Some Account of tfae Travels of (VI ysetf 
 and my Son in tfae Summer of 1902 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
This is one of an edition of two hundred 
 
 copies printed from type in the 
 
 month of July, nineteen 
 
 hundred and three 
 
 No. 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE TRAV- 
 ELS OF MYSELF AND MY SON 
 IN THE SUMMER OF NINE- 
 TEEN HUNDRED AND TWO 
 
 NEW YORK: PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 
Copyright, 1903, by 
 JAMES C. PARRISH 
 
ID 9 2. 1 
 
 66 
 
 summer < 
 f 
 HE fourth of July, 1902, 
 
 was a warm, bright day in 
 Paris, and Paris was very 
 glad of it. There had been 
 little summer weather in June, and the few 
 bright days that had come at the end of 
 that usually brilliant month had filled the 
 suburban trains with many a gay party. 
 From my window at the Ritz, overlooking 
 the garden of the Ministere de la Justice, 
 taking in a broad expanse of sky, where 
 from the hazy horizon rose the iron lace- 
 work of the Tour Eiffel, I looked with 
 pleasure at the indications of the weather, 
 3 
 
 M3117S6 
 
having determined to deny myself the 
 enjoyment of being present at the celebra- 
 tion by the American colony of our " glo- 
 rious anniversary " and to hie me to Lon- 
 don, stopping on the way for a sea bath 
 at Boulogne-sur-Mer. 
 
 The 8.45 morning train for London 
 carries many travellers whose lives seem 
 well ordered, early risers, well-to-do peo- 
 ple, outside the world of fashion, to whom 
 the early morning is perhaps more en- 
 joyable than the late hours of the night. 
 Of this number were my two chance com- 
 panions in our comfortable railway car- 
 riage, a gentleman and his wife. They 
 both insisted on my smoking, the husband 
 joining me in a cigar. This led to conver- 
 sation wherein I soon found by their ac- 
 cent that my new acquaintances were from 
 the North Country, which naturally led to 
 my reviving my Yorkshire days. My new 
 friend was the proprietor of woollen mills, 
 and entertained me by showing me sam- 
 
 4 
 
pies of fine Cashmere wools and telling me 
 much that was interesting regarding them. 
 I gave his wife a small box of strawberries 
 at Amiens, which pleased them both, and 
 when we bade each other good-bye at Bou- 
 logne, it was not, I think, without a feel- 
 ing that we had all three appeared to ad- 
 vantage to each other. 
 
 A look, something between a bow and a 
 nod and a smile, to " La Belle Caroline " 
 in the fish-market, who still preserves 
 her commanding presence and majestic 
 beauty, telegrams to Louise .and the 
 Berkeley (both of which I found later had 
 arrived in a mutilated condition) , were the 
 principal events that preceded my delight- 
 ful bath in the Channel, the refreshing 
 waters of the North Sea having for me 
 a special virtue as a bracer. 
 
 A bountiful lunch at the little restau- 
 rant on the Jette, where I partook of 
 fresh sole, among other delicacies, and 
 where I watched the fishing-boats passing 
 5 
 
lazily out to sea, with a steamer tug or two 
 coming to and fro, reviving many Bou- 
 lognaise recollections of the past, some on 
 this very spot, occupied the time until, 
 when it neared three in the afternoon, I 
 determined on having a nap at the " Im- 
 perial," that I might be fresh for the in- 
 strumental concert at the Casino. 
 
 Boulogne has changed little these past 
 thirty-odd years that I have known it. 
 The spacious courtyard of the " Hotel des 
 Bains," into which Thackeray's impatient 
 Englishman might have called down from 
 his bedroom window, "De dong, garsong, 
 vooly voo me donny lo sho, ou vooly voo 
 pah?"; the dining-room, where, with the 
 consequential air of the Briton, he orders 
 "grilled ham, cold chicken, and boiled 
 eggs " for his " first breakfast," are there 
 just as they have been for fifty years 
 or more; the "Imperial," with its name 
 imbedded in its slate roof, perhaps on the 
 very spot where Louis Napoleon let loose 
 6 
 
his tame eagle, and waited for his uncle's 
 admirers to crowd around him (he might 
 as well have waited for the ghosts of La 
 Grande Armee), stands in all its grey 
 loneliness, and looks as desolate as ever. 
 
 Calais, these last few years, has gone 
 through great changes. Hogarth's gate 
 has been swept away to make room for the 
 new docks, and so with the old station, 
 with its cosy corner, where in the early 
 days of the Denver and Rio Grande, when 
 I was to and fro many times a year be- 
 tween London and Amsterdam, we had 
 such good breakfasts, on the arrival of 
 our train from Brussels an hour or two 
 ahead of the Paris express. George Hud- 
 son, England's dethroned railway king, 
 was our guest at times, his broad, good- 
 humoured Yorkshire face defying the 
 sting of exile and poverty, as he enlivened 
 our little party with entertaining stories of 
 the past, we little thinking that Wall 
 Street was hurrying to a railroad panic 
 7 
 
and the same financial chaos that had en- 
 gulfed him, driven him from home and 
 made him an exile. Sterne, once outside 
 the Hotel Dessein, would not know the 
 place; not so with Boulogne, which seems 
 to have been finished, for all time, long 
 years ago. May it so remain! 
 
 A light dinner at the Christophle pre- 
 ceded my departure for Albion. On the 
 steamer I met an Oxford professor who 
 had been taking his family to a seaside re- 
 sort, lately created at the terminus of a 
 trolley line, some five miles along the coast 
 toward Cape Gris Nez. He was pleased 
 to tell me of the degree they had conferred 
 on Lord Cromer. I imagine he had had 
 a hand in the ceremonies, and enjoyed the 
 light reflected from the great man. He 
 was desirous to know my views regarding 
 Cecil Rhodes' American scholarships, of 
 which I thought most highly, hinting, how- 
 ever, that their importance should not be 
 overestimated. His visit to the Continent, 
 
 8 
 
or my nationality, seemed to stimulate his 
 desire to be agreeable, our exchange of 
 views making the smooth crossing, softly 
 lighted by the long midsummer twilight, 
 only too soon over. 
 
 Among Continental travellers the Chan- 
 nel has few friends. I am one of them. 
 I must have crossed it some hundreds of 
 times, and in every month of the year. I 
 have seen it smooth and glassy, in Janu- 
 ary, and tossed by frightful tempests in 
 midsummer. I have crossed after the 
 " Grand Prix," when there was only stand- 
 ing-room on the deck, and when one of the 
 gay party accompanying the Marquis of 
 Hastings, whose horse had won the great 
 race, ingeniously inserted a folded camp- 
 stool among the legs of the passengers, 
 eager to work their way off the boat and 
 find seats in the London train. I can see 
 the man's coarse grin now, as he listened 
 to the imprecations of his fellow-passen- 
 gers, struggling with this unexpected ob- 
 9 
 
stack. I have crossed during the Franco- 
 Prussian war when the boats were de- 
 serted. In those days almost every one 
 took the Belgian line to Ostend. I have 
 crossed during the Commune when the 
 trains to Paris had ceased to run, and I 
 was the only passenger. 
 
 Standing in the forward part of the 
 boat by night, watching her shoot through 
 the dark sea underneath us, the curling 
 waves phosphorescent, and the spray fall- 
 ing like sparks from the blacksmith's anvil, 
 the sensation of life on the sea is to me at 
 its best. 
 
 On one of our large ocean-liners, one 
 is too far from the water to realize the 
 speed at which she is going. Not so with 
 the Channel boats, where it is almost like 
 shooting the rapids. 
 
 To our left, the north and south fore- 
 land lights throw into space their brilliant 
 rays. As I think of Clark Russell's vivid 
 description of the " Grosvenor," and her 
 
 10 
 
mutinous crew, dropping down the Chan- 
 nel, not far from where we are, a mysteri- 
 ous feeling comes over me as that weird 
 account of the ill-fated ship fills my 
 thoughts. A flash-light twinkles from 
 Calais, growing stronger and stronger as 
 the foreland lights dwindle away. The 
 reader will see that I have chosen my de- 
 scription as England sinks in the horizon, 
 not thoughts aroused in the pleasant 
 Fourth -of -July crossing we have just 
 made, but rather the accumulated impres- 
 sions of years. 
 
 A conversation with a substantial-look- 
 ing Englishman, approaching his fiftieth 
 year, shortened the journey from Folke- 
 stone to London. His opinion was that 
 all this fuss over the coronation was much 
 out of place. "We are a republic," he said, 
 "and why should we make such a time over 
 one of our constitutional acts, no more im- 
 portant than others that pass unheeded by 
 the public? " 
 
 11 
 
I had a few words with the driver of the 
 locomotive as we waited for the customs at 
 Charing Cross, a man of good manners, 
 and, I imagine, good nerves, from the way 
 he drove us over the last fifty miles, reply- 
 ing to my allusion to our speed with the 
 statement that if they would give him ten 
 minutes more he would have brought us 
 along comfortably, "but, you see, the pub- 
 lic compel us to make time." 
 
 It was near midnight as I rolled by the 
 tawdry decorations of St. James Street, 
 here and there half dismantled, in a four- 
 wheeler that was not a bad match for the 
 surroundings. 
 
 People speak of London being so solid, 
 much more so than Paris. For my part, 
 I cannot see it. Certainly the dwellings 
 of Paris are more imposing than many 
 miles of the brick fronts that one meets in 
 nearly every thoroughfare of London. 
 
 A good room at the Berkeley, with a 
 blanket heavy enough for the Arctic re- 
 
 12 
 
gions, which, as the one hot spell of the 
 summer was on, made one warm to look 
 at, a comfortable night, the usual visit to 
 my tailor in the morning, a hasty glance 
 at the works of the old masters in the sev- 
 eral Bond Street shops, to the Royal 
 Academy, where there is a picture by 
 Sargent the Ladies Acheson that ex- 
 ceeds in beauty any modern, if not ancient 
 portrait picture that I am now able to call 
 to mind, combining, it seems to me, the 
 grace of Hoppner, the strength of Velas- 
 quez, and the subtle charm of Gainsbor- 
 ough. 
 
 This busy morning over, I hurried to 3 
 Buckingham Gate, to lunch with Aleck 
 and Louise, where I received an affection- 
 ate welcome, and passed two hours in that 
 blissful life of a delightful present united 
 to a past full of the many, many memories 
 of my happy married life. 
 
 After lunch Aleck and I went to Lon- 
 don Bridge station to see Louise despatch 
 
 13 
 
one party of her " Girls' Club " to the sea- 
 side for a two weeks' outing, and another 
 party which she had in tow for an after- 
 noon at a friend's house, where they were 
 to have a "garden party." 
 
 The "Girls' Club" is a labour of love of 
 my daughter. Finding, on a visit with her 
 husband to his mine in Oregon, that she 
 had power over the turbulent miners, who, 
 under her influence, became repentant and 
 obedient, she determined to see what she 
 could do to improve the lives of young 
 girls living in the East End of London; 
 choosing Whitechapel, that sink of crime 
 and iniquity, pretty much abandoned by 
 the charitable, who have declared that no 
 good could come out of Hoxton. 
 
 The girls pay a small sum weekly, which 
 is supposed, more or less, to run the Club. 
 They also deposit, at frequent intervals, 
 such sums as they can spare, with Louise, 
 who credits them with it, and this is sup- 
 posed to pay for their two weeks' summer 
 
 14 
 
outing. A girl who was obliged to draw 
 out her deposit, owing to the necessities of 
 her mother, who was taken ill, lost her out- 
 ing. I believe some means were found 
 partially to compensate her for it. This 
 will give some idea of the strictness of 
 the discipline, and the feeling of self-help, 
 which is thoroughly impressed on every 
 girl. 
 
 Louise, some day, I hope, will tell her 
 own story: how she has been appealed to 
 by the London County Council, who give 
 her all the assistance she will accept, and 
 how she was asked to address a distin- 
 guished company at the Mansion House, 
 and many events, I feel sure, of which I 
 am ignorant. All I know is, that un- 
 aided by her own class, affecting by 
 dress to be as one of her girls, and 
 avoiding all allusion to religion, she has 
 gathered around her the children of pa- 
 rents steeped in vice, desperate at times 
 through poverty and drink, patiently in- 
 
 15 
 
structing her little wards by association, 
 as well as by word; has beautified them 
 in thought and deed, and sends them 
 home, night after night, as little min- 
 isters of good into the wretched lives of 
 their parents. Clergymen, the Salvation 
 Army, emblems of the Cross, are held in 
 derision or hatred in this part of London. 
 Louise's success is the triumph of good- 
 ness without church or creed. Surrounded 
 by her two parties of girls, attired so 
 plainly that I did not, at first, recognize 
 her, she was ready to receive us, and at 
 once presented us, right and left. My 
 name was not altogether unknown, as I 
 believe I am used as an explanation of 
 what seems, at times, too free a use of 
 money for a working girl, even if she be at 
 the head of a club. 
 
 Just as I was becoming acquainted with 
 the girls, guessing their ages, telling the 
 little ones they would soon grow tall, and 
 overestimating the ages of the tall ones, 
 Louise told Aleck and me that we had bet- 
 16 
 
ter go. We did go, and not knowing what 
 to do, we rode in the Tube which I 
 very much wanted to see westward, and 
 finally, with the use of tramways, arrived 
 at Kew Gardens, where we much admired 
 the trees and enjoyed the beautiful sum- 
 mer afternoon, a treat that so rarely comes 
 to London, all of which revived in me my 
 efforts at enjoyment in this way thirty 
 years or more ago. 
 
 We dined at the Berkeley, and then to 
 a stupid play, where Charles Hawtrey's 
 brother was trying to imitate Charles' tal- 
 ents without much success. We were 
 driven out at the end of the second act by 
 ennui, and repaired to the Berkeley, and 
 after a half hour or more over our cigars 
 and tall tumblers filled with harmless 
 drinks, bade each other good night. 
 
 Sunday, July 6th. 
 
 Full of delightful anticipations, I took 
 the early morning express from Padding- 
 17 
 
ton for Exeter, en route for Plymouth to 
 meet my son. My companion in the rail- 
 way carriage was an English army offi- 
 cer, lately returned from South Africa. 
 After an hour's silent criticism of each 
 other, over the newspapers, we broke the 
 silence, and soon drifted into an animated 
 conversation, stretching from South Af- 
 rica to Salt Lake, and winding up with 
 an elaborate programme as to how I was 
 to see the best of Devonshire in forty- 
 eight hours, which included a card of in- 
 troduction to the ship-chandler at the 
 mouth of the Wye, who was to provide a 
 boat in which to ascend the river, the tides 
 having been ascertained from a pocket 
 almanac and the whole programme ar- 
 ranged to a nicety. Sad to say, it never 
 came off, the exceptional heat deciding 
 me, when the time came, to give it up. 
 
 Two hours at Exeter, mostly passed at 
 the cathedral, where during service I read, 
 on the tablets in the wall, the names of 
 
 18 
 
many Exeter men who had fallen in the 
 Crimea and elsewhere; a new bronze 
 plaque, of considerable size, adding a sad 
 list of South African fatalities. 
 
 Those familiar with the impressions 
 produced by an English cathedral town 
 on a warm Sunday afternoon the neatly 
 dressed women demurely walking the 
 streets (household servants for the greater 
 part), the almost entire absence of vehi- 
 cles, the tightly closed shops, the solem- 
 nity of the hotel, where the buzzing of the 
 fly alone disturbs the silence; the general 
 air of conservative respectability which 
 meets you at every turn will agree with 
 me, I think, that two hours are sufficient 
 to gratify one's curiosity. So, nothing 
 loath to leave, I took the train from Exe- 
 ter to Plymouth, a two hours' run, the lat- 
 ter part much by the seaside, where the 
 cool sea breeze, with its pungent odour of 
 seaweed, came gratefully over the salt 
 marshes exposed by the fallen tide. 
 19 
 
The hotel at Plymouth is close to the 
 railway station, and is the average Eng- 
 lish railway hotel, partaking in its char- 
 acter of much that is unattractive in both 
 English and American life : a busy porter, 
 a neat-looking woman presiding at the 
 desk, somewhat severe in appearance and 
 decidedly formal in manner, and a sprink- 
 ling of American travellers, talking 
 loudly of their affairs at dinner and in the 
 halls, in apparent oblivion of the existence 
 of others. 
 
 A walk to the concert in the Pavilion 
 at the end of the pier; an offer to find a 
 lost child for a young woman, resulting in 
 wandering to and fro in vain, the child 
 having undoubtedly turned up somewhere 
 on the extensive esplanade, where most of 
 Plymouth congregates on a fine summer 
 Sunday evening, and a good night's rest 
 in a dingy room, completed this interest- 
 ing day. 
 
 20 
 
Monday, July 7th. 
 
 Rising early, as is my custom, I sought 
 where I might enjoy a bath in the sea, 
 which, with the assistance of my cab-driver, 
 I found with little difficulty. Breakfast, 
 and then to the tender which was to take 
 me to meet my son on the " Kronprinz." 
 After a long separation, and the unknown 
 week of the Atlantic crossing, there is a 
 feeling of not altogether pleasurable ex- 
 citement as one awaits the moment of 
 recognition. Something might have hap- 
 pened. 
 
 We sighted the " Kronprinz " well out 
 at sea. The white foam broke around her 
 cutwater, and when we finally drew up to 
 her, with the hundreds of heads appear- 
 ing over the rail, I had a nervous feeling 
 until I saw a Groton ribbon, and the next 
 moment the smile of Jimmy, who looked 
 the picture of health and happiness. I 
 filed on to the steamer, kissed my son, was 
 
 21 
 
shown his state-room, and duly presented 
 to one or two of his intimates. After the 
 stream of baggage, of all sorts and kinds, 
 was transferred we steamed away, quickly 
 losing sight of the leviathan behind a point 
 of land, and were soon at the dock at Ply- 
 mouth, where a long boat train awaited us. 
 
 The thousand cigars brought me were 
 soon passed at the custom-house, with a 
 moderate sum paid in duties. 
 
 The ride to London was rather warm 
 work. Lunch in the dining-car, the sight 
 of green fields, with here and there herds 
 of little red Devon cattle, now and then 
 an object of interest, the towers of Exeter 
 Cathedral, the Thames, enlivened at times 
 by a boating party, and the general ex- 
 hilaration from the speed with which we 
 were going, passed the time agreeably, 
 bringing us to London about five o'clock. 
 
 Colonel Borup was on the platform 
 awaiting his son George, who was of our 
 party. 
 
 22 
 
Our stay in London was to be but three 
 or four days; so, as the evening was fine 
 and warm, I planned dinner at the Star 
 and Garter. We caught the train at Wa- 
 terloo, with a minute to spare. At the 
 hotel we found a large company the 
 Basket-makers, some two hundred strong 
 dining. The waiter confidentially in- 
 formed us that the dinner was sixteen 
 shillings a head without wine, and that 
 they had had the Basket-makers for a 
 number of years. 
 
 The view from the Star and Garter, the 
 placid Thames, the expanse of green in all 
 directions, was as I had seen it twenty or 
 more years ago, and the dinner quite the 
 same, good to those just off ship, poor to 
 one fresh from the Ritz. 
 
 After dinner, a stroll on the terrace, 
 then a commodious cab with a fairly good 
 horse, the driver consenting to take us as 
 far as Hammersmith. He said it was all 
 his horse ought to do. From there we 
 
 23 
 
took the Underground. A railroad por- 
 ter, to my question if the Tube had hurt 
 them much, replied in an injured tone, "It 
 does not carry all the passengers." 
 
 Our companions in the compartment 
 were an Anglo-American party of the 
 middle class of life, whose conversation 
 entertained us much. The American was 
 bragging of his country, and the English 
 members of the party, seemingly some- 
 what depressed by our assertive fellow- 
 countryman, were asking questions at rare 
 intervals in a subdued tone. 
 
 George Borup's father desired that his 
 son's visit to Europe should be an educa- 
 tion as well as a pleasure, and to this end 
 he had engaged a tutor to show George 
 London, so that we lost him the following 
 day. 
 
 % July 8th. 
 
 After a good breakfast in that cheer- 
 ful breakfast-room at the Berkeley, we 
 
 24 
 
called at Hill Brothers and ordered cer- 
 tain suits of clothes. I did not take my 
 son there in a high silk hat, and did not 
 stand over him as he was being measured, 
 and look as if I were sorry for his exist- 
 ence, as I have seen English fathers do. 
 On the contrary, we soon separated in the 
 shop, Jimmy choosing his own stuffs, 
 after asking my opinion, and conducting 
 his purchases independently, meeting me 
 later on. 
 
 We lunched with Louise and Aleck 
 and had one of those delightful family 
 reunions, where affection prompted our 
 conversation, and smiles of delight at 
 being together passed from face to face. 
 
 After lunch, Aleck, Jimmy and I went 
 to Lord's and saw the gentlemen players 
 versus the professionals. Jimmy soon 
 " caught on " to the game, and was in no 
 hurry to leave. 
 
 We dined together at the Berkeley, and 
 went to the Empire. The night was 
 
 25 
 
warm and I found a cool breeze coming 
 through the open door of Windmill 
 Street, almost as pleasing as the ballet. 
 
 On the following morning, July ninth, 
 we were off to Henley, having added 
 George Borup to our party. The warm, 
 bright spell of weather that we had en- 
 joyed since my arrival in England was 
 drawing to a close, and prudence sug- 
 gested an umbrella. I had left my Pan- 
 ama hat in Paris, and seeing that rain 
 might come, I thought a low-crowned 
 black hat would not be amiss. 
 
 Arriving at Paddington, the gay 
 throng in summer attire that visitors to 
 Henley know so well, crowded the plat- 
 forms. All the men wore Panama hats, 
 the brims curved to suit the taste of the 
 wearer. 
 
 Almost immediately opposite the sta- 
 tion at Henley was a branch shop, opened 
 for the races, with all kinds of yachting 
 goods, including Panama hats. I hesi- 
 26 
 
tated, but passed on with the throng. 
 Before entering the enclosure to which 
 our guinea tickets entitled us, I saw 
 a very decayed-looking individual wear- 
 ing a hat like mine, the first billycock I 
 had seen. This was too much for me, so 
 I said, " Jimmy, I am going back to buy 
 a Panama hat." " All right," he said; " I 
 will go with you." The selection was 
 made subject to his taste, which I discov- 
 ered was on his part with an eye to future 
 ownership. 
 
 Before the day was out, a thunder- 
 shower, turning into a cold storm, made 
 Panama hats most unsuitable headgear. 
 The effect of the storm on the river was to 
 turn the bright, gay colors into sombre 
 drab and black, as each lady donned her 
 waterproof, all effected in a few moments. 
 A feature of the day was the presence of 
 the Indian princes, slender in figure, re- 
 fined in manner, richly attired, carrying 
 themselves with an ease and grace that im- 
 27 
 
plied a more delicately spun social fibre 
 than that of their substantial-looking 
 English ciceroni. 
 
 Dr. and Mrs. Bell kindly offered us 
 places at their lunch-table, where we par- 
 took, with their pleasant party, of a typical 
 open-air English meal, largely composed 
 of salads, pickles, liquid mayonnaise in 
 large-mouthed bottles, jams and other 
 highly indigestible condiments, as well as 
 an unlimited amount of champagne. 
 
 On our return from Henley, we dined 
 with Aleck and Louise, and came home in 
 a cold rain. 
 
 The following morning, July tenth, 
 Jimmy informed me in a most virtuous 
 manner that he wanted to go with George 
 Borup and his tutor and see something of 
 London. I smiled and said, " Certainly." 
 On his return in the evening, "Well," said 
 I, " Jimmy, have you had an interesting 
 time? " Then came the description. A 
 tutor more anxious to conscientiously ful- 
 
 28 
 
fil the duty of instructing, rather than en- 
 tertaining, the youthful mind, lacking, my 
 son seemed to think, in a sense of hu- 
 mour, as who might not, with two 
 strange boys to instruct who were to re- 
 port to their fathers what they had seen, 
 had taken them from one museum to an- 
 other until my son, at least, was thor- 
 oughly tired out. George Borup, to his 
 credit, I hear, stands by the tutor, regard- 
 ing him doubtless as his father's junior in 
 command and entitled to confidence and 
 respect. 
 
 I think I observed in my son an in- 
 creased regard, if that were possible, for 
 my judgement as to what we should do 
 next as the programme unfolded from day 
 to day. He consoled himself in the even- 
 ing by going to the theatre with Elsie 
 Nicholas. 
 
 My evening was passed very differ- 
 ently. Aleck and I, after dinner, drove 
 to Whitechapel. Leaving the brougham 
 
a safe distance from Huntington Street, 
 we proceeded to the "Girls' Club." En- 
 tering a narrow doorway, set back from 
 the street, we found ourselves in a room, 
 some sixty feet or more deep, some twenty 
 feet in width, with benches against the 
 wall, and a piano in one corner, the whole 
 place filled with young girls from the 
 ages of five to fifteen or more. Louise, 
 in a gingham check suit, or something of 
 the sort, was busy, with the assistance of 
 some of the older girls, in bringing the oc- 
 casion to order. What sensations of curi- 
 osity mingled with awe Aleck and I in our 
 evening dress brought to the minds of 
 most of the little ones, I did my part to 
 dispel as quickly as possible by hunting 
 up my friends of the railway station, and 
 greeting them with as much familiarity as 
 their at times unresponsive manner would 
 permit. On such occasions too great a suc- 
 cess is as bad as comparative failure, and 
 Louise, probably having an intuitive f eel- 
 
 30 
 
ing of the sort, soon called them to order, 
 and seating herself at the piano, the older 
 girls gave us an exhibition in gymnastics, 
 keeping time to her spirited music. I was 
 much impressed with the vigour and grace 
 of the girls' movements, and saw that they 
 had been well trained. Their costumes 
 were not unlike an American girl's bath- 
 ing-dress, the material, I think, black 
 alpaca, their waists encircled with light 
 blue sashes. After the gymnastics a hymn 
 was sung, leaving that touching feeling 
 that young voices in evening-song carry to 
 our better nature. The girls vote at times 
 as to what hymn shall be chosen, and by 
 their lively interest in the choice show their 
 appreciation of the words. 
 
 Louise soon informed us that they had 
 much to do in arranging for summer out- 
 ings for various members of the club, and 
 that she thought our visit was over. A 
 little red-haired roly-poly, about five 
 years of age, asked to be kissed by Louise, 
 
 31 
 
and was promptly told that she could 
 only be kissed once a week, and then 
 only if she were good. It seems on one 
 of their excursions she had been found 
 hiding under her clothes an empty soda- 
 water bottle which she had picked up, 
 and, much to the amusement of all, it 
 was taken from her with the explana- 
 tion that she must not take things that 
 did not belong to her. A bright, black- 
 eyed young woman, with a good figure, 
 found my hat and presented it with the 
 air of speedily departing the guest. 
 Aleck and I were soon out in the dismal 
 streets of Whitechapel, seeking later in 
 the Alhambra a more enlivening prospect. 
 I recall vividly almost every detail of 
 my visit to the " Girls' Club." I cannot 
 find in my memory a single scene of the 
 Alhambra entertainment. 
 
July llth. 
 
 A fine day, cold and bright. We are 
 off for the Tower, picking up Archie 
 Brown at the Palace Hotel, where he 
 had come to see Elsie Nicholas. Archie's 
 time being limited, I arranged that he 
 should pay his call on Elsie in a hansom 
 cab between the hotel and the entrance of 
 the Tower. Time did not permit him to 
 go in with us. The superintendent, if 
 that is his title, paid us special attention; 
 later handing us over to a very substan- 
 tial beef -eater, who showed us all we had 
 time and patience to see, from the foun- 
 dation stones of the time of Julius Caesar 
 to the precious gems of King Edward's 
 crown neatly burnished up for the coming 
 coronation. Americans are deservedly 
 popular with officials. We place a low 
 estimate on a shilling, a sixpence we de- 
 spise, a fourpenny bit we know not, and 
 
 33 
 
we draw little difference between the 
 Prince Consort's florin and a half-crown. 
 
 We drove on our way back through 
 Whitechapel, calling at the Girls' Club. 
 It was closed, and the modest exterior was 
 all I could show Elsie and Jimmy. 
 
 Lunch at the Berkeley, Madame Tus- 
 saud's and the Eton and Harrow match 
 passed the afternoon, and gave us no time 
 to spare before our early dinner with 
 Louise and Aleck at 3 Buckingham Gate, 
 where we met Mr. Sherwood, a friend of 
 Herbert's. After dinner to a comic opera, 
 and so home to bed. 
 
 July 12th. 
 
 The journey from London to the Con- 
 tinent has always been much more to 
 my liking than the journey from the 
 Continent to London. France, Belgium, 
 Holland, and Italy are countries that en- 
 tertain me without effort, while in Eng- 
 land I sometimes think I work hard for 
 
 34 
 
my pleasures, hence my satisfaction in set- 
 ting the steps of my son thitherwards. 
 Leaving Charing Cross on the ten-o'clock 
 train, we found in the chairman of the 
 Dover Dock Board, the only other occu- 
 pant of our carriage, a pleasant compan- 
 ion. He gave us an interesting account 
 of the new harbour work, which is now 
 going on. 
 
 The Channel came out smooth as we 
 got our first glimpse of it over the chalk 
 cliffs, and we were soon pacing the boat's 
 deck, where whom should I meet, to 
 my great delight, but my friends Mr. 
 and Mrs. John W. Simpson and their 
 daughter. 
 
 My package of eight hundred Star- 
 light cigars cost me 200 francs at the 
 custom-house, which surprised me, as the 
 same number passed at Cherbourg for less 
 than 100 francs. I decided not to discuss 
 the matter, fearing that I might lose both 
 money and lunch, which, as travellers 
 35 
 
know, is very well done at the Calais sta- 
 tion restaurant. 
 
 The ride to Paris has always given me 
 pleasurable sensations. The transition 
 from a sober English-speaking people, 
 albeit they have many virtues, to the lively 
 and picturesque qualities of the Gaul, 
 where costume, character and manner dif- 
 fer so widely from their English neigh- 
 bours, all three apparently designed to 
 amuse and entertain, excites the mind ; and 
 when we add to it the pleasure of speaking 
 their beautiful language, life puts on a 
 new and delightful phase. One buys the 
 "Figaro" to see what is to be played at the 
 Fran9ais, what operas are to be given, 
 what is doing at the Gymnase, and is the 
 same good piece going at the Varietes. 
 Some of your fellow-travellers, seeing you 
 at home on both sides of the Channel, give 
 you a look of interest and consideration, 
 and you imagine they are asking them- 
 selves if you are not a notability. 
 36 
 
As the train speeds its way to Paris, long 
 after you think you have left the Channel, 
 glimpses of the sea, a lighthouse and 
 dunes surprise you in the neighbour- 
 hood of Abbeville, peat-bogs and bleach- 
 ing-greens, surrounded by slender pop- 
 lars and twinkling birches, appear as you 
 near Amiens. As you thunder through 
 the station at Creil, glide over the high 
 aqueduct beyond, through the quarries, 
 and past the lovely forest of Chantilly, 
 you soon begin to feel the stimulus of the 
 approach to the great pleasure city of the 
 world, and as the train clanks over the 
 turntables and enters the station you are 
 already filled with anticipatory pleasures. 
 
 With little delay, Jimmy and I, with our 
 belongings, were rumbling down the Rue 
 Lafayette in a small omnibus, soon find- 
 ing ourselves in a most comfortable, com- 
 modious room, au dnquieme, at the Ritz, 
 that perfection of modern hotels and mod- 
 ern hotel-keeping. 
 
 37 
 
We had time before dinner to walk 
 through the Garden of the Tuileries out 
 into that beautiful expanse, the Place de 
 la Concorde. What city in the world 
 offers such a scene! The massive Arc in 
 the distant perspective, the graceful Mad- 
 eleine glowing in the afternoon light, the 
 harmonious Palais Bourbon, and over- 
 looking it all, the Obelisk of Luxor, a 
 monument once the glory of Thebes, now 
 the admiration of Paris. To think that 
 on this spot stood the guillotine in the 
 Reign of Terror! 
 
 My son absorbs the new scenes through 
 which he is passing quietly and with an 
 intelligent appreciation of their interest. 
 I was twenty-five years of age when I 
 arrived for the first time in Europe. Paris 
 amazed me, and I may say that I have 
 never gotten over the effects of its fasci- 
 nation. It may be that New York and 
 Philadelphia in those days were such -in- 
 different cities that the contrast with 
 
 38 
 
Paris is not now what it was then. It 
 may be that I was unusually impression- 
 able. I look back with delight at my en- 
 joyment of European life, as I roamed 
 at will from city to city, or from seaside 
 to mountain, free from care and restraint. 
 Uncle Willie came to dine with us at 
 the Kitz, and was surprised at the growth 
 of his nephew. After dinner he took us 
 in his " Mercedes " for a spin to the Bois, 
 followed later by a call on Emilie and her 
 husband, where Jimmy again surprised 
 his family by his stature. There I met, 
 for the first time, Mr. Wright Post, Emi- 
 lie's father-in-law, and was much pleased 
 with his amiable reception and kindly, 
 agreeable conversation. 
 
 Sunday, July 13th. 
 
 We left the Ritz at an early hour to meet 
 
 Sam and his party, Helen and Molly Lee, 
 
 who were living in the Avenue de la 
 
 Grande Armee. Sam has a weakness for 
 
 39 
 
stopping at places where he will come into 
 contact, in an informal way, with nice 
 people, I think I might say, of the gen- 
 tler sex. He had certainly accomplished 
 it in the very agreeable quarters in which 
 we found him. 
 
 It was near church time, and an air of 
 what English people would call a " Chris- 
 tian Sabbath " pervaded the reception 
 room we were shown into, the ladies ap- 
 pearing in their best walking-suits, put- 
 ting on their gloves as they laid their 
 prayer-books down. Who has said, " to 
 be well-dressed gives us a satisfaction that 
 religion has no power to confer "? Sam's 
 arrival in a summer suit did not add par- 
 ticularly to the Sabbatarian air, as he re- 
 ceived us with his bright and genial smile. 
 Molly and Helen soon followed. The de- 
 lightful reunion with members of the same 
 family meeting in a foreign city made us 
 a very happy party. 
 
 We three men were soon off for the lie 
 
 40 
 
de Puteaux, where, after some good games 
 of tennis, we were joined by Helen and 
 Molly at breakfast. Will Thorn arrived 
 later in his auto, taking us in the after- 
 noon to see a game of pelote, a wonderful 
 exhibition of skill at ball-playing by 
 young men from the south of France and 
 Spain. The accuracy with which they 
 projected the ball from a long, narrow 
 basket, which is fastened to the right arm, 
 resembling somewhat the wicker curves 
 placed over carriage wheels to keep off the 
 mud from ladies' dresses, was marvellous. 
 A hundred yards or more away, they 
 would throw the ball high up on the wall 
 facing them, again and again at nearly 
 the same spot. Nearly a thousand people 
 were watching them, and the Spanish 
 custom of throwing cigars into the bull- 
 ring, as a grateful appreciation of a bril- 
 liant stroke, prevailed. 
 
 In the evening we had a family party 
 at Paillard's, the principal feature of the 
 
 41 
 
dinner being that the peaches were six 
 francs apiece. Fortunately, most of the 
 party declined them. Jimmy declared he 
 had never tasted a peach equal to the one 
 he then and there devoured. An hour at 
 a cafe chantant, and the evening was over. 
 
 July 14th. 
 
 France's national holiday. A warm 
 summer day. Jimmy and I separated, 
 each to his favourite pastime, his tennis, 
 mine golf ; he with his Uncle Sam, intend- 
 ing to take in the review at Longchamps, 
 an entertainment that I was willing to 
 omit, having served an apprenticeship to 
 most of the shows that Longchamps 
 offers to the Paris public. 
 
 In the evening we dined our relatives 
 Mr. and Mrs. Post and Will Thorn at 
 the Ritz. Unfortunately, being a warm 
 night, the Hungarian band moved out 
 into the garden, and Mr. Post found him- 
 
 42 
 
self seated almost under one of the violins, 
 which he remarked was just his luck. 
 However, the dinner passed off with 
 spirit, and we separated in excellent hu- 
 mour and good feeling, Jimmy and I 
 going for a stroll to see the Parisians en- 
 tertaining themselves in the streets, all 
 traffic being stopped, and the town 
 handed over to those on foot. Numerous 
 small orchestras or bands of music are 
 stationed at corners, and a not unat- 
 tractive gathering of men and women 
 dance on the asphalt until morning. 
 
 Subscriptions are taken up some time 
 before from the shopkeepers, whereby this 
 annual frolic is free to all comers, and one 
 must confess that Parisians deserve great 
 credit for the attractive way in which they 
 enjoy themselves. It is, I think, one of 
 the marks of their high civilization. One 
 has but to compare a pleasure party 
 among what are called the lower classes 
 in England to a similar entertainment in 
 
 43 
 
France to realise how different the sources 
 of enjoyment of the two nations are. 
 
 July 15th. 
 
 A dull day. Some rain, still we got in 
 several sets of tennis at Puteaux, hurrying 
 away about five in the afternoon, leaving 
 Sam still at the nets, to catch the Orient 
 Express. 
 
 The obliging gouvernante of the Bitz, 
 as well as the general staff of porters, 
 waiters, and bell-boys, did their best to 
 meet our needs and expedite our de- 
 parture. 
 
 I think there is something decidedly 
 " chic " in a gouvernante. The one in 
 question is an Alsacienne, good-natured, 
 with a pleasant smile and bright, black 
 eyes. She has been maid to one or two 
 American families, has travelled in Amer- 
 ica, and knows well how to supply the 
 wants of the varied nationalities that fre- 
 quent the Ritz. 
 
The dining hour on the Orient Express 
 is immediately on the departure of the 
 train, at 7 P.M. We were seated at a table 
 in the dining-car, with a boy of twelve on 
 my left, and his tutor on Jim's right, as 
 we rolled out into the open, through the 
 walls of Paris, past rows of forlorn-look- 
 ing white buildings, with here and there a 
 little patch of green, over canals, under 
 bridges, out into the beautiful landscape 
 of cultivated France, where fields of ri- 
 pening grain, tinged here and there with 
 pale yellow, were swept in graceful waves 
 by the evening breeze, while scarlet pop- 
 pies and blue corn-flowers peeped from 
 the unfenced border, all softly illumi- 
 nated by the declining sun. 
 
 Calling my son's attention to a colom- 
 bier, as one of the causes of the French 
 Revolution, the tutor remarked in a 
 kindly, firm, tutorial manner, " Droit de 
 seigneurie." This broke the ice, and we 
 were soon chatting pleasantly together, 
 
 45 
 
when the revolving fan fell from the ceil- 
 ing, one of the blades striking me, doing 
 no harm other than making me for the mo- 
 ment a conspicuous person. 
 
 A very nice-looking French gentleman, 
 with a trim, angular, distingue-looking 
 wife, who might have been a good horse- 
 woman, made himself pleasant. They were 
 on their way to the Kneipp cure, over which 
 he was most enthusiastic, telling me he had 
 been carried there, suffering, he feared, 
 past recovery, from rheumatism, and was 
 now as well as ever. The theory of the 
 treatment seems to be stimulation of the 
 circulation by douches on particular parts 
 of the body, the free use of pure drinking- 
 water and careful diet. His party, him- 
 self, wife, and little girl, left us at Ulm, 
 and the cordial manner in which we parted 
 left that pleasing impression on my mind 
 that the appearance of myself and son was 
 satisfactory, perhaps attractive, to the keen 
 appreciation of an intelligent Frenchman. 
 46 
 
Sedelmeyer and his daughters were also 
 in the train, en route for Gastein. We 
 talked paintings, and were both of us 
 most enthusiastic over John Sargent's 
 " Ladies Acheson." Sedelmeyer says he 
 returned several times to the Royal Acad- 
 emy to sit, and enjoy the delightful por- 
 trait of those beautiful ladies. 
 
 July 16th. 
 
 We had an hour at Munich, where we 
 arrived about ten o'clock in the morning. 
 Leaving our hand luggage with a trusty 
 trager, we took a cab to where I thought 
 we could buy some tennis balls, which sat- 
 isfactorily obtained, and forgetting a new 
 silk umbrella (which, I think, I left at the 
 shop), will, I fear, cause Jimmy to re- 
 member Munich as the place where we 
 bought the tennis balls and lost the um- 
 brella. Perhaps a good glass of beer that 
 he had at the station will be another sou- 
 venir of this to me most interesting city. 
 47 
 
The journey to Botzen over the Bren- 
 ner delights the eye with an unvary- 
 ing scene of beauty. Mountain torrents, 
 here and there breaking into waterfalls; 
 vine-clad hills crowned by ruined castles 
 or picturesque monasteries; a winding 
 macadam road coming, from time to time, 
 in view; meadows where, in almost the- 
 atrical costumes, the peasants are tossing 
 the hay ; and, towering over all, the massive 
 crags of the Dolomites, make a scene never 
 to be forgotten by the American traveller 
 who knows only the repetition of the cheap 
 wooden constructions and ungainly fac- 
 tories that repeat themselves so constantly 
 in his own country. At Innsbruck, where 
 we commenced the climb to the Brenner, 
 we sampled the beer at the railway station, 
 and had a few words with the porter of 
 the Tyrolerhof , who is a devoted friend of 
 Helen's, a man of smooth manners, who 
 has left me entirely in doubt as to whe- 
 ther he has an affection for me and my 
 
 48 
 
family outside of the liberal tips that I 
 have bestowed on him during the last few 
 months. 
 
 About six in the evening the train drew 
 up at Botzen. How we did enjoy our 
 baths and all the other luxuries and com- 
 forts of that excellent Hotel Bristol, after 
 our twenty-four hours' railroad ride from 
 Paris! 
 
 No news from Helen. In the opinion 
 of the porter of the Hotel Bristol, she and 
 Mrs. Hurlbut are somewhere in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Karer See. This information 
 comes in a mysterious way. Probably 
 their natty little driver has been writing 
 his lady love, or somebody may have seen 
 them and communicated the fact to the 
 porter. He merely gives it as his opinion. 
 
 The Hotel Mendel telephones that she 
 is expected there in a day or two. We 
 soothed our disappointment at not meet- 
 ing her, by an excellent dinner, after which 
 we found a billiard-table in a cafe chan- 
 49 
 
tant, and had two pleasures combined. 
 The prima donna of the cafe chantant 
 sang a song depicting the sad terrors of 
 reaching forty years of age. As she was 
 already there, and knew we knew it, she 
 made it quite comical. 
 
 In the morning we decided to drive to 
 Karer See, and take the chance of meeting 
 Helen. We acted wisely. Half way up 
 the mountain pass, whom should I see 
 seated on a box next the driver, coming 
 down the mountain at a good pace, but 
 Barbara, all over smiles as she caught sight 
 of me. Needless to say, there was a grand 
 time, as our two landaus drew up, Jimmy 
 and Helen greeting each other with shouts 
 of joy. 
 
 We three were a gay party as we drove 
 off with light luggage, waving good-bye 
 to Mrs. Hurlbut and Barbara, who were 
 to return to Botzen and so on to Mendel, 
 awaiting us there after our visit to Karer 
 See. 
 
 50 
 
From the time my son landed until the 
 delightful moment of recognition, Helen 
 had been constantly in our thoughts, and 
 to meet her was the objective point of our 
 journey. She had passed the spring 
 months at Meran, desiring to have a good 
 rest after the activities of her New York 
 life. 
 
 Our home there was in the Villa Impe- 
 rial, where we had the pleasure of seeing, 
 from time to time, the Archduke and 
 Archduchess Rainer (who occupied the 
 premier), cousins of the Emperor, an el- 
 derly couple much beloved throughout 
 Austria. The erect soldierly figure, at- 
 tired, as a rule, in undress uniform, a 
 kindly expression, a heavy white mous- 
 tache, a pleasant smile and a courteous ac- 
 knowledgement of the salutations which 
 he received on all sides, made it always a 
 pleasure to see the Archduke Rainer in his 
 comings and goings. His wife, to whom 
 he was devoted, impressed me as a good 
 
 51 
 
soul. A children's fete in her honour 
 took place on the grounds of the Villa Im- 
 perial, much to the delight of all con- 
 cerned. 
 
 Another constant distinguished visitor 
 was the Archduke Ludwig Victor, the 
 Emperor's brother, who came at one time, 
 almost every day, to play tennis on the 
 dirt court belonging to the villa. His 
 partner was an officer of rank, whose name 
 I have forgotten. The Archduke im- 
 pressed me as having what I should call 
 an historical countenance, a Hapsburg, 
 bringing to your mind the Stirring events 
 of past centuries with which this name is 
 associated. He frequently took his mid- 
 day meal in a little room adjoining the 
 main dining-room. 
 
 Captain Schmidt von Schwendt and 
 his wife were also guests at the Villa Im- 
 perial; the captain, having accompanied 
 Prince Henry to America as his personal 
 adjutant, was, I think, renewing his 
 
 52 
 
strength by a visit to the Tyrol. We be- 
 came good friends. 
 
 Prince Henry had acquired a taste for 
 golf in China, and on his suggestion links 
 were established at Kiel, hence a special 
 interest in the game on the part of the 
 captain. Having a set of clubs with me, 
 the captain and a Russian gentleman, who 
 was also of our hotel, and myself, impro- 
 vised a course on the Sports Platz, our 
 game consisting of a contest to see who 
 would go around the race -course in the 
 smallest number of strokes, penalising 
 any one who drove the ball outside the 
 course, one stroke; if over the fence, two 
 strokes; not infrequently a lost ball being 
 an additional penalty for the latter. It 
 was good practice for straight driving and 
 approach shots. 
 
 I inquired of the captain if it were 
 true that at some point in the western 
 country, the roughs, at one o'clock in the 
 morning, had hammered against the Pull- 
 
 53 
 
man car, calling out to Prince Henry to 
 come out and show himself; and I was 
 much entertained to note how carefully 
 he avoided in his reply any criticism of 
 the manners of my countrymen, explain- 
 ing that it occurred at Springfield, Ken- 
 tucky; that their programme had not in- 
 cluded this place, which was the reason 
 why they were not ready to make their re- 
 spects to the inhabitants. 
 
 I was much charmed with Madame von 
 Schwendt. The simplicity and sweetness 
 of her manner, combined with the delicacy 
 and force of her perceptions, have left 
 with me a delightful recollection. 
 
 While Helen was recuperating at Me- 
 ran and Mendel, I passed some time at 
 Vienna. Herr Laszlo had offered to paint 
 my portrait. 
 
 Strolling through the spring exhibition, 
 at Vienna, I was almost startled as I came 
 upon Laszlo's portrait of Count Castel- 
 lane. It was the head only, wearing the 
 
 54 
 
helmet of a cuirassier. The eyes were mar- 
 vellous. I had never seen the original, yet 
 I felt it must be a wonderful likeness. As 
 I looked further, I saw the Emperors of 
 Austria and Germany, the Pope and Car- 
 dinal Rampolla, all his work. I doubted 
 if a simple American citizen could present 
 any attractions to him. I called at his 
 studio about six in the evening, on my re- 
 turn from the golf course, and presented 
 myself. Herr Laszlo is a gentleman of 
 about thirty-five years of age, of middle 
 stature, with dark hair and piercing black 
 eyes that tell you that you are face to face 
 with a man of superior power. I opened 
 the conversation in French, and was an- 
 swered by the three words " I speak Eng- 
 lish," to which I replied, " I have three 
 questions to ask you: Would you be will- 
 ing to paint my portrait? when could 
 you do it? and what would be the ex- 
 pense? " I received satisfactory replies to 
 all three of my requests. The work was 
 
 55 
 
commenced one Monday in May, and af- 
 ter five or six sittings a very good portrait 
 was produced. We had become good 
 friends. He criticised his work, in my 
 presence, somewhat in this manner: " If 
 I were asked whose portrait that was, not 
 knowing you, I would say it was that of 
 an Australian farmer, a man with large 
 flocks and herds, a gentleman farmer, you 
 know." On another occasion, looking at 
 the picture, he remarked: "A nice old 
 gentleman." I was able to bear these 
 compliments without blushing. 
 
 I introduced Herr Laszlo to the game 
 of golf. We visited the races together; 
 lunched at the Bristol. We became com- 
 panionable. 
 
 During my sittings I frequently looked 
 at a beautiful portrait of his attractive 
 wife. He told me of the courtship, which 
 had lasted nine years. They had met at a 
 fancy-dress ball, given at the Pinakothek, 
 at Munich. It was love at first sight. 
 56 
 
Miss Guinness was of one of the first 
 families of Ireland. What could seem 
 more hopeless! a Catholic, a young Hun- 
 garian artist, his spurs not yet won, seek- 
 ing the hand of a Scotch Presbyterian, 
 related to a lord, and daughter of a de- 
 voted mother. I need say no more. Those 
 who have daughters will wonder that even 
 nine years accomplished it. Lovers will 
 not. 
 
 I think it was just one week from the 
 commencement of the portrait, when, pre- 
 senting myself as usual, about nine in 
 the morning, at the studio, Herr Laszlo 
 turned the portrait upside down, an- 
 nouncing that he was now about to do 
 something which would make me believe 
 he was a very impracticable man. " I can 
 paint a much better portrait of you than 
 this one. I know you now. I did not at 
 first." The present portrait, which has 
 been much admired both in Paris and New 
 York, was the result. The head of the 
 57 
 
original picture can be seen on looking at 
 the back of the canvass. 
 
 Later, I had the pleasure of meeting 
 Madame Laszlo, at Buda Pesth, where she 
 and her husband entertained me at a very 
 delightful lunch at the Park Club, which 
 is almost immediately opposite their hand- 
 some residence. The Park Club, I may 
 add, is in many respects superior to any 
 club-house I have ever seen in a large city. 
 The appointments are perfect, the rooms 
 spacious, furnished in excellent taste, and 
 the extensive grounds are provided with 
 tennis courts and other open-air recrea- 
 tions. 
 
 Before setting out on my journey from 
 Paris to meet my son, I had the pleasure 
 of having Herr and Madame Laszlo dine 
 with me at the Ritz. The leader of the 
 Hungarian band recognized a compatriot 
 and devoted himself and his orchestra to 
 our entertainment throughout the evening, 
 as is customary, advancing several steps 
 
 58 
 
in front toward us in order that he might 
 concentrate his feeling on my distin- 
 guished guests. 
 
 An interesting episode occurred during 
 my stay in Vienna. An invitation that I 
 had given to a friend to accompany me 
 to the Ballet had been cancelled, owing 
 to a headache. I had offered the ticket 
 to one of the gentlemen who aid in 
 managing the hotel. He had asked per- 
 mission to present it, if he found he could 
 not go. I was naturally somewhat in- 
 terested in seeing who my neighbour would 
 be. The seat was empty during the first 
 piece. On my return, after the entr'acte, 
 it was occupied by a lady. After some 
 little time, no attention whatsoever having 
 been paid to me, I offered a programme, 
 which was graciously accepted. In a few 
 moments we were in conversation in 
 French. I recall a sentence which at once 
 fixed in my mind the attractions of my 
 neighbour. Looking at the orchestra, 
 59 
 
which was immediately in front of us, our 
 seat being on the front row, she remarked, 
 " Comme ils jouent tendrement." The 
 word brought us into sympathy at once. 
 Another sentence, " Ainsi, Monsieur, vous 
 voyagez continuellement dans toutes les 
 capitales de 1'Europe? " I thought of 
 Mephistopheles' reply, " Dire necessite, 
 Madame." She was much too young and 
 pretty for it to be appropriate. When the 
 opera was over, I bowed my acknowledge- 
 ments, and we separated. Later, I found 
 I had been enjoying the society of Ma- 
 dame Wolfe, wife of the proprietor of 
 the Hotel Bristol, a most accomplished 
 linguist, speaking English perfectly. We 
 had quite a laugh over our adventure, 
 when we met, later on, at the hotel; we 
 felt it savoured something of the " Bal 
 Masque." 
 
 To return to our journey. Some ex- 
 cellent forellen for lunch was the princi- 
 pal event, barring of course the scenery, 
 60 
 
before our arrival at Karer See. Here 
 we found a meadow, high up in the moun- 
 tains, overlooked by the peaks and crags 
 of the Rosengarten and Lattimer groups. 
 The hotel is a large stone building run 
 on Viennese lines. The guests were from 
 one third to one half " God's chosen peo- 
 ple." The tennis courts were poor affairs, 
 and mountain walks, beneath the deep 
 shade of the evergreens, leading to charm- 
 ing views, with here and there a rude 
 seat for the weary, were the chief at- 
 tractions of the place. We were put up 
 in the Chalet, and after two nights, 
 Jimmy having made the ascent of one of 
 the peaks and Helen having made the ac- 
 quaintance of the lovely little wife of a 
 Viennese doctor, we thought our visit was 
 over, and made our preparations for de- 
 parture on the morning of July nine- 
 teenth, our natty little coachman, with a 
 pretty white feather in his hat, that he so 
 carefully tucked Wway under the seat 
 61 
 
whenever it rained, cracking his whip in 
 fine style as we bade good-bye to Karer 
 See, and rolled by the various parties out 
 for their morning walks. Our journey 
 down was uneventful. A thunder-storm 
 kept us nearly an hour at a wayside inn, 
 and it was nine in the evening as we 
 drew up at Mendel, and were greeted by 
 Mrs. Hurlbut, who, standing on the steps, 
 had altogether the air of a hospitable 
 chatelaine of a large country house. I 
 might add that she had more than the air, 
 as she had all ready for us a good evening 
 meal. 
 
 Sunday, July 20th. 
 
 Mendel is of somewhat recent date. A 
 military road, built as only the Continent 
 builds, opened it up. 
 
 Herr Schrott, the father of the present 
 
 proprietor, knowing the intentions of the 
 
 government, bought extensive tracts of 
 
 land on and about the summit of the pass, 
 
 62 
 
selling a portion of it for a hotel, which 
 proving a success, he was induced likewise 
 to build. 
 
 A panorama of snow mountains, known 
 in part as the Ortler group, is in fine relief 
 to the westward. A short walk down the 
 road exposes to view almost the entire 
 range of the Dolomites, with the valley of 
 the Etsch at one's feet. 
 
 Botzen is in full view to the northward. 
 Villages line the banks of the Etsch south- 
 ward, while here and there small lakes 
 lie half concealed by the hills that sur- 
 round them. 
 
 The wooded surroundings of the hotel 
 are traversed by excellent footpaths for 
 miles, in one direction leading to an ex- 
 tended view, including the famous Ber- 
 nina, well known to those who have visited 
 the Engadine ; in another to parks, resem- 
 bling on a small scale the parks of the 
 Rocky Mountains, none the less beautiful 
 on account of their size. It required two 
 63 
 
parks for the five holes of golf that the 
 Rev. Mr. Chapman and I laid out. 
 
 Herr Schrott, our attentive host, is an 
 active young man, about twenty-five years 
 of age, excelling in outdoor sports, mus- 
 cular, being able to break a stone of some 
 size with his fist, ambitious to excel in 
 whatever he does. Helen and I had many 
 good games of tennis with him and his 
 sister, who found time to join us as well 
 as to pursue her studies in the culinary 
 department. We visited her in the kit- 
 chen, where, under her white cap, her 
 smiling face reminded one of a young 
 prima donna in an opera bouffe. 
 
 I must not omit mention of my friend, 
 the head porter, erect and soldierly in 
 bearing, attentive to his duties, always 
 cheerful and never flustered. He gave 
 me a sketch of his life, including, among 
 other interesting events, his campaign in 
 our army during the Civil War. 
 
 In the afternoon a Tyrolean band en- 
 64 
 
livened the occasion, a large Sunday ga- 
 thering, more or less in the costume of 
 the country, giving a unique appearance 
 to this retired spot. 
 
 July 21st. 
 
 It poured all day. We visited the golf 
 course and came home soaked. We held 
 a council of travel, and concluded that as 
 time was of the essence, Jimmy and I 
 should be off for Venice, so on the twenty- 
 second, a fine day after the rain, we bade 
 good-bye to Helen and Mrs. Hurlbut, 
 and in a little over two hours were in 
 Botzen. 
 
 Two young men got out of the train 
 that we were to take at Botzen, to enjoy 
 the air and scene. They were evidently 
 fellow-countrymen, with a decided look of 
 Boston and Cambridge. On our arrival 
 at Ala, I made their acquaintance, calling 
 their attention to the large number of 
 baskets on the platform of the station, 
 65 
 
filled with laurel leaves to be sent to Ger- 
 many, where, besides their use as decora- 
 tions, they are an important addition to 
 the cuisine, more especially for game. 
 These young men asked that they might 
 join us in visiting Verona, where we had 
 three hours before taking the train for 
 Venice. We engaged a cab with a broken- 
 down horse, and permitting a seedy-look- 
 ing " valet de place " to mount by the 
 coachman's side, the six of us rolled along 
 the streets of the town until we arrived at 
 the Arena. The " valet de place " soon 
 proved himself a fifth wheel to the coach, 
 but, as travellers know, once engaged it 
 was impossible to get rid of him. We 
 saw the Arena at sunset, appearing at its 
 best. The official guide was much pleased 
 to inform us that Baedeker was in error in 
 stating that it held only twenty thousand 
 people, while it really held sixty thou- 
 sand, and Buffalo Bill had given a per- 
 formance to at least forty thousand. 
 66 
 
From the Arena to Juliet's tomb and then 
 to the principal hotel of the town, where 
 with little delay an excellent dinner was 
 set before us. 
 
 The journey to Venice was more or less 
 in the dark, and it was only as, at eleven 
 o'clock at night, we walked out of the 
 gloomy railway station on to the flight 
 of steps that overlook the Grand Canal, 
 and saw the gondolas flying in every di- 
 rection, that my son manifested his de- 
 light and surprise by the expression: 
 " This is great! " We were soon gliding 
 through the narrow canals, the cry of the 
 gondolier and the plash of the oar alone 
 breaking the midnight silence, passing 
 palaces gloomy as prisons, decaying walls 
 covered with masses of drooping verdure, 
 and under low arched bridges, we sitting 
 in silence, awed by the solemnity around 
 us, until, rounding the palace of the two 
 Foscari, we found ourselves in the Grand 
 Canal. As we approached the hotel, a rich, 
 67 
 
musical voice resounded from the Giu- 
 decca, the last of the Fete Venitienne, that 
 nightly wakes the echoes through the long 
 Italian summer. 
 
 The manager of the Grand, where I 
 am a favoured guest, was awaiting us, and 
 we were shown to palatial apartments 
 overlooking the Grand Canal. We could 
 almost have played a game of tennis in 
 our sitting-room, and several squash 
 courts could have been put up in the bed- 
 room, notwithstanding all of which the 
 beds were hard and the pillows small. 
 
 My acquaintance with the manager of 
 the Grand arose in this way. About the 
 month of June, for several years, I had 
 been in the habit of making a European 
 trip of two or three months, leaving my 
 children in our little home at Tuxedo un- 
 der the care of their faithful " Fraulein." 
 Helen and Jimmy tell me now that when 
 I left them that night they sobbed them- 
 selves to sleep in each other's arms. This 
 68 
 
is the first I have heard of their distress 
 on account of my departure. It is fortu- 
 nate for me that I have been so long igno- 
 rant of their affectionate sorrow. 
 
 On these trips I would wander alone 
 from place to place, revisiting scenes sur- 
 rounded in the past with delightful asso- 
 ciations, and gratifying my curiosity by 
 the sight of some of the interesting re- 
 sorts with which I was familiar by 
 name. 
 
 Venice in the summer has always been 
 one of my greatest delights. I love in the 
 warm sunlight of the afternoon to float 
 by the Public Gardens, their white stone 
 balustrade and beautifully proportioned 
 entrance thrown into relief by the back- 
 ground of rich foliage. One may mount 
 the flight of steps and in the deep shade 
 pace beneath the lofty plane-trees that 
 have given to many a child in Venice the 
 first knowledge of what the woods might 
 be. As we glide on, we pass the rose- 
 69 
 
tinted Doge's Palace, the Campanile of 
 San Giorgio, always in sight as the de- 
 clining sun warms it with a soft reddish 
 glow, the dainty white columns of the 
 church, at its base, adding to its charm. 
 Across the water shines the gilded figure 
 of Fortuna on the Custom House; the 
 massive dome of Santa Maria della Sa- 
 lute, as the sun descends, delights the eye 
 with its sheen and shadows; at night, re- 
 clining on the soft cushions of the gondola, 
 as we approach the Piazetta, a subdued 
 murmur comes over the water the same 
 murmuring whisper that has been wafted 
 over the lagoon for centuries. Among 
 the busy haunts of men, where will we find 
 a scene of beauty created by man that has 
 so successfully escaped the hand of timei 
 I love to think that all around us is as 
 it was when Othello made love to Desde- 
 mona, and Shylock bartered with Anto- 
 nio. Let us hope it may remain so, and 
 that the warning of the Campanile may be 
 70 
 
a lesson that will last for a thousand years 
 and more. 
 
 Talking with the porter of the Grand 
 Hotel, I learned of an interesting trip 
 northward to Cortina, and was told it 
 could all be arranged for me; taking the 
 morning train for Treviso, passing an 
 hour or two there, and then on to Belluno, 
 by rail, where I arrived about four in the 
 afternoon. A landau was awaiting me, 
 and with little delay my trunk was fas- 
 tened on to it, a nice-looking well-dressed 
 man, of whom more anon, aiding in the 
 operation. As we drove over a good road 
 lined with rich foliage, walnut-trees for 
 the most part, from village to village, I 
 was amused by my driver, who, vigor- 
 ously snapping his whip, would call to 
 the window many a bright young face 
 with which he exchanged a smile. Did 
 each pair of black eyes think it was the 
 only one thus favoured? 
 
 Arriving at dusk at Ospitale, I was 
 71 
 
somewhat surprised by being told by my 
 driver that he could take me no farther. 
 I was about to remonstrate, when he 
 pointed out a young woman, dressed in 
 the picturesque costume of the country, 
 telling me that she had come to meet me, 
 that she was the daughter of the proprie- 
 tor of the inn to which I was going, and 
 would look after me. Foreseeing a long 
 drive in her company, and appreciating 
 the importance of some knowledge of her 
 state, I sought information from my 
 driver, who, as he was about to leave, in- 
 formed me that she was engaged to be 
 married to the man who had helped to 
 fasten on my trunk. I felt at once that I 
 was not without a means of interesting her. 
 After a poor meal at Ospitale, I told 
 her I was ready to go. A rather shabby 
 one-horse vehicle appeared on the scene, 
 into which I got, the young woman pre- 
 paring to mount the narrow seat next the 
 driver. She hesitated before accepting 
 72 
 
my invitation to sit with me, and, after 
 getting in, drew very much to one side, 
 evidently looking upon me as a person to 
 be treated with great respect. Almost 
 her first remark was to ask me my opinion 
 of the meal we had just finished. I ap- 
 preciated at once the fact that she was 
 a rival in innkeeping, and we commenced 
 our friendship by roundly abusing what 
 had been offered us, more especially the 
 chicken, not sparing the butter. 
 
 It was a beautiful moonlight night, con- 
 ducive to companionship, and as we both 
 studied to please, the time passed pleas- 
 antly. As we passed, from time to time, 
 the small chapels that line the road, she 
 crossed herself. On one occasion I took 
 off my hat, which caused her to turn 
 sharply upon me, and ask if I were a 
 Protestant. Replying that I was, she 
 astonished me by the question, " Do Prot- 
 estants believe in God? " Remembering 
 that on one occasion the Bishop of Oxford, 
 73 
 
in a speech in the House of Lords, had 
 gone so far as to say that there was really 
 no difference in the teachings of the Eng- 
 lish Church and the Catholic Church, I 
 took his words as my text, and endea- 
 voured to explain how little difference 
 there was between the religious views of 
 the Protestants and the Catholics. I was 
 getting on very well, I thought, until, her 
 eyes brilliant with a trace of anger at my 
 daring to try to make her believe that 
 Protestants are as good as Catholics, she 
 uttered in a shrill, clear-cut voice these 
 three words, "E la Madonna?" I can hear 
 her now in my mind, as one recalls the 
 voice of a favourite opera-singer. What 
 could I say? She revealed so clearly to 
 me the power of the devotion to the Vir- 
 gin, the strength of the Church in having 
 found a sure road to the human heart 
 through the love of a mother, that unsel- 
 fish love that in adversity grows stronger, 
 when the love of friends grows weaker, 
 74 
 
the image of a mother and a child turn- 
 ing away the thought of sin and answer- 
 ing the feeling of love. Her question was 
 a sermon in three words. I changed the 
 conversation (there was nothing else to 
 do) , saying to her, " When are you going 
 to be married? " She started back in 
 painful surprise, saying, " How did you 
 know that I was engaged? " I answered, 
 with a wave of the hand, " Why, the whole 
 valley knows it." (It was, perhaps, 
 hardly fair in me to make so broad a state- 
 ment.) It altered her whole manner to- 
 ward me. We sat in silence for a few 
 moments, then she confided the whole 
 story to me how the man had nothing, 
 and no employment, what a good man he 
 was, and how much she loved him. I sym- 
 pathised with her, and she treated me as 
 a friend in whom she could repose con- 
 fidence. 
 
 As we neared Perarolo, a bright young 
 girl of about sixteen years of age came 
 75 
 
running toward us, crying out, " Cata- 
 rina." It was her younger sister, who had 
 been waiting impatiently for her arri- 
 val. She ran by the side of our vehicle, 
 conversing with her sister, until we ar- 
 rived at their home, a little house pictur- 
 esquely situated on the side of a hill. I 
 suppose Catarina had said some good 
 words for me, as I was treated most com- 
 panionably from the start. They offered 
 to prepare me a supper, which I declined. 
 The fireplace was in the centre of the 
 kitchen, a square of some four feet, bor- 
 dered with stone, the ashes heaped up in 
 a mound, and the smoke going out of an 
 opening at the top of the room. We sat 
 down at a table, and they brought out 
 a pasteboard box containing their treas- 
 ures, mostly cards of English people who 
 had stopped with them and had left a few 
 words written on their cards to express 
 their pleasure at the manner in which 
 they had been entertained. I found Dean 
 76 
 
Stanley's card, and a letter written by 
 Gladstone's secretary. I think it was 
 signed, " Montague." They had already 
 told me that Gladstone had been one of 
 their guests for several days. The letter 
 read about as follows: "Mr. Gladstone 
 
 desires me to say in reply to yours of 
 
 that he is quite unable to be of any assis- 
 tance to you." They would not tell me 
 at first what their demand on him had 
 been, but I finally got out of them that 
 they had an impression that he was a 
 man of immense wealth, which was their 
 idea of Prime Minister. They had writ- 
 ten to ask if he would lend them the 
 money with which to build a hotel. I 
 think they were a little ashamed of what 
 they had done. I could hardly keep from 
 laughing. 
 
 Catarina took me to my bedroom, which 
 was clean and had an air of comfort. 
 One may be quite assured their distin- 
 guished guests would not have remained 
 77 
 
with them if such had not been the 
 case. 
 
 As we stood by the bureau, looking at 
 some trifling pieces of jewelry I had 
 bought in Venice, her name was called in 
 a reproachful tone of voice from the door 
 by her younger sister, who, I think, had 
 very decided views on the propriety of 
 Catarina's enjoying the society of any 
 other man than the one to whom she was 
 engaged. Catarina complimented me by 
 paying no attention to her sister. The call 
 was so plaintively reproachful that my 
 feelings were divided. My judgement in- 
 clined toward the younger sister. I en- 
 couraged Catarina to choose the little 
 present she had in hand, over which she 
 was debating, and to bid me good night. 
 The younger sister was a better matron 
 than Dame Schwerline. 
 
 I slept well in a comfortable bed, awak- 
 ening about eight, just in time to see 
 the younger sister coming into my room 
 78 
 
on tiptoe, bringing me a pitcher of hot 
 water. 
 
 A mountain torrent, the Piave, a saw- 
 mill in the distance, a picturesque little 
 village, and the green slopes of the moun- 
 tain sides were the features of Perarolo. 
 
 I made a bargain with the father, a fine- 
 looking old man, to drive me to Cortina, 
 and shortly after lunch we set out on our 
 journey. He informed me that Catarina 
 had begged him to let her go along, and 
 that he had sternly refused, considering 
 it a breach of propriety, which I distinctly 
 approved. I fell asleep before long, and 
 when I awoke we had passed Pieve di 
 Cadore, the birthplace of Titian, where 
 a small statue has been erected to him. 
 The old man seemed to feel the responsi- 
 bility of my having missed the one sight 
 of the neighbourhood, telling me that, 
 after all, it did not amount to much, and 
 that it was not much higher than the 
 length of my umbrella. 
 79 
 
We passed the Austrian frontier with- 
 out trouble, and arrived at Cortina about 
 four o'clock, a highly esteemed resort 
 which was not quite up to my expecta- 
 tions. I had not been there long before 
 whom should I see but Catarina, driving 
 into the village, sitting on the back seat 
 of a landau, in company with a well- 
 dressed man. She had a worried look on 
 her face. I intended to go on to Toblach 
 to pass the night there, and when I found 
 that her companion was the manager of 
 the Grand Hotel at Venice, who was tak- 
 ing a tour for his health, I invited him 
 to drive with me, an invitation which he 
 seemed please to accept. 
 
 The drive from Cortina to Toblach is 
 charming. The pink-coloured Dolomites 
 are in view for much of the time, and de- 
 light and astonish by their massive gran- 
 deur and exquisite colours. 
 
 My new companion and I had much 
 conversation over Catarina and her fu- 
 
 80 
 
ture, reasoning out the question of whe- 
 ther it was wise in her to marry, she hav- 
 ing appealed to both of us in turn for 
 advice. There was something to me pe- 
 culiarly agreeable to find myself drawn 
 into a confidential relation regarding the 
 future of a young girl in this, to me, new 
 and interesting part of Italy. 
 
 Catarina, I hear, is happily married. I 
 look forward some day to revisiting Pera- 
 rolo, and hope that I shall find her as at- 
 tractive as when we parted. I am some- 
 what fearful, however, that the care of a 
 family and the trials of inn-keeping may 
 have left their marks. 
 
 It seems Catarina's brother was em- 
 ployed at the Grand Hotel in Venice, 
 which explains the selection for me of her 
 father's inn by the porter. 
 
 My drive from Cortina to Toblach with 
 the manager also explains why my son 
 and I were given the best rooms in the 
 Grand. 
 
 81 
 
It was quite early in the morning when 
 I hied out to the "Piazza" to see the ruins 
 of the "Campanile"; the first effect was 
 somewhat similar to the impression pro- 
 duced after a big fire on Broadway : a pile 
 of bricks surrounded by a board fence, 
 and, in the distance, the entrance of the 
 Doge's Palace, looking as if it had been 
 stained by smoke. St. Mark's stood out 
 well, no longer dwarfed by the huge Cam- 
 panile. 
 
 We passed the morning first in taking 
 kodak pictures of the ruins in the Piazza, 
 then a short visit to St. Mark's, which we 
 found crowded with the devout, many 
 kneeling on the undulating mosaic pave- 
 ment, and finally an hour or two in the 
 Doge's Palace. We were amused by a 
 young lady, seated in the council-chamber, 
 with a Baedeker in one hand and Hare's 
 "Walks in Venice" in the other, and her 
 eyes wandering on the walls and ceiling, 
 and from book to book. Fortunately, she 
 
 82 
 
did not see our expressions of amusement. 
 We did the whole thing very thoroughly, 
 prison and all. 
 
 My desire has been throughout our 
 journey to save my son from the fatigue 
 of sight-seeing, and make his visit one of 
 pleasure unalloyed by the feeling that the 
 sights must be seen even if they cannot be 
 enjoyed, reminding him from time to time 
 that I was only introducing him to Dame 
 Europa, and that many opportunities 
 would almost certainly arise when he could 
 more thoroughly investigate the inexhaus- 
 tible stores of art, science, and history that 
 she holds in her hands. The afternoon in- 
 cluded a bath in the Lido, and the even- 
 ing was passed on that most delightful of 
 all waters, the Grand Canal on a fine sum- 
 mer's night. As I sat alone at midnight 
 on the little balcony of the hotel, close to 
 the entrance, a gondola drew up with 
 three men in it, one an elderly gentleman 
 who seemed, as he walked into the hotel, 
 
 83 
 
somewhat dazed and lost in his surround- 
 ings, as his companions called to him, 
 ' You are going the wrong way, Mr. 
 Smith." His general make-up interested 
 me, and I awaited an opportunity to make 
 his acquaintance. 
 
 July 24th. 
 
 Continued fine weather. We visited the 
 " Rialto," passing our hands over the 
 glossy surface of the stone balustrade, 
 wondering how it had taken on such a pol- 
 ish. Having left the hotel without a hand- 
 kerchief, I purchased one in a shop on the 
 bridge, from a man who might have been 
 a descendant of Jessica. In the Fruit 
 Market we searched for ripe peaches ; they 
 were all hard, at least on one side. One 
 must go to Paris to enjoy the peach in per- 
 fection, that tender, luscious fruit with 
 such a delightful, penetrating fragrance. 
 
 In the Fish Market we saw the huge, 
 
 84 
 
coarse tunny fish; from there to the 
 " Belli Arti," lolling at our ease in that 
 most comfortable of all conveyances, the 
 gondola. 
 
 What more distracting to the inquiring 
 mind of youth than a picture-gallery! I 
 suggested to my son that he should carry 
 away the impression of one picture only, 
 choosing for him Titian's " Presentation 
 in the Temple." I pointed out the rich 
 colouring and how the picture had been 
 made to suit its location, permitting a door 
 of the Academy to open, to the sacrifice of 
 its lower line ; and how skilfully the artist 
 had centred the interest of the picture in 
 the child-like figure, her little hand care- 
 fully gathering up her blue dress, a flood 
 of light around her as she mounts the steps 
 of the temple, the eyes of the richly at- 
 tired company watching her as she is about 
 to be received by the venerable high priest 
 who with outspread arms awaits her. 
 Theophile Gautier is authority for the 
 
 85 
 
statement, that tradition says Titian 
 painted this picture at the age of fourteen. 
 
 We visited the interiors of Santa Maria 
 della Salute and San Giorgio, and enjoyed 
 their harmonious proportions and the 
 elaborate wood-carvings of their choirs. 
 I was interested in watching a priest of 
 forty years of age or thereabouts showing 
 the carvings to a handsome young Veni- 
 tienne, observing that his sacred mission 
 had not eliminated entirely that tender re- 
 gard for the sympathy of the opposite sex 
 that all good men should have. 
 
 Later in the day we had our usual de- 
 lightful bath at the Lido, thus filling up 
 the time very fully until the hour of 
 dining. 
 
 After dinner I observed considerable 
 movement in the party of guests who had 
 arrived the same evening with Mr. Smith. 
 A gentleman, who was evidently the 
 leading mind, was making arrangements 
 with one of the music-boats. He was in 
 86 
 
charge of the party, which was one of 
 " De Potter's Tours," composed of nice- 
 looking people, ladies predominating. I 
 noted particularly the cry of one young 
 lady, ' We do not want to be tied," 
 which meant that she did not care to 
 have the gondola they were in tied to 
 the music-boat. ' There are plenty of 
 others who do, if you do not," was the an- 
 swer. Taking our gondola, we followed 
 the little fleet up the Grand Canal, the 
 number of gondolas increasing rapidly. 
 Enjoying the delightful music, we found 
 ourselves finally underneath the Rialto, 
 and as one of the steamers passed us at a 
 very low rate of speed, the gondoliers in- 
 dulged in loud cries of Venetian anger at 
 the disturbance; all of which very much 
 interested Jimmy, and, I think, he ex- 
 claimed for the second time, ' This is 
 great! " From the Rialto we returned by 
 the narrow canals, coming out in front of 
 the Salute, which was illuminated by Ben- 
 87 
 
gal lights. I am not quite sure that their 
 addition was an improvement to the scene. 
 However, I will say that De Potter's 
 agent contrived for us a most delightful 
 evening. 
 
 The following day we determined on a 
 game of tennis at the Lido, where is a dirt 
 court. The sun was so bright and hot that 
 we were soon satisfied, and took to the sea, 
 enjoying~a delightful bath. 
 
 That evening I found Mr. Smith 
 seated with his friends, and took the lib- 
 erty of speaking to him. He received my 
 advances in an agreeable manner, and I 
 learned his story. He was one of De Pot- 
 ter's tourists. He informed us that he 
 was from Terre Haute, pronouncing it 
 "Terry Hut," and that the entire expense 
 of the De Potter tour from New York 
 to Antwerp, as far north as Amsterdam, 
 as far east as Vienna, and as far south 
 as Venice, and so back to Antwerp, via 
 Paris, was only three hundred dollars, the 
 
 88 
 
number of days occupied being sixty, 
 which would give five dollars a day. On 
 my suggesting that he had left his tour 
 of Europe rather late in life he was 
 seventy-five he told us how it all came 
 about. "My daughter wanted me to 
 come. I told her if she could get her uncle, 
 who lived down in Vincennes, to go, then 
 I 'd go. You see, I had no idea he would 
 go, and when he surprised me by saying 
 he would, of course I had to come along." 
 We talked about railroads, he remarking 
 that the President of the Chicago & East- 
 ern Illinois was a pretty cute sort of a man, 
 and that he had got the best railroad on 
 which to go to Chicago. He wished to 
 know if I knew one of their number, Mr. 
 B., of Brooklyn. I did not, but said the 
 name sounded to me as if he were a Wall 
 Street man. "That is just what I think," 
 he said, with an energy implying the solu- 
 tion of a problem more or less frequently 
 discussed, adding in a lower tone, "He 
 89 
 
seems to have plenty of money," to which 
 I replied that Wall Street men, whether 
 they were rich or not, were usually able 
 freely to gratify all their personal wants. 
 The impression was left on my mind that 
 the members of the tour were as much in- 
 terested in the historical research of each 
 other's past as they were in that of the 
 varied objects of interest so constantly suc- 
 ceeding each other in their rapid journey. 
 He was anxious to know all about me, 
 which, perhaps, was only fair, after he had 
 told me so much about himself. I intro- 
 duced him to my son, and his first re- 
 mark was, " Did you ever live on Water 
 Street before?" a remark not calculated 
 to increase the poetic impression that 
 Venice undoubtedly carries with it in the 
 evening. 
 
 We made a very pleasant call on Signor 
 
 Dino Barozzi. This gentleman belongs to 
 
 one of the good old families of Venice. 
 
 His father lately occupied one of the high- 
 
 90 
 
est official positions in the gift of the city, 
 requiring him, among other duties, to ap- 
 pear in uniform at the railway station 
 from time to time to receive important 
 personages coming to visit Venice, being 
 known as the " Cicerone of Kings." He 
 is now, I believe, retired to the more modest 
 position of presiding officer of one of the 
 museums. The son whom we visited is a 
 fine-looking man about forty years of age, 
 with an easy, agreeable address. It is de- 
 lightful to hear him speak the beautiful 
 language of his country. One wishes it 
 were possible to imitate him. I recall 
 with great pleasure a visit Sam and I 
 made some three years ago to his country 
 place situated on the road to Padua. We 
 met him, on a fine Sunday morning in 
 May, at the steamboat landing, a little be- 
 fore nine o'clock, where we found him 
 with his three little daughters and their 
 governess, his wife with, I think, the same 
 number of children having gone by the 
 91 
 
eight o'clock boat. I was much interested 
 throughout the day to see how ingeniously 
 she had contrived to combine her domestic 
 duties and the grace of a most agreeable 
 hostess. An amusing incident occurred at 
 the midday meal. A most attractive-look- 
 ing dish of asparagus was passed round. 
 Madame Barozzi declined it with an air 
 of indifference ; the governess in a decided 
 manner, the children one after another also 
 shaking their heads as the plate was of- 
 fered them, until it arrived to the young- 
 est, who, making a motion with the evident 
 intention of helping herself, created quite 
 a stir around her, which at once checked 
 her. It was so evident that the mother 
 had instructed them not to touch the 
 dish, owing to the limited number of 
 spears which their garden had been able 
 to supply, that a smile went round the 
 table at the confusion of the little child; 
 the bitterness of thoughtless disobedience, 
 the mortification caused by the looks and 
 92 
 
smiles of her sisters, coloured her sweet 
 little face crimson. The blood of her 
 ancestors came to her rescue, her dignity 
 was preserved; and a general recognition 
 of the situation, with which no one of 
 us, except, perhaps, the governess, could 
 be entirely satisfied, found its solution 
 in laughter. I do not think I have ever 
 tasted such luscious asparagus, nor have 
 I ever partaken of anything where I felt 
 so cheap. Even the resurrection of the 
 feudal law placing the wife as first vassal 
 would hardly have reconciled our position, 
 and when it came to the American view 
 of the treatment of women and children, 
 nothing but the amusement that the scene 
 created saved the situation. The children 
 were consoled for the loss of the asparagus 
 by a liberal supply of wood-strawberries 
 and sponge-cake. 
 
 Signor Barozzi gave us an interesting 
 account of the details of what had been 
 done to the Campanile, and which, in his 
 93 
 
opinion, had caused its fall. It seems a 
 new architect had lately been appointed to 
 care for this noble monument. He had 
 conceived the idea of putting in a horizon- 
 tal water conduit to save the " Loggia " 
 from being further stained. The masons, 
 having chipped out the bricks, were sur- 
 prised by the falling within of great 
 masses of rubbish, and immediately the 
 tower began to settle over the opening 
 they had made. A general consternation 
 then took possession of all concerned, and, 
 as we know, in a few days the Campanile 
 fell to the ground. Our conversation was 
 in French, and in describing the event, 
 Signor Barozzi remarked that the Cam- 
 panile had fallen like a " gentleman " 
 (using the English word), having care- 
 fully avoided causing any damage to St. 
 Mark's. I thought it quite complimen- 
 tary to the English language that he 
 should have chosen this word. There is 
 certainly no synonym in French which 
 94 
 
expresses all that the word " gentleman " 
 carries with it. 
 
 After three delightful days in Venice, 
 and three delightful evenings, the warm 
 sunlight in the latter part of the afternoon 
 giving that soft colour to the various 
 buildings of historic interest and exqui- 
 site architectural proportions that lovers 
 of Venice know so well, we took the morn- 
 ing train on July twenty-sixth and were 
 in Milan in time for lunch at the railway- 
 station restaurant. At a table near us sat 
 a shrewd-looking elderly nun, with a 
 square masculine face, accompanied by a 
 sister, who, I imagine, looked up to her 
 with awe, if not with fear. I could not 
 help thinking, as I saw her reading what 
 I supposed was a letter, that she and such 
 as she are a great factor in the world that 
 will not be altogether downed by the most 
 powerful of governments. 
 
 A visit to Leonardo's " Last Supper " 
 and an interesting walk through the ca- 
 95 
 
thedral with a very intelligent and agreea- 
 ble official guide, consumed most of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 We were bound for Pallanza, where 
 we intended to pass the night, our train 
 leaving about five o'clock. To my sur- 
 prise, it was something of an excursion 
 train, with more or less of a struggle tak- 
 ing place to obtain even a foothold, and 
 with our cumbrous hand baggage we were 
 only able to get standing-room. My son 
 and I have had several instances where 
 the use of short sentences or words has 
 furnished us with an enduring source of 
 enjoyment. At the Buffalo Exposition, 
 on Ohio Day, we were present in that ill- 
 fated building where, from the very plat- 
 form on which our much beloved Presi- 
 dent was shot, Mark Hanna delivered 
 the address of the day. As we rose to sep- 
 arate, we were entertained by hearing 
 the Ohio men, many in shirt sleeves, as the 
 day was exceedingly warm, congratulat- 
 96 
 
ing each other with the expression " Mark 
 did well!" 
 
 Their own satisfaction in alluding to 
 him by his first name was evident, and we 
 have on semi-appropriate occasions often 
 repeated to each other, " Mark did well! " 
 The afternoon that I am about to de- 
 scribe added another expression " Par- 
 tenza " to our repertoire. Half way to 
 Pallanza we were compelled to change car- 
 riages, and not being aware of it until 
 most of the passengers had stowed them- 
 selves away, we found ourselves on the 
 platform with little prospect of a seat, or 
 even standing-room. The porter who car- 
 ried our baggage assured us that more 
 carriages would be put on, as we were not 
 alone in our dilemma. A seedy-looking 
 individual in a red cap, a sous-chef, soon 
 was seen peering in the carriage win- 
 dows in order to see if every place were 
 taken. We declined to separate, feeling 
 sure that the extra carriages were to be 
 97 
 
put on. The chef de la gare then came on 
 the scene, an equally seedy-looking per- 
 sonage of more mature years. I made 
 the blunder of asking him if he spoke 
 French, which disposed him still less fa- 
 vourably toward us. He pointed out sin- 
 gle seats in different railway carriages, 
 which would have separated us, and at 
 the same time would have given us little 
 or no space, as far as we could see, to 
 stow away our belongings. He did not 
 wait long after we declined his invitation 
 to mount. Grasping the open carriage 
 door in a resolute manner, a sardonic smile 
 on his face (he had evidently often played 
 the trick), he gave it a bang, screaming 
 at the top of his voice, " Partenza! " The 
 effect was electrical. We piled in, bag 
 and baggage, paying no attention to the 
 protests of the occupants, who received 
 us more than coldly. I tried to thaw 
 out the gentleman next to me by ask- 
 ing him to point out on the map in 
 98 
 
Baedeker just where we were to leave the 
 train for the boat. One by one the pas- 
 sengers left us until our arrival at Luino, 
 on Lake Maggiore, where we made a close 
 connection with the steamboat. Looking 
 over the rail of the steamer, we could see 
 the bottom of the lake through the clear, 
 deep, blue water, and as the paddles 
 turned, white foam mingled with tur- 
 quoise colours followed in our wake. 
 There is a sense of repose, after the over- 
 crowded train, that is delightful. In the 
 distance the shore is fringed with the 
 white hotels of Intra, Baveno, and Stresa, 
 while on the mountain side are villages, 
 clustering around the church and its 
 tower, isolated peasants' houses, and now 
 and then a monastic building, all glowing 
 in the declining sunlight. 
 
 I never visit the Italian lakes without 
 
 thinking of our drop curtains in the days 
 
 of my youth at the Philadelphia Academy 
 
 of Music and the Walnut Street Theatre! ; 
 
 99 
 
until I saw Lake Como I thought they 
 were purely fancy sketches. 
 
 On our arrival at the empty hotel at 
 Pallanza we lost no time in making ar- 
 rangements for a bath in the lake. I was 
 familiar with the details, having gone 
 through the same experience some years 
 before: a little bathhouse, with steps that 
 lead down to the water, clear as crystal, 
 with a somewhat slimy bottom, and, what 
 is still worse, when you get out into the 
 lake, a number of slimy rocks. On com- 
 ing out, my son found his foot bleeding. 
 I hurried up to the hotel, and brought 
 down some court-plaster, and did my best 
 to close the cut. Talking the matter over 
 at the dinner-table, we decided to send for 
 a doctor, both of us knowing what a seri- 
 ous thing for mountain-climbing, tennis, 
 and general sight-seeing this little cut 
 might become. A gray-haired little man, 
 dressed in black, and carrying a cane, 
 soon came upon the scene, and relieved 
 100 
 
our minds by telling us that in two or 
 three days it would be well. He seemed 
 to have all the latest appliances in the way 
 of antiseptic cotton, etc., and as he ban- 
 daged the wound we had much entertain- 
 ing conversation regarding the past and 
 future of Italy. He had been one of the 
 Carbonari; had fought under Garibaldi, 
 and was full of fervour for his country. 
 When I asked him his fee, he said, "What 
 you please." I think he passed out of the 
 hotel well pleased with the gold he had re- 
 ceived from us, which was as well spent as 
 any money we parted with during our 
 travels. 
 
 Sunday, July 27th. 
 
 Seated in a comfortable landau, with a 
 good pair of horses, we are off for Grav- 
 ellona, a very pleasant two hours' drive. 
 From there we took the train for Domo 
 d'Ossola, having telegraphed from the 
 hotel at Pallanza to have a carriage meet 
 101 
 
us. We found a pretty seedy pair of 
 horses, and saw that we must reconcile 
 ourselves to cross the Simplon Pass in 
 what golfers would call " Class B." The 
 tunnel work is being actively prosecuted, 
 and for the first four or five hours 
 we might have been on the line of 
 construction of a new railroad in the 
 Rocky Mountains, with the teams mov- 
 ing to and fro, and the wooden shanties 
 newly erected for the workingmen, who 
 were, of course, very much of the same 
 order as we employ at home, it could 
 hardly be said to be seeing Switzerland at 
 its best. We finally left the tunnel and 
 came into wild mountain passes as even- 
 ing came on, lonely, and at times sublime ; 
 we dined at the hotel in the village of 
 Simplon, an old-fashioned hostelry where 
 I had some conversation with two English 
 maiden ladies in the dining-room. They 
 were of a " certain age," handsomely at- 
 tired in frocks of blue silk, and were 
 102 
 
evidently much pleased to find them- 
 selves in such a remote part of Switzer- 
 land. Seeking to do my part in fairly 
 dividing the conversation among the 
 three of us, looking from one to the other, 
 I realised their tender regard for each 
 other. As is usual in such cases, one 
 of them seemed to be the leading mind, 
 without, however, diminishing the attrac- 
 tions of her friend. I pleased myself with 
 the thought that our conversation was to 
 them the episode of the evening. 
 
 They might have been the " two ladies 
 of Llangollen," full of kindness and at 
 peace with all the world. 
 
 It was growing dark as we pushed on 
 to the summit, some two hours off, pass- 
 ing the gloomy hospice where I lunched 
 badly on a bicycle tour some years ago. 
 Having taken on another horse at the vil- 
 lage of Simplon, we made great time down 
 the mountain side, through the wide tun- 
 nels built to avoid avalanches, around 
 
 103 
 
sharp curves, every now and then a flash 
 of lightning illuminating momentarily the 
 wild scene around us. 
 
 To cross the Simplon had been a desire 
 of mine for many years. It was doubly 
 associated in my mind with Napoleon : In 
 my childhood days I possessed a plaster 
 of Paris plaque of Napoleon on horse- 
 back, a high wind blowing his cloak into 
 graceful folds, his horse rearing, and the 
 " Little Corporal," in his three-cornered 
 cocked hat, his face turned toward you, 
 seated as calmly as in a rocking-chair. It 
 was one of my treasures. I think I 
 tried to galvanise it with copper. It was 
 called " Napoleon Crossing the Alps." 
 It gave me a great desire to cross the Sim- 
 plon, not, however, in the same manner. 
 
 Noting in my Baedeker that Berisal, 
 three hours from Brieg, was starred, I 
 determined to pass the night there, having 
 engaged a landau for the journey. It 
 was not far from the dinner hour when 
 
 104 
 
I arrived, and I soon found myself seated 
 at the table d'hote, an English clergyman 
 on my right, a flowing conversationalist, 
 and a spinster of the same nationality 
 on my left, a liberal supply of their coun- 
 trywomen of various ages scattered along 
 the table, with here and there a man. The 
 scene is not difficult to imagine : the women 
 for the most part plainly dressed, angu- 
 lar in figure, with countenances expressive 
 of pleasurable contentment, revealing con- 
 spicuous dental endowments as they smiled 
 at trifles types well known to the Con- 
 tinental tourist. 
 
 A sweet young girl, of about seventeen, 
 standing behind us, seemed anxious to be 
 of service as she passed from one to the 
 other, asking if we had all we wanted. 
 Her graceful ways were in strong con- 
 trast to those of the English guests, and as 
 she approached me I enjoyed the feeling 
 that one of my own kind was about to smile 
 on me. " Can I do anything for you? " 
 
 105 
 
she said. " Will you order me a bottle 
 of wine?" I answered. "What wine 
 would you like? " " Oh, any kind that 
 you please." I was thinking, for the mo- 
 ment, more of her than of the wine. 
 " I cannot do that. You must make your 
 own choice," she said gaily, as she turned 
 and directed a waitress to hand me a wine- 
 card. 
 
 After dinner I walked out to enjoy the 
 view in its solemn beauty between sunset 
 and dark. 
 
 I found myself beside a delicate and re- 
 fined young woman, attired for travel; 
 the sympathetic sweetness of her counte- 
 nance encouraged me to speak. She was 
 awaiting the diligence, being on her way 
 to Zermatt to attend the funeral of Mon- 
 sieur Siler. We were at once in earnest 
 conversation; she told me how much Siler 
 had done for that part of the world, in- 
 deed for all southern Switzerland, build- 
 ing the railroad to Zermatt, devoting his 
 106 
 
life to the development of the country, 
 and how poorly the peasants had repaid 
 him, doing all in their power to thwart 
 his good works, and annoying him in 
 petty ways. " They could not live with- 
 out us," she said, " and yet they treat us 
 as if we were their enemies." 
 
 Her voice was low and musical, and the 
 slight accent (we spoke in English) was 
 most agreeable to hear. I think it could 
 not have been much more than ten min- 
 utes that we talked together, when the 
 diligence arrived. As I watched her de- 
 parture, receiving a gracious bow from 
 her as she took her seat, which I returned 
 with the hope that mine might show how 
 highly I appreciated having made her ac- 
 quaintance, I knew not that we were mak- 
 ing our adieux forever in this world. 
 Once again, two years later, I saw her in 
 the distance, as she sat sunning herself, 
 in a high hooded wicker chair, in the pri- 
 vate garden; when she saw I was notic- 
 107 
 
ing her, she turned her chair, and hid her- 
 self from me. She knew she could not 
 live much longer, her thoughts were 
 turned heavenward, she did not wish 
 them disturbed by a worldling. During 
 our lives we had been but a quarter of an 
 hour in each other's society. I have never 
 forgotten her. She was Aline's elder 
 sister. 
 
 Returning through the hallway, I saw 
 Aline writing at a table in the dining- 
 room, a very old man sitting beside her, 
 his hands clasping a small jug filled with 
 hot water, in order that he might warm 
 them. Something told me that in join- 
 ing them I would not be a discordant note. 
 I was pleased to find myself at once in 
 harmony. We teased Aline when she 
 would make a little blot, whispering to 
 each other, " How neatly she writes! " or 
 seeing her grasp the penholder with en- 
 ergy, pressing her delicate forefinger out 
 of shape, we would add, " How grace- 
 
 108 
 
fully she uses her hands! " until all three 
 were laughing together, the old man and 
 myself delighted to think that we could 
 please so attractive a young girl. The old 
 gentleman must have been in the eighties. 
 He wore a little silk cap, and was the old- 
 fashioned Frenchman, not the beau; the 
 shrewd man of the world, with a kindly 
 feeling toward all around him. Aline 
 told me he had been coming to Berisal 
 for years, and that when any of them had 
 occasion to go to Paris, they stayed with 
 him in his apartment; that his family were 
 all dead, and that he lived quite alone. 
 
 After a little, he bade us good night, 
 and took his way wearily to his room, care- 
 fully holding the little jug as he faded 
 away. 
 
 We had been alone but a few moments 
 when Aline changed the conversation from 
 French to English, saying, " I like your 
 language. Do you know, my favourite 
 book is the ' Ingoldsby Legends ' ; I 
 109 
 
have two copies a large one and a small 
 one. I usually carry the small one in my 
 pocket. May I go to my room and get 
 it? " "I wish you would," I answered. 
 
 Shall I ever forget that evening in the 
 cool, quiet atmosphere of the Alps ! It was 
 the meeting of May and October, each in 
 our own way delighted with the charm of 
 flirtation. I recall how my arm half en- 
 circled her, barely touching, perhaps 
 grazing at times, her dainty waist and 
 shoulders, her wavy brown hair almost 
 meeting my whitening locks, as we pored 
 over her favourite volume, reading aloud 
 by turns ; and how a tall, ungainly English 
 girl came upon us, in pretence of seeking 
 a glass from the sideboard, in reality an 
 emissary sent down from above by a gos- 
 sipy party of her countrywomen to report 
 what was going on; and how my little 
 friend did not move an inch, whispering to 
 me in a half -audible tone, " How I hate 
 them, those horrid English girls!"; and 
 no 
 
how, as it neared eleven, the hall porter, 
 anxious to break up our sweet hours, be- 
 gan clanking his heavy boots as he walked 
 up and down the hall, making me uneasy ; 
 and how she did not want me to go, and 
 how angry she made believe to be when I 
 said it was really time, and how she looked 
 me with flashing eyes half defiantly in the 
 face with an expression that said, " Can't 
 you let me judge of when we should 
 part?" (she was only seventeen) ; and how 
 the next morning she came down arrayed 
 in a nicely fitting, finely striped gray and 
 white silk, a light blue sash around her 
 waist, and a ribbon to match, looking so 
 sweet and pretty; and how, as we began 
 our adieux, in a sad way she said, " Oh, 
 I know how it will be. When you come 
 to know my sister you will leave me for 
 her. It is always so. Everybody likes 
 her more than they do me," and nothing 
 that I could say seemed to comfort her. 
 Her image has often come to my mind, 
 ill 
 
at times almost as vividly as when, after 
 leaving her, I wended my way alone over 
 the Simplon. 
 
 Aline (what an attractive name!) w r as 
 an accomplished linguist, speaking Ger- 
 man, French, Italian and English, all with 
 great purity. Her uncle, her mother's 
 brother, was Father-General of the Je- 
 suits, that wonderful organisation where 
 aristocracy and democracy combine in- 
 geniously to strengthen each other, where 
 prince and commoner, seeking to master 
 self, rival each other in humble obedience, 
 only to rise in the strength of intellectual 
 vigour, exalting the mystery within us 
 without thought of future reward, leaving 
 that to the " Infinite," obedient to rules 
 framed long years ago with subtle know- 
 ledge of what man is and what he may be, 
 never resting, never satisfied, eluding the 
 grasp of kings and emperors whose very 
 thrones have tottered at the secret edicts of 
 the order. What may it mean to be 
 112 
 
Father-General of the Jesuits? Who will 
 answer that question? 
 
 Aline came honestly by her powers of 
 fascination ; it needed but a few drops of 
 the blood that flowed in her uncle's veins 
 to make her a power in her own little 
 world and gently to lead whom she chose 
 into pleasing paths. She amused me by 
 telling me how their English guests had 
 once asked to hold their Sunday services in 
 the little chapel that adjoined their house. 
 "Did you ever hear anything equal to it?" 
 she said. "Those heretics, to dare to ask 
 the use of our dear little chapel! They 
 got a very short answer from my mother." 
 
 Since those days she has been happily 
 married, and we have interchanged several 
 letters. I was much disappointed to find 
 that she was still in England with her hus- 
 band, and was not expected for some 
 weeks, and that her health was poor. At 
 her mother's urgent solicitation I wrote 
 her then and there, telling her if she were 
 
 113 
 
my child I would bring her back to the 
 mountain air, which would do her more 
 good than the best doctors of London. I 
 was very much pleased lately to receive a 
 letter from her, telling me how much bet- 
 ter she was, and how disappointed at not 
 being at Berisal while I was there. 
 
 To soothe my disappointment, the next 
 morning we departed early, arriving at 
 Visp in time for lunch before taking the 
 train for Zermatt. I was much pleased 
 at my son's economical views: having 
 some sandwiches with us, he determined 
 to save the expense of a poor lunch, and 
 be satisfied with them, leaving me to sam- 
 ple the watery soup and tasteless chicken. 
 I think his hunger was quite as satisfac- 
 torily appeased as mine. 
 
 That evening found us comfortably in- 
 stalled at the Hotel Mont Cervin at Zer- 
 matt. It was the height of the season. 
 The little narrow street was crowded with 
 all nationalities Germans predominat- 
 
 114 
 
ing. A row of hardy-looking guides, 
 seated against an iron railing or mingling 
 with the crowd, added to the picturesque 
 effect. After a table d'hote dinner, a 
 game of billiards and a glass of good beer, 
 we retired, looking forward to a trip to the 
 Corner Grat by the early morning train. 
 
 July 29th. 
 
 A cloudless day. That magnificent 
 scene: the Matterhorn on the right, the 
 Breithorn, Lyskamm group, and, last, the 
 finest of the snow mountains, Monte 
 Rosa, were all spread before us, their out- 
 lines sharply marked against the deep 
 blue sky. 
 
 As we got out of the train, two guides 
 appeared, the larger one asking in pretty 
 good English if we wanted a guide. On 
 our accepting his proposition, he handed 
 over to us the smaller one, Alois. Alois 
 knew probably twenty perhaps I exag- 
 
 115 
 
gerate of the most important English 
 words, to cover the immediate needs of his 
 companions. We decided to walk to the 
 Monte Rosa hiitte, which took us across 
 the great glacier. We were pleased to 
 make a few leaps across narrow crevasses 
 with our newly purchased alpenstocks, 
 the gurgling water playing beneath us 
 around the bright green ice; I was even 
 accused of being agile beyond my years. 
 We arrived at the hiitte about noon, 
 finding there a couple who had preceded 
 us, accompanied by their little child. The 
 wife bore the marks of a Jewess, and I am 
 not quite sure that the husband was not 
 also descended from that ancient race. We 
 soon fell into conversation, and I was led 
 to describe matzoon,my favourite form of 
 midday nourishment. When about half 
 way through my story, the man to whom 
 I was addressing myself lost interest and 
 began to talk to the guides. His wife, 
 who had more consideration for my feel- 
 116 
 
ings, took up the listener's thread, and 
 enabled me to go on, but, needless to say, 
 I shortened the story. My son was enjoy- 
 ing himself at my expense, a not unpleas- 
 ant sensation to me, as it evinced that 
 sympathetic knowledge of my feelings 
 which has so much to do with the pleasur- 
 able companionship of travel. When I 
 met this gentleman the following day at 
 Zermatt, where he accompanied his little 
 daughter, I was less inclined to encourage 
 his advances than I would have been if 
 he had treated me with more considera- 
 tion. 
 
 They had a very cheeky, airy guide, 
 who, the lady informed me, told her that 
 whenever any people wanted to ascend 
 Monte Rosa, however sure he was that they 
 were not strong enough to accomplish it, 
 he never declined, as he got his pay under 
 any circumstances. He put on more airs 
 than any Swiss guide I had ever seen, 
 smoking cigarettes as he told his experi- 
 117 
 
ences. He made the sensible remark of 
 absinthe, " Qa coupe les jambes." 
 
 Returning from the hiitte to the Riffle 
 Berg hotel, where we arrived about four 
 in the afternoon, we were preceded by the 
 man, his wife and little girl, and were 
 somewhat surprised to see the man walk 
 rapidly away from his wife and child and 
 guide, along the precipitous path, which, 
 although without danger, is a very un- 
 pleasant place to those whose heads are not 
 steady. He told us at the Riffle Berg 
 hotel that he could not stand having his 
 family near him, with the precipice below. 
 I understood his nervous feeling, al- 
 though I did not think it necessary to tell 
 him so, as it seemed to me weak-minded 
 in him to leave his wife and daughter. 
 
 We decided to walk down from the 
 Riffle Berg to Zermatt, where we arrived 
 between six and seven, my muscles very 
 sore from the continual descent. The 
 evening was passed enjoying billiards, 
 beer 'and music. 
 
 118 
 
Jimmy was so fresh, and so much de- 
 lighted with his first Alpine experience, 
 that he arranged with Alois to ascend the 
 Breithorn. The afternoon of the follow- 
 ing day they set out for the hiitte. As I 
 was not in their company, I can only re- 
 port that on my son's return I was quite 
 satisfied that the journey would have been 
 too much for me. If the weather had not 
 broken, I think Jimmy would have been 
 climbing the mountains up to the last 
 day we had to spare at Zermatt. 
 
 July 31st. 
 
 I took the early train for the Corner 
 Grat, hoping with the use of telescopes to 
 get a glimpse of Jimmy and his guide on 
 the Breithorn. The weather was still fine, 
 but the wind had changed, and clouds 
 were appearing around the Matterhorn. 
 
 The Corner Grat hotel is a rude, cheap 
 building with something of an esplanade 
 in front, on which there are good tele- 
 
scopes. You put ten pfennigs in the 
 slot, and for the space of about two min- 
 utes get a fine view, when the disk closes 
 over and you are left in darkness until you 
 deposit another coin. I had a splendid 
 view of a party on the Breithorn, which 
 included a lady, deceiving myself with 
 the illusion, as I learned later in the after- 
 noon from my son, that I was looking at 
 him and his friends. It was a beautiful 
 sight on that smooth, white snow-bank to 
 watch them moving about, sometimes one 
 or more sitting down. I saw also some 
 five or six on the Matterhorn ; high up on 
 the peak, they looked a little like flies 
 clinging to a perpendicular side. There 
 was also a party on the Lyskamm, the 
 members of which were evidently contend- 
 ing with more or less wind, as they plodded 
 through the snow, every now and then 
 taking a rest. On Monte Rosa there was 
 a party going up, and a party coming 
 down. Their relative progress was very 
 120 
 
striking. Altogether it was a most charm- 
 ing morning. 
 
 I met Mr. and Mrs. Bayard Cutting, 
 who had come up on a later train, and, 
 like myself, were delighted with the scene. 
 
 On my return by the cog railroad, a 
 French couple sat near me, the lady an- 
 nouncing, in plain hearing of many of us, 
 that she was suffering from the cold, that 
 her underclothing was too light for the 
 altitude. Her companion, more particu- 
 larly after this remark, seemed socially 
 uncomfortable, if not unhappy. Was it 
 a " mariage de convenance "! The bride, 
 if such she was, was young and good- 
 looking, and I could not but admire her 
 self-reliance and courage under the ad- 
 verse criticism that seemed to surround 
 her. 
 
 I had not been long in my room at the 
 
 Mont Cervin before Jimmy appeared. 
 
 It needed but one look to see that he had 
 
 been through quite an experience. The 
 
 121 
 
guide had given him a stimulant he car- 
 ried with him, which, with perhaps the 
 rarefied air, had given him a headache. 
 He was, however, full of enthusiasm over 
 the pleasures of mountain-climbing, and 
 of all his experiences in Europe, this, I 
 am sure, stands out as the most interesting, 
 and one that he hopes to repeat. 
 
 That evening the weather changed. 
 The mountains were more or less hidden 
 by clouds, and we decided to leave the 
 next morning, which we did in a storm of 
 rain. One of my last acts was to go into 
 the beer-hall to present ten francs to a tall 
 Brunhilda, who had one of the most re- 
 markable heads of Titian hair that I have 
 ever seen. I had asked her playfully the 
 evening before if she would answer me a 
 question if I gave her five francs. She 
 smiled and said: " That would depend on 
 what it was." I risked saying to her, " I 
 would like to know how near your hair 
 comes to touching the floor." I thought 
 
 122 
 
afterward that perhaps I had been indis- 
 creet, hence the manner of my adieu. She 
 left the impression on my mind that she 
 had been flattered by the interest I had 
 taken in her, and all my thought of having 
 wounded her feelings was entirely re- 
 moved by her cordial adieu. 
 
 In the train we met Messrs. Bannard 
 and Dixon, and soon formed a substantial 
 travelling alliance. We all determined to 
 stop at Vevey, at the Hotel Monet, where 
 we arrived about five o'clock. Jimmy and 
 I immediately hired a boat, and rowed to 
 the bathing establishment, some half hour 
 by water from the Monet. The effects of 
 the water were delightful. We returned 
 by tram, sending our boat back at the ex- 
 pense of two francs. A quiet dinner at 
 that most excellent of tables, a game of 
 billiards, and a short stroll in the town 
 finished the evening. 
 
 We had hoped for letters at Zermatt 
 from Emilie, telling us where we would 
 
 123 
 
find her, as we knew she was probably in 
 Switzerland. The letters never came 
 until after we left; she was at Ville 
 Neuve, only a half -hour away. 
 
 I found Vevey had lost none of its 
 charm. 
 
 It was during a ten-day trip through 
 Switzerland (my first visit), with a party 
 ably led by our good friend John Sloane, 
 that I received my first impressions of 
 the beauty of Lake Geneva. I was so 
 charmed that a few weeks later I came 
 all the way from England, alone, that I 
 might renew the delight. 
 
 Childe Harold is always with me at 
 Vevey. As I watch in the distance the la- 
 teen sails of the stone-barges slowly ap- 
 proaching and recall the lines 
 
 " This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 To waft me from distraction " 
 
 I am soothed and lulled into a happy state 
 that asks for the moment no companion 
 for its perfect enjoyment. 
 
In fine contrast is the description of a 
 thunder-storm. 
 
 " Far along, 
 
 From peak to peak the rattling crags among 
 Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
 And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
 Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! 
 
 And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! 
 
 And now again 'tis black, and now, the glee 
 
 Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, 
 
 As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth." 
 
 Again and again, as I have looked 
 across the lake, I have repeated to my- 
 self: 
 
 " Here the Rhone 
 
 Hath spread herself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a 
 throne." 
 
 Our visit was all too short for me. Af- 
 ter Zermatt, it must have seemed tame to 
 Jimmy. 
 
 Taking the one-o'clock train on Au- 
 gust second, direct for Paris, we arrived 
 there at nine o'clock in the evening. Just 
 
 125 
 
before coming to Dijon we were informed 
 that an accident had happened to the din- 
 ing-car, but that we could get baskets, or 
 rather boxes, containing dinner, at Dijon, 
 and take our meal on the train. I had a 
 lively recollection of certain very good red 
 wine that I had had in that part of the 
 world some twenty years before, so I 
 bought two bottles of light Burgundy at 
 the station. Our only regret was that it 
 had not been three. The genial effect of 
 France's generous wine made the time 
 pass most pleasantly. As we approached 
 Paris a thunder-storm was raging, the 
 dark cloud hanging over the city recalling 
 the pictures of Michel. My enjoyment of 
 the scenes of wood, forest, plain, and sea, 
 as I have travelled through France, has 
 been much enhanced by my studies of the 
 works of French landscape artists. They 
 teach one how to look at nature. 
 
 We found every comfort a man can 
 ask awaiting us at the Ritz. 
 126 
 
During the ten days previous to our 
 sailing we had many pleasant experiences 
 which kept us in continued delightful 
 sympathy. 
 
 We dined at the Maison Doree. As I 
 sat opposite my companionable son, look- 
 ing forward to the pleasure of a good din- 
 ner in good society, I could not but think 
 of how many years ago it was, and what 
 a short time it seemed, since I had sat there 
 with Dillwyn Parrish, long before I had 
 thought of marriage, and how, notwith- 
 standing the many events, sad and joyful, 
 that had checkered my life since those 
 days, how natural it seemed, to be just 
 where I was, and how delightful to think 
 that I could have brought my son to enjoy 
 with me the good things and kind consid- 
 eration that I have always received in this 
 most excellent of restaurants. Gustave, 
 the active but sometimes over-zealous ma- 
 jordomo of the back room, had left to 
 take charge of a similar establishment at 
 127 
 
Marseilles. Louis still presides over the 
 front room. 
 
 I should like to recount what seem to 
 me the requirements for a perfect waiter. 
 He should be a gentleman at heart, think- 
 ing of others, not of himself; his percep- 
 tions should be keen; he should never tell 
 an untruth; he should veil disappoint- 
 ments in attractive language; he should 
 be slender (there are excellent waiters 
 who are stout: I am speaking of perfec- 
 tion) ; he should not approach too near 
 to you; he should never desire to overhear 
 your conversation (he will learn much 
 more by seeming to keep out of the way, 
 thus encouraging you to speak more 
 freely among yourselves) ; he should move 
 quietly, surely ; his boots should not creak, 
 and his attire should be spotless. All 
 these qualities Louis possesses. 
 
 The question may be asked, Why should 
 a man of such superior nature be satisfied 
 with the position of waiter? The answer 
 
 128 
 
is plain. His ambition goes no farther 
 than to excel in the role in which he finds 
 himself. The constant intercourse with 
 gentlemen of refinement and culture gives 
 him a certain enjoyment of good society 
 that he could obtain in no other manner. 
 As long as he keeps his health, he is sure 
 of an income. He has neither the courage 
 nor the desire to embark in unknown 
 seas. He has more or less before his mind 
 the failure of those who have deserted 
 good places in the hope of rising in the 
 world. In a word, he is happy. His phi- 
 losophy is sound, and he is entitled to that 
 consideration that men receive who excel 
 in whatsoever they undertake that is hon- 
 ourable and of benefit to mankind. My 
 friend, Edward Tuck, who knows Paris 
 better than I do, albeit he may deny the 
 soft impeachment, will, I think, bear me 
 out in all I say of Louis. 
 
 The Maison Doree is not without its 
 tragedy. William, eleventh Duke of 
 129 
 
Hamilton, died from a fall on the stair- 
 way au premier. I have heard that, as he 
 approached it to descend, with unsure 
 step, the maitre d'hotel offered him an 
 arm, which, in a lordly way, he declined, 
 and a moment afterward slipped and 
 plunged headlong. There is another story 
 as to how it came about. We will pass 
 that by. 
 
 Verdier pere passed away many years 
 ago. He it was who brought the cuisine 
 to perfection. I have heard him recount 
 how he could have fish on the table six 
 hours after it had left the sea. His sons 
 have not inherited his qualities. One is 
 in California, another was concerned in an 
 unfortunate dining-club in London, and 
 the third, the responsible man, has sold 
 his lease. The doors through which thou- 
 sands of the gayest of the gay have passed 
 to and fro for three quarters of a century 
 are now closed forever. The Maison 
 Doree was a link between the palmy days 
 
 130 
 
of the Empire and the present. When I 
 first knew it, it was famous as the ren- 
 dezvous of viveurs, the very centre of the 
 pleasures and the dissipations of the table. 
 The boulevard in its immediate vicinity 
 has lost much of its brilliancy by the cre- 
 ation of the gloomy building of the Credit 
 Lyonnais, almost immediately opposite 
 and close to the Cafe Anglais, which still 
 holds its own, a most worthy neighbour. 
 Gay Paris is moving on to the Champs 
 Elysees, where Paillard and Laurent at- 
 tract the beau monde. 
 
 One is always sure that Paris will not 
 go backward in the attractions it offers 
 the pleasure-seeker. A city that can re- 
 bound so quickly from the horrors of the 
 Reign of Terror and the devastation of 
 the Commune may be safely trusted for 
 the future. 
 
 A few words for the Cafe Anglais : One 
 enters on the level of the boulevard, 
 touches his hat to the two solemn caissi- 
 
 131 
 
eres, and, turning to the left, finds himself 
 at once in the large salon on the ground 
 floor. The quality and size of the table 
 linen, the whiteness of the silver, the soft 
 carpet and dainty tulle curtains impress 
 you with the feeling that you are in excep- 
 tional surroundings. The few diners that 
 may have preceded you are quite in ac- 
 cord with the room: an elderly father, 
 with his daughter, whom he would hesitate 
 to take to the Maison Doree, in the simpli- 
 city of her costume and the refinement of 
 her countenance recalling to you the beau- 
 tiful lives of the noble women of France, 
 as we know them through the memoirs of 
 Port Royal; a small party of well-bred 
 English people, and perhaps an American, 
 anxious to appear to no disadvantage in 
 comparison with the standards that sur- 
 round him. You are at once of his mind. 
 From the moment that your coat is gently, 
 one might say affectionately, removed by 
 the maitre d'hotel, until you are seated at 
 
 132 
 
your table, you feel the danger of dis- 
 turbing the harmony of the distinguished 
 company to which you add yourself with 
 the hope that you will not mar the effect. 
 
 I have seen Lord Dudley, with his long, 
 wavy hair, and his handsome wife (cer- 
 tainly, in those days, one of the most beau- 
 tiful women in the world), dining in the 
 room I have described, with evident en- 
 joyment in each other's society, the same 
 afternoon having seen the countess driv- 
 ing a handsome pair in her victoria in 
 the Bois, her lord in a low seat by her 
 side, making one of the choicest of the 
 many brilliant sights that one sees in the 
 Bois on a fine afternoon, both of them, 
 I think, fully aware of the fact. 
 
 A word of comparison between Louis 
 of the " Maison d'Or " (the boulevardier 
 loves to clip the gilded word) and the 
 maitre d 'hot el of the " Anglais," whose 
 name escapes me, although his form and 
 kindly look are before me as vividly as 
 
 133 
 
of yesterday. We will call him Baptiste. 
 He, like Louis, is slender, attired as maitre 
 in spotless garments, moves quietly and 
 surely, is oblivious to your conversation, 
 and leaves a pleasant impression, whether 
 he approaches to receive your bidding or 
 departs to fulfil it. There is a hectic flush 
 on his cheek. You fear he is poitrinaire. 
 His faint, languid smile and soft voice do 
 not dispel the impression. However, as I 
 saw no change in an acquaintance of some 
 fifteen years, the fear must be groundless. 
 I know not his origin, but think he must 
 have English blood in his veins, sufficiently 
 diluted to preserve the sympathetic man- 
 ner, more or less the gift of the French, 
 in the class that serve our personal 
 wants. 
 
 An actor at the " Varietes," seeking a 
 waiter on which to model himself for the 
 role, would choose Louis; an actor of the 
 " Francais," on the same errand, would se- 
 lect Baptiste; Gustave, to whom I have 
 
 134 
 
referred, would suit the " Bouffes Parisi- 
 
 ennes." 
 
 Hesitating, as I have often done, whe- 
 ther to dine at the " Maison d'Or " or the 
 " Anglais," I can truly say, that, having 
 made my choice of the one, I never re- 
 gretted that it had not been the other. 
 This is perhaps the highest compliment I 
 can pay to both. 
 
 Dining " en ville " on one or two occa- 
 sions, my son was thrown upon his own re- 
 sources for the evening. After consult- 
 ing " Baedeker," he informed me he chose 
 the " Cafe de la Paix " to dine. I was 
 much pleased, when he suggested later on 
 that we should go there, to find that he had 
 preserved his identity, and was treated 
 with great consideration by the waiter 
 who had formerly looked after him, and 
 who, treating me as my son's guest, gave 
 me the pleasure of seeing my son play the 
 role of host with ease, and order the din- 
 ner, with the assistance of the waiter, much 
 
 135 
 
as if it were quite a matter of course. It 
 was the first time I had ever dined with 
 him. 
 
 I had some talk with Jimmy about 
 four-in-hand lessons as a means of enter- 
 taining him during his stay in Paris. He 
 informed me what he wanted were auto- 
 mobile lessons, so having passed Sunday, 
 August third, at the Golf Club, we in- 
 vestigated the automobile question and 
 obtained a most satisfactory instructor 
 and a small Panhard. 
 
 THE first few days after our return to 
 Paris were, during the daytime, devoted 
 mostly to automobiling by my son, and to 
 golf by myself. 
 
 The " Societe de Golf de Paris " has 
 added much to the enjoyment of my visits 
 to the capital. It is situated within about 
 ten minutes' drive from the station, Ver- 
 sailles-Chantier, which is but twenty min- 
 utes from Mont Parnasse, by express 
 136 
 
train. There are some one hundred acres 
 sloping beautifully from the plateau on 
 which the club-house is situated. The 
 property was formerly a haras, known as 
 La Boulie. 
 
 The Bois des Celestins and the Bois des 
 Mets lie close to the easterly border; the 
 Bois des Gonards with its grand old oaks 
 lines the western boundary. Beautiful 
 country-places are to be seen, looking 
 southward, while to the north, glimpses 
 of the small houses, with their red-tiled 
 roofs, that are scattered over a large por- 
 tion of the environs of Paris, peep out 
 from their wooded surroundings. With 
 the exception of the tall chimney of the 
 gas-works, there is nothing to mar the 
 scene in whatever direction you look. A 
 few fine old apple-trees add to the beauty 
 of one of the slopes, far enough apart to 
 make only a reasonable obstruction to the 
 course. 
 
 Let us make the round of the links 
 137 
 
with a good player. A little over a hun- 
 dred yards from the first tee is a double 
 wire fence inclosing a narrow lane. Our 
 supposed player drives his ball some 
 thirty or forty yards beyond the fence. 
 (I have heard many a golf -ball rattle 
 against the wire, and exclamations, not 
 meant for polite ears, come almost like 
 an echo from the disappointed driver.) 
 Passing through the gates, we find our- 
 selves on the brow of a hill, the first hole 
 lying some hundred or more yards below 
 us in a sloping hollow. Playing the ball 
 with a midiron or mashie to a spot some 
 thirty or forty feet to the right of the 
 hole, we watch with interest to see where 
 it will stop. The distance is not too great 
 to permit a skilful approach and a short 
 put, thus making the hole in four. 
 
 We now walk a short distance to the 
 second tee, from where we drive with an 
 iron on to a plateau above us, which we 
 cannot see, some one hundred and twenty- 
 
 138 
 
five yards away. An ugly bunker to the 
 right makes it important that our drive 
 should be straight, while the forest beyond 
 makes it equally important that we should 
 not overdo it. Clambering the hill, we 
 find the ball on the smooth green. An ap- 
 proach put lands us near the hole, and it 
 is made in three. 
 
 The third tee is but a few yards off. 
 From there we drive over a beautiful ex- 
 panse of fair green toward the hole some 
 three hundred yards and more away. We 
 must beware of the woods on the right, 
 where many a ball lies hidden from the 
 most expert of caddies, in the ferns and 
 shrubs that line the edge of the forest. 
 The second stroke lands us close to the 
 green. The hole is made in four. 
 
 We are now at the southern boundary 
 of the course, and, at a short, safe distance, 
 are on the fourth tee, driving back in the 
 direction from which we came. An ugly 
 hill, with more or less gravel exposed, 
 139 
 
faces us over one hundred and fifty yards 
 off. We keep to the right of the hill and 
 find a good fair green over which to carry 
 our ball with a long brassy stroke to the 
 hill before us, falling somewhat short, and 
 doing the hole in five. 
 
 We now turn to the right again at a 
 safe distance, drive southward, and do the 
 hole in five. We had expected a four. 
 
 Walking southward to a tee not very 
 far from the fifth green, we drive almost 
 parallel to the southern boundary of the 
 course, taking care not to slice our ball 
 into a field of grain on our right, and to 
 be sure and cross an ugly bunker, some 
 one hundred yards away from us, landing 
 on the green just beyond the bunker, and 
 doing the hole in three. 
 
 We are now on the easterly boundary 
 of the course, where we have a fine five- 
 hundred-yard hole to play, with no ob- 
 structions worth noting, beyond the fact 
 that our strokes must not be sliced, or we 
 
 140 
 
shall be out of bounds to the right in the 
 road. We make it in five. 
 
 A shorter hole, which brings us back in 
 the direction in which we have been play- 
 ing, is done in four. 
 
 We then drive the ninth hole, and if 
 our game is equal to what we have been 
 doing, we are easily able to cross the fence 
 on our second stroke, landing us on the 
 green, and doing the hole in four, thus 
 making the first nine in thirty-seven. 
 
 We now keep northward of the fence 
 for the remaining holes. 
 
 Not to fatigue the reader, we will avoid 
 the detail of the remaining nine holes, 
 merely adding that they are interspersed 
 with a few fine apple-trees, and being 
 longer than the first nine, we may safely 
 give our player forty strokes, thus making 
 the eighteen holes in seventy-seven, a fig- 
 ure which I have readily arrived at on 
 paper, but have no hope of equalling or 
 even approaching on the course. I have 
 
 141 
 
heard of players who, with their heads on 
 the pillow, played the course nightly 
 before falling asleep, invariably making 
 good scores. 
 
 The companions one meets there in the 
 comparative quiet are a delightful change 
 from the hurlyburly of Paris. The sim- 
 ple and excellent meals that are served us 
 by the obliging Henri complete the com- 
 forts and pleasures. 
 
 My son was so interested in the running 
 of the automobile that I doubt if he had 
 much time to appreciate the attractions of 
 the many roads that encircle Paris, over 
 which he sped at a high speed. 
 
 I accepted his invitation for a trip to 
 Fontainebleau. We left the Ritz about 
 ten in the morning. Our chauffeur, a 
 blond about thirty years of age, had a 
 sharp, keen-cut air about him that inspired 
 confidence (and I know of nothing that I 
 was more in need of as we clattered 
 through the busy and, at times, over- 
 
 142 
 
crowded streets of Paris at a brisk rate, 
 than that very thing confidence). He 
 gave no attention to my repeated requests 
 to reduce his speed. I suppose he thought, 
 as I was in his power, he did not propose 
 to consider my feelings. I finally told him 
 it was all very well for him to dash ahead 
 at the rate he was going, on the ground 
 that he knew his rights, but if an accident 
 happened, it would do no good to say that 
 it was not his fault, and unless he went a 
 little slower, I wished to get out. Words 
 to this effect finally brought him to terms, 
 and our pace was more to my liking. He 
 made me his friend by placing Jimmy in 
 full control of the machine for most of the 
 time, keeping, I could see, a close watch on 
 all around us, but making my son feel the 
 full responsibility of running the auto for 
 nearly our entire journey. 
 
 How straight is the road to a father's 
 heart for those that know to find it! 
 
 I was very much interested in the vil- 
 
 143 
 
lages outside the eastern side of Paris. 
 The little imitation chateaux, with their 
 pruned lime-trees, trimmed to imitate 
 those in the great parks and gardens, the 
 careful cultivation, the little plots of 
 ground, and the general picturesque ef- 
 fect that everything French has, were 
 most interesting. 
 
 And when finally we had left the great 
 city and all its surroundings behind us, 
 and found ourselves on a long, straight, 
 well-built road, running through magnifi- 
 cent forests and past beautifully tilled 
 farms, sometimes without a living object 
 to be seen on the roadway for miles be- 
 fore us, I became entirely reconciled to a 
 speed of thirty miles an hour, and fully 
 appreciated the exhilaration which this 
 new mode of travel carries with it. 
 
 It was a beautiful day, and our stroll 
 through the park at Fontainebleau, where 
 we entertained ourselves by feeding the 
 carp and taking kodak pictures, was de- 
 
 144 
 
lightful. The journey back was equally 
 enjoyable until we came to the narrow 
 streets of the villages, and there my 
 nerves were sorely tried by the manner in 
 which our chauffeur dominated the situa- 
 tion. It was as much as to say: " You 
 had better get out of the way, or I '11 run 
 over you. I 'm sorry you do not like it, 
 but I can't help it." 
 
 When we descended, about six in the 
 evening, in front of the Ritz hotel, I had 
 that tired feeling that even forty-five holes 
 of golf would not have brought me, and 
 yet I am not ready to say that I would 
 not like to take the trip over again, when- 
 ever it presents. The country of France 
 is so constantly interesting that I feel 
 quite ready to accompany my son, on some 
 future occasion, on excursions of even a 
 more extended character. 
 
 Helen arrived from Germany a day 
 or two before our departure, and our 
 little family had less than the usual 
 
 145 
 
struggle with the shopkeepers, dress- 
 makers, etc. 
 
 During the two or three days before we 
 departed for Cherbourg, we had a very 
 pleasant dinner at the Vendome, where I 
 enjoyed making Helen and Jimmy ac- 
 quainted with my friend Mr. Mink, of 
 Boston. 
 
 I had the pleasure of taking my son to 
 the " Theatre Francois " for the first time. 
 We saw " Les Plaideurs," and I was 
 much pleased to find that he could en- 
 joy it. I remember so well my first ef- 
 forts to enjoy a French play. The tor- 
 ture of not fully understanding the lan- 
 guage was a constant insult to my intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 The " Theatre National de la Comedie 
 Fran9aise " is not only an institution of 
 France, it is an institution of the civilised 
 world. The privilege of the " Faubourg," 
 like that of the intellectual society of Bos- 
 ton or the good old families of Philadel- 
 
 146 
 
phia, is for the favoured few; time that 
 chooses its friends arbitrarily has affixed 
 its cachet to all three. 
 
 The " Theatre Fran^ais " is a charming 
 reality of to-day, where the costumes, 
 manners, and literature of both the past 
 and the present are presented with fidel- 
 ity, purity, and good taste. 
 
 The stranger, arriving in Paris, who 
 seeks to know the French, cannot do bet- 
 ter than take a thorough course at the 
 " Fran^ais." He should carefully read the 
 piece before seeing the play, carefully 
 re-read it after having seen it, and then 
 it is to be hoped that he will wish to see 
 it played again. He should never take the 
 libretto with him to the theatre. His sur- 
 roundings do not permit him to give it the 
 proper study in the entr'actes, and if it 
 is before him when the curtain is up, his 
 eye is distracted from the stage, not to 
 speak of the fact that he is displeasing 
 the artists, who do not like to be followed, 
 
 147 
 
book in hand, by one as near them as his 
 fauteuil should be to permit him to en- 
 joy to the full their individual talent. 
 Some of the actors and actresses he will 
 understand clearly, as each word is beau- 
 tifully pronounced by them. Others he 
 will find it difficult to follow, even if he 
 knows by heart what they are saying. 
 Little by little, familiarity with their 
 voices will, however, remove the difficulty, 
 and in time he will find himself assuming 
 the attitude of a critic. 
 
 I recall the days when the name of Co- 
 quelin aine on the bill settled the question, 
 if I were in doubt, where I should pass the 
 evening. He never came upon the scene 
 without arousing a sensation of pleasure 
 and stimulating your interest in the piece. 
 
 The performances of the Grand Opera 
 at Paris leave with me a more lasting im- 
 pression than similar performances in 
 other cities. It is not in the leading parts 
 that Paris excels. It is in the setting, the 
 
 148 
 
orchestra, the chorus, the ballet, and the 
 scenery, that there is a charm that I do not 
 find elsewhere. Madame Breval, in the 
 Metropolitan Opera House, is not to me 
 the same Madame Breval that I have seen 
 in Paris. That part of the performance 
 that appeals to the senses is so far superior 
 to that which New York offers, that a 
 feeling of delight remains with you after 
 the curtain has fallen, and it is only as you 
 descend the steps, and make one of the 
 great throng that pours down the magnifi- 
 cent staircase out into the Place de 
 1'Opera, that you are brought back to the 
 realities of life. 
 
 We saw Saint-Saens' " Samson and 
 Delilah," Madame Heglon giving a re- 
 markable impersonation of the heroine. 
 As she comes upon the scene, with a coif- 
 fure of brilliant flowers that her magnifi- 
 cent presence carries with ease, bearing a 
 cup in her hand, with outstretched arm ap- 
 proaching the blind, dejected Samson, 
 
 149 
 
who with bowed head is nurturing ven- 
 geance in abject sorrow, " L'ame triste 
 jusqu'a la mort," she pours forth to him 
 in her splendid contralto voice these 
 taunting words: 
 
 Souviens-toi de nos ivresses! 
 Souviens-toi de raes caresses! 
 L'amour servait mon projet 
 Pour assouvir ma vengeance. 
 Je t'arrachai ton secret; 
 Je 1'avais vendu d'avance. 
 Tu croyais a cet amour. 
 C'est lui qui riva ta chaine; 
 Dalila venge en ce jour 
 Son dieu, son peuple et sa haine. 
 
 I felt I had never before fully realised 
 the Bible story until I saw Heglon and 
 Rousseliere. Salvini may impress us with 
 the grandeur of Samsons suffering; it re- 
 quires Heglon to explain it. 
 
 Paris seems to force from her artists 
 the limit of their powers. The severity of 
 its criticisms, the sweetness of its discrimi- 
 nating praise, stimulate, encourage, and 
 perfect them; and be they French, Beige, 
 Austrian, Italian, Swede, Dane or Amer- 
 
 150 
 
ican, they seek diligently to win the ap- 
 proval of the critics of this art centre of 
 the world. 
 
 On the morning of August 13 we 
 were all up bright and early, to take the 
 8.50 train from St. Lazare Station. A 
 large blue and white placard, "Trein pour 
 New York," marks the entrance to the 
 platform of the train. This announce- 
 ment certainly presents the two great 
 capitals together in one's mind. 
 
 We had an hour or two at Cherbourg 
 before the departure of the tug, which en- 
 abled us to see the forlorn little bathing 
 establishment of which the town boasts. 
 
 About five in the afternoon the " Kron- 
 prinz " rounded the western end of the 
 breakwater, and as our tug came along- 
 side her lofty bulwarks, we had the fa- 
 miliar sight of the Atlantic liner in all its 
 surroundings, passengers, stewards, crew, 
 and sometimes cooks, looking over the rail 
 to see their incoming freight, the rushing 
 
 151 
 
up and down the gang-planks, the crew 
 bearing all kinds of baggage, from canary 
 birds in cages to massive trunks, which lat- 
 ter have always seemed to me to be an im- 
 position, and I can imagine a new " In- 
 ferno " compelling the millionaires to pass 
 more or less of eternity shouldering huge 
 Vuitton trunks, which they are forced to 
 carry to a great height, only to plunge 
 them down where the Fates would com- 
 pel them, to return and continue their use- 
 less labour. I think the law might well be 
 evoked to limit the size and weight of 
 travellers' trunks. 
 
 One of the principal events of our jour- 
 ney across the Atlantic was a sad hour or 
 two, when Jimmy and I retired to our 
 state-rooms to consider whether we would 
 confess we were seasick or not. We 
 looked into each other's downcast faces 
 and exchanged a sickly smile. I think I 
 said something about the pleasures of our 
 Southampton home. Fortunately for us, 
 
 152 
 
the heavy sea began to abate, and we man- 
 aged to put in an appearance at the din- 
 ner-table. We were all glad, however, to 
 think how rapidly 550 miles a day brings 
 one across the Atlantic. 
 
 Helen kept her berth most of the time, 
 and was wonderfully cheerful in what al- 
 most might be called her little cell. 
 
 We came up the harbour early on the 
 morning of the nineteenth, passed the cus- 
 tom-house with a reasonable payment of 
 duties, and were in all the delights of our 
 Southampton house by six o'clock that 
 evening. 
 
 Thus ended a most delightful trip to 
 Europe. Let us hope that there are many 
 more yet in store. 
 
 153 
 
mm 
 
 
 5orr?e Account of tfie Travels of 
 and my Son in t/je Summer of