o
 
 UCSB LIBRARY 
 X-
 
 FOREIGN FACTS AND FANCIES 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNIE SAWYER DOWNS, CHARLOTTE S. FURSDON, 
 MARY GAY HUMPHREYS, CULLING CLIVE 
 EARDLEY, ROSE G. .KINGSLEY, REV. S. 
 W. DUFFIELD, D. D., ARTHUR GIL- 
 MAN, JULIAN B. ARNOLD, DAVID 
 KER, LUCY G. LILLIE, MRS. 
 RAYMOND BLATHWAYTE. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BOSTON 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 
 
 FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS
 
 Copyright, 1886, 
 
 by 
 D. LOTHROP & COMPANY.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE, (fn Two Parts.} 7 
 
 Annie Sawyer Downs. 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW ... 59 
 
 Charlotte S. Fursdon. 
 
 FOURTH OF JULY IN THE RUE PETIT JEAN. 85 
 Mary Gay Humphreys. 
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE . . 94 
 
 Culling Clive Eardley. 
 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH . . 105 
 
 Rose G. Kingsley. 
 HERMANNUS CONTRACTUS . . . . 122 
 
 Rev. 8. W. Duffield, D. D. 
 A WORTHY NINE . . ; . . 131 
 
 Arthur Gilman. 
 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE . 144 
 
 Julian B. Arnold. 
 
 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE ISLANDS . 162 
 
 David Ker. 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE . . . 171 
 
 Lucy C. Lillie. 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 201 
 
 Mrs. Raymond Blathwayte. 
 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY . 222 
 
 Arthur F. J. Crandall. 
 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES . 237 
 
 C. E, Andrwus
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE idea of children does not readily occur 
 to the stranger in Venice. Why should it ? 
 Are not its citizens born into the world men and 
 women, with faces beyond their years ? Do its 
 narrow, crooked passages, hardly worthy the name 
 of streets, constantly interrupted by steep bridges 
 over sea channels lined with aged palaces, between 
 whose marble walls the silent tides steal ever on- 
 ward like the march of fate, furnish any play- 
 grounds for boys and girls ? 
 
 So when I stood, very early the morning after 
 my arrival, in the great Piazza of St. Mark's, no 
 thought of childhood was in my mind. 
 
 I thought instead of the mystic-winged lion 
 
 poising himself on his soaring column ; of the 
 
 rose-colored mass of the Doge's palace with its 
 
 exquisite marble arcades ; of Nero's colossal 
 
 7
 
 8 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 bronze horses over the doorway, in the grand 
 Oriental front of the ancient basilica ; of the glis- 
 tening mosaics, the marvellous carvings, above all 
 of the unfathomable depths of blue sky over me. 
 and the equally unfathomable depths of blue watei 
 at my feet. And this singular beauty, which nc 
 picture had ever revealed, no book had ever shown, 
 was silent. Neither sound of hoof nor roll oi 
 wheels, nothing but the plash, plash of the ever- 
 moving water, and the soft croon of innumerable 
 pigeons. 
 
 And what dissipated my reverie ? Why, the 
 merry laugh of a Venetian baby ! Yes, the only 
 other figure in the stately square was that of a 
 young and comely nurse, who carried tenderly in 
 her strong arms the first child I saw in Venice. 
 She came through the Piazetta, that little passage 
 which leads from the great square to the water, 
 and in her dark red-trimmed skirt long white 
 apron with its great bow behind, black bodice, and 
 quaint, tight-fitting cap, was as significant embodi- 
 ment of the every-day life, which in spite of unique 
 situation, and unparalleled surroundings, is as
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 much the heritage of Venice as of the most ordi- 
 nary European city. The pigeons saw her sooner 
 than I, and when a couple swept down as if to 
 
 light on her broad shoulders, the baby put up his 
 tiny ringers to catch them, and not succeeding, 
 laughed instead. How that laugh rang through 
 the shadowy arches, how it took possession of 
 them, so that I heard it ever after, must be left to 
 the imagination. But this baby though a beauty 
 was not of the Venetian type. His blonde hair,
 
 10 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 blue eyes, and fair skin, contrasted strongly with 
 the gleaming, surprising loveliness of the next 
 child whom the accidents of sight-seeing caused 
 me to notice. 
 
 The Piazza, of St. Mark's is as much the centre 
 of the religious as of the social life of the city, 
 for its crowning glory is the church of St. Mark. 
 Marvellous upon its exterior, it is no less marvel- 
 lous within, appealing more strongly to the religious 
 element than any other church in the world. Its 
 doors stand open day and night, prayer never 
 ceases within its walls, and the sacrament is con- 
 stantly adored upon its altar. Therefore there is 
 an endless crowd, old and young, women and sol- 
 diers, children and priests, continually passing 
 through its nave. In fact, so accustomed are the 
 people to the most familiar use of the church, that 
 I often saw the market-woman set down her heavy 
 basket in the vestibule, or the vender of fried fish 
 deposit the yoke upon which his wares were hung 
 at the entrance doors. From a little narrow street 
 which elbowed St. Mark's on the north many busy 
 mothers emerged to rush across the square and
 
 CHILD LIFE IN VENICE. II 
 
 say a hasty prayer in the church. These mothers 
 never had any baby carnages, but they pushed the 
 little ones before them in a queer sort of cage, akin 
 to what in remote parts of New England is even 
 now called a " standing stool." 
 
 These standing stools are high enough to come 
 under the baby's arms and allow his feet to rest 
 on the floor. Being larger at the bottom than the 
 top, the support is firm, and the wheels, fastened 
 securely to the base, allow the child to push himself 
 along. It is very convenient to use this old-time 
 contrivance in Venice, as the squares and many 
 streets are paved with great blocks of white mar- 
 ble, smooth and level as a drawing-room floor. 
 
 One morning a mother left her baby in his stool 
 at the principal entrance of St. Mark's. I do not 
 know if she prayed longer than usual, or if he 
 thought it a good opportunity to go off a little 
 on his own account, but he began to roll himself 
 around. Nearly opposite where he was left, on 
 the east side of the square, is a paved street not 
 more than seven feet in its widest part, and upon 
 whose every side shops are set as thickly as pos-
 
 12 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 sible. I was picking my way gingerly amid its 
 fruit sellers, fish dealers, and shell venders, when 
 loud shouts and hearty laughing made me turn 
 sharply. The little Venetian traveller was coming 
 right down upon me. Doubtless the square 
 slanted a trifle, for his rapid motion left his hurry- 
 ing mother far behind. His short-sleeved blouse 
 showed his plump brown arms, while the funny 
 cap, embroidered with shells instead of beads, per- 
 mitted us to see how his gleaming eyes laughed to 
 their dusky depths as he shook defiantly in the 
 air the odd toy he sturdily held close in his wild- 
 est flight. After him still clattered his irritated 
 mamma. On account of her high-heeled shoes 
 she could not run very fast, but there was little 
 need, for a good-natured water-carrier stretched 
 out his brawny arms and the runaway was captured. 
 I have called this narrow alley of St. Moise a 
 street, for there are streets in Venice, and one may 
 walk all over the city if one chooses. But the 
 real streets of Venice are its salt water canals, 
 upon whose banks its famous churches, finest 
 palaces, and most interesting monuments are sit-
 
 A SWIMMING LESSON.
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 15 
 
 uated. These water-streets are navigated day and 
 night by gondolas, a kind of boat whose form has 
 been as curiously adapted to its purposes of in- 
 stant obedience as that of a bird's wing. It must 
 draw very little water, carry almost any weight, 
 shelter its passengers, move lightly, stop instantly, 
 turn as on a pivot, glide like a serpent in and out 
 of every cranny, in short, obey not so much an or- 
 der as a hint. It is long, slender, and very high 
 from the water at both ends. Bow and stern are 
 sharp, and the former ends in a beak, or flat steel, 
 which towers to a considerable height. This 
 deeply-serrated blade of steel is an ornament, but it 
 is useful as well, for by it the gondolier steers, and 
 under whatever bridge it passes, he knows his black 
 cabin in the centre will pass too. The danger 
 of collision obliges him to face the bow and, as 
 he never uses but one oar, he pushes, not pulls. 
 The cabin is often removed and an awning put up, 
 which may in its turn be dispensed with, when 
 one has full view of the pale-faced, black-eyed 
 beauties as they take their twilight airing. Gon- 
 dolas, like cabs, are numbered and licensed, and
 
 1 6 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 it is said there are now four or five thousand in 
 this strange city of the sea. They are black from 
 stem to stern, the law having regulated their color 
 for centuries. The necessity of the law is evi- 
 dent ; for we read that nobles and citizens vied so 
 with each other to be finest, that whole families 
 were brought to poverty. 
 
 Realizing that Venetian cabs are boats, and 
 Venetian streets are canals which rise and fall 
 every tide, we are prepared to hear that Venetians 
 themselves take al! their pleasure on the water. 
 So they do now, and have done for ages. When 
 Naples has welcomed royal guests with brave 
 horse races on the Corso, when Rome has honored 
 Pope, or Cardinal, with a gorgeous procession, 
 Venice has summoned the splendid barges of the 
 Republic and taken her guests to her palace-lined 
 canals. Was it a victory then they decked the 
 Doge's boat with flags from Lepanto. Was it a 
 poet then they brought out the banner which 
 floated over the barge of the illustrious Petrarch, 
 when with acclamation they rowed him over the 
 shining waves of the Giudecca. Or, holiest of all,
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 19 
 
 at the great Feast of the Sacrament, the sacred em- 
 blem of St. Mark, and the trophies blind old Dan- 
 clolo brought from the Holy Sepulchre. A dozen* 
 times in a summer they have a grand regatta ; and 
 good children are taken in a gondola to see the fun, 
 just as in America they go to the circus. The 
 month we were in Venice there was a famous 
 regatta to welcome the young Queen of Italy. 
 Hundreds of boats started from the Grand Canal, 
 rowed around the gilded plumed gondola where 
 the Queen sat, then made their way to the Rialto 
 bridge where they turned and glided slowly back. 
 Each black hood was removed, and festoons of 
 pink and salmon, orange and violet, red and green, 
 blue and white, so changed the mystic fleet, that 
 it is little wonder we likened it only to the storied 
 boat which bore King Arthur to Avalon. The 
 band played during the entire pageant, and the 
 lovely music floated out on the Lagoons and was 
 lost in the cry of the sea-gulls over the Lido. 
 
 Each was in holiday dress, which in Italy means 
 all the colors of the rainbow ; everybody was polite 
 to the two strangers who had come " so far to see
 
 20 
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 their beautiful Venice." No police were visible, 
 and although skillful rowers must have been much 
 annoyed by awkward ones, we heard no angry 
 words. After a little we, too, took a boat, that we 
 
 might see the effect from its level. The gondolas 
 looked particularly fine as we thus watched them 
 from the stream. Standing so high on the narrow 
 platforms at the stern, with their long oars bending 
 hither and thither, they resembled a field of slender 
 rushes waving in the wind. Opposite the Royal 
 Gardens, with much of the most interesting aichi- 
 tecture of Venice in view, we came upon a gondola
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 21 
 
 load of children, who like ourselves were going 
 home from the regatta. Their tall slim gondolier, 
 bursting unexpectedly upon us, recalled the classic 
 charioteer urging his horses in the antique games. 
 Standing with one foot behind the other, and with 
 outstretched arms, he seemed to skim the water. 
 His attention was given to steering his craft amid 
 the scows which pressed upon him, but his freight 
 of children were too happy even to look any more. 
 For once the eager eyes had seen enough, for a 
 time at least the restless little hearts were satisfied, 
 and we had no doubt in many a distant northern 
 home as they gathered by the evening fire that 
 cheeks would flush and eyes sparkle as they told 
 of the regatta that midsummer day in Venice. 
 And who can tell what such days in Venice are 
 to the children of the poor to whom summer is the 
 only luxury ? Then boys, even street boys, are 
 crazy with joy. for they have riot only air but water 
 in which to be mischievous. It is no trouble for a 
 boy to go swimming in that city of the sea. Every 
 high arched bridge, no matter how serpentine the 
 canoe beneath, may be turned into a swimming
 
 22 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 school, every kind-hearted father, uncle or brother 
 serves for a teacher, and as each novice is, or may 
 be, provided with some kind of a float, there is no 
 apprehension of danger. From the beginning of 
 June far on into September, the boy-part of Venice 
 is far oftener in the water than out, where they 
 
 A VENETIAN GIRL. 
 
 either shout and clamor to each other, or poise 
 themselves for a leap from any friendly doorstep ; 
 and as the Venetian bathing dress is a mere hint of 
 th~/ elsewhere worn, you are never tired of admir-
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 23 
 
 ing the fine statuesque limbs, bronzed by the too 
 kindly sun. 
 
 Many a time as I have stood watching those 
 happy boys I have wondered at details of the ar- 
 chitecture about me, which in every place ap- 
 peared more inexplicable than in every other. The 
 chimneys especially I never could understand. I 
 never saw two alike some rose tall and slender 
 from the lofty houses, with a tapering stem a yard 
 or more in length, and with a top resembling a 
 tulip. Others looked like the watch towers of a 
 mediaeval castle, and still others expanded into so 
 wide an opening that you thought of a sunflower. 
 
 And not only do boys swim as much as they like, 
 not only do they take gondolas when sent on the 
 commonplace errands which in other cities de- 
 mand street cars, but they often own tiny boats 
 themselves wherein to paddle from one side of the 
 street to the other. Has a boy left his arithmetic, 
 does his mother send him for his missing handker- 
 chief I suppose there are boys in Venice who 
 have handkerchiefs, though I never met one then 
 he slips the painter of his frail canoe which looks as
 
 24 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 if it had just come from the hands of the toy-ma- 
 ker and glides away noiselessly, gracefully, like an 
 Indian boy of the Adirondack forest. Sometimes 
 our gondola, following one of these fairy boats, 
 would penetrate into the very heart of a row of 
 lofty houses, now perhaps hotels, warehouses or 
 factories where glass, beads, and mosaic pictures 
 are made. But whatever their present use, what- 
 ever their ancient splendor, they had always a high 
 marble wall, with its feet in the cooling water and 
 its top gay with the bright-colored plants in which 
 Venice delights. 
 
 A stunted fig or plum-tree often showed itself in 
 the precious garden which extended between the 
 wall and the palace, whose actual entrance was 
 upon a much statelier canal. Merry groups of 
 children were always seen on these old walls. 
 Here they sheltered themselves from the burning 
 sun of noon, here they fondled their pets, sailed 
 their toy boats, and, if well to do in purse, threw 
 soldi to their less fortunate neighbors, who dived 
 and brought the coins out of the shallow water. 
 Another shower of coins often rewarded one of
 
 A VENETIAN BACK-DOOR.
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 27 
 
 these brown-limbed divers, if he was sufficiently 
 dexterous to climb a tall mooring post and bow 
 his thanks from its top. 
 
 In a dark twisted alley at the side of one of 
 these palaces lived pretty Bianca, the daughter of 
 our laundress. We should have called her home 
 a cellar, and only sharp eyes could detect any con- 
 venience for cooking or washing. The light came 
 in by the door, and the fireplace was simply an 
 elevated table of stone upon which the scanty fire 
 was made. As wood is very dear in Venice, two 
 or three twigs costing a cent, three or four cents' 
 worth is supposed to be enough to warm such a 
 home as Bianca's the coldest day. The only arti- 
 ficial light ever seen within its narrow limits was the 
 tiny taper which burned always before the picture 
 of the Blessed Virgin. 
 
 But the twelve-year-old Bianca was merry and 
 light-hearted enough to chase the gloom from the 
 dingiest home. Her ebon hair knotted low be- 
 hind as if she were already a. woman, her liquid 
 eyes which in spite of their fun seemed to hold all 
 the sadness of the past, and her nose with the ex-
 
 28 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 quisite curve of a Greek Venus, might have been 
 found in many of her neighbors ; but nobody had 
 Bianca's bewitching smile, nobody had her ringing 
 laugh, and certainly nobody could sing like Bianca. 
 Up and down the alley she flitted, and her " Viva 
 Italia," quickened the beat of many a heart, and 
 when at nightfall the fishermen's children went 
 out to the Lido that their evening hymn might 
 guide their fathers over the treacherous Adriatic, 
 no voice like Bianca's to lead the chorus ! 
 
 Yet neither her glossy hair, her lovely eyes, nor 
 her unequalled voice, was Bianca's pride. But 
 she was proud she went to school ! Schools 
 for the poor are new in Italy, and with tears 
 did Bianca tell me, that not only did she read 
 and write, but she actually studied arithmetic. 
 
 And if she thought herself lucky, what did 
 Nello, the polenta and pumpkin seed seller just 
 across the street, think ? He was poorer than 
 Bianca, though no older ; for he had no place to 
 sleep nights, excepting the water-step of any un- 
 occupied warehouse, and he only earned enough 
 money in the day, including what he ate himself, to
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 20 
 
 pay for his wares. His clothes were very scanty, his 
 only cap a ragged red one which he wore on Sun- 
 days ; but he had picked up somewhere a string of 
 the many-tinted shells of the Lido, and his one 
 passion was Venice, his one admiration Bianca. 
 " It is well the dear Signora should see our Venice; 
 she is the pearl of the world ; and as for Bianca 
 ah, how beautiful she is, how she can sing, and 
 is she not clever she even knows the arith- 
 metic ! " 
 
 One Sunday Nello was among the crowd of 
 children who, in the Square of St. Mark's, were 
 feeding the sacred pigeons. I knew how often 
 the poor boy went hungry, and was touched to see 
 him pull from the sleeve of his tattered blouse a 
 bit of polenta he had saved from his supper ; he 
 never had any breakfast. Although the plump, 
 comfortable birds are fed at the public expense, 
 not a child in Venice but longs to have something 
 of his own to give them. This feeling is shared 
 by the whole population ; for when, in 1849, Ven- 
 ice was besieged by the Austrians and reduced to 
 famine, no one thought of touching the doves of
 
 30 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 St. Mark's. Although grain was so scarce that 
 men fought in the streets for a morsel of food, 
 the pigeons were never deprived of their supply 
 
 They owe this good fortune to the virtue of their 
 ancestors. When Dandolo, early in the thirteenth 
 century, was besieging Candia, some pigeons 
 brought him good tidings, and he in turn dis- 
 patched news of his success to Venice by the 
 same white-winged telegraph. 
 
 Since then it is imagined that the doves fly 
 three times around the city in honor of the Trinity, 
 and that while they are protected, Venice will 
 never be swallowed up by the waves. 
 
 It is one of the prettiest sights in the world, 
 when in the square, they are fed each day a lit- 
 tle past noon. They are perfectly fearless, for 
 any one who injures a pigeon, is first fined, then 
 imprisoned ; so from the nooks and crannies of 
 surrounding buildings, even from the wondrous 
 fagade of St. Mark's, they descend like snow- 
 flakes, to take food from childish hands; and 
 often a shriek of ecstacy is heard as one swiftly 
 stoops for the kernel of corn on a baby's lips.
 
 FEEDING PIGEpNS IN ST. MARK'S SQUARE.
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 33 
 
 Their meal over, they perch again on the domes 
 of St. Mark's, they flutter undismayed about the 
 granite column where St. Theodore stands on his 
 crocodile, and they nestle close to the terrible 
 winged lion who for ages has watched the rising 
 and falling of the opal waves, thus adding by the 
 grace of their continual flight another beauty to a 
 spot which of all others needs it least.
 
 PART II. 
 
 "\ 7"ET the Piazza, or great square of St. Mark's, 
 -- is not the only open space in the city ; 
 though as if to give its noble architecture due 
 honor, the others are called campi, or fields. 
 
 Churches are frequently situated upon these 
 smaller squares, or campi, and in the Middle Ages 
 were surrounded by vast conventual buildings. 
 They vary in interest as in beauty. 
 
 One I remember for its soft green turf, the 
 religious and heavenly loveliness of its Gothic 
 church, and the mellow sunshine which, penetrat- 
 ing to the very heart of every block of marble, dis- 
 closed the rose and purple, the violet and orange, 
 that centuries of exposure to the bitter air of the 
 sea had rendered ordinarily invisible. Another 
 was famous for a noble equestrian statue, another 
 34
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN. VENICE. 35 
 
 because Desdemona lived in a house on its cor- 
 ner, and a fourth, because tradition asserts that 
 there Titian and Tintoretto among its crowd of 
 beggars and idle loiterers looked for models. 
 
 Roaming aimlessly, we came unexpectedly one 
 day upon Signer Antonio Rioba, who has been for 
 generations the Venetian embodiment of practical 
 joking. Signer Antonio is only a rough stone fig- 
 ure set in the wall of a provision shop, with a pack 
 on his back, a staff in his hand, and a coarsely 
 painted face. He is always surrounded by a crowd 
 of laughing boys, who receive with shouts of deri- 
 sion any stranger, young apprentice, or green serv- 
 ing-man who has been directed to bring a parcel 
 to the Signer. As there is a bell handle above the 
 Signer's name, the glee of the boys is uncontrol- 
 lable when the simpleton gravely pulls it. But 
 Signer Antonio is memorable to us, because at his 
 elbow we saw what I am positive is the ugliest 
 campo in Venice. It is that of the Ghetto, or Jew's 
 quarter. During the Middle Ages no Jews were 
 permitted to live outside its limits, and while the 
 law has long since fallen into disuse, it is still
 
 56 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 densely populated by the poorer class of Hebrews 
 as, owing to its vile and unhealthy situation, rents 
 are very low, and nobody interferes with the filth 
 in which they delight. We went down some steep, 
 narrow stairs to find ourselves in the middle of a 
 small space, only partly paved with broken brick 
 and completely walled in by tall houses in various 
 stages of decay. A hideous wooden bridge crossed 
 a slimy canal into just such another space, but 
 filled with sellers of what, even in Venice, must be 
 called rubbish. 
 
 The entire population of both squares appeared 
 to be out of doors, but the nature of their employ- 
 ment determined the identity of the spot. All 
 were picking geese, excepting a few of the boys 
 who were dragging half-denuded specimens round 
 by the legs, or throwing the disgusting web feet 
 which had been cut off, at each other. As the fat 
 of geese is indispensable in Jewish cookery, it was 
 perhaps a necessity that this disagreeable con- 
 dition of things should exist ; but having no wish 
 to endure it, we eagerly hailed a boat on the dirty 
 crooked canal. Our perplexity as to the best way
 
 ON THE RIVA. A WATER VENDER.
 
 CHILD-LIFE iy VENICE. 39 
 
 out of the unpleasant mass, evidently delighted the 
 staring urchins ; and just when we thought we saw 
 a safe path, one boy, whose laughing eyes indi- 
 cated his comprehension of the situation, dropped 
 the contents of a ragged apron which he wore over 
 his greasy trousers, and turned a somersault in their 
 midst, covering us from head to feet with the fluffy 
 particles ! The joke was against us, but he looked 
 so impishly mischievous that we laughed with him, 
 and threw him a couple of very small copper coins. 
 He deserted his goose-dragging at once, and before 
 we embarked was playing mora on the steps of the 
 landing, with a youth as handsome and audacious 
 as himself. Venetian boys and men as well, all 
 play mora, the simplest, though I should judge by 
 the emotion it excites, the most effective gambling 
 game known to civilization. The players throw 
 out two, three, or four fingers with the celerity of 
 thought and if the opponent calls out the correct 
 number the stakes are his. 
 
 Two or three times a week all Venice goes to the 
 Lido, for the Lido is the seashore, to bathe. It is 
 a long narrow strip of sand, stretching between the
 
 40 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 lagoon in which Venice is situated, and the Adri- 
 atic. Only half a mile wide, almost all strangers 
 walk across for the seaward view ; but Venetians 
 frequent only the side nearest the city. Entire 
 families, servants and cats included, pass the whole 
 day there, taking bath after bath, gathering the 
 scarlet poppies everywhere abundant, and looking 
 for the brilliant shells which in their musical tongue 
 they call, "flowers of the sea." 
 
 Steamers cross every half-hour from the Riva, 
 but the fashionable way is to go in one's own hired 
 gondola. Friends vie with each other in the beauty 
 of their boats, the gay costume of their gondoliers, 
 and the tasteful dress of the children and nurses. 
 It is upon such pleasure trips that two gondoliers 
 are employed. Only one is necessary ; the second 
 is purely an adjunct of luxury, a fitting accompani- 
 ment to the gilded chains, the exquisite carving and 
 the polished steel beak of the excursion boat. Prob- 
 ably there are never any showers in Venice, for 
 even the babies sit in the uncovered gondolas with 
 bare heads, although the mothers sometimes wear 
 a little lace veil, and the nurses always, a huge
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 41 
 
 comb set around with gold, silver, or glass beads. 
 It is a white day to the fishermen's children of the 
 Lido when these visitors from Venice give them 
 the fragments of their luncheon. They all are 
 sallow, ragged and dirty, but they have large soft 
 eyes, delicately cut lips, small feet and hands, a be- 
 witching archness of manner, and how hungry they 
 are ! Their fathers, costumed as if for a picture, 
 in wooden slippers having toes only, heavy brown 
 stockings reaching to the knees, and high-colored 
 wool caps, do not disdain to assist their families in 
 disposing of the bounty of the stranger, and when 
 there is nothing more to eat, gallantly escort their 
 benefactors to the boats, mounting the delighted 
 baby on the shoulders of the tallest. 
 
 Is Venice a little late in returning from the Lido? 
 Then Venice will land at the Riva de Schiavoni, 
 the stone quay nearest the Piazza of St. Mark. The 
 glorious full moon may have arisen to shed its ten- 
 der lustre over basilica, palace, and Campanile, and 
 to diffuse over the noble square additional life 
 and gayety. The hoary porphyry lions at the side 
 of the church bear always a heavy freight of boys,
 
 42 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 who select the position as a convenient place to 
 hear the band, and from whence to make frequent 
 dashes at any innocent-looking victims who may 
 give them a copper. Venetian ladies, who carry 
 their parasols as much in the evening as in day- 
 time, have a way of lowering them so they never 
 see these importunate beggars. The trick looked 
 easy, but as I tried it many times and never suc- 
 ceeded, I conclude it requires great art. 
 
 The street trades, which in this quarter some- 
 times languish by day, are after nightfall endowed 
 with new vigor. You may have your boots blacked, 
 or buy a flower for your buttonhole, grapes, melons, 
 figs, tomatoes, shell necklaces and bracelets, a lit- 
 tle picture of the Virgin, a small blue lobster or a 
 large red crab. The last, if you are unsophisti- 
 cated enough to eat it, will cause such thirst that no 
 matter what opinion you hold as to its danger, you 
 will buy a glass of the " acqua, acquafresca"zvery- 
 where offered you for one centime. The boys who 
 sell water are one of the most distinctive features 
 of the place. You cannot rise so early, nor retire 
 so late, that you will not hear their cry. Fortu-
 
 AT A GATEWAY.
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 45 
 
 nately Venetian voices are low and pleasant, un- 
 like those of Italians elsewhere. 
 
 The water of St. Mark's, considered the only 
 wholesome water in Venice, is always offered you 
 (no matter from whence it really comes) and is 
 borne from place to place in a large leathern bottle 
 strapped to the shoulders. In one hand is carried 
 a low stand with openings for glasses and bottles 
 of essences wherewith to flavor to please the cus- 
 tomer. Anise seed appeared to be the favorite 
 with the boys of whom we bought water, and a 
 more insipid compound it would be difficult to imag- 
 ine. The water boys earn between one and two 
 francs a day, and have regular routes and stations. 
 
 Dwelling houses are usually supplied by women, 
 who wear a peculiar uniform according to the lo- 
 cality from whence their water comes, and as they 
 are in some sense under police surveillance, it may 
 be possible to know what you are drinking. The 
 women who obtain their supply from the wells in 
 the courtyard of the Doge's Palace wear a short 
 skirt, a black cotton velvet bodice with white 
 linen sleeves, and a gay kerchief about the neck.
 
 46 CHILD-LIFE I.V VENICE. 
 
 A Tyrolese hat of felt with a bunch of bright flowers 
 completes the costume, for they are either quite bare- 
 footed, or their unstockinged feet are thrust into 
 very slipshod sandals. Generally strong and slen- 
 der of figure, they are often very handsome with blue- 
 black hair, and piercing eyes, and in their pictur- 
 esque dress are one of the prettiest sights of Venice. 
 They carry two brass kettles on the ends of a flat 
 piece of wood, curved like a bow, which is bal- 
 anced from one shoulder, and in one hand hold 
 a rope to lower the kettles into the well, and 
 with the other they gracefully protect their skirts 
 from damp. We never wearied of standing on the 
 magnificent staircase of the Doge's Palace and 
 looking down into the courtyard with its two mar- 
 vellously wrought well-heads surmounted by brazen 
 altars, where scores of boys and women came for 
 their stock in trade. They dabbled and splashed 
 in the most primitive fashion, dropping their cans, 
 filling them to overflowing, then jerking them up 
 only to spill their contents ; laughing and gesticu- 
 lating all the time like the fauns and dryads of 
 whom they reminded us.
 
 VENETIAN STREET COBBLER AND HIS APPRENTICES.
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 49 
 
 Wells however, though numerous, do not half 
 supply the present city. Artesian wells add a vast 
 number of gallons each day, and pipes of recent 
 origin, laid across the railroad bridge from the 
 mainland, are in constant use. One of the most 
 difficult problems to solve, was how a city built as 
 Venice is, could obtain water, but so satisfactorily 
 did her founders dispose of it, that while she has 
 often suffered for food when besieged, she never 
 has been reduced to straits for water. 
 
 From the Doge's Palace through the busy street 
 of the Merceria to the Rialto is a gay and cheerful 
 walk. What a place for shopping is the Mereeria ! 
 Beads from Murano, turquoise ornaments from the 
 Orient, mosaics recalling Byzantium, gold chains of 
 Venice, slender delicate goblets with serpents en- 
 circling their stems, winged lions for charms, rings 
 which break your heart, with their " Remember 
 Venice," all tempt you as you never were tempted 
 before The Merceria brings us out at the Rialto, 
 the island upon which ancient Venice was situated, 
 and which has always been the centre of commerce 
 as St. Mark's has of art. Shylock says :
 
 50 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 Signer Antonio, many a time and oft 
 In the Rialto you have rated me 
 About my moneys. 
 
 In 1180 the first bridge connecting the island 
 with the land on the right, was built, taking the 
 place of the bridge of boats before used. The ex- 
 isting one was begun in 1588, and the Venetian 
 ambassador entertained Queen Elizabeth with a 
 lively description of its splendors. At present its 
 footway is lined with shops and its parapet is the 
 favorite spot to sell coarse felt hats. At its steps 
 all sorts of boats discharge all sorts of cargoes 
 cabbages, squashes, cucumbers, onions, beans, 
 crimson gourds, and scarlet fish baskets with silver 
 and gold fish wrapped in green leaves. But the 
 painted sails of the fishing boats are most dazzling 
 to our Northern eyes, for they are orange and pur- 
 ple, scarlet and blue Everybody clamors at the 
 top of the voice, everybody tries to drive a sharp bar- 
 gain ; and you marvel how in the deafening roar the 
 curious statue of a hunchback, II Gobbo di Rialto, 
 retains his composure. He gazes thoughtfully upon 
 the crowd, patiently bearing on his shoulders the
 
 CHILD-LIFE IX VEXICE. 53 
 
 stone platform from whence the laws of the Re- 
 public were once proclaimed. 
 
 The Rialto bridge is as much common property 
 as is the square of St. Mark's. Boys dive from its 
 railing, clamber out of the water, only to dive again, 
 and scruple not to walk on their sunburned toes, 
 directly across stout swarthy fishermen asleep in 
 the shade. The streets are very dark in the Rialto 
 neighborhood, and all goods are brought out of 
 doors for examination, and while you see much 
 artistic work you wonder at it, so clumsy are the 
 tools and handled in the most inconvenient and 
 awkward manner. Once watching a cobbler who 
 presumably was teaching his apprentices to last a 
 shoe, we were amazed to see him hurl the wooden 
 form at one of the grinning boys. The cobbler's 
 dialect was outside our learning, but we gathered 
 from our gondolier that the boy had a brother 
 who was a priest, and that the master, an old Gari- 
 baldian, thought little of the clergy. Rowing to 
 the doorway we saw the shrine of the Blessed Virgin 
 was empty, and that a rough print of Victor Eman- 
 uel covered the carved head of a stone saint, and
 
 54 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 concluded he might be that cobbler who, when 
 Venice celebrated her reunion with Italy, being too 
 poor to buy a flag, suspended before his door 
 great strips of red, white and green paper, writing 
 on the white, " We will die for Italy /" 
 
 But if the Rialto is the entrance to many crooked 
 canals, to many mean houses and shops only inter- 
 esting because they show how the very poor may 
 live, it conducts as well to many a stately water- 
 way, where are lovely entrance gates, on whose 
 steps are now crouching exulting bathers instead 
 of the liveried menials who once obsequiously 
 awaited the arrival of their haughty lords. The 
 beauty of many of these gates is beyond words. 
 The delicate vines which soften the rough outline 
 of the aged arches, the surmounting vases, the 
 Gothic windows, even the glowing crabs which 
 cling like weather-beaten mariners to the black- 
 ened and wave-washed steps, all imperatively de- 
 mand the vivid colors of Carpaccio, Giorgione, and 
 Canaletto. 
 
 We may perhaps say of the crabs that they are 
 so abundant they are the cheapest food in Venice,
 
 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 55 
 
 enough being sold for a cent to afford the hungri- 
 est child a dinner. Indeed the aristocratic cats 
 who haunt the water entrances, scorn them, partak- 
 ing instead of such unnatural diet as corn, grapes, 
 and watermelons. From the earliest time these 
 large handsome cats have held the place in the af- 
 fections of Venetians, usually given to dogs. Con- 
 sequently they are not timid, shy, as in other cities ; 
 but gaze with great interest on the life of the 
 street, and walk statelily along after children of 
 high and low degree. Probably they owe their ex- 
 traordinary beauty to the Persians and Angoras 
 brought home by the voyaging shipmasters of 
 whom Marco Polo tells, and at any rate their 
 dignity and gravity accord well with the traditions 
 of a seafaring race. They are much prized by the 
 sacristans and vergers, and at the glass factories of 
 Murano every room pointed proudly to its especial 
 pet. Often when the factory boat comes from the 
 island with its freight of beads to be strung by 
 women and little girls, a fine-haired, glossy and 
 plump kitten will choose that way to see a little of 
 the world. Watching the curious intentness with
 
 56 CHILD-LIFE IN VENICE. 
 
 which he looked at the unlading of the hampers, 
 we fancied he possessed the secret of the first 
 fugitives who brought to these sea-girt sands the 
 mysterious art of making glass. Instead of soli- 
 tary and individual labor, hundreds of persons 
 are now employed in the different departments of 
 the art, and instead of the shoemaking, and sew- 
 ing of custom clothing, familiar to us, many fam- 
 ilies eke out their only too certain income by 
 stringing the beads whose manufacture is eagerly 
 investigated by every tourist. Stringing beads 
 tries eyes and wears nerves ; but in Venice, as 
 everywhere, if the poor would eat they must work. 
 Only during the Carnival season does the ease- 
 loving southern temperament rebel. Then, no 
 matter how large are the orders waiting to be 
 filled, the head stringers will not touch a bead. 
 
 Ah, happy bead-stringers of Venice, you may be 
 cold, hungry, and tired, but you will never see, 
 vanishing from your receding gaze, the grace and 
 the glory of Venice ! For Venice is an enchantress ; 
 Venice is the goblet of Scandinavian story, in 
 which the loveliness of the universe is mirrored.
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE 
 SNOW. 
 
 AT one end of a garden in the West of England, 
 stands a many-roomed rambling vicarage. 
 It is covered with creepers. Myrtles as thick as 
 ivy grow over the gables, while pomegranates, mag- 
 nolias and camellias flourish in the garden. Such 
 flowers and plants love the warm, soft atmosphere, 
 and everybody can see them ; but the most pre- 
 cious things in the garden are hidden, and only 
 those who see the garden no more, know where 
 they lie. Old memories cling to every tree, every 
 path, every stone and corner of this Home of the 
 past. Memories that make those who know, think 
 of the garden much as Adam and Eve must have 
 thought and longed for their lost Eden. 
 
 In the days that are no more, even the passers- 
 by, the sojourners of a day, were struck by its 
 59
 
 60 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 beauty and its peace. Those who were once chil- 
 dren there, remember seeing a white-haired clergy- 
 man come out of the house one afternoon, and as 
 he walked down the path, they paused in their 
 play, for they knew that this visitor was the holy 
 Mr. Keble, who had written the hymn they said 
 every night : 
 
 When the soft dews of kindly sleep 
 My wearied eyelids gently steep, 
 Be my last thought how sweet to rest 
 Forever on my Saviour's breast. 
 
 He also paused and smiled, then reverently took 
 off his hat, and said in a low voice : 
 
 " Children and flowers." 
 
 He seemed doubly pleased when the little ones 
 took a short cut, and were ready to hold the mea- 
 dow-gate open for him. 
 
 This garden was the Children's Kingdom, and 
 here they reigned supreme, with the exception of 
 one hour on Sunday, when the Holy Sacrament 
 was being celebrated, which they were learning 
 about in the Catechism. The vicarage was so near 
 the church, that their mother feared the eager
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 61 
 
 voices might be heard, and with secret awe, the 
 children remained quietly in the house. 
 
 The flower garden was a flat piece of ground. 
 Two long terraces crossed each other at right an- 
 gles, with white vases at the corners. The middle 
 walls led from a deep porch with oak pillars, round 
 a large clump of shrubs, and then down a slope, 
 where the grass was kept like velvet, to a white 
 bridge. This spanned what in Devonshire is called 
 a " goyle," through which a cheerful stream tumbled 
 and bubbled ; some of the big stones baying back 
 the water into dark, silent pools, where the trout 
 lay on hot summer days. From the bridge, the 
 path crossed the meadow-to the church. 
 
 Two kitchen gardens with their espaliers and 
 groves of raspberries, and an adjoining orchard, 
 made first-rate places for hide-and-seek. On one 
 side of this happy garden was a small seacoast 
 town, and on the other the woods and grounds of 
 the kind Squire, who gave the children leave to 
 wander where they liked. Primrose, mushroom, 
 acorn and nut-pickings are all splendid things at 
 the right time ; but the beach with its long, gray
 
 62 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 waves, fringed with white foam, was generally 
 their favorite walk. Here they could dig for un- 
 known treasures. Here they might find gold or 
 jewels tossed up from wrecks, and waifs and strays 
 from tropical shores. Nothing seemed impossible. 
 Perseveringly and hopefully they toiled, though 
 shells and sea-weeds were their only harvest. 
 
 Among the many memories gathered in the home 
 just described, some incidents occurred in the win- 
 ter of 1855, that left a lasting impression upon the 
 minds of these children. 
 
 It had been a very cold winter. Even in the 
 West of England, the snow fell heavily, and the 
 ponds froze hard enough for skating. But the cold 
 was little thought of, compared to the sympathy 
 felt for the sufferings of the allied armies in the 
 Sebastopol trenches. The younger members of a 
 family are soon infected with the enthusiasm of 
 the elders, and the discussions of politics and Cri- 
 mean War news down-stairs, were warmly echoed 
 in the nursery and schoolroom. The children were 
 also able to turn their interest to good account, by 
 helping to roll bandages and making lint for the
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 63 
 
 wounded. Great bales of old linen went off from 
 Combehaven, and on an appointed day a constant 
 run of people of all ages and ranks, came and went 
 at the Public Rooms with their various offerings. 
 What a medley those bales were ! The finest 
 lawn sheets and coarse aprons and shirts, old 
 dresses and the children's new big doll's trousseaux, 
 with the seams cut out, all went together to fulfil 
 the work of love. 
 
 The winter was nearly over. The children thought 
 they had said good-by to snow-balls, and were 
 looking out for catkins. It was eight o'clock on 
 the evening of the seventh of February, and they 
 were sitting round a table, with their drawing and 
 needlework, while their mother read aloud to them 
 Shakespeare's play of the Merchant of Venice. 
 
 The younger ones could no more remember 
 when they first heard Shakespeare read, than they 
 could the time when they began to eat bread and 
 butter. This evening there was a dispute over the 
 Casket scene. Clara did not like Portia's picture 
 being found in the leaden casket. She thought 
 the silver casket would have been so much prettier.
 
 64 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 But Janet explained that it was sure to have been 
 in the leaden casket, because it was the ugly duck- 
 ling who became the swan, and it was always the 
 third brother who won the princess. 
 
 In the middle of the argument the vicar and 
 his three curates came in tired out, after a parish 
 meeting, and declaring that it was cold enough for 
 snow. 
 
 Baby was fretful with her teeth, and woke up 
 Clara in the night, and though nurse and baby 
 were soon asleep again, not so the little girl. Very 
 softly she crept out of bed, and over to the window. 
 A white garden lay under the moon. Raindrops 
 glittered on the panes, but the clouds were disap- 
 pearing beyond the woods. Across the snow came 
 the sound of the church clock striking four. A 
 branch of banksia-rose tapped against the window, 
 and shivering she stole back to her warm little bed, 
 next the baby's bassinette. In a few minutes the 
 nursery was stillness itself ; and without snowy 
 nights are always still. 
 
 The following morning four basins of bread and 
 milk were on the breakfast table, and the sun, too
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 65 
 
 bright to last, shone on the silver and china. The 
 mother presided over the party, and checked the 
 hum of voices, that might disturb her husband, as 
 he waded through a pile of letters and papers. The 
 door burst open, and in came the brown-headed 
 darling of the house, little Harry, regardless of 
 ruri-decanal business, shouting : 
 
 " A donkey has been in my garden ! " 
 " How can that be ! " exclaimed his father, going 
 to the window and putting up his gold eyeglasses. 
 All down the long path, hoof-marks in the snow 
 were visible. 
 
 " Did John see the donkey, Harry ? " 
 " No, he jumped over the garden wall." 
 " My dear boy, the wall is a great deal too high 
 for a donkey to jump." 
 
 " He did, father, I saw his hoofs." 
 The door opened again, and one of the curates 
 was announced, apologizing for his early call. 
 
 " I have come to tell the vicar of a most extraor- 
 dinary occurrence. An utterly unknown animal 
 has been passing through the town during the 
 night."
 
 66 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 " Do you mean the donkey that has invaded our 
 garden ? " asked the vicar. 
 
 " It is impossible for it to be a donkey," answered 
 the young curate. " A donkey could not have been 
 over the whole town in one night, into every court, 
 every alley, and even," he added, lowering his voice 
 mysteriously, " on the roofs of several houses." 
 
 " My dear Hayes, What romance have you got 
 up now ? " 
 
 " It is no romance, I assure you, sir. Will you 
 come out and see for yourself ? " 
 
 " May I finish my breakfast in peace first ? " 
 asked the vicar, smiling. 
 
 Mr. Hayes turned to the ladies, and told them 
 that the whole population was out on the track of 
 this animal, that nothing seemed to have impeded 
 its progress, for the marks came up to high walls, 
 and appeared on the other side, as if it had given a 
 ' prodigious leap. 
 
 " That is just what Harry says of the marks in 
 the garden," said Miss Chapman the governess. 
 
 Breakfast being ended, the seniors of the party, 
 including Maude, the eldest girl, proceeded to the
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 67 
 
 garden, while the children watched them from the 
 deep window-seats in the nursery. They were soon 
 joined by one of the church-wardens and two other 
 men, who walked up the path, carefully keeping 
 on one side of the footprints. The snow was crisp 
 with a morning frost. In the meantime several 
 maids had been in and out of the nursery, each 
 with a fresh surmise to tell nurse. The butcher's 
 boy said that it was a kangaroo, escaped from a 
 travelling menagerie ; and by the time the laun- 
 dress came the kangaroo had grown into a tiger. 
 This raised a panic in the nursery, in the midst of 
 which the door was thrown wide open, and in 
 stalked little Harry. 
 
 " It's a ghost," he said in a conclusively matter- 
 of-fact tone. 
 
 " Nonsense, Master Harry ! you are not to say 
 such things to the young ladies." And nurse 
 poked the fire violently, her usual plan for changing 
 the conversation. On this occasion the poker had 
 no effect, the interest was irrepressible. 
 
 " Who said it was a ghost ? " asked Janet. 
 
 " O, father or Mr. Jones."
 
 68 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 " You know quite well, sir, that master never 
 said nothing of the sort," maintained nurse. 
 
 " Well, then it was Mr. Jones, and he says it 
 must be a ghost, because it comes straight from the 
 churchyard to our door." 
 
 "There's no such thing as ghosts," said nurse. 
 
 " Yes, there are ! " exclaimed Janet, " there's 
 Banquo's ghost." 
 
 The children laughed merrily when nurse an- 
 swered : 
 
 " I never heard of no such gentleman in Combe- 
 haven. And now, young ladies, you ought to go 
 to your lessons." 
 
 " Miss Chapman is out in the garden with Maude 
 and Mr. Hayes," said Harry, still superior in his 
 information. 
 
 " Always about with somebody," muttered nurse, 
 who with her thousand good qualities, was pro- 
 foundly jealous of the governess. 
 
 At this moment their mother's step was heard, 
 and the children rushed to open the door for her. 
 To their astonishment, they found that she also 
 was puzzled. Up to this time they believed that
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 69 
 
 their parents knew everything, that they could 
 make plain every question in their minds ; and it 
 was truly bewildering to find that their mother 
 could not at once tell them what the animal was. 
 
 Before they had time to tell her all the foolish 
 things they had heard, Miss Chapman was calling 
 Janet and Clara in her most decisive manner, which 
 made them run off at once. Clara had only just 
 begun lessons in the schoolroom, and found great 
 difficulty in remembering what she ought not to 
 forget, but to-day she had to begin to learn the 
 much more difficult task of trying to forget what 
 she ought not to remember. In fact, these foot- 
 prints sent Clara's French verb into a hopeless 
 condition. In vain Miss Chapman's voice urged 
 her on with "fetait, I was, tu etait, thou wast." It 
 sounded to her like the jar of a distant bell ; and 
 it certainly was trying for Miss Chapman in her 
 turn to find that instead of getting up a fresh spurt, 
 Clara answered her with a question as to whether 
 kangaroos always hopped, or whether they some- 
 times walked. 
 
 Luncheon was no help at all. The presence of
 
 yo FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 a gentleman, who had come to consult their father 
 on business, awed the children into silence. When 
 the footmarks were mentioned, it was only in a 
 discussion as to the various lengths of hoofs, and a 
 disquieting remark that they could not be those of a 
 donkey, as they were traceable under the espaliers. 
 
 Clara was thankful to hear that the beach was 
 their destination, when her mother asked where 
 the schoolroom party were going to walk. The 
 houses on the way thither would be chances of 
 refuge, should they meet the kangaroos, or still 
 worse, the tiger. In broad daylight, at a prosaic 
 luncheon table, the ghost had a very faint existence, 
 but the idea of a wild beast lurking behind some 
 snowy hedge, ready to pounce out upon governesses 
 and children, had assumed an alarming reality. 
 
 All through the little town, notwithstanding the 
 passing of many wheels and feet, the prints in the 
 snow were everywhere, and Clara felt as if she 
 could hardly drag one foot after the other. How 
 she longed to be walking towards home instead of 
 away from it. Several people they met were open- 
 mouthed with fresh ideas, and when one lady sug-
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. Jl 
 
 gested a kangaroo to Miss Chapman, she was 
 promptly reminded that a kangaroo has claws and 
 not hoofs. 
 
 Till now it had been some comfort to Clara to 
 think that a kangaroo was harmless, however hor- 
 rid it might be hopping over a hedge close by ; 
 and not daring to ease her mind by consulting Miss 
 Chapman as to a tiger's feet, she now decided that 
 if it was not a kangaroo, it must be a tiger. 
 
 The walk was accomplished without any wild- 
 beast encounters, and still Clara could not find an 
 opportunity of pouring out her troubles to her 
 mother. Lessons filled up the rest of the afternoon 
 until tea time, and in the evening several friends 
 were added to the home party. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton, a dear old lady of eighty, who 
 lived in a cottage full of pictures and rare old 
 china, on the opposite side of the road from the 
 vicarage, came first, then Mr. Norton and Mr. 
 Danby, two of the curates, and Mr. Danby's pupil, 
 a very black Prince, who had come to England to 
 finish his education. This Prince made a great 
 pet of Clara, and sitting on his knee, examining
 
 72 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 tha gold embroidery of his waistcoat and the jew- 
 elled buttons that fastened it, her attention was 
 diverted from the footprints. Besides which he 
 was teaching her some French sentences, and his 
 tight black curls, and the lighter color of the skin 
 between his fingers, were a source of never-failing 
 interest to her. 
 
 He was always happy with children, for the semi' 
 awe inspired by the novelty of his dark skin made 
 them ready to do what he liked. In a general way, 
 the difficulty of getting through life, without being 
 thwarted, was a formidable barrier to his content- 
 ment. Though he was a Prince of twenty-three 
 years of age, he frequently behaved in the same 
 unreasonable and naughty manner, that foolish 
 children of six or seven occasionally indulge in. 
 He would thump his head on the floor, and roar, 
 when things went " contrary." He sulked for sev- 
 eral hours because he could only drive in " wan lee- 
 tie machine, "to pay a call in the neighborhood, in- 
 stead of the equipage and state he considered his 
 due ; and once when it rained, and a cricket match 
 was put off, he rushed up and down the room, and
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. J 
 
 butted his tutor with all his might. After these 
 rages he would be very penitent, and the day fol- 
 lowing the butting episode, Mr. Danby found a 
 hard black ball on his study-table. It was some 
 minutes before he discovered that it was a peace- 
 offering. A lock of the Prince's hair. Not a lock, 
 but many curls, rolled up tight together, unti: it 
 was almost a solid mass. 
 
 Before he left England, he attained to a great 
 increase of self-control, though he did not live long 
 to practise the good he got from his kind tutor ; 
 for soon after he returned to his own country, a 
 mob rushed into his palace during some tumult. 
 He was dragged out to a neighboring hill, and 
 beheaded, without trial or chance of defence. 
 
 On the special evening after the discovery of ;he 
 footprints, the Prince was a great comfort to Clara, 
 as he quite distracted her attention for the time. 
 
 Bedtime came all too soon, and with it her ter- 
 rors. The wind sounded like a wild beast roaring 
 past the windows, and howling in the chimney; 
 and being a very foolish little girl, each gust 
 worked her into a greater fever.
 
 74 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 The two nurseries were connected by a door, 
 which was always left open after the children had 
 gone to bed, and nurse sat in the outer room at 
 work. Her needle-clicks, and two streaks of light 
 that came into the darkness, the big streak through 
 the door, and the little one through the hinges, 
 were Clara's great consolation. 
 
 Jane, the nurserymaid, came into the nursery, and 
 told nurse that supper was ready. She seemed ex- 
 cited, and her voice rose above a whisper, so that 
 Clara heard her words : 
 
 " Mr. Ball says that people do say that something 
 came up these very stairs, nurse, last night, and 
 knocked at the door." 
 
 Nurse's answer was in a whisper, as she left 
 the room, and Clara shivered so much that she 
 could hardly tell whether Jane went at the same 
 time. She tried to listen, but the wind came 
 thumping and tearing at the window again, and 
 when it subsided, no comforting thimble-and-nee- 
 dle clicks came from the day nursery. 
 
 Bottling up thoughts often makes people very 
 unreasonable, and it had chanced that there had
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 75 
 
 not been a single opportunity for a confession of 
 Clara's fears to her father or mother all day. 
 
 Listening, shivering, gasping with holding her 
 breath, she hid herself under the clothes, and 
 jumped up again by turns, when she heard a step 
 on the stairs. Yes ! It was coming nearer, the 
 boards creaked, the handle turned a sound in the 
 outer room and then by the rustle of a silk 
 dress, Clara knew that her mother was in the day- 
 nursery. 
 
 A sob caught her ear, and she was by Clara's 
 bed in a moment. 
 
 " My darling, what is it ? You are as cold as 
 ice." And wrapping the child in her little dress- 
 ing-gown, she carried her to the fire in the outer 
 room. Sobs and gasps had taken such hold of 
 Clara, that she could not speak ; but nestling in 
 her mother's arms, she felt as if she knew every- 
 thing, and the kangaroo, the tiger, and the terrible 
 Something, all vanished at once. 
 
 " My little Clara has been frightened, and she 
 forgot that God was taking care of her." 
 
 Then she told her mother all about it.
 
 76 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 " It is very wrong of people to say such foolish 
 things. Only ignorant people like Mr. Ball, or 
 Jane, would believe or suggest such folly." 
 
 " But, mother, there are ghosts, aren't there ? " 
 
 " St. Paul says that we are in the midst of a cloud 
 of unseen witnesses, but he says unseen. Evil 
 spirits come to us in the form of temptations, and 
 if we fight against our temptations, all terrors will 
 fly away." 
 
 " Then, mother, is it a tiger ? " 
 
 " Now just think for one minute. If a tiger had 
 been prowling about in the snow, do you suppose 
 he would have left all your father's sheep unhurt ? 
 An animal that would not attack sheep and lambs, 
 would not be likely to injure human beings." 
 
 This was a new light to Clara. Still she wanted 
 more explanation, and this her mother could not 
 give her. 
 
 " The uncertainty interests your father and me, 
 but it does not frighten us. There are many things 
 in the world that are thought about and waited 
 for a long time, before anybody understands what 
 they mean, God wishes it to be so. He wishes
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 77 
 
 us to trust Him, and at the same time to use the 
 reason He gives us, in trying to find out the mean- 
 ing of His wonderful works." 
 
 And so with some of the thousand lullabies of 
 life, the mother consoled the poor frightened little 
 girl. Then niyse came back, and her mother 
 tucked her into bed again, and told her to go to 
 sleep as fast as she could, and remember that the 
 angels were watching around. 
 
 The story of the footprints speedily got into the 
 newspapers. There were pictures and plans of 
 their course in the Illustrated London News, and 
 many articles and speculations on the subject. 
 The vicar was persecuted with letters from all 
 parts of England. Chamois, green plover, otter, 
 were suggested as animals and birds, which might 
 have been roving and left some mark. The otter 
 opened a new field, and one that Mr. Norton thought 
 might have something in it. In some of the marks, 
 after careful inspection, he thought he discovered 
 the impression of claws ; but that the claws should 
 be in what was apparently the frog of the strange 
 animal's hoof, made a fresh perplexity.
 
 78 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 So the world and the wise men puzzled on, and 
 suggested and argued, and doubted and contra- 
 dicted, until the war took away the object of their 
 discussions, except in some shady nooks. The nine- 
 days'-wonder was dying away among the greater 
 interests of Crimean war news. 
 
 A sunny day brought a great treat for the chil- 
 dren. Harry and Clara were to go for a walk with 
 their father. He had so little time to spare, that 
 it was quite a red-letter day event. Even now the 
 walk was on duty, as he had to visit a sick person 
 at the Squire's home farm. 
 
 They went by a path that skirted the park, where 
 the earliest primroses were sure to peep. Though 
 it was Clara's first country walk, since her panic of 
 hopping kangaroos, and lurking tigers, she felt no 
 fear, as with her hand in her father's, she listened 
 to the birds' songs as old as the world, of love and 
 sunshine. 
 
 Mr. Culvert, the farmer, greeted the vicar warmly, 
 and Harry and Clara amused themselves with feed- 
 ing the ducks, and watching them turn head over 
 heels in the water. When the visit to the sick
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 79 
 
 servant was over, Mr. Culvert invited the children 
 into the parlour to have some bread and cream. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Culvert, " I suppose you know 
 what all these footprints mean ? " 
 
 " What is your explanation ? Nobody seems 
 able to give the animal a right name." 
 
 " I can give it to your honour. Tis a cat." 
 " Well, give us your reasons, Culvert." 
 " Why, 'tis just this, sir. I went out on the 
 Tuesday night to see after the ewes. There had 
 been a shimmer of snow, which stopped afore I 
 came outside. Missus' cat came out along with 
 me, and she prowled 'fore just the way I was going, 
 which was to say, past the hayricks. She bided 
 there to have a look to the mice, and I went on to 
 the highway. Well, you see, sir, when I was come 
 out again, it was raining, but it stopped afore I 
 ever got home, and the moon was shining that light, 
 that I noticed that round where the cat had trod, 
 the rain had washed away a bit of the snow, and 
 among my footsteps there sure enough were the 
 hoof marks. In the morning I bended my knees, 
 and looked close, and I could see a mark like the
 
 8o FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 cat's claws in the lump of snow in the middle, and 
 the hoof marks turned away from mine, when they 
 came to the ricks. I could show them to you now, 
 as the lea side of the ricks is shady." 
 
 " Why did you not come and have a chat with 
 me before, Culvert ? You would have saved me 
 from writing a pile of letters. I have had inquiries 
 from all parts of England." 
 
 " I did think of it, sir. Only I reckoned you 
 knew the rights of it as well as me, when you did 
 not preach about it, as I hear some parsons have 
 been doing." 
 
 The vicar smiled. " More harm than good is 
 often done by noticing the superstitious imagina- 
 tions of some people, and the mere fact of showing 
 disapprobation is more than they are worth." 
 
 The children hastened home to tell their mother 
 the news. And Mr. Danby coming in with the 
 Prince said, " This proves Norton's theory of the 
 claws. The position of the marks is just the way 
 in which a cat places its feet in walking." 
 
 " And of course a cat could climb a high wall, by 
 the help of fruit trees and ivy, and everybody's cat
 
 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 8l 
 
 walked on everybody's roof, which explains all 
 that is mysterious," said the mother laughing. 
 
 "It was a remarkable occurrence in the weather, 
 for the rain must have been slight, and the snow 
 was seized by a frost immediately afterwards," said 
 the vicar. " Culvert thought the shower fell at three 
 o'clock. That accounts for the untrodden appear- 
 ance of the snow, saving the footprints, and the 
 cats had it all to themselves." 
 
 " I know the rain had stopped at four o'clock, 
 father," said Clara. 
 
 " You knew it, did you, Miss Puss ? Were you 
 out with the cats as well ? " 
 
 Everybody looked at Clara, and she looked in 
 dismay at her mother, who beckoned to her. 
 
 " I was looking out of window, mother, when the 
 clock struck, because I was tired of Baby's crying 
 herself to sleep." 
 
 Everybody laughed when the Prince said, 
 
 " Mees Clara had de bag all de dime, and now 
 she do led de cad jomp." 
 
 The Prince, proud of his English, always squeezed 
 in a joke when he could remember one.
 
 82 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW. 
 
 But the footsteps in the snow were no joke to 
 Clara. They had been the cause of far too serious 
 a lesson to be regarded in anything but a serious 
 light. A lesson that lasted far beyond the foot- 
 prints, and that struck at the root of foolish daily 
 terrors of being alone, and nightly shiverings in 
 the dark, and helped her through many of the fears 
 and trials of older life.
 
 SOME OF THE LOOKERS-ON.
 
 FOURTH OF JULY IN THE 
 RUE PETIT JEAN. 
 
 THE French Fourth of July is July fourteenth ; 
 the French Declaration of Independence 
 dating from the destruction of the Bastile. 
 
 The Bastile, as many of you know, was that 
 famous prison in Paris which to the French people 
 was the symbol of the grievous wrongs of many 
 centuries. Here people were often confined with- 
 out knowing of what they were accused, or whom 
 were their accusers. Often they were simply forgot- 
 ten and lived and died there. French history is 
 filled with stories of the Bastile. Many of you 
 have doubtless read of Pelisson and his spicier, 
 that story of patient endurance. When the Bas- 
 tile was captured by the people during the French 
 Revolution, and its doors were opened, men who 
 were imprisoned young came forth old ; they had 
 85
 
 86 FOURTH OF JULY IN THE RUE PETIT ^ 
 
 been long supposed to be dead, and their friends 
 were gone and scattered. 
 
 It is not surprising that the people believed that 
 their liberties could not be safe until the Bastile 
 was destroyed, and that they razed it to the ground. 
 The stones were afterward consecrated to the beauti- 
 ful service of the Pont de la Concorde, one of the 
 most noted bridges of the Seine. The site of the 
 Bastile is now marked by the lofty Column of July 
 on whose summit stands the gilded figure of Liberty, 
 bearing a torch in one hand and in the other a 
 broken chain. 
 
 It is not strange that the French Republic has 
 selected the memorable day of the taking of the 
 Bastile for its National Fete. But you will be sur- 
 prised to know that they do not celebrate it with 
 cannon, fire crackers, and toy revolvers. It is a 
 fete of beauty not of noise ; and at the risk of 
 seeming very unpatriotic I think the French have a 
 much more fitting way of celebrating their free- 
 dom. By day Paris is alive with the tremulous color 
 of floating flag. By night the city is ablaze with 
 light. The Seine gleams like a rainbow-hued rib-
 
 FOURTH OF JULY IN THE RUE PETIT JEAN. 87 
 
 bon with the reflections frorh the bridges, the lit- 
 tle boats leaving trails of light behind them, and 
 yellow lanterns that hang like great golden oranges 
 from the trees on its banks. The palace and 
 gardens of the Tracodero rise out of the darkness 
 like a scene of enchantment from the Arabian 
 Nights. From the Champ de Mars opposite, hun- 
 dreds of thousands of people are gathered to see it, 
 and to enjoy the magnificent fireworks, the castles 
 and fountains and gardens golden visions, that 
 gleam for a moment and pass away. 
 
 But the most interesting part of the fete is that 
 of the children to whom the afternoon belongs. 
 The different arrondissements, or as we would say, 
 the different wards, each arranges its own pro- 
 gramme, which usually consists of games and 
 prizes. The Rue Petit Jean is a little street run- 
 ning out of the Boulevard de Clichy, and bumps its 
 head so to speak, against a white stone where stands 
 a small shrine. Probably suggested by the shrine, 
 the Committee has placed the bust of Liberty on a 
 pedestal in front and surrounded it with the tri- 
 color. The Committee is chieflv a tall thin man
 
 88 FOURTH OF JULY IN THE RUE PETIT JEAlSf. 
 
 with a very red face which gets redder and redder 
 through chasing the half-grown boys, who, of what- 
 ever nation, have a fashion of becoming too prom- 
 inent for the committee-men on such exciting 
 occasions. 
 
 Midway down the street stands a tall pole in the 
 middle of a ring of sawdust. At the top is a great 
 cedar wreath, and from this hang boxes of choco- 
 late, Bologna sausages done up in silver paper, a 
 long "flute" of bread, a doll, cases of pencils, a 
 gleaming pocket-knife. At the foot is a group of 
 eager-eyed children waiting none too patiently for 
 the fun to begin ; and outside their mothers in white 
 caps and as eager as the children. 
 
 The pole is called the Mat de Cocagne ; in other 
 words, the Cockney Mast. It has been well oiled, 
 and the trophies above are for those who can get 
 them. 
 
 Everything in France proceeds according to 
 routine. The boys who are to take part, have long 
 since been enrolled, and the committee is waving 
 the paper with authority. Each boy steps forth as 
 his name is called, and a pair of scissors on a white
 
 FOURTH OF JULY IN THE RUE PETIT JEAN. 9! 
 
 string is hung around his neck as solemnly as if he 
 were being invested with the Order of the Golden 
 Fleece. For a long time the scissors are not needed. 
 Finally the tiniest boy of all mounts higher and 
 higher, the children shout, the women set up a 
 tremendous cackle, and the white caps nod. He 
 is almost in reach. He slips back. He gains 
 again. His little face is purple with effort. The 
 crowd gets more and more excited. The air is rent 
 with ejaculations. He is slowly losing ground. 
 Then relaxing his hold he slides swiftly down, the 
 multitude with one groan coming down, as it were, 
 with him. 
 
 Finally a large boy reaches the top amid great 
 shouts and cuts off the longest sausage. The other 
 boys evidently believe there is some virtue in his 
 coat, and he good-naturedly lends it to each new 
 aspirant. Others fill their pockets with sawdust 
 which they scatter on their legs on the journey up- 
 ward to give them better purchase. 
 
 At last the time is up and the crowd changes its 
 place in front of the bust of Liberty where the fat 
 de Bougies is to take place. This is the trial of the
 
 92 FOURTH OF JULY IN THE RUE PETIT JEAN. 
 
 little girls who are all becurled and clean-pina- 
 fored for the occasion. Parallel lines of benches 
 on wnich the mothers sit, mark off a course 
 which ends at a table covered with little petticoats, 
 aprons, collars and cuffs, ribbons and laces. The 
 girls are arranged according to their ages, the lit- 
 tle ones coming first. Into each little tot's hand a 
 lighted candle is placed. At the signal they start 
 and run ; and the first one at the goal with her 
 candle still lighted is the winner. Away they go 
 toddling over the stones. The timid ones stop to 
 try and shield their lights, and the bolder ones 
 dash away, their candles apparently out, but when 
 they stop, red-faced and breathless, before the 
 committee now behind the table, the light flares 
 up as if it too had been playing a little game. It 
 is a pretty sport, and the pile of prizes on the ta- 
 ble rapidly grows less. 
 
 For the larger girls there is still the Jeu de 
 Ciscaux in which the prizes are more improving. A 
 string is tied across the narrow street. A foot 
 apart hang other strings attached to this, to 
 each of which is tied, work baskets, fans, sewing-
 
 FOURTH OF JULY IN THE RUE PETIT JEAN. 93 
 
 boxes, silk aprons and pieces of humble finery. 
 The girls are blindfolded, one by one, and given a 
 pair of scissors. They walk slowly and with med- 
 itative tread toward the rope, and holding out the 
 scissors endeavor to cut one of the threads. If 
 they succeed the prize which it holds is theirs. 
 If they fail they contribute to the hilarious merri- 
 ment of the occasion. 
 
 It is pleasant to see how good-natured everybody 
 is and how well the unfortunates take their defeat. 
 One thing is especially to be observed. There are 
 no tubs of lemonade, bushels of cake, and pounds of 
 candy distributed, such as make so important part 
 of a Fourth of July celebration in this country. 
 The hungry children run to their mothers who have 
 ambushed in their pockets a petit pain or as a great 
 treat, a brioche, which is softer and sweeter than 
 the dry roll. But the children seem just as 
 happy as young Americans, and perhaps on 
 the next day are even happier.
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL 
 EPISODE. 
 
 AN impressive though simple ceremony was 
 performed in Westminster Abbey on the 
 first of March, 1884, and I wish to take my Amer- 
 ican friends with me in imagination, as I give a 
 short account of it. 
 
 The sun shone out with unusual brightness on 
 that now historic morning. It was pronounced a 
 fine day even by the Americans who made a part 
 of the company which found its way to the Abbey 
 where their great singer was to be buried. We 
 shall take the liberty of joining the small group 
 composed principally of the relatives of Mr. Long- 
 fellow. Our tickets invite us to the famed Jerusa- 
 lem Chamber, where the preliminary ceremonies 
 are to occur a low building of a single story which 
 impinges upon the west front of the Abbey. Half 
 94
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE. 
 
 95 
 
 an hour later, the poet's portrait-bust is to be un- 
 veiled in the South Transept, usually known as 
 Poets' Corner. 
 
 Making our way through the Dean's Yard, we 
 pass by a low doorway, and along devious pas- 
 sages devious at least to our unaccustomed feet 
 into the celebrated place. What visions of the 
 past rise before us as we are ushered into the tapes- 
 tried apartment ! At the long and somewhat nar- 
 row table that runs down the middle, now usurped 
 by reporters, the learned divines who lately revised 
 the New Testament sat and worked many tedious 
 days. Venerable even in the far-away Dark Ages, 
 how many scenes of ecclesiastical policy has the 
 room witnessed ! Nearly five hundred years ago, 
 too, it was the scene of the death of King Henry 
 the Fourth as made immortal by Shakespeare. 
 In this room it was that the prince, his son, tried 
 on the crown which his father had laid at his bed's 
 head. Here it was also that in June, 1719, the 
 body of the gentle essayist, Addison, lay in state. 
 
 Though we are among the first to enter, we soon 
 find our memories of the past interrupted by the
 
 96 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE. 
 
 increasing company of those privileged to partici- 
 pate in these private exercises, and now the room 
 is so full that some are obliged to stand for want 
 of seats. The two daughters of the poet are taken 
 to places of honor at the front, where Earl Gran- 
 ville and other notables are presented to them. 
 While the little audience is gathering, we look 
 about us and notice Mr. Lowell, the American 
 Minister, Mr. Childers, Chancellor of the Ex- 
 chequer, Miss Mackintosh, a London niece of the 
 poet, Sir Theodore Martin and others whose fame 
 has probably crossed the sea. The Dean of the 
 Abbey is not present, having been called away by 
 bereavement, and as the hour of noon arrives, Mr. 
 Bennoch, Honorary Treasurer of the memorial 
 fund, rises and moves that the chair be taken by 
 the Sub-Dean, Canon Prothero. The Honorary 
 Secretary, Mr. Bennett, reports bfiefly what has 
 been done since the last previous meeting of the 
 Executive Committee, and reads letters from Mr. 
 Gladstone, the Earl of Derby, H. R. H. the Prince 
 of Wales, the Baroness Burdett-Coutts and others 
 regretting their inability to be present. This nee-
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE. 97 
 
 essary, but not very entertaining work being accom- 
 plished, Mr. Bennet then calls upon Earl Granville 
 formally to commit to the care of the custodians 
 of " that ancient and historical Abbey, the bust, a 
 memorial raised by the contributions of the English 
 people," and expressed a hope that the represen- 
 tative "of the mighty offshoot of our islands," 
 whom he said he rejoiced to see present on the 
 occasion, might see " in the presence of his friend 
 in our Poets' Corner how dearly we cherish the 
 thought of the unity of the two great communities 
 of our race." These cordial sentiments of inter- 
 national good feeling were greeted with cheers. 
 
 Earl Granville, a nice-looking gentleman who 
 dropped the final g's from his words in a way 
 that might surprise our American cousins not accus- 
 tomed to the fashionable style of English speech, 
 now became the centre of attraction. Of course, 
 he began by saying that he was not prepared to 
 make a speech, though he frankly acknowledged 
 that the richest materials for a speech were not 
 wanting. His lack of preparation did not hinder 
 him from continuing for some time, nor from being
 
 9 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE. 
 
 really interesting in his remarks. He dilated upon 
 the high character, the refinement and the personal 
 charm of the illustrious American whom he had 
 come to honor, and upon the traits which had 
 achieved for his writings a popularity no greater 
 in America than in England and its dependencies. 
 He was greeted with cheers when he referred to 
 the international relations of a moral and intel- 
 lectual nature which, he said, form bonds growing 
 greater and stronger every day between the intel- 
 lectual and cultivated classes of the two great 
 countries. Then he complimented Mr. Lowell, as 
 one infinitely better fitted than he to treat these 
 important topics as one not only the official rep- 
 resentative of the United States, but as being in a 
 position to speak with more authority than any 
 one else upon the literary and intellectual progress 
 of his country. Earl Granville expressed also his 
 pleasure that he had himself been present at the 
 meetings inaugurating the work in the completion 
 of which he was now permitted to participate, and 
 called upon the Sub-Dean to accept the bust for 
 the authorities of the Abbey.
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE. 99 
 
 I cannot report the charming speech that Mr. 
 Lowell then delivered in the inimitable style that 
 has fortunately become so familiar in England, but 
 it was very grateful to the daughters of the poet as 
 well as to all who cherished his memory. The Sub- 
 Dean then accepted the memorial, and Mr. Childers, 
 who had spent several years in America and had 
 known the poet there, followed with a little speech, 
 in which he reiterated the desire of Mr. Lowell, 
 that the Abbey might become the Valhalla of the 
 English-speaking race. He then moved a vote of 
 thanks to the Honorary Secretary, which Mr. Ben- 
 net properly acknowledged. 
 
 We follow the group as it proceeds to the South 
 Transept. Mr. Bennoch offers Miss Longfellow 
 his arm, and all walk into the south aisle through 
 a door just under the little gallery entered from 
 the Deanery, in which Her Majesty has sometimes 
 had her seat when quietly witnessing services which 
 she wished not to be recognized as attending, as in 
 the case of the obsequies of Lady Stanley. As 
 Poets' Corner is approached, the crowd becomes so 
 dense that progress is quite difficult.
 
 100 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE. 
 
 The Abbey certainly never appeared so bright 
 as to-day. As we enter Poets' Corner, we look 
 directly into the chapel of St. Benet. Just there 
 stands the prominent monument to Dryden. At 
 the right is a great pillar, next to the tall urn which 
 commemorates Cowley, on one side of which is the 
 monument to Chaucer. To the left of Cowley's 
 urn, attached to the great pillar at the corner, the 
 bust of Mr. Longfellow ( now covered with a cloth) 
 is fixed in the very position that a friend would 
 have chosen for it. As we approach, Canon Pro- 
 thero mounts some steps prepared for the pur- 
 pose, and stands at the side of the bust. When the 
 buzz of conversation ceases, he pronounces a few 
 eloquent words of eulogium, says that to-day we 
 are adding another name to the list of the illustri- 
 ous dead, goes back to the time, a hundred years 
 ago, when America was just emerging from the 
 war of Independence, and shows how the progress 
 of time has brought about a feeling of brother- 
 hood between the nations then alien, and asks that 
 nothing may ever sever those united by eternal ties 
 of language, race, religion, and common feeling.
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE. IOI 
 
 As the last words fall from his lips, the Canon 
 removes the cloth from the bust. A murmur of 
 satisfaction a,nd the words " a noble thing," greet 
 our ears as the crowd that has been eagerly wait- 
 ing sees the pure and life-like creation of the 
 sculptor. Though the exercises are thus informally 
 ended, the people do not disperse. Lovingly they 
 linger to gaze at the new ornament of the wonder- 
 ful Abbey, and a few are fortunate enough to be 
 presented to the daughters of the poet. 
 
 On the pedestal we read the simple word : 
 LONGFELLOW. On the bracket is the legend, com- 
 posed by Dean Bradley : " This bust was placed 
 among the memorials of the poets of England by the 
 English admirers of an American poet, 1883." On 
 one side of the bust are the words, " Born at Port- 
 land, U. S.A.,Feb. 27, 1807 ; on the other, "Died 
 at Cambridge, U. S. A., March 24, 1882. 
 
 Some critics think that this bust is the finest in 
 the Abbey, and if their opinion be true, it is a fact 
 upon which the American admirers of the poet, no 
 less than those who wish to cultivate international 
 friendship, have a right to be proud. Mr. Brock,
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE. IO2 
 
 the sculptor, had only photographs to guide him, 
 but he has succeeded in making a representation 
 of the poet which is surely an admirable likeness 
 of him as he appeared in his strength, with all his 
 intelligence and kindliness. It shows a man such 
 as Mr. Lowell described when he declared Mr. 
 Longfellow's nature to be " consecrated ground 
 into which nothing unclean could enter."
 
 KENILWORTH CASTLE.
 
 THE JACKDAWS OF KEN- 
 
 ILWORTH. 
 
 
 
 THIS was how it happened : 
 I was sketching one day in Kenilworth 
 Castle. I had worked hard for several hours, sit- 
 ting in a quiet corner of the mournful old ruins 
 mournful even on a blazing day in early summer. 
 My subject was a beautiful arch a great high 
 arch with graceful mouldings running round it of 
 the warm pink sandstone that the Castle is built 
 of. Through the arch there was a pointed window 
 with a great trail of ivy tumbling down one side of 
 it, and spreading little tendrils over the traceries. 
 Through the window, I looked out on gently rolling 
 country, on grass fields and elm-trees and distant 
 woodlands that faded into a soft blue haze in the 
 west. 
 
 On the broken wall above the arch grew red 
 105
 
 106 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 
 
 snapdragons, and rich brown wall-flowers ; and a 
 little wild rosebush had rooted itself in the scanty 
 earth between the crumbling stones. And in and 
 out of innumerable holes among the ivy on the 
 walls, flew many Jackdaws with gray heads and 
 glossy black bodies and sharp knowing eyes. 
 When I first settled myself in my corner, I heard 
 a good deal of chattering going on in the holes; 
 my presence evidently caused some annoyance to 
 their occupants. 
 
 "The Jackdaws have young ones there," I 
 thought. But soon they discovered I was too 
 intent on my business to trouble them, and they 
 went on with theirs; flying in and out all day, 
 bringing dainty morsels to their fledgelings giv- 
 ir g them much good and useful advice and gos- 
 sipping prodigiously among themselves ; for Jack- 
 daws are very wise people who know all that goes 
 on in the neighborhood, and delight to tell it to 
 their friends and relations. 
 
 The day had been very hot. A constant stream 
 of tourists had poured through the Castle, weary- 
 ing one with chatter more ceaseless than that of
 
 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 107 
 
 the Jackdaws themselves. And as the afternoon 
 wore on my fingers and my eyes ached, and I laid 
 down my brushes and leaned back against the old 
 wall behind me. 
 
 Presently I observed that the Jackdaws ceased 
 flying backwards and forwards ; and they gradually 
 gathered themselves together on the top of the 
 broken arch opposite me. There was a good deal 
 of hopping to and fro, of choosing comfortable 
 positions, of shaking out tails and wings, and set- 
 tling every feather in place. Mothers and fathers 
 brought young half-fledged children out of the 
 holes, and put them in safe places where they 
 would run no risk of falling. And how they all 
 chattered ! 
 
 I listened and watched, and watched and lis- 
 tened ; and all of a sudden I found that I began 
 to understand what they were saying. I listened 
 more closely ; and then I distinctly heard a very 
 important-looking Jack, with peculiarly fine plum- 
 age, remark, " Thank goodness, they are gone at 
 last." 
 
 " Who are gone, father?" asked a fledgeling.
 
 I08 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 
 
 " Why, those odious tourists," he answered. 
 "How they do talk! A respectable Jackdaw 
 can't make himself heard in such a Babel." 
 
 " I don't mind the tourists," said another. 
 " But I do detest those schools of children who 
 come here to picnic ! There were less than usual 
 to-day ; but do you remember last Whitsuntide ? 
 It was enough to addle all the eggs my wife was sit- 
 ting upon. There was one specially odious child 
 who came up to the great Queen's chamber, and 
 screamed with a voice like a screech-owl, to 
 another little wretch below : ' Oh ! 'Lizer ! come 
 up 'ere ! I'm in Queen Elizerbeth's dressin'-room 
 a-settin' on 'er dressin'-table, a-doin' my back 'air.' 
 I declare I longed to fly down and pull her hair 
 out. It would have been useful for next year's 
 nests." 
 
 "And that boy," chimed in another, "who set 
 his mother's pug-dog at the sheep by my Lord 
 Leicester's Lodgings. How pleased I was when 
 that tall woman who is forever painting here 
 why, there she sits still never mind, she won't 
 hurt us what was I saying ? Oh ! the dog and
 
 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 109 
 
 the boy when our tall friend there, fetched the 
 gatekeeper, and had them both turned out. How 
 the boy ran when he saw the green coat and gold 
 buttons coining after him ! " 
 
 "The children are so greedy," sighed Mrs. 
 Jack. "They eat up every crumb they bring with 
 them, and never think of our nestlings. I prefer 
 the 'country families,' who drive over with a big 
 luncheon-basket, and always have lots of bits." 
 
 " Are they the people with blue heads that we 
 saw to-day ? " asked a fledgeling. 
 
 " Good gracious, child, no ! " cried its father in 
 horror. " Why, those are Americans. Those blue 
 things that they tie their heads up in, are veils. 
 I have never yet been able to find out why they 
 do so, for they can't see much through them, I'm 
 sure. Nevertheless I like the Americans. It is 
 true they talk a good deal. But they are really in- 
 terested in our Castle, and know what they are 
 looking at. And they never propose to rebuild 
 our walls here, as some of those English people 
 
 do, whom Mr. called Philistines the other day. 
 
 I don't quite know what he meant. But I'm cer-
 
 HO THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 
 
 tain it was something bad ; and I was rejoiced 
 to hear it." 
 
 "Who was my Lord Leicester," said another 
 fledgeling, who had been sitting with his head on 
 one side in a reflective manner. " Was he a rela- 
 tion of ours ? " 
 
 "Ah! my poor child," laughed his parent, "your 
 ignorance is truly lamentable. It is high time for 
 Great-grand father John to begin your education. 
 And there he comes." 
 
 As he spoke, all the Jackdaws looked eagerly 
 across the ruins of the great hall towards Caesar's 
 Tower. I looked too ; and saw a single Jackdaw of 
 stately and venerable appearance fly slowly from the 
 massive tower with its walls of old Roman concrete 
 sixteen and twenty feet thick, and join the group 
 before me. The young Jacks looked with awe at 
 the old gentleman, and stopped fidgeting and asking 
 questions. Their parents ceased chattering, and 
 bowed their heads, and drooped their wings, and 
 shivered their feathers in sign of welcome and 
 respect. 
 
 Great-grandfather John (I suppose they called
 
 HE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. II r 
 
 him thus, because they thought " Jack " would 
 have seemed too familiar) settled himself on a bit 
 of broken tracery that lay in the midst of the 
 Jackdaw's parliament-ground, and cocking his 
 gray head on one side, thus began : 
 
 " My dear great-great-grandchildren, it has 
 always been the custom of our family that every 
 summer the young Jackdaws should learn a little 
 of the history of their famous, learned, and ancient 
 race from the bill of their oldest relation. For 
 many years it has been my privilege to instruct 
 your parents ; and now it is time that your educa- 
 tion should begin. Have the young ones been 
 asking any questions yet ? " he continued, turning 
 to the parent birds. 
 
 " My child wanted to know if my Lord Leices- 
 ter were a relation of our family," laughed the 
 father of the reflective fledgeling, and all the elder 
 Jackdaws laughed too. 
 
 "Silence," said Great-granclfather John. "No 
 one can learn unless they ask questions. So 
 don't hide your head under your wing, for you have 
 done nothing wrong : but listen to me.
 
 112 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 
 
 " My Lord Leicester was no relation of ours. 
 He was a man, a very splendid, handsome, wealthy, 
 and gallant gentleman. There were great doings 
 here in his days, three hundred years ago. 
 
 " Our Castle then was very different to what it 
 is now. This vast hall was roofed in. Huge fires 
 of logs cut from Kenilworth Chase burned in 
 those great open chimneys. The walls were hung 
 with colored stuffs with pictures on them worked 
 in silk and fine wools. Those broken pillars and 
 ribs of stone you see down there, against the lower 
 walls, supported the floor of the great hall. At 
 this southern end of the hall the lofty archway we 
 are now sitting on, led into the State apartments 
 reserved for Royalty. And outside the north wall 
 of the hall, where the winding stair leads past the 
 old thorn-tree, is Mervyn's Tower, in which my 
 Lord Leicester's lovely wife, Madam Amy Robsart 
 was concealed once upon a time, when good 
 Queen Bess was my Lord's guest. 
 
 " Yes ! those were rrand times. My great-great- 
 grandfather who told me about them, heard it all 
 from his great-great-grandfather, who was a few
 
 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 113 
 
 v 
 
 month sold when the Queen came to Kenilworth in 
 July, 1575. He lived in the top of Caesar's Tower, 
 where my apartments now are, which is, you know, 
 the oldest part of our Castle. He saw all the 
 grand doings. In fact he was asked by the branch 
 of our family who live at Warwick Castle, to come 
 over there to welcome the Sovereign of English 
 Jackdaws and men. And he accompanied the 
 Royal Progress all the way from Warwick to 
 Kenilworth ; which attention, it is said, gave her 
 Majesty much satisfaction. 
 
 " He saw the great Queen, mounted upon a 
 milk-white steed, arrayed in gorgeous attire, and 
 blazing with jewels, ride along the avenue through 
 the wood over there, between rows of flaming 
 torches held by two hundred horsemen, which 
 made the twilight as bright as day. Upon her 
 right hand rode my Lord Leicester, one glitter of 
 jewels and cloth-of-gold, on his splendid black 
 charger. After them came all the Court, fail 
 ladies and wise counsellors, and all the nobles of 
 the country ; with 'such a crowd of knights and 
 gentlemen, squires and serving-men, as reached
 
 114 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 
 
 half way to Grey's Cliffe. And outside the gates 
 was so great a throng of people from all the 
 country round, as was never seen before or since. 
 
 " So soon as the Queen stepped on yonder 
 broken bridge across the lake you need not look 
 for the lake now, my great-great-grandchildren, for 
 it is all dried up, and Mr. Treplin's cows are feed- 
 ing there as soon as the Queen reached the 
 bridge, a beautiful dame, curiously dressed, sailed 
 up on the water, with light all round her, and 
 dolphins and strange water-creatures swimming 
 about her ; and she welcomed Queen Elizabeth to 
 Kenilworth. And just as the Queen came up te 
 the great gate of the Castle, cannons were fired, 
 and fiery rockets filled the air, and the people 
 shouted, and there was such a tremendous noise 
 and such a blaze of light that several of our family 
 flew away in alarm, thinking the Castle on fire. 
 
 " In the evening, our ancestor, who shared the 
 thirst for knowledge which has ever been a char- 
 acteristic of our race, found that sleep was impos- 
 sible ; for Caesar's Tower was the guard-house in 
 those days ; and the men-at-arms kept up such
 
 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 11$ 
 
 noisy feasting that no Jackdaw could close an eye 
 that night. He therefore flew from his chamber 
 in the tower; and, guided by the light and music, 
 managed to find claw-room on one of the lofty 
 windows of the great Hall. 
 
 " The Queen sat within upon the throne, which 
 was near the door to her apartments just where 
 those railings go across now. My Lord Leicester 
 was wondrously dressed all in white from head 
 to foot velvet, and cloth-of-silver, and seed 
 pearl, and shining satin the most noble courtier 
 in all that splendid company. He stood beside 
 the Queen and did the honors of his Castle to her. 
 And presently our ancestor saw a gentleman of a 
 grave and beautiful countenance, kneel before Her 
 Majesty, who struck him lightly on the shoulder 
 with a sword, saying, ' In the name of God and 
 St. George we dub thee Knight. Rise up, Sir 
 Walter Raleigh.' 
 
 " I have heard that this gentleman was a wise 
 and gallant man ; and that he sailed across the 
 sea to the land of the Americans, and brought 
 back all manner of wonderful things to England,
 
 Il6 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 
 
 " Our ancestor was so much interested in all he 
 saw that night, that he followed the Queen next 
 morning into the Pleasaunce below Mervyn's 
 Tower, where the gatekeeper now grows his 
 potatoes and gooseberries. And he was present 
 at her meeting with Madam Amy Robsart, who, 
 he said, was fair as a lily and lovely as a rose. 
 
 " Yet it is reported that she did not find grace 
 in the Queen's sight ; and that she was seen no 
 more in Kenilworth, and came to a sad end soon 
 after. But if ever you visit our Warwick relations 
 who live in Lord Leicester's Hospital that he built 
 for old soldiers, you may peep into the Brother's 
 Kitchen when the porter is away, and see a bit of 
 Madam Amy's work hanging on the wall. 
 
 " After those days of revelry our family had a 
 grand time of feasting. There was no lack of food 
 close at hand that year ; and many of the nests 
 next spring were beautifully decorated with threads 
 of silk, and satin ribbons, and glittering jewels and 
 gold, which our ancestors picked up and carried to 
 their storehouses as mementos of the Queen's visit 
 to their Castle.
 
 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. I 19 
 
 "But most of these treasures were lost some 
 seventy years later when Oliver Cromwell laid 
 siege to our Castle. My great-great-grandfather's 
 great-grandfather was living in Kenilworth then. 
 He told terrible tales of how the cannons were 
 planted all round the Castle and battered the 
 walls. Many of the young birds were killed by 
 the falling stones which crumbled under the can- 
 nons balls ; and when the army went away after 
 draining the lake, and cutting down the trees 
 our Castle was left desolate. 
 
 " Yet after a while our ancestors found that 
 Oliver Cromwell, in spite of his ugly face and ugly 
 clothes such" a contrast to my Lord Leicester in 
 his white velvet and cloth-of-silver ! had really 
 done them a kindness in ruining the Castle. He 
 made it a thoroughly comfortable dwelling for Jack- 
 daws. The grand dinners were over it is true, 
 and they had to fly further for food. But there 
 was no one, save a few serving-men down at the 
 stables, to dispute their uninterrupted possession 
 of the Castle that has been our property for so 
 many generations. The siege of Kenilworth was
 
 120 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 
 
 really the beginning of the strength and power of 
 our famous branch of the family." 
 
 " But I heard some one saying the other day," 
 said a rather forward bird, " that Amy Robsart 
 never was here at all that she died three years 
 before Queen Bess gave Kenilworth to Lord 
 Leicester that Canon Jackson had written a 
 paper about it in a blue-covered book called the 
 Nineteenth Century." 
 
 Great-grandfather John turned his bright eye 
 upon the speaker. 
 
 "Young birds," he answered solemnly, "who 
 set up to teach their great-grandparents to suck 
 eggs, and try to destroy the traditions of ancient 
 and respectable families, always come to a bad 
 end. My great-great-grandfather told me that his 
 great-great-grandfather had seen Madam Amy Rob- 
 sart in yonder little chamber where the railing was 
 put last year. Miserable sceptic ! Do you wish 
 for better proof than that ? " 
 
 At these words all the Jackdaws young and old 
 gave a great shout, and flew upon the young prig 
 who had doubted his great-grandfather's accuracy.
 
 THE JACKDAWS OF KENILWORTH. 121 
 
 There was a tremendous flapping of wings, and 
 screaming of harsh voices ; and up they all whirled 
 like a black cloud into the air saying, " Ja-ack, 
 ja-ack, ja-ack," so loud that I too jumped to my 
 feet with a great start. 
 
 The sun was setting. The gatehouse was turn- 
 ing pale flame-color against a black thunder 
 cloud, up in the north towards Coventry. I gath- 
 ered up my sketching things, scattered the remains 
 of my luncheon about to attract the Jackdaws' 
 notice, ran down to the gatehouse, and in ten 
 minutes my pony was flying along the elm-shad- 
 owed road towards home., 
 
 Had I been asleep, do you ask ? Oh clear no ! 
 I never sleep in the afternoon. And beside that, 
 if any one will give themselves the trouble to lis- 
 ten, they may always understand what the Jack- 
 daws have to tell. Try for yourselves when you 
 go to Kenilworth Castle.
 
 HERMANNUS CONTRAC- 
 TUS. 
 
 (A True Story of the Eleventh Century) 
 
 WHEN one is studying any subject h, is quite 
 sure to find many things that are graceful 
 and beautiful and which he wishes others c<iuld en- 
 joy along with himself. I suppose there is no harm 
 in a hard-working geologist bringing in a nosegay 
 after a day's exploration ; and so I scarcely think it 
 worth while to ask permission to tell this pathetic 
 little story which is hidden away from most readers 
 in the Latin and German languages and among for- 
 gotten books. 
 
 In the year 1013 there was born, somewhere in 
 Suabia, a little child called Hermann. In later 
 years he himself wrote it " Heriman," but histori- 
 ans agree to spell it in the usual form. He was the 
 son of Walfrad, Count of Vehringen and the oldest
 
 HERMANNUS CONTRACTUS. 123 
 
 of fifteen children. At seven years of age he was 
 unable to stand any comparison with other boys, 
 for he was palsied and crippled and nearly incapa- 
 ble of motion. He was gibosus ante et vctro, et con- 
 tractus, et daudus " bowed, before and behind, and 
 crippled, and lame." He had, that is, a. hump-back 
 and a bent chest, and was otherwise deformed and 
 paralytic. In an age when a count was expected 
 to be a hard rider and a strong fighter, it looked as 
 if poor little Hermann had no destiny before him. 
 His mother was a good woman one of the best. 
 The child too, came of godly stock, for one of his 
 ancestors was the holy Udalric. And thus at seven 
 years he was carried literally off to the South 
 and placed in the Convent of St. Gall where there 
 was a very famous school. This was in the old 
 town of St. Gall near the Lake of Constance ; and 
 in this convent originated the "sequences" ir- 
 regular songs of praise to God of which that sen- 
 tence in The Burial Service, " In the midst of life 
 we are in death," etc., is a good example. In fact 
 Notken, a monk, of this very St. Gall, composed that 
 beautiful prayer when he saw the bridge builders
 
 12^ kERMANNUS CONTRACTUS. 
 
 hanging at their dangerous task over the little stream 
 which dashes on down to the lake. 
 
 St. Gall was then a place full of music and sing- 
 ing. And the crippled lad though he could 
 scarcely move without help mastered his studies 
 so well that he soon became an honor to his teach- 
 ers. He learned, in spite of his defective voice, 
 to chant the services. He understood the intricacy 
 of the queer, square-headed notes in the " antipho- 
 naries," or singing-books. And he also learned how 
 to write, himself, on parchment. There were, of 
 course, no printed books in those days, and in the 
 " Scriptorium " or writing-room of the convent the 
 monks worked hard to multiply copies of their 
 valuable volumes. The time was divided regularly ; 
 so much for singing, and so much for praying, and 
 so much for eating, and so much for manual labor, 
 and so much for meditation and study, and so much 
 for sleep. Into this routine the little Hermann 
 was early inducted and here he probably spent 
 more or less continuously the first thirty years of 
 his lite. 
 
 Here, too, I suppose, he got his life-long nick-
 
 HERMANNUS CONTRACTUS. 125 
 
 name of Contractus. " Hermannus Contractus " 
 is the title by which he is to be sought out in his- 
 tory. It means " Hermann the Cripple," and he 
 \s usually called by it, though the Germans some- 
 times say " Hermann der Gebrechliche " which 
 means the same thing. His true name, " Hermann 
 von Vehringen," and his adopted name, " Hermann 
 of Reichenau," are seldom used. It was Her- 
 mann the Cripple who became celebrated, 
 
 You might think that such an affliction would 
 have soured the poor lad arid disgusted him with 
 his fellows but it never did. He is sometimes 
 spoken of as " hilarissimns " which means " most 
 cheerful " and alwas as " eruditissimus " which 
 means " most learned." In the manuscripts col- 
 lected from the remains of the old convent library 
 at St. Gall there is still to be found one which he 
 wrote with his own hand some lines of the saints 
 by Anselm of Canterbury, the great Englishman. 
 Those are the days before the Reformation, when 
 Christianity could only be discovered in such nooks 
 and corners of the land and when many a noble and 
 pure soul lived and died in the cloisters of monas-
 
 126 HERMANNUS CONTRACTUS. 
 
 teries and under the discipline of th 3 Roman Cath- 
 olic Church. 
 
 Hermann at thirty took upon him the vows of 
 the religious life. He promised to spend his days, 
 unmarried, pure and devout. He entered the con- 
 vent of Reichenau, not very far from St. Gall. 
 Here he passed the remainder of his existence, from 
 the year 1043 to the year 1054. 
 
 Reichenau was another celebrated abbey. A 
 fine church was built there in Hermann's time by 
 King Henry the Third " the Black." The con- 
 vent itself was on an island in Unter-See, a portion 
 of the Lake of Constance, and it was surrounded 
 by green fields and pleasant orchards. Here tha 
 children of noble families were educated. Here 
 they studied the Trivium: Grammar, Dialectics and 
 Rhetoric. 
 
 And here they also added to these, after they 
 progressed a little, the Quadridium : Music, Arith- 
 metic, Geometry and Astronomy. 
 
 The boys were taught to speak Latin and to write 
 it using it, finally, in place of their native German 
 tongue. They sang in the choir and were regularly
 
 HERMANNUS CONTRACTNS. 127 
 
 instructed by such competent teachers as Hermann 
 had now grown to be. 
 
 And as for Hermann, he became " miraculiim 
 nostri secli" the marvel of our age as one of 
 his contemporaries styles him. He was not merely 
 a master of Latin and Greek, but he acquired the 
 little known language of the Arabs, and perhaps he 
 picked up an acquaintance with Hebrew. But he 
 was a good deal given to science, and wrote a trea- 
 tise on the squaring of the circle, and another on 
 the calculation of eclipses, and others still on physi- 
 ognomy and the use of the " astrolabe," which 
 was a mathematical instrument for estimating the 
 distances and angles of the stars. He was quite a 
 mechanic, too, and it is said, though incorrectly, that 
 he made clocks and watches in his leisure hours. 
 
 He bears the reputation of having been a master 
 of verse ; and of his treatise upon metre enough is 
 said to show us that he was very skilful. Some of 
 his hymns have survived, and if you will turn to The 
 Prioress'' Tale in Chaucer, or to the modernized ver- 
 sion of it by Wordsworth, you will find one of them 
 in the Alma Redemptori 1 s which the little Christian
 
 128 HERMANNUS CONTRACTUS. 
 
 boy was singing. A certain historian says that he 
 wrote " many thousand " such songs but, alas, we 
 can never hope to identify them ! 
 
 So he lived and so he died. After he went to 
 Rheinau he began a " Chronicon " or history of 
 the world from the year A. D. i. In it he tells us of 
 his own birth in the year 1013 and of his father's 
 and mother's deaths. His mother died two years 
 before himself in 1052 and he writes a touch- 
 ing elegy in Latin which he adds to the brief words 
 in which he records her departure to a better world. 
 His " Chronicon " appears to have been something 
 like a private historical summary intended for his 
 own use but it is invaluable nowadays to the stu- 
 dents of early German history. 
 
 By this time Hermann was abbot of his convent 
 that rich and powerful house whose abbot could 
 go to Rome, so they said, without sleeping outside 
 of his own dominions by the way. That is, the 
 property was so vast and in so many different places 
 that he only needed to travel from one of his pos- 
 sessions to another as he proceeded upon his jour- 
 ney. Reichenau Augia the Rich had been es-
 
 HERMANNUS CONTRACTUS. 129 
 
 tablished in 724 and therefore it was now over three 
 hundred years old. 
 
 The end came in 1054 and it is notable that 
 the crippled hand carried the " Chronicon " along to 
 that very year, as if it would not drop the pen be- 
 fore it was compelled. Berthold of Constance, Her- 
 mann's friend and pupil, writes about the last scene. 
 He says that his beloved master sank away sweetly 
 and gently, bidding the weeping monks prepare 
 to meet him in the world above. Finally he called 
 Berthold closer and being there alone with him, 
 he told him of a dream which had come to him. It 
 drew him with such gladness to the better country 
 that he finished all he had to say on earth with the 
 words, " Yes, I am tired of living " [ " Taedct 
 quidem me vivere"~\ and so fell asleep. 
 
 And now for the strange and surprising fact about 
 him which I have kept to the last. It was he and 
 not Robert the Second, King of France who wrote 
 the " Vent sancte Spiritus " " Come Holy Spirit." 
 This is the loveliest of all Latin hymns, and in trac- 
 ing back its authorship the other day I came upon 
 this almost unknown man and this entirely unknown
 
 J 3 HERMANNUS CONTRACTUS. 
 
 story. This is no place to give the argument which 
 establishes the thing beyond any reasonable doubt. 
 I can only say that the hymn is credited to him by 
 the historians of both St. Gall and Rheinau and that 
 the earliest instances of it come from Germany ; 
 and from these two convents and the neighboring one 
 of Einsiedeln. I might acid that all his life and char- 
 acter accords with the beautiful hymn and does 
 so far better than Robert's. 
 
 Thus, whenever we sing this sweetest song of 
 praise, we have the right to remember that it grew 
 up like a fair plant, in the soul's garden of the lit- 
 tle crippled Hermann of Reichenau. We can as- 
 sociate it with the Lake of Constance and the Up- 
 per Rhine. We can remember that it came from 
 one, celebrated abundantly in his day, but whose 
 greatest honor it is to have triumphed over sickness 
 and peevishness and bodily defects and so spent his 
 life in the one consummate essence of that fragrant 
 hymn that it is redolent of his piety and purity even 
 yet!
 
 A WORTHY NINE 
 
 I WAS seated here in my little book-room, one 
 afternoon not long ago, when a wonderful cir- 
 cumstance befell me of which I must tell you. The 
 door opened and a large card was handed to me, 
 bearing upon it in black letters the name " William 
 Caxton, printer." 
 
 " Show the gentleman up," I said to the servant. 
 
 " Shure, an' there's tin av thim ! " she exclaimed 
 with an air that made me suspicious that a regiment 
 of foot, or a company of armed police was about 
 to enter my peaceful abode. She retired, however, 
 and there stood before me the owner of the card. 
 He was a veritable antique. A long white beard 
 covered the most of his face that was not hidden 
 by his round fur cap and shaggy eyebrows. I could 
 have called him Santa Claus, if he had not borne 
 himself with more dignity than that jolly old saint
 
 132 A WORTHY NINE. 
 
 usually exhibits. With a low bow and the accents 
 of an educated gentleman, he advanced to my writ- 
 ing-table as I rose to meet him. Casting a hasty 
 glance about my little room, he said, in effect, that 
 he was accompanied by a few friends who wished 
 to make the acquaintance of one who did not de- 
 spise men or things because they were old, but that 
 only a portion of the party would come in at once. 
 The others, he said, would stroll over the Common, 
 wonder why the soldier on the Monument had got 
 out of the sentry-box to stand on the top of it, or 
 read the inscription on the tombstone beneath the 
 Washington Elm. 
 
 I assured Mr. Caxton that there was no need of 
 doing so, that in fact I preferred to see his entire 
 party at once, and I proceeded to demonstrate to 
 him that four peacefully disposed men might sit on 
 my capacious lounge, one in the rocking-chair, and 
 that the five remaining might be otherwise provided 
 for. He assured me, on the other hand, that they 
 had all of them been so long seated in the horse- 
 car that standing would be a luxurious change. 
 Hardly had this explanation been made, when I
 
 A WORTHY NINE. 133 
 
 heard a tramp, tramp, tramp on my doorsteps, and 
 a rattling of side-arms and coats of mail, and lo, 
 the nine companions of my visitor entered, in com- 
 panies of three each. Three took seats on the 
 lounge, but no fourth could I get to sit beside 
 them, and the two remaining groups disposed them- 
 selves on opposite sides of the room, while Mr. 
 Caxton himself took the rocking-chair in which lit- 
 tle Dorothea had but a few moments before been 
 beguiled to sleep in her mother's arms. I looked 
 at him as he sat there. He was evidently a gentle- 
 man of culture and wealth. 
 
 He said that he had been a resident of London 
 four hundred years before, and should not have been 
 in this part of the world now, had not one Mr. Henry 
 Stevens, of London, a sort of Green Mountain boy, 
 made him uneasy and finally drawn him out of re- 
 tirement by a celebration gotten up in his honor a 
 few years previous. He confessed that he had 
 done some good printing in his day, but he had not 
 supposed that it would have been remembered after 
 so many years. He was so much astonished that 
 he had been unable to rest quiet, and, having re-
 
 134 A WORTHY NINE. 
 
 turned to the world again, had taken up a sort of 
 pilgrim-staff, and was out on a tour of inspection 
 of foreign parts. There was, he added, much more 
 of a world to be seen than he had known before. 
 No one had ever heard of America in his first days 
 on earth. As for printing, it almost took his breath 
 away to think how fast the presses make books 
 now and the old man rocked back and forth so 
 
 * 
 
 rapidly, as he reflected on the activity of pressmen 
 and compositors, that I expected to see him fall 
 back flat on his back in spasms. Soon, however, 
 he became composed enough to say that he could 
 not think of visiting America without bringing his 
 " nine " with him. 
 
 By way of helping forward the conversation, I 
 asked if my caller had come to our shores to fill an 
 engagement for a match game, for I knew that the 
 Harvard " nine " had sent challenges to clubs in 
 England ; but my remark was lost, and Mr. Caxton 
 cast a glance at some small volumes on the top 
 shelf of a bookcase and continued : 
 
 "You know all about my nine," said he, "for 
 there are three books that have the appearance of
 
 A WORTHY NINE. 135 
 
 having been read more than once, and oftener than 
 the three next to them." 
 
 I looked up, and there stood old Sir Thomas 
 Malory's " Most Ancient and Famous History of 
 the Renowned Prince Arthur," and by its side the 
 romance of Amadis of Gaul the one worn by use, 
 the other fresh and new. Hardly had I seen them 
 before my friend took down the first volume of the 
 former set, and, pointing to the prologue, exclaimed, 
 " There ! read my words. I wrote them, and set 
 every type of them with these hands, at the Abbey 
 of Westminster, in the year 1485 ! There I intro- 
 duced my nine to you. On the lounge before you, 
 behold the three ' paynims,' who were, as I wrote, 
 ' 'tofore the incarnacyon of Christ' Hector of 
 Troy, Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar. By 
 the window, stand the three Jews, Joshua, 'who 
 brought the people into the land of behest,' David, 
 who was king in Jerusalem, and Judas Maccabeus, 
 who stood up for his country's rights. By the par- 
 lor door are seated King Arthur, of whom the vol- 
 umes tell, Charlemagne the great emperor, and 
 Godfrey of Boulogne, who went to the Crusades.
 
 J 3 A WORTHY NINEl. 
 
 They fought on opposite sides when in the world 
 the first time, but they keep peace as they travel 
 with me, by holding their peace." At this little 
 pun all the heroes smiled beneath their raised hand- 
 kerchiefs. 
 
 I was about to welcome the Nine Worthies to 
 the New World, when it occurred to me that they 
 must have astonished the ladies and gentlemen in 
 the horse-car, as they came out from Boston. You 
 see that I think all good things must come from 
 Boston. On a second thought I concluded that 
 they would have been recognized as the remains 
 of some " Old South Ball," and would not have 
 been disturbed by curious questions. The imagi- 
 nation of the scene was, however, too much for my 
 gravity, and I fell back in my chair and found 
 relief in a hearty laugh. When I had regained 
 my composure I noticed that laughter was catch- 
 ing, for there stood Hector, at the end of the 
 lounge, holding his sides with both hands, and roar- 
 ing until his beamy helm shook and his side arms 
 rattled at a merry rate. He had picked up Bry- 
 ant's Iliad, and opening it at the end of the sixth
 
 A WORTHY NINE. 1J7 
 
 book, had read the affecting account of his own 
 parting with his wife and child at the Scaean gate 
 of Troy. 
 
 " I remember," said the valiant hero, " what a 
 hunt I was obliged to make for Andromache and 
 Scamandrius, and how I found them at the gate, 
 though it was about thirty-three hundred years 
 ago ; but how these poets do dress things up ! 
 The little fellow was afraid of my brass helmet 
 and horsehair plume, and I was sad at parting 
 with Andromache, but I did not talk to them in 
 metre I am not that sort of a man. We had 
 the matter all talked over before, and I was in a ter- 
 rible hurry. I only wiped my eyes, and kissed my 
 wife, and said, ' Now Annie, dear, run home and 
 keep busy. Take good care of Manclri, and I'll 
 come back as soon as I can.' I didn't tell her 
 that I was to be killed, and she taken prisoner, 
 for I wished to keep her spirits up. I did tell her 
 that I would not keep out of battle like a coward, 
 and she said that she honored me for my pluck. 
 I am interested in this book, though, and thank 
 the poet for making me appear so noble. By your
 
 138 A WORTHY NINE. 
 
 leave, I will read some more of it." With these 
 words noble Hector sank back on the broad lounge 
 and was not heard to say any more. 
 
 Just then Alexander the Great, who sat next the 
 gentleman from Troy, reached over him, and 
 grasping the elegant sword that hung at the side 
 of Judas Maccabeus, exclaimed, "Where did you 
 get that, my fine fellow ? I gave that sword to 
 Ptolemy and told him to keep it." At these words 
 Judas rose to protect his treasure, and at the same 
 moment Charlemagne and King Arthur started 
 and slapped their scabbards, to be sure that their 
 precious weapons, Durentaillc and Excalibar, were 
 safe. They sat down satisfied, but not too soon 
 to startle me by their commanding appearance. 
 Charlemagne was nearly six feet and a half in 
 height. His face, though very attractive, was 
 dominated by a remarkably prominent nose, and 
 his flowing gray hair made his appearance charm- 
 ing. While I was engaged scrutinizing this great 
 light of the Continent in the Middle Age, Judas 
 explained his title to the sword, Recuite, by show- 
 ing how Ptolemy Epiphanes had given it to him,
 
 A WORTHY NINE. 139 
 
 and he told also of the wonders it wrought in the 
 battles of the Jews against the oppressive Syrians, 
 a century and a half after the death of Alexander. 
 
 At this juncture, Mr. Caxton remarked that 
 being an Englishman, he did not feel at home in a 
 rocking-chair, and asked Julius Caesar to change 
 seats with him, a movement which brought the 
 Roman hero face to face with the great Briton. 
 Arthur said : 
 
 " By the way, Julius, I have always been inter- 
 ested in one of your books. We used it in school 
 when I was a boy. It began: ' Alexander fauces 
 jugi, quce Pylce appellantur, intravit? " 
 
 " No, no ! " interposed Alexander. " You mis- 
 take. Your quotation is from a book that Quintus 
 Curtius wrote about me." 
 
 " I stand corrected," said the Briton. " I should 
 have said, ' Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres.' 
 The book gave an account of Ancient Gaul, and 
 contained also much that interested me about my 
 own ancestors." 
 
 " I confess," said Caesar, " that for once I found 
 my match, when I met the Gauls. I wrote also in
 
 140 A WORTHY NINE. 
 
 a confident tone to the people at Rome, about my 
 ' conquest ' of Briton, but I am free to say now 
 that I had an eye to political effect in my 
 dispatches." 
 
 Upon this Godfrey of Boulogne arose and said, 
 " I am the latest born of all this company, except 
 our Marshal, and I remember that it was said 
 that after great Julius left Britain an influence 
 from Rome remained for hundreds of years, and 
 that when the last Latin left the land, it fell into 
 a bad state, and would have become prey to in- 
 vading Saxons, had not Arthur arisen to lead his 
 people to victory." 
 
 "True," said Charlemagne, "I was born two 
 hundred years after Arthur had left the scene, and 
 the memory of his twelve great battles, in which he 
 was victorious over the Saxons, was as fresh then 
 as the daily exploits of my own noble Paladins." 
 
 "And they always shall be fresh," exclaimed 
 Caxton, "for the story that I printed has been 
 married to immortal verse by a 'maker' who still 
 lives and sings, the greatest poet of our ' nook- 
 shotten isle ' of Albion, as some one has called it.
 
 A WORTHY NINE. 141 
 
 Ah, I remember another poet who sung your 
 praises, my dear Godfrey, and well he might have 
 done so. When I think how the great Duke 
 Joshua led the chosen people into the land of be- 
 hest, and how the great King David fought the 
 battles which put the kingdom of Israel on a firm 
 foundation (here Joshua and David bowed their 
 heads modestly) when I think of ail this my 
 heart swells with indignation at the desecration of 
 the detested 'paynims' who held Jerusalem so 
 long. I am thrilled with admiration of your deeds 
 of valor in the Holy Land ! " 
 
 While this speech had progressed, I noticed 
 that Caxton had grown more and more excited, 
 and that Hector and Alexander had nudged each 
 other and finally called Caesar to a whispered con- 
 ference. A moment later Hector arose, drew his 
 sword, and exclaimed, that he and his two Gentile 
 companions could not sit still and hear such re- 
 marks made, and that unless Mr. Caxton ceased 
 his aspersion of the "pagans," as he was pleased 
 to call him and his fellows, there would be trouble. 
 I noticed that Caesar, in unsheathing his sword,
 
 I4 2 A WORTHY NINE. 
 
 had knocked down the portrait of Mr. Howells 
 that hung on the wall and had broken it into many 
 pieces. The three Christians, in their haste, had 
 overturned one of the bookcases and spilled the 
 mucilage, and, amid the swords and fighting men, 
 my position was becoming an embarrassing one. 
 
 I called upon the heroes to remember that their 
 reputations the growth of centuries were in 
 danger. My words were in vain, however. Mr. 
 Caxton incontinently jumped out of the window 
 and has not since been heard from. The desk 
 was my only protection. Meantime the strokes of 
 the swords grew more and more frightful, and it 
 was evident that there would be no peace until the 
 warriors had all been put hors du combat, 
 
 Late in the afternoon, as I was about to call 
 Nolan to pick up the remains of the scattered 
 armor, and to sweep out the library, I was startled 
 by a voice that said, " My dear, how long you have 
 slept ! We have knocked on your door three times, 
 to let you know that dinner is on the table." 
 
 I was happy to know that that which had been 
 so real to me was but a vision. I could scarcely
 
 A WORTHY NINE. 143 
 
 believe that I had not really seen the Nine Wor- 
 thies, so deep an impression had the scenes of my 
 dream made upon me. As I meditate upon it 
 now, I realize, more than ever I have, the differ- 
 ences between our days and the olden times of 
 which we read so much. The time is long past, 
 when men take offence so readily and so con- 
 stantly look out for some cause for quarrels. 
 They do not now draw their swords and cut and kill 
 one another, in the fashion of the knights of old. 
 They are not so ready to fight as David was, nor 
 as Hector, Alexander and Caesar were. 
 
 I suppose that I must consider it all a dream, 
 but I shall never cease to congratulate myself that 
 I have seen the old heroes, and their historic 
 swords, nor shall I soon lose my desire to know 
 where William Caxton went when he took flight 
 from my window.
 
 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK 
 ON THE NILE. 
 
 OF the many pathways and modes of travel 
 there are few more delightful than that of 
 making the ascent and descent of the Nile in the 
 time-honored dahabeeah. From the very earliest 
 times travellers have praised the beauties of the 
 classic river, and to-day the perfect life which is 
 lived on its waters draws to it many of those wan- 
 derers whom more sunless lands send forth to 
 peep into the nooks and corners of the world. 
 And Egypt, " that gift of the Nile " as Herodotus 
 calls her, will ever allure travellers, for time can- 
 not efface the records of her past, nor dull the 
 freshness of her present. Her four thousand 
 years of history lie graven on her banks in many 
 a mighty monument the silent witnesses of those 
 successive empires whose rise and fall she has 
 144
 
 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 145 
 
 watched through the by-gone ages while her pres- 
 ent is bright with the color and life of an orient land. 
 Whether sailing gently up the picturesque reaches 
 of the river's winding course, or descending with 
 the swift current, Egypt pours down on the voy- 
 ager her sunshine, wraps him in an air that has 
 the freedom of a continent, while she unrolls an 
 ever-shifting panorama of fair eastern scenes, en- 
 riched with those wondrous temples and architec- 
 tural glories which have made her land so famed. 
 The hours, robbed of monotony by the constant 
 moving of the vessel, bring their own incidents. 
 Each day is a placid page of lovely life, filled with 
 the undying charm of antique times and scenes. 
 
 Yet dahabeeah travelling is not without its perils. 
 The people one has to journey amongst are not 
 always quite so honest or peaceable as they might 
 be ; rocks and sand banks make the river's course 
 in many parts a perfect network of dangers ; some- 
 times the dreaded "kamseen," or desert storm, 
 will drive across the river, wrecking every craft that 
 it meets in its direful path ; while squalls which 
 convert the calm waters, in a few moments, into
 
 146 A DAHABEEAH-WRECX. OX TH'-i XI IE. 
 
 an angry sea are by no means unfrequent. Many 
 a good vessel, encountering one of these sudden 
 gusts of wind, has taken her treasures to rust and 
 moulder at the bottom of the fair but faithless 
 river ; and in such a mischanceful moment it was 
 that the writer's dahabeeah was lost. 
 
 We were an English family party of four, two 
 
 ladies (M and L ) and two gentlemen 
 
 (P and myself) seeking for winter sunshine in 
 
 a voyage up the Nile. The name of our daha- 
 beeah was the Bedawin, and a beautiful vessel she 
 was, roomy, swift, gorgeous in white and gold 
 paint, and furnished in her interior with a strange 
 admixture of Eastern luxury, and the European 
 notions of what is necessary to be really com- 
 fortable. Being a pleasure-dahabeeah, she was 
 much larger and more gracefully built than the 
 native craft sailing from village to village with 
 local merchandise ; but in her general design and 
 rig she was of course similar. The accommoda- 
 tion, under the after-deck, consisted of three single- 
 berthed cabins and a bathroom opening into a 
 central passageway, a double-berthed cabin at the
 
 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 145 
 
 end of this passage in the stern of the vessel, and a 
 small but well-fitted saloon, occupying the breadth 
 of the ship between these and the fore-deck, to 
 which latter it opened by a curtained door. 
 Above was the usual poop or raised deck, with its 
 divans and awning for the owners, and from this 
 a short flight of stairs descended again to the fore- 
 deck, where the sailors lived and most of the ship's 
 paraphernalia were stacked. Her tall wing-like 
 sails of which she had the usual two, namely the 
 "trinkeet" or main-sail, and the " balakoom " or 
 stern-sail, caught the softest of breezes, and away 
 with an almost imperceptible motion she would 
 seem to fly before the light airs. On board of her 
 was the " Ryis," or captain, a dignified old Arab 
 afflicted with weak eyes.; his crew of twelve men, 
 most of them Nubians, with their cook, also a 
 young Nubian of solemn disposition ; our two 
 table servants, AH and Mustapha ; our cook, an 
 Arab named Achmet, fated alas ! to be the one 
 victim of our catastrophe ; and finally the drago- 
 man Khalil Yusuf, a handsome Syrian, timid by 
 nature and undecided in danger. These with our
 
 148 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 
 
 four selves made a total of twenty-one persons that 
 she carried. 
 
 We had been three weeks gone from Cairo, trav- 
 elling southwards, when the Bedawin reached the 
 little village of Mensheeyah, where, as the sun was 
 just setting across the Lybian hills, and it is dan- 
 gerous to continue sailing after dark, the daha- 
 beeah was moored by the village bank and the 
 watch-fires lighted. The town is a poor-looking 
 place, with dirty narrow streets, its sole redeeming 
 virtue being apparently the manufacture of a 
 peculiar white sweetmeat of a viscid nature, which 
 tastes like what I should imagine an admixture of 
 soap, sugar, and plaster of Paris might ; on the 
 other hand owing to its sticky nature it is par ex- 
 cellence the best fly-paper yet discovered. While 
 we were mooring here three other dahabeeahs 
 passed us, pressing on for some more southern 
 village, their tall vague sails looming out against 
 the dark sky. We called for their names, and in 
 the silence came back their answers : Lohengrin, 
 Rachael, and Excelsior, names that will figure in 
 this story.
 
 A BAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 149 
 
 The next day broke cold and stormy as the 
 Bedawin left the village of Mensheeyah still 
 wrapped in the semi-light of dawn. Our Ryis had 
 set the sails to the strong northerly wind blowing 
 and the brave little dahabeeah raced merrily along 
 between the green fields of the eastern shore and 
 the sandy desert of the western until they con- 
 verged in the great pass of Gebel Tookh a mag- 
 nificent wall of cliff shutting in the Nile with its 
 sun-blistered and barren precipices. 
 
 It was about seven in the morning when the 
 Bedawin entered beneath the towering rocks which 
 were fated to claim her amongst their many vic- 
 tims and to be the unwritten tombstone of her 
 ending. Fiercely up the pass blew the wind, and 
 fitful gusts came howling down the chasms and 
 gorges of the hills, cutting the water up in white 
 waves, and driving the sand and stones over the 
 cliff-tops. So violent were some of these gusts 
 that one which struck the Bedawin heeled her over 
 to such an angle that the shroud-bolts touched the 
 water, and sounds of broken crockery arose from 
 the pantry. The almost flat bottom of the Nile
 
 15 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK. ON THE NILE. 
 
 dahabeeah is a necessity for successfully passing 
 over the numerous sand-banks which are con- 
 stantly shifting their position in the river's bed ; 
 but this advantage in one respect is a grave draw- 
 back in another, the lack of keel making naviga- 
 tion in bad weather a most risky task. A daha- 
 beeah will sometimes lean over to the wind till her 
 low bulwarks almost dip beneath the water, and 
 then woe betide the vessel if the sailor holding the 
 " trinkeet-sheet " is not ready to let go and so free 
 the overstrained ship from the pressure of her 
 canvas. Too often the sailor whose temporary 
 office it is to hold this important rope will endeavor 
 to shirk the duty by fastening it to the deck-ring ; 
 but let the traveller beware of this evasion, for 
 death lurks in the omission. 
 
 Our Ryis, seeing the peril of the situation, should 
 have made for the shore and awaited there in 
 safety calmer weather. But his Arab indecision 
 cost him, as all of us, dearly, for the gale growing 
 momentarily more boisterous, the poor Bed aw in 
 became hopelessly unsteady and at last uncon- 
 trollable.
 
 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 153 
 
 The unusual commotion which the storm caused 
 
 on deck soon brought P out from the saloon, 
 
 who, realizing the need of some decisive move, 
 told the bewildered Ryis to furl the trinkeet-sail, 
 or let everything fly. This was the last order 
 given on board, and had it been carried out (as it 
 should have been long before), the unfortunate 
 vessel might have recovered herself and been 
 saved. But before the sailors who climbed to 
 execute it had clambered half-way up the tall 
 trinkeet-yard, the Bedawin gave a sudden plunge 
 and then keeled over on the starboard side, throw- 
 ing the ill-fated cook Achmet, who was as usual in 
 the bows by his kitchen, into the water on that 
 
 side. P leaped to the shrouds, clutched them 
 
 with one hand, while with the other he tried to 
 seize the drowning man, whose body was just 
 visible below the water ; but the ship drove for- 
 ward on her beam-ends, and the hapless man 
 drifted away in the rapid current. A rope was 
 thrown him, and the poor fellow touched it, but 
 had not strength to hold it, and relinquishing his 
 feeble grasp, he sank to follow the river's current
 
 154 A DAHABEEAH-VVRECK ON THE NILE. 
 
 in its winding course, to be cast on some sand- 
 bank, or washed ashore by some field, where the 
 timid native, fearing to answer for his dead body, 
 would consign him again to the waters, to float 
 onward with the tide, the one victim of this unfor- 
 tunate day. 
 
 While this was occurring, many things had also 
 befallen. Alarmed at the frightful heeling of the 
 vessel, M had left her cabin for the deck just 
 as the Bedawin half-righted herself from the peril- 
 ous position she had been in. The tiller in a sud- 
 den swerve of the vessel from her course had 
 broken, and was consequently useless ; while the 
 men aloft were still endeavoring to furl the large 
 sail. Had we been able to drive on to the low 
 western shore, it might have saved us, but we were 
 by this time at the mercy of the wind and river 
 an already helpless wreck. As the boat righted 
 herself, she seemed to struggle bravely a moment 
 or two against the overwhelming wind blowing off 
 the mountain-heights and down its ravines ; but 
 then, surrendering to its superior strength, with a 
 plunge forward she heeled over on the port side,
 
 A 1)AHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 155 
 
 and so capsized altogether, submerging everybody 
 and everything, from the sailors at the end of the 
 lofty trinkeet-yard to the chickens in the deck 
 hencoops, in one direful chaos of confusion. 
 
 During the momentary stillness of the vessel, 
 when she recovered from her first great lurch, I 
 had left my room, where I was dressing, and was 
 just reaching the saloon as the vessel made her 
 final heel on the opposite side and turned bottom 
 upwards, filling passage, rooms, and saloon, and 
 floating all the furniture of the ship's interior 
 about in every direction. Amongst this awful 
 confusion, with chairs, tables, cushions, divans, 
 guns, books, and all the many relics of our late 
 luxurious life on the river, I was now hurled, and 
 thus suddenly found myself face to face with 
 death, with almost no chance of escaping. 
 
 Happily for me I had always been passionately 
 fond of swimming, and now my knowledge of that 
 art was to serve me in good stead. The curtains 
 of the passage-way leading to the saloon at first 
 held me in their heavy folds like a fish in a net, 
 but freeing myself from these I tumbled into the
 
 156 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 
 
 saloon and easily gained the outer doors, although 
 not without receiving some ugly knocks from the 
 tables and chairs, which continued to shoot about 
 in the water as if possessed of goblin-lives. Grasp- 
 ing the handles of the sliding-doors, which met in 
 the centre of the doorway, I tried now to force 
 them back, but having nothing but water to stand 
 on, and not being a merman, my efforts were for 
 a moment hopelessly futile. At last however I 
 gained some unknown support, and pulling with 
 my well-nigh spent strength against the force of 
 the water, they opened how, I cannot say ; but 
 I have a vague remembrance of passing through 
 the water, and seeing ropes hanging about in fan- 
 tastic lacery, strange objects around me ; and I 
 distinctly recollect my head coining into contact 
 with some large box or heavy article, too substan- 
 tial to be easily forgotten, more especially as my 
 head was bruised for a week afterwards. 
 
 But the moment that I reached the surface and 
 drew fresh air, I recovered sufficiently to gain the 
 friendly support of a chicken-coop that was float- 
 ing, full of its dead inmates, near me, and with
 
 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 157 
 
 regained breath, could view the scene around me. 
 
 The Bedawin had riot sunk entirely, but with 
 her port side lowest, had become water-logged, 
 with about a foot of her hull still showing out of 
 water. Having drifted broadside to the current, 
 she thus formed a breakwater for us on the lee- 
 ward side, where we were all floating amongst 
 boxes, boards, and the various items of the ship's 
 furniture, some of which supported us. This happy 
 chance of being so sheltered by the vessel saved 
 us from driving away with the strong current down 
 stream, where most likely all would have perished, 
 the river being more than a mile broad in this 
 part. 
 
 Thus there was a platform, consisting of the 
 vessel's starboard bilge, slightly raised from the 
 water, and on to this everybody had now to scram- 
 ble. Most of the sailors being clear from the very 
 beginning of all the wreckage, had easily gained 
 such a temporary safety, and two or three of them 
 after some trouble now pulled M - there also. 
 Next followed P , reaching the keel with diffi- 
 culty; and then a Nubian named Jonah, with
 
 15 A DAHABEEAH-WKECK ON THE NILE. 
 
 some others of our crew, made good their footing 
 on the floating island, with whose joint help I 
 scrambled up and helped to lay hold of the old 
 Ryis. 
 
 Here we found L sitting in most scanty 
 
 * 
 
 attire, for the accident having happened at such 
 
 an untimely hour of the morning, P and I 
 
 were the only persons dressed, the ladies being in 
 their habits de nuit. Her escape, due to her own 
 pluck, calmness, and presence of mind, had been 
 most remarkable. Her room was luckily on the 
 the starboard side, and so, when the vessel finally 
 turned over to port and the water rushed in 
 through her bedroom-door, she found herself 
 standing on the side of her cabin and knee-deep 
 in water. Imagining the vessel would sink imme- 
 diately, she hastily undid the window, now above 
 her head, and pushing back the Venetian blinds 
 (closed to keep out the morning sun's rays), she 
 struggled through the open space with the help of 
 a sailor already on the exterior of the water-logged 
 wreck, and thus by her coolness, saved her life 
 .when none of us could have rendered her help.
 
 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 159 
 
 There were now twelve sailors, with the Ryis, 
 dragoman, two table-servants, and our four selves 
 on the drifting ship, making in all, twenty per- 
 sons. For some moments it was indeed a doubtful 
 question whether the Beda-win would, with all this 
 weight upon her submerged hull, remain above 
 water or sink and finish off the catastrophe. But 
 she continued to float, though as she became more 
 sodden with water and consequently sank deeper 
 each moment, it was obvious that, unless speedily 
 lightened of her living freight, her total immersion 
 was a mere question of minutes. 
 
 Happily the small boat which was always towed 
 behind the Bedawin, had not capsized in the acci- 
 dent, but floated near by, still fastened to the 
 dahabeeah's stern by a painter rove through an 
 iron ring at her bows. To cut this rope which 
 thus inextricably held her to the sinking wreck 
 was now our hope ; but the only tools we possessed 
 were a small ladies' penknife and the broken glass 
 of the windows. However by means of these, and 
 after fearful trouble, P - and I, working by 
 turns as the fingers of one or the other became
 
 t6o A DAHABEEAH-WRECK ON THE NILE. 
 
 too benumbed to continue, the rope was at last 
 severed, and the boat freed. Then manning her 
 with three of the more reliable sailors we sent de- 
 tachment after detachment for she would hold 
 but three passengers at a time ashore ; the 
 ladies first ; then those who had been hurt in the 
 wreck and the boy Mustapha; then those who 
 could not swim ; and so by hard working gathered 
 the little army of twenty persons under the frown- 
 ing face of Gebel Tookh. 
 
 But though safe again on dry land our day's ad- 
 ventures were not yet over. Cold, and wet, and 
 hungry, there was nothing for it but to push on 
 southward in the hopes of reaching some village. 
 So over six miles of broken ground strewn with 
 jagged stones we were now obliged to trudge, 
 their sharp edges cutting our bare feet, for we had 
 but one pair of shoes amongst us. Several times 
 some of the fainter-hearted sailors broke down, 
 but for their own sakes had to be forced on for 
 the Arab in distress has little of the energy or 
 self reliance which in happier moments he may 
 possess.
 
 A DAHABEEAH-WRECK. ON THE NILE. l6l 
 
 After two hours of this painful walking we found 
 a shadoof-worker, plying his laborious task at the 
 irrigation of a field of water-melons, and enlisting 
 him as guide, were brought to the village of Gebel- 
 es-Sheykh. Here the simple villagers were more 
 than kind. They set the largest hut at our dispo- 
 sal, made a great bonfire, spread food before us, 
 and dressed the ladies in Arab clothing. Late 
 in the afternoon our vague plans were suddenly 
 interrupted by the appearance on the scene of 
 another Englishman. His dahabeeah, the Excel- 
 sior, had passed us on the previous night, and was 
 now at Girgeh about six miles to the south of our 
 hospitable little village. He had heard from na- 
 tive boatmen passing up the river of the accident 
 to the Bedawin, and had set forth in his felucca to 
 search for us. Under his kind guidance, we sailed 
 up the short distance of river to the welcome 
 banks of Girgeh, where the generous aid and sym- 
 pathy of the owners of the four dahabeeahs lying 
 there soon ended our troubles.
 
 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE 
 ISLANDS. 
 
 THERE are few more curious sights in Europe 
 than the outlying islands of the North Sea, 
 which seem hardly to belong to the civilized world 
 at all, but rather to have been planted by King 
 Winter as outpost sentries around his Polar cita- 
 del. Beyond wooded Scotland lies treeless Ork- 
 ney ; then Shetland, barer and bleaker still ; then 
 the grim precipices of Faroe, right out of the beaten 
 track, as if hiding from the world ; and lastly, far 
 away to the northwest, volcanic Iceland and frozen 
 Greenland, where the Arctic regions begin in earn- 
 est. 
 
 But even these desolate little nooks of No- 
 
 Man's-Land can look gay and pretty enough on a 
 
 bright spring morning ; and our first sight of Trom- 
 
 soe, the largest of the Faroe Isles, is certainly well 
 
 162
 
 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE. ISLANDS. 163 
 
 worth having. Far and wide, the huge black cliffs 
 tower up against the clear morning sky, while here 
 and there a break in the great wall shows the 
 sunny green uplands that lie behind it. A sudden 
 turn, and we are gliding into a smooth, deep bay, 
 so narrow at the mouth that it almost seems as if 
 the sea had run in here to play hide-and-seek, and 
 had never found its way out again. At the far end 
 of it, plastered like a postage-stamp against the 
 steep hillside, appear the clustering log huts that 
 form the " town " of Thorshavn (Thor's Harbor). 
 
 Small as it is, this tiny capital has the distinction 
 of being the only town in Faroe, and its thousand 
 inhabitants form a full tenth of the entire Faroese 
 population. It has a citadel of its own, too, for 
 from the ridge above it flutters jauntily the trim 
 Danish flag (a white cross on a crimson ground), 
 surmounting a quaint little toy fort defended by 
 four rusty guns and two men the whole being on 
 so tiny a scale, that one might almost expect to 
 see labeled on its side, "The complete set, only 
 50 cents." 
 
 And what a strange, outlandish, fairy-tale kind
 
 164 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE ISLANDS. 
 
 of place it is, when we step ashore ! The first 
 thing we see is a lamb on the roof cf a house, feed- 
 ing contentedly upon the grass that covers the turf- 
 thatch. A little farther on, several strips of jag- 
 ged black leather are seen waving in the wind 
 along the wall of a log cabin ; but another look 
 shows them to be dried sheep's tongues, hung up 
 like jerked beef in South America ! This surprise 
 is followed up by another that of finding that 
 three or four great blocks of grimy-looking wood 
 heaped together in a corner, are really the bones 
 of a whale ! Junks of whale-flesh (a common kind 
 of food here) are hanging in every direction, looking 
 very much like coarse salt-beef ; and a bleaching- 
 ground of linen which we pass a few minutes later, 
 gives us another start, the supposed linen being a 
 store of flat-fish, spread out in the sun to dry. 
 
 And the farther we go, the more these oddities in- 
 crease. The log cabins are either tarred or daubed 
 with red paint, and we find rams' horns nailed over 
 many of the doors, "to keep away the fairies," 
 as the owners explain. The steep winding streets, 
 paved with slippery " cobble-stones," are so narrow
 
 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE ISLANDS. 165 
 
 that two men can barely walk abreast. The fig- 
 ures, too, which meet us at every turn, look as if 
 they had just stepped out of some old German en- 
 graving in Jacob Grimm's fairy tales. Short square- 
 built men in steeple-crowned hats and broad-skirted 
 brown coats with thick woolen stockings drawn up 
 to the knee ; round-faced women in short dresses of 
 coarse dark " wadmaal," little saucer-shaped caps, 
 and pointed sandals of soft lambskin ; chubby chil- 
 dren, almost as broad as they are high, wearing 
 peaked red nightcaps such as one sees in the old 
 Dutch paintings, and shaggy little ponies, not much 
 bigger than sheep. 
 
 But with all its queer details, the capital of Faroe 
 makes a very charming picture. In front extends 
 the bright blue sea ; behind lie the long low hills, 
 floating in purple shadow all around spreads the 
 smooth green turf, with a huge black spike of rock 
 starting up through it every here and there. A 
 deep gully runs through the centre of the town, 
 down which a tiny stream comes dancing and spark- 
 ling in an endless succession of miniature water- 
 falls ; while the clear blue eyes and rosy cheeks
 
 1 66 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE ISLANDS. 
 
 of the towns-people show how well this rough out- 
 door life agrees with them. 
 
 It is no easy matter to reach the crest of the 
 overhanging ridge. At one moment I find myself 
 over ankles in the thick brown mud that underlies 
 this tempting greensward, the withdrawal of my foot 
 sounding like the " plop " of a cork ; while the next 
 instant comes a howl of pain from one of my 
 comrades, who, in scrambling over a loose " dyke," 
 has brought down a huge stone right upon his ten- 
 derest toe. But at last we get to the top, and ad- 
 mire at our leisure the neat little white church, 
 with its score or two of grave mounds, around each 
 of which runs a well-kept border of flowers. 
 
 Just beyond the churchyard stands the school- 
 house, looking very neat and trim with its clear 
 thatch and whitewashed walls, and the well-kept 
 gymnastic poles and ropes on the tiny patch of 
 green turf in front of the doorway. Through the 
 half-open window comes a buzz like the hiving of a 
 swarm of bees, showing that the morning lessons 
 are in full swing; and around the door lie a pile of 
 satchels, all bearing visible marks of hard usage.
 
 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE ISLANDS. 167 
 
 I venture to peep into two of them. The first 
 contains a well-thumbed Danish Robinson Crusoe, 
 inscribed with " Christjan Baerentsen, hans bog " 
 (his book). In the second are three brown huge 
 biscuits, put up by some careful mother, lest her 
 boy should be hungry during the long schoolhours 
 between eight and two. 
 
 Opening the door rather unceremoniously, we 
 enter the school itself, and are very politely received 
 by the teacher. He is a tall, thin man in rusty 
 black, whose pale face contrasts very markedly 
 with the ruddy color and round cheeks of the sturdy 
 little fellows whom he has in charge. 
 
 Three or four of them are standing before his 
 chair, repeating their lessons, while the rest are 
 seated on low benches along the farther side of the 
 little whitewashed room. They seem a very well- 
 behaved set on the whole, although the wistful 
 looks cast at the window by some of the bigger 
 boys, show how they are longing for the glorious 
 summer holiday-time when they will be out of doors 
 all day long, climbing for guillemots' eggs among 
 the precipices that overhang the sea, swimming and
 
 l68 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE ISLANDS. 
 
 diving in the cool, clear water, or going a-fishing 
 with their fathers and big brothers. 
 
 " How many boys have you here ? " 
 
 " Just twenty ; we don't usually have more. They 
 generally stay here till they're fourteen and fifteen 
 years old, and then either take up some trade, or 
 go to Copenhagen to finish their education." 
 
 " Are your schoolbooks printed on the island ? " 
 
 " No, we get them all from Denmark. We've 
 got all Hans Christian Andersen's tales, and the 
 children seem very fond of them." 
 
 " And what do you teach them ? " 
 
 " Reading and writing, both in English and Dan- 
 ish, as well as geography, arithmetic, and a little 
 history ; and then they sometimes learn a piece of 
 poetry by heart." 
 
 " Indeed ! Can we hear one of them recite ? " 
 
 " With pleasure. Hans Petersen, come up and 
 let the English gentleman hear how well you can 
 repeat ' De Tappre Land-soldat' (The Valiant 
 Soldier)." 
 
 Hans Petersen a sturdy little ten-year-old, with 
 a clear blue eye looking out through the mass of
 
 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE ISLANDS. 169 
 
 tousled yellow hair that frames his round sun- 
 burned face shoots a sidelong glance at us, and 
 then, apparently satisfied that we are not likely to 
 be very hard on him, rolls out the famous old 
 Danish war-song as energetically as if the whole 
 national army were listening. 
 
 At every repetition of the chorus, I see the little 
 heads nodding a lively accompaniment, while the 
 teacher himself (who must have sung it pretty often 
 when he was shouldering a musket against the 
 Austro-Prussian invaders of Denmark in 1864) 
 beats time briskly with his thin fingers, as the stir- 
 ring words of the last verse come clanging out : 
 
 for should we shrink away, 
 
 The Germans will come in on us, and for us make our hay; 
 And so with all my might 
 Like a soldier brave I'll fight, 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
 
 The final " Hurrah " is echoed by the whole school 
 with a vigor that quite drowns the half-hour stroke 
 of the queer old clock in the farther corner; and 
 with it comes a scuffling of feet and a scraping o f
 
 170 A SCHOOL IN THE FAROE ISLANDS. 
 
 benches, as all the twenty start up at once. For 
 the teacher, like a sensible man, never forgets that 
 he has been a boy himself, and knowing by expe- 
 rience how hard it is for these restless little bodies 
 to keep still for so many hours together, lets out 
 his flock for a general romp from half-past eleven 
 to twelve ; and the lessons go smoothly after that ! 
 
 Out they all rush pell-mell on to the green, dart- 
 ing up and down the exercise-poles as nimbly as 
 monkeys, swinging like frolicsome spiders at thje 
 ends of the ropes, rolling head over heels on the 
 smooth turf, playing leap-frog or " tag," shouting, 
 laughing, singing, enjoying the fun of the moment 
 as only children can ; while the teacher, seating 
 himself in the doorway, looks on with a smile. 
 
 Gladly would we stay and have a frolic with 
 these thorough-going merrymakers ; but it will 
 never do to risk letting the steamer sail without us, 
 and being left stranded here for a whole month. 
 So we turn off again down the hill, while our small 
 friends above send a shrill little cheer after us by 
 way of farewell, which, if not quite so loud as a 
 royal salute, is much better worth having.
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 HALF a dozen interesting letters containing 
 Royal gossip, or rather items of home life 
 at Windsor and Balmoral were once given to me by 
 the kind friend who had copied all that could be of 
 general interest. In one of these occurs this pas- 
 sage : 
 
 " You will be glad to hear something of the new 
 baby, for after all even in the Royal family a Prin- 
 cess six months old is for the time being no more 
 nor less than the tieiu baby and the Queen and the 
 Prince seem to regard her in this fond homely fash- 
 ion. She is a perfect little darling. Very pretty 
 with large eyes and a merry little mouth. I was in 
 
 the nurseries with Lady L yesterday and had 
 
 her some time in my arms and such a vigorous dam- 
 sel i She wanted to be tossed and played with and 
 
 danced about perpetually. 
 171
 
 172 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 " Lady L told me that she had never known 
 
 the Prince so devoted to any one of the Royal chil- 
 dren ; that he sent for the baby constantly and that 
 already she knew his step in the corridor. A little 
 later I saw her going out for an airing and her little 
 chubby rosy face surrounded by a blue hood looked 
 
 the picture of health and contentment. Mary R 
 
 told me that the Queen looking at her one morning 
 said in a tone of infinite satisfaction : She really 
 looks equal to any country peasant's baby. Don't 
 you think so ? ' She has the exquisite fairness 
 which the Prince of Wales showed as a tiny child, 
 but certainly no delicacy." 
 
 This baby, destined to be the Queen's close com 
 panion for so many sad years of her life, was cer- 
 tainly most welcomed by her parents and all the 
 family and household, and, as the letter I have 
 quoted above says, the Prince Consort made her a 
 special favorite from the very first ; a fact which 
 doubtless drew her nearer to the Queen when her 
 husband was taken from her. 
 
 The Princess was born at Windsor on April 14, 
 1857, and was christened " Beatrice Mary Victoria
 
 THE PRIKCESS BEATRICE 173 
 
 Feodora/' A general discussion took place before 
 these names were decided upon, a fact which is sur- 
 prising since the Royal family make not the slight- 
 est use of any name excepting their first, unless in 
 formal signatures, but it is considered a special 
 compliment to have one's name included in a royal 
 christening. The Beatrice was for the sake of old 
 English associations, the Feodora for the Queen's 
 half-sister ; and, although her little niece never used 
 .the name, she was taught to regard her aunt with 
 special affection because of it. 
 
 As " Beatrice," however, the new baby came to 
 be known, the diminutive " Bee " and "Trix," giv- 
 ing way to the loving title of " Baby " or, from her 
 father, of the " Kkine Madchen " (Little maiden). 
 
 The life of Royal children requires careful con- 
 sideration from their very start, since either by in- 
 heritance or marriage they may have to do with the 
 government of nations; becoming figures in the 
 history of their time, influencing decisions, if not 
 actual laws, and certainly, however obscure their 
 rank or position, having a direct power for good or 
 ill over those around and under them.
 
 174 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 The Queen of England, in her maternal respon- 
 sibilities, has always felt keenly that she had a 
 charge from the nation in the education of her chil- 
 dren. Perhaps she over-rates their power now, but 
 any one who has made a residence in foreign 
 countries cannot fail to be impressed by the ad- 
 vantages for doing good which any member of a 
 Royal family possesses ; when we consider that 
 from their attendance at a Fair, let us say, to their 
 opening a public building, the simple fact of their 
 presence, can benefit the charity or the public work, 
 we can form some idea of the responsibilities of a 
 Royal position under the monarchical rule, and 
 remembering her own very prudently conducted 
 childhood the Queen educated her children on the 
 most conscientious plan. 
 
 And how is a Princess "brought up?" For 
 although the Princes and Princesses of to-day do 
 not in any way belong to Fairyland, there unques- 
 tionably is about their daily lives a glamour of 
 romance and mystery, the interest which their se- 
 clusion from the public eye is sure to produce ; and 
 there is no doubt that we feel a curiosity about the
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 175 
 
 commonplace details which bring them nearer us, 
 and make them seem " like other people." 
 
 A little American girl once had a picture of the 
 Princess Beatrice at the age of four years, which 
 was a genuine puzzle to her. It was, as she said, 
 " only a little girl," and a plainly dressed little girl, 
 too, with her hair in a round comb; a white frock 
 and a blue sash, and for ornament only a slim little 
 gold chain with a locket hanging from it. But that 
 the little Royal girl was very like others of her age 
 and sex was shown by her having one plump hand 
 on her chain the bit of adornment evidently pleas- 
 ing her as much as though she were, as the Ameri- 
 can child said, " anybody else ! " 
 
 At the time this picture was taken the Princess 
 was just beginning to have a life of special rules and 
 regulations. Hitherto she had only been " Baby," 
 a universal pet and favorite, always merry, good 
 humored and attractive, and up to the last her fath- 
 er's darling. 
 
 One of the last cheerful hours which the Prince 
 spent with his family was touchingly described to 
 me. " Baby " came in for her full share of notice,
 
 176 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 and the Prince for nearly half an hour walked up 
 and down the room with Beatrice in his arms, tell- 
 ing her stories, and enjoying her merry prattle. 
 She was extravagantly fond of music, and still hold- 
 ing her in his arms the Prince went to the piano, 
 and sang and played for her little German " Kinder- 
 scenen " which the Princess has never since for- 
 gotten, remembering keenly, she says, the very 
 cadence of his voice and the touch of his fingers on 
 the keys. 
 
 With the first hour of relief from the Queen's 
 agony of woe at the Prince Consort's death, the 
 baby of the household was associated. Stricken by 
 her loss, the Queen could not weep ; but the effect 
 upon her brain and nerves terrified all around her. 
 Pale as death, but dry-eyed, sleepless, and cold, the 
 poor widowed lady could not be roused. The physi- 
 cians declared that tears would be her salvation, but 
 unless they came some dreadful illness must ensue. 
 
 It was night ; the Queen was in bed, and in the 
 
 nurseries the children were all asleep. Lady L , 
 
 the wife of a well known church dignitary and one of 
 the Queen's most intimate friends, went to the Prin-
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 177 
 
 cess Beatrice's crib, lifted the child, still sleeping, 
 from it, and, in spite of remonstrances from the head 
 nurse, carried the little one to her mother's room, 
 and saying not a word, knelt down by the broken- 
 hearted Queen, putting her baby the Princess, 
 " Kleine Madchen " softly within her arms. It 
 was enough. The mother's heart awakened : the 
 long-pent-up tears rushed forth and, at last, holding 
 her baby close to her breast, she slept peacefully ; 
 her health, perhaps her life, was saved. 
 
 At six years of age the Princess had regular gov- 
 ernesses and instructors, Prince Leopold, next in 
 years, sometimes joining in her lessons ; but for the 
 most part she was alone in them, being so much 
 younger than the rest of the family. Amusements, 
 however, were not wanting. At Windsor she had 
 her little out-of-door play-house, and there she 
 played regularly at keeping house, learning to 
 cook, bake and brew, to sweep and dust, in the 
 most fascinating way, and in her own little garden 
 cultivating flowers and, on a very small scale, vege- 
 tables and fruit ! Only on rare occasions during 
 her childish days was the young Princess seen in
 
 I? THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 public. A story is told of her escaping from her 
 governess one day in the Crystal Palace during 
 some special " show," so anxious was she to dis 
 cover what was going on in some distant portion 
 of the hall they were in, indications of which had 
 attracted her attention. How she contrived it is 
 not told, but at all events she reached the desired 
 point without detection and found herself in a group 
 of children around a table. Some careful pur- 
 chases were in contemplation and the little stranger 
 was allowed to look at the things and express her 
 opinion. She was in the act of calmly saying she 
 wished some of the things herself, when the woman 
 at the stall recognized her. There was a quick 
 murmur, " it's the Princess Beatrice," and a con- 
 sternation among the company; for how and why 
 she was there was not apparent. A motherly-look- 
 ing woman in the little crowd stepped fonvard and 
 said in broad Scotch, " Eh, but she only a chiel 
 after all, and we can take her to her ain easy enough." 
 And with little ceremony the young Princess was 
 picked up and carried back to " her ain " in the 
 Scotch woman's strong arms ! Whatever was said
 
 H. S. H. PRINCE HENRY O
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. l8l 
 
 or done afterwards, the Princess never tried to 
 " mingle with the masses " on any subsequent oc- 
 casion ; indeed as a child and growing girl, her rep- 
 utation among the people was that of somewhat 
 haughty exclusiveness. 
 
 The routine of the Princess' life was arranged by 
 the Queen herself, and the superintendence of her 
 education, although nominally in the hands of 
 others, was watched over carefully by the Royal 
 mother. Regular hours were enforced beginning 
 with the eight o'clock breakfast, after which was an 
 hour of out-of-door exercise walking, or playing, 
 or riding on the ponies brought from Scotland for 
 the Queen's children ; a morning of study and read- 
 ing followed, sometimes diversified by a visit from 
 the Queen who either examined the little scholar or 
 listened to her recitations, discussing the child's 
 progress with the governess in a sociable way. 
 When suggestions were to be made, the Queen was 
 always careful not to seem to interfere with the 
 teacher's authority, and even the request for an 
 extra holiday had to be formally made through the 
 governess and with her full sanction. Masters in
 
 1 82 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 music, drawing, the languages and dancing came 
 regularly, and like all the English Royal family. 
 Princess Beatrice is a good linguist and excellent 
 musician. 
 
 On one occasion her music-master, desiring to 
 show the Queen how well his pupil was progressing, 
 suggested they should practice some duets for her 
 Majesty's benefit. Princess Beatrice was much 
 pleased and they labored some weeks over the 
 Fifth Symphony, and some arrangement of Men- 
 delssohn's best overtures. When the evening came 
 for the Queen to hear this music, the Princess was 
 rather alarmed, but her master assured her she 
 would do well. Judge, however, of her astonish- 
 ment on finding placed before her some music she 
 had never seen ! 
 
 Vainly did she protest that it was quite impossi- 
 ble she could not read it ; all however sotto-voce to 
 
 Professor H . He insisted that she could, and 
 
 so off they started ; the Princess' fright gradually 
 lessening as she saw that she was doing fairly well, 
 
 and ending by a genuine success. Professor H 
 
 explained that he had desired to show the Queen
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 183 
 
 by this bit of strategy the real proficiency of the 
 Princess whose " pluck " he knew would carry her 
 through. 
 
 Although so great a favorite with her mother, and 
 inclined as I have said to a coldness of manner not 
 characteristic of the Royal family, the Princess was 
 not a spoiled child, and was made to exercise self- 
 control and submit to a great deal of discipline 
 and restraint when in London or even at Windsor, 
 so that it is no wonder she welcomed the visits to 
 Osborne or Balmoral where she has always had so 
 much freedom in driving, walking, or boating. At 
 Balmoral above all, the restraint of court etiquette 
 was frequently laid aside the Princess going about 
 quite informally visiting the cottagers, nearly all 
 of whom are on the friendliest social terms with the 
 Queen and her youngest daughter. 
 
 A photograph of the Princess at Balmoral shows 
 her in homelike dress, and easy attitude in one of 
 the garden chairs ; her favorite dog curled up at her 
 feet, her book open on her knee ; some trifles 
 scattered near, as if she had been sewing or em- 
 broidering, while her eyes are lifted with a pleas-
 
 184 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 ant smile in them to a lady standing at her side. 
 This picture, one of a private collection, suggests 
 the Princess at home very agreeably. There, it is 
 said, she is full of animation, good spirits and kind- 
 heartedness; but her entire devotion to the Queen 
 has kept her from the sort of friendly intercourse 
 with the public which has made the rest of the 
 Royal family so popular. Perhaps no young lady in 
 England has seen as little of society as the Queen's 
 youngest daughter ; she has paid very few even of the 
 country house visits which are frequent with other 
 members of the Royal family, and gone to but few 
 balls during the ten London seasons since she was 
 first formally "in society." The state balls at Buck- 
 ingham Palace have been her most festive occasions 
 and these, although very magnificent as spectacles, 
 can scarcely be interesting to the young Princess, 
 since it is her place at such times only to receive 
 formally. 
 
 Perhaps, however, the most amusing part is the 
 supper which is in its way rather sociable. Only 
 certain people a*re invited to the banqueting room 
 with the Royal family, but it is not uncommon to
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 185 
 
 find several Americans in the company, owing to 
 diplomatic invitations or the distinction always 
 shown an American visitor of note. At a stated 
 hour the supper-room doors are open ; the Royal 
 family enter first, followed by the specially invited 
 guests. As soon as they have passed in, the doors 
 are closed ; the Royal people seat themselves at a 
 table at one end of the room, while their guests are 
 grouped at small tables ranged about, the only dif- 
 ference in service being that all articles used on the 
 Royal table are of gold, while those upon the other 
 tables are of silver. 
 
 Few scenes are more brilliant however so far as 
 splendor of decoration, toilettes, uniforms and illu- 
 mination are concerned, for the court regulations 
 of dress make a magnificent attire necessary ; the 
 trained satins, plumed head dresses, and the blaze 
 of jewels go far to the embellishing the scene, while, 
 to the least among the servants in attendance, a 
 " bravery " of gold lace or silver, of scarlet coating 
 and white silk stockings, is required. The Queen's 
 own band plays during the supper; flowers make 
 the long room like a summer garden, and the most
 
 1 86 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 dazzling Venetian glass is added to the gold and 
 silver service of the tables. Although the Queen 
 herself is rarely seen at these state entertainments, 
 she is punctilious to the last degree about the form- 
 alities attending them, and any oversight on the 
 part of the officials who are in charge meets her 
 prompt disapproval. 
 
 * During this hour of supper room seclusion the 
 Royal family and such of their guests as are of Royal 
 rank, often move about the room talking to this one 
 or that, and evidently enjoying this social part of 
 the evening very much. An American lady who 
 was present during a state ball supper two years 
 ago wrote as follows : 
 
 "The Prince of Battenberg was veiy cordial and 
 pleasant. He is visiting London, you know, and 
 is apparently well- pleased with everything his 
 American friends included. He is as handsome 
 as an ideal Prince in a fairy story, dances uncom 
 monly well and talks better. What a pity he is 
 only one of the numerous 'small' Get man Prin- 
 ces, and for his rank, 'poor.' " 
 
 It was, however, during this very visit that the
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 187 
 
 first idea of a marriage between Princess Beatrice 
 and the handsome young Henry of Battenberg was 
 discussed ; but a great many points have to be con- 
 sidered in royal alliances which need not happily 
 disturb the peace of obscurer people who con- 
 template a similar change in their state ; the first 
 question naturally is that of the nearness of the 
 Prince or Princess to a throne. 
 
 The chances of succession for the Queen's young- 
 est daughter are so remote that they need scarcely 
 be considered at all ; nearly forty heirs being in 
 " advance right " of her claim. This point, there- 
 fore, may readily be waived, and the marriage of 
 the Princess Beatrice considered as one of affec- 
 tion and mutual choice ; but in every royal marriage 
 singular though it may seem, the opinion of differ- 
 ent foreign princes has to be taken into considera- 
 tion. Offence maybe easily given to some country 
 with whom England is on special terms of friend- 
 liness by a marriage which would associate the na- 
 tion with one who was the other's enemy, and so 
 you see however far from the Crown a prince or 
 princess may be, there is all this to be thought of
 
 1 88 THE PRINCKSS BEATRICE. 
 
 before a marriage is sanctioned; then it must be 
 formally announced by the Queen to Parliament and 
 the country, and the government is expected to 
 settle an annuity on the bride or bridegroom-elect. 
 
 But the home formalities are less severe. Nat- 
 urally the proposal is made in a very ceremonious 
 manner, and it is not openly discussed until the 
 Queen has decided to favor it. Then it is her place 
 to give the young man " permission " to address the 
 Princess, who, however, has been privately allowed 
 to express her own opinion ; after which the con- 
 gratulations of the family are mingled with a quiet 
 homelike festivity to make the event as like any 
 ordinary betrothal as possible. 
 
 In the case of the Princess Beatrice, marriage 
 will make but little difference in her home life since, 
 owing to the Queen's loneliness, the " Kleine Mad- 
 chen," dear companion of her widowed life, will not 
 leave Windsor, so that we may infer as Princess of 
 Battenberg she will have much the same daily life 
 as heretofore ; and a glimpse in upon her routine, 
 her surroundings to-day will indicate what they will 
 be in the future.
 
 H. R. H. PKINCESS BEATRICE.
 
 tHE PRINCESS BEATRICE. IQI 
 
 Let us begin with what we may consider the Prin- 
 cess' own " household " the people directly in her 
 service. 
 
 Court etiquette and custom prescribe that as soon 
 as a Princess leaves the schoolroom, a special " lady- 
 in-waiting," or companion, be assigned her. The 
 duties of this lady are not severe, although she 
 must, of course, accommodate her " times and sea- 
 sons " to that of the Princess ; but when in tete-e- 
 tete there is very little of the restraint or formality 
 in their intercourse which made the court of Queen 
 Charlotte, the wife of George III., so dreary to 
 every one connected with it. In those days the 
 ladies of the court waited long for permission to sit 
 down, never began a conveVsation and rarely ad- 
 vanced an idea ; but times and feelings as well as 
 customs have changed. The Princess Beatrice's 
 " lady " is her friend and associate ; they talk, work, 
 read together of a morning, share their drives and 
 walks, and have much in common, while the "lady " 
 is at far greater liberty than her royal mistress. 
 She can go out into the general world and lead a 
 far wider life than that which belongs to Windsor
 
 192 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 or Balmoral ; but a rule absolutely enforced, and 
 which I have never known to be infringed upon, is 
 that in company one of the Royal household must 
 never speak of the datails connected with his or her 
 court-life : a fact which accounts for the scarcity of 
 reliable chit-chat about Royal people. Those most 
 intimately associated with the Queen and her fam- 
 ily are from etiquette most reticent. 
 
 The usual period of " waiting," or attendance, is 
 three months ; but in the case of the Princess 
 Beatrice this time is often extended her lady 
 companion being unmarried and consequently hav- 
 ing no rigid home-ties such as have to govern many 
 of the ladies attached to the Queen's household. 
 With these constant companions habits of familiar 
 ii tercourse are formed and bonds of truest fiiend 
 snip made ; the English Royal family being noted 
 for their loyalty to those who have served them or 
 been their friends. A second lady belonging to the 
 Princess' retinue has the duty of reader and secre 
 tary, added to the performance of various general 
 small offices, such as a lady in a lower rank of life 
 would do for herself ; and this attendant is a for
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 193 
 
 eigner, so that the languages so early and fluently 
 acquired are kept up. Next come the "dressers" 
 of the Princess, whose duties are like those of any 
 ladies maid ; there are two, and they are expected 
 to take entire charge of the Princess' wardrobe 
 which, be it known except in the matter of jewels 
 is far more simple than that of any American 
 girl of fashion. Having seen the Princess re- 
 peatedly, I can venture to say that I never but once 
 saw hei dressed as elegantly or richly as any so- 
 called American society girl would have been at- 
 tired on similar occasions. Of the exception I will 
 speak later. 
 
 I recall the tall fair English-looking girl on one 
 summer's day in a pretty blue and white linen gown, 
 with a gray and blue straw bonnet, gray gant de suede 
 and a white parasol, driving with her companion 
 to one of the hospitals she patronizes ; again at an 
 artist's studio, in the plainest of tailor-made cloth 
 costumes, with a cloth " toque " and long dark 
 
 40 
 
 gloves ; and once in the Park on a brilliant June 
 afternoon in white camel's hair, or nun's veiling, 
 with a huge bouquet of damask roses in her hands.
 
 194 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 But the impression was always of absolute simplic- 
 ity, so that perhaps the purity of her complexion, 
 the pretty tints of her hair, and her large quiet eyes 
 were the more attractive ; one had time to think of 
 their girlish charm. 
 
 When at home the Princess has in her service a 
 special page or man-servant, and her lady-in-wait- 
 ing has one also provided by the house steward ; 
 their duties are to answer the bells belonging to the 
 Princess' rooms, or perform any of the errands or 
 messages the Princess or her lady require. All 
 letters for the Princess, excepting those sent or re 
 ceived by the people known as "Queen's messen 
 gers," come first to the custody of an official at 
 court, and only such as the Princess considers 
 worth while are answered. The letters from her 
 regular correspondents in the family are all sent 
 by special messengers, several of whom are con- 
 stantly employed going back and forth between 
 England and other countries. In this connection I 
 might say that a large portion of Princess Beatrice's 
 time, hitherto, has been devoted to her mother's 
 private correspondence, of which she has had
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 195 
 
 almost the entire charge ; and it is said that she 
 herself writes the most fascinating letters, full of 
 " wit and wisdom." 
 
 It may be interesting to young readers to know 
 something of the etiquette which governs the Prin- 
 cess' social life. To begin with the matter of visits : 
 These are regulated by the Piincess herself. That 
 is, she invites the call, although when a person with 
 whom she is well acquainted has any special rea- 
 son for desiring to see her, it may be made known 
 through her lady-in-waiting, who then writes or 
 sends word to the friend that at such a time her 
 Royal Highness would be glad to receive a visit ; 
 when a more extended invitation is to be given it 
 again comes through the Princess' companion. On 
 arriving at Windsor the guest is conducted to the 
 Princess' private sitting-room, where she remains 
 until the Princess gives some signal for her to with- 
 draw, the only special formality attending the visit. 
 I have seen the Princess in a small, rather informal 
 company when people were brought up by her re- 
 quest to be introduced to her, and the only differ- 
 ence noticeable in their manner and that of others
 
 196 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE 
 
 in the rooms, was the little sort of courtesy made 
 on going up and leaving. The conversation was 
 free and sociable, the Princess animated and very 
 much entertained, it would appeal, by what was 
 said to her. 
 
 When she desires to visit any special place the 
 studio of an artist or to see any special collection, 
 let us say the artist, or owner, is notified, and of 
 course other guests are for the time being excluded . 
 the Princess and her attendants, however, coming 
 with very little ceremony. 
 
 Occasionally the Queen and her youngest daugh 
 ter have made visits to some of their friends' large 
 country-houses, and on such occasions special suites 
 of rooms are set aside for the Royal party, and of 
 course while they are being entertained the host 
 and hostess regulate all the movements of their 
 household in accordance with the Queen's wishes. 
 I turn again to notes from letters loaned me : 
 
 " The Queen, Princess Beatrice and suite ar- 
 rived last evening to remain three days," writes a 
 
 guest from N Castle. " I was greatly interested 
 
 in seeing the young Princess after dinner when she
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 197 
 
 came into the long drawing room with the other 
 ladies and talked half an hour or so. She is very 
 pleasing ; exceedingly intelligent and quick in the 
 way she notices what is said about her. In fact she 
 is to speak plainly not devoid of the usual curi- 
 osity of her sex about small matters as well as great. 
 
 She was much entertained by J 's Pompeian 
 
 ring and told us something novel about recent exca- 
 vations with what J called a ' very pretty power 
 
 of description.' She is rather too dignified for her 
 years, and a trifle cold except when animated by 
 conversation, but otherwise fair and sweet in face 
 
 and manner The Queen breakfasts in 
 
 her apartments with the Princess, Brown in attend- 
 ance, and afterwards receives visits from the people 
 in the house, walks or drives in the Park and about. 
 
 Her dinner party is always small, Lady N says, 
 
 and she will not come regularly to the long drawing- 
 room I was honored by an invitation 
 
 'up stairs' to-day, and heard the Princess play 
 she is an admirable musician. Charles Halle has 
 taught her well, she has thoroughly his precision. 
 She is very fond of German music and gives it in
 
 198 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 the right way. She and the Queen play duets 3 
 great deal, J says." 
 
 This short extract conveys some idea of theexclu- 
 siveness which attends even a visit from Royalty. 
 The other guests in the house, although invited with 
 a special view to meeting the Queen or Princess, 
 must await a summons, and are " honored " by the 
 half-hour's after-dinner chat in the drawing-room ; 
 but we must remember that Royalty is part and 
 parcel of the nation, and \\spersonal dignity has to be 
 maintained as severely as a military discipline 
 that kind of exclusiveness being as necessary an 
 adjunct as is the pomp and ceremony of field parade. 
 
 One autumn day we found ourselves part of a 
 company waiting to receive the Queen and Princess 
 Beatrice at a country railway station in England. 
 The occasion was so important a one that all the 
 townspeople would like to have made it very 
 demonstrative, but the Queen had desired to have 
 the visit pass off quietly as possible. However, there 
 was a large crowd gathered on either side of the 
 railed-off portion of the platform, and everywhere 
 as gay-looking decorations as they could devise in
 
 thE PRINCESS BEATRICE. i<)9 
 
 a " quiet way " and on a few hours' notice. The 
 Queen and the Princess were coming to lunch and 
 spend the morning with the Prime Minister, Lord 
 Beaconsfield, whose grand country-house was about 
 three miles from this little station, and pretty pros- 
 perous town. A small party of the "gentry " in the 
 neighborhood were with Lord Beaconsfield at the 
 station, and, as we chanced to be the guests of one 
 of the gentlemen in the party, we had a pleasant 
 opportunity of seeing the Royal party almost in 
 what might be considered an informal way. So 
 rarely do her subjects see the Queen of England 
 that every eye was strained to gaze upon the small 
 dignified little lady of middle age and a very fair 
 pleasing countenance, whom Lord Beaconsfield as- 
 sisted first from the railway carriage, and who stood 
 a little while among us on the platform. 
 
 But I confess my interest was very great in the 
 young Princess then in her twenty-fourth year 
 who, with one lady-in-waiting, accompanied her. 
 Dressed in some very rich dark fabric with the 
 finest of sable for trimmings, the Princess Beatrice 
 looked very thoroughly like one's idea of what a
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE. 
 
 "Queen's daughter" should be. Tall, and very 
 stately in demeanor, she possesses the fair color- 
 ing of her father's race, with a mingling of the 
 Teuton and Saxon, like all the Queen's children, 
 but with something more regular in the outline of 
 feature, and at the same time of a decidedly vigor- 
 ous type ; the clear pink-and-white tone of her skin, 
 the red lips, the strength of shoulder, and the finely- 
 carried head all contriving to make the Princess 
 Beatrice a fair representative English maiden. 
 
 As the only one of the Queen's daughters who 
 belongs to the young generation as it were, a special 
 interest attaches to her life and her marriage ; and in 
 spite of all maternal fondness, and the fact that she 
 will not make a new home of her own, the real 
 family-life of Queen Victoria ends when her daugh- 
 ter Beatrice shall be known as the Princess of Bat- 
 tenberg.
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS 
 AT SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 T DARE say all American boys and girls very 
 * well know Sandringham to be the name of 
 the house in which the Prince of Wales lives when 
 he is quite at home. I have the good fortune to 
 live within a few miles of the estate, and we often 
 drive there, especially when we have any visitor 
 staying with us whose heart, like ours, is cram-full 
 of loyalty, as we had last November. The Prince 
 and Princess are always at home at that time, and 
 remain to spend Christmas. They had, as usual, 
 been entertaining the people of the county with 
 dancing and festivity. It was the morning after 
 the ball, and there was to be a grand meet of the 
 hunt at Hillington, and we decided to drive to see 
 the royal party leave the hall.
 
 202 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 It was a brilliant frosty morning, and off we rat- 
 tled through the little village and out into the open 
 country, gay with autumnal coloring, the sea glit- 
 tering and sparkling in the far off distance. We 
 rushed, up hill and down dale, through villages 
 that woke up to see us pass, and along great com- 
 mons grand in their noble solitude, then up a pretty 
 little wooded steep, and there the Park lies before 
 us in all its English beauty. Here are the Nor- 
 wich gates, handsome iron structures, presented 
 to the Prince of Wales by the inhabitants of the 
 ancient cathedral city. There is the long avenue 
 of noble oaks and beeches; and then the house 
 itself a plain and somewhat homely-looking build- 
 ing. 
 
 A soldierly looking policeman is standing at the 
 gates. Uncle Raymond, who is driving, jumps 
 down and accosts him : " Has the Prince gone yet ? " 
 
 " No, sir, you're in plenty of time. You had 
 better go round to Cook's Lodge, and drive slowly 
 up the hill ; you're sure to see him pass." 
 
 We drive on again. Everything savors of roy- 
 alty. Prince of Wales' feathers meet the eye at every
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 203 
 
 turn ; even the very carts bear his name upon them 
 as they pass. And now we take position on the hill. 
 A quarter of an hour goes slowly by, and yet we 
 see and hear nothing. 
 
 " Is it possible," cries Uncle Raymond taking out 
 his watch, " that we have had our drive for nothing ? 
 Here is a man, I'll ask him." 
 
 The laborer civilly informs us that the Prince is 
 snipe-shooting at Wolverton, and, touching his hat, 
 passes on. 
 
 We groan audibly. A gentleman in hunting cos- 
 tume, but on foot, appears in the distance. As he 
 approaches Uncle Raymond questions him : " Does 
 the Prince go hunting to-day?" 
 
 " Yes ; he does go hunting to-day." 
 
 "Will he pass this way?" 
 
 "He will pass this way; you cannot possibly 
 miss him." 
 
 Presently carts and wagonettes go by ; and then 
 a string of the royal hunters step proudly past us. 
 Then two or three red coats appear, more wagon- 
 ettes, more strings of hunters, more red-coats, all 
 looking as " fresh as paint and as cheerful as par-
 
 204 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 rots.'' And then comes a pause. We are alone 
 once more. But soon a gentleman rides slowly out 
 of the gates, immediately followed by a laughing 
 cavalcade. 
 
 It is the Prince ! 
 
 He on the gray horse, at the head of the caval- 
 cade, comes slowly up the hill. 
 
 Uncle Raymond stands bareheaded at the pony's 
 head. The Prince's eye is upon us and, noting 
 Uncle Raymond's bare head, he lifts his hat, bows 
 graciously and gallops rapidly forward. He looked 
 very handsome in his red coat, every inch the Prince 
 of Wales, and England's future King. 
 
 Then there is more waiting until an open car- 
 riage, drawn by four horses with postilions turns 
 the corner. Two gentlemen are on the box, then 
 two ladies, then a lady and gentleman. The Prin- 
 cess is on the second seat, and on our side.. As 
 she passes, looking pale, but very sweet and pretty, 
 she, too, bows in the most charming manner. Then 
 she also passes out of sight. Our guest had seen 
 the Prince and Princess. 
 
 We took another visitor to Sandringham when
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 205 
 
 the family were away. 1 remember that we visited 
 the little rural church, across the park to which the 
 Princess used to steal so often on those dull winter 
 days more than twelve years ago, when it was be 
 lieved the Prince lay dying, and all England waited 
 in suspense the issues of life or death. Just with- 
 out the east window, in the mossy green of the 
 churchyard, there is a little grave with simple mar- 
 ble cross and low iron railing. Here lies the 
 little Prince who only lived through one short day, 
 the third son of the royal pair, Alexander John 
 Charles Albert. Scarcely a stone's throw from this 
 is the grave of the favorite young groom, Charles 
 Blagg, who died of the same illness that seized the 
 Prince in that memorable winter of '71. A stone 
 cross marks the spot, and on the reverse of the 
 cross is engraved by the Prince's special command : 
 " The one was taken and the other left.'" This is one 
 of the many little incidents which prove to us Eng- 
 lish people that our Prince possesses a warm heart. 
 He who could be touched by the death of a ser- 
 vant, and acknowledge that God's Providence alone 
 had preserved him Tro:n sharing the same fate,
 
 206 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 mu.st be possessed of deep and tender feelings. In 
 I he chancel of the little church, erected by the 
 
 H. R. H., LOUISE OF HALES. 
 
 Prince's order to the memory of his sister the 
 Princess Alice, is another tablet inscribed by him :
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 207 
 
 " This monument is erected by her devoted and sorrow- 
 ing brother Albert Edward, Prince of Wales" 
 
 We left the churchyard to enter the park and 
 grounds surrounding the hall. There is much of in- 
 terest to be seen. Although no portion of the house is 
 ever shown, by favor we were allowed to go into the 
 Princess' little tea-room adjoining her dairy; an 
 exquisite little room decorated with gifts from her 
 personal friends in the shape of pictures, painted 
 panels, plaques etc. etc. Here she frequently enter- 
 tains her especial friends at afternoon tea, part of 
 the meal being a large home-baked loaf, for which 
 the Princess always stipulates, and from which she 
 cufs slices for her guests with her own hands. 
 The big, cool dairy is perfect in its arrangement, 
 and the cream from those large white pans is sim- 
 ply delicious. This is one of the homely tastes 
 that so endears the Princess to us, because it shows 
 that amidst all the grandeur by which she is nec- 
 essarily surrounded, she still preserves her fond- 
 ness for simple pleasures and for housewifely ways. 
 
 Here in these green lanes and woods she fre- 
 quently puts aside the accessories of royalty. A
 
 208 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 few years ago, she and some of her children had 
 enjoyed a considerable ramble, and were exces- 
 sively fatigued, when opportunely an old man passed 
 them driving a sand-cart. The Princess instantly 
 accosted him, asking him to give them a lift. He, 
 addressing her as " my good lady,'' bade her and 
 the children "jump up.'' This they did, im- 
 mensely enjoying the " lark.'' They chatted pleas- 
 antly as they jogged along ( for our Norfolk la- 
 borers are singularly shrewd and intelligent, and 
 always ready to respond when talked to), until they 
 came to the big iron gates where the ways divide. 
 The man then asked the " good lady :> where he 
 should set them down. 
 
 She said he might drive straight on. Now 
 "straight on" meant through those big Norwich 
 gates which admit you into the approach to the 
 hall. The man hesitated. The Princess insisted ; 
 and moreover she made him drive up to the very 
 door where kings and dukes and all imaginable 
 grandees are received. I wonder whose surprise 
 was the greater, that of the driver of the sand- 
 cart, or that of the Princess' attendants when she
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 209 
 
 alighted at her own door from this novel equipage ! 
 
 Only a few months ago the Princess, before leav- 
 ing Sandringham, went to take a farewell gift of 
 photographs to one of the people on the estate. 
 A new maid-servant opened the door to her. 
 
 "Is Mr. So-and-So at home ? " asked the Princess. 
 
 " No, Miss," said the girl, " but he won't be long ; 
 will you come in and wait a bit ? " 
 
 "Tell him," said the laughing Princess, as she 
 handed over the packet, " that the Princess of 
 Wales brought these for his acceptance." 
 
 The Princess herself repeated this story to the 
 gentleman of the house, who quickly responded : 
 
 " No stranger would ever take your Royal High- 
 ness to be the mother of those fine young men," 
 referring to the Princes. 
 
 But to return to Sandringham. We wandered 
 down by the lake, and went into a beautiful little 
 cave which the water enters and forms a deep, still, 
 dark pool, such a contrast to the sunlit lake out-- 
 side, over the surface of which some lovely swan? 
 and water fowl were gliding. We walked on the 
 broad long terrace, and saw Prince Eddy (who is
 
 210 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRIKGHAM. 
 
 now at Sandringham with a tutor, studying), play- 
 ing at tennis in the court with the vicar and his 
 wife, and some friends. Then we went through the 
 stables, and saw the tiny pony that was made such 
 a pet of by the royal children that it used to follow 
 them up and down stairs. We were shown also, a 
 little old-fashioned pony-chaise, never used now, 
 which the Prince of Wales first drove out in as a tiny 
 boy. Next we went to the kennels to see the dogs ; 
 fine fellows they are, with big loving eyes, and 
 nice smooth foreheads. Then on to the bears ; there 
 are two, named Charlie and Polly. They went 
 through their little performance obediently, climb- 
 ing a pole and catching the biscuits we threw to 
 them, sometimes with their mouths, sometimes with 
 their paws. Next came the monkeys. 
 
 By this time we began to feel that we had done 
 our duty right loyally; so Uncle Raymond went 
 back to the "model farm" where he had left the 
 pony. He was put into the shafts by a dear old 
 farm laborer who told Uncle Raymond how he 
 often went round the farm with the Prince, and that 
 they were frequently alone together for hours, and
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS Af SANDRINGHAM. 21 T 
 
 the Prince always talking freely. He said he went 
 part of the way to India with the Prince on board 
 the Serapis, to take some cattle to the King of 
 Greece ; he spoke of the kindness to King George, 
 and of how he used often to come and talk to him. 
 When he left, the king gave him a portrait of him- 
 self and of all his family. He was sent to Den- 
 mark once, too, to take some cattle from the Prince 
 to his kingly father-in-law, and met with plenty of 
 kindness. 
 
 Of course, we who constantly live in the neigh- 
 borhood of Sandringham hear, and speak, and 
 think much of our royal neighbors. We see them 
 apart from the trappings of royalty, we meet them 
 riding and driving about the pleasant country lanes 
 and we hear of them fulfilling as they delight to 
 the homely duties of Squire and Squiress. The 
 Prince is a model landlord, and the Princess in 
 her home is a bright example of what a woman 
 should be as mistress, wife, and mother. Only the 
 other day I heard of her entering one of the cot- 
 tages where lay a poor man who had met with an 
 accident, laden with salves and old linen. She ex-
 
 212 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 amined his wound, and then dressed and bandaged 
 it with her own hands so skilfully that the parish 
 doctor thought another medical man had been 
 called in to attend his patient, and refused to con- 
 tinue to treat him himself. Whereupon the Princess, 
 with a sly laugh doubtless, for she has a very keen 
 sense of humor, sent another doctor to the sufferer. 
 
 To the old cottagers the Prince has always 
 seemed more like a country Squire than England's 
 future king; they do not realize his position apart 
 from Sandringham. His pleasant bonhomie, his 
 generosity, his kind-heartedness have endeared him 
 to them. As the plain but familiar equipage goes 
 by, the laborer looks up from his toil in the fields 
 to murmur "The Prince, God bless him !" 
 
 A favorite resort of the royal pair in the early 
 days of their married life was a little seaside vil- 
 lage about nine miles distant from Sandringham, 
 which has since given its name to a popular sum- 
 mer resort close by. Here is a wide sea-beach, 
 with level stretches of brown-ribbed sand, low sand- 
 hills, and cliffs whereon a lighthouse stands. One 
 of the keepers of that Light was a garrulous old
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 213 
 
 man with whom it was pleasant to linger for a chat, 
 as one rested on the bench under the white wall 
 which skirted the Lighthouse garden, on some 
 bright sunshiny morning, with the grand panorama 
 of sea and sky, and the low line of the distant 
 Lincolnshire coast, spread out before one. Just in 
 such a way I have often rested and talked to him, 
 or listened while he told me how he had many a 
 time seen the young royal pair upon the sands be- 
 low, at play like a couple of children, pushing each 
 other into the water, or drenching each other with 
 the salt sea spray. They used to drive from Sand- 
 ringham with as few attendants as possible, put up 
 their carriage and horses at a little old-fashioned 
 inn near the shore, and walk down to the beach. 
 The landlord of this inn is (for he still lives) an ec- 
 centric character, come of an old gypsy family es- 
 tablished for more than five centuries in the village, 
 during which time every now and then the gypsy 
 blood would break out and some one member of 
 the family would take to roving. The old man him- 
 self did so in his young days. Curiously enough 
 his surname is Wales, and one day he said to the
 
 214 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDR1NGHAM. 
 
 Prince, " Your Royal Highness must surely be re- 
 lated to me, for my name is Wales." The Prince 
 was mightily amused with the old man's joke, and 
 showed his appreciation of it by repeating it often. 
 These little excursions generally included a pic- 
 nic lunch, either on the beach, or in the park which 
 forms a part of the estate of the lord of the manor, 
 who was then an absentee, representing the British 
 government at Washington. An invariable feature 
 of these picnics was the boiling of a potful of 
 potatoes over a gypsy fire. On this the Princess 
 always insisted. On one of these occasions an old 
 woman familiarly known in the village as " granny," 
 whose birth was lost in the mist of antiquity be- 
 cause, as she herself told me, " her mother never 
 wrote it down," danced before their royal high- 
 nesses, and was rewarded with a shower of small 
 coins. The sum of poor old "granny's " years is 
 told now, and she is gone home, and changes of 
 various kinds have put an end to these rural pic- 
 nics on the beach. Only now and again, generally 
 when they are down for the Easter recess, the Prince 
 and Princess visit the shore with their children ;
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS At SANDRINGHAM. 215 
 
 and the Princess may be seen in her high water- 
 boots, walking leisurely through the thin edge of 
 
 THE PRINCESSES, VICTORIA AND MAUD, OF WALES. 
 
 the water as it creeps up and along the shore. Per- 
 haps, who can tell, the scene reminds them of those
 
 2l6OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 merry days of old, and they tell over again to 
 make the royal children laugh, some remembered 
 incident, perhaps of old granny's dance, or the 
 landlord's relationship. 
 
 They are easily moved to smiles and laughter, 
 these happy, healthy children in whom the spirit 
 of fun and enjoyment seems to be re-kindled with 
 added force. Prince George is the mainspring of 
 all the frolic and fun that goes on at Sandringham, 
 at Christmas and other times. He is a good speci- 
 men of English boyhood, strong, active, and brim- 
 ful of mischief. His elder brother, known here by 
 his pet home name "Prince Eddy," is more thought- 
 ful and studious, though now and again Prince 
 George's spirit seems to infect him. With both, 
 Mr. Beck, the agent, is a great favorite. I am 
 almost ashamed to tell how they bestowed upon 
 him the soubriquet of "Old Satan" wherefore, I 
 cannot imagine, for nothing more anti-Satanic 
 than his jovial, weather-bronzed face can be con- 
 ceived. They used to delight in waylaying him 
 with snow-balls, and in making him the subject of 
 all sorts of pranks. And yet they have a care for
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 217 
 
 his comfort, for at luncheon Prince George has 
 heaped his plate up with dainties, thinking he cared 
 for, and yet could not get them at home ! And 
 they have a regard for his appearance too, advis- 
 ing him as to the kind of collars he should wear, 
 and on one occasion Prince George went so far as 
 to re-tie his necktie for him. When the two Princes 
 returned from their travels, which all the world 
 has read of, they brought " Old Satan " a couple of 
 ostrich's eggs from Jerusalem, which Prince George 
 declared he had actually seen laid ! The eggs, duly 
 mounted on appropriate stands, occupy a promi- 
 nent position in the pretty drawing-room of the 
 agent's house. This house is a sort of common 
 ground to our royal neighbors. Standing in the 
 quaint entrance hall with its mistress, it is easy to 
 conjure up some of the many pictures of royal in- 
 vasions as she describes them. First, the Princess 
 and her dogs enter on some windy November clay 
 amidst a splash of rain, and a whirl of dry leaves. 
 Then, some of the children come clamoring for 
 " Beck," suppressing the nickname in the presence 
 of their mother. Or the Prince rides up to the door
 
 2I8OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS At SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 with the same demand. From the frequent calls 
 upon him, one would imagine that nothing could 
 be done successfully unless Beck is to the fore. 
 
 And then those Christmases at Sandringham ! In 
 November they entertain the county at a succession 
 of balls for gentry, tenants, and servants. The 
 old hall is ablaze with lights, long processions of 
 carriages roll down the avenue, merry music sounds, 
 and all is mirth to the royal party at any rate, 
 though many a young and awkward little country 
 debutante may shiver and shake in her shoes at the 
 thought of entering the awful presence of royalty. 
 Not so her elders, however, for to this end have 
 they schemed and contrived, and burned with envy 
 of more fortunate neighbors who, for a succession 
 of seasons have had the entree of Sandringham. 
 But the height of their ambition is attained at last, 
 the magic bidding has been given and here they 
 are, shivering amidst their furs, for the snow lies 
 white without the carriage windows (the first snow of 
 the season generally falls on the night of the San- 
 dringham ball), but what matter cold and fatigue ? 
 This night will set the seal to their social position.
 
 CUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 219 
 
 Christmas at Sandringham is essentially a home 
 Christmas, a celebration of the great and univer- 
 sal children's day, for, and with the royal children. 
 There are always Christmas-tree parties, too, and 
 dances, and theatricals, at some of which little 
 friends of my own are accustomed to meet the three 
 young Princesses. " And what do they say to 
 you ? " I asked one of them, with great gravity. 
 
 "O, they just ask the same questions that other 
 children do, only more of them. They want to 
 know what we do at school, what lessons we have 
 to learn, what we have to eat, and all that sort of 
 thing, you know. But they seem most curious about 
 school, because they cannot quite imagine what 'go- 
 ing to school is like.' " 
 
 But when Christmas night settles down over the 
 great heath which lies all around and about Sand- 
 ringham, and darkness clouds the distant sea ; 
 when there is an icy edge to the keen air, and the 
 stars shine out with extra brightness ; when there 
 is warmth on every hearth in all the model cot- 
 tages, and only the churches stand dark and still 
 in the cold winter night, how redly the lights gleam
 
 2 20 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 
 
 behind all the windows of the Hall ! Every one out- 
 side has been cared for, many a happy Christmas 
 has been made secure, and now the Prince and 
 Princess keep theirs lightheartedly with their chil- 
 dren and guests. The two tall striplings -for they 
 are almost young men now Prince Eddy, and 
 Prince George, rush forward in friendly rivalry to 
 secure the honor of conducting their mother to din- 
 ner. They are almost like lovers those two tall 
 youths so passionately are they devoted to the 
 beautiful and young looking " Sea-King's Daughter 
 from over the sea." Neither being first, and neither 
 winning preference, the Princess goes gayly to the 
 dining-hall between them. After them comes the 
 Prince with his bonny group of 'daughters ; the por- 
 traits given here of the young princesses are from 
 home photographs. There was a grand distribu- 
 tion of gifts at the breakfast table in the morning, 
 and you maybe sure that "Old Satan" had re- 
 ceived his usual summons up to the Hall to get 
 something very especial. And after dinner comes 
 the frolic. Snap-dragon has been one of the favor- 
 ite amusements, but so serious did it like to prove
 
 OUR ROYAL NEIGHBORS AT SANDRINGHAM. 22 1 
 
 one year that I do not believe it still continues in 
 favor. Some of the burning spirit fell upon the 
 dress of the Princess who might have been badly 
 burnt but for the presence of mind of Sir Dykin 
 Probyn, who promptly extinguished it. 
 
 So time passes with our royal neighbors, and the 
 years roll on. God grant that many more have yet 
 to pass before they will be called upon to give up 
 their cosey home at Sandringham to enter upon the 
 greater splendor of the Throne.
 
 AN ARGENTINE INDE- 
 PENDENCE DAY. 
 
 WISH you were going with me shooting on 
 the Parana to-morrow," said the U. S. 
 Consul, one May-day, "but I know you ought to 
 stay in Buenos Ayres. To-morrow is the national 
 holiday, the 25 de Mayo, and you want to know 
 how they celebrate here. I've been through it two 
 or three times myself." 
 
 "O, to-morrow will be the Argentine Fourth of 
 July?" said I. 
 
 " Yes ; or one of them, rather. On that day of the 
 year 1810 the Argentines deposed the last of the 
 Spanish viceroys. But they did not formallv de- 
 clare their independence till July 9, 1816, and if 
 you stay here a few weeks you will see to-morrow's 
 doings repeated." 
 
 Two days a year set apart as sacred to gun-
 
 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 223 
 
 powder ! And both coming in the Southern winter 
 when bonfires would not be unseasonable ! How 
 black-eyed Argentine boys must commiserate the 
 young patriots of poor one-horse Yankee-land ! 
 So I thought as I left the consul's office, to stroll 
 about the great strange city of the South, already 
 bustling with preparations a city which might 
 have celebrated the completion of its first century 
 when yet hardly a beginning had been made of the 
 city of Boston. 
 
 Discordant blasts from cows' horns, used by the 
 drivers on the many tramways, filled the air; above 
 the din I could sometimes hear a newsboy's cry: 
 "La Protesta! Republica, Nation! Cindad!" I 
 soon found myself in the great plaza Victoria, 
 about which were grouped the principal buildings, 
 including the beautiful cathedral and the cabildo, 
 or capitol. I noticed that the Argentines had a 
 pretty way of naming streets and of making parks 
 and plazas, as we build monuments, to commem- 
 orate important events in the country's history. 
 There was the street of "the Defence," of "the 
 Re-conquest, "and of the " 6th of July," and there
 
 224 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 
 
 was the plaza " 25 de Mayo." The latter was 
 separated from the plaza Victoria by a long Moor- 
 ish-looking arcade with a triumphal arch in the 
 middle. This arcade was already gay with the 
 flags of every nation ; and over them all the blue 
 and white flag of the republic, a golden sun in the 
 tniddle stripe of white. And if I had not perceived 
 by this that the Argentines considered their country 
 as important as the United States, I should have 
 learned it from a little bootblack in the lofty ar- 
 cades of the cab i I do. 
 
 " From what country are you, senor ? " he asked 
 in Spanish, as he finished one shoe. 
 
 " I am an American," I replied. 
 
 "Americanol" he flashed back quickly. "Lay 
 Americano tambien. Usted es Nord Americano" 
 (I am an American, too. You are a North Amer- 
 ican.) 
 
 I noticed, however, that the boys of the city did 
 not go about with the look of joyful anticipation 
 that they wear with us on the eve of Independ- 
 ence Day, nor did their pockets bulge with the 
 materials of explosive fun. I soon saw that it was
 
 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAV. 225 
 
 to be the holiday rather of men and women ; and, that 
 while elaborate provisions were being made for illu- 
 minations, fireworks, and noise, the authorities un- 
 dertook to furnish the people with those amuse- 
 ments, and reserved to themselves the supreme 
 felicity of touching the match. Had young South 
 America obtained a firecracker (and I do not know 
 where he could have found one), I doubt whether 
 he would have dared to fire it ; for on every cor- 
 ner stood a swarthy whiskered policeman, armed 
 with revolver and sword-like machete, looking terri- 
 bly alert. 
 
 The next morning I was awakened at dawn by a 
 mad clangor of church bells all over the city. The 
 Merced church was next the hotel, and, sitting in 
 bed, I could see its glittering dome and tall oriental 
 tower, where the ringer stood gesticulating like a 
 conjurer, as he rang. The clangor ceased after 
 a while, and then I could hear the trumpets at the 
 different posts around the city, sounding a reveille. 
 
 After dressing I went up to the broad prome- 
 nade on the housetop, called by the Argentines 
 the azotea. The sun, arisen, was saluting his gilded
 
 220 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 
 
 likeness on innumerable flags, but there was still a 
 breath of frost on the tiles of the roof, and the air 
 was October like- an improvement surely, on our 
 Fourth with the mercury in the nineties. 
 
 There had been an artillery salute at sunrise, 
 joined in by the men-of-war anchored in the river, 
 and for a while showers of bombs, sent up from the 
 plaza 25 de J/0)'0,-kept up quite a homelike crack- 
 ling ; but all presently became again silent. Just 
 then I heard a hearty English voice behind me. 
 
 " Ah ! I've found you. What doing here ? Come 
 down to the central pier, if you want to prome- 
 nade you can have two thousand feet straight 
 away, and not need to face about every half minute." 
 
 I turned, and saw a young Englishman named 
 Hanley, whom I had met at dinner the night be- 
 fore, and who, from his year's experience in the 
 country, promised to be an entertaining friend. 
 
 " I had begun to think this might be an ancient 
 Spanish or Moorish city, after all," I said, "or even 
 a dream." 
 
 "As to that," said Hanley, "I can show you 
 houses and churches here that were built at a period
 
 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 227 
 
 much nearer to the times of Ferdinand and Isabella 
 than to our own." 
 
 From the end of the pier, we had a fine view of 
 the old vice-regal fort, at present used as a custom 
 house. Its arcades formed of more than a hun- 
 dred arches still was imposing ; but another long 
 pier, with railings leading right up to the open 
 portal of the fort, showed to what uses it had 
 fallen. 
 
 " Being a Yankee, you may be glad to know that 
 our crosses of St. George and St. Andrew had to be 
 lowered from that fort once," said my British com- 
 panion. "We have the consolation of knowing 
 that you had the French to help you gain your in- 
 dependence of us, but these fellows drove us away 
 single-handed." 
 
 " When did that happen ? " I said, ashamed of 
 my ignorance of South American history. 
 
 " In 1806 and 1807. Of course we had Napoleon 
 on our hands at the time ; but that does not alter 
 the fact that we were driven out before we were 
 hardly seated in the place. And when General 
 Whitelock tried to recapture the city his army was
 
 228 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 
 
 literally cut to pieces brave fellows, these Argen- 
 tines, without doubt." 
 
 "Was the fighting done in the city!" 
 
 "A great deal of it. That Moorish arcade so 
 decorated with flags to-day the Recoba Vieja, they 
 call it was the scene of one battle; and White- 
 lock's army was defeated in the streets, after he 
 thought the Argentine army routed. The name of 
 the plaza, Victoria, was given to it in honor of that 
 victory. The people are proud to this day because 
 their ancestors whipped us. Over there, in the 
 church of San Domingo, they keep the flags they 
 captured from us ; and you may see cannon-balls 
 imbedded in its walls, where the Argentines fired 
 into their own church to compel the surrender of 
 some of our fellows who had seized it. When- 
 ever the church receives a coat of whitewash, the 
 balls are painted black." 
 
 "But this didn't happen in their war for inde- 
 pendence ? " I queried, still confused. 
 
 " O, no. Still, a people who could handle us 
 didn't find it a very hard matter to win when the 
 struggle came with Spain, a little later. But the
 
 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY.' 22Q 
 
 President attends Te Deum in the cathedral this 
 morning, and reviews the troops. We must see it." 
 Although it was still early, when we re-entered 
 the city we found the streets rilled with people 
 going toward the cathedral. The national colors 
 were shown everywhere no house too poor to 
 contribute to the general display. Windows and 
 balconies were everywhere draped with blue and 
 white ; and the colors were caught up by rosettes 
 under the archways and over the portals, to hang 
 in festoons against the pale yellow walls of the 
 buildings. At the plaza Victoria, Church and State 
 had vied with each other in the adornment of the 
 cathedral and the cabildo, and the balconies of the 
 latter and the great portico of the former were 
 filled with people overlooking the larger and less 
 fortunate concourse in the plaza. A row of balco- 
 nies close to the sidewalk, was filled with young 
 girls and stately ladies, all selling articles for the 
 benefit of some charity connected with the church. 
 The liquid Spanish of their persuasions was most 
 melodious, as with their wax-like fingers they rolled 
 cigarillos for purchasers.
 
 230 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 
 
 And now the clear notes of a trumpet rang forth 
 from the open tower of the cabildo, and answers 
 came like echoes from countless distant points. 
 We could see the soldier who blew the signal 
 
 o 
 
 standing there, his gay uniform and the broad gold- 
 fringed pennon of his trumpet giving him the 
 appearance of a herald calling knights to some 
 mediaeval tournament. The trumpet continued to 
 blow at intervals, and we could hear quick, impera- 
 ative drum-taps and strains of approaching music. 
 
 A company of zouaves appeared and cleared a 
 passage to the central door of the cathedral, 
 approaching briskly with rifles, the sabre-bayonets 
 fixed. The first regiment that followed was a com- 
 pany of trumpeters on horseback, and next came a 
 regiment of mounted lancers, their bright blades 
 gleaming aloft, blood-red pennons fluttering gayly 
 below ; their seat in the saddle was most knightly 
 and the'horses tinkled their trappings and curvetted 
 proudly. Then came regiment after regiment of 
 plain every-day zouaves, batteries of artillery, and 
 companies of mounted carbineers. 
 
 I could not help noting the youth of many of the
 
 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 231 
 
 soldiers. If the boys of Buenos Ayres were lack- 
 ing among the spectators, they were present in the 
 ranks I saw some young orderlies and lieuten- 
 ants who looked hardly sixteen years old. One 
 dark, handsome young fellow, with the shoulder- 
 straps of a captain, seemed particularly proud of 
 his command. 
 
 All the military evolutions were directed by the 
 trumpet of the herald in the tower ; and the com- 
 mands, given in mellow notes from the bugles of 
 the different regiments, rang out most musically 
 over the rattling drumbeats and strains of the wild 
 impetuous Argentine march. The plaza was nearly 
 filled with bright uniforms, nodding plumes, and 
 glittering bayonets, when the state carriage of the 
 President appeared with its guard of honor. It 
 was an immense vehicle of antiquated pattern, dec- 
 orated with the national colors, its panels pale 
 blue with white mouldings, the arms of the nation 
 gilded upon its doors; and within we could see the 
 President, General Roca, resting comfortably upon 
 cushions of blue and white satin. 
 
 Very unrepublican, yet brilliant and impressive,
 
 332 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 
 
 were the services in the cathedral. I could not 
 help recalling to mind tales of the proud days of 
 the rule of Spain, and for the moment the soldierly 
 President became the humble viceroy of a great 
 Catholic kingdom. The subdued organ-tones and 
 chanted Latin service, the splendid vestments of 
 the priests, headed by the gray-haired archbishop, 
 the purple robe of the Pope's legate, who had the 
 seat of honor among the ambassadors all seemed 
 to belong to that other and long, long bygone time. 
 
 The nave of the cathedral was set apart for the 
 President and officers of state, together with the 
 diplomatic corps. I ran my eye over the bright 
 uniforms and decorations of the latter, till I came 
 to our own minister's plain blue uniform of a 
 major-general, and I rather liked its quiet dignity. 
 Farther down, in contrast, a young secretary of 
 legation absolutely blazed in a fur-trimmed Magyar 
 costume of scarlet and gold, plumed fez, and great 
 cavalry boots with gilded spurs of enormous length. 
 
 After the Te Deum, came a review by the Presi- 
 dent with more bomb and artillery salutes, and 
 then the elaborate mid-day breakfast.
 
 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 233 
 
 In the afternoon everybody seemed to be going 
 to the pretty park 3 de Febrero. a few miles up the 
 river. The drive was rilled with carnages, and 
 railway coaches and trains were crowded the 
 latter even to the roofs, where young men sat and 
 serenely puffed cigarettes and dodged and ducked 
 to avoid the overhanging street decorations. At 
 the park we enjoyed rifle matches and horse-races 
 ( no bull-fights, I am glad to say) and, not least by 
 any means, the fine, broad avenue of palms, for 
 carriage driving and promenading. At the athletic 
 grounds a game of football came off between the 
 Zingara club and a picked team. Hanley took part 
 in this at the solicitations of some who knew of 
 the former's prowess at Rugby and Oxford, and 
 wanted him to " show the natives a dodge or two." 
 In fact the picked team were mostly young English- 
 men, and the Zingaras were badly beaten. 
 
 In the evening the plazas Victoria and 25 de 
 Mayo were again thronged to witness the illumina- 
 tion and display of fireworks. The Recoba Vieja, 
 cathedral and cabildo were brightly outlined with 
 glittering gas jets, which followed every detail of
 
 234 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 
 
 the architecture to the highest pinnacle. Wonder- 
 ful ingenuity had been spent in leading the lines of 
 scintillating lights about the plazas, over the foun- 
 tains; and the Monument of the Victory showed 
 all its carvings and letterings outlined in flame. 
 
 The fireworks were, however, but a repetition of 
 the noisy bombs of the morning, varied with set 
 pieces of enormous size, which would not always go 
 off properly. One, which seemed to please the sim- 
 ple fancy of the people, was an exact counterpart of 
 the cabildo, in colored fires ; but the great venerable 
 building itself, sparkling with myriads of lights, was 
 more attractive to me. From its roof would be sent 
 at short intervals, large fire balloons, showing alter- 
 nate squares of blue and white, often varied by one 
 bearing the red and yellow of Mother Spain. The 
 wind hurried them away over the river, and over the 
 fleet whose lights twinkled ten miles away. We 
 could watch the lengthening procession made by 
 the fires in the balloons, until each blaze shrank to 
 a trembling star, and then vanished ; and we won- 
 dered if any of them would reach the shores of Uru- 
 guay. A boy came near us with a string of coin-
 
 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 235 
 
 mon toy balloons. His great round eyes looked 
 so sleepy, and, like the other boys of the city, he 
 seemed to take such a languid interest in what went 
 on around him, that I said to Hanley that it would 
 be very easy for us to send up our quota of bal- 
 loons by cutting his string. " We'll do it," said he. 
 
 He called the boy, and asked him in Spanish 
 the price of a balloon. " Five pesos, senor." 
 
 " How many have you left ? " 
 
 " Six, senor." 
 
 " And how much for the lot ? " 
 
 " Forty pesos, senor." 
 
 I laughed. But Hanley said, " Oh, that is gen- 
 uine Spanish bargaining. The more you buy, the 
 greater the price." 
 
 With a stroke of his pocket-knife, Hanley cut 
 every string; and the little red globes soared away, 
 bobbing over the roofs, and were gone. 
 
 Hanley stood holding out the money, but the 
 little fellow could not see it, he was so overcome 
 with astonishment and anger. His eyes dilated 
 until they seemed twice as large and twice as black ; 
 choking with passion, he could only say:
 
 236 AN ARGENTINE INDEPENDENCE DAY. 
 
 u Setter!!" 
 
 But when the trifling joke did dawn upon his 
 sluggish brain, he acted as if he would like to laugh, 
 but unfortunately had never learned how. The 
 expression on his face was very funny. At last an 
 idea seemed to seize him here was a market for 
 balloons and he hurried away to hunt up some 
 of his fellow dealers; seeing which, we withdrew. 
 
 The evening's exhibition closed with an ear- 
 rending, earth-shaking salute of giant torpedoes. 
 It was still early ; but I thought that every one, 
 even the young people, seemed relieved, and they 
 departed homeward with the air of patriots who 
 had performed all that their country could ask.
 
 THE ALPS AND THEIR 
 AVALANCHES 
 
 7* VERY young geographer has read of the Alps, 
 * ' that vast mountain-system of Southern Eu- 
 rope whose main mass extends across the whole 
 southern portion of Switzerland. The Alps, so 
 named from the fact that their tops are covered 
 with eternal snows the word " alp " meaning 
 white comprise various clusters, or knots, of 
 mountains from which diverge numerous moun- 
 tain-ranges running many miles, east or west, 
 north or south from the central knots. 
 
 Each of these long ranges has its special name ; 
 as the Bernese Alps, the Pennine Alps, the Mari- 
 time Alps, the Carnic Alps. Each of the princi- 
 pal peaks is likewise distinguished by a name ; 
 among the famous ones are Mont Blanc, Monte 
 Rosa, and Mont Cervin ; these are the three high- 
 2 37
 
 238 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 
 
 est peaks in Europe, Mont Blanc, the loftiest of 
 all, being more than fifteen thousand feet above 
 the level of the sea. Rising from an immense 
 lake of ice, are the no less celebrated Jungfrau, 
 Schreckhorn, and Wetterhorn (pronounced as if it 
 began with a V). There are, besides, a host of 
 other peaks well known to both student and tour- 
 ist. 
 
 An Alpine mountain has four natural divisions : 
 the lower region, the wooded region, the alp, or 
 pasture region, and the rocky region. Let us 
 climb one. 
 
 We leave the valley, and by a steep, bushy 
 ascent soon reach the lower region. Here, we do 
 not see many trees ; but beautiful vineyards and 
 quaint little cottages, called by the Swiss chalets, 
 are scattered along the gently-undulating declivity 
 which, in some places, is crossed by roads con- 
 necting two valleys. 
 
 Trudging up, up, up, we find the slope begins 
 to grow steep, and that we are not very directly 
 approaching the wooded region, for these extensive 
 Alpine forests do not wholly engirdle a mountain.
 
 A SWISS 
 
 CHALET. AT 
 MILKING-TIME
 
 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 241 
 
 So we must make a detour, as the French say, 
 must take a circuitous route which will lead us 
 to the back of the mountain, where we shall enter 
 a big forest which climbs half-way up the slope. 
 There is a great variety of trees ; fine oaks, tall 
 firs and pines, birch-trees, beech-trees, and any 
 quantity of sweet chestnuts. 
 
 Traversing the length of the wooded region, 
 which is about one third of the width of the moun- 
 tain, we emerge into the open air, where a magnifi- 
 cent prospect awaits us. We are now pretty far 
 up, and we can see somewhat of the beauty and 
 grandeur of the Alps. We look upon huge tower- 
 ing rocks half-covered with lichens and mosses ; 
 we see vast torrents pouring with great noise 
 down from the glaciers ; here are lovely cascades 
 and waterfalls ; here are frightful ravines, strewn 
 with the fragments of fallen rocks ; and every- 
 where and all around, is an upheaving sea of 
 giant mountains, whose dazzling crests glitter with 
 a strange brightness in the sunshine. At the same 
 time, looking down into the valleys, we behold 
 rich vineyards, green fields, apple orchards gay
 
 242 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 
 
 with pink-white blossoms, cosey villages with gar- 
 dens, and picturesque chalets. 
 
 Now we are in the pasture region. This is the 
 "garden spot" of an Alpine mountain. Upon 
 these fine pastures browse flocks and herds of 
 sheep, cattle, and goats ; and if we hunt for them, 
 we shall find no end of beautiful flowers. Lovely 
 rhododendrons, or Alpine roses, grow in profusion ; 
 saxifrages, purple and white, spring from the clefts 
 of the rocks ; gay euphrasias and rich blue gen- 
 tians peep out at us from the vivid green. 
 
 As we turn a sudden angle in the path, we 
 come upon a homely hut, before which is clustered 
 a group of bareheaded and barefooted children. 
 Many a herdsman, with his family, resides in the 
 pasture region during the summer months, in 
 order that his sheep or goats, pigs or cows, may 
 have the grand chance to grow fat upon the moun- 
 tain grass, which is very nourishing, and although 
 it is quite short, I dare say that the lucky cows 
 which have fed upon it would be willing to declare, 
 if they could speak, that it was most deliciously 
 sweet. These mountain herdsmen are rather
 
 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 245 
 
 given to perching their huts on the edge of a 
 precipice, and seem to choose, when they can, a 
 rocky ledge overhanging a lake ! They have 
 been well called the "children of the air." 
 
 Above the pasture region rises the rocky region; 
 and this goes up to the crest of the mountain 
 which, on the higher peaks, is covered all the 
 year round with masses of mingled snow and ice, 
 called glaciers. These glaciers are perhaps the 
 most remarkable feature of the Alps, some of 
 them being of such vast extent as to invade the 
 largest valleys for a long distance. These great 
 fields of ice are the source of many of the larger 
 rivers that water Europe. 
 
 Another mighty feature of this wonderful moun- 
 tain region is its avalanches, which occur very fre- 
 quently, their roar at the base of the Jungfrau 
 being almost incessant. There is not one boy or 
 girl geographer in ten I presume who has not 
 read of Alpine avalanches ; but perhaps also not 
 one of you in ten have other than a general idea 
 of these frightful phenomena masses of snow 
 and ice sliding with wild velocity down the moun-
 
 246 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 
 
 tains. But this is only one sort of avalanche ; 
 there are at least four different kinds known among 
 the Alps : the rolling, the sliding, the drift, and 
 the glacier avalanches. 
 
 Do not jump at the conclusion that the glacier 
 avalanche, being formed of solid ice, must be the 
 most dangerous of all. This is not the case. The 
 glacier avalanche is only a piece of loosened ice 
 which comes rushing down the declivity, with a 
 noise like thunder, to be sure, but is comparatively 
 harmless, as it is generally broken in small pieces 
 by the rocks it meets in its descent to the valley. 
 
 No, the most fearful of the slides is the rolling 
 avalanche. I will tell you how it is formed. You 
 already know that the loftier Alpine peaks are 
 covered with snow the year round. Sometimes, in 
 the spring, in the soft thawy weather, the clamp 
 grains of snow cling firmly together and form into 
 hard balls. Whenever one of these balls becomes 
 heavy enough, it begins to move slowly down the 
 declivity. On it goes, always increasing in speed, 
 over a field of snow, getting, of course, bigger and 
 bigger at every turn, for being very damp and
 
 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 
 
 249 
 
 clammy, it collects to itself the snow over which it 
 passes, and before it reaches the valley becomes 
 a mighty and immense mass, large enough, indeed, 
 to bury up a whole village. Sometimes such a 
 terrible calamity happens ; in the year 1749, when 
 one of these dangerous and dreaded rolling ava- 
 lanches descended upon a village in the valley of 
 Tawich, it actually swept it from its site and then 
 covered it completely. You will think it must 
 have caused general ruin and death. But no ; it 
 was in the night, and it was done so quietly that 
 the villagers knew nothing of their misfortune till 
 morning came, when they began to wonder why it 
 did not grow light ! They were dug out, nearly 
 all of them alive. 
 
 A drift avalanche, or, as the Swiss call it, staut- 
 lauineu, most generally happens just after a heavy 
 snow-storm, when the wind drives the loose snow 
 from peak to peak, and whirls it down in vast 
 quantities into the valleys. 
 
 A sliding avalanche rutsch-lauineu takes 
 place in early spring, when the snow at the sum- 
 mit of a peak melts, and a great patch of it rushes
 
 25 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 
 
 s 
 
 down the mountain slope, sweeping away every- 
 thing in its path. 
 
 Roads, called Passes, have been constructed 
 over all the principal mountain-chains, connecting 
 the valleys, and in some instances, countries. 
 Some of these roads are of great antiquity and 
 date back as far as the Romans, and many sup- 
 pose that the Carthagenian general, Hannibal, 
 crossed the Pass of the Little St. Bernard on his 
 march to invade Italy. Some of the Passes are 
 only mule paths ; but the great Napoleon con- 
 verted many of these roads into magnificent car- 
 riage routes. Such are the Passes of the Col de 
 Tende, Mont Genevre, Mont Cenis, and the 
 famous Simplon, which crosses the Pennine Alps, 
 one of the loftiest of these mountain chains. The 
 Pass of the Great St. Bernard is well known from 
 the Hospice at its summit, where live the benevo- 
 lent family of monks who devote their lives to the 
 care of travellers. It is also from this Hospice 
 that the sagacious dogs of St. Bernard ara sent out 
 to search for and rescue travellers who may have 
 been overtaken in one of the terrible snow-storms
 
 A SWISS MOUNTAINEER.
 
 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 253 
 
 common to the region. The Pass over Mont 
 Cenis, being frequently buried. up by avalanches, 
 was at length found to be very unreliable as a road 
 for travel, and it was concluded necessary to tun- 
 nel the Alps. This great work was begun in 1857 
 and ended in 1870, employing thousands of men, 
 day and night. It is 39,750 feet long. 
 
 A still longer tunnel, that of Mont St. Gothard, 
 is now being built. When completed this will be 
 ten miles long. Think of a ride of ten miles in 
 darkness and tobacco smoke ! For in the elegant 
 cars that pass through the Alps smoking is allowed 
 freely only one car in every train being marked 
 Nicht rauchee (no smoking). 
 
 The Passes of the Alps are generally built over 
 the lowest traversible part of a mountain, but 
 some of them attain a great elevation. The Cer- 
 vin, the highest in Europe, at one point is more 
 than eleven thousand feet above the level of the 
 sea a dizzy height. 
 
 The Swiss peasant is fondly attached to the 
 giant mountains of his native country. He de- 
 lights in rambling through their wild solitudes,
 
 2 54 THE ALPS AND THEIR AVALANCHES. 
 
 and his sturdy heart swells with patriotic pride 
 when he rests his alpenstock on the summit of one 
 of their mighty glaciers. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith, the poet, sings of him : 
 
 Cheerful, at morn, he wakes from short repose, 
 Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes, 
 ******* 
 
 At night, returning, every labor sped, 
 He sits him down, the monarch of a shed. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 
 And dear that hill that lifts him to the storm, 
 And as a child, when scaring sounds molest 
 Clings close and closer to its mother's breast, 
 So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar, 
 But bind him to his native mountains more.
 
 I 4 n ""II Hi