attached to them are of but a few acres, which shows the avaricious landlord ; and they are stripped of the straw ou their roofs and the wood from the doors, wliich in- dicates the absent and profligate and indif . 138 ENGLAND FHOM A BACK-WINDOW. ferent landlord. If you can explain this, I hope you will come over here and do so. But we will leave the topic for the pre- sent. On reaching Galway, I found a large four- story, handsome building as the station hotel, and I was glad to see it. Aa it is about the first building the visitor to Galway sees on arriving, he naturally falls into the error of believing the city to be large and flourishing. I presume this hotel has ample accommodation for two hundred guests, with broad, lofty halls, splendid stairways, a fine billiard-yoom, coffee-rooms, &c. Galway has a population of thirteen thousand, or rather did have three years ago ; but, judging from the ratio of decrease in the past ten }'ears, it may be doubted if it now has that number. One writer on the towns of Ireland says, " Such a town as Galway does not exist in Ireland." Another says, "In Galway the traveller will find a quaint and peculiar city, with antiquities such as he will meet nowhere else." And still another writes, *'I found something at every step to remind me of the cities of Spain, and a people fully as picturesque as the Moors." Each writer finds a marked resemblance in the town to Spanish cities. Now, 1 never smelt of a Spanish city ; but I am sure Galway is no dirtier, and smells no worse, than Tuam, Killarney, Cashel, and many other Irish towns. So why it should be selected above these places as peculiarly like the cities of Spain is something I do not quite under- stand. Galway is a lazy place, with a fine hotel it hasn't got money enough to support, and warehouses it hasn't the business to keep going. Its streets are narrow, crooked, and not clean. Its people are like other people on this west coast, but far more pronounced in the true Irish characteristic than those to be found in the north and east or south. They are well- formed men and buxom wo- men. It must be remembered that I am speaking of the lower classes — the poor, which are to be seen on every hand in these European cities. They are not like the people of American towns— the working, active Yankee people. You notice that the moment you come liere. And, when you speak of the people, you refer to but one class ; and that is the poorer class, for they are about the only ones you see in the back towns. There is some wealth about here, of course ; for one man near Enuiskillcn has a two-million-doUar residence, and we all know that it costs money to build a two- million-dollar house. But the aristocrats are few and far between. The typical Irishman is seen only on the theatrical stage and in Galway. £he not day after my arrival was the market-da , and scores of typical Irishmen were in town. They were spare built, and of good height. They wore frieze coats of swallow- tail pattern, and corduroy breeches which came only to tl • knee, where they fit closely to blue or gray woollen stockings. That end of them was finished oil' with gaiter-shoes having thick soles. They wore on their heads rusty stovepipe hats, somewhat weak in the crown, and they generally carried their hands in their pockets, and a short stick under one arm, —the first Irishman I had seen with the national characteristic. Many of them were rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed ; but others were pale-faced and pinch-eyed, as men who had toiled and suffered, and had long ago given up all hope, and were now patiently bearing their burden. It was the market day, and rainy. I was up early, and from the coflFee room window could look down a street leading from the country into the market-squsre. And up this street for a full hour the farmers strag- gled along with their produce. Each one had a little pony or donkey hitched to a low cart, which appeared to have thills at each end ; and on the cart were a half dozen or so of long bags filled with potatoes. Some of them had oats, and a few brought in hay or straw. The farmer appeared at the head of the ani- mal, with his hand on the bridle ; while the wife either rode or walked behind. She wore a bl'iish cloak of frieze, which reached nearly to her feet, with a cape over the head. Some of them wore white caps under the cape, and red petticoats under the cloak. They are well formed, healthy-looking women, with faces and arms browned by outdoor work. Some of them were very old and shrivelled, and won out by years of toil. This was their life, — toil all the week, and trudge into town every market day. The shrivelled was once buxom ; and the buxom could look at the shrivelled, and see the end as plainly as if she had already reached it. The clerk of the market met them at the head of the street, and collected their toll ; and they passed on into the square, and took up their position. Then the buyers came about and examined their produce, and shook their heads very despondently over the ex- hibit, as being so much inferior to what they had expected, but finally endeavoured to look more hopeful, and at last offered, as an en- couragement to farming, five per cent under the market price. I wandered among them for an hour or more, listening to blarney, bickering, and' wit. When : gentlemai " Don't among th( the stag* them. I consideral failed to d to believe as the avei ly so, as believe ; i with the wits is di£ ly falls to It was j tered him, These r kneed hat shanties o and mud i Where th( I don't ws are in sucl I had a subject of the counti England, mous aboi of Irelant said it wai why pros] here ; wh than the f i were wee] a foreigni things. I foreigner ; " these th The Iri hearted, g got, witht aoity; and them on a are of the They woi their mate out of thei their farmi "good fell The Ian both in Dv at home, and the tei they care t from five and will gi this pittani improveme stock ; for be turiji d < It is even r ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 139 When I went over to Ireland, an Irish gentlomau said to me, — " Don't be disappointed if you do not find among the poor classes that sharp wit which the stage and anecdotes liave ascribed to them. 1 am a native, and have travelled considerably about my country ; but I have failed to discover it in real life. I am proud to believe that my countrymen are as sharp as the average ; but they are not supernatural- ly so, as writers and actors would have us believe ; and the man who goes over there with the iniprebsion that we are a nation of wits is disappointed of course, and frequent- ly falls to abusing us as a set of dummies." It WHS just as well, perhaps, that I encoun- tered him. These men in rusty garments and knock- kneed hats are the farmers. Those huts or shanties outside, with their thatched roofs and mud surroundings, are the farm houses. Where the farm labourers are I don't know. I don't want to see them, if their employ.! s are in such destitute circumstances. I had a talk with a Gal way editor on the subject of farming. He said the poverty of the country was due to the Government of. England. He appeared to be quite unani- mous about that. I asked him if the north of Ireland was governed by England. He said it was. I asked him if he could explain why prosperity existed there, and did not here ; why the farms there, with poorer soil than the farm here, were smiling, while these were weeping. He explained that I, being a foreigner, could not understand these things. He was right sbout my being a foreigner ; but as to not understanding " these things" he was wrong. The Irish people are impulsive, warm- hearted, generous. Those at the north have got, with their Scrftch blood, the Scotch pertin- aoity ; and you couldn't starve them if you kept them on a billiard table. Their landlords are of the same blood and characteristics. They won't let their land run waste, nor their materials rust and rot : that is money out of their pockets. They don't mortgage their farms for means to enable them to be "good fellows " in the London world. The landlords here are " good fellows " both in Dublin and London, but poor cusses at home. They hunt, gamble, and drink ; and the tenants can go to the devil, for all they care to the contrary. They give a man from five to twenty-five acres for a farm, and will give him no definite lease of even this pittance. He cannot go to work making improvements in the buildings .or fences or stock ; for he knows not how soon he may be turn 1 out to make room for some one else. It is even risky for him to draw out manure in the fall ; for he knows not but that in tho spring another will spread it. No wonder his clothes are rusty, and his donkey has a rope harnes.'f, and liis hens roost on the backs of his chairs*. If the leaders of the people would only teach him how to force his landlord into decent terms, they would do far more eood for Ireland than they will ever acoraplish by howling at England. But it is more congenial to Hieir tastes to make faces at a powerful neighbour than to remove the distress and' misery of a weak one. These poor farmers and their families have my heartiest sympathy, as they gain the sympathy of every one who goes among them and sees their troubles, their toil, and the genuine goodness of their hearts. They are easily depressed, and as easily buoyed ; and ^hen they forgive and forget, and are rough- ed on again, and the whole thing repeated. You don't blame them, of course, for getting out of here as soon as they cin, and striking out for America. But you -vill be somewhat startled to learn that many of them are coming back again. As badly off as they are here, and as fair and free as is our conntry, these people, or rather many of them, who have gone to America, have reached the coa- elusion that Ireland is the best place of the two to starve in ; and so new roofs of straw and turf are going over some ot the tenant- less walls which abound in this section, and bright-looking American trunks are illumi< nating the luggage-cars. They are beginning to think the land of the free and the home of tho brave is a fail- ure ; and in some senses it is. But they ought to be glad the3" earned enough there to bring them back again ; and, if the trip has taught them that their worst enemy is their own kith and kin, they need never re- gret, but can always rejoice, that they went to the States, and sojourned under the " stars and strips," as they and the Scotch call our precious flag. Nature has designed the Irish race for apple pedlars. Nowhere else, except in New York, will you seo so many old women peddling apples. I never saw them .sell any; but they peddle them. There were three of them on one corner in the square to-day. I was attracted to them by an old woman with one good leg and one wooden one, who had taken offence at one of the merchants, anu was giving her a terrific moved up to the scene could not understand it. ever, and squirmed so intensely anxious to know what was going on. But it was Gaelic, and not a word of it tongue lashing, i of combat ; Cut I The foe did, how- visibly, that I was 140 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. i could I decipher. The guilty woman made no lespoiiNo ; and the one-legj^ed virago, after exhausting herself, gave a triumphant howl, and settled down on the pavement, and said no more. . Most of the women of the poorer classes go bareheaded in the north part of Ireland, and both bareheaded and barefooted here and in the south. Then Gal way has a class of women peculiar to itself. They have a little village%n the bay called " The Clad- dagh." They live by fishing ; the men catching the fish, and the W "nen selling them in tho streets of the town. It is a community by itself, believing that the Galwegians are inferior to themnelves, refusing to intermarry with them, but consenting (of course with ill grace) to tako their money. The Claddagh men I did not see, as they were away in their boats ; but the women I saw, and saw them vehemently. They wore huge baskets on their back, full of amall fry ; or carried a bowl-shaped basket on their head, with a single fish in it. The last were codfish, and would weigh from five to fifteen pounds. I was rarely solicited to buy the small fish ; but not one of the fifty women I met carrying a monstrous codfish but was anxious that I should buy it. They even came into the hall of the hotel while I was standinsr there, and pressed me to buy the fish. Being a stranger there, and stay- ing at a hotel, it seemed natural enough that I should be torn by anxiety to purchase a ten-pound codfish. But I didn't do it. Every time I went out of the hotel, or re- turned to it, I found a one-eyed, lusty young fellow, with a disagreeable breath, on the walk in front, who besought me, for the love of God, to give him a copper or two for bread to save his perishing body. It was Bad to see a fellow being starved ; but I couldn't help but wish I weighed as much as he did. Every day, and all day long, he hung in front of the hotel, skirmishing for coppers, and robbing some paper mill of raw material. On every straet there was some deformed specimen crying for help, for the love of a food God. When I go *to begging coppers, shall try to do it on my own nook, and not shoulder the responsibility on to my Creator, who has put it into the heart of a gogd Gov- ernment to make every provision for the destitute. One of Galway's buildings, or rather ragment of a buildiner, was the residence of a gentleman namedFitz-Stephen in 1524. He was the mayor of the town, and had one son. The printed legend is to the eflfect that the son went to Spain on business to some Spanish firm for his father : and, while there, the firm made up a valuable cargo to send to Galw.iy, and a son of a member ac- companied it. On the voyaire young Fitz- Stephen conspired with tho crow to murder the young Spaniard, and convert tho pro- perty to their own use. The deed was sub- sequently discovered to the mayor, who took summary vengeance on the murderer, his j sou. But this is an absurd version of the mur. der. Dees an/ one BU|)po8e, for an instant, that a man who had made Imt one sea voyage would be in a fit condition to con- 1 spire to a murder ? If you think so, just i take a trip across the Atlantic in a sailing- vessel ; and you will feel so little like mur- der, that you will only be too glad to crawl I away somewhere in the tuAu, and be grateful] for permission to die Ik peace. And, then, [ rememl)er that he was the son of a mayor, | and that the crime was committed for plun- der. Now, there is no one inflane enough to| suppose that the son of a mayor would mur- der for money. What on earth does the| son of a mayor want of m-)ney ? The idea is so ridiculous, that it vexes mej sorely to see people believing it. T..^j true! story, and an-eminently plausible one, myj Galway friend related to me. Young FitzStephen did not go to Spain ;| but the young Sp;in'ard came to Galway, and! was the honoured guest of the mayor and! family. He stayed here for some days, the! place smelling so much like home as to make] nimcontenteil with the people. He had free range of the castle of the Fitz Stephens,! which was then a noble two-ntory building,| with a separate structure for the hens. But in an evil moment he fastened his eye on the heiress of a consiilerablo proj Eerty across tho river. The ruins on er father's homestead are still herej Young Fitz-Stephen had previously fastened one of his eyes on the same younc lady, and saw, with some trepidation, thai the gallant young Spaniard, who wore ayelj low necke chief and played on a guitar, wa^ getting rather thick over there. I know little something myself of theao guitar-playjj ers ; they are death on women. One of them cut me out, when I was mortally surd of having everything to myself ; and I nevei since could bear the sight of a guitar. Yountf Fitz Stephen was not made of such firm stut as I am, and so he allowed jealousy to gel the upper hand of him. There was a party at her father's castle one evening,— a «ort ol candy-pull, — to which all the ymng people were* invited. Fitz-Stephen u d the SpaJ niard were there. The latter took a liveljf ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINLOW. 141 interent in the cundy, and ate snme twelve ponndH of it ; but Fits soured on it. The next morning the body of the Soft- niard was f^und in the back -yard, his th'oat cut fidm ear to tar, and his hair full <»f im- perfectly-boiled molasses. Young Fitz was charged with doing the deed, although it is more than likely that the deceised overdid himself at the cindy. I have seen just euch peojle as he, young beginners and gallant, at condyimils, and have made it a practice to always ta' e a look in the back-yard the next morning for their bodies. The mayor tried his son, found him guilty, and condemned him to be executed on a certain day. But no one could be found to be the hangman. 'J'ho young man was pop- ular, and had many relatives and friends. They besought the mayor to have mercy upon him, and to pardon him. They were confident he could not execute his son. On the morning of the day appointed by the old gentleman, the relatives and friends went to the house ; and the first there fell back in horror at beholding, dangling from a front- window, the body of the unhappy son I The old ass had hung him. The moral of this story is very plain. Young men who are sons of mayors should eschew Spaniards, and not fool around I candy-pulls. But, really, wouldn't you like to see a I nineteenth-century father hanging his son ? -or even making him come in early of an I evening ? . CHAPTER XLVII. aOINO TO AN IRISH FAIR. Retracing my way to Athenry, thirteen miles from Gal way, I took a branch road to Tuam, eighteen miles from Athenry. The country between Athenry and Tuam is even more desolate than that between Athenry and Galway. The land either lay in wide I moor, or sloped up into hills bare and bleak. j Here and there was a farm shanty ; and in several of the fields tl.e occupants, mostly women, werp, engaged digging potatoes. I went up to Tuam to attend a fair. Irish faird have a reputation that is not limited to Ireland, and I wanted to see one. The fair at Donny brook generally ended in a pleasure and rowdy bout, precipitated upon the poor Donnybrookers by Dublin rowdies. But the authorities broke that up some years [ago; and now Dounybrook is a quiet and I well-behaved suburb of Dublin, and has [exchanged the somewhat doubtful fame of [other days for the less exciting but endnent- I ly respectable position of being emblazoned I on the side of a street car. Of course the fairs in this country are not likeoura. In England they consiut of a di^'play of agricultural implements and cattle. The American visitor niisser the cage ofwhite nuce, and the bcdquilt pieced ny a lady one humU-ed years old, and de- formed vegetable products. But the Eng- lish have two or three good bars on the grounds ; and, after the American has visited each two or three times, he loses his discon- tent in a measure. In Ireland, fairs are numerous. Nearly every town has one or more in th^ course of the year. 1 thought it must be a remark- ably lively agricultural region to support so many fairs. In this month alone (October), ( over four hundred fairs are liehl in Ireland ; ttiere were full as many last month ; and they hold them more or less throUj.jh the fall and winter and spring months. Why, you' would imagine you had got into a Maradise of farmers. The Tuam fair was to be held on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. It was to be a big fair. 1 went up Saturday, as I un- derstood there was but one really good hotel in Tuam, and I wanted a room. Saturday was the market day. A jaunting car took me from tlie station, through a straggling street, into he market place, where was located the hotel. The driver of the car, emulous of the speed made by his brethren of Dublin, and believing that I came from that city, endeavoured to go over the route at a break-neck pace, very much to the astonishment of ttie horse, but was huniili- atingly balked by divers persons, who, uot understanding that I was from Dublin, and scarcely realizing the necessity for unusual speed, persisted in getting in the way, and bringing their donkey teams with them. The drive'-, who was so long and lauk as to look dreadfully like a Yankee, kept up a continual ' ' hi-yi-ing" from the station to the hotel ; and, on arriving there, he had become so heated, and his eyes set so far out of his head by the exertion, that I cheerfully paid double fare. We found the market place full of people. Most of them were farmers and farmers' wives with the low, longoart8,and iionkeys attach- ed. Some of them were the poor of the town, attracted by idle curiosity, or by the prospect of picking up a f jw pennies in answer to well -worded appeals, or in exchange for copious blessings. And many were ot a new class, not yet seen, but plenty at fairs: they were cattle-buyers, — sturdy men, in the prime of manhood, and enjoying that degree of health consequent upon out- dooi' exercise and a well-regulated conscience. A c»tlie- buyer's couscienueis a perfect gem— 142 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. in ita way. Thaee were well-Jressed in well- made great-coats, top-boots, aud a diamond ring. They carried canes, and were close to Ituainess. Some of them were fine-looking young fellows from Dublin ; but more prom- inent than all were the long-linibed and broad-shouldered men of Ulster,— the finest looking men that old Ireland can number among her sons ; and finer cannot be found, in any country. All of them had bright eyes, white teeth and red cheeks, and were hearty of voice. They stood in painful contrast to ihe men vith whom they dealt. There were potatoes for sale, and oat^ aud * a few sheep and pigs, and straw and peat. Galway county, 'and pretty much all of Ireland, is well supplied with the tough turf called peat. In most places it is dug up in the cakes which we see m the markets. In other places, where it is not quite so tenaci- ous, it is harvested iu the crumbling form, and pressed by machinery into bricks. In the cities it is quite frequently sold in bags to those who are in good circumstances ; but the poor classes of the city buy but few bricks or sods at a time, paying a halfpenny for four sods. Here and in the country it is sold by the donkey -load, the load being a pile about four feet square, for four shillings a load. It makes norsidorable heat, a bright coal, and a white ash. It is not so clei^n to handle as coal, aud is not so heavy ; but you have i(ot to handle more of it in a day, which com- pensates for lack of weight. It has one de- cidedly good feaiure — its ashes do not require lifting. I had gone to the best hotel in Tuam. It was a low, three-story building. The grand hall- way was scarcely three feet. wide. It was floured with stone, aud was on a level with the sidewalk. I have said that it had been raining, and of course there was an ibundauce of mud. This last had been in- geniously guarded against by laying straw lu the doorw^ay. The strz w was wet, and reeking with mud from brogan and boot, aud p%rt of it lay on the walk ; but the greater part had been dragged along the passage, adding to the dreariness of that department. Tuam ia not much of a place, except eccle- siastically, as it is an Episcopalian see and Koman Catholic archbishopric. The Chui-cJi of Ireland (a branch of that of England) and the Church of Rome have each a cathedral in Tuam. For a place of scarcely five thouB- and inhabitants, that is doing very w411. The Church of Ireland being an established body, is largely supported from the Govern- ment money : but the Disestablishment Act has done away with this expense, and, when the present incumbents of pulpit and chair vacate, their successors will have to depend upon the zeal of their parishes for income, as do the Catholics and Dissenters. While I am speaking of religion, I might as well say that there are four million Catholics*, and twelve hindred thousand Protestants in Ire- land. Of the last named, over a half-million are Presbyterians. What Methodistji there are reside in the north of Ireland, which is one of the causes, perhaps, ot the prosperity of that suction. The poorest place to look for pasturage is under the feet of a Metho- dist. Well, as Tuam has scarcely five thousand inhabitants, and is built rather compactly, it doesn't take long to look over it. I devoted a couple of hours to the task ; and I found it a task. The mud lay thick everywhere. Many of the houses wore simply shanties, and squalid appearing ; and the people whom j one mostly met were painfully porr. Every little while I came "jpon a few words over a door to the effect that the party inside was licensed to retai beer or porter. Going into one of these, I ! found an earth floor, a wall immediate ly on the right, with a long bench in front of it, a I small bar to the left covered with stains, and a roaring fireplace at the end of the bar. Hanging from a hook in the chimney was a I huge pot of boiling potatoes. I went intol several of those places; but they were sol much alike, even to the boiling of potatoes, [ as to be monotonous. I talked with the bar- tender (who was every time a woman), and! found that she had Ta cousin iu America j " who was doing well," but not so well now! as formerly ; which led the speaker to fearj that the States would soon be as bad as any | country. A gentleman who receives money j sent by the girls and young men of his neigh- bourhood who are now in America, and dis- burses it to their friends at home, informal me that he invariably notices a gradual fall- ing oflf in the amounts, proportionate to thel time of their stay. They send twice as muchj the first year as they do the fifth, and as much again in the fifth as they send in the tenth year. In some cases the remittance had died out entirely. It shows what place America is for losing money. Going up one of the straggling street^ which led into the market place, a suddeK shower came up; and I stepped into the opet door of one of the houses, where I was madd heartily welcome by the inmates. An oIq man who was sitting by the tire, smoking pipe, tool: the pipe out of his mouth at once I and plv;i. "ug up his stick, which stood againffl the jamb cf the fire-place, he dexterouslj poked a hen from the back of the only wholi was usee of the liv which h( The o was from of past dr Mary Am going ove was taker ing in a 1 sickness up their he was " Warn t promptly The nex pleasant I went to morning, back fror proached the gate beggars, watch-hou announced cal trouble. ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 148 chair; antl the old woman, hia wife, gave it a duat witli her skirt, and placed it before the Hre fur mo. The old .inau and his wife had gone over the three Hcore and ton mark, and were rest- ing from their labourH. Their only child, a daughter, had married a young man who- worked for a farmer two miles distant for seven shillings a week; and the daughter did cleaning and other odd jobs for the gentry families. And thisyounf( man, on his seven shillings a week, freely divided with his mother-in- law and her husband ; and they both spoke of him with a pride begotten of true affeo- tion. The room was not a large one; but it was kept dry by the thatched roof. The lloor was of earth, worn into many hollows. The furniture "coasisted of an old-fashioned clothes-press which reached nearly to thr boarded ceiling, the chair I occupied, a broken chair which the old lady used, a sort of box-bench which he sat on, and another bench capable of holding three people. There was a clock against the wall, and a table, on which were two plates, a cracked teacup, an earthen cup, some potato-peelings, and a bit of bread, — the remnants of a breakfast. The hen which left my chair squatted discontent- edly under the table, and eyed me moodily during my stay. There were two more hens. One of them moved around, but said no- thing; while the other.dozed on the window- seat. In back of this was an apartment which was used as a bedroom ; and near one corner of the living room was a very rough ladder, which led into the loft. The old people were glad to hear that I was from America. To them it was a sort of past dream. There had been a time, when Mary Ann was a child, that they thought of going over to the wonderful country; but he was taken down with a bad cold, from ditch- ing in a bog for Mr. Clare; and the weeks of sickness consumed their savings, and broke up their enterprise. But, God be praised I he was saved from the door of death, •• Warn't ye, Dani'l mon ?" To which he promptly affirmed. The next day was Sunday ; and a very fleasant day it was, barrin' a strong wind, went to the Catholic cathedral in the morning. It stood in enclosed ground, back from the street, and was ap- proached by a lane. In this lane, from the gate to the cathedral-grounds, were beggars. Some of them' were in a sort of watch-houses on wheels, with their affliction wnounced over the top. Others had no physi- cal trouble, except a serious appetite; and they moved around on their feet. These wer« importunate for money. Beggars are shockingly numerous in this country. In my walk about town, Saturday, I encouut»irod nearly two dozen. One of them was a man with his nca j freshly off — so freshly, that it was bleeding afresh when I met him. I shelled out at once, and depart- ed without waiting for the usual blessing. Another had his legs twisted about each other ; still another had the lower half of his ri^ht arm grown back on the upper he'f ; and one woman had lost the greater part of her face through a cancerous trouble. I ne\'er stopped to argue with these people. The beggars in the cathedral lane did not gefc violently rich that morning. One old woman said tu another old wo- man — " Did ye getanythin' the mornin' ?" " Divil a ha'pinny I" murmured the other in a hushed voice. A troop of beggars is not what one gene* rally hankers for when skirmishing aroun 1 for scenery ; but, while he may pardon the;n for their pauperism, he cannot, if he be in the least sensitive, listen to their wholesale use of holy names without shivering. I have heard drunken women, with black- ened eyes and bloated faces, direct holy beings where to bestow their blessings in case of a donation, and cursing like mad if the covet- ed prizes were not secured. Aad those who are really in want, and are really helpless, sit at home and starve. The more prosperous classes seem to be divided in their view of the beggars, but ire united in condemning the practice. The Irish are fully as generous as they are re- puted to be, and the beggars are fortunate in their location. One old woman, who squeezed a few pen- nies from me by her plaintive story and neat ppearance, was indignantly rebuked by a resident of T'lam (a stranger to me), who charged her with having more money in the bank than any one Tuamite can boast. At that she went for him, but not in a plaintive way. When I loaked out of n.y window in the morning, I was somewhat perplexed by seeing several apple-pedlars on the corner opposite. I had the impression that it was Sunday ; but I began to doubt, on seeing this display of mercantile activity in a civi- lized country. Towards noon, I saw that corner, and the one next to it, filled up with pedlars ; and, on moving about through the few streets, I found several groceries, vegetable stalls, and the like, doing busi- ness. They were probably kept open in 144 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. case of sudden sickuess, as is the case with cigar stores aut-place on Monday rnorniag. It had rained in the night, and the pavement was nmddy; but thesunsho'ie bri^jlitand clear. There were but tew people in sight; and nearly all of them were intent- ly observing a man in a suit of frieza clothes, who was hobbling on his knees from one corner to another of a street which came into the market-place, oppoisite the hotel. Fis pants were pulled up above the knees, and the bare flesh came in contact with the gritty mud. Those who observed him main- tained a respectful dista.nce, but watched him closely. I didn't know what to make of him. From seeing him on his bare knees, I concluded he was a cripple, under the in- fluence of liquor. He made his way with great difficulty across to the opposite corner. Then he got upon bis feet, and walked across angle of the sidewalk to the pavement again, pulled up his pants, got down on his knees, and started across the square on his painful way. Then I saw that he was DeiU)er drunk nor crippled. Then I knew what he was up to ; he was doing a penance. And still I watched him. The crowd rapid- ly augmented, which surprised me ; for I thought penances of the kind were common here. When he got two-thirds across the place a policeman appeared, and stopped him. The crowd, which was now quite large, pressed about the two. Tiie object of alt the excitement seemed inclined to carry out his purpose ; but the policeman made him rise, and drop down his pants, and "mov^ off." When I got de..'n to breakfast, I "drop- ped" on the waiter for the particulars ; but, although a singularly communicative indi- vidual, he had nothing to say on this topic, except that he thought the man, whoever he might be, was a " d— d fool." A curate of the Church of Ireland was my fellow- guest at the hotel ; and, when he came down to breakfast, 1 pounced on him ; bnt he laughed at me, aud said I was joking him. Aud as for my penrnce theory, lie scouted it at once. I enquired of others about town ; but I could get no satisfaction. They had not seen the man, and were sure that he was either drunk or a crif.ple Pretty soon I ceased to* be anxious for some one who could explain to me what the man was doing, and began to look around for somebody who had seen him. But I was not successful in even this. I spent the evening with a genial Irish family, and, watching my opportunity, late in the even- ing broached the matter which lay heaviest on my mind. But again I was disappointed. Every ow) in the party had son»ethiiig to say about i' ; but, beyond concurring in the opinion held by the waiter, they could give me no satisfaction. I refer to this family because they particu- larly pleased me, aud were just such a whole-souled, hospitable, fun-loving house aihas often attracted me in the writings of Charles Lever. The head of the house was a suil'erer from gout, of course. The lady was matronly, courteous, and graceful ; aud the stalwart sons and fair daughter were most genial companions. The guests were gentlemen from Dublin to attend the fair on the next day. It was one of the most de- lightful evenings in my remembrance ; and I shall always bear, from tiiis and other occasions in Ireland, a pleasant memory of its good-natured, kind-hearted, and hospit- able people. They wanted me to stay in Galway till I saw an Irish funeral, and tried to describe to me the wild cry which the irieuds sent up on the occasion. But I went around among the people, and looked upon them ; but, as none of them appeared at all liively to die very soon, 1 concluded not to wait. They thought I should see a wake, and were very much surprised to learn that I had al- ready participated iu one in my own coun- try. They didn't think the people would be 80 insane as to carry that practice into the new world ; which, in turn, rather open- ed my eyes ; for I thought wakes were popu- lar with the Irish. But I learn that they are dying out here, as the upper el.isses aud many of the clergy are opposed to them. Bat I was speaking of the waiter as being communicative. He is willing to lay him- self out on almost any subject ; but the people ot Tuamseemto engross his most ear- nest attention. He came from Dublin, and had been at this place abtmt a fortnight. He understood when he came that it was a good berth for him ; but his experience illustrates a peculiar style of employing in the kingdom, to which, I thiujc, 1 have previously alluded. When he got there, ho found that his sa- lary was to come from the guests, and that ho was to 1)0 himself at the expense of wash- ing the ta.l)le-linen, or napkins, and of hiring any assistance he might require. inquiries fuiril the ENGLAND FROM A BACK WINDOW. 145 lat his sa- aiul that of wash- aud of require. As myael; and th6 curate were the oaly guests at the time, I thought that his chance:, looked m L,'hty slim, — a view that he endorsed with velniuent profanity. But the fair was coming on, and the house would be crowded with people ; and he con- vey, d, through the channel of various winks, and contortions of the face and fingers, that h"! would lintj his pockets on that occasion, aud depart forthwith. He gave me to understand this uevaral hundred times during the period I enjoyed his company. But he tvai down on Tuam and Tuam people, and never miss^^ed an opportunity for consigning them to foreign parts. I thought he would actually strangle me one evening, when I incidentally inquired if Dublin was as finely a laid out city as Tuam. The next morning- was to be the first day of the fair. Early on Monday afternoon the buyers commenced to flock into the village. Every bedroom was doubled, trebled, and even quadrupled in its resources. I was changed from my room to one which had five narrow beda crowded into it. But the curate took compassion up-n me, and had an extra bed made up in his little room for my accom- modation. He thought he was to keep his sitting-room. But, as night came on, so did Rdey, the " boots," behind a mountain of bedding ; and the little sitting-room was speedily metamorphosed Int" accommoda- tion for a half-dozen perfons. Poor Riley ! All thr afternoon his name resounded through the passages ; and Riley, heated and perspiring, was everywhere in sight. "Surq, ma'am," I overheard him protest in a despairing voice to the head chamber- maid, — "sure, ma'am, I'm not a crab, that I should be all legs." As I fell away into sleep at midnight, a scentorian voice came up the stairway,— " Riley, Riley ! Where are ye, man?" Aud the next morning, at daylight, the voice of Riley was heard in the passage, trying to force his voice up to the next floor. '• Mistress Clare ! Mistress Clare ! ye are wanted at wanst in the kitchen." The next moment he came in with the hot water, and stopped to mention that he had not touched a foot CO the bed the entire night. It was this morning of the fair that the landlord, a pleasant gentleman, came to me and said he had heard that I was inquiring about a man who had walked on his knees across the market-place. He had been a witness of the spectacle, and had made inquiries about it. The man had done it to fulfil the conditions of a penance ; but he 10 was a simple countryman, and did not know any better. That's so, undoubtedly ; but I couldn't help admiring the courage of a man who would thus publicly humiliate himself in repentance., We are apt to admire iu others those qualities of which we are destitute our- selves. It rained, or rather drizzled, all day of the first of the fair. The landlord directed me to the place where it was to be held — "a beautiful green," he said. I worked my way out there at once. All through the street were droves of sheep, with men, women, boy^, and girls driving them. There were also sheep in pens mounted on wheels. This was the sheep day. I reached the square all right, — an enclosure of somo twenty acres. All over its facs were flocks of sheep, barking dogs, hallooing men and boys, and cunning speculators. I got into the enclosure to the distance of about thirty feet, and there I stuck. It was a sea of" mud, with islands of sheep, ard shoals of " humans. It may have been a green the day before ; but tb' re w^& not a spear of grass observable in any direction, — all mud, mud, . MUD! I went back to the hotel, paid my bill, . clutched my valise with a nervous grasp, and started for the station. And this is a fair, — a mere sale day. "rhis i was sheep-fair day, for the sale of sheep ; to- morrow cattle fair day, for the sale of cattle; and day after to-morrow pig-fair day, for the sale of pigs. Thus do traditions vanish, and thus does history shrivel. I CHAPTER XLVIII. OWNING A WHOLE GRAVEYARD. On my way from Tuam tc Limerick, I '. stopped over at Athenry for several hours. To look at the place, you would think it had not a population of five hundred ; but in ■ 187 1 it contained twelve hundred people. I understand it has not fallen away much since , then. I carried a letter of introduction to a . gentleman in Athenry, the manager of a . mill. It seems as though you could walk ull (»ver Athenry, and touch every house, in a half- • hour. It is composed mostly of one-story stone houses raofed with straw and earth. . The village lies in low ground, and on this: rainy afternoon itseemed to be fairly wallow ing in mud. There was but one street, withj branching lanes and courts, but little at- tempt at sidewalks, and still less at road pavemfuts. Standing on the walls of its 146 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. ruinel castle, and looking about over the Boggy, Btony, aufi treeless surrounding country, one might be pardoned for enquir- ing liow the Athenry people manage to-exist. He would have certainly wondered how any man in good circumstances could come to reside there. Every feature of the place waa depressing. But home is home wherever you may locate it. Byneath those sod roofs were love and patience, and envy and hope, and jawing and scolding, just tiie same as in the homes of affluence, j 'Way off, thousands and thousands of miles from here, are hearts that turn night and diiy to thee, thou muddy and forlorn Athenry, and yearn for thee with all the in- tensity the human bosom is capable of. Athenry was once a walled city, and the home of a king. This was when Con naught was a country by itself, and the last king occupied the castle which is in ruins here .now. He was the last king. Five hundred years ago he fought with the English, and was de- feated and killed. That put an end to the .glory of Athenry, and knocked the legs from the kingdom of Connaught. Part of the walls of the place still remain, and one of its gateways. Pieces of the wall appear here and there in field and garden, and even as a fraction of some house, the builier economiz- ing it in the structure. Then there are the four walls of the castle, •with a portion of the wall which was about that ; and even the indentation of the moat t still remains. The castle was about forty feet square, . and about fifty feet high. The first floor still remains, it being formed by the massive arches which make the cellar. My friend took me down into the cellar, the floor of which \vas scarcely four fset below the earth's surface. In addition to milling, he did a little in agricultural implements ; and fhe had several reapers stowed away here, the building being on the ground he rented, I was glad to see these reapers here, it looked so natural I never yet saw a de- serted old building in a country village which did not have some agricultural machinery stowed away within it. There had been hens here, too, in this castle of a king ; and they had roosted on those reap- ers, as was quite evident. Hens are very fond of new machinery and fancy sleighs for roosting purposes. My companion showed me how he could put a roof ou the walls at a small expense, and without iiterfering with them at all, which would give him the first floor for a store-room ; "but the people of Athenry would not allow him. It was his own pro-, perty, of course, as he had a lease of it ; but he didn't care ^to run counter to the wishes of the community in which ^^he was a resi- dent. They didn't want to see , the place desecrated ; and although the greater part of them did not have a whole suit of cloth- ing to their backs, and rarely extended th-^ir bill of fare beyond potatoes and milk, still they took an interest in ruins, and knew the proprieties of things. Another interesting ruin in Athenry ig that of a church. A large, fine churcii it was, several hundred years ago ; but only the walls remain, windowless and doorless. The churchyard is one mass of indistinguish- able graves. The stones from the walls have fallen in- side and outside of the structure ; and, be- tween them and the briers, it was difficult to move around. Inside the walla were neveral very fine monuments, rnd many consisting sinsply of prostrate slabs, covered with a green slime, with inscriptions nearly worn away. The King himself, who died in defence of Athenry and Connaught, is supposed to lie here. Then there were the graves of several noble- iuen. Their tombs were, as I have said, elaborate. One of them was of beautiful Italian marble, exquisitely cut in that fair country. How oddly out of place it appear- ed within these crumbling walls, and among the fallen masonry, ordinary tombs, and flourishing brambles ! The Du Burgoies and Berminghara families, older than the eternal hills almost, lie buried in this neglected and dreary place, and appear to be proud of it. It is consecrated ground, you know; and, however disordered and unkempt and rub- bishy it may be, it is still a very desirable place to be buried in. But there is one thing I cannot under- stand. It had a walk about it, and a locked gate, which was opened to us by an old woman who possessed the key. To use a metaphor, she had drained the dregs of poverty, and was now picking her teeth. But she owned this place, " Who owns this place ?" I asked my com- panion ; for I always like to ve"^ '•omance with a little of the practical. But he didn't know. He had a ruin of hia own, and you would have thought he would take an inte- rest in those matters. And then Athenry is but a hamlet, and he au old resident, and yet not know who owned the only church ruin in his own place 1 I began to feel uneasy. ' Who owns this place now, granny ?' he in quired of the old woman as we were passing through the gate. "I I "A owns i "I( Istt She wi gown a so far, poor t to her yard, a ityj i got it, and the tored, i and in then soi finding I'P to 01 her. Just crooning wilderei tually oi sure my\ my com all ; and wealth, ! but wal were not Bay nothi of tombs] I shou When speak w Athenry possibly 4, " Why asked in take it as "I km a graveyii tary cou( members they alIo\ to remain old woam " Wei "I don't She owns as for the and I dou ence to th And til; but to thi Can you When ary, tliu erected, ^ were a he; were whit were gree ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 147 of teeth. |iy com- Romance _ didn't ind you \n inte- Leury is [and yet |i ruin in [?' he in passing "I do,' she said. " Ah, you have the keeping of it ; but who owns it ? "I do, I tell ye." I stepped around and took a look at her. She was bare headed, and wore a p^tchod gown and coarse shoes. My eyes protruded so far, tliat they really ached. And she, so poor that she did not have a whole gown to her back, was the sole possessor of a grave- yard, a church, and the graves of the nobi- ity ! She went on and explained how dhe got it. It was the property of a great family, and the family became broken up and scat- tered, and sorao neighbours took possession, and in time became likewise scattered ; and then some one else taoked himself to it, but, finding precious little return from it, gave it itp to one of her ancestors, and so it came to her. Just think of the property this aged, crooning woman owned ! I became so be- wildered by this information, that I was ac- tually obliged to rub my head briskly to as- sure myself that 1 was really awake. But my companion didn't appear worked up at all ; and as for the proprietor of thib singular wealth, she was not proud nor overbearing, but walked back of us as quietly as if she were not the owner of a single dead body, to say nothing of a church and a fine assortment of tombstones. She even accepted a shilling. I should like to see her inventory. When I became sutiiciently composed to Bpeak with a steady voice, I asked this Athenry gentleman how such things could possibly exist. "Why, who would want the place?" he asked in surprise. ' ' I am sure I would not take it as a gift." "I know ; but just bear in mind that it is a graveyard, and ought to come under sani- tary conditions. Besides, within repose the members of wealthy families ; and how is it they allow the possession of their burial place to remain in the hands of a poverty -stricken old woman?" " Well, said he with provoking coolness, " I dou't see anything remarkable about it. She owns it ; but people can bury there. And as for the wealthy families, they are not here; and I dou't know as it makes much differ- ence to them who holds the key to the gate. " And that was really all there was of it ; but to this day I cannot fully comprehend it. Can you ? When we were inside the roofless sanctu- ary, the old lady opened a door recently erected, which enclosed a little cell. In there were a heap of human bones. Some of them were white, others were brown, and many wore green. Some were whole ; but the most of them were decay iug. I don't|know how many people, or how many grades and con- ditions of life, were comprised in that pile. In a commercial point of view, there were, it is safe to say, about two dcUars' worth of bones. They included shin-bones, thigh- bones, ribs, and skulls. They had been ex- humed in making fresh gvaves, and were put in this cell. The door was built to give a sort of security to the place. In several parts of the building I saw little piles of these ghastly mementos, unprotected by any door from the hand of man, or the devastation of the weather. One-half of a skull, looking like the part of a oocoauut sliell, was half fuU of rain water, M'ith an inch of settlings at the bottom, and a stray leaf from a tree floating on the surface. 1 wonder if it ever occur- red to the owner of that skull, when he was going about Athenry, proudly displaying its contents, that, in the course of revolving years it would catch rain water and earth and flying leaves in a roofless church. And who can tell what other changes are in store for this shell to a once active, hope- ful, human brain ? The time may come when some prudent housewife will take it to her home and have a nice handle put to it, and use it for baling up soft-soap. I left the village with genuine pleasure, I had seen so much of interest in it. Being a trifle behind time, I hurried back to the station, to make sure of my train. But there was an abundance of time. That was the occasion when the driver of the trap had to go back for the inspector, as related in a former chapter. The two hours I put in at the little station, expecting every moment to leave, and not doing it, were hardly agreeable ; although I managed, with the aid of a pipe and turning up my coat collar (for it was a damp, drizzling chilly day), to work off the time. How slowly such time drags along I and how anxiously we watch its progress, and a desire to get behind it, and give it a good push ! We have such an abundance of time, it is to be so many, many yeara before we shall be called hence, that we can afford to get out of patience with Time for not speeding faster. I have no doubt that, if accurately reckoned up, we wish away fully one-half of our lives. But I am not going to sermonize, although abundantly competent to do so : I am merely going to tell you an incident at the Athenry station. 48 ENGLAND FROM A P \.CK- WINDOW, CHAPTER XLIX. « STARTING FOR AMERICA. It was a junction of three ~cads ; and, wliile we waited for our train, neverai others came and departed. One of them, which weut to Galway, carried away two buxom girls of between twenty and twenty-five years ot age. They had been standing on the platform with some friends, and were noticeable to strangers by their heavy frieze cloaks and scarlet skirts. They were the picturesque womea of (ialway, and had come over to Athenry to see off a few friends who were going to America, As the train was about to start, they took a convulsive fare- well of tlie emiarants, and the emigrants took an equally convulsive farewell of them. The tA'O Galwegians got into the train, and threw up the window, and put out their heads, and clasped the voyafi;er8 about their necks, and cried and sobed as if their hearts were broken, until the guard and porters forced them apart, to permit the train to go on its way. Then, as it moved away, the women of Galway waved back their handkerchiefs, and sent up a wail that made the blood stand stiff about my heart. Those left behind, with one exception, gave an agonizing response. It was not a sharp cry of pain, nor was it a sobbing, but it seemeictures of Western hotels that led me to )elieve they were imposing structures, when they proved to be merely catch-trap affairs, put up cheaply of wood, with a great deal of coarse gingerbread work to them. The picture I saw of tiie Killarney hotel presented a jail- looking building that Mas not inviting ; but relying on the advice of a Scotch commercial, that station hotels were generally the best, I went to it. It is a tine-looking hotel, and is surrounded by extensive grounds, which have been arranged with great care ; and the buikling itself is supplied with every convenience for travellers. I appreciated it thoroughly ; although,| since getting away from Connaught, I have had no trouble in this respect. The next morning, on looking out of the coflPee-room window, I saw.in th e opening of tb« ivy passage, half a dozen cut-throats. I never saw them before ; but I knew who they were, and what they were after. They were watch- ing the hotel-door, but pretending not to. They were guides in search of a job. The Major and I ordered a jaunting-car with driver, and started out to make a tour of the lakes. I don't understand why these lakes are called Killarney. But they are called bo only by foreigners and the proprietors of panoramas. Their names are respectively Lough Leane, Lake Muckross, and Upper Lake. The first-named is frequently called by the people here the Lower Lake. It is ten times as large as Muckross,or the Middle Lake, and that is nearly a tliird larger than the Upper. The first two are nearly to- gether, being separated by a sharp neck of land and an island. The Upper Lake ia some two miles from Muckross, but connect- ed with it. I will freely admit that Killar- ney is a pretty name, and far more euphoni- ous than the others ; but, when any one who possesses a well nose who has,been tlirough the village of Killarney, he does not aee the pro- priety of the association. The lakes, with their foliage-lined shores, beautiful private parks, and bold mountains, are one of the finest bits of scenery ; but the village ! Killarney boasts five thousand population; and how poor it is, is best conveyed by the statisjtics of the workhouse, v/hich has four huntued jjaupers. If you know any place the size of Killarney which has an equal number of professional paupers, I hope you will let me knew, that I may avoid it. Be- sides all these paupers in the workhouse, there are a number of beggars in the town ; and still, in addition, there are a host of swindhrs in bog jewellery, and millions of "tcutei-s," so called because they solicit money for indifferent services, and drive you mad by their importunities. Killarney baa one main street in the shape of a tri-pquare. At one point is the Protestant churoh, and at the other is the Catholic cathedral. Then there is a Presbyterian ohuroh at the angle. Off from the main street are numerous little s^'unted courts and thickly-tenanted lanes. Although a dirty and dilapidated town, yet Killarney is not such a place as Tuam. Whether this is because of the beautiful scenery about it, or that its main street is broader and more lively than that of Tuam, I cannot decide j but it 13 certainly more en- durable. 152 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. The village is about a mile and a half from the nearest point of Lough Leane. We do no^ pasa through it in going to the lakes, but took it in on coming back. We had a jaunt- ing-car. 1 ho Major made the driver sit on the box ; and he took one side, and I the other ; and, sitting well back, w« nsnrly faced each other, and had a good view of the middle seam in the back of the driver's coat, — and thereat of the country. The moment we took our seats, the guide? pounced down on us. The Major had ex- pla'ned, before starting, that we should net want these people ; and so, when they ap- plied, I told them that I was on my way to see a sick friend, but that my companion was goina to see the lakes. They at once ap- plied to him. He held up his hand to his nar, to signify that he was deficient in hear- iag. " He is somewhat deaf," I said : " you will have to speak loud." They raised their voices ; butstiil he could net catch their sentiment. They jumped up on higher notes ; but they did not reach him, although he exhibited the liveliest anxiety to learn what they were driving at. They made a still greater effort, but without success : whereupon all but one, having reached the highest" point, retired, mopping their fore- heads, and looking very much distressed. This one got up on the seat beside the Major, and, putting both hands to his mouth to con- centrate his voice, fairly bellowed with all his might. But it had no effect on the Major. He put his hand up to his ear again, and shook his head in a very desponding man- ner. "Great Heaven !" said the unhappy guide as he got down and moved off. At the toll-gate, a few rods farther on, we met a broad-shouldered vagrant, reeking in rags and dirt, and bloated with drink. He cat>:3 up on one side of the trap as the toll keeper approached the other. The Ma- jor looked gravely from one to the other, and said, — "Which of you keeps this gate?" The gate-keeper's face flushed scarlet ; and he held out his hand, and said that he was the proper party to receiv.:; the toll- When we got away, the Major aaid, ^' That was rather hard on the gate man ; but I intended it for him. Had he been an Ihonest man, he would not have allowed that Ibundle of mud and bad whiskey to Iu.i.g .dbout the gate, annoying travellers for money. And I'm tliinking we three will not meet ;again at that place." We drove along a road which bad high "walls on each side, with trees overhanging itticm. We are approaching the lakes, and getting among the premises of men of pro- perty. One of the largest property owners m the neighbourhood is a member of Parlia- ment, named Herbert. Heposs'^sses proper- ty skirting the three lakes, and at the larger has his residence and extensive park. In the park is the famous Muckross Abbey, lying near to the water. Mr. Herbert is pro- perly located in Parliament. He is politic enough to see that people want to go over the ground, and that he ought to gratify them ; but at the same time he is suthciently a statesman to realize that a shilling from each is a very good thing for rainy M'eather : so he has a system of tickets similar to those used on the railways here. . It is cheap and sensible ; but it reads oddly. At the first gate a woman came from the porter's lodge, and let us in on the payment of a shilling each. But, before she came up, another woman on the road, with a child in her arms, made for us. "Forthelove of a good God, gintleinin," she said, "give me a penny for bread for me hungering children !' Tliere was no response. "O, gintlemin lye wadn't see us starve be- fore your very eyes," she wliined. " The tinder mercies of God follow ye, good gintle- min !" Slid hesitated. "Come," said the Major encouragingly, "there is another remark. Out with it." Whereupon she said, — " Sure a copper is nothing to such as you ; but it waud kape the babbies from soocerin. Plaze, for the love of God, have mercy on us !!' The Major threw her a coin, and the dri- ver started on ; but my companion stopped him. And then the miserable wretch in the road, tainting the pure air with bad rum and digestion at every breath, poured into us a volley of blessings, mumbling them over so swiftly as to be hardly distinguish- able. But I have heard the same thing so often, that no amount of disguise can hide it from me. Here it is: — " Ayh, God bliss you. gintlemin! God bliss you a thousand times ! An' long life to your honnurs ! and may ye niver want for a blissid thing in life ! The Holy Virgin protict you an' kape you ! God bliss you 1 Holy angels kape you ! Long life to you, an' plintv of happiness ! God bliss vou for iver !" " Isn't that awful ?" said the Major after she was done. "And she is only one of thousands — dirty wretches, begging when everybody else is at work, and drinking and iightiag when other people are abed. I ENGLAND FKOM A BACK-WINDOW. 153 rarely give a penny to one of them, and think it a harm to put anything in their hands that will procure them their enemv ; but I thoujjht I would try that sixpence on her, praying tliat she niif>ht, in a fit of tern- porary aberration, invest it in soap." We each gave the gate- woman a shilling, and received, in return, a sectional ticket. One part of it the woman tore ort' and re- tained ; the other piece we kept. It signified on the face of it that it was an admission to Mr. ilerhert'd grounds, including Muckross Abbey ruins, and must be given up at the gate of egress. Inside the grounds wo drove along a smooth road winding along the shore of the lake, bordered by turf, and flanked by trees. It was a very beautiful scene, quiet, lovely and eiichanting. The autumnal tints were touching the foliage. Dark- brown, gray, and various shades of yellow abounded on e.ich side ; but the flaming maple was absent. It needed only that to make of this early October morn a genuine Indian-summer day. There were no objects of interest along the drive, except those of Nature's construction. It was simply a paik of smooth turf, varying glimpses of the lake and distant mountains, with soft, healing sunshine upon the earth, and a blue sky above, with fleecy white clouds tumbling lazily about in its space. None of us said a word as the car rolled quietly along. Ten minutes on this delicious way brought us to a clump of trees, with the gray walls of a ruin showing through the openings. This was Muckross Abbey. The driver drove around to a gate, as a paling surround- ed the building and the adjacent grounds, which were used for burial. My first view of the abbey was a sort of disappointment, perhaps by reason of the ap- proach, which showed me but a shattered end of the building, from ground higher than its first floor ; while a lofty tree con- cealed the tower. I was opposite the chancel-window (i)are of glass, of course), with its skeleton spandrels casting shadows on the irrass where I stood. All about it was a mass of shining ivy. In fact, all this end-wall, with portions of the side-walls and most of the massive tower, concealed their deformity beneath the friendly offices of the beautiful ivy. We paused a moment to glance at the exterior of the walls, and then passed into the building through a low door. Muckross Abbey and Church were found- ed in the fifteenth century. As an abbey, it was a place of residence for the members of the Ordtr which founded it ; and conse- quently we find a dining room, kitchen, and Bleeping apartnients within the walls. Any one who goes over this or a similar place, and looks at its bleak walls, cold, cheerlesu stone floors, dreary low ceilings, and hampered rooms, can scarcely conceive how human beings, with human warmth, and human love of the bright and cheerful, could live a monastic life, especially in those back centuriesf when ignorance ane poverty were the common heritage of the masses. That those people did good, there is no doubt ; but that they could have greatly multiplied their successes by carrying their holiness and self-denial into the world is equally certain. In the panoramas of the lakes the abbey is represented in its completed state, with illuminated windows and the singing of vespers. The first panorama of Killarnr y I witnessed was under the auspices of a friend, who loaned me a shilling to do it with. The exhibition made such an impression upon me as to soften my heart, and ennoble my nature : but it had no such effect upon him. He was of a low and grovelling nature, and for years after used to dun mo for that shil- ling. But the most interesting sight to me in connection with Muckross Abbey and Church was a funeral, which entered the ground as we came out into the yard. It was just as well now that I did not wait in Tuam to witness the spectacle ; for the guide had been telling us that only hereabouts, and in some portions of Connauaht, were the primitive customs in burial kept up. They were growing less frequent here, and would probably pass entirely with this century. The funeral was of a young man, with no nearer relatives than an aunt and several cousins. There are jio people so prolific in cousins as the Irish. That is about the only relative they lay themselves out on, and in their production they beat the world. »;„Four men brought the coffin into that portion of the grounds already -serrated with unmarked graves. They set it down on the ground,ana I looked about for the grave ; but there was not a bit of fresh-tiirned earth in sight. The women got together, looking at the coffin, which was stained black to make it all the more oppressive and awful, and wept silently. The men also gatheied in a knot by themselves, and divided their attention between the coffin and ourselves ; hardly knowing, perhaps, which to admire most. Then two of the men took off their coats, and marked out a spot on the turf the size of the coffin, and straightway set to work to dig the grave. This was a custom peculiar to Killarncy, and was not due to tie negligence of the sexton or undertaker. The body is first brought to the place of burial, and then the grave is dug. The work 154 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. went forward rapidly, aa tho earth was soft and yielding. All tlie while it progressed, the aunt and cousins of the deceased swayod their bodios, and ciiiittod a moaning sound, which tho other women either encouraged by joining, or attempted to abate by simple sympathy. On the completion of the opening, tho body was lowered into it, there being no service at the grave, as the deceased was poor, tho caretaker explained ; and the earth was immediately thrown in. At tlie Hrst shovelfull the relatives sent up a cry, which by its suddenness startled mr. It was just such a sound as came from the people at Athenry ; but it licked that subtle agony. It camo from an auut and cousins, and not from brothers and sister torn apart. It came from tflmporary excitement, and was duo to the occasion, and was not from hearts gen- uinely lacerated. I stood with perfect com- posure. But, as the grave filled up, those in at- tendance who had graves iu the same lot re- paired to them ; and, as they reached them, they gave utterance to the same wail, only in increased intensity. Some of them threw themselves on the graves ; others swayed above them, and wrung their hands ; still others fell on their knees, and threw their hands above their heads ; while up among tho trees, and through the park, and over the water, sounded the wailing cry. It was no tit place for disinterested strangers and tlie Major and I left the grounds, and, mounting the car, drove away. We passed which wound copse after and still £we along another smooth road, under noble trees, and by copse of blackthorn ; were iu Mr. Her- bert's private grounds. Pretty soon we reached an angle of a r< ad which approached a magniticent lawn : and across it we got a good view of his modern residence, built in the Elizabethan styla, but hardly so impos- ing as I had expected from a man of his great wealth. CHAPTER LII. SCENERY AND LIES. After a look at the mansion we dipped back among the trees again, and followed the road through many romantic spots to the Dinish Island. On Dinish Island is a cot- tage erected by Mr. Herbert for tho rest and refreshment of tourists. I went round to the back of the house, where was the kitchiju door, and was cor- dially entertained by three small dogs, which dashed through the open doorway, and came against my legs M'ith such strength of hospitality as to nearly throw me off my feet. Right behind them appeared a buxom woman, with her bare arms streaked with suds. " Good-mornin' to your honour," ah* said : " I hope I see you well." And with- out giving me opportunity to explain that, in spite of a little touch of rheumatism in my left leg, I was iu a tolerable state of health, she straightway put one hand up to her mouth in imitation of a trumpet, and, pointing this instrument towaul a point in the heavens, shouted three times in stento- rian tones, " John !" At the conclusion of the third cry, John, who was introduced to m"* as her husband, made his appearance. Across the channel which separates Diuish Island from the mainland is an old bridge ; an ancient bridge, I should say. The bridge is formed of two rude ar3he3, and is scarcely less'^rugged than its surroundings. From the porch of the cottage wo had a good view of it ; also of the seething, boil- ing, angry waters which rushed over tho rocks beneath it. " Shooting " the weir is a performance which brings many tourists to iliis cottage, and the keeper of it is the head artillery- man. A party — consisting of a fat woman, a lean man, and a parasol — were enjoying this target-excursion. Wlien the boat struck the eddies, the boatman tendetl alone to the helm. The current itself was suflB.- ciently rapid to whiz the boat through; and, had the vessel lost its head for an instant, a capsize, with fatal results, would hare immediately followed. But the boat came through gallantly, the fat lady and her at- tenuated husband attesting their enjoyment of the feat by convulsively clutching each other, and shrieking at the extreme top of their respective voices. John pressed us to try the experiment, and John's wife added her persuasive eloquence; but we were firm in our refusal. However, we cheered their hearts by buying a coupU of bushels of photographs. J|Crossing Brickeeu Island, we had a grand view of the Lough of Leane, with its expanse of waters, many islands, and quiet shores, with background of mountain- ous range. One of its i8lan"lv man." " And aren't you a holy man too ? If you deny that, it is a queerer driver you are than I think, and the first in my life that I knew to turn tail to the impeachment. But get along with the legend." Thus ad jure J, the driver proceeded with the narrative. The friar slept there on his knees for two hundred years ; and then he awoke, and returned to the abbey. But everything was strange to him. Two centuries had removed many of the shrubs, and re- placed them with those of different kinds. Saplings had sprung into mighty oaks ; and huge trunks hail fallen away, and disappear- ed. New forms moved about the temple, and new faces looked upon him with surpria- ed glances. He called in vain for his old companions. Generations ago they had died, and even their ashes were not. Dismayed, discouraged, and broken-heart- ed, he retired to the place of his devotions, and there died, I asked the driver if he believed this story ; and he said nobody could deny it, as the prints of the man's kneos were still to be seen on the rock. " But how do you know the mania dead?" aslfpd the Maj ^r. " They found him, sir, the next tiay." " And so ho slept on that little island for two hundred years, and no one knew it, although he may have snored like a maiden aunt ; but he was scarcely dead four and twenty hours when they all found it out. Of course it is so," continued the Major, as if communini^ with himself, " bocanrto.areu't the prints of his kneea in the stone ? But it shows that the organ of smell is much superior to both the organs of hearing and seeing." There was still another legend. WI nn we w jre driving along the upper lake, the smaller of the three, there was a long line of rocks observable on the opposite nhore. On the fare of one of them waa a very good image, in white moss or mcmld or stain, of a roe. The driver directed our attention to this. He said that every seven years an ex- tinct chieftain,oalled the O'Donoghue, mount- ed a white horse, and chased the roe through the waters of the lake. All night long ne kfpt up the pursuit ; but at daybreak the spot returned to the rock, and the horse and its rider disappeared beneath the wateri. He chased the roe to secure the peace of his soul, that desirable condition depending upon the capture of the animal. Many a man, especially on the Mississippi, and in the early days of California, laid all his wealth on a spot. The driver believed this story. I gave him a post stamp, with the under- standing that he would send me the particu- lars when the 0'Donoc;hue caufjlt the roe. P"- The drive by Muckross and Upper Lakes was certainly grand. The road wound beneath rocky precipices, about the base of enormous mountains, along the placid water, adown wooded glades, and Vjy park lands. We could get glimpses of water and meadow, and various tinted rocks, 'and many-coloured foliage. Every little while on the road we were obliged to turn out, or to halt, to pev mit a drove of Irish cattle to pass by. The genuine Highland cow is low and broad, with a woolly coat, and large, fine eyes ; the Irish cow is very small, with delicate horns, and a patient, forgiving eye. These cows, and their quiet shock-hoaded drivers, added a pleasant domestic feature to the beauty of the s'^^ne. Cows are always comforting to look upon, if your parents do not own them and make you do the churn- ing. We were pausing to allow one of these dtt)ve3 to go by, when a woman, with a small shawl thrown over her shoulders, and 166 ENGLAND FROM A BACK- WINDOW. loailing a very fat anfl red- faced boy by the ' hand, came up to ua, and said, — " For the tinder meicy of a good God, give A poor widdy a few coppers for bread I" The Mij )r looked idankly at her, and ■hook Ilia head, and said, — " Parlez-vous Anglice?" And then shook his head again, as if he was in a very bad way. The unfortunate widow turned to m# ;but I was a foreigner, and remembered it in time to save myuelf. Tlien she turned away with a heavy sigh, saying,— " Th^divil^fly awaywidye, ye gibbering furrinera !" Ami we moved on, A short distance ahead, the driver drew up at a ({ate in a stone wall, close to which was a little but pleasant looking cottage, occupied by Mr. Herbert's game keeper. His wife came and let us in- to the enclosure by the payment of a fee,and we followed a little vath which ran along a swifc moving brook and up a mountain. This was Tore Mountain, and the stream descend- ing it m ule the Tore Cascade. We climbed half way up the hill, and came out or; a ledge nejirly level with the top of the cascade. The roar of the descending torrent made conversation difficult. The water of the little brook came pouring over the rocks like a whirlwind, breaking itself into hnndreds of streams, and lashing itself into a fury of ecstasy. It was drunk, — crazy drunk. It roared and mnancd.and fell downand jumped up, and rolled ovf"* from rock to rock. It was in an ecstasy of blind drunkenness, and it made me dizzy and intemperate to look upon it. We took the path again,and mount- ed up still higher, and then looked down on the foaming cascade, and listened toits fury, which was now tempered into a sullen roar. Then we looked off toward the lakes, and there they lay spread out before us in the mellow sunshine like a plain of silver dotted with emeralds. Beautiful, beautiful, beyond all words ! Well, we went down, and passed through the gate again. The car was drawn up on the opposite side of the road ; which was purposely done by the driver, I imagine, to give opportunity for certain people to attack «s. There were two old women, each with a pail half full of milk,and a bowl swirr.ming around on the top; and in the other hand was a bottle. So this was the poteen and goat's milk I had heard of. Then there were two boys sellmg ferns and Killarney myrtle, and three young women with bog oak jewellery in market baskets ; and then there were a couple of able-bodied men with photographs. The poteen ladies 'came upon us at once. I panted after the whiskey ; but I yearned beyond measure for a good draught of that goat's milk out of one of the bowls lloating in the delicious lluid, and which the women caught up in their tingcrs and extended to- ward ua. But the Major stepped ahead. He understood the danger we were in much better than I did. Quick aotion alone could save us, as he afterward explained; and he stepped quickly ahead. The old women spoke both together ; and then the fern boys came up, and with them the vendors of photographs; and close behind them wore the dealers in the bog- oak jewel- lery, made from that black wood, and touched ofT with brass. And then they all opened their mouths. And the Major stared at them with a blankness that seemed almost supernatural. He put his hand up to his ear, and shook his head, and looked unutterably uidiappy. It was the deaf game over again. 1 followed suit. Then the people lifteil their voices; 'lut still we coultl not hear theirs. I merely ehook my head, and left the Major to say at every ispulse, " My good people, I fail to catch your meaning, owing to excessive deaf- ness." Then they lifted up their voices still higher, and took up their articles and shook them before him, and danced around on the road, and made up grimaces, and resorted to numerous other intelligent devices to con- vey to him a tenth part of their anxiety to sell him something. But he could not hear them, and I had explained to them that I was his servant; so they had no other alternative but to fall back and curse his deafness, which they did with on earnestness that would have overcome any other man's composure. On our return, and on passing through the village, we had another rabble after us ; but we gave them crumbs of French and bon- mots in Latin, and much that was comforting and instructive in German, — things that could not remove their hunger, but which served to appeasn them until wo could get away. That night the Major went back toDublin, after playing a game of forty-five with the head steward of the hotel, and winning ten shillings from him ; which caused that un- fortunate individual to relapse into a moody silence for the rest of the evening. The next day I did the Gap of Dunloe ; but the major was away, and there were no touters, nor poteen -sellers, nor pedlars of any kind, and but one beggar (and he only had one ear off) : so I didn't ENGLAND PROM A BACK-WINDOW. 187 I had mt; 80 I back with )me any Gap of ^ray, and 1 -sellers, 18 beggar I didn't enjoy the trip. But it was gloomy and ini_ pcming, Mas the Gap ; and it rained nearly' all the time : so there M'as some satiiifactiun about it. However, there was one feature — not at the Gap.as it is just out of it— which pleased me amazingly. This was the inaid who oc cui)ie« Kate Kearney's cottage, and sells photographs and poteen. I got some of the poteen. It iun't so pleasant, as a l)everuge, as is camphone ; bnt it la.more dangerous. Bn the maid^ntor«4b*. sir." " Is Kate dead ? " •* Miny years ago, sir." " Thank Heaven I " I ejaculated. " Rig up a duwiug bowl 1 " CHAPTER LIII. A NEWLV-ARRIVED YANKEE. Back to Mallow again, and thence down the Dublin and Cork line to the latter city. Cork has not eighty thousand population. The beat part of the city is on an island ; although there is a portion of it, and a very decent and respectable part of it, located on a tremendous hill. There is but little to attract tourists in Cork. Shandon's bells, of m hich some poet has sung, are in the steeple of some Cork church. I didn't hear them ; and, as the Cork people appeared to be very much com- posed, I imagined there was nothing par- ticularly exciting about the chimes. All the streets of Cork, except some of the cross- lanes, are crooked. The chief street is the St. Patrick, which, although not so straight as an arrow, is very close to it, being in the shape of a bow. The guide-book jsays the street is spoiled by the irregularity of the buildings. But that was its chief charm to me ; and no many Home of street which I have seen in Britain, except some ancient thoroughfare, atlurded ine so much comfort as did!;:it. Patrick. Its build- ings were of varying heights, to be sure ; but they also were of varying colours, and some of them of a bright and cheeit'ul countenance ; in which nspect tlw.y somev/hat resembled the lower pare of Fourth Avenue in New York, or South Pearl Street in Albany. I wept scalding tears in St. Patrick Street, memories always do whip the juice out me. There is nothing more to write about Cork that 1 can think of. One day, while there, I went down to Queenstown. You know Queeustovvn. There is no placein Europe that is so dear to me as Queenstown. Four-fifths of the numerous steamers no^v sailing be- tween Engjand and America touch at Queens- town, both ni going and coming, to emba-k, and to land the mails. From Queenstown to Liverpool is a run of twenty-two or twenty- four hours for the steamer. But the mails landed there proceed to Dublin, thence across the Irish Sea to Holyhead in England {a dis- tance of sixty live miles), and thence by rail again to London. In this way several hours are gained in mail-time ; which is of consider- able importance in this fast age. Tlia lead- ing English dailies make a specialty of foreign mail news ; and an American loses no time in the morning in getting a daily, Vnl refer- ring at once to that column. That evening, when I got back to my hotel in Cork, 1 found a party of Americans had arrived. There appeared to be two or three families of them. Part of them were going to Dublin to make a stay ; and a p%rt were going over to England at once, and thence proceed to Paris. I am very fond and proud of my country at home ; but abroad they aie the most genial and comprehensive of asses of any people I have fallen in with. When you come across an American who has been over here any length of time, you find a sedate, pleasant, well-informed, and c^rteous personage. He is perfectly natur- These Americans were at the hotel. I found them as companions at dinner. I didn't say anything to them, of course, be- cause they were not Phiglish or Itiali, to whom you could have opened your heart at once ; but they were Americans just over, and they were enough in themselven. They talked over their plans without reserve. An Irish friend and myself — the only fortigut-rs in the company — attempted to say sonietning on our own account ; but we found in a very short titue that there was no chance for our- 163 ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. ■elves : so we sunk into a proper silence, and let the vow arrivals talk. It 8' -. transpired that they were ultimate- ly going to Switzerland. They made arrange- ments, in a tone of voice to be heard all over the room, for meeting in Berne, anu Kome, and Vcuice, and Jerusalem and Constauti- aople, and Pario and Vienna. After dinner 1 went down into the smok- ing room, and had the tire and cii^ar f,ll to m^'self. I had sat there some titteen mi- nutes, thinking of my money iu the bank, and of my real estate and other property, when the head of one of the tamilies, the one which was going to remain iu Ireland for a few days, came in with his cigar. He took a seat on the other side of the tire-place, and commenced a conversation at once. \ " I find it pretty hard work to get along with the hotel system here," he said, " it is 80 much different from that iu my country. " " You are not an Englishman, then ?" I asked with some interest. " Oh, dear, no ! ' he answered. " I am from America ; just come." "And are the American hotels conducted differently from ours V I asked, warming up iu the subject. " Well, you bet they are !" he said. "Just as different as day and night. Now, what sort of u dinner do you call that we had just now ?■' " That was table d' hote rather slim, I'll admit." • " I ehould say 80. Why, for two weeks before I came away, — ^Ilive in Brooklyn, and am connected with the Public Works there, -^^I broke up keeping house, anil took my family to" Westminster Hotel, in New York. Why, this place ain't a woodshed be- side it. And we had eight courses for dinner, with ice cream and confectionery, and nuts and coffee, and all sorts of fruit, to top off with." " How much would such a meal cost you ?" I inquired. " Oh ! we don't pay by the meal in our hotels." " What !" I ejaculated in some astoni^- ment. ' '* No, we don't pay by the meal, We pay by the day, — so much a day ; and you have the best the market affords." •' I have often heard of America," I said, * ■ and have for years felt a great desire to jjo over there ; but I have dreaded the trip, because of fear that the hotels would not be comfortable." " Pooh ! You won't find finer or as fine hotels iu d'I the world as you can fiixd iu the States," he declared, taking the cigar from his mouth, rnd staring earnestly at me. ' ' You can have And as for drinks. everything you want, there i_ nothing like it. I suppose you have heard of the great variety of our drinks ?" " Oh, yes !" I said. " I met an American the other day, and he gave me quite an ac- count of the aptitude of your bar-ten lers. It must be wonderful." And I sighed audibly. '•Well, we don't think much of it over our way ; but I suppose it strikes you Eng- lish as being extraordinary. If you should try a cobbler, one of our genuine sherry- cobblers, you wouldn't want to come down to your plain drinks again. But I must go to see off some people who came over with U3, and are going to meet us in Venice ; and I advise you to go to America if you want to see good square liying." And thus he departed. But liig advice sank deeply into my mind, and I sincerely hope the day will come when I may see America, — that wonderful country. I want to see the people too, they are so modest ! The next day I left Cork, retracing my way to Mallow. The first station beyond Cork had its sign-board embe Ided in the ivy which olung to the wall on which it was. The name was simple enough ; but what a flood of speculatious it called up ! The name was Blarney. Blarney consisted simply of the station buildings and part of a freight train. After getting down, and learning that the road, which crossed the track, led over to the castle, I left my bag with the station master, and trudged forward. Perhaps it was not two miles to the castle. The road rose up and dipped down, and finally turned sharp to the right, and dipped down over a creek, and by a row of tenements, occupied, I kr^ew, by factory operatives, even before J saw the factory. I passed that. There was with me a young man from Cork. He had a sort of basket-work bag thrown over his shoulder, and held by the handle of a ham- mer put through the handles of the basket- big. He had never before been in Blarney, and had not heard of the castle, nor of its priceless treasure, the Blarney stone. I was very much surprised to learn that ho was a machinist. I thought he might be the presiilent of a State normal school. He had come up from Cork to do a job at one of the mills. Beyond the mill where I left him was a fragment of a village, built up at a cross road — not such a village as would be seen in an American rural district, consisting of two or three stores, cooper, Maggon, and blacksmith (.hops, with straggling houses set n the middle of ample yards. The store was room elm. A castle was 1 WLS 1 that ers 01 top t| The the 8< ENGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 159 be castle. own, and Jilt, and and by supied, I before J There was He had a over his of a ham- le basket- 1 Blarney, nor of its stone. I n that ho might be hool. He at one of I left him It lip at a would be coasi^tin^ \ggon, and Itouses set Tho store were here ; but the houses were of stone' and built eniack up against the sidewalk, and smack up against tach other. They were of stone, I have waid. But it was not necessary. Ninety out of every hundred houses in Britain are of stone ; and the bal- ance, of brick or concrete. I have not seen a dwelling built of woodrince I left America. And I have not seen a shingle single roof in that time : to tell the truth, I have not seen a shingle even. This is dreadful ; but I en- dure it because it is true : I am very fond of true things. On a little bridge I paused, and took a good look at the oastle! Beyond the bridge was an open gate ; and inside the stone wall, close to it, was a little whitewashed cabin, answering as the porter's lodge, I F ippose. But there was no one of whom to c.sk permission toeuter.Iiooked into the open door of the house, and saw an earth floor, and a lialf-dozen hens roosting on the backs of chairs, (such proud hens are these Irish fowls), but no human b'^ings in sight, Then I followed the road up to a clump of trees on an elevation, where stood the castle. Reaching the trees, I found a number of workmen employed on a large structure of brick — a canning factory. It was on the grounds of Mr. Somebody, who owned the land hereabouts, including the run of Blar- ney Castle, and a very barndike fabric where lie lived himself. Right in the shadow of the old ruin the desccrator was putting up a factory ; and even a portion of the hoary wall had b»en shedded over by the despoiler, and converted into a carpenter shop. The castle was in ruins ; but the very large keep was in excellent condition, as far as its walls were concerned. But it was roofless and floo.less ; there M'as simply the shell. The castle had been a fine building in its day, as was evident from the stone mould- ings about the few windows whiShe said she met with more rudeness going from New York to Boston, on her return, than she had encoun- tered in all her travels abroad. I have no doubt of it. In conclusion, I must tell yon an illustr*- tive incident. While in Dublin, I li»d oeca- to I and peo] Atli B NGLAND FROM A BACK-WINDOW. 166 nion to make two purchases of books. At either place the required volume was not an stock ; but they offered to send it to me in England. I tendered the payment ; but in each case it was declined until after I had received the purchase. And I receiveil the books in a few days. I was a perfect stranger to the parties, and they had to run the risk of receiving payment. I well know that I have an open anil inegenuous face ; but still their trust in my word was, under the circumstances, somewhat amaz- ing. I told an English friend of the incident, and he said, — "That is nothing ; although it would be remarkable if you met the same experience in England or Scotland. But to place trust in an Irishman is equivalent to a per- formance of the duty. You wanted to pay for the books before receiving them, and their characteristic gal!"..! eal like a sound heard in the stillness of the uight. It only needs examination to show that it doesn't amount to anything. The Irish kSea is fully as grievous to the nerve and stomach of the traveller as is the English Channel. But people will cross that, and sail the broad Atlantic, with hardly a qualm, who will quail before the channel. Men remember a trip acrobs it, made twenty years ago, who cannot for the life of them tell where last Sunday's text was. I don't know as any- body has attempted a chemical analysis of this feeling, but in my judgment it resultH from a reputation acquired in the time ui little and imperfect boats, and carefully fostered by the short route company for obvious reasons. If I can make you see this trip as I sawiit, you will arrive, undoubtedly, at the same conclusion. The ride from Ludgate-hill Station to; Do- ver was not in any way remarkable, barring the, cold. It was in the middle of November, early^iii the day, and on leather cushions ; and I had to'jump'upjand down eight hun- dred times to keep comfortable. At Dover we ran out on a pier ; and getting down from the train, I looked back over the little' city and to the left of it, and saw more chalk in that oue^glance'than there are cows ia all America. It was a high pier, — so high, that the top ^of the steamer's funnel hardly came to the top of it. The steamer itself was bobbing about with the heavy swells, — the steamer that was to take me to France. It was not a particularly .large boat, — no- thing like thoscj powerful structures which face and beat down the great waves of the Irish Sea between Kingstown aud Holyhead, — but it was a fine-looking vessel, of about half the capacity of a Brooklyn ferry-boat. The deck was open nearly the whole way, cover- ed at the centre by the bridge from one wheel- box to the other. The first-class passengers were aft, with a cabin below : the second-class were at the fore, with no cabin at all. All the luggage was piled in the bow, and covered with a tarpaulin. There was not in this boat one-half the accommodation as in the little sound steamers plying form New York to Norwalk ; and yet it was the shortest and most popular route from England to France and the Con- tinent. There were the custom-house officers in attendance ; and, as there is more travel between England and France than between any other two countries, the officers of customs are generally known and dreaded. Quiet people who stop at homo have fallen into the belief that travellers are liars. Travellers are ; but they don't lie one-half as hard to home people as they do to each other, I don't know why they do it : perhaps they can't help it. In ,an incredibly short space of time the luggage was piled away, and the boat left. VVe ran down along the enormous clifFg for a way, and then pointed out to sea. We had twenty miles to run, and were to do it in an hour and twenty minutes. As soon as we got under way, the first- class pissengers came generally to the front of the vessel, and many of 'jhe second-class passengers kept under the bridge. I stood on a forward hatch, smoking, and talking with several othsrs, for a h»li kour, and theu 166 ENGLAND'FROM A BACK-WINDQW. went back under the bridge ; and the secret of the dread with which this trip ia held then came out. Nearly everybody was on deck, and many of them were under the l)ridf{e. One of the last number, a Fren^;h lady, seriously intoxi- cated, was doubled up in a heap close to the opening for the machinery, where she could obtair a fair and uninterrupted swig at the mingled ,;f steam and oil smells with every );>reath she drew. Other people were doubled up about this opening ; and a number were seated on the side benches, staring with fixed melancholy at the deck. But this is the secret. Several men in tarry clothes were moving among this dejected throng with earthen basins. Some one ban said (interested in a projected railroad), that the more facilities are furnished the public to travel, the more it will travel. The same remark applies in this case. The more facilities the human stomach has to move, the more it will move. These tarry-clothed men were kept busy. The \ ossel was rolling nicely, and the mo- tion imparted to the stomach made it hanker for sympathy. A man might not have been exactly satisfied that he wanted to vomit ; but, when he saw one of those suggestive basins going by, ha took a decided stand in the matter at once, and, beckoning to the bearer, went whooping over it immediately. The French lady kept two men engaged pret- ty much all of the time. The exertion she was making had sobered her considerably ; and being convinced that she was going to die within an hour, and afraid that her watch was slow, she cared precious little for ap- pearances. She devoted her undivided attention to the basin. At times she would moan for two minutes in a low, steady tone ; then again she would break out into a howl, or go off into a paroxysm of whoops. Whenever she struck the latter, a visible activity could be noticed in the basins. One woman, who looked like the wife of a Kansas granger, was sitting on a bench, leaning back, with hands clasped, as if thinking of some well-remem- bered picture of a dead horse, when an atten- tive conductor of the bowl passed the vessel nquiringly to her. With eyes partly*opeaed she caught a glimpse of its appearance, and, waving her hand, languidly protested, " No, thank you ! I couldn't e it a mouthful if I should die for it." And I sincerely believed her. The farther we got out to sea, the more the bowls and tarry-clothed men increased. The deck was covered with them. I noticed that one expression did for all. Everybody said " Wli-hoop !" when he got a basin before him ; and those who didn t stand so strictly on ceremony leaned over the side of the ves- sel, ann I bolted for the side of the vessel, and " Wh* hooped " myself, I wa& surprised at the amount of sentiment and satisfaction con- tained in that simple expression. I threw my whole weight into it, and I suppose I was heard in the uttermost recesses of the boat. I was engaged some five minutes ; and, when I got through, a gentleman who took an in- terest in me presented me with a blank card, on which he had carefully inscribed the record that I made in that five minutes. This was the record : — " Wh-hoop ! — whoooo — whoooo — who- oop I Oh, dear 1 whoooo — whooo-oooo- oop ! Mercy on me ! Wh-hoop 1 wh-hoop I whoooo-oop 1 Heav — wh-hoop !" (Pause of a moment.) "Oo-oo-oo-oo-ooh — wh-hoop ! — wh-hoop ! — wh-hoop 1" That is the way a man talks when he is looking over the side of a boat, and taking aim at something with his liver. Learning that I had got through, the offi- cers of the vessel prepared to bring it into port. THE END. , JAN 2 9 TBi t/ ROBEJR-TSON'S FOFULA-R, LIBR-^R-IES. Robertson's 20 cent Books. Robertson's 30 cent Books. q^OM BAILEY; OH, TlIK ADVEN- -«■ TURKS OF A HAD HOV. Hv TlioimiM Hailtiy Aldiloh ; uiiil HKlNd A HOV." Hy Chii'H DudU'y NVanirr itlit^ joint iiiitlior with Murk Twain of tlu) "I'lio (iilil(>il A«ii). Five Dollars' worth for Twenty Cents, ncoinu stcvurt, jr., a iioimlar t'liniulliiii writer, Hiiyw tlnit Aldrich, in writing Tom Miiilcy, " Htruckii notoin boy-life, whicii was new anil fresli and original. It wan like Tom Hrown ami then a^'ain it was not iiko Tom Hrowii. Tom llailoy waB a new eharat'ter, a new tyi)e, and tlio antoliiot,'raphiciil form of the narrative nave a nicjuancy and tone to the hook, which enlisttul tlie Hynipathien of almost every hoy in New Knfiland. What ii picturo of village lite Ahhicli h'wvh in thin rare romance! Who can read the liookaiid not love lUvormonth. the Uiverinouth which exists only in Aldrich's pages ? Not a cliaracter in theliook is ovor-v bow gooil it i -i. just liaiid a coi>y of I it to a bov, and I'll be much mistaken it yon hoar | anvtiiingelse but Tom Bailoy from him foi' thrive \ months after he has read it. It is full of adven- i turc and spirit, and sketches of boy-life, intf^r- spersed nowainlthen with retlectioiis from which even an 'old head' could gain wisdom now and again." " Tom Bailey " and " Being a Boy " are publish- in one cover in Robertson's iO cent Library TKE"' PAKTINCm)Tr ()R,"tHE -»- Adventures of a Hunnin Boy and His Friends, liy B. P. ShilhiberLMrc. Partington) Robertson's 25 cent Books. l^KULAH. HY AUGUSTA J. *-^ Kvans. "Who has not read with rare de- light the novolHof Augusta F.vatiH? Her tttrungo, won.lerfid, and fascinating stylo ; the profound depths to which she sinks the probe into human nature, touching its moat sacred chords and springs ; the intense interest thrown around her characters, and tlie very nnirked peculiarltieH of her i)rincipal ttgnres, conspire to give an uniisinil interest to the works of this eminent Southern authoress." CILENT AND THUJ-:. BY MAY v^ AflNESFf,KMIN(i. "Mrs. Flendng's stories are growing more and more pojinlar everyday. Their ilelineutions of character, life-liko uonver- satlons, flashes of wit, constantly varying scenes, and deeply interesting plots, combine to place tlieir author in ti'e very first rank of Modern Novelists." T E lUl fi LlT'SECmE T.— BY May Agnes Fleming. A G J OS [AH ALLEN'S WIFE.—, _ A RKPitKSENTATivK OPINION.-—" This book of Josiah Allen's Wife is more than entertaining, it abounds in mother wit and shrewd common sense, .\ftor an hour of honest work on Bacon's P'iSSiiys or Calvin's Institutes, one may well be pardoned for spending a halt hour with this vei-y ' wise ' anii ' cute ' old lady. For myself I confess that, after ft half hour with Bacon and Calvin, I gave a whole hour to the old lady. 1 propose to reail the Ijook aloud to the bosom of my family after the day's work is done; and thou to give it a place on my shelf with " Innocents Abroad," and such bound volumes of the ' London Punch ' as I (nu,'ht to jiossesfj." C. B. Cuane, Pastor of South Baptist Church, Ha rtfo rd, Co OXY.— BY EDWARD EGGLE- HTON, author of the Hoosier Schoolmaster. ILL BANK— MRS. HOLMES' most iutorestingjind entrancing tale s. MAD MARRIAGE .—BY MA Y AGNES FLEMING. pNGLAND FEOll A BACK WIN- J— J 1)()W. By James M.Bailey, the Danl ury Newsman, author of "Life in Daubury," and They all do it." His last and best book. R M A UY EARLS(J()URT'S WIFE.- By May Agnes Fleming, VASHTI ; OR, UNTIL DEATH US V DO PART. By Augusta J. Evans. O M T OF NE NIGHT'S llYSTilRY.— BY May Agnes Fleming. To ARIA i' ORr'ALT ARS SACRIFICE. JByAugiistaX Evans. HE H I'ilR 'of" CHARLTON^- By May AgnesFlcming. Her latest book. EARL DUFFE KIN'S SPEECHES — Contains every speech delivered in Can- ada— unchanged and unabridged. This edition is limited, is not stereotyod and will not be re- printed. Robertso n's 3 5 cent Books. A WONDERFUL WOi\IAN. By ■^~*- May Agnes Fleming A splendid story. 'ITiO pages of a si)arkling novel for 35 cents. Robertson' s 40 ce nt Books. OW WE BAJSED OUR BABY H' Husbands take it home to your wives. The book for young mothers and fathers to. Every mother, every woman who expects to be a mother, should read this book. iisr FRESS. MARION HAltLAN])S DINNER YEAR BOOK- U'Vuthor of " Common Sense- in the Household-") This cook book is intended for i)eople of moderate means. It is the most complete book of the kind overissued, and as the N. Y. World says, " when known, all other cook books will disappear." BOBERTSON'S PUBLICATIONS. -If your Newsdealer cannot supply you, ask him to send an order to the Toronto News Comi)any, Toronto or Clifton, or the Publisher, either of whom -will mail the books free on receipt of the price. J. Ross Robertson, Publisher, tj7 Yonge Street, Toronto, Out. T-»' ROBERTSON'S POPULAR EDITION. EARL DUFFERIN'S SPEECHES, Complete, Unchanged and Unabridged. Giving every Speech delivered in Canada^ with the celebrated despatches on the Pacific Scandal to the Home Government. REVISED BY EARL DUFFERIN HIMSELF. EVERY PUBLIC MAN, EVERY MERCHANT, EVERY LAWYER, EVERY CLERGYMAN, EVERY DOCTOR, EVERY LITERARY MAN, J^VERY MECHANIC, EVERY WOMAN, EVERYBODY Should Buy, Read and Preserve this edition of the most eloquent speeches that ever fell from the lips of a Governor General of Canada. THE EDITION IS LIMITED. SEOXJRE ITOUR COI^Y ^T OlSTOE. THE BOOK OF THE YEAR. THIRTY CENTS, THIRTY CENTS, THIRTY CENTS. These Speeches are exactly the same as those in $3.00 Edition. -o~. THE TORONTO NEWS COMPANY, TOROIVTO A.1VI> CT^IFTOTSr. mm