CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 
 CHARLES WILLIAM WASON 
 
 COLLECTION ON CHINA 
 
 AND THE CHINESE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 E 168.H26 
 
 Between two oceans or Sketches of Amer 
 
 3 1924 023 242 104 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924023242104 
 
BETWEEN TWO OCEANS: 
 
 OR, 
 
 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN TRAVEL. 
 
BETWEEN TWO OCEANS : 
 
 OR, 
 
 SKETCHES OF AMERICAN TRAVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 IZA DUEFUS HARDY. 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLAOKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1884. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
10^ 
 
TO THOSE 
 
 AMERICAN FRIENDS 
 
 WHOSE 
 
 WARM AND LOYAL HEAETS 
 
 HAVE ENDEARED THEIR COUNTRY TO ME 
 
 I DEDICATE THESE SKETCHES. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 How WE Cross the Atlantic Now-a-days 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 Quebec and its Environs 
 
 . 22 
 
 The Falls of Niagara 
 
 . 37 
 
 Sketches in and around New York : 
 
 
 1. Ninety-five in the Shade . 
 
 2. The City in Sorrow 
 
 3. BlackweU's Island 
 
 4. In the Indian Summer . 
 
 5. The Sleighing Season 
 
 . 66 
 . 74 
 . 80 
 . 94 
 . 107 
 
 In the City of the Saints 
 
 117 
 
 Californian Sketches : 
 
 
 1. In 'The Golden City . 
 ^ 2. China Town ... 
 .^ 3. The Chinese New Year . 
 
 4. San Francisco Life . 
 
 5. Among the Redwoods . . 
 
 136 
 153 
 166 
 177 
 193 
 
 Across the Sierras .... 
 
 209 
 
 April Days in Colorado .... 
 
 229 
 
 On the Banks of the Potomac . 
 
 250 
 
 Virginian Richmond .... 
 
 265 
 
 South Carolina Sketches : 
 
 
 1. The City by the Sea . . 
 
 2. The Trip to Fort Sumter 
 
 3. Under the Palmetto Flag 
 
 4. Columbia . . . ■ 
 
 281 
 287 
 293 
 308 
 
 Among the Red Hills of Georgia . 
 
 312 
 
 A Glimpse of Florida : 
 
 
 1. Jacksonville ... ■ ■ 
 
 2. The Oldest City in the States . 
 
 3. On Board the Okeehumkee 
 
 327 
 334 
 346 
 
BETWEEN TWO OCEANS: 
 
 OB, 
 
 SKETCHES OP AMERICAN TRAVEL. 
 
 HOW WE CROSS THE ATLANTIC NOW-A-DAYS. 
 
 OuB big ship stretched its lazy length sleepily 
 along the sluggish, dark waters of the Mersey, 
 as our little snorting tender came fussily up, 
 like a small, pug-nosed puppy to a great, 
 sleeping mastiff. The dingy little tender was 
 crowded, our close ranks packed together as 
 tightly as if we were preserved goods ' canned ' 
 for exportation. 
 
 The gentleman next to me had evidently been 
 drinking 'farewell to Old England' rather too 
 freely; but the cabin was crammed, so that 
 his neighbours and fellow-passengers were unable 
 to pay him the honour of a respectful distance, 
 and he remained at my elbow, conversing to 
 
 B 
 
2 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 himself and occasionally apostrophising me in a 
 cheerful, but somewhat disconnected strain. 
 
 A drizzling rain was falling, and doing its best 
 to quench our spirits, but unsuccessfully, as we 
 poured up the gangway and dispersed ourselves 
 over our big vessel, which seemed now to be 
 showing signs of waking up. 
 
 Never mind the name of our ship — the Sicilian 
 will do as well as any other, and bears quite 
 enough resemblance to the real one ; it was 
 bound for Quebec, and carried Her Majesty's 
 mails — or would have that honour when we 
 should pick them up at Moville. 
 
 Half an hour of hubbub, seeking state-rooms, 
 settling baggage, shouting for stewards, saying 
 last words, crying, laughing — and a great gong 
 clamours out that the time has come to sort 
 the chaff from the grain, i.e., the trans-Atlantic 
 passengers from the friends who have merely 
 come to 'see them off.' A few minutes more, 
 and the Babel of farewells and au revoirs, the 
 kissings, and huggings, and shakings of hands, 
 all are over ; the tender is swaying away from 
 the crowded bulwarks, white handkerchiefs are 
 waved, and hands are kissed ; some tears are 
 shed, but not many ; the sky is weeping profusely 
 enough. 
 
 Now practical spirits go down to their cabins 
 
HOW WE CROSS THE ATLANTIC. 3 
 
 and unpack and prepare for dinner ; sentimental 
 ones linger on deck to watch ' the last of Eng- 
 land ' — one lady of a certain age leans over the 
 bulwarks and quotes Byron; the young man, 
 whose too exuberant spirits and disconnected 
 soliloquies attracted our attention on board the 
 tender, is seen sitting on a skylight shedding 
 tears. The dinner-bell cuts short our various 
 occupations. 
 
 We sit down a dinner-party of over a hundred 
 in the saloon. The long tables are elegantly 
 laid out ; the centre of the saloon is decorated 
 with ferns and flowers, and a pretty canary in 
 a brass cage is singing shrill and sweet. By 
 each passenger's plate lies a tempting bill-of- 
 fare ; also a ' button-hole bouquet ' of flowers ; also 
 a neatj little, folded, passenger-list, adorned with 
 an attractive and appropriate representation of 
 the Falls of Niagara. 
 
 We all pay far more attention to the passenger- 
 list than to the menu of dinner ; we look about, 
 and inspect our fellow-voyagers, in whose com- 
 pany we are to pass the next nine days. My 
 next-chair neighbour reminds me of Cleopatra's 
 description of her 
 
 ' Grim and grizzled hero, 
 With his crisp and curling hair.' 
 
 b2 
 
4 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 He has a nice face, a kind smile, but is decidedly 
 grim and grizzled withal. 
 
 The church, the army, and the aristocracy are 
 all represented at our table. We have two 
 clergymen, one jovial, the other long and lean 
 as Eugene Aram; we have the heir to an earl- 
 dom and his pretty bride, whose lovely, girlish 
 face comes amongst us like a sunbeam. Last, 
 not least, we have our captain, big, broad-shoul- 
 dered, brusque, genial, with keen yet kindly eyes 
 that see everything, whether meant or not meant 
 for them to see, from a speck on the well-scrubbed 
 timbers to a spot on the horizon. 
 
 After dinner, we are out of sight of England, 
 and our beautiful vessel is beginning to throb 
 and sway a little as she skims like a sea-bird 
 over the waters ; we feel the beating of her iron 
 heart as the power within her speeds her on her 
 way. 
 
 We resort to the little ladies' parlour on deck 
 at the head of the companion-way, and study 
 the passenger-list anew, and make acquaintance 
 with some more of our fellow-voyagers. The 
 Smiths, of Halifax, are easily identified, being 
 five in number, and the only family of five on 
 board. The French couple and the Hebrew are 
 also soon picked out. Beyond this, all is guess- 
 work. There are two Colonels and a General. 
 
HOW WE CROSS THE ATLANTIC. 5 
 
 Yonder handsome, elderly man, with the unmis- 
 takable cavalry air, we decide must be the 
 General, although it turns out afterwards that 
 he is not even one of the Colonels ; he is in the 
 ' wholesale hardware line !' We all melt into 
 sociability over the discussion of our prospects 
 of the voyage. Those of us who have crossed 
 four or five times before do not fail to announce 
 the fact proudly ; those who have crossed twenty 
 or thirty times do not think it worth mentioning. 
 
 We sleep that night in good truth, ' rocked 
 in the cradle of the deep' — too literally so for 
 the comfort of some of us. The next day we 
 glide along past the peaceful green hills, the 
 sunny shores of Ireland. How calm and smiling 
 those velvety green slopes look in the morning 
 sunshine ! It is difficult to associate ideas of 
 misery and famine, evictions and murders, ' Boy- 
 cotting' and dynamite, with the land that looks 
 so serene and fair ! 
 
 We are all out on deck to see the Giant's 
 Causeway and the ruins of Green's Castle. In 
 the clear, calm waters of Lough Foyle we stop, 
 to take on board the mails from Moville, and 
 early in the evening we breast the first roll of 
 the Atlantic. 
 
 Over the next day's misery let me draw a veil, 
 as indeed we, most of us, spent it in seclusion 
 
6 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 from mortal eyes. The following day, ia a gener- 
 ally recuperated condition, but still, taking us 
 collectively, with very little colour in our cheeks, 
 we are all sunning ourselves on deck, sympathis- 
 ing sociably over our various symptoms, and 
 selecting our afl&nities. 
 
 Our 'grim and grizzled hero,' who turns out 
 to be an American, does credit to the reputed 
 chivalry of his nation. He is at the service of 
 all who need a strong supporting arm. Young, 
 old, middle-aged, pretty, plain — it is all, ap- 
 parently, the same to him. He is a true knight ! 
 An arm is needed, and his is ready; nay, he 
 has two at the service of dame or damsel. He 
 is frequently to be seen promenading the heaving 
 deck with a substantial burden of helpless wo- 
 manhood hanging on each arm ; or he will take 
 feeble Mrs. Smith on one side, and ailing Mr. 
 Smith, aged seventy-eight, on the other, and pilot 
 their faltering steps in safety past the gaping 
 mouth of the ventilating shaft and the dangers 
 of the raised skylights. 
 
 There are two other gentlemen on board, 
 whom, not knowing their cognomens, we have 
 dubbed 'Red Tie' and 'Blue Cap,' from the 
 most salient features of their apparel, who are 
 ready and willing to assist him in his mission; 
 but Red Tie exiclusively selects the young and 
 
HOW WE OllOSS THE ATLANTIC. 7 
 
 fair as the recipients of his devotion, and poor 
 Blue Cap labours under the disabilities of mal de 
 mer — his spirit is willing, but his flesh is weak. 
 
 Once, when the Sicilian was enjoying a game of 
 pitch and toss with the Atlantic, and the Atlantic 
 was getting the best of it. Blue Cap rose frona 
 his chair to extend the much-needed hand of help 
 to me as I endeavoured to struggle across the 
 deck to the door of the companion-way, but he 
 measured his length at my feet instead, while I 
 stumbled over his prostrate form, and subsided 
 humiliatingly on a heap of rugs. 
 
 We had a goodly array of bridal couples on 
 board, of course ; pairs of turtle-doves — one, two, 
 and three. They generally sat reading the same 
 book, and occasionally wrapped in the same 
 shawl. We had also, as usual, the young lady 
 going out to be married, taking her trousseau 
 with her. In this case she had not seen her 
 lover for ten years. "Well, constancy is its own 
 reward ! 
 
 Then there was, of course, the wife going out 
 to join her husband — a pale, depressed-looking 
 young woman, with five children. There was a 
 lady who had come on board at Liverpool merely 
 to see her husband off as far as Moville, with 
 only a small dressing-bag for the night's journey. 
 
 At Moville she made up her mind to go on 
 
8 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 with him to America. She had a soul above 
 difficulties, and triumphantly surmounted all that 
 beset her. She procured a pair of boots from 
 our stewardess, borrowed a spare cloak from the 
 Smiths of Halifax, and wore her husband's felt 
 tennis hat and ulster on deck. 
 
 We had a theorist, with, a ' hobby,' from whom 
 some fled and with whom others fought ; his 
 hobby was always ready saddled and bridled ; it 
 was rarely, indeed, that he gave the poor steed a 
 rest in its stable. We liked our theorist ; he was 
 so cheery, so kind, so helpful ; but his hobby was 
 one which life on shipboard brought into distress- 
 ingly constant exercise. ' Abstemiousness in 
 health ! Starvation in sickness !' was his theory 
 of life ; and we did wax wroth with him some- 
 times when he ran a tilt at our itivalids, whose 
 dainty appetites our pearl of stewardesses was 
 coaxing with delicacies, and charged them so- 
 lemnly to ' Dash down that bowl of ' beef -tea, 
 or invoked ' the malison of outraged Nature ' on 
 such as dared to outrage her by partaking of 
 chicken and iced champagne for luncheon. 
 
 Then we had a certain gallant rifle-team on 
 board, bearing away their laurels victorious. It 
 was amusing, the first day or two, to see the 
 valiant team strewn about like fallen fruit over 
 the deck in shapeless heaps of despondency. In- 
 
HOW WE CROSS THE ATLANTIC. 9 
 
 deed, a general view of the deck in those early 
 days would have supplied a capital study for a 
 picture, to be entitled ' After the Battle is Over '; 
 only our artist — we had an artist, of course — was 
 at that time himself a prostrate bundle of rugs, 
 lying under a life-boat, and looking like a 
 mummy. 
 
 When he recovered, he made caricatures of us 
 all, and his sketch-book, falling into our hands, 
 afforded us considerable amusement in identify- 
 ing ourselves, although I do not know whether the 
 joke was quite appreciated by a young man known 
 amongst us either as 'the Spaniard,' from his 
 olive complexion, or 'the giant,' from his stature 
 — six feet five — and who was always promenad- 
 ing the deck with a pretty little woman who 
 scarcely reached above his elbow, and who had 
 to tiptoe to get hold of his arm. 
 
 Another dark and picturesque and Spanish- 
 looking individual, who might have posed very 
 well as a brigand, in a fierce slouch hat, attracted 
 our interest as soon as we heard that he carried 
 four thousand pounds worth of diamonds sewn 
 up in the lining of his coat, and that, in moments 
 of confidence, he had been known to unrip the 
 seam and exhibit his precious treasures to favour- 
 ed fellow-passengers. 
 
 Out in the middle of the Atlantic, where 
 
10 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 the 'rolling forties' should have rolled, they 
 obligingly forebore, and we found it calm as a 
 lake. We looked round upon an azure world of 
 sea and sky ; not a cloud upon the face of the 
 heavens ; not a sail upon the horizon ; not a white 
 horse tossing its mane upon the long, low waves 
 that seemed to murmur and kiss the sides of our 
 good ship as she glided over them. 
 
 By this time we were all nothing if not nautical 
 in our conversation ; we talked glibly of ' six 
 bells ' and ' eight bells,' and leeward and wind- 
 ward, of port and starboard, instead of left and 
 right, and never insulted our Sicilian by calling 
 lier ^it.' 
 
 Every afternoon the captain had tea served in 
 his chart-room, and a favoured few were honour- 
 ed with a general invitation to partake thereof. 
 
 The chart-room was the coziest corner on 
 board ; it was difficult to realize we were on mid- 
 Atlantic when up in the captain's sanctum. There 
 were book-cases, maps, pictures, photographs, log- 
 books, hymn-books, and tracts, all scattered about 
 together with compasses and instruments for 
 ' taking the altitude.' There was a harmonium, 
 for music was one great feature in these chart- 
 room teas ; a spelling-game played with card- 
 board letters was another ; but the most promi* 
 nent feature of all was theology. 
 
HOW WE OEOSS THE ATLA.NTIO. 11 
 
 Our captain and a coaple of clergymen would 
 sit round the table, each with a Bible, and hold 
 an hour's discussion over one debatable word in 
 a text. Then we would finish up with a hymn or 
 two, generally of the captain's own composition — 
 for, after the example of the author (I forget who 
 he was) who observed, ' When I want a book I 
 write one,' our captain, when he wants a song or 
 a hymn, composes one — words and music both — 
 and also sings it himself to his own accompaniment. 
 
 In choice of subject he is occasionally patriotic, 
 but more often pious. He deems it as much his 
 mission to save the souls of his crew as to look 
 after their bodies. Every evening he holds a 
 service in the ' f oc's'le ' for the sailors and steer- 
 age-passengers — though sometimes it happens 
 that a first-class sinner from the saloon steals in 
 amongst the crowd, with a shame-faced sense of 
 being an intruder there. It is very impressive, 
 the narrow, dingy, crowded room, lighted only by 
 a couple of little dim oil-lamps, the close-packed 
 ranks of bronzed and toil-worn faces, all serious 
 and devout, all eyes fixed upon the captain, as 
 with homely but heart-stirring eloquence, he ex- 
 pounds to them his faith, and calls upon them to 
 believe with him — ' believe and be saved.' 
 
 We call him ' the father of the ship.' He is 
 beloved alike by passengers and crew, and we are 
 
12 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 all content in the happy conviction that there is 
 not another captain on the Atlantic like ours. If 
 it is not true, we are quite as happy in our faith 
 as if it was. He worked his way up from before 
 the mast. He loves his ship as though she were 
 his sweetheart ; he regards the land as merely a 
 place of call to visit now and then, and the sea as 
 his true home. On board his ship he is pastor 
 and preacher as well as captain ; and, when he has 
 a leisure hour, he devotes it to the study of He- 
 brew ! He has always a little time to spare to 
 come among his passengers, and cheer them up 
 with his breezy presence and genial jokes. He 
 has the heartiest laugh of any man on board; 
 and, with all else that he is, he is pre-eminently 
 and above all things the captain of his ship. 
 
 Now we are nearing the Straits of Belle Isle — 
 the region of fogs. The line between the bright 
 blue sea and the clear blue sky becomes suddenly 
 dim ; it is blurred, lost ; and swiftly over the sun- 
 lit, azure water there draws a fine white veil of 
 fog that darkens the smiling sky, while the sun, 
 but lately so burning bright, only struggles 
 through in pale and watery gleams. The fog- 
 horn sets up its lugubrious howl ; the clinging 
 mist enwraps the vessel from stem to stern, and, 
 falling damply in fine rain on the deck, soon 
 drives us all indoors for shelter. 
 
HOW WE CROSS THE ATLANTIC. 13 
 
 Fog at sea is not cheerful, but we while away 
 the hours pleasantly enough. We get up a 
 ' sewing-bee ' — a kind of Atlantic Dorcas Society 
 — whose modest mission is to cut up, or cut down, 
 some old coats of the captain's into small gar- 
 ments for poor little emigrants. We beguile the 
 evening with cards, dominoes, and music in the 
 saloon, and at night we sleep in peace, knowing 
 that our captain is up on the bridge. 
 
 The engines slacken, tremble, and stop, and our 
 big ship rolls helplessly, like a drifting log, on the 
 waves. We miss the rhythmical throb and thud 
 of the machinery that has lulled us to sleep for 
 many nights, but we are not nervous. Our cap- 
 tain is on the watch, and we know that he will 
 allow himself neither sleep nor rest till he can see 
 his way into the Straits. The next day we pro- 
 gress but slowly through a world of mist, in 
 which nothing of sky or sea is distinguishable. 
 
 We pass through the Straits without seeing any- 
 thing of them, and when the fog finally lifts we 
 are in the great Gulf of St. Lawrence, and out of 
 sight of land again. The lightening veil discloses 
 a sea of deepest sapphire, dashed with shifting 
 snowy streaks where the white horses rise and 
 shake their manes, and career over the heaving, 
 dark-blue waves. 
 
 The vessel rocks a little as she rides over the 
 
14 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 swell, but by this time we are so steady on our 
 feet that there is but little demand on the devo- 
 tion of our chivalrous ' Walking Stick ' — by which 
 name our 'grizzled hero' is now affectionately 
 and familiarly known. 
 
 We are among the ice-bergs to-day — the pas- 
 sengers enjoy the position more than the captain, 
 I think. We are all on deck with field-glasses, 
 pointing out that pyramidal heap of snow with 
 the slashes of blue-green veining its smooth, steep 
 sides — that queer-shaped berg away on the hori- 
 zon that looks just like a mushroom ! — this other 
 one, like the dome of St. Paul's, which towers up 
 so interestingly close that we get a beautiful 
 view of it. But the captain watches on the 
 bridge, nor descends to the social meal that day. 
 He knows the danger well enough not to take 
 quite so much pleasure in the sight as we do. 
 
 Now the last social evening of our 'happy 
 family ' is at hand, for to-morrow many of the 
 most shining lights of our little society are to 
 laud at Eimouski, and we resolve to celebrate the 
 occasion by a grand concert at the fashionable 
 hour of 9 p.m. 
 
 There seems to be a good deal of sentiment in 
 the air on these last evenings as we promenade 
 the deck by moonlight, all in pairs, like the animals 
 in a Noah's Ark. And now, at the eleventh hour. 
 
now WE CROSS THE ATLANTIC. 15 
 
 all the party come out in their true colours. The 
 mysterious members of our company, concerning 
 whom we have indulged in many a game of specu- 
 lation, are mysterious no more. 
 
 Red Tie, the devoted cavalier of the fair sisters 
 from Halifax, reveals himself in his real character 
 as a married man ; Blue Cap confides the history 
 of his engagement, and exhibits the minia- 
 ture of his fiancee in a locket ; Walking Stick 
 comes out as the father of twins in Toronto, and 
 produces a portrait — nay, one, two, three por- 
 traits — of his wife and babies! And our select 
 feminine circle agree that, if ten days at sea be 
 any test of character, we congratulate Mrs. 
 Walking Stick. 
 
 All day, as we steamed serenely along the 
 waveless waters of the beautiful river St. Law- 
 rence, there was a pleasant stir of excitement 
 on board, as the preparations for our ' Grand 
 Concert ' were in full swing. 
 
 From the saloon arose the well-known melody 
 of ' Ah ! once again !' from the companion-way 
 issued the tender strains of ' The Owl and the 
 Pussy-cat,' to the gentle twang of a banjo accom- 
 paniment. On the deck one young man march- 
 ed with folded arms, rehearsing, with appropriate 
 action, ' Cato's Soliloquy,' while another sat under 
 an umbrella on the skylight, absorbed in the 
 
16 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 difficult task of selecting from a volume of ' Mark 
 Twain ' the most screaming of the ' Screamers.' 
 A book entitled ' A Thousand and One Gems ' 
 was handed from one to another of our emulous 
 elocutionists that they might study suitable 
 morceaux for recitation — for Our Concert, by a 
 liberal interpretation of the term, was to include 
 a large element of the dramatic. It was at first 
 contemplated to invite the steerage passengers to 
 attend Our Concert, and one prominent member of 
 the company suggested, ' I'm sitting by the stile, 
 Mary !' as well calculated to touch the hearts of 
 the Irish emigrants ; but, when it was decided that 
 the dimensions of the saloon rendered it necessary 
 to limit the entertainment to the first-class pas- 
 sengers, he substituted the equally suitable ditty 
 of ' A Life on the Ocean Wave.' 
 
 In the zest of these preparations, our invalid 
 (we had still one invalid on the doctor's hands) 
 forgot her ailments, and appeared in a new cap 
 with pink ribbons ; our flirting couple (strange to 
 relate, we had only one romance on board !) with- 
 drew to a secluded corner with the ' Thousand 
 and One Gems' between them, and bent their 
 heads very close together over — they said it 
 was ' The Ride to Aix from Ghent '; but their air 
 would rather have suggested ' Love is waking ! 
 shall it wake in vain ?' 
 
HOW WE CROSS THE ATLANTIC. 17 
 
 The evening canae, and we assembled in the 
 saloon, where our energetic doctor had moved the 
 piano, and provided an extra allowance of candles, 
 and a box of lozenges to cool the throats of his 
 faithful troupe. The concert opened with that 
 most appropriate selection, ' A Life on the Ocean 
 Wave,' during which the depressing fact dawned 
 upon us that the ohligato accompaniment of the 
 rhythmical beat of the engines thundering under 
 the saloon floor would drown all our pianissimo 
 passages, while the soft and subtle modulations 
 of our voices would be completely lost. So the 
 entertainment progressed under diflBculties. Those 
 of the audience who were close to the performers 
 might hear what was being said and sung ; but 
 those whose seats were further off got their en- 
 tertainment only in dumb-show, and had to 
 guess by the air of the performer whether his or 
 her expressed sentiments were of the martial or 
 the tender kind. It was noticeable, by the way, 
 that the sexes appeared to have changed charac- 
 teristics on this occasion : the ladies gave us ' The 
 Battle of the Alma,' the 'Charge of the Light 
 Brigade,' and ' How they brought the Good News 
 from Ghent,' and by exerting all the power of 
 their lungs succeeded in vanquishing now and 
 then the ' thud, thud ' of the engines ; while the 
 gentlemen related to us the loves of the ' Owl and 
 
 c 
 
18 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 the Pussy-oat' (banjo accompaniment), told us 
 melodiously how it was ' But a little faded flower,' 
 or conjured their lost loves to meet them only 
 ' Once again.' During these performances, I think 
 the engines had the best of it. 
 
 Our theorist, clad in his wife's waterproof and 
 a poke-bonnet, aroused great enthusiasm by a 
 character-song, in which he announced that he 
 was * Sweet Sixteen ;' but the grand sensation of 
 the evening was expected to be an ' Imitation of 
 Mr. Irving in Hamlet,^ given by a youthful genius 
 who never missed a first night at the Lyceum. I 
 suppose most of us had heard a good many 
 such imitations before, and so perhaps we failed 
 to appreciate this. No doubt it was a capital 
 performance, what was audible of it, but that 
 was • not much,, and it was gratefully applauded, 
 especially by one enthusiast, who kept calling, 
 'Encore! Bells! Bells 1' until our Irving pro 
 tern, consented to favour us with a further speci- 
 men of his art, and succeeded in drowning the 
 machinery with his wild shriek of ' The Bells,' the 
 steward kindly giving him the cue by ringing the 
 dinner-gong at intervals. 
 
 Wo wound up by singing ' God Save the Queen.' 
 It might have been in better time and tune, but 
 I am sure it was never chorussed with more fer- 
 vour and sincerity than by Her Gracious Majesty's 
 
HOW WE GROSS THE ATLANTIC. 19 
 
 loyal subjects on board the Royal Mail steamer, 
 which shall be nameless, that July night on the 
 St. Lawrence river, in the last hour of our united 
 party. 
 
 Everything was enthusiastically and indiscrim- 
 inately applauded, whether it was heard or not ; 
 and a satisfactory collection was taken up for the 
 Sailor's Orphanage at Liverpool. 
 
 The concert over, the aspect of the saloon is 
 transformed with pantomimic rapidity. Plates 
 and dishes rattle on the tables ; there is a cheery 
 sound of popping corks, a-scurrying to and fro of 
 stewards, a chorus of tempting-sounding orders — 
 'Two bottles of Clicquot's best!' 'One Welsh 
 rarebit !' ' Three broiled sardines !' ' Lemonade 
 and beef sandwich !' ' Pint bottle of Moselle !' and 
 so on. Evidently nobody is going to rest in too 
 depressed a condition on ' this night of all nights !' 
 It is late before anyone goes to bed, and particu- 
 larly late before I get to sleep, as the smoking- 
 room is immediately above my berth, and its 
 habitues insist on spending a good portion of the 
 night singing ' God Save the Queen ' and ' Auld 
 Lang Syne,' and beating time with their boots. 
 
 The next morning, a little tender, with flying 
 flags, comes out to us from Rimouski, brings us 
 a pilot to guide us up the St. Lawrence, and 
 takes off our mails and a goodly gathering of our 
 
 c2 
 
20 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 passengers. The mails go first. We lean over 
 the bulwarks and watch the mail-bags skim down 
 the plank that slopes from the big ship to the 
 tender. There they go ! fat bags, slim bags, by 
 the dozen : round, jolly -looking bags that seem 
 to be bursting with their contents ; slender bags 
 that look hungry, as if they had nothing in them. 
 
 All our four or five hundred steerage passen- 
 gers are assembled on deck to see the sights, ex- 
 cept those who are going ashore, who are below, 
 waiting at the lower gangway. Many have climb- 
 ed up the rigging to have the better view of the 
 tender ; and there they cling in swarms, to be 
 summoned down in double-quick time when the 
 Sicilian shall start again. After the mails go the 
 passengers. 
 
 There goes Blue Cap, but Blue Cap no longer ; 
 he has got on a clerical-looking, black felt hat. 
 There go the dark, mysterious stranger and his 
 diamonds : how I wonder if he has left any keep- 
 sakes behind him ! There go the Smiths, the girls 
 blooming in new hats and feathers. The father 
 of the five young children has come on board to 
 meet his pale little wife and flourishing family, 
 and escort them on shore ; and this domestic re- 
 union is the focus of the gaze of a large circle of 
 deeply-interested fellow-passengers, whose atten- 
 tive observation, as the handsome, sun-bronzed 
 
HOW WE CROSS THE ATLANTIC. 21 
 
 husband clasps his wife in his arms, may be 
 flattering, but would be embarrassing, if the re- 
 united couple were not blissfully unconscious of 
 it and of all the world beside. 
 
 So our merry party breaks up, as the Eimouski 
 tender swings away from the big ship's side, and 
 the Sicilian steams on her way to Quebec. We 
 part with mutually waving hands and handker- 
 chiefs, with cheers and good wishes, and — is there 
 one tear shed ? Good-bye to our theorist, his 
 hobby forgotten, and only his kind and genial 
 ways remembered ! Good-bye to our artist and 
 his sketch-book ! Good-bye to our would-be 
 Irving! Good-bye to the young man with the 
 banjo and blue ribbon, whose lamb-like voice and 
 meek face, with its expression of perpetual sur- 
 prise, we shall never laugh at more ! We shall 
 never meet all together again on earth, that happy 
 and harmonious little company, amongst whom 
 even the ennui of sea-sickness sowed no division. 
 I think that reflection was the only one that cast 
 a shadow over the gaiety of our last day and 
 night on board. 
 
22 
 
 QUEBEC AND ITS ENVIRONS. 
 
 Have we indeed crossed the Atlantic, or is it 
 only the Channel that lies between us and 
 England ? Surely this city wherein we are wan- 
 dering, in a delightful, drifting, aimless explora- 
 tion, is a bit of Old France ! Surely these 
 crooked, narrow streets, running crabbedly round 
 corners, and recklessly up and down hill — these 
 queer, tumble-down houses, with their gables 
 and steep roofs, and their melee of styles in 
 windows, quaint dormers, old-fashioned greenish 
 lattices, sashless sash-windows propped open with 
 sticks — these cobble-stoned roads and uneven 
 pavements — these mahogany-faced, white-capped 
 old French market-women — all belong to some 
 Breton town ! 
 
 Our ramshackle vehicle lurches through the 
 streets of the lower town, and flounders in and 
 out of abysses of mud. Behind the dilapidated 
 old houses, a cliff, two hundred feet high, rises 
 sheer as a wall. Up a steep hill, that looks as 
 if the street had suddenly stood on end, a 
 
QUEBEC AND ITS ENVIRONS. 23 
 
 * calash ' plunges at a breakneck pace. Around 
 us we hear only French patois and Irish brogue, 
 now and then varied by the twang of New 
 England. It takes all these latter characteristics 
 to convince us that we are in Quebec ! Quebec, 
 — a relic of the Old World stranded on the 
 shores of the New ! — by right of her picturesque 
 position and her romantic history, the Queen 
 City of Canada! the beautiful city for which 
 Nature has done so much — and man so little. 
 
 Our hotel is in the upper town. It is the 
 best hotel in Quebec, the tourists' centre and 
 rallying point, and crowded from attic to base- 
 ment. Here, in the great hall, are heaps of 
 baggage piled up to the ceiling, trunks labelled 
 to and from everywhere — Ohio, Idaho, London, 
 Kansas, Paris, Boston, San Francisco, New York ! 
 Here is a telephone to Niagara, Saguenay, Chi- 
 cago. Here is a rush and a Babel and a bustle 
 from morning until night. In the dead of dark- 
 ness there is a banging of doors and a thumping 
 of trunks, as a whole party of tourists go off by 
 the last train ; in the should-be stillness of the 
 small hours, a racket and a trampling announce 
 that another party are starting by the early boat. 
 In the parlour and dining-room there is a period- 
 ical — it appears about an hourly — commotion, as 
 a stentorian voice proclaims, 
 
24 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 'AH ready for the Montreal boat?' 'Ladies 
 and gentlemen for the New York train !' ' Omni- 
 bus for the Saguenay boat !' ' Passengers ready 
 for the Liverpool steamer !' 
 
 Opposite our hotel is an agency, where you can 
 buy a through ticket to Patagonia, Bombay, or 
 Hong Kong. Between agency and hotel rolls a 
 sea of ink-black mud, bordered on either side 
 by a dilapidated wooden pavement, set with man- 
 traps for the unwary in the shape of jagged 
 holes. A few minutes' walk brings us to Duf- 
 ferin Terrace, a magnificent promenade, from 
 which you look across the St. Lawrence to the 
 scattered town of Point Levis on the opposite 
 shore, and the purple hills beyond — and, nearer 
 at hand, straight over the wide, stone parapet, 
 sheer down into the queer, dark, and dirty labyrin- 
 thine streets of the lower town, a French-Irish 
 St. Giles's. An English accent is a rare thing to 
 hear either in Upper or Lower Quebec. French, 
 Irish, American ; then Irish, French, over again. 
 When the hack-drivers are not French, they are 
 Irish. We found both equally and satisfactorily 
 civil, even assiduously attentive. The Quebec 
 calash is one of the features of the city. It has 
 clean, white cushions, and a loose-jointed air of 
 being about to fall to pieces — so clean, so frail, 
 so decrepit-looking, it appears to us like a tidy old 
 
QUEBBO AND ITS ENVIRONS. 25 
 
 great-grandmotlier in a frilled cap. When the 
 horse charges a steep hill — which he invariably 
 does at full speed, and dashes madly on and up, 
 ' rattling our bones over the stones ' — we antici- 
 pate that the crazy old vehicle will scatter itself 
 piecemeal. But I have no doubt that identical 
 calash, which appears to us as if it could not 
 weather one more hill, will outlast that headlong 
 steed, and serve another generation yet. 
 
 In the evening we go and walk on Dufferin 
 Terrace. Apparently, all Quebec is doing the 
 same thing. Up and down the wide promenade, 
 their footsteps falling almost noiselessly on the 
 smooth planking — the one spotless and flawless, 
 planed and cleaned pavement in Quebec — the 
 orderly throngs stroll at a regular and leisure 
 pace. There are the French Quebeckers, English 
 Quebeckers, Irish Quebeckers, 
 
 ' Like the Rhone by Leman's waters washed,' 
 
 these various streams of the population 
 
 ' All mingled, and yet separate appear.' 
 
 In public and in private life they mix no more 
 than oil and water. The upper classes meet in 
 peace and courtesy, but socially tread their ways 
 apart. The lower classes of French and Irish 
 have their periodical disturbances, according to 
 the laws of Nature. 
 
26 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS, 
 
 A military band is playing in the pavilion, and 
 natives and tourists stream along the terrace in 
 a fast-thickening crowd. Here are some of our 
 fellow-passengers from the Sicilian; and lol 
 with his ' sailor's roll,' and in his holiday attire, 
 here comes our captain ! He has actually got 
 a chimney-pot hat and lemon-coloured gloves ! 
 Here comes a whole party of Americans, one 
 young man clad in white from head to foot, 
 the single touch of colour about his attire being 
 a blue ribbon round his Panama hat. He is 
 not proud, and does not look in the least self- 
 conscious. A few old guns are arranged along 
 the terrace ; they have been perfunctorily polished 
 up, the rust rubbed off them. One of them 
 makes a convenient seat for two little children 
 playing with a big dog. 
 
 The sun has set, but has left a mellow flush, 
 like a dream of departed glory, all over the 
 western sky ; the stars are coming out ' large as 
 lilies,' in the soft depths of the summer heavens, 
 and brighter than on a winter frost in England. 
 The citadel stands out, gloomy and distinct, 
 against the purple shades on the landward side 
 of the terrace. On the water side, below the 
 parapet, two hundred feet sheer down, lies the 
 lower town with its twinkling lights. The magic 
 mantle of Night has clothed even those tumble- 
 
QUEBEC AND ITS ENVIEONS. 27 
 
 down streets in a certain mystery and beauty. 
 Beyond them stretches the great river, with the 
 giant, dark forms of the great steamers anchored 
 here and there, the myriad smaller craft dotting 
 the silent flood with their black outlines, their 
 light flecks of sail, their coloured lamps. Big 
 ships and little boats, all lie still on the sleeping 
 waters. It is as if the spell that bound the 
 sleeping princess and her court had descended 
 on the mighty river and its children. The only 
 life and stir is in the steam-tug ferrying across, 
 with a red lantern and a shrill whistle, from 
 Point Levis, whose long, irregular lines of lamps 
 break the shadows of the opposite shore. 
 
 The whole scene is a dream of beauty; often 
 it comes back to us in our nightly visions, yet 
 no fairer even in them than was the reality of 
 that night. 
 
 Our eyes and our imaginations were abundantly 
 feasted. Walking home, to be sure, we waded 
 through mud and stumbled into holes in the 
 pavement ; but, after all, there is something incon- 
 gruous between mediaeval picturesqueness and 
 modern cleanliness, so perhaps we might have 
 been disappointed had Quebec been cleaner. 
 And I think now it was unreasonable of us to 
 complain because of the absence of street-lamps on 
 a moonless night, and the consequent murky 
 
28 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 obscurity through which we groped our way. 
 
 All creature comforts we find admirably 
 administered at our hotel, which, judging 
 from the external aspect of things, we had 
 scarcely ventured to expect. The veriest gour- 
 met could not have been otherwise than satisfied 
 with the delicate trout, the broiled salmon, the 
 strawberries and cream, the dewberry pies — 
 worthy of their delicious name — the corn-rolls, 
 the sun-kissed peaches, the brimming bumpers 
 of iced-milk — to which, on a hot day, no vintage 
 of the richest province of France is comparable. 
 Coming off the Atlantic voyage, where the only 
 delicacies you are likely to crave for in vain are 
 fruit, tea, coffee, and milk, (not that you cannot 
 procure them one and all, but that they always 
 seem to lack their rightful freshness and flavour 
 on board ship), I must own that we enjoyed 
 the Quebec breakfasts with a keen relish, and 
 rejoiced that at our table sat neither Eesthete nor 
 theorist ! 
 
 Of course we did our tourists' duties in Quebec. 
 We went over . the citadel and over the Ursuline 
 Convent ; we went, in fact, to most of the places 
 where our guide-book told us we ought to go. 
 We drove to the Plains of Abraham, a beautiful 
 drive along the broad and handsome St. Foye 
 road, whereon are situated many of the finest 
 
QUEBEC AND ITS ENVIRONS. 29 
 
 residences in Quebec, embowered in trees and 
 gardens, and guarded in an English-looking seclu- 
 sion by high gates and railings. Past stretches 
 of turf which, not yet scorched by the Canadian 
 summer's fiery breath, lie like cool green satin 
 under the sun ; past wild hedges and clambering 
 vines that remind us of rustic England ; past 
 little wooden cottages, green-shuttered, green- 
 balconied, with their little clusters of rose-bushes 
 and climbing plants ; past rural shops, with old 
 Frenchwomen in sun-bonnets sitting at the doors, 
 with legends painted above the very modest dis- 
 play of mixed goods in the windows of ' Marot, 
 Epicier,' and ' Lefevre, Charcutier,' we arrive at 
 last at the Plains of Abraham. 
 
 The Plains are considerably built over now ; 
 the surrounding neighbourhood has encroached 
 upon them more and more, but still there is left 
 untouched a large area of green sward, in the 
 centre of which, just where the ground sinks in a 
 little hollow, is erected the monument to Wolfe.- 
 In the shelter of this little hollow on the battle- 
 field they laid the dying general. How green and 
 luxuriant the grass is growing there to-day! 
 
 Around the monument are drawn up a dozen 
 or more of tourists' vehicles, calashes, waggons, 
 carriages, and amongst them the very smallest 
 cart, driven by the smallest boy, and drawn by 
 
30 BETWEEN TWO OOEA^'S. 
 
 the most diminutive donkey I ever saw ! Some 
 of the tourists remain seated in their carriages, 
 and survey the scene through opera-glasses ; 
 others alight and make a close inspection of 
 the column, giving me an impression that, if 
 it were made of wood, there would be a good 
 deal of it whittled away. 
 
 Amongst all who cluster round it there, how 
 many can conjure up in the 'mind's eye' the 
 scene when, on this soft, green turf, the battle 
 raged — when here, in this hollow at our feet, 
 Wolfe 'Died, Victorious!' (So runs the simple 
 inscription on the column.) Yet even more than 
 by the monument on the very spot where our 
 hero fell, we are touched by the obelisk in the 
 governor's garden that commemorates ' Wolfe and 
 Montcalm.' Vanquished and victor — the general 
 who died to win, and the general who fell in 
 losing, Quebec ! — the marble memorial links their 
 two great names eternally together. One passed 
 in the throb of triumph, his last words, 'I die 
 happy !' the other sank in the darkness of defeat 
 — the word of Death more welcome to him than 
 that of Life. Now, in the honour of the con- 
 querors, the conquered chief holds his post; 
 Montcalm has his niche in the temple side by 
 side with Wolfe. Peace to them both, united in 
 their immortality ! 
 
QUEBEC AND ITS ENVIRONS. 31 
 
 Now our time in Quebec was running short, 
 and our guide-book to ' Quebec and its Environs' 
 impressed upon us that ' the whole duty of the 
 tourist' could not be regarded as accomplished 
 until the ' Montmorenci ' and ' Ohaudiere ' Falls 
 had been admired. We made up our minds, 
 however, that one of these two shrines would 
 have to be, like Yarrow, 'left unvisited.' There 
 would be then something still left to live for 
 — another divine incompleteness in life ! The 
 guide-book also described the sentiments which 
 'tourists of cultured mind, and familiar with 
 classic lore,' would, or ought to, experience when 
 ' standing on the lofty brow of the Chaudi^re.' 
 We did not aspire so high as to be classed 
 with these favoured souls; but still we thought 
 we would see what humbler mortals like our- 
 selves might feel under such inspiring circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Accordingly, one clear, pleasant morning (the 
 thermometer standing only 85° in the shade), 
 although we yearned for the shady seclusion 
 of our cool and comfortable rooms in the ' St. 
 Louis Hotel,' we yielded to the insinuating repre- 
 sentation of a fair-spoken driver, who pictured 
 graphically the ' beautiful breeze along the 
 wooded road !' and set off on our excursion in 
 one of those easy and airy vehicles which divide 
 
32 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 with the calash the honours of being peculiar 
 to Quebec. We, being ignorant Britons, called 
 it a ' carriage,' and our feelings were somewhat 
 aggrieved when our coclier alluded to it as ' the 
 waggon.' We rattled down the steep and stony 
 hills to the lower town, and drove briskly on 
 board the ferry-boat — a method of transit new 
 to us then, and which caused us some alarm lest 
 the spirited steed should jump overboard, more 
 especially as we were not alone in our glory ; six 
 other vehicles shared the scanty space of deck 
 allotted to us, and the closeness of the quarters 
 necessitated our horse standing with his head 
 over the low bulwarks, where he pawed the 
 timbers and sniffed the lapping water with an 
 air too alert and curious to please us. 
 
 As our driver was not French, of course he 
 was Irish. In the market-place, and on the 
 wharves, and in the streets of Quebec, you may 
 listen a long time before you hear a syllable 
 of the Anglo-Saxon tongue in its purity. You 
 inquire your way, and receive an answer either 
 in a rich brogue, or in *a French not spoken 
 in France.' We drove ashore at Point Levis, 
 and pursued our way along the banks of the 
 St. Lawrence, through the scattered town of 
 Levis, and through a village yclept ' New Liver- 
 pool,' to which name we had to cling in frequent 
 
QUEBEC AND ITS ENVIRONS. 33 
 
 iteration in order to convince ourselves that we 
 were not in France or Switzerland. 
 
 The forest-clad hills, the clear, blue sky, the 
 fanciful wooden houses, with the steps outside, 
 the little white, green-shuttered chalets, the 
 white-capped women, the bare-legged, brown- 
 faced children, the blue-bloused men, we knew 
 all these so well ; we had taken this drive so 
 often before ! was it near Geneva ? was it in 
 the sunny South of France? Only surely this 
 wide, calm river was broader than the Ehone, 
 and yonder, on the opposite shore, her tin roofs 
 shining like silver in the sunshine, throned on 
 her noble hills, what was that great city, stretch- 
 ing along the curve of the river, but Quebec ? 
 
 We left New Liverpool behind; and, as we 
 settled ourselves comfortably among our cool- 
 looking white cushions for the long drive before 
 us, we began to look out for some of the signs 
 and tokens that invariably mark the route of 
 any popular excursion on any part of the great 
 European tourist -ground, where year by year the 
 few by-ways left are merging into highways, till 
 soon there will not be a by-way left. We recalled 
 to mind the strong-lunged performers on the 
 Alpine-horn, who lay in wait for us at every 
 corner of the Grimsel or the Handeck, where 
 an echo could be awoke; the little Savoyard 
 
 D 
 
34 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 with the concertina, who followed our mules 
 up the Wengern Alp ; the cretin with the pet 
 marmot he had trained to climb up a pole ; the 
 pretty Italian girl with her basket of ripe figs 
 and purple grapes. We looked for the wayside- 
 stall, laid out as a bazaar for the sale of such 
 travellers' requisites as chamois-horn paper- 
 knives and inkstands, cunningly mounted on 
 the backs of little wooden bears and foxes — for 
 the old woman with her tray of glasses of fresh 
 milk — for the little roadside inn, where you could 
 get good lemonade, and bad wine, and heaped-up 
 plates of wild raspberries. 'But nothing of the 
 kind was to be seen here. We looked to the 
 north, and we looked to the south, and also to 
 the east and west, mile after mile. Not a way- 
 side stall ! nay, not so much as a solitary mendi- 
 cant to be seen. Then we realised for the first 
 time that we were three thousand miles from, 
 home! 
 
 At first we said, ' How charming, how delightful 
 to be off the old beaten track !' But presently we 
 felt there was something wanting in the landscape ; 
 we should have been glad to see the old woman 
 with her glasses of milk ; we should have given 
 welcome to an offered plate of raspberries, nor 
 have grudged the small coin of acknowledgment. 
 For the sun was hot, and the road was long along 
 
QTTBBEO AND ITS ENVIRONS. 35 
 
 which we drove — or rather, along which our 
 waggon leaped, lurched, and bounded, tossing us 
 up and pitching us down on our seats, and fling, 
 ing us hither and thither till we quite realised 
 the feelings of a shuttlecock in a lively game, 
 and vowed that never, never more would we 
 undertake a 'pleasure excursion' on Canadian 
 roads, (to which, from this first example, we did 
 injustice, as, looking at them from the higher 
 standpoint of an experience of Montreal, we are 
 free now to acknowledge). 
 
 Presently we arrived at our goal. It was a 
 farm-house, I presume, yet I saw nothing but 
 a stable, wherein we sat down on a heap of 
 hay, there being no other seat, while our driver 
 tethered and fed his steed. He then brought 
 us a huge bowl of new milk, with a handleless 
 delf cup in it, with which we ladled up the 
 welcome draught to our thirsty lips. For this 
 nectar we paid the extravagant sum of six cents. 
 Then we set off, our driver leading the way and 
 acting as guide, across a clover-field and along 
 a shady path, towards the falls, whose murmur 
 we heard deepening and deepening as we drew 
 nearer, till the sullen and sombre sound seemed 
 to fill the air like thunder. 
 
 We followed the narrow track through the 
 long grass and clover, keeping well in the friendly 
 
 d2 
 
36 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 sliadow of the overhanging trees on our left, with 
 the roar of the waters rising louder in our ears 
 as we approached. At last, through a break in 
 trees — lo ! the falls in the mid-day sun ! A few 
 steps brought us out on to the open brow of the 
 cliff, whence we had a full and complete view of 
 the whole cascade — the river blue and smooth as 
 glass, above and below, hurling itself headlong 
 down over the black rocks, in an avalanche of 
 dazzling snow that here and there seemed to 
 melt to mist in the sunshine — and the boiling 
 cauldron, into which it fell and seethed before 
 it swept on its smooth way again, whose spray 
 leapt up even to our faces as we stood on the 
 precipitous brow of the cliff. 
 
 ' Said to be second only to Niagara, ladies,' 
 our driver informed us, proudly. 
 
 Why did he remind us of Niagara, and thus 
 dash our dawning enthusiasm ? We felt that, 
 in spite of the guide-book, it would be wasteful 
 to expend too much energy in our admiration 
 of the Chaudiere, when Niagara was waiting for 
 us a few hundred miles further on. For her we 
 must reserve our highest heights and deepest 
 depths ! 
 
37 
 
 THE FALLS OP NIAGARA. 
 
 EvBEYONB warned us to prepare to be disappoint- 
 ed in our first view of Niagara, Even those who 
 were most enthusiastic about its wonders and 
 beauties told the same tale — we were to be disap- 
 pointed at first sight. Now Niagara to us was 
 to be the realization of a life's dream ; and be- 
 tween our own thrilling anticipations, and the 
 warnings of friends and strangers not to allow 
 those anticipations of the first view to soar too 
 high, we drew near our goal with our eagerness 
 for that ' first view ' lashed to white heat. 
 
 The crowded car bumped and rattled along the 
 little local line that leads from the town of Nia- 
 gara to the falls. It was hot, it was dusty ; but 
 we recked neither of dust nor heat. We were 
 one and all gazing eagerly out of the car-window 
 as we rushed through the woods, behind which 
 the sun was sinking in a royal couch of purple 
 and gold. Presently there was an exclamation of 
 
38 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 ' The falls ! the falls !' in a tone with which Co- 
 lumbus might have cried, ' The land /' 
 
 There was a break in the woods — a flash of 
 white — a cloud of spray tossed high above the 
 tree-tops ; then the dark woods closed again. 
 That glimpse, flashing upon us and passing ere 
 we could fully realise that the great towering, 
 tumbling mass of snow was indeed Niagara, could 
 scarcely be called our first view of it. When, 
 then, was our real first view ? Was it at the 
 threshold of the Clifton House, when, alighting 
 from the hotel-omnibus, the muffled thunder of 
 the falls seized our attention away from the assi- 
 duous group of porters and waiters around us ; 
 and we turned to the right, and, in the vast open 
 space beyond the road, Niagara broke upon us ? 
 
 I could not describe it then, and I cannot now. 
 Nor then nor since could I ever tell whether the 
 thrill that hushed me at that first sight was half 
 of disappointment or all of surprise at seeing it so 
 unlike what I had expected. But an hour or so 
 later, when — having supped and shaken off the 
 dust of travel, and got our mail and read the 
 more important of our letters — we went out on 
 the broad balcony that runs round two sides of 
 the Clifton House, then was the view of Niagara 
 that we shall always look back to as the first — 
 then was the sight we none of us can ever forget. 
 
THE PALLS OP NIAGAEA. 39 
 
 Ifc wa? a moonless night, and in the dusk we 
 could only obscurely trace the vast, vague outline 
 of the two great falls, divided by the blurred 
 mass of shapeless shadows which we were told was 
 Goat Island. As we looked upon them silently, 
 and listened to the ceaseless boom like distant 
 thunder, which shook the ground beneath our 
 feet, across the snowy veil of the American Fall, 
 to our left, shot rays of rosy light that melted 
 into amber and shifted into emerald. They were 
 illuminating the great waters with coloured cal- 
 cium lights from the opposite shore. I wonder 
 whose first brilliant thought it was to dress Nia- 
 gara up in the attire of Columbine in the trans- 
 formation-scene of a pantomime? It was like 
 putting a tinsel crown and tarlatan skirts on the 
 Venus of Milo ! 
 
 But those green and crimson rays that played 
 across the American Fall, and were turned on 
 and off like a dissolving view, did not reach to 
 the Horseshoe Fall away on our right. Vast, so- 
 lemn, shadowy, we could just distinguish its form 
 in the darkness, could hear the deep murmur of 
 its awful voice. And there, between it and us, 
 what was that we saw ? Was it some huge, pale 
 ghost that stood sentinel before Niagara ? White, 
 spectral, motionless, it rose up in the sky and 
 reached towards the stars— shapeless, dim, vague 
 
40 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 as a veiled ghost. There seemed something 
 supernatural about it ; it was like a colossal 
 spectre standing guard, wrapped in a cloak of 
 strange dim light. We almost wondered whether 
 it was seen by other eyes than our own. 
 
 ' How fine and upright the column of spray 
 is to-night !' observed a strange voice at our 
 elbow. 
 
 That broke the illusion. But yet it seemed 
 impossible that our ghost should be only a pillar 
 of rising and falling spray. We saw it again 
 daily and nightly, but seldom again like that. 
 We saw it blown along in clouds ; we saw it 
 like a great veil hiding the whole face of the 
 fall ; we saw it one evening at sunset leaping 
 like a fountain of liquid gold : but only once 
 agaii) did we see it rise up in that shape — the 
 still and ghostly guardian of the night. 
 
 No mortal eye has ever beheld the base of the 
 great Horseshoe Fall ; it is for ever veiled and 
 lost in a wild, white chaos of foam tossed up by 
 the fury of its headlong plunge, and hiding its 
 depths in mystery. 
 
 Waking in the silence of that night, we were 
 conscious of a ceaseless trembling that shook the 
 doors and windows. The whole great building 
 to its foundations, the solid earth itself, seemed 
 to pulsate in rhythm with the reverberation of 
 
THE FALLS OP NIAGABA. 41 
 
 the falls. "We turned to sleep again, very happy 
 to think that we were truly and literally being 
 ' rocked to sleep ' by Niagara. 
 
 Now Niagara, in its practical phase, was an 
 experience to which we looked forward with dread. 
 To that level of every day's need we knew we 
 must descend from our clouds in the morningr : 
 for, not being disembodied spirits, and flesh being 
 weak, our mortal frames required to be transported 
 from one scene of beauty to another ; and our 
 friends and travelling-companions had been unani- 
 mously discouraging in their descriptions of the 
 diflBculties we must needs face in procuring suit- 
 able means of transport without ruinous ex- 
 penditure. 
 
 ' The hackmen will tear you to pieces !' warned 
 one. ' They are ruffians !' exclaimed another. 
 ' They'll swindle you out of the shoes on your 
 feet !' prophesied the emphatic third. ' They'll 
 have your eye-teeth !' The guide-book also 
 warned us that the hackmen would be ' a 
 source of great annoyance by their continual 
 importunity and extortion,' and that ' no reli- 
 ance should be placed on their statements of 
 distance.' The other warning, that we should 
 have to pay tolls and fees at every step, was as 
 nothing compared with the vehicle difficulty. 
 Accordingly, it was with some feelings of trepi- 
 
42 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 dation that, before we bad got many yards from 
 our hotel, we discovered ourselves to be the 
 objects of attraction to a group of those indi- 
 viduals whom a friend of ours had dubbed 'the 
 hack-fiends.' 
 
 One hack-fiend approached, followed at a little 
 distance by some seven spirits more evil probably 
 than himself. We felt our courage sinking, but 
 assumed a composed and dignified air. He stood 
 before us. 
 
 ' Want a carriage, ladies ?' 
 
 His manner was ingratiating ; his smile was 
 ' child-like and bland ' as that of the late lamented 
 'Ah Sin.' 
 
 We explained that we were going to walk 
 across the bridge, and did not require a vehicle ; 
 whereupon, to our surprise and relief, instead 
 of ' tearing us to pieces,' or making any attempt 
 upon our eye-teeth, our supposed persecutor 
 retired peaceably. 
 
 We walked into the United States, across the 
 suspension-bridge that separates Canada from the 
 land of the Stars and Stripes, and were surprised 
 to find there was nothing to mark the boundary, 
 not so much as even a pictured lion rampant on 
 one side of the bridge, or a screaming eagle on 
 the other. Across the gulf of Niagara, the two 
 nations clasp hands as sisters. The only sign of 
 
THE FALLS OP NIAGARA. 43 
 
 any difference or disfciuction was that the vendors 
 of photographs and Indian curiosities on either 
 side called after us, impressively, 
 
 ' You'll pay double on the other side, ladies !' 
 
 In America we found that there were limits to 
 the pleasure of walking in a glowing August sun ; 
 and when the next hackman approached us we 
 lent him a more willing ear. He offered to drive 
 us round Goat Island, in a handsome carriage- 
 and-pair, for the extravagant sum of, I think, 
 twenty-five cents each ; and we lost faith in our 
 guide-book. 
 
 Goat Island, with its wild tangle of brush and 
 forest, its shady woodland paths and drives, and 
 its delicious nooks, is a place to spend a long day 
 dreaming and wandering, and every now and then 
 coming round a turn in the path into the full 
 view of one or other of the falls. A little wooden 
 bridge and stairs lead on to Luna Island, which 
 breaks the American Fall in two, so that you 
 stand between the two torrents pouring over the 
 cliff at your feet. Further on, you come to the 
 stairs and bridge leading down to Terrapin Eock, 
 from which you enjoy perhaps the most wonder- 
 ful view of all others of the Horseshoe. 
 
 You stand on the rock round which the mighty 
 waters are whirling ; you lean over the railing 
 which seems so fearfully fragile ; and down, sheer 
 
4i BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 down from your very feet, thunders the perpen- 
 dicular ocean of the Horseshoe. Behind you the 
 river roars and rushes madly to the brink ; all 
 around you the wild waters toss in brain-dazzling 
 tumult; and at your feet they hurl themselves 
 down, down, in an unbroken wall of solid snowy 
 foam, till they are lost in the seething caldron of 
 spray below. 
 
 If you can tear your eyes away from the terri- 
 ble fascination that fixes them down to this head- 
 long plunge of the flood, which seems to be 
 bearing you and the whole world down with it, 
 you look round, to the left, on the magnifi.cent 
 'horseshoe' curve of the brink, you notice the 
 wonderful depths of green, ever varying in the 
 sunlight, of the river as it curls to the plunge, 
 in one hollow billow of liquid emerald. Terrapin 
 Tower, which once stood here, is no more ; Table 
 Rock, from which Dickens immortalised his me- 
 morable view, has fallen. This Terrapin Rock 
 remains now the point affording the closest and 
 most complete view of the Horseshoe Fall. 
 
 Further round Goat Island, we come upon the 
 Three Sisters — three little, rocky, wooded islands 
 beyond sight of the falls, but stretching right 
 out into the midst of the rapids of the river 
 above its fall. As far as the eye can see, the 
 long, serried ranks of white-crested waves come 
 
THE FALLS OP NIAGABA. 45 
 
 rushing, hurrying, and tumbling over each other, 
 seething under the bridges, and swirling around 
 the islands, leaping like living things, as if all 
 the demons of the water were struggling and 
 hurtling there, until it seems that the islands 
 themselves must break from their anchorage, and 
 be whirled away in the mad, demoniac dance. 
 
 These little islets are popular spots for picnics, 
 to judge by the signs and tokens strewn among 
 the bushes in the shape of broken bottles and 
 melancholy remains of fruit, bread, and chicken 
 bones. Here are a whole family, father, mother, 
 and half a dozen children, picnicking, with a 
 tablecloth spread under a tree. Here are a bridal 
 couple honeymooning along by the water's edge, 
 he carrying the luncheon-basket. And here is 
 the solitary female tourist, probably ' our own ' 
 correspondent, but possibly merely an independ- 
 ent American woman, clad in a Derby-hat and 
 a waterproof cloak down to her heels, with a 
 guide-book and a field-glass and a packet] of 
 sandwiches. Presently she sits down on a rock, 
 and unpacks her luncheon and a note-book, and 
 looks like a female Crusoe gazing into distance, 
 a hemisphere away from the merry picnickers 
 so near. Here come a party of British tourists, 
 going round with a guide, and grouping about 
 him in a confiding circle at each point of interest. 
 
46 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 as he pauses and harangues. Never a visitor fails 
 to come out on to the Three Sisters ; so, if you 
 stay on any one of the Sisters long enough, you 
 will have the whole visitors' list paraded before 
 you. 
 
 Also, never a one fails to dip a cup or a 
 hollowed hand and drink a draught from the 
 rapids. All guides point out the spot whence 
 the French lady fell, stooping to fill her cup, and 
 was whirled away in an instant, nothing being 
 seen of her but once, for the space of a flash, a 
 hand tossed above the waves. They show you 
 the rock to which Avery clung for twenty hours, 
 for half a day in view of the maddening crowd, 
 who sent raft after raft to reach him, and saw 
 him swept like a weed to destruction at last. 
 They tell you of this man and that man whose 
 boat was caught in the current and carried over, 
 of such an other who was miraculously preserved 
 by seizing a branch just as his canoe was swept 
 a-down the torrent. In the evening, sitting on 
 the piazza in the moonlight, we hear the tale 
 of the two lovers who were walking on Luna 
 Island by the falls, with ' the bride-elect's baby- 
 sister pattering by her side. The lover, in the 
 fulness of high spirits, caught the child up in 
 his arms, and made a playful pretence of throw- 
 ing her down. The little one, terrified, struggled, 
 
THE PALLS OF NIAGARA. 47 
 
 and sprang frona his clasp — over the brink ! In 
 his horror, and in a wild attempt to save the 
 child, the young man rushed to his own death, 
 and the two were swept away before the eyes of 
 the bride-elect. Perhaps her fate, who stood and 
 saw it, was sadder even than the lot of the other 
 ill-starred bride, who went rowing in a little boat 
 with her young husband on the river above the 
 falls. Though warned not to venture too far, 
 they rowed on and on over the smooth, treacher- 
 ous, fair-seeming waters, till the terrible under- 
 current seized their little skiff, and whirled it 
 into the rapids. The last that was seen of them, 
 they were standing up in the rocking boat, clasped 
 in each other's arms. Then, quick as a flash, 
 boat, bride, and bridegroom were engulfed in the 
 horrible depths. 
 
 The Indians held that Niagara claimed its 
 yearly meed of victims. Even to-day there is a 
 saying, when the wind blows in a certain way and 
 the roar of the falls has a peculiar thunderous 
 depth, that ' Niagara is booming ! It is calling 
 for another victim I' And long indeed is the roll- 
 call of the lost. Is the Indian tradition true ? 
 Or does Niagara thus avenge itself upon the civil- 
 ization that has bridged it, and built stairs over 
 it and grottoes under it, and trimmed and tamed 
 its forests, and dressed it up in tinsel-coloured 
 
48 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 lights ? Busy man lays out his parks, and builds 
 his bridges, crackles off his fireworks, lights his 
 little rushlight, and enjoys his little day ! And 
 there before him the ' Thunder of Waters ' thun- 
 ders on eternally ; and before its awful sublimity 
 we are dumb, as in its mighty diapason our feeble 
 voices are drowned. 
 
 Each day we remain there its hold on us gets 
 stronger. Yet it appears that Niagara is not a 
 place where people stay. Bridal couples come, 
 but they do not stay. Is the majesty of the place 
 too overpowering for their happiness ? Tourists 
 arrive overnight and go away next day ; families 
 pay ' the falls ' a passing visit on their way to the 
 resistless magnet of Saratoga. Every day of the 
 season a monster ' excursion ' comes in from 
 somewhere ; and provisions for the comfort of the 
 daily excursionists challenge the eye in the largest 
 of letters all along the bank on either side. ' Root 
 Beer !' ' Arctic Soda !' ' Fine Tea, four cents a 
 cup !' ' Pop,' (whatever that may be) ' five cents !' 
 ' Board by the day or week ! One dollar and a 
 half a day !' (this is evidently quite an aristocratic 
 establishment ; it is like a Brobdingnagian dog- 
 kennel in shape, and drives a thriving trade in 
 fruit, candy, spar bracelets, and feather fans.) 
 The itinerant photographer confronts us at every 
 turning, with his camera all ready to take our 
 
THE FALLS OP NIAGARA. 49 
 
 picture, ' with the falls in the background !' Many 
 of the excursionists bear picnic-baskets, and 
 along the highways and byways of Goat Island, in 
 and out of the wooded nooks of the smaller isles, 
 you may trace them by a track of broken bottles, 
 and bones, a wreck of fruit-peel and pea-nut- 
 shells. Here, wandering apart, is the solitary 
 Englishman, with field-glass and guide-book ; 
 there, in front of the hotel, the social American 
 sits, with his feet higher than his head, and by 
 his side the ubiquitous spittoon. 
 
 After staying for awhile at the Clifton House, 
 we move on to the ' Prospect,' also on the Canada 
 side, which is much nearer to the great Canadian 
 (or Horseshoe) Fall — indeed, it is as near as any 
 building can well be, so near that when the wind 
 sets in that direction the whole house is drowned 
 in spray, and we have to put up our umbrellas if 
 we even step out on the balcony. Here the 
 muffled roar of the cataract in the dead of night 
 has something almost dreadful in it ; we hear it 
 even through our dreams ; it seems to us in the 
 darkness that the flood is all around us, that we 
 are in some drifting ark cut loose from anchorage 
 to the solid earth. 
 
 All day long, from window, piazza, or balcony, 
 we have a full view of the falls. We learn to 
 know by heart the wondrous depth of green light 
 
60 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 just where the ocean of the ' Horseshoe ' takes its 
 one sheer plunge over the curling brink — the 
 broken sunlight on the spray like scattered dia- 
 monds — the shining wall of snow, that strangely 
 seems aerial as a veil of gossamer, yet solid as the 
 rock it hides — of the American Fall. The lower 
 cone of spray at the foot of the ' Horseshoe ' rises 
 and falls rhythmically ; the higher spray tosses 
 up changefully. Sometimes it drifts in clouds j 
 now and then it springs and sinks like a fountain ; 
 occasionally it takes shape in wild arabesques of 
 foam ; more rarely it rises like a column ; but only 
 at night, against the dark amethyst of a moon- 
 less sky, do we get the full, weird, and mystic 
 effect of its standing up to the heavens like a 
 sheeted ghost. 
 
 In the evening, when the fire-flies come out, 
 and the many-coloured lights are lit, I swing in a 
 hammock on the piazza, facing the falls, and look 
 and listen in a waking dream. They have turned 
 a blaze of electric light on the Canadian Fall at 
 last, but it is still held sacred from the pink and 
 blue magic-lantern effects of the American side. 
 The white glare gives an odd, unreal, ghostly 
 appearance to the trees and bushes ; it washes all 
 the colour out of them ; they might be anything 
 but green. The fire-flies glint past me like sparks 
 of living lightning ; they seem fascinated, like 
 
THE FALLS 0¥ NIAGARA. 51 
 
 moths, by the electric lamp ; they flash and swarm 
 ia its broad, white beam till it is all alive with 
 dancing motes of flame. 
 
 In the daytime, of course, we tate the usual 
 excursions. "We explore Cedar Island, Luna, 
 Island, Goat Island, the Three Sisters ; we drive 
 to the Burning Spring, we have a tumbler of its 
 ill-flavoured water dipped up for us, and, having 
 assured ourselves how nauseously like gas it 
 tastes, we enjoy the pleasure of putting a lighted 
 paper to it, and seeing the liquid burst into flame. 
 We descend by the ' inclined railway ' to the foot 
 of the American Fall, and get soaked with spray. 
 We drive to the Whirlpool, a duty in which no 
 Niagara tourist fails. We follow the course of 
 the glass-green river below the falls, and note 
 with ever-recurring wonder how strangely still 
 and serene it runs when once beyond that seeth- 
 ing tumult. Swift, and clear, and peaceful it 
 ghdes at the bottom of the deep gorge, past first 
 the New and then the Old Suspension-bridges, on 
 to the white rush of the great Whirlpool Eapids. 
 There is a ramshackle, falling-to-pieces-looking 
 elevator here, in which those who choose may de- 
 scend to view the rapids from a level. People 
 with nerves generally do not choose. 
 
 The next point of interest is the Whirlpool 
 itself. Here is another ' inclined railway ;' it is, 
 
 E 2 
 
52 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 or looks, of frailer construction than the one by 
 the American Fall, and the little open car rushes 
 down the steep track with an alarming velocity 
 that makes us feel as if we must be perforce pre- 
 cipitated head-foremost into the Whirlpool. At 
 the foot of this break-neck descent, we find our- 
 selves in a beautiful wild-wood walk along the 
 water's edge, tall shady trees overhanging the 
 narrow path on one side, the bank shelving sheer 
 to the water on the other. 
 
 Two deep gorges converge here, and the meet- 
 ing currents eddy round in the great Maelstrom 
 pool. Hither the rapids rush boiling and seething 
 in white fury, each wave tumbling and leaping 
 madly over its fellows, so that in the centre of 
 the stream the furious billows are piled up a dozen 
 feet higher than at the sides. But in the whirl- 
 pool, where these headlong tumultuous torrents 
 find their goal, the green glassy currents glide in 
 a ghastly calm, the circling eddies coil around 
 silently as serpents. There is something more 
 terrible in the quiet of those seeming sluggish, 
 but unresting, ever circling depths, than in the 
 rush and tempest of the rapids. 
 
 Nothing is to be seen for nothing at Niagara ; 
 but we did not begrudge our dollar here, more 
 especially as the young man who accepted it — with 
 an air of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity — mani- 
 
THE FALLS OP NIAGARA. 53 
 
 fested a fraternal anxiety that we should enjoy 
 our dollar's worth. 
 
 ' Bodies that come over the falls, they mostly 
 fetch up here/ he informed us. ' We had seven 
 bodies last season ' (uttering this ghoulish senti- 
 ment with gentle geniality). ' They'll go roun(? 
 'n round in the eddies for days before we can get 
 them. I've seen 'em go slowly round 'n round, 
 'n then suddenly start upright-like. Now, only 
 last week we had two horses, a sheep, and a big 
 dog. Dead ? "Well, I rather think so. The 
 tourists they'd stop down by the brink for hours 
 watching them. There was one horse sucked 
 down — I should think a hundred feet ; we could 
 see the hole deep in the water where he was 
 sucked down. Come up again ? Oh, yes ; things 
 always fetch up sooner or later, but it's sometimes 
 a week before we get 'em. We've nothing in just 
 now — it's a pity,' he finished, in a tone of friendly 
 regret, evidently sympathising with the disap- 
 pointment he was sure we must feel at the absence 
 of ' bodies.' 
 
 So the days pass on, and our untiring eyes 
 drink in the beauties of Niagara in all its varying 
 aspects. One day there is nothing to be seen but 
 a wall of white mist, and the muffled roar of the 
 falls seems to come from a mysterious distance, 
 like echoes of rolling thunder in some other planet. 
 
54 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 One night we get up at midnight to see a lunar 
 bow, a mystic perfect arc, spanning the heavens 
 from horizon to horizon like a faintly glimmering 
 scimitar of cold silvery hues, shot with palest 
 shimmers of gold and blue. We watch the rapids 
 and the falls by sun, and moon, and starlight, and 
 never does the charm of this world's wonder pall 
 upon us, rather the spell holds us faster in its power. 
 "We feel at last there is something awful and 
 oppressive in this thraldom; the fascination of 
 Niagara seems somehow to be overpowering and 
 crushing us. Yet I doubt if we ever of our 
 own free wills should have made up our minds 
 to move on. But the time comes when we have 
 to say good-bye to this enchanted spot, and turn 
 to other wonders of land and water, for the 
 great lakes and the great cities are awaiting us. 
 The last we see of Niagara is the snowy curve 
 of the Horseshoe shining in the sunlight under 
 an azure sky. But it is not that last look which 
 abides with us as our true farewell. The night 
 before our departure, we went out on the balcony 
 in the silver starlight, when the coloured lights 
 had been turned out, and the shadows had fallen 
 on the great white waters, and looked across 
 to the dusky, veiled form of the Canadian Fall. 
 
 There, in the darkness, rose again that spectral 
 sentinel we had seen on our first evening at 
 
THE FALLS OF NUaARA. 65 
 
 Niagara, White, ghostly, dim, it stood up tall 
 under the cold, bright stars. But its vague, 
 misty shape was a little changed ; and out of 
 the shadows it seemed to us to rise like a pale, 
 colossal hand, pointing upwards ! 
 
56 
 
 SKETCHES IN AND AROUND NEW YORK. 
 
 I.— NINETY-FIVE DEGREES IN THE SHADE. 
 
 NiNBTY-PiVE degrees in the shade ! was the tale 
 told by the thermometer. All day Lake Ontario 
 lay like a sheet of blinding blue radiance, against 
 which the little boats stood out in silhouette, 
 so sharp as almost to hurt the eye ; the sands 
 on the shore sparkled like grains of ' the red, 
 red gold ;' the path of sunlight that pointed 
 across the dancing ripples was one dazzle of 
 diamonds. All day the sky was without a fleck 
 of cloud, and the sun's fierce rays fell like flame 
 on whatever they touched. All day our life was 
 one long endeavour to escape 'anywhere, any- 
 where out of the ' heat ! 
 
 We dodged the sun in corners of the piazza 
 overlooking the lake ; we secluded ourselves be- 
 hind curtains and shutters in back rooms ; we 
 were inveigled, by the promise of a breeze and 
 a peach-orchard, into undertaking a drive which 
 
NINBTT-PIVB IN THE SHADE. 57 
 
 whether it was long or short, appeared inter- 
 minable. The very horses flagged in the cruel 
 flood of light ; their ears wilted disconsolately, 
 and their tails had scarcely energy to feebly 
 switch the flies. As for us in our open carriage, 
 neither white umbrellas, green veils, mov puggarees 
 were of any avail against the piercing sun. The 
 prospect of a breeze was a delusion and a snare, 
 and, as for shade, even in the peach-orchard we 
 could only find little patches of shadow immedi- 
 ately under the trees. But the green grass and 
 leafage looked cool and comforting. 
 
 The orchard stretched away for acres and acres 
 — for aught we could tell, it might have been 
 for miles and miles — a true ' wilderness of 
 sweets.' The great trees bowed down, over- 
 burdened with their fragrant load. Each branch 
 bore a wealth of glowing fruit. Peaches, unripe 
 and over-ripe, bestrewed the ground; we trod 
 them down in the long, rank grass : they lay 
 scattered round in a barbaric luxuriance. The 
 owner of the orchard broke off large boughs, 
 bending under their weight of golden-rosy and 
 rosy-purple fruit-globes, for us to carry home. 
 The peaches as we touched them were burning 
 with the sun-glare, and warm to the luscious core. 
 I doubt if we ever tasted such peaches before or 
 since ! 
 
58 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 We lingered in this idyllic orchard, snatching 
 such shelter as we could find, in the scant shadow 
 round the trees, from the sun at its merciless 
 zenith, and dreading to face the return drive 
 along the glaring, white, dusty road to the lake- 
 shore. We wished ourselves back at Niagara 
 Falls, for there the heat, even at 95° in the 
 shade, was always so tempered by the breeze 
 and the spray as to be endurable, if not actually 
 agreeable. 
 
 The sun sloped westward ; the shadows length- 
 ened, and with evening there came a singular 
 change, not in the temperature, but in the atmo- 
 sphere. A strange, lurid, dun-colour overspread 
 the heavens ; a terrible stillness seemed to brood 
 over the earth; not a leaf rustled, nor a bird 
 chirruped ; and the lurid haze, deepening as the 
 dusk drew on, shed a coppery-yellow tinge over the 
 whole landscape. The day is still remembered 
 there as the 'yellow day.' We heard the curious 
 effect attributed to distant forest fires, but it 
 seemed to us that the phenomenal colouring could 
 be only partly due to that cause. 
 
 It was not tempting weather to travel ; but to 
 New York we must go. Moreover, it appeared 
 that to travel by the train for which we had 
 secured sleeping-berths we could not go direct; 
 we must change, and change again. It was the 
 
■NINETY-PIVK IN THE SHADE. 59 
 
 day on which President Garfield, lying between 
 life and death, was removed from Washington to 
 Elberon, and there was a general excitement and 
 eagerness to learn how he bore the journey. At 
 every station the train-boys boarded the car with 
 ' Latest dispatches ;' every traveller had his even- 
 ing paper ; we had ours ; every eye sought eager- 
 ly the latest item : 
 
 Special Dispatch from Delaware. 
 ' President's train just passed. President doing 
 well. He has asked to have the speed of the 
 train increased.' 
 
 Latest from Philadelphia. 
 ' Arrived safely at Philadelphia. Pulse 102.' 
 And I think not a heart but brightened with sym- 
 pathetic gladness as we read, 
 
 ' He bears the transfer remarkably well.' 
 ' Will he live ?' was then the question in every 
 mouth, and none knew surely what was the an- 
 swer the next few days would give. But our 
 thoughts, as the train whirled us on our way, were 
 with that other traveller, the strong man lying 
 helpless on his couch, being borne that day to the 
 sea breezes for which he craved, to the death that 
 waited him there— the dying chief on whom the 
 gaze of all the civilized world was fixed— the 
 second murdered martyr whose blood had been 
 
60 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 poured as a libation at the feet of the country he 
 ruled and served. 
 
 The shades of night fell dark and heavy on 
 the languorous, oppressive air. Presently the 
 conductor put his head in at the door and ob- 
 served, in a casual kind of way, ' Buffalo !' where- 
 upon there was a universal rising, and mustering 
 of hand-baggage, and a general exodus from the 
 car. We collected our portable goods, and, hap- 
 pening to be the last to leave the car, found our- 
 selves stranded on a platform that in the dim 
 lamplight appeared of interminable length and 
 breadth ; we saw no end to it — it seemed to stretch 
 away to the remote regions of the earth. On 
 this level expanse of planking stood a multitude 
 of trains, heading towards all the points of the 
 compass, varied by here and there an engine with- 
 out its legitimate tail of a train, and a train with- 
 out its legitimate head of an engine. The iron rails 
 not being sunk in cuttings, or in any way at all 
 protected, we naturally strayed on the line in 
 front of a locomotive, which startled us by a 
 sharp shriek, and we ' moved on ' in hastei, only 
 to find ourselves on the ' points ' of two other 
 converging 'tracks,' and glared upon by the in- 
 dignant red eye of another locomotive. Our 
 fellow-passengers had all disappeared in divers 
 directions ; lamps were few and far between ; and 
 
NIKETY-MVE IN THE SHADE. 61 
 
 direction-placards there were none; we gazed round 
 blankly in searcli of officials, and found them not ; 
 we made hopeful rushes at trains which we ima- 
 gined might be for New York, and discovered 
 they were going to any and every part of the 
 United States except New York. At last a good 
 Samaritan picked us up, and piloted us through 
 the intricacies of cross lines and junctions, and 
 deposited us in the care of the conductor of 
 the ' New York Pullman Sleeper ' which we had 
 sought in vain. 
 
 It then appeared that, owing to the time we 
 had wasted in wandering and boarding the wrong 
 trains, we had about two minutes and a half to 
 get our supper, and the refreshment-room was 
 'a goodish step off.' Our good Samaritan came 
 to our assistance again. He volunteered to do 
 our errand, as he ' would get through quicker 
 than we should.' Which he certainly did. He 
 was off in a moment with ' seven-league boots ' 
 strides, and within the allotted period he was back 
 again, laden with two paper bags and a pitcher. 
 He must have gone at a pace which would have 
 given him the prize at a foot-race. One bag 
 being opened disclosed rich, golden-ripe bananas, 
 the other substantial sandwiches ; while the pitcher 
 was brimming with that most refreshing of all 
 summer beverages, iced milk. Our Samaritan 
 
62 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 took a seat near us while we discussed this ex- 
 cellent little supper, and it appeared that he was 
 a compatriot of ours, to our surprise, for we had 
 been remarking to each other with a relish of 
 enthusiasm, 
 
 ' This is what it is to be unprotected females in 
 America !' 
 
 ' Where but in America would you find such 
 chivalrous kindness to " Woman in distress !" on 
 the part of a perfect stranger ?' 
 
 However, it turned out he had lived twelve 
 years in America, which satisfactorily accounted 
 for it. But for his providential appearance, I be- 
 lieve we might have been wandering about that 
 bewildering Buffalo depot until now — certainly 
 we should never have found the rightful car 
 wherein we now arranged ourselves contentedly 
 behind the curtains of our little boudoir of a 
 ' section,' to pass the night as comfortably as is 
 possible at ninety degrees Fahrenheit with all the 
 windows shut. 
 
 Is there room for yet another word on the 
 vexed question of the comparative comforts and 
 discomforts of the English and American railway- 
 cars ? I call it a question, although there exists 
 no doubt upon it, save in that class of mind which 
 for ever has had, and for ever will have, the least 
 influence on the world in general — the Cosmo- 
 
NINETY-rrVE IN THE SHADE. 63 
 
 politan class of mind that can see two sides to 
 even an international question. 
 
 In the case of British v. American railway tra- 
 velling, the average American has no doubt. To 
 him the English ' compartment ' suggests only 
 unpleasant probabilities of being locked up with 
 a lunatic, and the even more unpleasant certainty 
 of being inexorably separated from the tank of 
 ice-water his soul delights in. The average 
 Briton has no doubt either. To him the jumbling 
 together of first, second, and third-class in one 
 general car is the axe at the very foundations of 
 society. Even the luxury of the Pullman car 
 does not find its way at once to his favour ; he 
 criticises it, travels in it experimentally, but does 
 not heartily and genuinely accept it yet. 
 
 We started on our journey with a disposi- 
 tion to be pleased with America and all things 
 American, counteracted by a cheerful and impar- 
 tial readiness to detect and dwell upon every 
 crumple in the rose-leaves. Now, in the ordinary 
 American passenger car there are certain draw- 
 backs perceptible to all but the wildest Ameri- 
 can enthusiast. If it is winter, and you happen 
 to sit near the great stove at the end of the car, 
 you find the atmosphere hot, close, and oppres- 
 sive. On the other hand, if it is summer, and 
 the people in front of you open their windows, 
 
64 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 you enjoy a cutting draught, and are probably 
 blinded with dust and ' blacks ' — and the very 
 blackest of blacks, too — from the engine. If you 
 have an Oriental disposition to lounge in luxuri- 
 ous seats, you sigh for the softly-cushioned backs 
 and elbow-rests of your first-class carriage at 
 home. In the American car the back of the seat 
 is low, and you cannot repose your weary head 
 except upon your own bags and bundles. Then, 
 if you are sleepy, you will indulge in a British 
 growl at the conductor's demanding your ticket 
 at any and every station, rousing you from sweet 
 dreams to ' punch ' that wretched slip of card- 
 board, until it is a mere sieve, more hole than 
 card. 
 
 But here fault-finding ends. The American 
 car is a far more animated and amusing scene 
 than our little locked-up prison. Fifty or sixty 
 fellow-passengers afford you proportionately more 
 diversion than half a dozen. Are you thirsty ? — ■ 
 there is ice-water. Are you anxious about the 
 set of your bonnet or your tie ? — there is a look- 
 ing-glass. Are you dull ? — here comes a boy with 
 the day's papers ; then another with the ten-cent 
 novels ; now here is one with Harper's and Frank 
 Leslie's Magazines. Whatever your literary taste 
 may be, here is food for it. Now you are attract- 
 ed by the tempting cry of, ' Fruit ! fine ripe fruit I 
 
NINBTT-FIVE IN THE SHADE. 65 
 
 apples, pears, California grapes !' and then your 
 appetite is tickled by, 'Fresh-baked cakes and 
 candy !' 
 
 All this time the car is rattling along, and you 
 wonder at first where these train-pedlars come 
 from, and when and how they get on and off. 
 They do not pester you to buy their wares, they 
 simply scatter them broadcast as they go, and on 
 their returning round collect either the goods or 
 the money. You find the latest number of the 
 Franklin Square Library thrown into your lap on 
 the top of a packet of chocolate ; you keep them 
 or not as you choose ; the man takes them up 
 when he returns, as a rule without endeavouring 
 to inveigle you into a purchase. Here comes a 
 miserable cripple with every limb distorted. He 
 lays upon everyone's lap as he passes a doggrel 
 ' poem,' professing to be wintten by himself, ap- 
 pealing for charity. I think the last lines, 
 
 ' And God defend you, ladies dear, 
 From a lot like mine to bear !' 
 
 in despite of faulty rhythm and rhyme, somehow 
 touch the hearts of the majority — or else it is 
 the poor fellow's haggard face, for, on his return 
 round, nearly all the ' poems ' are sold. 
 
 When evening is coming on, sensible, sleepy 
 old gentlemen stick their tickets in their hat- 
 bands, fold their arms, and close their eyes. In- 
 
 p 
 
66 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 experienced females put their tickets in their 
 pockets, and go to sleep. By-and-by, round 
 comes the conductor — ' Tickets !' rings out, sharp- 
 ly. The wise old travellers do not arouse them- 
 selves. Their tickets are publicly exhibited in 
 their hats ; their consciences at ease. The sleepy 
 females wake with a start, and, forgetting where 
 they have put their tickets, begin to search wildly 
 in bags and lunch-baskets. One declines to wake 
 at all, until the conductor, weary of tapping her 
 on the shoulder, bellows the magic word in her 
 ear. The Seven Sleepers would have wakened, 
 I think, if that conductor had wanted their 
 tickets. 
 
 We were agreeably disappointed in the smooth 
 running of the American cars. "We had antici- 
 pated being jolted almost to dislocation, and find- 
 ing sleep an impossibility. But the cars upon such 
 roads as the New York Central, the Pennsylvania, 
 and other great lines, run as smoothly as our 
 own. We weak women reap the advantage of 
 our sex in American travel by generally getting 
 good seats in the car, however crowded it may 
 be. On one occasion I wished for a seat in a 
 section near an open window, where none hap- 
 pened to be free. There was a seat, however, 
 which a gentleman had temporarily vacated, leav- 
 
NINETY-FIVE IN THE SHADE. 67 
 
 ing his valise to guard his place. The conductor 
 coolly turned out this valise, and installed me 
 in its place. The owner, on his return, found 
 me in the stead of his baggage, and his baggage 
 in the place of me. The conductor smiled, and 
 I smiled, and he whose right I had usurped 
 smiled too, and we were all mutually satisfied. 
 I must observe, however, that this was an excep- 
 tional case ; it was the one and solitary time 
 that I ever invaded the rights of the unprotected 
 male. 
 
 As night closes, sleep settles down on all the 
 passengers. Looking along the dimly-lighted 
 car, we see nothing but figures swathed, mummy- 
 like, in great-coats and shawls — figures curled 
 up like notes of interrogation — figures with their 
 feet on the seat, and their heads rolling uncom- 
 fortably about, seeking rest, and finding it not, 
 as the car jolts on. Two wakeful and pious indi- 
 viduals have got a hymn-book between them, 
 and are trying to sing what is apparently a 
 funeral dirge in a duet. Otherwise all is quiet 
 as the train plunges on through the darkness, 
 and, as it nears every wayside station, the engine 
 either clangs a brazen bell, or else gives a warn- 
 ing roar like a beast in pain. The American 
 locomotive has a peculiar combination of roar 
 
 f2 
 
68 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 and howl, which, when first we heard it, made 
 us think of a duet between the hyaena and the 
 biggest lion in the ' Zoo.' 
 
 The Pullman sleeping-car by day does not 
 strike us as being very different from the 
 ordinary passenger-car or ' day-coach.' The beds 
 are all put out of sight; and except that the 
 seats are a trifle more roomy, and there is a 
 little more paint and gilding about it, it seems 
 very like the ordinary car. A closer inspection 
 reveals a looking-glass, hat-pegs (and on some 
 lines a little lamp), in each section ; then the 
 stove is shut up in a cupboard out of sight, 
 and there is a ladies' dressing-room (which is 
 scarcely big enough to turn round in, by the 
 way). The car is less crowded, there being 
 seldom more than two people in each section 
 of four seats, the atmosphere consequently purer ; 
 and there is a negro porter to minister to our 
 wants. 
 
 There is a pitch of luxury even beyond the 
 sleeping and drawing-room cars, the ' Hotel Oars,' 
 which run on many of the principal lines. These 
 hotel-cars amply fulfil their promises of the 
 luxury of travel, as we find, when the time 
 comes to test them, and we are well content, 
 albeit our anticipations have been raised, and 
 our appetites tickled by advertisement cards pic- 
 
NINETY-HVE IN THIS SHADE. 69 
 
 taring the toothsome lobster and the foaming 
 champagne, the rich roast beef in prime cut, 
 flanked by dainty patisserie, the succulent pig and 
 wholesome bean of course not being forgotten. 
 
 ' Where is the hotel ?' we inquire of our atten- 
 tive negro porter, having looked along the car in 
 vain for any signs of it. He leads us through a 
 door into a pantry a little larger than a doll's 
 house, where in the neatest of cupboards are 
 symmetrically stowed away shining ranks of plate 
 and glass, and snowy folds of linen. Beyond this 
 we catch a glimpse of an ebon-visaged, white- 
 aproned cook by a doll-stove in a doll-kitchen. 
 This is all ; and this is quite enough, as we dis- 
 cover when the dinner we order at mid-day comes 
 to be served. A little table is set up in our 
 section, a little cloth laid, and a little dinner that 
 should satisfy the most exacting gourmet is spread 
 before us by the willing hands of SambOj who 
 shows his white teeth in an ear-to-ear grin of 
 satisfaction when we express our approbation. 
 The same process is repeated in the evening, 
 when our petit souper (of oysters stewed, oysters 
 fried, oysters broiled, and washed down by spark- 
 ling draughts of amber lager) makes its appear- 
 ance — and disappearance. 
 
 At nightfall the velvet seats slide out into a 
 bed, a shelf above our head is let down and 
 
70 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 forms another couch. Mattresses, sheets, blankets, 
 appear as if by magic ; in five minutes two clean, 
 cosy, curtained beds invite us to repose. 
 ' On the whole, even the long trans-continental 
 journey on the Pullman cars is comfortable, and 
 often enjoyable. We eat, drink, and sleep well ; 
 but there is one mauvais quart d'heure in every 
 day. That is before breakfast, when all the ladies 
 naturally desire to make their toilettes, and the 
 toilette accommodation is limited to one ' wash- 
 bowl' in a cupboard dignified by the name of 
 dressing-room. Outside the door of this apart- 
 ment we stand about in disconsolate groups, 
 variously clad in ulsters, shawls, and dressing- 
 gowns, just as we have tumbled out of our 
 respective berths, each one of us armed with 
 divers toilette-articles, comb, toothbrush, sponge, 
 &c. The gentlemen pass in and out amongst our 
 forlorn and desliaUlU group with admirable equan- 
 imity. The display of loose and streaming tresses, 
 blond and dark, does not appear to interest them 
 one whit, and some of us have very fine hair, too. 
 Others carry their curls or ' switches ' in a small, 
 discreetly-covered basket. 
 
 Once some one forgets a golden chignon, and 
 leaves it hanging on a nail. The negro porter 
 hooks it down with a broad grin, and I see a 
 smile on the swarthy countenance of a big, beard- 
 
NINETY-FIVB IN THE SHADE. 71 
 
 ed miner from the Black Hills, who has evidently 
 ' made his pile,' to judge by his display of rings 
 and chains. He is completing his toilette in 
 public, as the ' Gentleman's Dressing-room ' is 
 crowded. He stands six feet in his shirt-sleeves, 
 and puts on his top-boots, his vest, and coat as 
 serenely as if he were in his own log-cabin, in- 
 stead of opposite to a young woman in a scarlet- 
 sLawl and a blue dressing-gown, occupied mer- 
 maid-like with a comb and a looking-glass. 
 
 ' Twenty minutes for breakfast !' shouts the 
 porter, as the long train slackens into the so- 
 called ' dep6t,' which is probably a couple of sheds 
 and an eating-room ; and such of us as are ready, 
 hungry, and energetic, obey the call of the gong 
 that roars and rattles at the breakfast-room door. 
 Those of the party who have not yet succeeded in 
 getting into their outer garments, or who do not 
 care for the rush of railroad meals, rely on the por- 
 ter's willingness to get their cups or kettles filled 
 with hot coffee, spread their own table (a towel or 
 newspaper for table-cloth), and unpack their lunch- 
 basket for breakfast— ham, hard eggs, and so on, 
 
 "Well, they are careless, painless, happy hours — 
 with all their small inconveniences. In other 
 days we shall look back and sigh to live again 
 that life on the Pullman car whose petty annoy- 
 ances we grumbled at then. But this is a digres- 
 
72 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 sion, as other memories of other journeys crowd 
 in between me and that sleeping-car from Buffalo 
 to New York. 
 
 "Well, morning comes to us at last, as we toss 
 wakefuUj on the soft mattresses, which seem to 
 us stuffed with hot coals. At Poughkeepsie, on 
 the Hudson River, we make a light breakfast of 
 milk, peaches, and delicate corn-bread ; at half- 
 past ten we arrive in New York City. And, when 
 we get there, we wish ourselves back on the 
 shores of Lake Ontario, or at Niagara, or in the 
 train again, anywhere — in the bewildering maze 
 of the Buffalo d^pot, even — anywhere but where 
 we are. For New York seizes us, the moment 
 we set foot on its glq,ring pavements, in the grip 
 of its terrible heat — the stifling city heat, so 
 much more baleful than any tropical temperature 
 by riverside, lake, hill, or forest. 
 
 A friend has come to meet us ; he looks flaccid 
 and limp and half-melted, in spite of his alpaca 
 coat and cool white straw hat. He seems glad 
 to see us, but I fear it is less from affection than 
 because he has reached that stage of suffering 
 at which it becomes a comfort to hail fellow- 
 victims. 
 
 ' "Well, Jack, how is New York ?' we inquire. 
 
 ' How's New York ?' he repeats, disconsolately. 
 ' It's the Black Hole of Calcutta !' And we dis- 
 
NINETY-FIYB IN THE SHADE. 73 
 
 cover too soon, alas ! that his expression is only 
 a slight and pardonable exaggeration. 
 
 There is not k breath of air stirring ; it seems 
 that there is no air to stir; it is impossible to 
 realise that there ever was a breeze in this city, 
 or that there ever will be a breeze again. The 
 atmosphere is like an oven ; there actually and 
 literally seems to be a smell of fire in it. Can it 
 be that the faint and far-off odour of the forest 
 fires is wafted even here? The sky looks all 
 sun ; it closes down upon the city like molten 
 brass. The huge cherry-red-brick block of the 
 monster Windsor Hotel, towering up to the skies, 
 absolutely makes us blink; the majestic and 
 monotonous ' brownstone fronts ' of Fifth Avenue 
 have a funereal air with all their shutters closed ; 
 the few pedestrians out creep droopingly at a lan- 
 guid pace down the avenue's shadeless length, of 
 which the sun has full possession. There is a 
 narrow line of blessed shade in the cross streets, 
 and everyone there takes grateful advantage of 
 it, skirting close to the area railings. It is 100° 
 in the shade, hut- feels like 250^. 
 
 Arrived at our rooms, which are all ready for 
 us, we find that every woman is in a state of collapse 
 from the heat, and every man 'down town' at his 
 business. We are too exhausted to pity these 
 working bees much, or think what the swarming 
 
74 BETWEEN TWa OCEANS. 
 
 hive of Broadway ' down town ' must be to-day. 
 Rather we rejoice in their absence, as it enables 
 us to make life just livable by opening every door 
 and window wide, and lying down in a tropical 
 neglig^ of white wrappers and loosened hair, with 
 fans, eau-de-Oologne, and iced lemonade at hand. 
 One comfort is that the intense heat seldom 
 lasts long unbroken in New York ; it comes and 
 goes in spells, and one grows to a certain extent 
 acclimatised and habituated to it. 
 
 II.— THE CITY IN SOKKOW. 
 
 The sunny September days melted by, and there 
 came that not-to-be-forgotten day when the bells 
 tolled out the death of President Garfield, and 
 the message flashed across the sea that clothed 
 two hemispheres in mourning. Was there a home 
 in all America over which a gloom was not cast 
 that day ? There was but one thought of sorrow 
 in the land ; the heart of the nation beat with 
 one regret ; the word on every lip was, ' The Pre- 
 sident is dead.' 
 
 Yes, he was dead for whom we had so long 
 hoped against hope, and dreamt that his own iron 
 will and the united prayer of the nation might 
 avail to save him. His name was called, and the 
 love and longing of wife, children, country, could 
 
THE OITT IN SOBEOW. 75 
 
 not hold him back from the dark trjst that he 
 must keep. Yet perhaps (it was the thought in 
 many a mind) it might be that his death — a 
 second blood-red seal of sacrifice set upon the 
 Union — would do more to weld the nation toge- 
 ther, and to unite opposing factions in a harmony- 
 above partisan strife, than even he, with all his 
 heroic purpose, could have achieved in life. 
 
 Never was national mourning more universal, 
 more spontaneous and sincere, never sympathy 
 more world-wide. Far-off London tolled its bells, 
 half-masted its flags, even checked the tide of the 
 world's business, in sympathy with America's loss. 
 All over the European Continent the echoes of 
 the funeral knell awoke a reverent response ; the 
 churches of all denominations prayed, ' God rest 
 his soul !' The Old World and the New united 
 in one homage and one lament. 
 
 And surely well worthy of all this manifesta- 
 tion was the brave, earnest, whole-souled man, 
 who had worked his way from his lowly place 
 by the canal-boat to the highest post in his 
 great land — who set so brave an example of 
 patience and endurance — of whom, during his 
 eighty days of martyrdom, no utterance of resent- 
 ment or revenge is recorded — who, shot down 
 mercilessly, in his vigorous prime, passed without 
 words of bitterness or vengeance — he, who, 
 
76 BETWEEN TWO OOBAKS. 
 
 years before, at the tumultuous time of Lincoln's 
 death, had calmed the furious passions of the 
 riotous crowd by the words that echo so nobly 
 and pathetically back from the past, now that 
 he too, like his great predecessor, has fallen by 
 the assassin's bullet — 
 
 ' God still reigns ! and the government at 
 Washington still lives !' 
 
 That week of mourning in New York was a 
 marked time, to be for ever remembered. The 
 whole city was robed in ' the trappings and the 
 suits of woe.' From the highest to the lowest, 
 from the Fifth Avenue mansion to the squatter's 
 shanty, each home hung out its sign of sorrow. 
 Broadway broke out in an eruption of black 
 and white drapery (we noticed a surprising 
 amount of white in the mourning emblems) ; it 
 looked as if there had been an enormous and 
 unanimous wash of sable and snowy garments, 
 all hung on lines across and across the street. 
 The star-spangled banner, generally looped with 
 crape, floated in all sizes and of all materials 
 from a thousand windows; from the little ten- 
 cent paper flag to the imposing patriotic bunting 
 waving from side to side of the road. Many 
 houses displayed portraits of the two murdered 
 presidents, inscribed, 'Our Martyrs!' or 'They 
 Died for Us !' Some added a third picture of 
 
THE OlTr IN SORROW. 77 
 
 Washington, the ' Father of his Country.' The 
 cart-horses wore crape rosettes in their ears ; 
 each little boot-black tied a bit of black round 
 the flag on his stand ; the itinerant vendor had 
 a mourning knot on his barrow. 
 
 Now and then it struck us with a sort of 
 ghastly reminiscence — a kind of funereal bur- 
 lesque — of a boat-race day ! But far more often 
 the poor man's scarf of black rag at his window 
 — the tumble-down shanty's Stars and Stripes — 
 moved us like that magical ' touch of nature ' 
 which, across the barriers of foreign language 
 and alien race, across even the pitiless gulf of 
 caste, yet makes ' the whole world kin !' And 
 here there was no barrier between our sympathies 
 and the sorrow of the land we had learned to 
 love ; and no native American mourned the mur- 
 dered President more sincerely than did we 
 strangers and sojourners in the land. 
 
 Mingled with the genuine and widespread 
 regret in the great Empire city, there naturally 
 came into play the universal relish of a sensation 
 so deeply implanted, especially in the feminine 
 breast. The mourning display afforded the boon 
 of an inexhaustible topic of conversation. We 
 had it for breakfast, for luncheon, and for dinner. 
 
 'Tiffany's is perfectly splendid!' one of our 
 friends and fellow-boarders would observe, en- 
 
78 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 thusiastically. ' It's the most elegant display 
 down town ! The whole front of the building 
 draped in rich, plain black, like a pall !' 
 
 ' Did you go and see the Post Office ?' the next 
 would exclaim. ' It's very effective ! And the 
 Astor House is elegant! And do you know Park 
 and Tilford's have only got one flag out ?' 
 
 'Well, I say Stewart's store makes the finest 
 show !' pronounced a third. 
 
 Thus we compared notes, and each one had her 
 word to say ; for we had all been spending our 
 day going up and down town in the cars to see 
 what was to be seen. 
 
 Our friend Jack C' and his pretty little 
 
 wife sometimes joined us in our wanderings. 
 Jack used to look around upon the display of 
 crape and bunting in a silence that, with him, 
 need not necessarily have implied disapprobation, 
 as he was never much addicted to conversation. 
 He professed to disbelieve in any mourning that 
 expressed itself in 'customary suits of solemn 
 black ;' and no external manifestation ever suc- 
 ceeded in moving him to sympathy. 
 
 ' Oh, Jack, come and mourn,' the little wife 
 would coax him. ' We're going to take the stage 
 down Broadway ! Come with us, and see the 
 mourning.' 
 
 ' I have mourned,' said Jack, gravely. ' I have 
 
THE OITT IN SOBEOW. 79 
 
 mourned in a crape-hung lager-beer saloon. I 
 have ridden up town behind a mourning locomo- 
 tive ; and I have eaten black candy at a candy- 
 store — I think it was coloured with ink !' he add- 
 ed, with a retrospective grimace. Try as we may, 
 we never can make Jack sentimental. Yet some- 
 times I wonder whether his apathy in the pres- 
 ence of all this stirring manifestation of a genuine 
 grief is due entirely to his dislike of public 
 demonstration and display — or whether in the 
 depths of his democratic soul there lurks an idea 
 that this centralisation of the national feeling is 
 dangerous to the pure principles of Democracy, 
 bears in it the germ of a tendency towards the 
 downward stages of the Third Term, Life-Elec- 
 tion, First Consulate, Empire! But maybe this 
 interpretation is only and entirely ray own ' fancy '; 
 for Jack's dispassionate and philosophic equanim- 
 ity would under no circumstances be a condition 
 to be disturbed by the death of a king or a presi- 
 dent. Jack morally and theologically is the out- 
 come and product of to-day, or rather, perhaps, 
 of the reactionary movement against this go- 
 ahead, practical, materialistic ' day ' of ours ! To 
 him there is no such thing as death, he does not 
 see how it can matter much whether he or you or 
 I are living in the next world or in this. If Gar- 
 field began a noble work here, he is no doubt 
 
80 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 continuing it in the next world. Here or there, 
 what matters it ? it's work, and it's Life, whatever 
 planet it is in, is Jack's calm and comfortable 
 creed. 
 
 "When his dearest friend died, he smiled a 
 meditative smile, as he said, 
 
 ' I wonder how old Joe feels, walking about the 
 next world to-day ? He was always doubtful 
 whether there was such a place. I'd give some- 
 thing to see him looking around and making him- 
 self at home there just now !' 
 
 m.-BLACKWELL'S ISLAND. 
 
 The vertical rays of the New York sun — as fierce 
 still in October as our English sun in July- — 
 poured down upon wharf and river. 
 
 ' If we have got to wait for the boat, I shall sit 
 down,' said the eldest member of our international 
 quartette (a lady who habitually speaks in the im- 
 perative, and to whom ' can't ' is unknown when 
 she says ' shall'). 
 
 ' There is a waiting-room. But there's a 
 " drunk " locked up in there,' observed the man of 
 the party, with his unsmiling, American imper- 
 turbability ; ' you can see him making grimaces 
 through the grating.' 
 
 ' There's an office. We will go in there,' re- 
 
BLAOKWBLL S ISLAND. 81 
 
 joined the Empress, magnificently regardless of 
 the large-lettered 'Private' on the said office- 
 door. 
 
 We accordingly went in, and, finding the office 
 empty, calmly took our seats on official-looking 
 chairs. We did not rest our weary limbs long, 
 however ; the windows were tightly closed, and 
 the stove, on this warm, summer-like day, was 
 blazing as if the thermometer had stood at zero 
 outside. We bore it about three minutes, and 
 then retreated. 
 
 ' You Americans like to live in ovens !' ob- 
 served the Empress, as she looked back longingly 
 at the chair from which she had been driven, and 
 the stove which seemed to glow triumphantly. 
 
 ' There's a pile of clean lumber on the wharf,' 
 said Jack, somewhat meekly offering his sugges- 
 tion. ' You might sit on that.' 
 
 We availed ourselves of his idea. We dusted 
 the timbers with his pocket-handkerchief, sat 
 down, and asked him to hold a sun-umbrella 
 over us. 
 
 We and a score of others were waiting for the 
 official boat which was to convey us all — all being 
 a melee of prisoners, lunatics, visitors, patients, 
 and nurses — to Blackwell's Island, upon which 
 are situated the hospitals, asylums, and peniten- 
 tiary. We looked round us, as we waited on the 
 
 G 
 
82 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 wtarf, apprehensive of the neighbourhood of 
 some raving lunatic or small-pox patient ; but no 
 such object of alarm was near ; there were groups 
 of people well and ill-dressed, in every style and 
 material, from corduroy to broadcloth, from shab- 
 biest of calico up to richest of satin. We could not 
 help wondering why one lady who bore an enor- 
 mous bouquet had arrayed herself in a gorgeous 
 costume of brocade and velvet for such an occa- 
 sion. We saw no signs of peculiar character 
 about the company, except the ' drunk ' making 
 faces through the grating, and occasionally start- 
 ling us by the utterance of a playful howl, which 
 appeared to be a favourite joke of his, as he 
 always followed it up with a wild laugh. 
 
 Presently the little steamer from the island 
 appeared, and, as her passengers filed off on 
 shore, we perceived that many of the waiting 
 party were here simply to meet their friends. 
 The discharged prisoners crossed the gangways 
 first — two or three hulking fellows, one looking 
 shame-faced, another sullen, another jovially hail- 
 ing his ' mates,' who were on the wharf to give 
 him greeting. 
 
 Then came the convalescents discharged from 
 hospital. One pale and drooping girl, with a 
 baby in her arms, was immediately lost in the 
 large embrace of a vigorous Irish matron ; one 
 
BLACKWELL S ISLAND. 83 
 
 forlorn old womati, in faded gown and ragged 
 apron, came tottering ashore, looking as if she 
 ought to be in the hospital still. This living 
 cargo discharged, the steamer was ready to take 
 our mixed company on board. We visitors as- 
 cended to the upper deck ; the prisoners, patients, 
 and warders — we were gratified to find how very 
 few there were of the former on this trip — van- 
 ished from our sight in the regions below. 
 
 It is. a pleasant hour's sail across the calm 
 waters of the Bast River, scattered thickly with 
 vessels of all kinds, sizes, flags, and nations. 
 Jack is exercised in his mind because he cannot 
 permanently impress upon the brain of Jill the 
 difference between a brig and a barque, which he 
 tells her on an average once a week. Nor can 
 Jill be persuaded that it matters at all which is 
 which. The Empress keeps gazing around curi- 
 ously ; she is slow to realise that there are nei- 
 ther convicts nor invalids upon our deck ; she has 
 a fount of compassion all ready to gush for the 
 ' poor prisoners ' and the ' poor patients,' and is 
 disappointed to find there are none in sight. The 
 young lady in the elaborate toilette laughs and 
 talks at the top of a fresh young voice. Our first 
 idea was that she must be going to visit some 
 unfortunate friend, and bearing the bouquet as 
 
 g2 
 
84 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 an offering. But she is too lively to be bent on 
 any such errand. 
 
 Arrived at Blackwell's Island, Jack leads the 
 way towards a big grey granite convent-like 
 building, the hospital. Two of the nurses, bright 
 trim young women in fancy aprons and pretty 
 capSj are playing croquet on the strip of green 
 turf under the windows. Their neat figures and 
 fresh faces lend a cheerful aspect to the scene. 
 Our quartette is brought to a standstill here, not 
 wholly to watch the nurses' recreation. The em- 
 press declares she is afraid of fever or small-pox 
 in hospitals. Jill says she hates the sight of sick 
 people. Jack replies that we need not enter the 
 ' infectious ' wards, and that this hospital is a 
 very interesting sight. He casts a regretful 
 glance at the great closed door ; but he yields to 
 the feminine vote, and leads us on — he only 
 knows the road — past the hospital to the next 
 building, the penitentiary, which seems to us 
 bigger, greyer, gloomier than the other. We 
 observe that there can be little fear of an escape 
 from a prison arranged on this American plan — a 
 huge two or three storied block of cells enclosed 
 in a massive quadrangular building, a wide stone 
 passage running all round between the impene- 
 trable walls and the tiers of cells, which somehow 
 reminded me of nothing so much as a beehive. 
 
blaokwell's island. 85 
 
 The majority of the cells were empty, the pri- 
 soners being out at work, and, the doors being 
 set open, afforded us a good opportunity of in- 
 specting the interiors. If the general external 
 appearance of the mass of cells reminded me of a 
 beehive, the interiors suggested only the work of 
 the undertaker. Each cell was like a coffin. The 
 narrow pallet bed, the cold floor, the cold walls, 
 the cruel-looking grated door, all seemed to be 
 made more for death than life. Could it be called 
 life that was lived there ? 
 
 Some of the cells were dreary and blank, and 
 hopeless-looking as the grave ; others bore pa- 
 thetic signs of the prisoners' dreams of home. 
 There were little pictures, photographs or en- 
 gravings, pinned on the bare white walls ; here a 
 crucifix, there a cheap little image of the Virgin 
 and Child, set over the narrow bed, to bless the 
 inmate's slumbers. One cell was adorned with 
 pictures cut from the illustrated papers ; in an- 
 other there was one solitary decoration — a coarse- 
 ly washed-in water-colour head of a young woman 
 with very big blue eyes and bright auburn hair. 
 It was but a poor schoolgirl production, but we 
 wove a romance around it, and wondered whether, 
 when the time came for this prisoner to leave his 
 coffin -like cell and breathe free air again, she 
 would be waiting on the wharf to greet him I 
 
86 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 We passed on to the women's quarters, similar 
 in every respect, and visited the work-room, 
 where the inmates of the now empty cells were 
 sewing. One matron was seated on a raised 
 platform, keeping guard over the orderly ranks 
 of silent women in their melancholy convict garb, 
 bending over their coarse needlework. Another 
 matron entered with us to show us round. At 
 sight of our party a low murmur of interest arose 
 here and there among the workers, which was 
 promptly hushed by the matron in authority. 
 Two or three women were lying full length on 
 the benches at the back of the room. 
 
 ' They're sick,' explained the matron, ' but just 
 not sick enough to go to hospital.' 
 
 'They have headaches, I suppose,' observed 
 Jill, sympathetically, thinking of her own pet 
 ailment. 
 
 ' We can't allow them to be fanciful about 
 mere headaches,' the matron replied, with a quiet 
 smile. 
 
 There was a masculine growl from the back- 
 ground. 
 
 ' No, prisoners can't afford such luxuries,' mut- 
 tered Jack. 
 
 We presently quitted the penitentiary, and set 
 out to walk through the grounds to the lunatic 
 asylums. It was a long walk, as we discovered 
 
blackwell's island. 87 
 
 when we had accomplished a mile's march under 
 a glaring afternoon sun. Jill and I led the way, 
 and as Jack had to accommodate his pace to the 
 leisurely steps of the Empress, we soon left them 
 far behind. There were so few trees to tempt us 
 to slacken our pace and linger in their shade that 
 we got over the ground quickly. We passed by 
 various workshops — blacksmiths', carpenters', and 
 so on — in all of which the male convicts, in their 
 hideous brown and yellow striped clothes, were 
 busy at work. We met them in pairs, and trios, 
 and gangs, carrying their tools and implements, 
 and apparently quite unguarded. Once, in a 
 lonely grove, when Jack and the empress were 
 far out of sight and hearing, Jill and I came upon 
 a couple of huge hulking convicts, one carrying 
 a pickaxe and the other armed with a desperate- 
 looking saw with vicious teeth. We drew a little 
 closer together as we passed them, and afterwards 
 felt rather ashamed of ourselves for shrinking 
 away from our fellow human-creatures, because 
 they wore striped clothes, especially as the burly 
 bearer of the pickaxe made way for us respect- 
 fully, and cast an admiring glance on Jill's girlish 
 beauty. We passed another gang of convicts 
 busy breaking stones ; on the wall by them there 
 was a placard warning us in large letters ' not to 
 loiter near the prisoners, nor address them in any 
 way.' 
 
88 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 We are all tired — at least we three of the 
 weaker sex — when we reach the asylum, and are 
 glad to sit down and rest in a handsome parlour, 
 with a billiard-table in the centre. Jack is not 
 in the least fatigued, which annoys us. Jack 
 is always aggravatingly robust ; but, poor fellow, 
 he does his best to make amends for his aggres- 
 sive health and strength by attending to our 
 comforts in every way. When we are hungry, 
 thirsty, tired, too hot or too cold, Jack ministers 
 unweariedly and devotedly to our needs, so we 
 forgive him for never being tired himself. Soon 
 the doctor, head of the asylum, appears ; Jack 
 pulls out a letter of introduction, and presents 
 himself and his party. Then another doctor 
 and another group of visitors enter the parlour ; 
 and the two companies coalesce, and set out 
 together upon the round of the asylum. 
 
 We are shown first into the sleeping quarters 
 of the female patients. A wide, airy corridor, 
 neat little rooms with clean, white beds, the 
 whole aspect of the place fresh, and pretty, and 
 pleasant ; a large, sleek cat purring in a patch 
 of sunlight. 
 
 ' They make a great pet of the cat,' the doctor 
 observes. 
 
 We pass on to a large parlour, the general 
 sitting-room of this ward. The patients are 
 
blaokwkll's island. 89 
 
 sitting all round the room ; the benches that 
 line the walls are crowded with them, so that 
 it looks as if they were awaiting some entertain- 
 ment. Most of them are sitting perfectly quiet ; 
 a very few are talking; we count three, seated 
 with their faces buried in their hands, dumb, 
 motionless, immobile as stone images. Only one 
 takes any notice of our entrance. This one little, 
 elderly woman springs to her feet immediately 
 at sight of us, and begins to dance. In the 
 centre of the room, with her arms akimbo, she 
 performs a fantastic jig, capers, stamps, shuffles, 
 and pirouettes, and finally drops a low curtsey, 
 and stands as if waiting for applause. 
 
 Two or three others follow us in from the 
 hall, and are evidently more sociably disposed 
 than those seated round the room. One shakes 
 hands with the doctors cordially, and wishes to 
 be introduced to us. On our inquiring to whom 
 we have the pleasure of speaking, she presents 
 herself as 'the wronged and unfortunate Countess 
 of Lancashire, and the deserted wife of General 
 Grant.' She adds that the general disapproves 
 of her claim to the throne of England, and she 
 would like her case to be fairly represented to 
 Queen Victoria. Another holds my hand, and 
 gazes earnestly in my face as she asks, 
 
 ' Did they burn down your theatre, too ?' 
 
90 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 They are most of them poorly dressed, all 
 evidently according to their own fancy ; it is 
 clear that every possible latitude is allowed for 
 the gratification of their whims, and the kindness 
 with which they are treated needs no further 
 proof than the hearty goodwill and pleasure with 
 which one and all of those who speak to our 
 party greet the doctors, and the gentle and 
 cordial manner of the latter to the patients. 
 
 We proceed on to another ward, devoted to 
 those cases in a shade better condition of mind. 
 There are the same airy passages, neat rooms, 
 fresh, white beds, the same kind of large, general 
 parlour, and, to our inexperienced eyes, exactly 
 the same-looking class of patients. Only here no 
 one dances to us, and no one puts in a claim to 
 the crown of England. Then we leave the house, 
 and go out to the pavilions in the grounds. One 
 of these is laid out expressly for the entertain- 
 ments, dramatic or musical, which are frequently 
 given for the amusement of the patients, who, 
 as a rule, take the greatest pleasure and interest 
 therein. In this pavilion to-day, a sewing-bee 
 is going on, presided over by a cheerful, pleasant 
 matron. Almost all the women here are stitch- 
 ing industriously, some appealing to the matron, 
 like children, for advice, praise, or encourage- 
 ment. One only holds herself aloof from the 
 
blaokwell's island. 91 
 
 working circle. She is dressed in faded finery, 
 with a very long train to her calico gown, and 
 a fantastic coronet of gilt paper on her grey 
 hair. She sweeps up and down the room with 
 a haughty air, holding her head proudly and 
 disdainfully as she passes us by. She never 
 ceases from her restless pacing to and fro, nor 
 speaks a word, nor unbends from her haughty 
 bearing ; and the matron warns us not to tread 
 upon her train, as she deems herself entitled to 
 royal privileges. 
 
 The ' chronic cases ' reside in another of the 
 pavilions in the gardens. These are not in- 
 dulged in the separate apartments of the indoor 
 patients, but all sleep in one long, airy dormitory. 
 The majority of them seem very sociable, and 
 several crowd around our party as we enter the 
 room. One old Irishwoman catches hold of Jill, 
 and gazes affectionately in her face, than which a 
 fairer can seldom have smiled upon that ward. 
 
 ' Ah, sure thin ! and have they the heart to 
 shut up a pretty young crater hke this ?' the old 
 woman exclaims. 
 
 Then she turns her attention to me, and em- 
 barrasses the doctor by asking him his opinion as 
 to our respective charms. But Jill is evidently 
 her favourite, and she lays an appealing hand on 
 Jack's sleeve, and calls upon him for champion- 
 ship. 
 
92 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 ' Sure now, isn't she too young to be here ? 
 What a burning shame on them that sent her ! 
 Are ye her father, sir ?' 
 
 Jack does not look flattered as he disclaims 
 that relationship; and Jill bursts into gleeful 
 laughter like a child. 
 
 A German woman comes up and plunges into 
 a voluble discourse in her native tongue, undis- 
 couraged by the fact that we can neither under- 
 stand nor answer her. Then down the long ward, 
 with a slow, languid step, comes a girl who at 
 once arrests our attention. She is dressed all in 
 white ; her long, black hair streams down to her 
 waist ; her pale face is downcast, and her eyes 
 never lifted from the ground ; and something 
 about her altogether reminds us of Morris's 
 description of his ' Beata Domina ' with her ivory 
 cheeks — 
 
 ' Hollowed a little mournfully.' 
 
 ' I should like to speak to her,' I exclaimed, 
 eagerly, following her along the ward. She has 
 sunk down on a bench limply and listlessly, her 
 head drooping, and her arms hanging heavily 
 by her side. I can think of nothing to ask her 
 but— 
 
 ' What is your name ?' 
 
 No answer. 
 
 ' Come, look up and speak to the lady,' says 
 
blaokwbll's island. 93 
 
 the doctor, cheerily. ' She asks you what's your 
 name ?' 
 
 The pale face was slowly lifted, with a vacant, 
 unmeaning glance. 
 
 ' I — don't know ; I — don't — remember,' faintly 
 and wearily uttered, was all the answer we could 
 get to that or any other question. 
 
 ' It is a case of hopeless melancholia,' the 
 doctor said. ' She will sit all day like that. No, 
 she is never troublesome ; only her mind is a 
 blank. She knows nothing, remembers nothing, 
 seems to recognise nobody. She is obedient and 
 manageable — but sometimes she has long fits of 
 crying. No, I don't know what her story is, or 
 how she came to be in this state.' 
 
 It was too late for us to go through the other 
 wards, the blind asylum, or the workhouse, that 
 day ; we had to hasten our departure to catch the 
 boat for New York, on board of which we had the 
 company of about seventy convicts, who filed 
 across the gangway in military order and dis- 
 persed themselves, about the deck, looking like a 
 herd of zebras in their striped garb. There was 
 also an intoxicated woman, who lifted up her 
 voice and wept vociferously most of the way. 
 The twilight closed in on us softly and suddenly 
 as the little steamer cut through the calm waters 
 back to the great city; and Jack smoked in 
 
94 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 silence, opening his mouth at last to propound 
 the question whether we would rather be prison, 
 ers or lunatics ? Re-calling the bright, airy- 
 rooms, the neat, white beds, the gay gardens, the 
 kind, brisk nurses, the cheery doctors, we all 
 agreed that we would prefer the asylum to the 
 penitentiary — at least, on Blackwell's Island. 
 
 IV.— IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 ' It's a fine day,' observes Jack. ' Let us go out. 
 There's a time for all things, and this is no day 
 for bricks and mortar.' 
 
 We lean out of the window, Jill and I, and 
 quite agree with him. 
 
 It is a fine November day, not the grey Novem- 
 ber of London, but the golden November of New 
 York. The softness of Indian summer is in the 
 air. Over our heads arches a sky of pure and 
 perfect azure light. Opposite our eyes, brown- 
 stone houses compose the prospect, the beginning 
 and end of our outlook. We have an excellent 
 view into our vis-a-vis neighbours' rooms, as they, 
 being on the shady side of the way, have opened 
 all their blinds and windows. Lower down, we 
 see a rank of street-doors and high ' stoops ' — the 
 usual high stoops that are the New Yorker's 
 pride and the weary-footed visitor's bane, as he 
 
IN THE INDIAN SUMMEE. 59 
 
 or she climbs the seemingly interminable steps. 
 On the side-walk the morning's ash-barrels, not 
 yet cleared, are arranged with artistic regularity. 
 The sun-glare beats on the white stone of the 
 pavement and the brown stone of the houses. 
 By leaning very far out of the window, we can 
 catch a distant glimpse of one small and very 
 sickly-looking tree who has shed nearly all his 
 leaves. 
 
 From Sixth Avenue the rattle and roar of the 
 elevated railroad storms and stuns our ears, 
 the intervals between the passing trains being 
 sweetly filled by the jingle of car-bells and clatter 
 of the surface trafiic. From Fifth Avenue, on 
 the other side, the low, faint rumble of the 
 carriages, on their way to the park, is lost in 
 the Sixth Avenue uproar. Most of the streets 
 in the residential quarters of New York are as 
 much alike as peas in a pod ; but the blocks 
 between Fifth and Sixth Avenues have a certain 
 character unshared by their brethren further east 
 or west. They bear a stamp of the individuality 
 of the great Gotham; they present a stronger 
 contrast of the diverse lives lived, side by side 
 and yet separate, in a smaller compass than 
 can be found elsewhere. On one hand the aris- 
 tocracy, the elegance, the wealth, the stately self- 
 possession, the somewhat monotonous dignity of 
 
96 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Kfth Avenue. On the other, the plebeian sights 
 and sounds, the carts and vans, the five-cent-cars, 
 the workmen's trains, the street-stalls and lager- 
 beer saloons, the odour of fish, and cabbage, and 
 stale tobacco, the bars, the butchers, the demo- 
 cracy of Sixth Avenue. Side by side, close as 
 parallel, they run, these representatives of the 
 Ten and the million, patrician velvet and plebeian 
 corduroy. 
 
 ' London smoke is bad enough !' observes Jill, 
 casting a glance up and down the rank of 
 ' brown-stone fronts,' ' but there is something 
 peculiarly enraging to me about the eternal 
 brown-stone of New York ! It has a prim sort 
 of self-consciousness — a dreary dignity — that is 
 positively exasperating !' 
 
 Jack is seen to make reply; for his lips move 
 eloquently, and the expression of his counten- 
 ance is glum ; but, like the ' good little boy,' 
 he is seen and not heard, for an ' L ' road train 
 just then thunders by with a burst of demoniacal 
 scroops and shrieks. Jack criticises New York 
 severely himself — when Jill does not ; but he, 
 as a rule, conscientiously opposes her ; he is one 
 of that, unfortunately, rather large class who 
 manifest their affection by always taking the 
 opposite side to that espoused by their beloved. 
 Then, poor fellow ! he cannot help it if he is a 
 
IN THE INDIAN SUMMEE. 97 
 
 New Yorker bred, and a Yankee born, while 
 the sound of Bow Bells lulled the infant slumbers 
 of our pretty Jill. 
 
 The question now arises — where shall we go ? 
 It is carried unanimously that we are to get 
 away from bricks and mortar. Shall we go 
 down town to the ferry, or up town by the 
 cars? "We decide upon the latter. Jack pro- 
 duces, with a deprecating air, a basket and a 
 gleaming weapon of steel. 
 
 ' What is that thing ?' I inquire. 
 'Oh, it's his "little hatchet!"' replies Jill. 
 'He's as proud as George Washington of his 
 little hatchet !' 
 
 'It's to cut ferns with,' Jack observes, meekly; 
 
 and then, with a propitiatory smile, indicates that 
 
 certain dainty cakes and fruit repose in the basket. 
 
 Feminine power fails to separate Jack from his 
 
 basket when he is going into the woods. We 
 
 are aware of this, and resign ourselves to it ; but 
 
 we insist on the hatchet being put away in his 
 
 pocket. A three minutes' walk brings us to the 
 
 ' L ' road station. We climb the flight of steep 
 
 stairs, and jump into an up-town train, which 
 
 obligingly halts exactly thirty seconds to allow 
 
 us and our fellow-passengers to get into it. 
 
 The contrast between the Elevated railroad of 
 New York and the Underground railway of Lon- 
 
 H 
 
98 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 don is characteristic of the two nationalities. 
 The ' L ' road looks as if it were run up by 
 contract — ephemeral, precipitate, hurried ; tear- 
 ing along on a gridiron-like trestle-work at the 
 top of tall posts, at apparently dangerous speed, 
 doubly alarming to the novice by reason of the 
 cars being wider than the track ; so that, looking 
 out of the window, we seem to be running full- 
 speed on nothing through the air. But the 
 long cars are certainly comfortable, airy in sum- 
 mer, well-warmed in winter; and, as there has 
 never been a serious accident yet, the New 
 Yorkers are perhaps warranted in declaring their 
 mode of locomotion to be safe. Often, in the 
 stifling and sulphureous atmosphere of the Lon- 
 don Metropolitan Railway, we have longed for 
 the cool and well- ventilated cars of the ' L ' road, 
 although, in the tunnels of London, we are at 
 least freed from the apprehension of the whole 
 train toppling off its tall posts into the street 
 below; and, also, we have here the privilege of 
 choosing first, second, or third class, according 
 to our taste and means. But graded classes 
 would not be in accordance with Eepublican 
 principles ! You must go with the people, be 
 of the people — unless you can afford to keep or 
 hire a 'coup6.' Only given money enough, and 
 you can be as select and aristocratic as you like. 
 
IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 99 
 
 There is no intermediate or 'second-class' in 
 America. There is the private carriage, and the 
 public car, but we miss the useful medium of the 
 Hansom or ' four-wheeler.' 
 
 Up Sixth Avenue, round the sharp curve at 
 Fifty-fourth Street, and up a more westward and 
 still more democratic avenue, the train bears our 
 trio — past the region of shops, past the park, 
 past the boulevard, where the owners of ' fast 
 trotters ' emulate and outvie each other, dashing 
 along in spidery -looking ' sulkies.' We are out 
 of the town now ; the numbers of the streets are 
 running up into the hundreds, and the streets 
 themselves are little more than numbers — mere 
 rows of vacant lots where houses are to be anon. 
 Now here we are whirling through, or rather in 
 the air above, ' Squatter's-town,' as Jack calls it. 
 Not half an hour yet out of New York City, and 
 here is a regular Irish village. A whole tribe of 
 immigrants have ' squatted ' on a broken ground, 
 all holes and hillocks and blasted rocks. A horde 
 of dwellings of all sorts and conditions, from the 
 mere mud hovel to the neat little wooden cottage, 
 have sprung up, straggling anyhow and every- 
 where, crowding together or scattered apart, one 
 thatch-roofed hut perched up high on the edge 
 of a huge rock, looking as if a push would send 
 it over — one dwarfish cabin nestling on the leeside 
 
 h2 
 
100 BETWEEN TWO OOKANS. 
 
 of a big block ; another has ingeniously utilised 
 an angle of rock for two of its walls ; some have 
 laid out little slips of garden, still gay with 
 autumn flowers. Garments of all kinds are hung 
 flapping in the breeze to dry ; a brood of ducks 
 are dabbling in a muddy pool ; geese and fowls, 
 gaunt pigs and bare-footed children, all run wild 
 together. Squatters all this population, having 
 no lien nor claim upon the land they occupy — to 
 be turned out some day, but meanwhile ' some 
 day ' is far off, and ' unto the hour, the hour !' 
 
 The train dashes over this little world, giving 
 us but a brief glimpse of it ; and now we come 
 to those sharp turns and bends which Jill and I 
 always anticipate with a not disagreeable titilla- 
 tion of the nerves. Round the first sharp curve 
 our train curls like a snake ; looking out from 
 the last car, we can see the engine seemingly 
 running back upon us, and the whole train appa- 
 rently doubled in half. Then comes a double 
 figure like the letter S ; the cars twist round it 
 with a writhing motion, which gives us always a 
 cold, creeping sensation, as the track just here 
 runs on posts sixty feet high, and is, as usual, 
 utterly unprotected by parapet or railing. But 
 these ' creeps ' of the nerves come into our plans 
 for the day's pleasure — are a part of it. 
 Bent on getting as far into the woods as we 
 
IN THE INDIAN SUMMEE. 101 
 
 can, we cbange cars at the terminus of the ' L ' 
 road, at a ' hundred and something street,' and 
 take another train on to Highbridge, only a few 
 minutes' run further. 
 
 Here we plunge at once into the woods, which 
 are now as gorgeous as woods can only be in this 
 land, where the summer does not fade, but glows 
 into the glory of the fall. The summer flowers 
 may have withered and died in field and hedge- 
 row, but they have left the legacy of colouring 
 more resplendent than their own to the leafage 
 clothing hill and dell. The maple has put on its 
 gold and crimson robes ; the sumach, with its 
 rich pyramidal seed-clusters and fan-like leaves, 
 has caught fire, and burns like a scarlet flame in 
 the dappled woods. The bright yellow of the 
 hickory, the blood -red of the oak, the vermilion 
 of the American ivy, mingle in a variegated blaze 
 of colour. Modest, sober, and stately among 
 these dazzling tints stand the tall cedars, their 
 soft yellowish green foliage catching no glow from 
 the fiery tints around, their ripe bunches of deli- 
 cate blue berries weighing down their lighter 
 boughs. 
 
 We strike at once into the depths of the woods ; 
 we are as utterly out of sight and hearing of the 
 world as if the big, busy, booming city lay a day's 
 journey off, instead of little more than half an 
 
1 02 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 hour away. Jack produces his 'little hatchet,' 
 and begins to dig up ferns. Jill discovers ' poke- 
 berries ' with a cry of delight. 
 
 * This is what the Indians colour their straw- 
 work with.' 
 
 She stains the tips of all her pretty fingers 
 purple, and wishes to stain a pattern on Jack's 
 basket, 'like an Indian,' but he refuses. We 
 gather armfuls of sumach and cedar ; we adorn 
 ourselves and each other with the ruby leaves 
 and crimson cones and the pale turquoise berries ; 
 we hunt for mushrooms, and rashly risk poison- 
 ing ourselves by eating them before Jack has 
 assured us they are not the deleterious fungi. 
 Jill runs wild like a schoolgirl, singing snatches 
 of old songs in her sweet girlish voice, through 
 which there always runs a ripple of something 
 akin to tears and laughter, which a touch would 
 turn to either. As for Jack, he stalks along, 
 bearing the hatchet with which he has been cut- 
 ting pokeberries, and looking like a murderer 
 with his ensanguined weapon in his hand. 
 
 Suddenly we come upon a party of ladies and 
 gentlemen evidently from the city, all in light 
 gloves and visiting toilette, walking decorously in 
 pairs. Jill and I instantly become painfully con- 
 scious of the cedar berries in our hats, the fern 
 wreaths on our dresses ; the flaming sumach spray 
 
IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 103 
 
 with which we have decorated Jack's buttonhole. 
 Who would have thought the World would come 
 after us even here ? It is but a slight relief to us 
 to find that the attention of the unconsciously in- 
 truding representatives of the World is chiefly 
 attracted by Jack's over-brimming basket and his 
 crimson- dyed hatchet. 
 
 When they have passed on, we select a wild and 
 lonely spot — the wildest and loneliest we can find 
 — under a group of cedars on the brow of a hill 
 overlooking the river, and have our little picnic 
 there. While Jill and I linger over our cakes 
 and fruit, Jack delivers to us a little discourse on 
 the theory of the Nationalization of Land. Then 
 he favours us with his views on natural theology, 
 exemplified by aboriginal superstitions. Having 
 ' cleansed his bosom of the perilous stuff ' of his 
 ideas on these grave subjects, he relapses into 
 silence ; and thenceforth speaks half-a-dozen words 
 on the homeward route. 
 
 But his expression of countenance is benign, 
 and he says with sinceritj'- — he never says any- 
 thing that is not sincere — that he has had a very 
 happy day. We get home in time to give the 
 Empress's room a little decoration before dinner ; 
 she is out, having been in the whirl of the world 
 while we have been spending our day getting as 
 far out of it as possible ; and by the time she re- 
 
104 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 turns we have industriously wreathed every 
 picture in her room with leaves and ferns, and 
 Jack has thoughtfully filled the ice-water pitcher 
 and glasses with sumach and cedar berries. 
 
 New York is the easiest city in the world to get 
 out of ; and in the perfect weather of the fall, an 
 interlude of exquisite peace and beauty between 
 summer heat and winter frost, it is a city sur- 
 rounded by temptations to get out of it. The 
 'L' road trains whirl us in a brief time from 
 the heart of the town either up into the woods, or 
 down to the Battery, the extreme southerly point 
 of this island city reaching out into the bay. The 
 Battery is laid out in weedy grass plots, and 
 gravel paths, and trees — a sort of people's park, 
 though the people do not appear to throng there, 
 and it has a forlorn and deserted kind of look. I 
 believe it was once a fashionable promenade, 
 before New York moved up town ; perhaps the 
 memory of its departed glory is what gives it so 
 dejected an air to-day. 
 
 Here, on the Battery, is Castle Garden, the 
 emigrant's landing-place. Almost every day some 
 great steamer discharges its living load here, and 
 a seemingly endless crowd of emigrants — Irish, 
 German, Scandinavian, with a leavening of Scotch, 
 Italians, Jews — pour along out of the great doors, 
 and disperse themselves — where '? Thinking how 
 
IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 105 
 
 day after day a similar multitude lands and passes 
 on, we wonder how long this ever flowing and 
 never ebbing westward tide will continue to pour 
 in through the gates of New York ? The Castle 
 Garden Emigrant Bureau takes charge to a cer- 
 tain extent of the new arrivals, and starts them 
 on the way to whatever state or city is their 
 destination. The Irish, they say, as a rule, cling 
 about the cities ; the English and Scotch push on 
 to the great West. 
 
 A little way from Castle Garden is the Staten 
 Island boats' starting-place. The sail to Staten 
 Island is a trip we often take, either landing at 
 any one of the pretty villages nestling on the 
 shore, or continuing the voyage all round the 
 island, or disembarking on the north side, taking 
 a car round the shore road, and returning in the 
 evening by the south-side boat. Staten Island 
 is the home of malaria and mosquitoes during the 
 hot weather ; but now, in the cool yet balmy 
 November days, it is a delightful resort, with its 
 shady clumps of forest-trees, its wild stretches of 
 lonely heath, its picturesque drives, its undulations 
 of hill and dell, its pretty villas and gardens, and 
 primitive, old-world looking country inns, with 
 here and there a stuccoed specimen of the modern 
 and fashionable 'hotel,' which, having come ex- 
 pressly to ruralise for the day, we carefully avoid. 
 
106 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Then there is the excursion to Coney Island, 
 perhaps the most popular resort of the over- 
 worked citizen in his holiday hours. On summer 
 Sundays the great boats are crowded and crammed 
 from stem to stern ; the brass-band brays festive 
 minstrelsy ; the pedlar pushes his way through the 
 dense throng with his tray; insinuating voices 
 invite you to partake of fruit, cakes, candy, thirst- 
 quenching lozenges ! In addition to these de- 
 lights, you may enjoy the pleasure of a real toss 
 on a genuine Atlantic swell, as the iron pier juts 
 right out into the ocean. The celebrated Coney 
 Island 'beaches,' 'Manhattan,' and 'Oriental,' 
 etc., are nothing but expanses of barren sand, and 
 enormous, and, to say the truth, rather ginger- 
 bread looking ' caravanseraies ' of hotels. Not a 
 glimpse of garden-flowers or restful green of turf 
 or tree, only the big hotels, with all their staring 
 windows, the bare level sand, and the Atlantic 
 Ocean. After all, sea and sky ! — what can the 
 work-weary denizen of the crowded city ask for 
 more? The rush to Coney Island begins and 
 ends with the summer ; but the sail is as beautiful 
 and more enjoyable now that we have room to 
 walk up and down the deck, and find we possess 
 the saloon all to ourselves. The various steamers 
 plying to and from the islands around New York 
 City, are invariably large, well-appointed, and 
 
THE SLEIGHING SEASON. 107 
 
 comFortable ; there is no great metropolis more 
 abounding in cheap and attractive trips wherein 
 the mass of the working people can enjoy even a 
 two hours' relaxation. Any leisure hour cannot 
 be better spent than in a sail across the bay. The 
 view returning in the evening — with the coloured 
 lights of the shipping flitting to and fro, flashing 
 on sail and smoke-stack, glancing red and blue 
 and green out of the shadows, weaving their way 
 in and out in a maze of tangled gleams across the 
 dark waters, and the stationary lights of the city, 
 outlining the shore like a necklace of topaz and 
 diamonds flung along the bank — is as fair a scene 
 as anything we ever saw in Venice. 
 
 v.— THE SLEIGHING SEASON. 
 
 While the people are sailing to Coney Island 
 and eating clams on the beach, the elite are driving 
 in the park, just as they do all the world over. 
 Always the same handsomely-dressed people in 
 the same elegant equipages are there, to see and 
 to be seen. It never seems to get monotonous 
 to them ; and certainly it is no wonder that New 
 Yorkers should drive evei-y day in Central Park, 
 for not only is it one of the most beautiful and 
 picturesque parks in the world, but there is abso- 
 lutely nowhere else to drive. What with the 
 
108 liETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 car-tracks, the elevated roads, the cobble-ston es, 
 and the defective paving, there is scarcely a street 
 in New York that is comfortable to drive in 
 except Fifth Avenue, and to drive there means 
 merely to drive straight up to the park. 
 
 We explore New York in a pleasant, rambling, 
 happy-go-lucky fashion. One of our favourite 
 haunts, of course, is the great shopping region of 
 Fourteenth Street, Broadway, and the central part 
 of the Sixth Avenue. Fourteenth Street especial- 
 ly is the headquarters of ladies bent on shopping, 
 and at certain hours and seasons is so thronged 
 that it is but a very slow progress one can make 
 along it. It is a perfect bazaar ; not only is there 
 a brilliant display in the windows of everything 
 good to look at, from exotic flowers to encaustic 
 tiles, and everything one can possibly wear, from 
 Paris imported bonnets to pink-satin boots, but 
 the side-walk is fringed with open-air stalls, heap- 
 ed high with pretty things, many of them absurd- 
 ly cheap. The New York stores are pleasant to 
 do a little shopping in, for no officious shop- 
 walker urges you to buy things you do not want. 
 You ask for what you wish to see, and it may 
 happen that you have to ask twice ; but generally 
 the attendance is good. In one of the great ' dry 
 goods stores,' a young man who had been serving 
 us, discovering our nationality, inquired com- 
 placently, 
 
THE SLEIGHING SEASON. 109 
 
 ' Have jou anything like this store in London ?' 
 His next neighbour behind the counter smiled 
 him down with a superior and compassionate air, 
 and informed me, apologetically, 
 
 ' He's only just come to the city, madam !' 
 At some of the shops we were pleased with a 
 new way of giving change. Instead of the usual 
 yell of ' Cash !' and the small boy or girl pushing 
 breathless through the crowd, and vanishing with 
 our purchases and our money, and keeping us 
 waiting till they could execute their commission, 
 and push their way back — instead of this usual 
 process, our five-dollar bill and our account were 
 put into a hollow wooden ball, which the ' sales- 
 lady ' (we do not have any shop-girls in New York) 
 deftly tossed into a sort of hanging cradle of net- 
 work. Quick as a flash, up went cradle, ball, 
 dollars, and bill before our astonished eyes ; the 
 ball, jerked into a sort of groove or gallery, rolled 
 with amazing celerity along the ceiling to the far- 
 off end of the establishment, and in a minute or 
 two we saw it flashing back along its groove, 
 leaping down into its cradling net, and thence 
 into the sales-lady's ready hand, its contents being 
 now our correct change and receipted bill. 
 
 Meanwhile, the season wore away, and winter 
 was coming on apace. The New York climate 
 is delusive; it cheats you into the impression 
 
] 10 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 that it is summer still ; it lulls you, with its 
 radiant skies and sunshine, into false security, 
 then suddenly turns upon you and rends you 
 with the keen talons of a black frost, a bitter 
 wind, a temperature that tumbles at racing-speed 
 down to zero, and stops there — but probably not 
 for very long, as the cold, like the heat, comes 
 and goes in spells. The New Yorker, unlike 
 the Canadian, does not rejoice in the cold. A 
 very cold ' snap ' clears the streets of all save 
 the business men, who must get to the office, 
 even if they freeze or melt by the way. ' Three 
 below zero ' sends the rest of the New York 
 world home to its fireside, or rather to its furnace 
 grating. 
 
 We imagined we should not like the New York 
 method of warming the houses, until we tried 
 it. Now it has spoilt us for the London winter, 
 as it is managed in the average London home, 
 for evermore ! We used to say, like true Britons, 
 ' What is a home without a fireside r' but we 
 found we were not such true Britons as we had 
 thought ourselves. We discovered, first, that 
 there is no earthly reason why you should not 
 supplement your furnace grating by a coal-fire if 
 the spirit moves you that way ; second, that the 
 American hard coal (anthracite) made the most 
 splendid fires we had ever enjoyed, glowing rare, 
 
THE SLBCGHING SEASON. Ill 
 
 ricTi red from morn to night without a touch 
 of the poker; third, that we did not need a 
 grate-fire at all, and, if we sometimes missed its 
 cheery aspect and the charm of flickering fire- 
 light between day and dusk, we were more than 
 amply compensated by the comfort of a mild, 
 warm, equable atmosphere all over the house, 
 from hall to attic, and from earliest morn to 
 deep of night. No shivering rising to begin the 
 day; no hurrying from your cold room to the 
 parlour fire ; no muffled rush across the icy 
 draughts of hall and staircase, but a generally 
 diffused, pleasant warmth ; and then, to face the 
 clear, biting, buc bracing air outside, your thickest 
 furs and briskest step. 
 
 Admirable as is the institution of furnace- 
 heating, I confess that sometimes the Americans 
 overdo it, and keep the house like an oven. 
 They appear not to mind baking ; indeed, what 
 they seem to like is to live in a draught in 
 summer, and a brasier in winter. We also ob- 
 serve that the death-rate from lung and throat 
 disease is alarmingly high, and, though I have 
 not got the statistics at hand, it is no exag- 
 geration to say that pneumonia is a raging 
 epidemic all the winter. 
 
 Jack is a shining exception to the common 
 American weakness for an oven-like air. He 
 
112 BETSVEEN TWO OOBANS. 
 
 never falls into that extreme. He is always very 
 thoughtful and considerate of our comforts. He 
 remembers we like a breeze in sultry summer. 
 One late autumn day, he sets an arm-chair, with 
 a cushion and a footstool, for the Empress, be- 
 tween a door and a window, carefully opens both 
 wide, pulls open a skylight above, and would, I 
 am sure, open a trapdoor beneath, if there was 
 one — just as he used to do in the ninety-in-the- 
 shade days ! He seems surprised when we remind 
 him that ssasons change, and that the north-east 
 wind he has kindly let in upon us is a great deal 
 too much of a good thing. 
 
 Well, now midwinter and the cold weather 
 have come upon us in real earnest. The shop- 
 windows make a great display of ' Arctics ' and 
 snow-shoes ; pedlar-boys on Broadway are selling 
 'ear-muffs,' tiny fur bags to envelope the ears. 
 Seeing them for sale, I suppose somebody buys 
 them, but I never saw an ear-muff on any passing 
 ear. Now the sleighs are out on Fifth Avenue — 
 out by the dozen, the score, the hundred. A 
 brilliant, blue sky arches overhead ; the snow 
 lies thick upon the ground ; up in the park one 
 dazzling sheet of white covers grass and gravel, 
 moulding itself to the gentler undulations of hill 
 and dell, filling up the deeper hollows with heavy 
 drifts ; the frosted, skeleton trees cast deep pur- 
 
THE SLEIGHING SEASON. 113 
 
 plish-bliie shadows, as clear as if they had been 
 painted in indigo. On the avenue, the snow, no 
 longer white, is cut up into muddy ridges of 
 frozen slush, over which the sleighs dash jubil- 
 antly along in a merry music of jingling bells. 
 Canadian cutters ; ' sulky ' sleighs for one selfish 
 bachelor ; ' sociables,' with a whole family party ; 
 Russian sleighs, with an Oriental, barbaric opul- 
 ence of bear or tiger skins, with clashing silver 
 bells, and crjmson pompons flashing as the horges 
 toss up their proud heads and champ their bits ; 
 all speed gaily and musically past, making one of 
 the most joyous and brilliant scenes imaginable. 
 In summer heat or winter cold, there is always a 
 charm about New York. 
 
 Yet, in this gayest season of this rich and pro- 
 sperous city, the very centre of luxury and extra- 
 vagance in dress, in daily living, in display of 
 every kind, there are signs which tell that even 
 here and now the cankerworm that breeds in 
 the flower of our advanced civilisation is gnaw- 
 ing under the surface — softly and noiselessly 
 gnawing, and working but little damage as yet. 
 Even here there is no exception to the inexor- 
 able law by which Poverty follows Wealth, as 
 its own black shadow, inseparably dogging its 
 steps. Here are the immense and ever-increas- 
 ing fortunes, and here the 'Song of the Shirt' 
 
 I 
 
114 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 sounds as dolorous a refrain to the click of the 
 sewing-machine as to the weary-fingered needle- 
 woman's stitching in Tom Hood's day. Here 
 is the perpetual progress, the rapid aggregation 
 of capital — the snowball of wealth increasing as 
 it rolls from millions to tens of millions, and 
 here, as surely as it advances, so the gaunt 
 spectre of Want shadows it and follows in its 
 track. 
 
 Here all the shackles of the Old World are 
 stricken off ; the surviving superstitions of feu- 
 dalism are swept away, ' leaving not a wrack be- 
 hind.' There is no recognised class of peasantry. 
 The churches are free and self-supporting, the 
 highest positions are elective posts, dependent 
 upon the people's vote. There is no aristocracy, 
 no hereditary honour, no primogeniture, no entail. 
 Any mechanic's son may aspire to work his way 
 to the presidency ; here are universal suffrage, free 
 religion, free education — the fundamental doctrine 
 of the state that ' all men are created equal,' that 
 '■ governments derive their just powers from the 
 consent of the governed ' — the sovereign rights of 
 the people acknowledged as the very basis of the 
 constitution. And yet here, in this wealthiest 
 city of the Republic, men starve and freeze ; here 
 there are a host of charitable societies — nearer 
 two hundred than one — and who shall say the 
 
THE SLEIGHING SEASON. 115 
 
 supply of benevolence is greater than the demand 
 who has read the accounts of the crowded tene- 
 ment houses, of the squalid wretchedness of the 
 rag-pickers' quarters, the horrors of vice and 
 misery of the back slums ' down town ?' 
 
 No more mercy is shown to the poor tenant 
 behindhand with rent here than elsewhere. The 
 sister of a respectable industrious woman who 
 worked for us came to us crying bitterly one win- 
 ter night ; she was a few days late in paying the 
 rent for her ' fourth-floor back ' room, and had 
 been turned out, her furniture piled up upon the 
 pavement, and the door of the room locked 
 against her. I noticed especially that, although 
 she was distressed and in tears, she did not seem 
 to regard her case as any particular hardship, nor 
 complained at all of her eviction ; it was accepted 
 as just in the natural order of things. 
 
 In the dingy lower streets and slums of New 
 York City, just as in Outcast London, the saddest 
 sights are to be seen — men with wolfish eyes, 
 ragged children, unsexed women, to whom, unless 
 their faces belie them, vice has come to be as 
 natural as the air they breathe. In a few glimpses 
 of these back streets, in the ' cases ' in the daily 
 papers, in the multitude of ' tramps,' some idle 
 and vicious, some truly seeking work, moving 
 over town and country— they who run may read, 
 
 i2 
 
116 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 if they can decipher the writing on the wall, that 
 Republicanism does not supply the true solution 
 of the problem of this age — nay, of all ages. 
 
 It is true that as yet the great question, with 
 which the civilized world is waking to the sense 
 that it must grapple soon, scarcely troubles 
 America. Her time has not come. Serene in 
 the consciousness of her mighty resources, her 
 vast and sparsely-populated territory, the wealth 
 of her undeveloped mines, the yet greater wealth 
 of her food-producing regions, the prolific tracts 
 of land only waiting the hand of man in her 
 powerful West, her beautiful and fruitful South — 
 she looks on European troubles, on the besetting 
 and increasing difficulties of our overcrowded 
 lands, from a vast and consolatory distance ; they 
 touch her not ! She is the hope of the race — the 
 world of the future. Yet the signs of the times, 
 shown in the poverty at the back of the wealth, 
 the squalor of those haunts of vice and misery 
 behind the surface of prosperity and opulence, 
 are to be read even here. 
 
 Our generation will not see it, but the gather- 
 ing wave which already faces us here must roll 
 across the Atlantic and break upon American 
 shores at length. 
 
117 
 
 IN THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 ' Forty minutes before the Salt Lake train leaves !' 
 shouts a strong-lunged official, whose stentorian 
 voice is, nevertheless, almost drowned in the 
 thundering din of the Chinese gong which another 
 official is vigorously assaulting. 
 
 The platform of Ogden Junction — the connect- 
 ing point of the two great trans-continental lines, 
 the Union and Central Pacific, also of the line 
 intersecting the territory of Utah — is a scene of 
 Babel and bustle. The train from the East, just 
 unloaded, is moving on, its lighted windows flash- 
 ing away, one by one, into the outer darkness. 
 The iron horses for the West and for Salt Lake 
 are stabled somewhere out of sight, all ready in 
 harness. The passengers for the West are press- 
 ing in an eager crowd round the sleeping-car 
 ticket-office, booking their berths for the coming 
 nights. We, bound for Salt] Lake City, obey the 
 clamorous summons of the gong whose roar 
 means ' Supper !' We are first in the eating- 
 
118 BE'L'WEIilN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 room, pick our places at the best table, and have 
 nearly disposed of our first course of coffee and 
 hot cakes by the time the hungry Westward- 
 bound passengers, the all-important tickets for 
 their night's rest secured, come flocking in. 
 
 We are a motley crew gathered round the well- 
 laden supper-tables. We are variously clad in 
 ulsters,' waterproofs, dust-cloaks, furs, and home- 
 spuns, and most of us more or less dusty, black, 
 bedraggled, and travel-worn. The men, I must 
 own, turn out picturesquely to the last, especially 
 those with brigandish hats, Byronic cloaks, and 
 luxuriant beards. But, alas for poor feminine 
 humanity ! to even the prettiest bride on the car, 
 five days and nights of railroad travel, with 
 limited toilette facilities and unlimited dust, are 
 not becoming. Some of us have come the five- 
 days tbrough-journey from New York ; others 
 have sensibly broken it by a day or two's explora- 
 tion of the wonders of Chicago. 
 
 Supper over, we hurry out on the platform and 
 seize upon a porter, entreating him to guide us 
 through the darkness to the Salt Lake train, and 
 to enlighten our anxious minds as to the where- 
 abouts of the trunks containing all our worldly 
 goods. 
 
 The porter reassures us in paternal tones. 
 
 ' This gentleman,' he says, indicating a confrere 
 
IN THE OITI 01' THE SAINTS. 119 
 
 in corduroys and shirt-sleeves, ' will see your 
 baggage for Salt Lake all right ; and your big 
 trunks are stored away ; when you want 'em, you 
 just ask for me, Mr. Josiah Tompkins.' 
 
 The gentleman in corduroys adds his testimony, 
 as he cheerily trundles a truck along, that Mr. 
 Tompkins is ' the gentleman who looks after the 
 baggage,' and our valuables are safe in his charge. 
 Mr. Tompkins accompanies us, beguiling the time 
 by pleasant converse, some distance along the 
 platform and across a kind of bridge ; and, when 
 the red light of the Salt Lake train gleams in 
 sight bids us au revoir with an air of lofty but 
 friendly patronage, and leaves us to his confrere. 
 This latter, probably in his turn moved to a kind- 
 ly interest by the fact of our being two unprotect- 
 ed females, hands us over to the care of the con- 
 ductor of the Salt Lake train with a special 
 commendation. 
 
 We have the car almost to ourselves, our only 
 fellow-passengers being a small group of men, 
 who sit as far off from us as possible, and are ab- 
 sorbed in an animated discussion on local topics. 
 We speed through Mormon-land in darkness, see- 
 ing nothing of mountain, lake, or valley. Present- 
 ly the conductor comes up to us and enters into 
 conversation. He is a tall, good-looking man, of 
 most gentlemanly aspect ; his manner is that of a 
 
120 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 high-bred host entertaining two lady-guests. We 
 invite him to take a seat, and secretly wonder 
 whether he is a Mormon. It is soon evident from 
 his discourse that he belongs to that faith ; the 
 other occupants of the car are also Mormons ; 
 likewise the brakesman; likewise the engineer. 
 We are among the Saints at last ! 
 
 We are prepossessed with our first Mormon 
 acquaintance, especially when we ascertain by a 
 dexterous hint that he has but one wife. He re- 
 members well several of our personal friends who 
 have visited Salt Lake City ; and on the strength 
 of these mutual associations we become quite 
 friendly. He tells us that he was one of the 
 little colony who were driven at the bayonet's 
 point out of Nauvoo. The picture of that flight 
 is burnt into his mind. He remembers (he but a 
 little child at the time) the hour when Brigham 
 Young looked down into that fair valley, the oasis 
 in the desert, and said, ' Here we will pitch our 
 tents !' By the time we reach Salt Lake City we 
 are ready to regard the Mormons as a persecuted 
 race of martyrs ; we quote — 
 
 ' No little thing has it heen to rear 
 A resting-place in the desert here ! 
 
 Let the wise be just ; let the brave forbear ; 
 Forgive their follies, nor forget their care I' 
 
 Not having seen anything but moonless, star- 
 less, lampless darkness during the journey, the 
 
IN THE OITJ OP THE SAINTS. 121 
 
 lamps at the dep&t and the waiting omnibuses, 
 with their coloured lanterns, dazzle us ; there is 
 something dream-like and unreal about this night 
 arrival in the Mormon stronghold, of the approach 
 to which we have seen nothing. 
 
 Our friendly conductor puts us into our omni- 
 bus, and sweeps us a princely parting bow. The 
 omnibus rattles through broad, lighted streets, 
 and deposits us at the door of the Walker House. 
 A gentleman of polished manners advances to 
 greet us, and conducts us to the elevator. We 
 are shown into a splendidly-furnished room, 
 whose full-length mirrors reflect our travel-worn 
 figures reproachfully ; then into a large dining- 
 room, where a recherche little supper awaits us, 
 and three or four waiters assiduously attend our 
 wants. Is this Paris or New York, we wonder ? 
 Have we taken the wrong train, or is this really 
 Salt Lake City? 
 
 The next morning we go up to the roof of the 
 hotel to see the view. We stand by the parapet, 
 and look down upon the panorama of the City of 
 the Saints. The mountains, their bold curves 
 here blurred against the rolling clouds, there clear 
 against the blue sky, their purple heights veined 
 with silver streaks of snow, shut in the valley all 
 around, save in one open spot, where a faint 
 bluish haze broods on the horizon. There lies 
 
122 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 the Great Salt Lake I We strain our eyes, and 
 fancy we can see its waters glimmer through the 
 veiling mist — but it is only fancy. Closed-in 
 from the world by its guardian mountains, girdled 
 by alkali waste and. barren upland, the city lies 
 indeed a garden in the desert, a rose in the wil- 
 derness — the beautiful smiling city, its regular 
 blocks relieved by lines and masses of trees, or- 
 chards, gardens, all autumn-tinted now, but bear- 
 ing yet a memory of the beauty of the summer, 
 a promise of the glory of the spring. 
 
 We went out presently on a tour of inspection, 
 accompanied by a Mormon lady, who came to 
 give us greeting and welcome with kind and hos- 
 pitable warmth directly she saw our names in the 
 list of arri^'als, and between whom and ourselves 
 the knowledge of mutual friends in London 
 formed at once a link. The city is pleasant and 
 prepossessing to look upon as a fresh, buzom 
 country lassie, with the rose of health and dew 
 of youth upon her. It is strong, and young, and 
 unpolished. Wooden shanties elbow handsome 
 houses. The shops are good and many, the 
 paving generally smooth, the streets wide. There 
 is a sense of ample room and freedom about it : 
 
 ' Eoom, room to turn round in, and breathe and be free !' 
 
 But the ' running streams ' which had so often 
 been described to us as watering the streets, and 
 
IN THE OITY OP THE SAINTS. 123 
 
 which our imagination had painted as beautiful 
 bubbling Teunysonian brooks wherein little fishes 
 frolicked, did not come up to our anticipations. 
 One of the party, I regret to say, in her disap- 
 pointment termed them ' gutters.' 
 
 We saw very few well-dressed ladies, but many 
 sweet, good, womanly faces. The majority of the 
 men appeared to us rather rough-looking work- 
 ing men, but pleasant, frank, and civil in manner. 
 We saw many lovely young girls, and rosy 
 chubby cherubs of children, some perfect pic- 
 tures of childish beauty. On the whole, we were 
 struck by the robust and healthy aspect of the 
 people in general, and most favourably impressed 
 with their frank courtesy and natural good 
 breeding. 
 
 We met two charming, graceful, and intelligent 
 young girls, grand-daughters of Brigham Young, 
 and wondered whether in these days of the Pacific 
 Eailway, which has brought the world to the 
 doors of the Mormon citadel, girls such as these 
 would marry, as their mothers did, into poly- 
 gamy? We were introduced to Bishop Sharp, 
 one of the contractors of the Pacific Eailroad, and 
 a shining light of the Mormon Church ; and Elder 
 Clawson, who married two of the daughters of 
 Brigham Young — a compliment to the family, 
 certainly. We then proceeded to pay our respects 
 
124 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 to Brigham's successor, John Taylor. The Pre- 
 sident of the Mormon Church was in his ofl&ce, a 
 large room, which for an ofl&ce contrived to be 
 comfortable-looking as well as business-like, hung 
 round by portraits of the various prominent Saints, 
 with a great green arm-chair placed throne-like 
 at one end of the apartment, flanked by two or 
 three smaller posts of honour, wherein we were 
 invited to repose ourselves. 
 
 We found President Taylor a gentleman of 
 venerable and benevolent aspect, affable and gra- 
 cious in manner, with a kindly smile and subtle, 
 not to say wily glance, which gave us the idea 
 that he was probably an adept in the craft of 
 diplomacy. He conversed pleasantly about the 
 climate, and touched upon other equally interest- 
 ing and general topics ; but on an advance being 
 made towards the subject of polygamy, he retired 
 and shut himself up in an impenetrable shell of 
 reserve. He gave us to understand that it was 
 not a topic he cared to discuss, but added, grave- 
 ly, ' It was given to us as a revelation.' 
 
 We went, of course, to the new Temple, which 
 is in course of building, and to the old Taber- 
 nacle, which is exactly like half a colossal egg set 
 up on walls, and whose acoustic properties are 
 altogether wonderful : standing in the gallery at 
 one end, we could hear a pin drop on the floor at 
 the other end. 
 
IN THE OITY OF THE SAINTS. 125 
 
 We never wearied of wandering about the 
 streets of this city. All seemed to us so bright, 
 peaceable, and orderly. The manners of the 
 people were so gentle, open, and courteous, the 
 women so motherly, the men so manly and robust. 
 Here, in Salt Lake City, we found the true Re- 
 public. Elsewhere in the United States we had 
 heard the theory, but here we saw the practice. 
 Outside we had everywhere found traces more or 
 less deep of old-world laws of caste. But there 
 seem to be no such grooves in this little world that 
 lives to itself. Outside of it is the name, but in 
 Salt Lake is the thing — the Republic in its purest 
 form. 
 
 Anxious as we were to get near to and catch 
 an inside glimpse of the workings of polygamy, 
 we found it at first by no means easy to obtain 
 any but an outside view of it. The subject there 
 is treated with the greatest delicacy and reserve. 
 Men and women alike avoid the topic, or handle 
 it as if it would burn their fingers. Their sensi- 
 tiveness and reticence we of course could not 
 rudely attack ; their friendly hospitality set a 
 seal on the utterance of our curiosity. 
 
 We were at a pleasant little supper-party one 
 evening. Almost all the ladies present were Mor- 
 mons, and polygamous wives. One charming 
 and graceful woman, in the early prime of life, 
 
126 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 especially attracted us ; she was one of the three 
 wives of Brigham Young, junior. Neither in 
 the course of a somewhat long conversation apart 
 with her, nor in the passing and general con- 
 versation, was there the most distant approach 
 to the subject of polygamy. The topics of dis- 
 cussion, oddly enough, happened to be the Mar- 
 ried Women's Property Laws, the duty of husband 
 to wife, and, vice versa, women's unselfishness and 
 trust, conjugal love, devotion, and so on. The 
 Mormon ladies conversed freely on all these sub- 
 jects, but not one of them let fall the faintest 
 allusion to the duty being plural, the love and 
 devotion sub-divided. There was not a syllable 
 spoken in the course of a long discussion on love 
 and matrimony to hint to us that we were in the 
 company of practical as well as theoretical poly- 
 gamists. 
 
 However, notwithstanding the guarded reserve 
 upon the subject, we were fortunate enough to 
 obtain considerable insight into its workings, 
 chiefly through the kindness of our friend Mrs. 
 
 G-^ , a life-long resident in Salt Lake. We 
 
 visited one house — a perfect English home — pre- 
 sided over by a pleasant, matronly, English lady, 
 who had been one of two wives, residing together 
 in this same beautiful home for many years, until 
 the death of the first wife. Their children, four- 
 
IN THK CITY OF THE SAINTS. 127 
 
 teen of the living and six of the dead wife's, were 
 all born under this roof ; and the lady described 
 the most perfect harmony as having always ex- 
 isted, not only between the children of the two 
 marriages, but between herself and her sister- 
 wife. 
 
 The case of two wives sharing the same home 
 is, however, rare. As a rule, it seems to be the 
 custom for each wife to be mistress of her separ- 
 ate household, except, of course, in the poorer 
 classes, where the expenses of plural establish- 
 ments cannot be afforded. Several times we saw 
 a group of two, three, or four pretty little villas, 
 all exactly alike, the homes of Mr. So-and-So's 
 wives. We often saw a long wooden building 
 cut up by partitions into a row of little cottages, 
 each with its own door and solitary window, the 
 number of such divisions publishing to all passers- 
 by the number of wives with which the owner 
 was blessed. Brigham Young presented each of 
 his wives, we were told, with the title-deeds of 
 her house. In the bee-hive house, however, 
 several Mrs. Youngs lived collectively, and, report 
 says, in perfect harmony. President Taylor has 
 four wives, and all of the leading ' brothers ' are, 
 I believe, living in polygamy. 
 
 All the statistical facts concerning polygamy in 
 Utah, the number of every notability's wives and 
 
128 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 children, we could read up for ourselves out of Salt 
 Lake as well as in it. Bat, being on the spot, 
 we had a glimpse into the inner life of the Mor- 
 mon women, which nothing but a visit to the 
 heart and stronghold of Mormonism could have 
 given us. We saw unveiled what otherwise we 
 never could have realised — the spiritual side of 
 Mormonism. We were forced to realise the 
 fervour of the faith that led delicate women to 
 face unflinchingly the hardships of that terrible 
 journey across the pathless plains for their re- 
 ligion's sake alone. I recall vividly the gentle, 
 saintly face of one beautiful old lady, as she sat 
 at the head of her table, sweet and genial hostess, 
 and bent her grey head as she asked a blessing 
 on the meal ' in the name of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ !' She had, in her prime of life, left home, 
 husband, children, and friends in the East ; and, 
 with her baby, the youngest — too young to be 
 left — had crossed the burning desert in the immi- 
 grant waggon to Zion ; she took no other husband 
 on earth, but is sealed to Joseph Smith for heaven. 
 The child whom she took with her is now a 
 woman grown, married in Mormon marriage, with 
 the sadness of her story written on her pale face 
 — a romantic story which I may not tell. The 
 mother's serenely cheerful features are shadowed 
 by no regl^b. Her declining years are full of 
 
IN TUB OITT OP THE SAINTS. 129 
 
 peace. We wondered, did her heart never yearn 
 for the husband and children she had left so long 
 ago ? Or did the faith for which she had deserted 
 them fill her life, and compensate her for all? — the 
 celestial bridals she had contracted satisfy her 
 soul's longings ? Did she forget in her dreams of 
 heavenly union the husband of her youth ? 
 
 We saw women of pure and exalted ideals, 
 dreamy, visionary, spiritual, living more in the 
 next world than in this, with so firm and definite 
 a faith in that other world as to seal themselves 
 for eternity to the lord of their choice, and hold 
 that mystic union so sure and sacred as to be 
 undisturbed by a marriage for time alone, which 
 ends at the grave. We saw also another class of 
 women, gentle, kind, unselfish, affectionate, often 
 refined and intelligent, devoted to their domestic 
 duties, happy in their homes and their children, 
 and in that happiness not seeming to repine at 
 only having a claim on a fifth or a quarter of 
 their husband's love — in a word, more mothers 
 than wives. And this is the class of women who 
 can live happily in Mormon marriage, and this 
 class alone — those who are by nature mothers 
 more than wives. 
 
 For the whole tendency of Mormonism is the 
 exaltation of maternity at the expense of wife- 
 hood. True marriage, the union of man and 
 
 K 
 
130 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 woman in mutual and sole devotion, the one the 
 complement of the other, has no place in their 
 ideal. Populate ! build up the Community ! fill 
 the city of Zion ! people the courts of the King- 
 dom of Heaven ! is the cry. Crucify the heart 
 for your religion's sake ; trample down your wo- 
 man's nature, and crush out its woman's love, but 
 be mothers of the children of the Saints ! 
 
 And the woman to whom maternity is more 
 than conjugal love bows beneath the yoke ; and 
 the woman whose dreamy, restless spirit yearns 
 towards the Unseen and feels no abiding-place on 
 earth, who passes as a stranger through this 
 world with her eyes fixed on the next — she, too, 
 finds happiness in the Mormon faith. But the 
 women who have loved ! the women who have 
 given all their heart to man instead of to God, to 
 whom neither peaceful home and household duty, 
 nor even prospective heaven, can make amends 
 for that heart's crucifixion in the daily martyrdom 
 of a Mormon marriage ! — think what life is to 
 these women ! We cannot forget ilieir faces — 
 
 ' Marred with fire of many tears !' 
 
 Pity them ; reverence them, as we should rever- 
 ence all martyrs, for whatever faith they faced 
 their fiery ordeal. Religion's victims at the stake 
 did not suffer more than these. 
 
 We attended Sunday service at the Tabernacle, 
 
IN THE OlTr OF THE SAINTS. 131 
 
 but were not fortunate enough to hear any of the 
 leaders of the Church. We only heard four or 
 five young Elders who had newly returned from a 
 mission to England, where they had apparently 
 been very successful in gathering souls into the 
 fold. They were well-looking young men, and 
 seemed sincere, enthusiastic, and devout. We 
 listened, prepared to bestow a full meed of appre- 
 ciation on eloquence or logic ; but there was not 
 much of the former to admire, while the latter 
 was conspicuous by its absence. Therefore, we 
 cannot say that we either ' went to scoff ' or 
 ' remained to pray.' 
 
 The young Elders, one and all, announced that 
 ' they were there to uplift their testimony to the 
 truth of their faith ;' and we waited for some 
 evidence to be adduced, some manifestation re- 
 vealed to the congregation ; but none was forth- 
 coming. The announcement of each Elder that 
 he. Brother A. or B., bore his testimony to the 
 veracity of the Mormon creed was evidently re- 
 garded as conclusive. They, one and all, con- 
 gratulated the present fold of the Elect, safe 
 within the walls of Zion, and informed them 
 positively and exultantly that ' Babylon ' — i.e., 
 London, from which metropolis they had lately 
 returned — ' was crumbling to ruin under the 
 curse of the Lord.' As our latest letters from 
 
 k2 
 
132 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Babylon had reported that our dear native city 
 continued in its wonted condition, this did not 
 disquiet us much. 
 
 Our friends told us it was a pity we had not 
 heard President Taylor or George Q. Cannon, 
 who are represented as powerful and effective 
 speakers ; so we do not judge Mormon oratory 
 by the maiden efforts we heard that day. 
 
 It was with real regret that we said good-bye 
 to Salt Lake City and to the kind friends whose 
 hospitality had made our visit there so pleasant. 
 Our first Mormon acquaintance, our gallant con- 
 ductor, recognised us on the train returning to 
 Ogden, and spent much of his time with us, point- 
 ing out various places of interest as we sped 
 through the beautiful valley along the shores of 
 the Great Salt Lake, which lay dazzling in the 
 burning glow of the setting sun. 
 
 Our time in Salt Lake had passed so happily 
 that only when our backs were turned upon it 
 did we remember that we had had not one 
 glimpse into the sealed closet, the Blue-Beard's 
 chamber of Mormonism. We left its dark secrets 
 unseen, unknown. But conversation with our 
 fellow-travellers, as we left the fair City of the 
 Saints further and further behind, reminded us 
 of those grim secrets of the prison-house. We 
 remembered that the libations poured out upon 
 
IN THE OITI OF THE SAINTS. 133 
 
 the Mormon altar had been those of innocent 
 blood. We thought of what, in the pleasant, 
 peaceful life in the city, we had forgotten — of 
 the horrors of one long-past day on Mountain 
 Meadows, of the children saved from the massacre 
 only to be brought up in ignorance of their mur- 
 dered parents, children growing up under Mor- 
 mon influence, who will never know their father's 
 name, nor where their mother's bones lie in a 
 nameless and forgotten grave. 
 
 We thought of the retribution that rose at last, 
 after a score of years, on one of the leaders in 
 that butchery — whose story even now makes the 
 heart of the listener sick — we heard, shuddering, 
 how to the last he was upborne by promises of 
 rescue ; how, even as he stood by the coflB.n, with 
 the levelled guns fronting him, the hope of life, 
 the promise that at the last moment he should be 
 saved, must have struggled in his heart. 
 
 We heard stories of the Destroying Angels, 
 whose mission was secret murder, until we were 
 weak enough to wonder, can the cause, with this 
 blood-mark on it, thrive ? forgetful that the crops 
 may 'grow as ripe and high, and as golden a 
 harvest be reaped, upon the field of Sanguelac as 
 elsewhere ! 
 
 What will be the harvest of Mormon-land 
 at last ? Things cannot long endure as they are. 
 
134 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 The conflict between America and this alien 
 colony in her midst has begun, and year by year 
 waxes sharper. The Washington government 
 has struck at polygamy, the cherished right of 
 the Latter-Day Saints. Utah stands on its de- 
 fence. Every blow aimed at them, the Mormon 
 powers catch and turn aside. The government 
 disfranchises polygamists. Very well, what is a 
 polygamist ? A man married to more than one 
 living wife. But, if the government pronounces 
 polygamous unions invalid, how shall it main- 
 tain that a man is ' married ' to more than one 
 wife ? And, as this sophistry is vanquished, the 
 Mormon League changes its ground, and boasts 
 that in all political conflicts it can carry the field 
 against the government by the vote of the one- 
 wifed Mormons alone. 
 
 The true weapon that shall vanquish polygamy 
 is the Pacific Railway, the free and open road 
 by which the hand of the National law and 
 Federal government can reach right into the 
 heart of Salt Lake City — through which the 
 Gentile element pours in, and trades, and plants, 
 and builds, and mines, and roots itself more 
 and more firmly in the soil. The Mormon wife 
 of to-day may still carry her cross and submit 
 to her lot, while seeing by her side the happier 
 home of her Gentile sister. But her daughters 
 
tN THE OITT OF THE SAINTS. 135 
 
 will hesitate long before they follow their mo- 
 ther's example, and enter into polygamous mar- 
 riage ; and how many of the generation following 
 them will consent to bow to the yoke their 
 mothers bore ? Amongst the Mormon mothers 
 there are martyrs to-day ; but their children's 
 children will be free. Yet our day may not see 
 the question of Mormonism solved, and its strife 
 with the Government of the United States at an 
 end. 
 
136 
 
 CALIFORNIAN SKETCHES. 
 
 I.— m 'THE GOLDEN CITY.' 
 
 Arriving in San Francisco by the Overland Route 
 impresses us as a coming back to the world 
 again after a lapse into the wilderness. For, 
 in leaving the wonderful Phoenix City of Chicago 
 for the West, it seemed that we left the world 
 behind ; in Omaha, our next stage, we felt as if 
 we had got to the outside fringe of civilisation and 
 cultivation, and wondered vaguely what could be 
 beyond? into what wild exile were we about to 
 plunge ? 
 
 Beyond Omaha come four long days and nights 
 of speeding across the seemingly limitless desola- 
 tion of the prairies — the barren uplands of the 
 Kocky Mountains — the wide waste of the sage- 
 brush and alkali desert. Four days ; they seem 
 an age ! not that to us, in our pleasant little 
 social circle in cosy palace car, they are comfort- 
 less or dreary, but that the vastness of this 
 desolate land, through which we are rushing night 
 
IN THE GOLDEN OITY. 137 
 
 and day, grows upon and oppresses us. On the 
 fifth morning, having gone to sleep in our 
 curtained berths in the bleak, bare, dreary moun- 
 tains of Nevada — Nevada whose wealth lies deep 
 hidden under, and not on, the earth ! — we awake 
 to the rich pine-forests of the lower Sierras, 
 whose summit we have passed in the night. 
 Then we are in the ever-green, smiling, and 
 fertile lands of California! and that evening, 
 at dusk, in the rush and bustle of the busy 
 streets of the ' Golden City ' of San Francisco ! 
 
 We have passed the wilderness ; and here on 
 the borders of the Pacific we find again our world 
 — our old familiar world, and yet one strangely 
 new ! The streets, in some of their aspects, 
 might be those of New York; the shops are 
 bright and gay as those of Paris ; the crowd and 
 crush of the business part of the city might be 
 London, but for the swarms of men standing 
 about on the street-corners, not merely pausing 
 for a minute, or stopping in passing to greet a 
 friend, but standing at ease, with no apparent 
 intention of ever moving on. We wonder, as we 
 push our way through these stationary groups, 
 how long they will stand there. Is it the same 
 group we find on the same spot when we return 
 two or three hours later? It looks the same. 
 That big, handsome man, with the blue necktie 
 
138 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 and black beard, was certainly leaning against 
 that post when we passed before. He looks too 
 much at ease to be a ' curbstone-broker ' on the 
 look-out for business. He is merely loafing his 
 time away, like such others of the crowd as are 
 not watching opportunities of transacting a little 
 business in stocks, disposing of some 'Devil's 
 Gates ' at a bargain, or picking up a few 'Yellow 
 Jackets ' cheap. We observe that whereas the 
 citizens of the other great business centres of 
 civilization are generally to be seen hurrying on 
 their way — somewhere, the Oalifornian may be 
 found calmly standing still and transacting a 
 stroke of business on the spot. 
 
 Out of the principal business street in San Fran- 
 cisco we turn a corner, and straightway are in Pe- 
 kin ! in a Chinese street, among Chinese shops, with 
 cabalistic signs over the doors, hieroglyphics con- 
 cerning whose import we vainly conjecture. Wang 
 Kong stands in his doorway, in long blue blouse, 
 with a pigtail down to his heels, and regards us 
 as we pass with a serene and amiable indifference. 
 Ki Lo is carrying heavy packages of some mysteri- 
 ous and inodorous compound into his, store, and 
 has his pigtail gracefully wound round his neck 
 and tied in a bow to keep it out of his way. 
 He also gives us an impartial glance and guileless 
 smile as he politely makes way for us to pass. 
 
IN THE GOLDEN OITT. 139 
 
 How well Brefc Harte knew the Chinaman ! we 
 observe; and if we quote the 'smile that was 
 child-like and bland,' once, we quote it a dozen 
 times during our first walk in China Town. 
 
 We scarcely see one white face there beside our 
 own Caucasian countenances, but Lo and Kong 
 do not molest us by so much as a moment's stare. 
 Silent, serene, busy, with the invariable innocent 
 smile if they meet our curious gaze, they glide 
 past us in throngs, each attending to his own 
 occupation. The odour of the narrow, dirty, 
 crowded streets suggests Piesse and Lubin, in 
 one way certainly — by arousing in us vain longings 
 for eau de Cologne. We shudder to think what 
 the interior of these closely-packed tenements 
 must be ; and one of the little party at least in- 
 wardly inclines towards covering herself with dis- 
 grace by ' shirking ' the inevitable expedition, the 
 tourist's first duty in San Francisco, through the 
 lowest haunts and into the most repulsive dens 
 of China Town, under the escort of the police, 
 without which this delightful excursion would not 
 be devoid of danger. 
 
 From the Chinese quarter a three minutes' 
 walk brings us out into Kearny the fashionable, 
 and Montgomery the business, streets. Here are 
 the San Franciscan ladies, in toilettes Parisian for 
 taste and style, ladies alone, and ladies under 
 
140 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 escort, the escort generally also in faultless array 
 doing credit to their tailors. Here are the ' curb- 
 stone-loafers ' again, hanging together like swarm- 
 ing bees. Here and there we see a specimen 
 of the chimney-pot hat beloved of the Briton, but 
 this is rare, while sombreros, clerical wide-awakes, 
 straw and felt round hats and ' billycocks ' abound. 
 There is a negress, fearfully and wonderfully 
 clad in a pink shawl and a blue bonnet, with a 
 red feather in it. Her black face and white teeth 
 complete the scale of colours. Before the tempt- 
 ing display in a jeweller's window stand an odd 
 trio — a lady, young and lovely, and like a model 
 of the very latest fashions ; a bearded man, swarthy 
 and grizzly, in slouch hat and red shirt, whose 
 long, strong arms probably swung the pick in '49 
 in his youth, and almost certainly have been 
 swinging it but yesterday in the mines ; and a 
 copper-coloured half-breed, Indian or Mexican, 
 wild and unkempt, his long black hair streaming 
 from under his torn straw hat, his ragged and 
 nondescript garments hanging together heaven 
 knows how. His strange black eyes are staring 
 at the diamonds ; the miner looks from the jewels 
 to the pretty girl, who is superbly indifferent to 
 them both. 
 
 Men lounge in and out of the cigar shops, 
 which are open to the streets and gay as small 
 
IN THE GOLDEN OITY. 141 
 
 bazaars. The ' boot-black ' stands are luxurious ; 
 a gentleman lounges in an arm-chair and reads a 
 newspaper, while a smiling black boy ' shines ' his 
 boots. Germans, Italians, and Japanese pass us 
 in the crowd ; and here are Irish by the score, of 
 course ; where in America are they not ? 
 
 The city is cosmopolitan rather than American. 
 It is the City of a Hundred Hills. Mont- 
 gomery Street, after running level for about 
 three quarters of a mile, suddenly climbs up a 
 mountain. California Street rushes headlong 
 uphill, and then plunges precipitately down, then 
 apparently runs up the face of a wall, and at 
 the summit takes another dip. On either side 
 of it the streets either aspire, excelsior-like, to- 
 wards the top of the hill, or run away at an 
 obtuse angle down into the lower town. Sutter 
 and Clay Streets undulate up and down, but on 
 the whole tend upwards. Up and down these 
 streets run the celebrated * cable-cars,' or ' dum- 
 mies,' which of course at once attract our atten- 
 tion by speeding along without horse, without 
 engine, without visible motive-power of any kind, 
 and charging up the steepest hills at express 
 speed. We parody the Ancient Mariner's ques- 
 tion : 
 
 ' What drives that ship along so fast 
 Without or wave or wind ?' 
 
142 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 These cars move by means of an underground 
 cable. The front car, or dummy, is open to the 
 four winds of heaven: the conductor stands in 
 the middle, and works the brake ; the passengers 
 sit all round. The car at the back is like an 
 ordinary omnibus. 
 
 A drive on the dummy up the mountainous 
 steeps of California Street is a delightfully ex- 
 hilarating sensation — on a fine day. Above us 
 arches a sky of flawless, deepest sapphire — such 
 a sky as England never knows ! Away to the 
 left, below us, lies the city, and beyond it broods 
 perpetually a low bank of purple cloud ; is it mist 
 blown in from the great waters ? or a cloud of 
 smoke blown down from the city ? Lone Moun- 
 tain rises up beyond this low streak of haze in 
 sharp outline, the cross on its summit^ cut clear 
 against the wonderful^ intense blue of the sky. 
 
 For days together we enjoyed these matchless 
 skies, all earth bathed in golden sunshine ' from 
 misty morn to evening cool ;' and at night such 
 starlight as we only dreamt of until now ! These 
 December days are like an English June, but for 
 the great winds blowing in from the Pacific, laden 
 with the iodine of eight thousand miles of sea, 
 keen, vivifying, strong, which make the air cool 
 enough for us to fold our fur-lined cloaks closely 
 round us. Myrtle and roses, fuchsias, camellias, 
 
IN THE GOLDEN OITX. 143 
 
 aud cactus are blooming in the open air. Palm- 
 trees flourish in the gardens. Grapes, and ban- 
 anas, and pine-apples are exposed for sale in 
 every fruit-stall. There is nothing in the ever- 
 green gardens, still gay with flowers, though not 
 in their full glory, to remind us that Christmas is 
 near. 
 
 But this is the rainy season here ; and, after a 
 few days of this peerless weather, comes the rain ! 
 Then grey skies and muddy streets, and misty 
 drizzle or heavy sbowers, for days or weeks. And 
 then the perfect skies and glorious sunlight again. 
 
 The popular drive here, indeed the only drive, 
 is through the Golden Gate Park to the Seal 
 Eocks. The park is a wonder, reclaimed only 
 a few years ago from barren sand-dunes, now one 
 of the finest driving-grounds on the continent, 
 and one day to be the most beautiful park, when 
 the eucalyptus-trees profusely planted there shall 
 have attained their full height. 
 
 The first view of the Pacific breaks upon us 
 at a curve in the road, along which we are driv- 
 ing amongst the crowd of vehicles that San Fran- 
 cisco lets loose upon this ground every sunny 
 afternoon. How swiftly these lightly-hung car- 
 riages, with their thin, spider-like wheels, dash 
 along the smooth road ! We draw nearer, nearer 
 to that blue expanse, so dazzling in the sunshine 
 
144 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 we cannot look at ifc steadily ; we listen to the 
 low thunder of the Pacific waves as they roll in 
 a long curl of surf upon the sandy shore, and 
 break against and leap over the high Seal Rocks. 
 On these rocks hundreds of seals are disporting 
 themselves and basking in the sun. We hear 
 their sharp, fretful barking through the deeper 
 noise of the breakers. 
 
 The sands are smooth and firm, so that we 
 enjoy a drive not only beside, but almost ^n, the 
 ocean, the shallow surf plashing up round the 
 wheels and the horses' feet. And we look away 
 over the Pacific into the purple distance — but not, 
 'like stout Cortez,' 'with eagle eyes !' For we 
 think of home — and this California sun is dazzling! 
 
 Society here is very much like society every- 
 where else in the civilized world. It is not in a 
 San Francisco drawing-room that we realise we 
 are not in Paris or London. But here and there 
 in the outside life we come upon something that 
 reminds us we are on the edge of this civilization 
 we so dearly prize ; we have reached the brink 
 and can go no further ; beyond us now is only 
 ocean — the Hawaiian Isles, Yokohama ! 
 
 ' It was a pretty rough crowd,' a friend remarks, 
 with an air of relish, on his return from some 
 semi-political meeting. ' I should think that every 
 third man had his revolver.' 
 
IN THE GOLDEN OITT. 145 
 
 But the meeting seems to have passed off 
 peacefully as a Covent Garden opera, except that 
 one man was hustled downstairs. 
 
 Frequently here in the street, or on the cars, 
 or in places of public entertainment, there was to 
 be met a strange figure — a grey-haired man with 
 tarnished epaulets on his coat, with a feather in 
 his hat, and with a huge parti-coloured umbrella, 
 red, white, and blue. He walked about in all 
 weathers. He had wandered so about this city 
 for twenty years and more. They called him 
 ' the Emperor ;' it was his delusion that he was 
 ' Emperor of all the Americas.' He dined where 
 he chose — free ; he patronised such places of en- 
 tertainment as he pleased — free ; he rode on the 
 c^rs — free. When he wanted money, he used to 
 send a kind of royal intimation that he had need 
 of it to some one of the wealthy men of the city, 
 and the demand was never denied. He was a 
 49-er, and a Mason ; he was ruined in the great 
 fire, they say ; and while he lived the old ' Em- 
 peror' was never allowed to want. He fell dead 
 one day in the street ; that strange pathetic figure 
 will be seen no more ! Whether from curiosity or 
 from a tenderness for the old familiar relic of the 
 'days of '49 !' half the city turned out to his funeral. 
 
 In some place of exhibition here are still pre- 
 served and exhibited two stuffed dogs, whereby 
 
146 BETVTEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 hangs a tale characteristic of San Francisco. 
 Here is the history in brief of Bummer and Laza- 
 rus (the nomenclature being ingeniously descrip- 
 tive of the habits of one dog and the appearance 
 of the other at his first entry into public life) . 
 Bummer was a big dog, masterless and homeless, 
 a canine ' tramp/ who lived by his wits. Lazarus 
 was a little dog, also unattached, living from 
 hand — no, from paw to mouth, thin, sickly, and 
 half starved. One day some other dogs attacked 
 little Lazarus. Bummer, either moved by kindred 
 feelings — the other dogs being household pro- 
 perty, and Lazarus a tramp like himself — or else 
 actuated by pure chivalry, plunged into the fray 
 to the rescue of Lazarus. 
 
 From that day the two wanderers were a canine 
 Damon and Pythias. They wandered no more 
 solitary. They became well-known in the city. 
 Lazarus looked starved and sickly no longer. 
 Bummer introduced him to his own chosen 
 haunts. They went together to such restaurants 
 as they honoured with their presence, and dined, 
 gratis. No bill was ever sent to Messrs. Bummer 
 and Lazarus, nor were they ever sent hungry 
 away. It was observed that the big dog was 
 always careful that his smaller partner should 
 have his full share of the delicacies of the season. 
 When an act was passed commanding all dogs in 
 
IN THE GOLDEN OITT. 147 
 
 the city of San Francisco to be muzzled, a clause 
 was entered exempting Bummer and Lazarus. 
 But even this paternal care could not exempt 
 them from the common doom of man and dog. 
 Their time came, and they died — on the same 
 day, it is said. ' I tell the tale as it was told to 
 me,' by a thirty years' resident in the city. 
 
 San Francisco has plenty of pretty villa resi- 
 dences in the upper town. They are chiefly 
 constructed of wood, (this being an earthquake 
 country,) and with their white walls, green 
 balconies, and palm-trees in their gardens, have 
 quite a tropical air. The architecture is gener- 
 ally fanciful ; porches are popular, and bay- 
 windows universal. Go up California Street by 
 the ' dummy ' car, and you come to what the local 
 papers, with their wonted playful humour, have 
 christened ' Nob Hill.' When people— some 
 people — want to be cheaply funny, they prefix an 
 S to the words. There are the residences of the 
 Railway Kings, and of the Bonanza millionaires. 
 They are large, handsome buildings, highly orna- 
 mental, some of them like a many-times magnified 
 Swiss chalet. However palatial they are in size and 
 appointment and decoration, being built of wood, 
 they have to our eyes rather an ephemeral air. 
 
 A San Franciscan asked us earnestly how they 
 would compare with the country seats of the old 
 
 l2 
 
148 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 English nobility, the 'baronial homes of England,' 
 of which he had heard. 
 
 Many of the business men have chosen to have 
 their homes across the bay, in beautiful, bloom- 
 ing, evergreen, semi-tropical-looking Oakland. 
 All day long the huge steam-ferries Oakland and 
 El Capitan cross each other to and fro between 
 San Francisco and its great suburb. The morn- 
 ing boats from Oakland are packed to crowding 
 with men going to their business in the city ; the 
 evening boats to Oakland overflow with the re- 
 turning tide. 
 
 The boat we favour most is the 4.30 p.m. ferry 
 from Oakland ; for on that boat we travel with 
 the passengers by the overland route, if their 
 train is punctual — Sk fact of which we are never 
 permitted to be in any doubt, as the important 
 news is periodically chalked up in huge letters on 
 the black board, ' Overland Train On Time,' or 
 ' An Hour Late,' as the case may be. At half- 
 past four the crowd gathers thickly on Oakland 
 Wharf. The local train, which has run through 
 the streets of Oakland, picking up its cargo of 
 passengers at divers corners, stands on our right. 
 Behind us is the great El Capitan, discharging the 
 load it has just brought over from San Francisco. 
 But it is to the railway line on our left that most 
 eyes are directed. As the crowd disgorged from 
 
IK THE GOLDEN CITY. 149 
 
 El Capitan swarm along the wharf, a man stands 
 by this line reiterating, in a monotonous shout, 
 ' This side for the overland train !' 
 
 It is a motley gathering here, like most Ameri- 
 can crowds. The heterogeneous mingling toge- 
 ther of the classes, which in our Old World would 
 be rigorously divided by practical barriers into 
 first, second, and third, renders travelling in 
 America the most Eepublican thing in the whole 
 great Republic. Here you stand shoulder to 
 shoulder with John Chinaman carrying home 
 your linen from the laundry and with Black 
 Sambo in corduroys and shirt-sleeves ; you take 
 a seat between one of the fair leaders of society 
 in velvet and satin, and an Irish cook with mar- 
 ket basket on her check apron. Here is a gen- 
 tleman with a button-hole bouquet, light gloves, 
 and a lovely lady on his arm, and here an emi- 
 grant family, each one bearing all his or her 
 worldly goods tied up in huge cotton pocket- 
 handkerchiefs : all classes and nations promiscu- 
 ously pushed together in a limited space which 
 makes it difficult to escape from one's neighbours. 
 
 People who are returning from spending the 
 day in Oakland, and people who have come to 
 meet the overland train, almost invariably carry 
 large bouquets, by which they may easily be dis- 
 tinguished from the ordinary to-and-fro passen- 
 
150 BBTWBEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 gers. What flowers are here I great bunches of 
 December roses, snowy calla-lilies, geraniums, 
 heliotrope, and even a few fresh fragrant violets. 
 The train is due; we are all looking along the 
 vacant space on the line to our left. Above the 
 buzz of the crowd rises the distant tinkle of a 
 bell ; it comes nearer, nearer ! there is a puff of 
 black smoke, and round a curve in the road comes 
 the fiery eye of the engine. 
 
 There is a certain thrill of excitement in all 
 the crowd. This is the one train from the East 
 in the twenty-four hours : it brings the mails and 
 travellers from all the eastern cities — from Europe 
 too.* It is the knot binding the East to the 
 West — the last link in the iron chain between the 
 Atlantic and the Pacific shores. London, New 
 York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, each and all 
 of these hold communion with their far-off fair 
 western sister-city by this one train which rushes 
 round the curve and slackens on Oakland Wharf, 
 the great bell on the engine swinging and ringing 
 with might and main as the long yellow ' Silver 
 Palace ' cars of the Central Pacific line — cars 
 whose simple exterior holds forth little promise 
 of the comfort within — come into sight one by 
 one. 
 
 * The Southern Pacific route was not open at the time this 
 was written. 
 
IN THE GOLDEN CITY. 151 
 
 The little balconies between the cars are 
 crowded with passengers, some looking out for 
 and waving their hats to friends, most of them 
 too impatient to alight to wait until the train has 
 stopped. Then the tide at once turns and sets 
 towards El Capitan. The Oakland crowd pour 
 across the gangway and up the staircase to the 
 left on to the deck ; the overland passengers 
 swarm up the right-hand staircase. On the deck 
 the Oaklanders crowd round the head of the 
 stairs sacred to the Overlanders, and look out for 
 their friends amongst the ascending file, all of 
 whom are laden with their own small hand-bag- 
 gage and more or less travel-worn. Then and 
 there are joyous exclamations of, ' Here you are 
 at last !' and glad loving calling on familiar 
 names, as the expected figures emerge on to the 
 deck. The bags and baskets of the weary tra- 
 vellers are seized and taken charge of by eager 
 hands ; their place is supplied by bouquets (I saw 
 one lady with a huge nosegay in each hand, a 
 third under her arm), and each traveller is sur- 
 rounded and swept away by his or her own par- 
 ticular group of welcoming friends. 
 
 Now El Capitan is off, and steaming stately 
 out into the bay. Now the touters appear, and 
 make the round of the deck, suggesting in in- 
 gratiating tones as they pass such passengers aa 
 
152 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 are marked by hand-baggage, 'Carriages! car- 
 riage, sir ? carriage, ladies ?' ' Hotel coaches ?' 
 They ignore us, evidently perceiving that we 
 have only come across the bay. We pass Goat 
 Island ; the lights of San Francisco come into 
 view, though a light cloud of smoke or mist blurs 
 our view of the town. El Capitan touches the 
 landing-stage, and the whole vast crowd pours 
 off the ferry in one compact wave, which breaks 
 and scatters a little as it flows through the d6p6t. 
 As we approach the exit, a strange sound 
 strikes on our ears. It is like the echoes of a 
 concert far off. Are we near the opera-house? 
 is there a performance so early ? The noise 
 grows louder and louder, but less and less musi- 
 cal, as we draw nearer the gateway. We only 
 discover that it is a chorus of hackmen and 
 touters just before we emerge into the vocifer- 
 ous crowd, whose melody now resolves itself into 
 wild howls of ' " Russ House !" " Palace !" " Occi- 
 dental !" ' Fortunately for our nerves, they keep 
 back in two suflficiently orderly ranks, between 
 which we pass, each one starting forward and 
 chanting his war-cry louder, if he happens to 
 catch our eye. In time we learn to find a kind 
 of rhythm in the chant. It goes somehow thus, 
 in a sing-song harmony, 
 
 ' " Buss House !" " Palnce !" " OccidentaZ /" 
 
 " Windsor \" " Lick House I" " Cosmopolitan /" ' 
 
IN CHINA TOWN. 153 
 
 But, to the overland passengers hearing it for the 
 first time, it is simply Babel ! 
 
 We half envy them, those tired travellers, as 
 we all diverge to our respective cars and coaches, 
 remembering the evening, not so long ago, when 
 we, like them, looked for the first time upon the 
 Golden City ! For us the wonder and the delight 
 of first impressions are over. But if no more 
 a wonder, and no longer a dream, still for ever 
 a delight in memory to us will be our first wan- 
 derings under the radiant, blue, winter skies in 
 this queen-city of the "West, throned on her hun- 
 dred hills beside the Golden Gate, between bay 
 and ocean, guarded by the sentinel peaks of Lone 
 Mountain and Tamalpais. 
 
 II.— m CHINA TOWN. 
 
 A PILGRIMAGE by night, under police escort, 
 through the back slums and the opium-dens of 
 the Chinese quarter in San Francisco did not 
 appear to us a tempting prospect. It conveyed 
 unpleasantly vivid ideas of various offences to 
 eye, ear, and nose. Darkness, and dirt, and 
 evil odours did not seem the elements of an 
 enjoyable evening. But we had always under- 
 stood that it was the duty of every tourist in 
 San Francisco, of whatever age, sex, or condition, 
 
154 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 to undertake this little excursion, and we deter- 
 mined valiantly that the good old motto of 
 ' Fais-ce que dois !' should be ours, and, in our 
 duty as Englishwomen and tourists, we would 
 not fail. 
 
 An American gentleman, one of the leading 
 residents of the city, made arrangements for the 
 expedition, and kindly volunteered to share with 
 the police officer, whose company he had secured, 
 the onerous duty of protecting us against the 
 possible dangers of the dens. It was a fine, 
 starlight night ; such a beautiful, bracing, mild 
 and mellow winter night as only California knows. 
 Kearny Street was bright and crowded, its gay 
 shops all a-blaze with lights. But within a 
 stone's-throw of that fashionable thoroughfare 
 lie dingy Dupont and Jackson Streets, the main 
 arteries of China Town, and thither led our road. 
 
 The first place we visited was a restaurant — 
 the best Chinese restaurant in the city, our 
 escorts informed us. The hour was too early 
 for its habitues to sup, so we walked through 
 ' banquet halls deserted,' and saw an array of 
 empty benches and tables blank as unwritten 
 pages. It was very much like any other first- 
 class restaurant, except for the hieroglyphical 
 Chinese inscriptions on the walls, the alcoves 
 with cushionless couches for the retirement of 
 
IN CHINA TOWN. 155 
 
 opium-smokers, the funereal-looking furniture of 
 carved ebony — or some black wood that looked 
 like ebony — and the queer little musical instru- 
 ments hung on the wall of the largest saloon. 
 We say trays full of cakes very like soap, doubt- 
 ful-looking gelatinous sweetmeats, candied melon, 
 and pats of bright yellow butter, pleasing to the 
 eye; but their rancid odour decided us not to 
 partake of refreshment there. 
 
 Our next move was a descent by means of a 
 ladder-like staircase into a cellar where our Lon- 
 don breeding led us to expect coals or beer- 
 barrels. Instead of these, lo, a barber's shop ! a 
 sleek Chinaman seated like a statue under the 
 barber's hands, two or three other Celestials, 
 newly shaven and shorn, standing around. We 
 passed through this subterranean 'tonsorial saloon' 
 to a subterranean pawnbroker's behind it, very 
 close and stuffy, and dimly lit by one feeble 
 flaring lamp. The pawnbroker smilingly recog- 
 nised the police-officer who led our little company, 
 and invited us behind the counter. The custom- 
 ers, Chinamen all, smiled upon us blandly, as ' is 
 their nature to.' If you look at a Chinaman, his 
 face beams with the ' simple and child-like ' smile 
 immortalised by Bret Harte. Sometimes we 
 wonder what lies behind that smile ; sometimes 
 we are suspicious as to the meaning of the 
 
156 BETWEEN TWO OOBANS. 
 
 words spoken in our presence, amongst them- 
 selves, in that to us most incomprehensible 
 tongue. We remember that a favourite epithet 
 of theirs for us is ' white devils ' — we recall what 
 we have lately often heard about their hatred 
 especially of white women — grounded on an old 
 prophecy handed down from traditional times, 
 that a white woman should be the cause of the 
 downfall of the Chinese Empire. We had grown 
 well accustomed to ' John ' with his pigtail and 
 blouse, his skuU-cap and slippers, his feline step 
 and smooth-shorn face, long before we set out 
 upon our evening peregrinations through the 
 Chinese quarter; but, although the presence of 
 our Mongolian brothers was nothing new now to 
 us, the insight iiito their mode of life which we 
 were to have this night had all the bloom of 
 novelty upon it. 
 
 The pawnbroker's shop was crammed with 
 every possible object on which a dollar could be 
 raised; there were old clothes by the heap, a 
 goodly array of clocks, and an armoury of deadly 
 weapons, pistols, knives of all kinds, from the 
 pocket-penknife up to a pair of murderous-look- 
 ing blades, with which, our police guide informed 
 us — exemplifying meanwhile the method of wield- 
 ing them, one in each hand — he had known a man 
 to be literally sliced to pieces. We inspected 
 
IN CHINA TOWN. 157 
 
 also a handy pocket weapon not unlike a short, 
 stout poker, bent into a convenient curve for 
 braining an antagonist. 
 
 ' Almost every one of those fellows has one of 
 these under his blouse,' our escort observed, in- 
 dicating the group of shaven olive faces which 
 were regarding us with stolid curiosity. 
 
 We passed on through this subterranean pawn- 
 broker's into an apartment behind it, unlit, un- 
 ventilated, very like the steerage cabin of an 
 emigrant steamer, equally evil-odorous, and, if 
 not quite equally crowded, still with many more 
 human beings inhaling its heavy, opium-laden atmo- 
 sphere than the number of cubic feet warranted. 
 A double row of wooden shelves, some screened by 
 ragged curtains, ran along each wall ; the passage 
 between these comfortless berths was only wide 
 enough to permit us to pass one at a time ; and 
 in each berth lay a Chinaman, coiled up or 
 stretched out — like wild animals in their lair, it 
 seemed to us — each with his little lamp and pipe 
 and pot of opium. We watched them take a 
 pinch of the dark jelly-like substance on a wire 
 and melt it over the lamp, then smear it over the 
 aperture in the pipe, and draw it with great deep 
 breaths into the lungs, their long eyes dilating 
 and fixing like a crouching cat's the while. 
 
 Everywhere our escort seemed to be known. 
 
158 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 but the opium-smokers were too much absorbed 
 in their occupation to take any great notice of us. 
 We returned through the adjoining cellars, and 
 climbed up gladly into the lighted street and 
 breathed fresh air again, wondering how we, or 
 the opium-eaters, or anything living, not to say 
 human, could have breathed in that opium-den 
 at all, as it was unventilated except by such air 
 as could filter through the pawnbroker's and 
 barber's cellars. 
 
 We were next led down a long, narrow, black 
 alley, so black that we had to grope our way, so 
 narrow that we had to walk in single file, so long 
 that by the time we reached the end of it we felt 
 as if we had left the bright, busy city of San 
 Francisco a world away. The ground was slimy 
 beneath our feet ; the strip of sky was so far 
 above our heads that we seemed" out of sight of 
 the stars. We groped at last to a door, whose 
 worm-eaten planks seemed crumbling to decay. 
 A Chinaman with a little oil-lamp admitted us — 
 not too willingly, it appeared to me. 
 
 We went through room after room, back, 
 back, burrowing back along narrow passages, 
 under low rafters, over slippery and rotting floors. 
 We saw no door, no window, no aperture through 
 which the blessed pure air might find its way. 
 The air that entered with us by the door we had 
 
IN CHINA TOWN. 159 
 
 left SO far behind seemed to be the first fresh 
 breath that had entered there for hours. Every- 
 where, dirt and rags and squalor. Everywhere 
 the wretched cupboards or shelves wherein the 
 opium-smokers lay, often two on a shelf ; every- 
 where the strange sickly Oriental opium smell 
 kindly overpowering worse odours; everywhere 
 the strange, secretive eyes leering at us cat-like as 
 we looked into their lurking-places. 
 
 It was Tophet ! we felt we had been carried 
 down into some lower world. The memory of 
 those scenes comes back like an evil dream. The 
 various opium-dens whose dark and repulsive re- 
 cesses we penetrated bore a strong family resem- 
 blance to each other, the only difference percepti- 
 ble to us being that we entered some by subter- 
 ranean, and some by level ways. There appear- 
 ed, however, to be grades of reputation among 
 them which we should not have distinguished. 
 Our escort took a pride in pioneering us through 
 the worst places. 
 
 ' This,' he said, confidentially, with an air of 
 relish, ' is a regular den of thieves !' — looking 
 round an underground gallery whose aspect and 
 odour suggested the contents of a London dust- 
 hole or a New York ash-barrel, but for the kindly 
 overwhelming scent of opium — ' and that,' he 
 observed, when we had emerged into the fresh, 
 
160 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 pure, starlit night, indicating a narrow, crowded 
 streetj ' is Murderer's Alley I and it's rightly 
 named ! That's the haunt of all the most danger- 
 ous and desperate characters. From that place 
 we've carried out twenty-three murdered men 
 within the last year or two; and all shot or 
 stabbed in the hack !' 
 
 During our walk down Murderer's Alley, we 
 kept closely to our escort, and felt more comfort- 
 able when the light shone on his gilt buttons than 
 in those shadowy corners where it occurred to us 
 as unpleasantly probable that the majesty of the 
 law — under whose asgis we walked confiding — 
 might happen not to be recognised. 
 
 We agreed that to create a truly flattering stir 
 and sensation amongst our fellow-creatures, if we 
 count the Mongolian as a man and a brother, we 
 should come to China Town. Nowhere else in 
 the civilized world would our presence have 
 caused so much curiosity and interest — excitement 
 is totally incompatible with the Celestial calm. 
 Outside every house as we came out, we would 
 find a crowd of blouses and pigtails, filling up the 
 whole street, waiting to get a look at us, not 
 staring, nor shoving, nor pushing, but surveying 
 us with a serene and critical gaze. 
 
 Our duty in China Town would have been only 
 half done if we had not visited the women's 
 
IN CHINA TOWN. 161 
 
 quarters, and such an omission our courteous and 
 attentive escort would by no means have allow- 
 ed. With the exception of half-a-dozen ladies of 
 high caste, wives of the principal merchants, 
 there are few or none except the most degraded 
 class of Women in all the Chinese quarter. These 
 poor creatures are in reality slaves, bought and 
 sold and sent over the sea in slavery, and appar- 
 ently sunk too low for shame — yet no, not sunk ; 
 they never sank, they were always down. They 
 sat behind little grated windows, each face 
 pressed curiously against the lattice as we pass- 
 ed. They were all inoffensive, smiling and civil ; 
 we saw not one antagonistic look, heard not an 
 unpleasant tone from any of them. 
 
 We went into one house where they welcomed 
 us most cordially, smiling and crowding round us, 
 and offering willing hands to help us down the 
 uneven steps. Some of them had their hair 
 elaborately dressed, and were really good-looking 
 young women; others were to our eyes repellently 
 plain. One pretty little girl in a dark-blue blouse, 
 with the loveliest pale olive complexion, and a cer- 
 tain innocence of look that was strange indeed to 
 meet with then and there, especially attracted us. 
 
 ' How old is she ? and how long have you had 
 her ?' we asked of the woman who appeared to be 
 the head of the establishment. 
 
 M 
 
162 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 ' He fifteen ; him mother sell him two years ago,' 
 was the answer ; the gender of the pronoun being 
 apparently the last thing in the language which 
 the Chinese learn. 
 
 In another house of the same class we found 
 some really very nice, neatly-furnished little 
 rooms ; the place was crowded as a rabbit bur- 
 row ; from every doorway calmly curious faces 
 peered out to inspect us, and into every room we 
 were hospitably invited to enter. All the inmates 
 laughed and chatted amicably. Two young girls, 
 by order of their chief, were exemplifying the 
 use of the chopsticks in a bowl of rice for our 
 entertainment — when a low, shrill whistle cut 
 through the buzz of laughter and chat, and in 
 an instant a crowd of Chinese, babbling and 
 gabbling, came rushing from all corners. Our 
 escort turned promptly to the staircase. ' That's 
 a fire alarm,' he said, quietly. ' Come !' We 
 needed no second bidding. Down two flights 
 of narrow stairs, and through a labyrinth of 
 low-ceiled passages, we made the quickest time 
 I ever remember. It turned out to be a false 
 or distant alarm ; but, in the brief minute since 
 the signal whistle, half-a-dozen policemen seemed 
 to have sprung out of the ground, and the street 
 was crowded. 
 
 We visited two or three joss-houses. They 
 
IN CHINA TOWN. 163 
 
 were all much alike, dingy, carpetless apartments 
 up one or more flights of stairs; with tables 
 covered with handsome vases, candlesticks, and 
 other offerings ; panels of rare and curious carv- 
 ing in bas-relief, protected by a grating ; tinsel, 
 trays of joss-sticks, incense, a huge gong in one 
 corner, which, when we ventured lightly to touch 
 it, gave forth a deep, sepulchral toll ; and, on the 
 altar, ' Joss ' in state — a life-sized idol, gorgeously 
 clad, and more or less ugly. In one room was 
 the shrine of a goddess. She was a good woman, 
 ' heap good woman,' who had been dead three 
 thousand years, and at whose altar women come 
 to pray. We were gratified, and surprised, to 
 find that a woman had been deemed worthy of 
 canonisation, and that women were presumably 
 admitted to have souls for which to pray. Per- 
 haps, however, they are supposed only to pray 
 for the souls of their lords. 
 
 Another night a friend procured for us a box 
 at the Chinese theatre. The entrance to this 
 place of entertainment was noticeable chiefly for 
 its lack of ornament, the plain, unpainted boards 
 being decorated only by a few hieroglyphical 
 placards of a bright red ; and there was a general 
 atmosphere of sawdust, suggestive of a carpen- 
 ter's shop. The auditorium was also on the 
 principle of ' beauty unadorned ;' the seats were 
 
 M 2 
 
164 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 the plainest wooden benches ; the stage a mere 
 platform, with not the remotest attempt at 
 scenery of any kind ; the musicians sat at the 
 back, behind the performers. 
 
 We took our seats, and were instantly deafened. 
 We had entered during what was apparently a 
 battle scene ; and, what with the savage yelling 
 of warriors, the pounding of roaring gongs, the 
 thundering of big drums, it was Pandemonium 
 itself ! One thoughtful member of our party had, 
 "with excellent foresight, knowing of the manner 
 of treat in store for us, provided herself with 
 cotton-wool, which she applied to her ears. We 
 endeavoured to speak to each other, but our 
 voices were drowned in the uproar, and we com- 
 municated our sensations in dumb-show. We 
 looked round curiously. The audience was, to 
 us strangers, quite as interesting a sight as the 
 stage. In all the crowded theatre there was not a 
 white face outside our box. Nothing but Chinese, 
 packed close as sardines; ranks upon ranks of 
 smooth-shaven olive faces, black hats, blouses, 
 and pigtails. The boxes were fully open to view, 
 with no screening curtains or walls ; merely 
 enclosures marked-off by low partitions, each 
 containing four wooden chairs. The gallery, 
 opposite us was for the women, who were 
 crowded there as closely as were the men in 
 
IN CHINA TOWN. 165 
 
 the body of the house. As, like the men, they 
 wore blouses, and were all smoking, we did 
 not at a first glance distinguish them from their 
 lords. 
 
 The battle raging in demoniacal uproar on the 
 stage was evidently arranged with regard to a 
 deficiency of ' supers,' and waged on economical 
 principles. The warriors fell, rolled, and writhed, 
 and died, and, having remained dead for a minute 
 or two, jumped up again, and plunged anew 
 into the fray, with a liveliness that reminded 
 us of the unconquerable vitality of Mother Hub- 
 bard's dog. Presently, an individual rushed on 
 the stage, who was evidently a hero. He had 
 a whole arsenal of weapons; his raiment was 
 gorgeous ; his nose was painted flake-white, and 
 stripes of blue and red adorned his cheeks, in 
 addition to which grandeur, a magnificent beard 
 was gummed, not on to, but beneath, his chin. 
 Before his slashing strokes, the warriors went 
 down like nine-pins, till the whole army lay 
 strewn dead around him. He celebrated his 
 victory by a wild leap into the air, a somersault, 
 in which he tied himself into a knot, and twisted 
 every limb the wrong way ; then the slain army 
 rose up, and all, performing various acrobatic 
 feats, turned and tumbled themselves off the 
 stage. 
 
166 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Two came back immediately with a hoop which 
 they held up between them ; next, a warrior, like 
 a Pawnee chief, with feathers on his head, entered 
 and looked through this hoop, and howled— a pro- 
 ceeding which suggested to us a clown grinning 
 through a horse-collar. Then, from the opposite 
 side appeared an indescribably gorgeous being, 
 concerning whom we speculated — ' Is she a man ? 
 is he a woman?' He, she, or it looked through 
 the hoop and yelled ; evidently these were two 
 lovers meeting a la Thisbe and Pyramus. They 
 sang a duet ; to know what it was like, you have 
 only to listen at a back window at midnight, when 
 half-a-dozen rival Toms are prowling on the yard 
 walls, on serenading bent. That is Chinese min- 
 strelsy to a T. We were told the performance 
 might continue till two or three in the morning, 
 but before midnight we had had quite enough of 
 it, especially of the pervading odour of tobacco, 
 and the periodically -recurring din of gongs and 
 drums, and we left with little regret a vocal 
 ' trio,' most admirably imitating feline recitative, 
 in full force. 
 
 m.— THE CHINESE NEW YEAR. 
 
 Some days afterwards, we had the pleasure of a 
 glimpse into the homes of the higher class of 
 
THE OHINKSE NEW TEAB. 167 
 
 Chinese, the well-to-do merchants, at the celebra- 
 tion of the Chinese New- Tear, which this year 
 fell early in February. We set forth to pay a 
 round of ' New- Year visits ' with two ladies who 
 were well acquainted with one of the leading 
 merchants, Sam Lee. 
 
 Arrived at Sam Lee's residence on the Plaza at 
 the foot of Clay Street, our friends sent a little 
 China-boy to announce our advent. He disap- 
 peared through an open trap-doorway into the 
 dark and mysterious regions below the pavement, 
 whence soon a stout and smiling Chinaman 
 emerged bit by bit, first skull-cap and pigtail, 
 then blue blouse, large loose shuffling slippers, 
 till all of him stood on the topmost step, bowing 
 and gracious, and full of smiling welcome. This 
 was Sam Lee. He shook hands with us warmly 
 upon introduction, and invited us down the steep 
 stairs into a large cellar, apparently used as a 
 workshop, only lit, of course, by the entrance, 
 and consequently sufficiently dark for the various 
 objects in the background to look uncanny and 
 mysterious. 
 
 He led us through this into a second cellar, 
 smaller and darker, where several Chinese were 
 sitting and standing about. Our host invited us 
 to be seated, and, blinking through the obscurity, 
 we distinguished chairs and a small table laden 
 
168 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 with trays, glasses, and decanters. An attendant 
 brought us wine, and a large silver salver, con- 
 taining various kinds of candied fruit, dried 
 melon-seeds, and a delicious white sweetmeat 
 very like Rahat Lakoum or Turkish Delight. 
 The wine, our host informed us, was ' Melican 
 wine,' adding — ' China wine too strong;' We 
 should not have been true daughters of Eve if 
 this description had not aroused our curiosity to 
 taste the China wine. We immediately had a 
 tiny glass filled therewith, to which we all just 
 put our lips in turn. We pronounced it good, 
 but a very little of it went a long way. It was 
 like strong liqueur, with an orange-peel flavour. 
 We asked what it was made of, and were startled 
 by the answer, ' rice ' — our host, as usual, giving 
 ' r ' the sound of ' 1.' 
 
 We passed on into a third cellar, smaller still, 
 where a gentleman reclined on the usual wooden 
 couch, with the usual lamp and pipe, smoking ; 
 then into a fourth, which, to complete the dimin- 
 uendo scale, was smallest of all. This was Sam 
 Lee's sleeping apartment. It boasted, for a won- 
 der, of a tiny pane of glass, letting in a feeble 
 ray of light, and actually of a flower, a Chinese 
 lily in a vase. There was rather a handsome bed, 
 a little table, and next to no furniture besides ; 
 indeed, there was not room for any. Our friends 
 
THE CHINESE NEW TEAE. 169 
 
 explained that Sam Lee was only keeping house 
 in bachelor style now. 
 
 ' He lived in fine style when he had his wives 
 here with him,' they said. He has two wives, 
 who are now in China. He has also a history. 
 Some three years ago a reward was offered in 
 China- Town for his life, he having given some 
 offence to some unknown person in authority. 
 .Such things are not uncommon. We saw one 
 day in a Joss-house an inscription, which, being 
 translated to us, was a promise of the favour of 
 the great Joss to any person or persons who 
 should remove from this life two given indivi- 
 duals who had the misfortune of being obnoxious 
 to Joss. Sam Lee was in the way, and a reward 
 was offered for his being put out of the way. He 
 very sensibly did not wait to be violently removed, 
 but took himself out of the way, and returned to 
 China with his wives. 
 
 He came back to San Francisco in time, having, 
 we may presume, received some intimation that 
 he was no longer an obstacle to be got rid of. 
 
 Accompanied by Sam Lee, we went to pay 
 a visit to his partner's wife. The streets of 
 China Town were gay with coloured lanterns, 
 and swarming with Celestials in holiday attire. 
 The ubiquitous Eastern tourist, whom we had 
 met prowling about the Joss-houses by night, 
 
170 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 was here in full force — the male tourist, at least ; 
 we saw no ladies in China Town that day but 
 ourselves. They gazed after us with our Chinese 
 escort, especially when we turned up a flight of 
 sawdust-covered stairs, whither one enterprising 
 tourist — whether he was from New York or 
 London, I know not — looked strongly inclined 
 to follow us. 
 
 Sam Lee led us into a large, airy, well-furnished 
 room — the first such apartment we had seen in 
 China Town — where a little Chinese lady, gor- 
 geously attired, came forward and shook hands 
 with us. She played hostess prettily, offered 
 us chairs, and bade her waiting-maid bring us 
 sweetmeats and wine. She could speak a few 
 words of English, but to our attempts at con- 
 versation, she only replied by a perpetual ripple 
 of laughter, looking shyly aside, too bashful to 
 talk, but evidently thinking the position an 
 extremely humorous one. 
 
 Her hair was wonderful to look upon, brushed 
 off the temples, and standing out in large, stiff 
 loops like glossy wire. On her head she wore 
 a profusion of gilt leaves and artificial flowers. 
 Her dress, a kind of blouse over a clinging skirt, 
 was of rich blue silk, exquisitely embroidered in 
 green and gold. As she became more at home 
 with us, perceiving our interest in her toilette. 
 
THE CHINJ5SE NEW TEAR. 171 
 
 she showed us that the dress she wore was the 
 outer of five or six similar garments, all of fine 
 silk; she let us look at her wide, loose sleeves, 
 sleeve inside sleeve, the under-sleeve of all of 
 white silk, edged with pink. She then sent her 
 little maid to fetch some of her other dresses 
 to show us — silks, heavy with rare gold em- 
 broidery, over which we sighed with envy. 
 
 Sam Lee was much pleased at our admiration. 
 He was smoking an elaborate work of art in the 
 shape of a pipe, and, on my complimenting him 
 on its beauty, he straightway handed ' it to me, 
 saying, 'You smokee him!' I perceived by his 
 smiling and gracious air that this was a compli- 
 ment, which I was expected to appreciate and 
 accept, and, rising to the occasion, I took the 
 pipe and doubtfully drew a few experimental 
 breaths. I hoped that it was going to be handed 
 round, and pleased myself picturing the counten- 
 ances of the other ladies when it came to be their 
 turn to puff at the pipe of peace ; but, alas ! I 
 was the only one selected for this honour. 
 
 Before we left, the little Chinese lady kindly 
 consented to show us her tiny feet. If the height 
 of the caste is in inverse ratio to the size of the 
 feet, she must be a lady of very high dignity; 
 for her foot was about as long as my middle 
 finger. The feet are not merely dwarfed, but 
 
172 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 doubled down at the joint, and cruslied into a 
 misshapen thing like a hoof, so that the so-called 
 ' shoe ' they wear is more a bag than a slipper, 
 with a strip of silk wound round and round up 
 to the ankle. The foot is not, as we had pre- 
 viously supposed, cramped in an iron shoe from 
 infancy, but baadaged when the poor little victim 
 is seven or eight years old : the suffering of 
 course is great. 
 
 We next went, under Sam Lee's escort, to 
 another apartment on the same floor, to visit 
 a friend of his, a merchant, whose name I forget, 
 but Sing Yang will do as well as any other, and 
 comes quite near enough to the sound. Sing 
 Yang, then, was a very fine specimen of a courteous 
 and dignified gentleman, of a grave and intellectual 
 cast of countenance ; he spoke English almost 
 perfectly, and his manner as host might have 
 done credit to any nation. He was clad in a 
 rich blue silk. Sam Lee wore only cotton, being 
 in mourning for his mother, in which case silk is 
 prohibited. In Sing Yang's handsome apart- 
 ment many guests were assembled, Chinese, of 
 course ; some were smoking, all appeared beam- 
 ing with good nature. As each fresh guest 
 entered, radiant with smiles, and voluble with 
 New Year's greetings, he salaamed, and the host 
 salaamed, and everybody who knew the new 
 
THE OHINESE NEW TEAR. 173 
 
 arrival salaamed, till a general knocking together 
 of heads seemed imminent, the salute consisting 
 of a clapping together of the hands and bowing 
 forward till the forehead nearly touched the 
 ground. There were two tables loaded with 
 cakes and sweets, and I had a narrow escape 
 of committing a sacrilegious deed. I saw on one 
 table a plate of tempting-looking sweetmeats ; 
 and, as others were being handed about and 
 tasted all around the circle, I was about to take 
 one of these candies, when, luckily, I perceived 
 in time a candle and a joss-stick burning on the 
 table, and realised that these sacred dainties were 
 offerings to the gods. 
 
 We mentioned to Sing Yang that we had just 
 had the pleasure of seeing a lady of his nation 
 with tiny feet. 
 
 ' Ah,' he responded, proudly, ' / got one like 
 that ! I shall order her come in.' 
 
 He then proceeded to tell us that he had only 
 lately been married ; his wife had never beheld 
 a man until she married him, and had never seen 
 a man except himself since. This day, being 
 the New- Year, she was to make her first appear- 
 ance in public, and bring us tea. "We waited with 
 interest for the entrance of the bride. 
 
 The next time the door opened, however, it 
 was to admit a smiling and salaaming visitor, 
 
174 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 who led a little white child about three years old. 
 It was dressed as English and American children 
 are, and lisped his pretty imperfect English when 
 we petted it and asked its name. This little 
 Bessie, notwithstanding her English name and 
 English aspect, turned out to be the child of the 
 Chinese who led her bv the hand, and who 
 proudly owned the relationship. 
 
 ' Me mallied Englee lady,' he said ; and Sing 
 Yang added confidentially to us that his friend 
 had married an English teacher in a school. Such 
 a union is, however, of very, very rare occurrence. 
 The next arrival who, in answer to Sing Yang's 
 hospitable ' come in ' (or the Chinese equivalent 
 to come in !), flung open the door, caused a sensa- 
 tion in the company — that is, as much sensation 
 as can easily be caused among the calm Chinese. 
 He was a 'hoodlum' — that indescribable and 
 especial product of San Francisco, who must be 
 seen to be realised. There he stood, rakish hat, 
 wry necktie, hoodlum from top to toe, while be- 
 hind him pressed a group of brother-hoodlums, 
 all evidently out for a lark. 
 
 'Come to pay a New- Year call!' he said, 
 jauntily. Then his eye fell on us, installed in our 
 rocking chairs, and he hastily took off his hat, 
 from the crown of which fell some cigars. His 
 brethren also drew back hastily and abashed. 
 
THE CHINESE NEW TEAR. 175 
 
 And here I must observe that although we walk- 
 ed about San Francisco often without escort at 
 dark as well as by day, sometimes even walking 
 home from the theatre by ourselves, we were 
 never annoyed by so much as word or look from 
 even a hoodlum gang. 
 
 Sing Yang, to whom the intruders were, of 
 course, strangers, advanced to them with digni- 
 fied, chill courtesy. 
 
 ' You will excuse me — I have ladies here !' he 
 said, waving his hand towards us. Exeunt hood- 
 lums discomfited, even forgetting to pick up the 
 cigars ; but effecting their retreat in good order. 
 Then Sing Yang bolted the door. 
 
 Presently from an inner room the bride at last 
 made her appearance. She was supported by two 
 waiting-maids ; she carried a fan in one hand, and 
 a tray of little cups of tea in the other. Like her 
 neighbour in the opposite room, she was resplen- 
 dent in silk and gold embroidery, her cheeks 
 painted with vermilion, and her hair arranged in 
 huge, stiff, glossy bows. But she was so pain- 
 fully shy that we could not look in her face, and 
 it would have been positive cruelty to speak to 
 her. She leant on her maids, and bent her head 
 till her face almost touched the tray she carried, 
 and tried to hide her features entirely behind her 
 fan. Etiquette demanded that she should walk 
 
1 76 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 round the circle and offer a cup of tea to every 
 guest, and our hearts were moved to compassion 
 for the poor little bride as she fulfilled her duty, 
 trembling in every limb and hiding her face, her 
 maids guiding her shaking hand as she offered 
 each guest the tea. It was the first time she had 
 seen a man except her husband ; and it certainly 
 could not be said that, with her downcast eyes 
 and hidden face, she saw man now. 
 
 The tea was served without milk or sugar, 
 with a small plum or raisin in each cup, and was 
 pronounced by such as were epicures in tea — 
 which I am not ! — to be delicious. 
 
 On our way home from China Town, we passed 
 a group of rough- looking men in soiled and 
 shabby garments, most of them swarthy, bearded, 
 and unkempt, standing on the street-corner, 
 apparently having an open-air debate in under- 
 tones. 
 
 ' Kearneyites,' whispered one of our party. 
 ' Sand-lotters,' observed another. 
 
 They stared at us as we drew near, with 
 rather suspicious than approving glances. We 
 wondered why our party attracted their attention, 
 until we remembered that we all carried in our 
 hand conspicuous red Chinese New-Year cards ; 
 and that the Kearney cry is, ' The Chinese must 
 go !' The Sand-lotters looked at us, and I looked 
 
SAN FRANCISCO LIFE. 177 
 
 at the Sand-lotters, and speculated inwardly — in 
 whose power would I rather be? in whose power 
 rather see the city that I love ? — in that of these 
 men, the Communists of California, the fire- 
 brands of that fair state, the Mob incarnate; yet 
 withal of our own blood and our own race — or 
 in that of the smooth, sleek-spoken Chinese, in- 
 offensive, industrious, frugal, patient worker by 
 day, smoking opium in his dark and dirty dens 
 of vice by night — his secret silent life beyond 
 the reach of our laws, beyond the influence of 
 our civilization ! It is well that law and order 
 in this city of San Francisco are strong — 
 stronger than either or all of the parties that are 
 struggling for supremacy. For there are turbu- 
 lent and violent elements here ; and the conflict is 
 not over yet. 
 
 IV.-SAN FRANCISCO LIFE. 
 
 San Fbanoisoo is not a city to hurry away from. 
 We lingered there week after week, and month 
 after month ; and as the vividness of first impres- 
 sions wore off, and the city ceased to be a dream 
 and a wonder to us, it only became more home- 
 like and more dear. 
 
 We took up our quarters at first at the ' Occi- 
 dental,' a perfect home hotel, where many families 
 
 N 
 
J 78 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 reside entirely, thereby escaping the cares of 
 
 housekeeping. American domestic life all over 
 
 the States is beset with greater cares and trials 
 
 than in the ' Old Country,' harassed especially 
 
 by the difficulty of procuring trained and skilled 
 
 domestic ' help •' and this difficulty, so far as 
 
 white ' help ' is concerned, reaches its culminating 
 
 point in the West. In these latitudes, white 
 
 help is a treasure you are fortunate indeed to 
 
 get, and still more fortunate if you can keep. 
 
 Chinese help comes in to stop the gap ; and 
 
 ' John ' is, as all the world knows, handy, useful, 
 
 industrious, frugal, and imitative to a remarkable 
 
 degree. He will cook, wash, clean, turn his hand 
 
 to anything. But many ladies dislike — and, to 
 
 us, it seems not without cause — to have none 
 
 but Chinamen about the house. And there are 
 
 various reasons why it is undesirable to employ 
 
 them where there are young families. Then, 
 
 ' John ' moves among us, but is never of us, he 
 
 is always a mystery and an alien, though a 
 
 ' treasure ' he may be in many cases, and many 
 
 San Franciscan ladies told me they would not part 
 
 with their Chinese domestics for a whole retinue 
 
 of Irish. 
 
 Still, on the whole, American housekeeping, 
 especially in the Far West, is rather up-hill work. 
 Thus it happens that many a young couple start- 
 
SAN FBANOISOO LIFE. 179 
 
 ing in life, begin tbeir united career in a hotel 
 or boarding-house. And certainly hotel life, as 
 we experienced it at the ' Occidental,' was full 
 of home-comfort — pleasant and bright as a per- 
 petual picnic. To sit down to breakfast, lunch, 
 and dinner, a company of two or three hundred 
 people, with many of whom you have formed a 
 pleasant passing acquaintance, certainly tends to 
 ' drive dull care away.' In bad weather you need 
 not go out, for you have everything you can 
 desire under the roof. Down in the office, there 
 are stalls with books and newspapers, photo- 
 graphs and nick-nacks for sale. For exercise, 
 there are the long, wide, airy corridors, where 
 the foot falls noiselessly on the thick-piled car- 
 pets. If you are socially inclined, you have 
 society at hand. You exchange calls with a 
 charming couple in the next corridor ; you pick 
 up a delightful acquaintance on the floor above ; 
 you are introduced to a family who have lived 
 twelve years on the floor below, and whose beauti- 
 ful rooms have as home-hke and domestic an 
 atmosphere as if they were housekeeping under 
 their own roof, with their own servants. 
 
 About six o'clock, the move down to dinner 
 begins ; the elevator is kept running briskly. 
 It is a pretty sight to see it gliding past the 
 great glass- doors on every floor, giving one a 
 
 n2 
 
180 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 moment's picture of the girls in their light demi- 
 toilette dresses — gay as birds and flowers — chat- 
 ting with their escorts on the way down. On 
 reception-evenings especially, it is quite amusing 
 to sit awhile in one of the cosy fauteuils in the 
 corridor, and watch the fresh pictures of youth 
 and beauty and brightness presented at each 
 descent of the elevator, like a iableau-vivant 
 framed in the glass-panelled archway for just 
 a minute, then sinking out of sight. 
 
 Not much more than a stone's throw away from 
 the ' Occidental ' is the mammoth ' Palace Hotel,' 
 with its rows of bow-windows rising tier on tier, 
 scaling the skies; its glass- dome roof covering-in 
 the magnificent white marble, central courtyard, 
 which, when illuminated at night, is the most bril- 
 liant scene of the kind on the American Continent 
 — or anywhere else indeed. It is a Brobdingnagian 
 edifice, so overpoweringly big that we never felt as 
 if we could build a home-nest there. However, 
 a host of families were not of' our mind, and 
 had taken up their quarters in it for a per- 
 manency ; the rooms immediately under the roof 
 being most in demand, on account of the un- 
 rivalled view to be had thence of the city and 
 surrounding hills and waters. 
 
 We found a new social arrangement in San 
 Trancisco, which is extremely convenient for the 
 
SAN FEANCISOO LIFE. ]8l 
 
 visitor. The ladies in the same neighbourhood 
 agree to receive on the same day of the week. 
 Thus the 'Palace Hotel' 'day' is Monday j the 
 Mission Street day, Thursday, and so on : a 
 great economy of time and trouble for the visitor, 
 but scarcely, I should think, so agreeable for 
 the resident Mrs. Jones, who would like to attend 
 Mrs. Smith's ' Thursdays,' and, living in the same 
 street, must, if she would support her claim to 
 be a ' society -lady,' be at home to ' receive ' 
 herself on the neighbourhood's day. The term 
 'society-lady' is often heard there, and gives 
 one the idea that society is regarded by its 
 votaries in the light of a profession, and that 
 they enter into it as they would into the Law 
 or the Church. 
 
 The superficial lawlessness and social freedom, 
 not to say liberty, of manner, which we had been 
 taught by some Eastern friends to expect in San 
 Francisco, we did not find. Except that at din- 
 ner-parties the gentlemen left the dining-room 
 with the ladies — which we thought an improve- 
 ment — society was very much the same there as 
 in London. The only thing I can recall in which 
 a social difference was at all noticeable, was that, 
 one day at a diuner-party of fourteen, we hap- 
 pened to make some passing allusion to ' divorce,' 
 and were immediately made conscious by a warn- 
 
182 BETWEEN TWO OOEAKS. 
 
 ing look from the other side of the table that 
 it was a subject we had better let alone. Inquir- 
 ing afterwards why that warning glance had been 
 bestowed upon us, and why — in a company of 
 happy, prosperous, mostly middle-aged couples, 
 all of good standing and position in the city — 
 divorce should be a tabooed topic, we learnt that 
 all these prosperous marriages were second mar- 
 riages, the earlier unions having, one and all, 
 been terminated by divorce. Another time, a 
 couple were pointed out to us who had been 
 married, divorced, and married over again. Once 
 we inquired of a mutual acquaintance after a 
 
 certain charming Mrs. B , whom we had met 
 
 a few years before, and received the reply, 
 
 ' Oh, she's flourishing. She's Mrs. C ■ now, 
 
 you know. She divorced B last year. Did 
 
 you know her when she was Mrs. A '■ ?' 
 
 'Did she divorce A too ?' 
 
 ' Why, yes, of course she did. Why should not 
 
 she ? A didn't behave rightly to her any 
 
 more than B .' 
 
 After staying for a while at the ' Occidental,' 
 we moved into rooms higher up the hill, where 
 we had two large, sunny bow-windows — a luxury 
 which you must go to San Francisco to appre- 
 ciate thoroughly. We were some time before we 
 could get accustomed to the climate, which, to 
 
SAN FBANCISOO LIFE. 183 
 
 US London sparrows, was a continual surprise. 
 "We could not understand the turning topsj-turvy 
 of all our old ideas of seasons in a climate where 
 winter and summer run into each other and 
 intermingle every day in the year; where the 
 crackling of the pine-log fire is as welcome in 
 July as in January ; where December calla-lilies 
 bloom in the open air; where the ever-green 
 gardens are the same in May as in December; 
 where the dwarf palm of the South flourishes 
 beside the Australian gum-tree and the dark and 
 stately Northern pine ; where, to descend to 
 creature considerations, you have strawberries 
 and oysters in full season together; where you 
 go out in the afternoon with a lace scarf over 
 your shoulders, and, returning in early evening, 
 are glad to mujHle yourself in a seal-skin paletot ; 
 where the ' rainy season ' is the winter, and the 
 winter the loveliest time of year, while the 
 summer is marred by heavy fogs and violent 
 winds, but never a drop of rain for the whole 
 half year. This is truly the 
 
 ' Sun-land of the palm and pine !' 
 Human nature craves for sunshine here ; it 
 naturally gravitates to the sunny side of the 
 road, the house, the car. Every house, from the 
 modest cottage to the millionaire's mansion, 
 breaks out in bow-windows wherever bow-win-^ 
 
184 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 dows can be built. We got our bow- windows 
 with a full southern aspect, and revelled in them. 
 The house wherein we established ourselves was 
 kept by a Southern lady and her daughter, and 
 we soon found ourselves perfectly at home there, 
 members of a kind of happy family, living to- 
 gether in a harmony which reminded us very 
 much of a long visit in a pleasant country house. 
 We mustered in full force at meals, and scattered 
 afterwards ; we were solitary when we liked, and 
 sociable when we liked. We were from all parts 
 of the world — London, Paris, Stuttgart, Alabama, 
 Connecticut — and all fraternised cordially and 
 refrained from discussing politics. We lent and 
 exchanged books, papers, ' patent mustard-leaves,' 
 and Neuralgine — the latter specifics often called 
 into requisition when the sunshine suddenly dis- 
 solved in torrents of rain ; for it is very much 
 of a climate to catch cold in. The young lady in 
 the north-room hung her canary in our southerly 
 window ; the parlour-lady played on the French 
 governess's piano ; we learnt to know each other's 
 affairs, and watched with tender interest the 
 developments of a romance between my pretty 
 fair-haired dinner-neighbour and a certain hand- 
 some boarder. There was a 'roomer,' too, whom 
 no mortal eye ever saw. He went out before 
 breakfast, and seldom came home till we had 
 
SAN PBANOISOO LIFE. 185 
 
 all retired at night. He used to leave his weekly- 
 rent in a sealed envelope for the lady of the 
 house. By degrees, he became as a weird 
 mystery to us, and his room a sealed and haunted 
 chamber. Sometimes, at night, we heard his 
 door close ; but not one of us ever, from first 
 to last, saw his face. 
 
 The fraternal harmony in the parlour was, alas ! 
 not echoed by concord in the kitchen. There 
 was a Chinaman cook and an Irish chamber- 
 maid. Between Hong and Maria, the war of 
 races waged. They ate their meals at separate 
 tables, seated with their backs to each other. 
 Maria considered she demeaned herself by taking 
 a place with a Chinaman, and Hong confided to 
 me, ' Malia, she bad woman — she all black inside !' 
 By which poetic trope he desired to convey a 
 vivid image of the darkness of her evil heart and 
 benighted mind. Hong liked us, and used to 
 make for our special delectation what he called 
 ' Bnglee muffins,' which were, however, not much 
 like any I ever tasted at home. He resented 
 our failing to appear punctually at the breakfast- 
 table, and used to mount the stairs and ring a 
 bell outside our bed-room door, and threaten, 
 ' You no come when bell ling — you no get Bnglee 
 muffins.' Hong was a good-hearted fellow ; and 
 although ' tramps,' as a rule, are the sworn 
 
186 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 enemies of the Ohinese^wliat working-man in 
 California, in or out of work, lazy or industrious, 
 drunk or sober, is not John's enemy ? — he never 
 failed to bring the daily tramp's message to the 
 hospitable Southern mistress of the house. ' One 
 tlamp — he hunglee — wantee blekfast,' was his 
 ordinary morning communication. Sometimes it 
 was ' Two tlampee,' and once, ' Tlampee no like 
 fish — wantee bif'teak.' Nor was the tramp ever 
 sent hungry away. Sometimes he was a respect- 
 able-looking, well-dressed man, in a black coat 
 and presentable boots, who ate his ' blekfast ' 
 decorously, said a most gentlemanly ' Thank you, 
 madam 1' and went his way. 
 
 Poor Hong, like all his kind, ran the chance 
 of rudeness on the part of his natural enemies 
 in the public street. The hoodlum thinks no- 
 thing better fun than to cuff or trip up a China- 
 man ; the ' sand-lotter ' holds that he was made to 
 be kicked, if not killed ; and the Chinaman knows 
 too well the tenure on which he holds his place 
 in California, nay, his very life itself there, to 
 retaliate. It is not much above a dozen years 
 since unoffending Mongolian men and boys were 
 stoned to death in the San Francisco streets; 
 and it is since we were in California that the 
 weight of the Pacific Slope influence — too power- 
 ful for either the Democratic or the Kepublican 
 
SAN FltANCISOO LIFE. 187 
 
 party to oppose — has forced upon tlie Govern- 
 ment the ' Chinese Bill ' prohibiting the immigra- 
 tion of Chinese labourers into the United States. 
 The Bill is unconstitutional — true ; the Republic 
 of Washington's foundation, according to its 
 original constitution, was free and open to all 
 peaceable and law-abiding persons to enter as to 
 leave. But the Bill has passed both houses ; and 
 the President's veto was not maintained. California 
 is too strong a State to defy or ignore. 
 
 I remember one day I entered a street-car 
 which was crowded, amongst the passengers 
 being two Chinamen. The conductor looked 
 along the car, and, seeing there was no seat for 
 me, reached out a long, strong arm, took the 
 nearest Chinaman by the collar, and coolly 
 dragged him out of the car without a word. The 
 Chinaman accepted this without resistance ; his 
 companion as quietly followed him. Nobody in 
 the car appeared to take the slightest notice of 
 the proceeding ; it was evidently regarded as 
 merely the natural order of things. 
 
 Apropos of the street-cars, we found, on one 
 of the San Francisco lines, a ' transfer ' system 
 of Arcadian simplicity. Going on a certain 
 journey across the city which entails a changing 
 of cars, you pay, or deliver your ticket, in the 
 first car, and alight a block or two from the place 
 
188 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 whence the second car starts. By the time you 
 have walked to the second car, the conductor 
 thereof, even if he had the eyes of a lynx, could 
 not detect which corner you came from. You 
 observe to him, ' Transfer from Mission Street,' 
 and take your seat, without ticket to show or 
 payment demanded. I wonder if it has ever 
 occurred to the car company that there is nothing 
 to prevent anyone from stealing a ride by saying, 
 ' Transfer !' when they have never been trans- 
 ferred ? There is a characteristic lavishness and 
 carelessness about Oalifornians as a rule. Even 
 in the shops, we found they were by no means 
 particular with change ; they did not mind if 
 they gave us a trifle too little — or too much, and 
 were equally indifferent if we laid down a coin 
 that was a few cents over, or under, our debt. 
 
 With theatres, society, drives, and pleasure- 
 excursions, our time in the Golden City slides 
 away only too quickly. Life there is so bright 
 and gay, sparkling and effervescent as cham- 
 pagne. One lives at high-pressure all the time. 
 There are signs and tokens, too, which reveal to 
 us that under the fair, smiling, civilised surface 
 works still the leaven of the rough and desperate 
 days when a man here carried his life in his hand. 
 As through a little crack and fissure in volcanic 
 ground sometimes you catch a red gleam, a breath 
 
SAN FBANOISCO LIFE. 189 
 
 of smoke, a rumble of subterranean thunder, so 
 here now and then we catch a lurid flash that tells 
 of the wilder life beneath. 
 
 To the older citizens the 'Vigilance Committee' 
 seems but yesterday. We delight in hearing these 
 * men of '49 fight their battles o'er again.' How 
 proudly they tell the story of the days when, at 
 the signal stroke of the fire-bell, three thousand of 
 the best and truest citizens (not to be confounded 
 with the mere mobs whose summarily wreaked 
 vengeance comes under the denomination of 
 ' lynch-law ') turned out in orderly and silent 
 throngs, and marched with military precision to 
 their appointed posts, banded together with the 
 purpose of deliberately and publicly violating the 
 law in the interests of justice and morality. And, 
 where the law had failed, this ' extra-judicial 
 organisation ' succeeded in achieving the desired 
 results, and even conquered in collisions with the 
 law itself. When the ' Committee ' was at length 
 disbanded, having done its work, the city made a 
 general holiday to witness the celebration ; the 
 streets were decorated with flags and flowers, and 
 crowds of applauding citizens lined the route of 
 the procession, as, with military bands and wav- 
 ing banners, the ' Vigilance Committee ' marched 
 in state through the city to which they had re- 
 stored order and justice. In their farewell 
 
190 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 address, they promised that, if ever it proved 
 necessary, the organisation should be revived. 
 The story of the ' Vigilance Committee ' always 
 seemed to us one of the most characteristic epi- 
 sodes of the history of California. 
 
 And to-day there is a talk of the ' Vigilance 
 Committee ' being organised again to uphold the 
 party of Peace, Law, and Order against the 
 threats of the ' Sand Lot.' We open our Chronicle 
 at breakfast, and find an ' Address to the People,' 
 appealing to ' all good citizens ' to ' sign the roll.' 
 It declares that the time has come when 'the 
 public threats of such wicked and inhuman 
 designs' as 'riot, conflagration, unlimited pillage, 
 and possible massacre' ' will be no longer toler- 
 ated.' ' Whoever would begin violence, riot, or 
 conflagration here, let him first count the cost !' 
 
 Whether the party of anarchy are in any way 
 impressed by his manifesto does not appear ; but 
 certainly no attempt at incendiarism or pillage is 
 made. 
 
 It seems that the Californian, as a rule, does 
 not travel, or even go about the city, unarmed. 
 Even in New York the revolver is much more 
 commonly carried than a casual passer-through 
 would imagine ; and in San Francisco it appar- 
 ently is as much a finishing touch to a gentleman's 
 toilette as his watch. 
 
SAJS FEANOISOO LIFE. 191 
 
 In a lady's dressing-room, I see amongst other 
 ornaments on an elegant, lace-draped toilette- 
 table, between a satin pin-cushion and a case of 
 cut-glass bottles of perfume, a dainty little 
 weapon. 
 
 'What a dear little toy pistol !' I exclaim, taking 
 it up. 
 
 ' It's rather a deadly toy,' the lady observes ; 
 ' don't play with it too carelessly — it's loaded. 
 Why, my dear,' she adds, smiling at my look of 
 dismayed astonishment, and the haste with which 
 I remove my eye from the barrel, down which I 
 was squinting, 'what would be the use of it if it 
 wasn't loaded?' 
 
 One of the noteworthy men in the city is — or 
 was at the season of which I speak — the editor of 
 the Chronicle, Charles De Young. The story of 
 his career, of his working his way upward from 
 the position of a penniless printer's boy to that 
 which had always been his ambition, which he 
 kept steadily before him, and to which, by sheer 
 pluck and push and persistent energy, he attained 
 at last — that of proprietor and editor of a power- 
 ful paper — this story is in itself an interesting 
 one ; but the remarkable thing to us is that he 
 walks about the city openly, free and fearless, and 
 apparently enjoying life— his stirring, full, busy 
 life — while the doctors are still probing for his 
 
192 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 bullet in the breast of the mayor of the city. 
 
 A friend of ours happened to be present at 
 ' the shooting,' and periodically relates the details 
 of the affair with gusto ; he always winds the 
 story up with a regret, not unalloyed with dis- 
 approbation, that, ' after so many affairs, De 
 Young should make such a bad shot !' 
 
 This ' affair ' had its cause, of course. The 
 editor of the Chronicle avenged an insult to his 
 mother by that bullet. Thereby hangs a tale — a 
 long tale, too — and it is expected that the trial 
 will be a deeply interesting one. But that trial 
 never comes off. Charles De Young was to stand 
 before a higher tribunal to answer for his deed. 
 Just after we leave the city, and two days before 
 that fixed for his trial, the tragic culmination of 
 the long feud takes place. The mayor's son walks 
 into the Chronicle office, and instantly, without a 
 word being spoken, in the presence of some four 
 or five witnesses, levels his revolver and shoots 
 De Young mortally before he can draw his weapon. 
 He falls and dies with the undischarged pistol, 
 which his failing hand caught too late to defend 
 himself, dropping from his unconscious grasp. 
 
 The mayor's son stands his trial, which lasts 
 nearly forty days. Eventually he walks out of 
 court a free man, acquitted by the verdict of a 
 free and enlightened jury — the plea on his behalf 
 
AMONG THE EKDWOODS. 193 
 
 being that be acted in self-defence. The case is 
 a characteristic one, on which comment would be 
 superfluous. 
 
 v.— AMONG THE REDWOODS. 
 
 One bright morning in the opening of March— a 
 month which here might just as well be called 
 May or September — we start from San Francisco 
 by the San Quentin boat. The state prison is at 
 San Quentin ; but it is not thither that we are 
 bound ; nor do we take any prisoners in our com- 
 pany on board. There does not seem to be much 
 traffic for San Quentin to-day ; we have one side 
 of the deck all to ourselves, and enjoy this not 
 the least of our many delightful voyages on the 
 beautiful Bay of San Francisco, of which we never 
 weary. To-day the sky and the water are a 
 monotone of radiant blue. White sails and black 
 smoke-stacks dot the broad expanse of this inland 
 sea — whereon the fleets of all the nations might 
 ride at anchorage — land-locked save at the Golden 
 Gate, through which, ' out of the golden, remote, 
 wild west,' and ' straight from the sunset,' flows 
 in the mighty Pacific. 
 
 Before us rises, in strong, bold outline and rich 
 purple shade against the azure sky, the grand 
 
194 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 mountain Tamalpais. We sail on by the fortified 
 
 islands that guard the Gate ; we 
 
 ' unchallenged pass 
 By the silent guns of Alcatraz !' 
 
 and by the stronghold of Angel Island. 
 
 Arrived at San Quentin, we change to the 
 little train of ' North Pacific Coast Line ' narrow- 
 gauge cars, which we find awaiting our boat. It 
 seems a very trim, clean, toy-looking little train 
 after the great ' palace cars ' of the overland 
 journey. We pass through the lovely village of 
 San Rafael, one of the favourite resorts of San 
 Franciscans needing a change from the city. It 
 is an idyllic-looking cluster of pretty, white-and- 
 cream-coloured wooden villas and nosegays of 
 gardens nestling low among the hills. Beyond 
 this we run into a perfectly beautiful and ever- 
 changing landscape of wood and water, dark pine- 
 forests, swelling green hills, and sunny valleys. 
 In making its way along the shore and through 
 the hills, our line plays the strangest tricks. It 
 coils in and out, and round and round, disappears 
 round corners, vanishes in tunnels, has a game 
 of hide-and-seek with the hills, and comes unex- 
 pectedly to light again on a level. Sometimes we 
 think we have lost our engine, or the engine has 
 forgotten us and gone on without us ; but it 
 always appears from behind a bluff at last, having 
 
AMONG THE REDWOODS. 195 
 
 doubled the train in half, or tricksily twisted it 
 into a figure of 8. 
 
 We dash over trestle-works that look too fra- 
 gile to support our weight, and, being in America, 
 are of course so narrow that our cars overlap the 
 track. We run along Tomales Bay — nay, run 
 over it, for half the time the trestle-works are 
 over the water. Presently we get into the Eed- 
 woods, which, at a distant, cursory first glance, 
 present very much the aspect of pines. We have 
 at this stage of the journey the car almost en- 
 tirely to ourselves, and the conductor comes up 
 to chat with us, and do the honours of the Red- 
 woods to the strange ladies who have come 
 from the city on purpose to see them. Getting 
 interested in our society, he sits down on the 
 stove, which causes me so much anxiety that I 
 lose the thread of his conversation, as I have 
 seen him but a short time before shovel an 
 abundant supply of coal into the said stove, and 
 I am apprehensive of the consequences. He 
 points out to us, amongst the giant ranks of the 
 great dark Eed woods, other noteworthy California 
 trees, the ' live-oak,' with its peculiar pale green, 
 moss-like foliage and silvery bark; the stately 
 ' sugar-pine ;' the beautiful madrono, ' mother of 
 the forest,' with copper- red, sleek, shining branches 
 and large, glossy leaves, the native of the wild 
 
 2 
 
196 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 woods which cannot be transplanted from its 
 forest home, and will not grow in tame, cultivated 
 garden lands ; the manzanita, with its deeper, 
 richer red bark and oval waxy leaf, its pinkish 
 white bell and pearly berry. 
 
 He tells us how, last year, the Russian river 
 which we are now skirting, rose fifty-four feet, 
 and carried away many cottages, and set them 
 down, bodily and unbroken, every here and there 
 along the valley. He points out to us several 
 still lying exactly as the retreating flood had 
 left them ; one standing on its head in a sadly 
 damaged condition, another with one wall gone, 
 a clean-cut section of a house; others fallen on 
 one side, and very tottery, but some looking quite 
 unhurt and as habitable still as if they had not 
 made such an adventurous voyage. We inquire 
 about the fate of their unfortunate inmates, and 
 are assured, 
 
 ' I guess they got out all safe and comfortable.' 
 We are now in the region of the timber-mills, 
 where the ' kings of the forest ' are cut down and 
 sliced up and sawed into lengths. Late in the 
 afternoon, we arrive at our destination, the ter- 
 minus of the line, Duncan Mills. Here, in the 
 very heart of the Eedwoods, we find a large and 
 comfortable hotel. There is no town, no village, 
 nothing but the hotel and some outbuildings, 
 
AMONG THE REDWOODS. 197 
 
 and, at a little distance, the great mill, to 
 be seen. We are the only passengers who have 
 come as far as the terminus, and, as it is out 
 of the season, we are the only guests at the hotel. 
 Thus we have our choice of quarters, and secure 
 two large and well-furnished, communicating rooms, 
 with an outlook from the windows, which reminds 
 us of Switzerland — a wild and lonely scene of 
 peaked, purple hills in the background; a fore- 
 ground of ever-green forest ; a few scattered 
 sheds like toy chalets, two or three pigs, and a 
 goat roving about the barren ground, which is 
 innocent of garden, path, flower-bed, or green- 
 sward. We soon sit down to an excellent 
 dinner, cooked and served by Chinamen. At 
 the next table to us, on one side, the landlord 
 and his family compose the party ; the table 
 on the other side is occupied by several gentle- 
 men, of some of whose faces it appears to us 
 we must have had a glimpse before, and in whom 
 we presently identify our conductor, with his fel- 
 low railway officials : engineer, stoker, baggage- 
 man, etc. 
 
 In the evening, we all, except the railway 
 employes, resort to the general parlour, where 
 the strength of our little company is increased 
 by a big, dark, handsome fellow in top-boots, 
 who is presented to us as the 'express agent,' 
 
198 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 and a laconic young lady in spectacles, who, we 
 understand, is ' tlie school-mistress,' though, as 
 we see no sign of a village, it is a puzzling 
 question, whence come the scholars? We all 
 gather round a goodly fire of the great, flaming, 
 fragrant pine-logs — the sort of ' Yule-tide ' fire 
 that looks as if it ought to be blazing in a 
 baronial hall — and find the evening fly quickly 
 by. The mistress of the hotel relates to us 
 reminiscences of ' crossing the Plains ;' recalls 
 how she, a little child, heard the Indians' war- 
 yell as they came down upon the ' corral ' wherein 
 the emigrant party were encamped for the night. 
 The express-agent talks literature and the drama, 
 Shakespeare, Byron, and European politics ; in 
 every topic of the day he is quite au courant. 
 We wind-up by a grand discussion on the Chinese 
 question. I do not think we ever talked long 
 to a Oalifornian without the Chinese question 
 coming up ; and we invariably found, even when 
 seated at a choice dinner, excellently cooked by 
 Sing Hi, and deftly served by Wong Low, the 
 Californian sentiment — when Wong Low had 
 turned his back — was uttered with one accord : 
 
 ' The Chinese must go ! We've had enough, and 
 too much of them.' 
 
 The next day a brilliant sky arched over the 
 dark Redwoods j the wintry cold of the early 
 
AMONG THE EEDWOODS. 199 
 
 morning warmed into spring, and then into sum- 
 mer, as the sun rose higher. At mid-day, the 
 ' waggon,' to drive us through the forest, was 
 at the door ; a burly driver on the box, and our 
 landlord and our express-agent — handsomer and 
 more picturesque than ever by daylight, in a 
 huge sombrero, a rough light coat, and boots 
 up to his waist — waiting to hand us to our seats. 
 We drove off, and, to our astonishment, drove 
 immediately off the road at a right angle and 
 straight, splash into the Russian river ! 
 
 Our first idea was that we had been entrusted 
 to the mercies of a lunatic ; but the sight of the 
 express-agent's composed and smiling expression, 
 as he stood cheerily waving his hat, relieved us, 
 especially when combined with the driver's assur- 
 ance, ' It's the ford right here, ma'am.' Still we 
 did not relish the proceeding when, having driven 
 out into the middle of the river, the water splash- 
 ing over the axles, he turned, and drove directly 
 down-stream, the current rising and swirling over 
 the wheels, till it looked as if the horses were 
 swimming. 
 
 'All right, ma'am,' was his paternal reply to 
 our remonstrance. ' See those sticks ? They 
 mark the way. It's twenty feet deep on either 
 side of us, but all safe here.' 
 
 This process of fording the Russian River was 
 
200 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 repeated two or three times, as the river and the 
 road kept tangling themselves up together. The 
 horses seemed to like it, so did the driver; and 
 we resigned ourselves to it. Then we came to 
 a ' corduroy ' road, which is formed by the simple 
 and ingenious device of laying enormous logs at 
 intervals of a few feet or yards across a Slough 
 of Despond. The vehicle climbs and plunges 
 over a high log, and flounders down into a quick- 
 sand of black mud, whence the horses by a long 
 and frantic struggle succeed in extricating the 
 wheels, and dragging the vehicle up on to the 
 next log ; and thus, in alternately leaping over 
 logs and sinking into yawning abysses of quag- 
 mire, we progressed over the ' corduroy ' road, 
 which left its impression on us far deeper than 
 the surface ! our very hones felt bruised. But 
 we forgot our jarred and aching heads in the 
 grandeur of the scene around us. It was the 
 ' Forest Primaeval ;' the lofty vistas between the 
 upright ranks of Redwoods, dark and stately, 
 were solemn and hushed as the aisles of a great 
 cathedral : the silence of the wilderness was onlv 
 broken now and then by the harsh twitter of the 
 blue-jay ; the rich, soft, green saplings, straight 
 and slender, and scarcely swaying a leaf in the 
 still, windless air, lightened the gloom in the deep 
 shadows of the patriarchal trees, whose towering 
 
.AMONG THE KEDWOODS. 201 
 
 tops seemed to prick the azure of the skies. 
 
 These are not the ' Big Trees ' proper, Sequoia 
 Gigantea, but a species pecuhar to the Coast 
 Range of California, the Sequoia Sempervirens. 
 However, as we had seen nothing bigger, they 
 were the ' Big Trees ' to us. Many are three hun- 
 dred feet in height, straight as poplars, and 
 majestic as pines, of such equal altitude that it 
 is almost impossible to realise the full stature 
 of their mammoth ranks. The driver pointed 
 out several that he said were fifteen feet in 
 diameter. Once we alighted, and made our way 
 through the brush to measure a giant of the 
 forest with a long rope. Standing there, amongst 
 and under the Redwoods, we realised for the 
 first time how colossal they were, and what insig- 
 nificant little insects we! We felt like flies or 
 beetles crawling round the huge trunk, which 
 we found to be fully fifty feet in circumference. 
 
 After enjoying a day or two in the comfortable 
 hotel at Duncan Mills, we returned to the city 
 of San Francisco, and thence took the Southern 
 Pacific Railway for a trip down the coast, paying 
 flying visits to Monterey, the Carmel Valley, 
 Salinas City, and Santa Cruz. We found Mon- 
 terey a sleepy, dead-alive old Spanish town, flat 
 and forlorn-looking; the old houses mostly of 
 adohe, but some — I presume the more modern 
 
202 BBTWJfiEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 ones — of wood, looking like tumble-down barns ; 
 a touch of picturesqueness was imparted to the 
 place by the dark-browed, slouch-hatted Spaniards 
 lounging about the sandy streets, and by the 
 fanciful colouring of some of the adobe houses. 
 ' Adobe ' — a sort of sun-dried clay — in its natural 
 state, is exactly like solidified London mud ; but 
 in Monterey we found in many cases its natur- 
 ally unbeautiful hue embellished by a thick coat 
 of paint, or coloured plaster, so that here we 
 came upon a pale pink house, there upon a cream- 
 coloured cottage, and then upon a light-scarlet 
 dwelling, picked out with green shutters. 
 
 We put up at a queer little adobe hotel, with 
 walls about a yard thick, and not a drop of water 
 fit to drink. A little way outside the town, a 
 magnificent new hotel, surrounded by extensive 
 and beautifully wooded grounds, was nearly com- 
 pleted. It was opened soon after our visit to 
 Monterey, and is a brilliant success : a result 
 surely to be anticipated, as good accommodation 
 was really all that the picturesque old Spanish 
 town on the shore of the Pacific Ocean needed 
 to make it a most enjoyable and popular resort. 
 It is not to be forgotten that we visited Monterey 
 'out of the season,' at its deadest time. We 
 heard it was very gay in summer. It is sur- 
 rounded by beautiful and interesting drives. To 
 
AMONG THJfi REDWOODS. 203 
 
 the old adobe ruin, the 'Mission of San Carlos,' one 
 of the earliest of the Californian 'missions;' 
 through the Carmel Valley, a landscape soft and 
 sweet, and poetic as its name ; to Pescadero ; 
 Lighthouse Point ; to ' Moss ' and ' Pebbly ' 
 Beaches, and Cypress Point : to all these, excur- 
 sions were duly made. 
 
 We enjoyed a shell and seaweed hunt on 
 Moss Beach, a wild waste of white sand spark- 
 ling like snow, dotted with low boulders and 
 ' EankB of bright seaweed, the ebb-tides left dry !' 
 and little tufts of pretty, modest ' tunita ' flowers 
 — at least, so it was, I think, that our driver 
 called them. He spoke but little English ; he 
 looked like a lamb-like brigand, or one of those 
 operatic characters who would come on in the 
 chorus — as described in the stage-directions, 
 ' Enter cloaked conspirators,' — and sing their evil 
 intentions in a bass sotto voce. We asked him 
 what his name was, and he replied, in his deep, 
 rich, soft Spanish accents, ' Rafael Serrano/ which 
 musical cognomen I immediately jotted down in 
 my note-book for the hero of my next novel ; but, 
 somehow, I have not utilised it yet, and I make it 
 a present to any of the fraternity. 
 
 We drove on to Cypress Point, and picnicked 
 there. It is a singular grove of trees, of which 
 scarcely one retains normal shape or erect posi- 
 
204 BKTWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 tion. They are all gnarled and twisted and dis- 
 torted — a grisly army of cripples, as if struck 
 still in some convulsion by an evil wizard, with 
 their knotted and writhen limbs, never to relax 
 again. By night they must be like a weird and 
 ghastly gathering of spectres, with something 
 horribly human in their contortions. But in the 
 bright light of day we picnicked merrily in their 
 shade. 
 
 All that day the vast Pacific lay dazzlingly blue 
 in the sunshine — a wonderful blue of deepest 
 amethyst, the long swell of its mighty waves roll- 
 ing in a low, continuous boom on the beach, while 
 the exhilarating salt sea-breeze, strong as wine of 
 iodine and ozone, blew in ' from the bountiful, 
 infinite West,' from far-off fair lands ' full of the 
 sunset !' 
 
 The next beach we visited was that called the 
 ' Pebbly,' which was like those of our ordinary 
 sea-side "shingly beaches, wherein we hunt for 
 agate pebbles, and seldom find any. But it seemed 
 to be considered a rare sight — which, indeed, is 
 natural, considering that it is the only beach of 
 the kind on that part of the coast — and Rafael 
 Serrano prepared to tether his horse and settle him- 
 self for a several hours' stay there, as he made sure 
 we should not be able to tear ourselves away from 
 the curious scene and the delicious novelty of 
 
AMONG THE REDWOODS. 205 
 
 hunting for pebbles, until at least a period of 
 hours had been devoted to these rare delights. 
 
 From Monterey we moved on to Santa Cruz, a 
 pretty and picturesque sea-side town, where we 
 found excellent accommodation, enjoyed some 
 lovely walks and drives, and, after a day or two, 
 hired a 'spring. waggon,' which, we were informed, 
 was the right kind of vehicle for the occasion, to 
 take us to the Felton Grove of redwoods, which 
 are finer than those we had seen up in Sonoma 
 county, near Duncan Mills. 
 
 But in these colossal trees a few feet more or 
 less does not make very much apparent difference, 
 and thus the Felton Grove, although it comprises 
 many specimens of larger size, did not eclipse the 
 impression left in our ' mind's eye ' by the Sonoma 
 grove— with the exception of one scattered in- 
 sulated group of the biggest of the Felton trees, 
 dispersed at varying distances apart, and by far 
 the more impressive for their comparative isola- 
 tion. They were indeed wonderful ; some of them 
 seventy feet in circumference. Inside the hollow 
 trunk of one of them, christened ' Fremont's 
 Cabin,' because General Fremont in his expedi- 
 tion of 1 846 had taken up his quarters therein, a 
 man and his wife and family had lived for two 
 years. Another monarch of the woods was cov- 
 ered with visiting-cards, nailed round the trunk as 
 
206 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 high as a man could reach. Who or what this tree 
 represented, and why he was selected from his 
 brethren as the object of so many social ' calls,' I 
 know not ; but, anyhow, every tourist seemed to 
 have made a point of ' leaving his card,' until the 
 huge bole was completely hidden by the array of 
 paste-board, which had an absurd and incongru- 
 ous effect there — as if a fly should leave his card 
 on Jumbo ! Some of the visitors had an eye to 
 business, and left cards professionally — 'John 
 Jones, tailor,' 'Abijah G. Smith, photographer,' 
 and so on. 
 
 Among these giants of the forest we moved 
 about like creeping insects ; their towering crowns 
 seemed too high for our eyes to reach. Their 
 magnitude weighed upon us almost overwhelm- 
 ingly ; there was something awful in the great 
 silence of the wilderness, which our voices broke 
 about as much as the cheep of a cricket. If these 
 were so impressive, we thought and sighed, how 
 stupendous must be the ' Grizzly Giants ' and ' Old 
 Goliahs ' of the Mariposa and Calaveras Groves — 
 the ' Big Trees ' proper — which we, alas ! are not 
 to take in our tour ! But one cannot see every- 
 thing, and the real Sequoia Gigantea, as also the 
 marvels of Yosemite, we must 'leave unseen 
 unknown,' like to the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 In the course of our journey, we were fast 
 
AMONG THE REDWOODS. 207 
 
 arriving at the conclusion that, to thoroughly 
 appreciate travelling in America, one must be an 
 unprotected female. "We were surrounded by 
 chivalrous kindness and courtesy, roughly ex- 
 pressed sometimes, but welcome always — from 
 the driver who, whether he had heard of Sir 
 "Walter Raleigh or not, threw his own rug over 
 the muddy wheel to save our dresses, to the head- 
 waiter who leant over our chair and inquired, in 
 solicitous tones of fraternal familiarity, 'Wal, and 
 how are you gett'n along ? Nicely, eh ? Wal, 
 that's right !' even down to the woolly-pated old 
 negro who carried our portmanteau two or three 
 hundred yards along the wharf for us, and, having 
 set it down at our goal, turned and was gone, 
 vanishing with such celerity, we had no time to 
 offer him a recompense. This ebony ' man and 
 brother' was in shining contrast to the white 
 hackman who immediately afterwards swindled us 
 out of four dollars for a five minutes' drive. 
 
 From Santa Cruz we returned northwards to 
 Alameda, and took boat across the bay to San 
 Francisco. The sun was setting beyond the 
 Golden Gate, through whose purple portals broke 
 a shining glimpse of the distant ocean ; and the 
 tide of light flowed in and flooded the bay with 
 glory. Never was there a more resplendent scene 
 of light and colour ! The filmy prismatic tran- 
 
208 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 sparencies of the Californian atmosphere veiled 
 the distant valleys in a soft, rosy haze strangely 
 shot with shimmers of gold ; an opalescent halo 
 clung about the hills ; the great, deep waters, the 
 earth, the heavens from horizon to horizon, were 
 all bathed in a luminous flush. It might have 
 been the reflection of some unearthly flames that 
 lit the sky, as we 
 
 ' Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
 Sailed into the dusk of evening !' 
 
209 
 
 ACROSS THE SIERRAS. 
 
 The great steam-ferry ploughed steadily across 
 the slowly-heaving waves of San Francisco Bay. 
 A grey mist shrouded sky, and land, and waters, 
 and fell like a veil over the Golden City we 
 were leaving behind us. We looked back at it 
 from the stern of the boat, and our farewell 
 gaze rested only upon what seemed the huge 
 battlements of some gigantic castle looming 
 dimly through the fog. No more than this was 
 to be seen of the Queen City of the West, with 
 her hundred hills, her climbing streets, her 
 forest of shipping, the barren sand-dunes at her 
 feet, the mountains standing guard around her. 
 
 The Oakland boat — its great saloon a wonder 
 of gilding and mirrors and velvet couches; its 
 length of well-washed deck offering a wide, 
 smooth promenade to such as liked exercise — was 
 bearing us and the other Overland passengers 
 across the bay to the overland train, which was 
 to whirl us Eastward from California. 
 
 ' You'll be lucky, if you are not snowed up on 
 
 p 
 
210 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 the Sierras,' observed a cheerful friend, rubbing 
 his hands over our anticipated misery. ' You're 
 going to run right into a snow-storm.' 
 
 ' We shall not starve, anyhow,' we replied, re- 
 garding the promising dimensions of the luncheon- 
 baskets which Joe the Chinaman, smiling, blue- 
 bloused, slippered, pig-tailed, bore for our benefit. 
 
 ' I don't know,' said our friend, shaking his 
 head. 'My sister was snow-bound for twenty 
 days coming from Omaha.' 
 
 ' Let me introduce you to some fellow- victims,' 
 said another of the battalion of friends who had 
 come to ' see us off.' 
 
 It seems as if the American would never 
 lose a chance of ' seeing off ' anyone — friend or 
 foe. Whatever place we were leaving, we were 
 invariably ' seen off ' by a social party of well- 
 wishers, some of whom would bring their friends 
 with them to enjoy the occasion. 
 
 ' General A.' and ' Judge B.' were duly intro- 
 duced. We all bowed as gracefully as was 
 possible, considering that the boat was rocking 
 like a cradle as she plunged over the waves, 
 and the mighty wind that rushes in from the 
 Pacific through the Golden Gate was endeavour- 
 ing to carry off our hats and bonnets in spite 
 of our restraining hands. Our faithful Chinese 
 Joe smiled serenely, as one lady's headgear flew 
 
AOEOSS THE SIBBBA.S. 211 
 
 ofE, and skimmed along the deck, and observed : 
 
 ' Muchee blowee.' 
 
 Arrived at Oakland Wharf, we found the train 
 of long, yellow-painted cars awaiting us, and had 
 only time to discover in which of the ' sleepers ' 
 our berths were taken, and bid a hasty farewell 
 to our friends, before the engine-bell clanged, and 
 we were off. ' Good-bye ' is always a miserable 
 word to say, and California is not a pleasant 
 country to leave ! The very bouquets in our 
 hands, the April roses and calla-lilies, the parting 
 offerings of friends too well loved to be lightly 
 left, looked like sad relics ; and as to the 
 luncheon-baskets — we were more inclined to shed 
 a tear upon the home-made cake concocted by 
 loving hands than to eat it ! 
 
 The sun shone out and the morning mist faded 
 away as we rushed through the smiling meadows 
 and fertile valleys of the Golden State. We set- 
 tled ourselves, our bouquets, and our small bag- 
 gage very comfortably within the limits of the 
 two cushioned seats which constituted our ' sec- 
 tion,' and had even a fragment of a seat wherewith 
 to accommodate our visitors, when General A. 
 and Judge B., who were quartered in another car, 
 came to pay us morning calls. They invited us 
 to return their visit by taking a walk into the 
 next car, which we did, and beguiled the time 
 
 p2 
 
212 BETWEEN TWO OOBAKS. 
 
 partly by an inspection of the various cars, partly 
 by a study of the ' Rules and Regulations ' pla- 
 carded on the walls. It was hurtful to our feel- 
 ings to find that we must not light a spirit-lamp 
 unless we had an ' infant in arms,' but very satis- 
 factory to be assured that ' one canary in a cage ' 
 might be carried free. At Martinez we were in- 
 terested in seeing our great train cut in half, and 
 the two halves run on to a huge ferry-boat, which 
 bore us across the Sacramento river. She touched 
 the pier so that the tracks on boat and land 
 exactly joined; we ran on shore, were put together 
 again, and dashed on our way to Sacramento. 
 
 At Sacramento station the pleasing prospect 
 was reported to us by General A. that a thousand 
 feet of snow-sheds were wrecked on the line 
 ahead of us, crushed beneath the weight of snow. 
 Luckily, no train was under them. The super- 
 intendent had rushed off on a special car with a 
 gang of men to clear the road for us. For we, 
 the overland mail, were of no inconsiderable con- 
 sequence. Were we not the one eastward mail 
 of the whole twenty-four hours ? Solaced by the 
 reflection of our own importance, we took a walk 
 upon the platform amid a crowd of red shirts, 
 round hats, and top-boots. The ' Western boy ' 
 of the paper-covered volumes on London railway 
 book-stalls was largely represented, and ' loafing ' 
 
ACROSS THE SIERRAS. 213 
 
 about in swarms — quiet, impassive, orderly, as he 
 always was whenever we came across him. An 
 Indian wrapped in a gaily-striped blanket crouched 
 on the steps of the baggage-car. , His black eyes 
 followed us stealthily as we passed ; his stolid 
 countenance seemed as though it could never 
 change. 
 
 A handsome luncheon was set out on the coun- 
 ter, and the nimble and ever-smiling Celestials 
 waited affably upon such travellers as chose to 
 take their meal there. For us, we returned to 
 our car, bade the mulatto porter set up the mov- 
 able table in our section, spread the cloth, opened 
 our picnic-baskets, and lunched in state. During 
 the afternoon, as our train swung on its swift 
 and steady way through the beautiful Sacramento 
 valley and flowering fields, we made acquaintance 
 with our fellow-passengers, and mutually confided 
 fragmentary portions of our histories. Once, 
 when the train pulled up between two stations, 
 and ran back two miles to pick up the engineer's 
 hat, which he had dropped, a couple of gallant 
 Californians improved the occasion by jumping 
 out of the car and scrambling down a bank to 
 gather some boughs of manzanita for the ladies. 
 The delicate green waxen leaves and exquisite 
 pink and white bell-blossoms were gratefully ac- 
 cepted, and pinned in our hats or dried in our 
 
214 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 guide-books. One pretty girl, going East alone, 
 about whom we wove our little romance, fastened 
 hers becomingly in her golden hair ; one enter- 
 prising child, Tommy by name, was detected 
 in ascertaining by practical experiment the fla- 
 vour of the manzauita, and, on his branch being 
 snatched from him by his alarmed parent, pro- 
 tested that ' grizzly bears ate the manzanita berry 
 — Mountain Jim told him so — and why shouldn't 
 he ?' We had a trio of English tourists in our 
 car, who had crossed the Pacific from Australia, 
 and were on a tour round the world. They had 
 stayed three days in San Francisco, and said there 
 was nothing to see there. 
 
 In climbing the foothills of the Sierras we came 
 upon new beauties of colouring in the landscape, 
 the dark pine woods and the graceful saplings of 
 paler hue contrasting with the warm ruddy tones 
 of the banks of orange-red earth below and the 
 vivid blue sky above. It was nearly evening, 
 and, as the sun sank lower and lower behind the 
 mountains, the cloudless sapphire of the sky 
 deepened into diviner and more mysterious hues, 
 and still lovelier and lovelier grew the tender 
 lights and the rich shadows of the pine forest 
 flooded in the golden haze of sunset. 
 
 At Colfax, about twilight, the conductor made 
 the announcement — which we had all the after- 
 
AOliOSS THE SIEBEAS. 215 
 
 noon been anticipating— that the line was blocked 
 ahead of us, and we could go no further. "We 
 were ignominiously shunted into a siding, and 
 left there to pass the night. I do not know how 
 ■we should have killed time that evening by the 
 light of two dim oil-lamps, hung so high in the 
 roof of the car that we could neither see to read 
 nor write, had not the Judge produced a pack 
 of cards, the beauty of the car a box of dominoes, 
 and Tommy's mother contributed the priceless 
 treasure of the fifteen-puzzle. The General and 
 the Judge got up a whist-party, and a bachelor 
 quartette at the end of the car enjoyed an up- 
 roarious game of Poker. The rest of the gentle- 
 men disappeared, including the British trio. I 
 think there was a saloon in the town, for they 
 did not return till late, warbling the melodious 
 strains of Upidee-idee-ida ! which idiotic refrain 
 appeared to be popular. 
 
 The porter pulled the sliding shelves from 
 under our seats, which make the two seats into 
 what is called a ' double lower berth,' let down 
 the upper berths, hooked up the curtains, and 
 soon the car was a dormitory. 
 
 In the morning, we breakfasted at six, and 
 then started on our journey again. We rounded 
 the wonderful curve of Cape Horn, where the 
 railway-track creeps like a spider-line round the 
 
216 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 face of a huge wall of rock towering high above, 
 and falling sheer two thousand feet below. We 
 looked down on the tops of the tall pines half 
 lost in mist, far, far beneath us — looked away to 
 the ocean of mountain peaks, like tossing billows 
 frozen at their height, which frown down upon 
 the great American Canon. 
 
 We were soon in the snow-lands now. At the 
 next stopping-place we all turned out of our 
 stove-heated car in search of air and exercise. 
 Air — fresh, cold, keen mountain air, we could 
 get ; but chance of exercise, alas ! there was 
 none. Banks of snow were piled high on each 
 side of our train ; we were literally in a narrow 
 cutting between two snow walls ; tliere was 
 scarcely room for us to alight from the slippery, 
 frozen steps of the car. The irrepressible 
 Tommy leaped out, and plunged at the snowy 
 banks, and shouted to us all to ' come down, 
 and play snowballs !' We collected some snow 
 in saucers, flavoured it with lemon and rasp- 
 berry syrup from our stores, and handed it 
 round to the gentlemen. ' Take an ice-cream. 
 Judge ?' invited the beauty, sweetly, just as 
 Tommy, exhilarated by the General having 
 playfully rolled him in the snow, projected a 
 fine snowball with too sure an aim at the mag- 
 nificent expanse of the Judge's vest. 
 
AOBOSS THE SIERRAS. 217 
 
 We climbed rapidly up the Sierras, and in less 
 than four hours were at Summit, at an altitude 
 of seven thousand and seventeen feet, the highest 
 point touched by the Central Pacific Railway. 
 We next passed Donner Creek, hard by Conner 
 Lake, the scene of one of the most terrible of 
 all the tragedies that were enacted along this 
 route, whereon the milestones are forgotten 
 graves. We shuddered as we looked on the 
 snow-covered mountains, and recalled the horrors 
 of that story of the starving camp — the men, and 
 even women , lost to humanity in the rage of 
 famine ; the one heroic woman, faithful unto 
 death — who rejected the offered chance of escap- 
 ing with her children, and, seeing them on the 
 road to safety, remained to die by her husband's 
 side — whose name is given to the creek that was 
 the scene, and is the commemoration, of her 
 sufferings and her deathless love. We turned 
 away from the merciless shroud of snow that 
 sheeted the earth, as it enfolded them that day — 
 little more than thirty years ago. 
 
 Now we reached the region of snow-sheds. 
 For hours we ran at slackened speed through 
 these dark timber-galleries — like tunnels above 
 ground. The back-blown smoke from our loco- 
 motive filled the close air, so that we were driven 
 in, half-stifled, from the platforms, where we were 
 
218 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 taking an airing ; and even in the car there was 
 such a chorus of coughing that we might have 
 been a party of consumptive invalids. It was 
 too dark to read ; and in our hearts we were 
 in perpetual apprehension lest the event which 
 had so lately happened — of the roof falling, 
 crushed in by the weight of snowdrifts — should 
 recur, in which case we should have had short 
 shrift. 
 
 Here and there we came upon great gaps in 
 wall and roof, and broken timbers, the relics 
 of yesterday's wreckage. Through these gaps 
 we caught glimpses of the great Sierras never 
 to be forgotten, brief as they were. Brief, for 
 the scene was too dazzling for the eye to bear. 
 The vast slopes of shining snow blinded us, 
 emerging from our darkness, like a lightning 
 blaze. Up to the highest heavens the clearly- 
 outlined snow-peaks seemed to reach, and away 
 to the horizon the immeasurable snowdrifts 
 spread. We looked out upon a world of spot- 
 less, dazzling, blinding, wonderful white. The 
 great pines were clothed from head to foot in 
 snow ; but the proud heads of these monarchs 
 of the mountain and the forest did not bend 
 beneath the weight of their frosted-silver crowns. 
 Among those scenes, which will come back to 
 us in memory for ever, uneclipsed in the future, 
 
ACROSS THE SIBBBAS. 219 
 
 as unrivalled in the past, will always shine out 
 those too brief glimpses of the wondrous white 
 world of the Sierras ! 
 
 At Reno, we had descended to a level of four 
 thousand five hundred feet, and were in the great 
 mining State of Nevada, at a junction from which 
 the Virginia and Truckee Railroad runs to the 
 mining centre, Virginia City, on the celebrated 
 Comstock lode. Here we found the noble red 
 man and his wives had ' come out for to see ' us ; 
 and we returned the compliment by all turning 
 out on the platform to see them. There were 
 squaws old and young, some ugly as a heathen 
 idol, some with a certain beauty in their bronze 
 faces and great black eyes, most of them carrying 
 a pappoose, like a little mummy, swathed and 
 bound in a kind of wicker-cradle, and strapped 
 on the mother's back. A young squaw, no doubt 
 the beauty of the tribe, with daubs of vermilion 
 on her cheek-bones, just where a natural flush 
 would not be, attired in a buckskin-petticoat and 
 a blue blanket, stood immobile as a bronze statue, 
 apparently unconscious of the Judge's comments 
 on her attractions. An old squaw, sitting hud- 
 dled up on the steps, begged silently, with sinewy 
 brown hand outstretched. Several braves, clad 
 in blankets, red, yellow, and green, crowded on 
 the steps of the baggage-car. Each one had his 
 
220 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 gun, and we passed them with our meekest 
 aspect. One had a civilised hat, under which 
 his mane of wild, coarse hair streamed out incon- 
 gruously. Our compatriots on their way round 
 the world, referred to their ' Pacific Tourist ' guide- 
 book, and apparently revelled in the information 
 that these were Piutes ; they also culled from that 
 tourist's authority some curious details as to the 
 Piute burial customs. 
 
 Besides the Indians, a couple of negroes and 
 two or three Chinamen were also lounging about. 
 Here, on this little strip of platform, the four 
 races met. The white man elbowed the red man, 
 of whose land he has taken possession, and who 
 is dying and withering away before him ; the 
 black man, whom he tore from his native soil, 
 and through whom the blood of millions watered 
 the ruined fields of the South ; and the yellow 
 man, who is giving him trouble now, and promises 
 to give him more. 
 
 At the succeeding stations also the aborigines 
 hang about the platforms and climb on to the 
 freight-cars. Indians and editors ride free, ' dead- 
 head,' as they express it. We pass through the 
 land of the Piutes into the land of the Shoshonee, 
 but our inexperienced eyes detect no difference 
 in the aspect of these tribes. They all look very 
 dirty ; and only through the rose-coloured glasses 
 
ACROSS THE SIEEBAS. 221 
 
 of romance can one perceive any picturesqueness 
 in them to admire. But we must not fall into 
 the common error of judging the red race by 
 these half-tame specimens who hang about on the 
 fringe of civilisation, left behind by the true 
 Indian, who retreats to his fastnesses before the 
 white man's advance, but 
 
 ' Speeds an arrow as he flies.' 
 We are now on the great Plains. They were a 
 waste of sage-brush and snow when we crossed 
 them in the winter ; now they are a waste of sage- 
 brush and sand. Nothing to be seen, to east and 
 west and north and south, but barren desert, 
 brown sage-brush, and yellow sand. Late in the 
 afternoon our train pulls up in the middle of the 
 desert to wait for the Westward-bound Overland 
 to pass us, for across the Plains there is only a 
 single track, save at the crossing-places. We all 
 snatch the opportunity of alighting from our car, 
 and rambling about, ankle-deep in sand, picking 
 specimens of sage-brush, and hunting for agates, 
 which are said to be found here ; but, as I need 
 hardly say, we do not find any. Presently we 
 see a pufE of smoke on the edge of the desert — 
 soon the distant clanging of a bell reaches our 
 ears. The Pacific express is coming. We jump 
 up on to the platforms of our respective cars, and 
 stand there to see it pass. The living street, the 
 
222 
 
 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 counterpart of our own, comes rushing on its 
 way, half its passengers swarming out on the 
 platforms, the rest crowding at the windows, to 
 gaze at us as we are gazing at them. Thus the 
 Eastward and the Westward-bound meet and pass 
 — so closely that hands are stretched in recogni- 
 tion and greeting from one to the other. ' How 
 are you, Charlie ?' ' Hullo, Jack !' and two hands 
 catch and clasp for a second as their train, slight- 
 ly slackening its rush, sweeps past ours. 
 
 The excitement is over ; we are en route again. 
 Soon the sun goes down in a very glare of bar- 
 baric splendour. The dark clouds are broken up 
 into a blaze of incredible colours. No artist save 
 Turner would have dared to paint the vivid tints 
 that flame and fade and melt at last into a won- 
 derful gorgeous dappling of amethyst and gold 
 that overspreads the whole heavens. 
 
 In the evening, as we gaze upon the dusky 
 Plains, the dim horizon, the limitless desolation 
 of this dead-level seems to crush us. We remem- 
 ber the pioneers who toiled, and starved, and fell 
 by the way in the terrible journey across these 
 pathless Plains. In fancy we see the ghosts of 
 the waggon-trains crawling on their weary road. 
 We think how 
 
 ' There lies the nation's great high-road of dead 
 Forgotten and unnumbered !' 
 think how 
 
AOEOSS THE SIIUBEAS. 223 
 
 ' The brown and russet grasses wave 
 Along a thousand leagues that lie one common grave !' 
 
 And so the night falls, and at Humboldt — which 
 our guide-book describes as an oasis in the desert 
 — we alight for supper, and indulge in the luxu- 
 ries of hot meats, fish, and vegetables, which 
 are not comprised in our luncheon-baskets. We 
 are fortunate that night in getting delicious ante- 
 lope-steak and fresh mountain trout, and return 
 to our car smiling and serene as a Chinaman. 
 
 We have not recovered the twelve hours we 
 lost at Colfax, although we have been running at 
 extra speed across the Plains, and this night it is 
 evident that the engineer is ' doing his level best ' 
 to make up time, for we are tossed up and down 
 like shuttlecocks in our beds as the car plunges 
 and jolts over the roughly-laid road, which was 
 never built for express speed. 
 
 The next day, our third on board the cars, 
 we skirt the Great American Desert, and come 
 upon the inland sea of the Salt Lake, its green 
 glassy expanse shining in the sunlight. The 
 waves which sometimes dash against its bold 
 promontories are sleeping calmly to-day ; we run 
 for some time beside its fair and sunny waters, 
 glittering like multitudinous diamonds in the 
 golden glare of the sun. About four o'clock we 
 reach Ogden, and, being still some seven hours 
 
224 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 behind time, are besieged with inquiries from the 
 crowd on the platform as to whether we have 
 met with any accident. The thunder of a great 
 Chinese gong summons us to dinner in the little 
 railway hotel — a narrow slip of a building sand- 
 wiched-in between two parallel railway lines. 
 
 At Ogden we say good-bye to the bright yellow 
 Silver Palace cars of the Central Pacific, and take 
 our appointed places in the dark brown Pullman 
 Sleepers of the U.P. Our little knot of friendly 
 fellow-travellers mutually inquire as to the loca- 
 tion of each other's berths. ' Which car are you in ?' 
 ' We are in the Colorado.' ' Ours is the Laramie.' 
 ' Come and see us in the Colorado,' and so on. 
 Established in the ' Laramie ' car, we are off 
 again, setting our watches afresh, for we have 
 kept San Francisco time till now, and find our- 
 selves over an hour backward. 
 
 We are fortunate enough to arrive at the won- 
 ders of Weber and Echo Cafion by daylight. The 
 best view is from the rearmost platform of the 
 train, so we join the Judge and the General in the 
 rear car, and take up our places on the platform, 
 the gentlemen chivalrously securing our safety by 
 taking the outside places as the car sways and 
 jolts round sharp curves and over narrow and 
 fearfully frail-looking trestle-works. We would 
 fain slacken the speed of the train as we rush 
 
ACROSS THE SIERRAS. 225 
 
 through these marvellous mountain defiles, that 
 we might dwell longer on the battlemented cliffs 
 towering two thousand feet above us, the rugged 
 peaks that cleave the sky, the fantastic formations 
 of the rocks. Our countrymen have their guide- 
 book out, of course ; and one of them reads aloud 
 to the other two the names bestowed on these 
 picturesque eccentricities of Nature. Here is 
 one isolated column called the ' Idiot ;' we have 
 no time to discuss the open question ' Why ?' for 
 our attention is claimed by the 'Kettle,' the 
 ' Steamboat,' the ' Three Witches ' — three pinna- 
 cles looming weirdly through the gathering twi- 
 light in a vague likeness to the female form 
 divine ; then the ' Witches' Bottles/ which are as 
 big as the Witches, and the ' Devil's Slide,' an 
 odd freak of Nature, two long, low, straight walls 
 of granite running down the steep face of the 
 cliff for nearly a thousand feet in rigid parallel, 
 suggesting to us that it would, if frozen, be an 
 admirable spot for tobogganing. 
 
 Night closes once more, and once more we 
 beguile the evening with whist and euchre, a 
 traveller returning eastward from the Eureka 
 mines instructing us in the latter game. In the 
 morning we arise light of heart, for we are near- 
 ing the end of our journey. We are going to 
 branch off to Denver City this evening, and hope 
 
 Q 
 
226 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 to arrive there before the small hours of the 
 mornmg, and sleep this night in a bed that does 
 not leap and lurch beneath us. Our spirits are 
 somewhat dashed by having to wait three hours 
 for breakfast. We rise at seven, and the train 
 makes no stop till ten. Then we hurry the porter 
 off to fetch us coffee, butter, and milk. Our 
 bread and biscuits are running short, but, by way 
 of compensation, we have a whole plum-cake 
 left. We exchange with the party whom we 
 always and only know as ' the " Tommy " family,' 
 from the name of their ubiquitous offspring, and 
 who have abundance of bread, while Tommy cla- 
 mours for cake. We further exchange preserved 
 peaches and potted lobster, and all are content — 
 far better satisfied than are those hungry passen- 
 gers who scorned the modest provisions of picnic 
 baskets, and responded to the clamorous summons 
 of the gong outside the breakfast-saloon. They 
 return grumbling, having paid a dollar each for 
 tough steak and ' slop coffee.' 
 
 To-day we are on the Plains again, but now the 
 barren monotony of sage-brush and sand, brown- 
 yellow prairie and blue sky, is varied by glimpses 
 of distant peaks, and here and there the dead 
 level undulates, and the horizon is broken up into 
 rugged mountain outlines. We are now making 
 the ascent of the Eocky Mountains, and late in 
 
ACROSS THE SIERRAS. 227 
 
 the afternoon alight at Laramie, seven thousand 
 one hundred and twenty-three feet above sea- 
 level, to enjoy a hasty run in the keen, bracing 
 air, and inspect the stuffed heads of elk and 
 buffalo exhibited on the platform. Then we con- 
 tinue our ascent into the regions of snow again, 
 the white summits of the Snowy Range floating 
 like stationary clouds in the distance. At Sher- 
 man we reach the highest point touched by the 
 Union Pacific Railroad, an elevation of eight 
 thousand two hundred and forty-two feet. We 
 have been told we ought to feel symptoms of 
 distress here from the rarefied state of the atmo- 
 sphere. But we feel nothing — although, certainly, 
 the beauty of our car looks very pale and asks for 
 sal volatile ; the judge pulls his hat over his eyes 
 and shivers in his corner ; even Tommy's exuber- 
 ant spirits appear dashed — but this effect we 
 attribute to the disappearance of a whole can of 
 potted lobster. He is, however, equal to the 
 effort of rolling a big snowball to throw at us as 
 we tramp up and down on a path of frozen snow 
 — for the great secret of enjoying the overland 
 journey is never to lose a chance of exercise. 
 
 Now, again on, on over the snow-covered plain ! 
 it seems impossible that this vast desert-level is 
 eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. 
 We are descending, but so imperceptibly that, 
 
 q2 
 
228 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 when we reach Cheyenne Junction that evening, 
 having descended two thousand feet from Sher- 
 man, it has seemed a level run all the way. 
 
 Here our harmonious party breaks up. The 
 judge is going to dine and sleep at Cheyenne, 
 and take the stage at dawn to the Black Hills. 
 The general's route lies across the arid plains of 
 ' Bleeding Kansas.' The light-hearted young 
 Englishmen are going to run straight through 
 to New York, and will say they have ' seen ' the 
 American continent from east to west. We take 
 the train which is in waiting on the Colorado 
 Central line, and which sets off with a preliminary 
 plunge and jolt that gives us a pleasing foretaste 
 of the healthful shaking-up in store for us for 
 the next half-dozen hours. And now we are sorry 
 that the long day-and-night journey in the pleas- 
 ant social car is over, and the snowy world of the 
 Sierras is a thing of the past to us ; and in the 
 deepening twilight we lean out of the window to 
 watch the last glimpses of the waving hands and 
 handkerchiefs of the eastward-bound travellers 
 as the Atlantic express rushes on its thundering 
 way. 
 
229 
 
 APEIL DAYS IN COLORADO. 
 
 ' Beonco Breaking a Specialty !' — ' Burro and 
 Bony Trail !'— ' A Fine Burro for Hire !' These 
 announcements placarded on the walls stare us 
 in the face as we take our first walk abroad in 
 the little town of Colorado Springs. Their mean- 
 ing would have been unintelligible as hieroglyphics 
 to us once, not so long ago, in spite of the well- 
 worn copies of Mark Twain and Bret Harte which 
 attest our diligent study of the manners, customs, 
 and phraseology of the great West. We have 
 lately learnt, however, that a bronco is a horse, 
 who, if he were a little better trained and disci- 
 plined, would be called simply a horse, and, if he 
 were a little wilder, would be honoured by the 
 title of a mustang, while a burro is the humble 
 and serviceable donkey. 
 
 Colorado Springs — so called because the springs 
 are at Manitou, five miles off — is a prairie town 
 on a plateau six thousand feet high, above which 
 Pike's Peak stands sentinel, lifting his snow- 
 capped head fourteen thousand feet into the clear 
 
230 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 depths of azure light, in which no fleck of cloud 
 floats from morn to night and night to morn 
 again. It is April, and not a drop of rain has 
 fallen since the previous August. Mid-April, and 
 not a leaf upon a tree. Not a flower or a bird 
 seems to flourish here. No spring-blossom scents 
 the keen fresh life-giving air ; no warbler soars 
 high up into the stainless sapphire sky. The 
 leafless cottonwood trees stand out white in the 
 flood of sunlight like trees of silver, their delicate 
 bare branches forming a shining tangle of silvery 
 network against that intense blue background. 
 
 The general aspect of Colorado Springs sug- 
 gests a collection of wooden Noah's-Arks scatter- 
 ed and dotted about promiscuously. The popu- 
 lation at a hasty survey seems to consist of 
 blacksmiths, doctors, invalids, coach and stable- 
 men. Small hotels and boarding-houses abound. 
 If you want to hire a buggy, to have your horse 
 shod, to consult a doctor, or to make arrange- 
 ments for room and board, you can supply each 
 and all of these wants at almost every corner. 
 But if you want to order in a dozen of champagne, 
 or enjoy a glass of claret with your dinner, it will 
 not be quite so easy, for this is a temperance 
 town, and such evil-minded persons as desire to 
 indulge in intoxicating beverages — even in the 
 mild stimulant of claret or las:er — must betake 
 
APEIL DATS IN COLORADO, 231 
 
 themselves some miles off to the nearest saloon. 
 I believe there is a policeman in Colorado Springs, 
 but during our brief visit we never caught a 
 glimpse of him. 
 
 The doctors drive a thriving trade, for hither 
 flock invalids from north and south and east and 
 west ; some to die, others to recover the strength 
 thej lose again directly they leave the magical 
 climate of Colorado, and a few to regain such 
 perfect health as to be able to turn their backs 
 upon the scene of their cure and see it no more. 
 The place all looks bleak and barren to us ; the 
 wild grandeur of the mountains is unrelieved by 
 the rich shadows of the pine forests, or the sunny 
 green glints of meadow that soften Alpine scenery. 
 No flower gardens, no smiling valleys, no velvet 
 turf, no fragrant orchards, no luxuriant hedge- 
 rows ; only the lonely mountain range, the crown- 
 ing height of Pike's Peak stern and solitary in 
 his icy exaltation, and the dead level of the 
 prairie, stretching away eastwards for hundreds 
 and hundreds of miles, declining always at a gra- 
 dual and imperceptible angle, till it slopes down 
 to the very banks of the great Mississippi, over a 
 thousand miles away. 
 
 But, although the spot does not seem altogether 
 a Paradise to us, it is a veritable Eden for con- 
 sumptive invalids. Here they come to find again 
 
232 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 the lost angel of Health, and seldom seek in vain, 
 unless they come too late. People live here who 
 can live nowhere else. They long to return to 
 their far-off homes; but home to them means 
 death. They must live in this Colorado air, or 
 die. There is a snake in the grass of this Eden, 
 where they have drunk the elixir of new life, and 
 its name is Nostalgia. They long — some of them 
 — for the snowy winters and flowery summers of 
 their eastern homes. Others settle happily and 
 contentedly in the endless sunshine of winterless, 
 summerless Colorado. 
 
 There are drives to be taken in the neighbour- 
 hood — the duty of the tourist, the relaxation of 
 the resident; and, with a view to fulfilling our 
 duty, we summon the landlord of our hotel, and 
 inquire about the necessary excursions. He re- 
 flects awhile, evidently duly impressed with the 
 importance of the question, and then mentions 
 that he knows an individual who owns a nice 
 waggon, and whom he will consult forthwith. 
 He disappears, and returns leading a big, bronzed 
 fellow in top-boots, of a type to which we are now 
 well accustomed. 
 
 ' He will drive you himself,' our landlord remarks, 
 with an air that implies we are highly honoured. 
 
 Our prospective driver hereupon draws for- 
 ward a large rocking-chair, and sits down, care^ 
 
APRIL DAYS IN COLORADO. 233 
 
 fully depositing his Panama hat upon his knees, 
 and surveying us with a friendly smile, and a 
 gaze at once appreciative and critical ; he enters 
 into conversation in a pleasant way; he makes more 
 inquiries of us than we do of him ; and we have 
 the satisfaction of feeling that he is quite at home 
 with us. "We are still further convinced of this 
 the next morning, when the vehicle we have 
 ordered and engaged, and for which we are to 
 pay, draws up at the door with a young man on 
 the front seat, beside the driver. We suppose 
 at first that he is the latter's son or brother, or 
 perhaps a stable-assistant ; but we soon perceive 
 by our driver addressing him as ' sir ' that he 
 cannot be either of these. We have only a view 
 of his back, and it is difficult to judge from the 
 back of a pilot- coat and a felt wide-awake what 
 manner of man they clothe, especially as he 
 speaks only in monosyllables. Who he is becomes 
 a puzzle to us as time passes on. At last we 
 resort to putting the question plainly, whether he is 
 our driver's son ? — being perfectly sure he is not. 
 'Oh no, marm, he's not my son. This is a 
 gentleman from Tennessee, who came here for 
 his health last fall. He was so far gone he 
 couldn't walk across the room then ; had to be 
 carried up and downstairs like a baby ; and now 
 —you see him !' 
 
234 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 We did not see anything of him but his back- 
 hair ; however, at this semi-introduction, he 
 turned, and gave us a profile view of a coun- 
 tenance which I believe to this day was blushing, 
 although I never had a fair chance of judging of 
 his normal complexion. Our driver added a few 
 details of the distressing symptoms and rapid 
 cure of the ' gentleman from Tennessee,' but we 
 never heard any further explanation of his pres- 
 ence in our vehicle. 
 
 We rattled along cheerily in our light spring- 
 waggon over the smooth, fine roads, viewing the 
 landscape from beneath the parasols which only 
 partially shielded us from the blazing sun. Al- 
 though the gentleman from Tennessee preserved 
 a truly Western taciturnity, our driver beguiled 
 the way with instructive and amusing converse. 
 He pointed out to us, flourishing by the wayside, 
 the soap-weed, whose root is a perfect substitute 
 for soap, and taught us to distinguish between 
 the blue-joint -grass — yellow as hay in winter, but 
 now taking on its hue of summer green — and the 
 greyish neutral-tinted buffalo-grass, which is most 
 succulent and nutritious, although its looks belie 
 it, for a less tempting-looking herb I never had 
 the pleasure of seeing. He also pointed out the 
 dead body of a cow lying on a desolate plain, and 
 informed us it would dry ,up to a mummy in no 
 
APRIL DAYS IN COLORADO. 235 
 
 time; it was the effect of the air; dead cattle 
 speedily mummified, and were no nuisance. Ano- 
 ther dried-up bovine skeleton bore witness to the 
 truth of his assertion. 
 
 We observed that the soil looked barren as 
 desert sand ; but he replied that it only required 
 irrigation to be extremely fertile, showed us the 
 irrigating ditches cut across the meadows, and 
 described to us some of the marvellous produc- 
 tions of Colorado — a single cabbage-head weigh- 
 ing 40 lbs., etc. He told us of the wondrous 
 glories of the Arkansas Canon and the Mount 
 of the Holy Cross — which, alas ! we were not to 
 see, the roads thither being as yet rough travel- 
 ling for ladies. He sang the praises of the 
 matchless climate, and the joys of the free, health- 
 ful life far from the enervating and deteriorating 
 influences of great cities. Indeed, it appeared 
 from his conversation that nowhere on the face 
 of the habitable globe could there be found any 
 spot even remotely emulating the charms of 
 Colorado — an opinion shared by every Coloradian 
 with whom we held any intercourse. 
 
 The first place we drove through was Colorado 
 City, a forlorn-looking handful of tumble-down 
 wooden houses ; the next was Manitou, where a 
 pretty hotel invited the tourist to stay and rest, 
 and in the neighbourhood of which, among some 
 
236 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 other charming cottages, our cocher pointed out 
 'Grace Greenwood's place.' Close by Manitou 
 also is the soda spring, of which a pure, fresh, 
 sparkling draught, dipped up in a cup and drunk 
 on the spot, spoils for ever after one's relish for 
 the bottled soda-water which may hitherto have 
 contented one. Here also is the iron spring, 
 Vhich tasted to us of ink, and ought to be whole- 
 some, being so unpalatable. 
 
 Our way then lay up the TJte Pass, once, in 
 days not so far back, frequented by the Ute 
 Indians. Now, not an Indian is to be seen for 
 miles; they have all been swept back on to a 
 Reservation, and the story of the Ute outbreak 
 there of the past autumn is yet fresh in the 
 minds of all. The Ute Pass is a winding, up-hill 
 road along the side of a deep canon, the rocks 
 here and there overhanging it threateningly, and 
 affording a welcome shade from the piercing 
 sun-rays, which follow us even here. The steep 
 walls of the cafion are partly clothed and crowned 
 with pine-trees, and along its depths a rapid, 
 sparkling stream bubbles and leaps over the rocks 
 and boulders. 
 
 Up the pass a waggon-train is toiling on its 
 way to the great new mining centre — the giant 
 baby city — Leadville, the youngest and most 
 wonderful child of the prolific West ! In this 
 
APRIL DATS IN OOLOBADO. 237 
 
 train we get entangled, and move slowly along 
 with it — waggons and cattle before us, waggons 
 and cattle behind us — tourists, teamsters, miners, 
 drivers, drovers, dogs, all huddled together in 
 seemingly inextricable confusion. Some of the 
 cattle look bewilderedly round with their great, 
 mild eyes, others lower their heads, and toss their 
 threatening horns. Tiny calves, apparently only 
 a few days old, are tottering after their mothers. 
 One pretty little creature, staggering with fatigue, 
 lies down and folds its poor little limbs to rest. 
 A woman in an immense sun-bonnet is knitting 
 as she walks beside her waggon, the bridle hung 
 loosely over her arm, while the horses shake their 
 tinkling bells, and plod musically along, and the 
 heavy waggon creaks slowly up the hill. Behind 
 it come three or four children, rosy, ragged, and 
 sunburnt, singing with shrill little voices. With- 
 in the curtains of the cart, I catch a glimpse of 
 pots and pans and the legs of tables and chairs 
 standing on their heads. All on their way to 
 the Leadville mines ! Every now and then there 
 is a blockade; and cattle, drovers, miners, and 
 waggons are crowded and wedged together on 
 the narrow road between cliff and precipice — our 
 attentive cocker always manifesting a due regard 
 for our presumed feminine fears by getting the 
 inside place. 
 
238 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 At the top of the pass, we tourists turn : and, 
 while the waggon-train plods on its own slow 
 way, we make the best of our way back down the 
 hill, and take the road to the Garden of the 
 Gods. 
 
 Why the Garden of the Gods ? I do not my- 
 self perceive the appropriateness of the appella- 
 tion. There is not a flower in sight; only a few 
 stunted shrubs, and forlorn-looking, thin trees. 
 It is a natural enclosure, of fifty or more acres, 
 such as in Colorado is called a ' park,' scattered 
 with rocks of a rich red hue, and the wildest and 
 most grotesque shapes imaginable. 
 
 The giants might have made it their play- 
 ground, and left their playthings behind them. 
 Here, tossed and flung about as if by a careless 
 hand, lie the huge, round boulders with which 
 they played at ball. Here they amused them- 
 selves by balaocing an immense mass of stone on 
 a point so cunningly that it has stood there for 
 centuries looking as if a touch would overturn it. 
 There they have hewn a high rock into the rough 
 semblance of a veiled woman — here they have 
 sculptured a man in a hat — there piled up a rude 
 fortress, and there built a church. 
 
 But the giants have deserted their playground 
 ages ago, and trees have grown up between the 
 fantastic formations they left. It is a strange' 
 
APRIL DATS IN OOLOEADO. 239 
 
 weird scene, and suggested to us forcibly that if 
 we would ' view it aright ' we should 
 
 ' Go view it by the pale moonlight !' 
 How spectral those strange shapes would look in 
 the gloom ! What ghostly life would seem to 
 breathe in them when the white moonbeams 
 bathed their eerie outlines in her light ! There 
 is a something lost in the Garden of the Gods to 
 us who only saw it with a flood of sunshine glow- 
 ing on its ruddy rocks. Most of these have been 
 christened according to their form — the Nun, the 
 Scotchman, the Camel, and so on. 
 
 Two huge walls of red and white stone, rising 
 perpendicularly a sheer three hundred feet, form 
 the gate of the Garden. Through this colossal 
 and for-ever-open gate we looked back with a 
 sigh of farewell — our glimpse of the scene seemed 
 so brief ! — and we half-fancied that the veiled Nun 
 bowed her dark head in the sunshine in parting 
 salute as we were whirled out of sight. 
 
 We drove next through Glen Eyrie — a wild 
 luxuriance of cliff-climbing forest and wooded 
 glen, shut in by great red sandstone buttes, with 
 a beautiful house throned high like an eagle's 
 nest, recently fitted up by a gallant officer for his 
 bride; then back to Colorado Springs, bowling 
 swiftly over the level prairie road with a piercing 
 prairie wind in our faces. 
 
240 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 The next day's excursion was to Cheyenne 
 Cafion. We half expected, bearing in mind our 
 previous day's experience, to find a ' gentleman 
 from Kentucky ' or ' Connecticut ' installed in our 
 vehicle ; but our anticipations were agreeably 
 disappointed ; we and our driver, and his two 
 favourite dogs, had the waggon to ourselves. At 
 Cheyenne Cafion we found the programme was 
 that we were to alight and walk along the canon. 
 This sounded simple enough, but it comprised 
 gymnastic feats from which in London we should 
 have shrunk in dismay. 
 
 The trail while it led through the wood was 
 easy, but as the usual brawling stream, or ' creek,' 
 babbled along the canon, and as creek and canon 
 wound in and out in an apparently unending zig- 
 zag, the path, in endeavouring to run as straight 
 to its goal as might be, kept crossing the stream 
 every score yards or so ; and the means provided 
 for crossing were of the simplest — either a few 
 stepping-stones unpleasantly far apart, or a tree 
 cut down so as to fall across the river, or merely 
 a few logs scattered about with artistic careless- 
 ness in the rocky bed of a shallow. So that, 
 either balancing oneself by aid of a long pole on 
 one round slippery stone while preparing for a 
 flying leap to the next, or walking Blondin-like 
 along a fragile branch — either poking a log ex- 
 
APRIL DAYS IN OOLOEADO. 241 
 
 perimentally to ascertain if it would bear a weight, 
 or selecting the smoothest spot of a gnarled tree- 
 trunk for the goal of a desperate bound, while 
 clinging convulsively to our guiding guardian 
 pole — the traversing of Cheyenne Creek was to 
 us no slight achievement. 
 
 Sometimes, on giving a gentle experimental 
 prod to a promising-looking log, it turned lightly 
 and easily over on its back— sometimes the trunk 
 of a tree, under our attempt at setting foot on it, 
 enacted a see-saw for our benefit, and dipped one 
 end into the water, while uplifting the other with 
 a musical splash and shower of sparkling drops. 
 However, we got over safe in life and limb at 
 last, very much to our own astonishment; and I 
 think Cheyenne Canon was worth the trouble it 
 cost. The fragrant shade of the pine-trees 
 stretching and interlacing across the stream — the 
 towering walls of red rock, rising in battlements, 
 buttresses, and pinnacles, their castle-like sum- 
 mits here and there lifting a crown of pine-trees, 
 cut in sharp outline against the radiant sky — all 
 formed a scene for the enjoyment of which we did 
 not grudge the exertion it exacted. 
 
 On our return to Denver City, we had the 
 pleasure of travelling on a train where we found 
 our sex at a high premium. The cars were otie 
 and all crowded with men ; there was apparently 
 
 B 
 
242 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 that day a large migration to the centre of Colo- 
 rado civilization, Denver ; and, looking along the 
 train, we only caught sight of one feminine head- 
 gear besides our own. That bonnet clad the 
 head of a mulatto girl, and even that happened to 
 be in the next car. In our car an attentive 
 survey revealed only ranks of wideawakes and 
 Panamas. 
 
 It was a good opportunity for the study of the 
 Western man as he appears on his native soil. 
 Here he was, fifty of him — top-boots, slouch hats, 
 rough coats, and flannel shirts, and scarcely an 
 inch of white linen, a collar, or a cuff among the 
 car-full — though no doubt, to make up for this 
 deficiency, there was a liberal assortment of dead- 
 ly weapons, deringers and six-shooters, such as I 
 afterwards saw some of our fellow-passengers 
 delivering up to the care of the hotel-clerk in 
 Denver before going in to dinner. I inquired of 
 the clerk concerning this proceeding, and he 
 replied, with a compassionate smile at my ignor- 
 ance, that we were now in a peaceable country, 
 and 'gentlemen from the hills' frequently went 
 so far as to dispense with their weapons here ! 
 
 Looking along the crowded car at these 
 ' Men from the West, but wtence we knew not,' 
 into whose sole company we were thrown, we 
 were struck, as we had been before, with a certain 
 
APRIL DATS IN COLORADO. 243 
 
 gravity and thoughtf ulness of aspect, a gentleness 
 of voice and manner, we had scarcely expected to 
 find in them, taken collectively. They 'roared 
 them soft as sucking-doves.' They hailed their 
 friends neither loudly nor hilariously. They con- 
 versed little, and the little they said was said with 
 a quiet and even impassive air. Although we 
 were the only women in the car, no one stared at 
 us, or took the slightest notice of our presence, 
 beyond offering to open or close the window for 
 us, carrying our bags for us, and helping us up 
 or down the steps. Opposite us sat the very ideal 
 of a Bret Harte hero — the perfect presentment of 
 the Western man as we had read of him, but as 
 we had never hoped to see him in the flesh. Tall, 
 dark, pale, hollow-eyed, and hollow-cheeked — an 
 expression grave even to gloom — truculent-look- 
 ing top-boots, a red shirt, a conspicuous lack of 
 linen, a fiercely brigandish hat tilted over his dark 
 brows — and withal the sweetest, saddest smile 
 and the softest voice in all the car. "We did not 
 hear the said voice often, for he had all the taci- 
 turnity of his type. He moved along the plat- 
 form with a long, swift, silent step like a tiger's 
 velvet tread ; he altogether reminded us so vividly 
 of the heroes of Poker Flat and Madrono Hollow 
 that we were sorely tempted to address him as 
 ' Mr. Oakhurst,' and inquire whether he had been 
 
 e2 
 
244 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 acquainted with ' Tennessee's ' " late lamented " 
 • Partner,' and how ' M'liss ' was getting along in 
 her new life ? 
 
 We were so interested in the study of our 
 fellow-travellers that we should have found the 
 journey a very pleasant one if it had not been 
 for the temperature of the car, wherein two huge 
 furnaces were blazing away at either end, while 
 the powerful Colorado sun poured a flood of burn- 
 ing light in at the windows. The Americans, I 
 think, as a race will stand more baking in their 
 travels than any other civilized people. On this 
 day the close, dry, hot, and stifling atmosphere 
 was well-nigh unendurable ; nor were matters 
 much mended by opening a window, when the 
 sharp, strong mountain wind rushed in and cut like 
 a knife, making one shiver in spite of the oven- 
 like air one had been breathing till that moment. 
 
 The furnaces in the stoves crackled cheerily as 
 if enjoying our misery. For even the Americans 
 were miserable, I am happy to say. But they 
 did not complain or rebel. Earely is the Ameri- 
 can heard to murmur. He accepts whatever 
 comes with philosophical impassiveness. He not 
 only ' endures what can't be cured,' but also what 
 can — a stretch of philosophy which appears to me 
 to ' o'erleap the selle ' of wisdom, and fall a long 
 way 'on the other side.' Our fellow-travellers 
 
APKIL DAYS IN OOLOEADO. 245 
 
 sat and roasted, with now and then a muttered 
 expression of suffering ; but no one uttered any 
 protest against the barbarously heaped-up fur- 
 naces. If some one would only have uplifted his 
 voice in an honest British growl, it would have 
 been a comfort to us ! But to us it was reserved 
 even to suggest having the ventilators open — a 
 suggestion which of course Western chivalry 
 immediately hastened to carry out, for our sakes. 
 
 Arrived at Denver City, we alighted, crossed 
 the platform, and were incontinently engulfed 
 in a crowd of yelling touters, who pounced upon 
 us like wild animals on their helpless prey. One, 
 shouting ' Eed Lion !' endeavoured to drag us to 
 the left ; another, bellowing ' Lindell House !' 
 tried to force us to the right ; while a third, 
 seizing my arm, shrieked ' Gilpin !' in my ear, 
 and a fourth, with a persuasive '^Ere you are, 
 ma'am !' attempted to snatch our travelling-bags 
 from our resisting grasp. Defenceless and for- 
 lorn, we gazed helplessly around, when the wel- 
 come cry, ' Grand Central !' fell on our ears. We 
 waved parasols wildly in that direction, and were 
 promptly rescued from the enemy, and borne off 
 in triumph by the stalwart porters of the ' Grand 
 Central Hotel.' 
 
 Denver is a very good specimen of a jBourishing 
 frontier town. It is laid out with the usual 
 
246 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 rectangular regularity, on the usual large and 
 liberal scale of the Western city, which has plenty 
 of space, and uses it freely. There are fine 
 streets, good shops, and many pretty residences 
 in the outer part of the town. 
 
 As a rule, each house stands in its own little 
 plot of land, which is mostly left an unsightly 
 square of barren ground. Denver seems too 
 busy to cultivate its rose-bush or honeysuckle. 
 It is alive, full, wide awake. There is an electric 
 thrill in the very air. It is a hive of busy 
 bees. No room for drones here ! Men live to 
 work, and work to live. The veriest drone would 
 catch the infection ; he could not be idle or 
 passive in Denver; he must buy or sell, speculate 
 or prospect — do anything but stagnate ! 
 
 The city has an unfinished air. It is too busy 
 to waste time on polish. You pick your way 
 across the slough of mud in the streets one day, 
 and are half-blinded on the next by the dust 
 driving along in clouds. It will be a beautiful 
 city when it attains its prime; the principal 
 streets are planted with trees, leafless as in 
 December on this April day ; and in the distance 
 the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountain Eange 
 shine against the blue — so pure, and white, and 
 dreamlike, it seems as if they must melt away 
 with the morning mists. In this clear air, far 
 
APEIL DATS IN COLOEADO. 247 
 
 things seem strangely near; all our old ideas 
 of distance are overturned, and we are left with 
 no conceptions of space at all; the mountains 
 twenty miles off seem to rise within a stone's 
 throw, and even those seventy and eighty miles 
 away stand out in sharp outline. 
 
 The invalid element is strong in Denver, of 
 course — indeed, this may be said in two senses, 
 for tales abound of the wonderful recoveries of 
 men, now robust and hale, who came there dying. 
 It is one thousand feet lower than Colorado 
 Springs, being only five thousand feet above 
 sea-level ; but the air appears to be equally 
 beneficial to consumptives. 
 
 In the dining-hall of our hotel, we are amused 
 by the contrast between the guests who dine 
 and the steward who marshals them to their 
 places. The guests are most of them in frontier 
 costume, just as they have come down from the 
 hills ; they are unshorn and bronzed ; they still 
 wear their pantaloons tucked inside instead of 
 outside their boots, and of course the white collar 
 of civilisation is remarkable for its absence ; while 
 the steward is elegantly arrayed in fine broad- 
 cloth and spotless linen, with a massive gold 
 chain depending below his jewelled studs ; he 
 waves the guests to their places with a lordly 
 air. 
 
248 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Amongst these strangely clad frontiersmen, the 
 next day, a friendly voice hails us, a familiar 
 face smiles a welcome — a face which, familiar 
 as it is, we fail to recognise at first, being so 
 bronzed and bearded. It is indeed not easy to 
 identify at once a gentleman you last saw in 
 swallow-tail coat and white gloves, and find again 
 in full frontier costume, some thousands of miles 
 from where you expected him to be. Our friend 
 had just returned from a long and dangerous 
 expedition through that wild Indian territory of 
 which, as yet, so little is known, where a white 
 man rarely penetrates, and does so only at risk of 
 life. 
 
 He was merely resting a day or two in Denver, 
 before starting on another still more perilous ex- 
 cursion. It was a glad surprise to meet a fami- 
 liar face so far from home ; but yet — so small 
 does this world of ours seem — it appeared quite 
 natural to have said ' good night ' at an evening 
 reception in London, and to say our next ' good 
 morning ' in Denver City. 
 
 He escorted us for a ramble about the city in 
 his Bret Harte garb, which appeared quite in 
 keeping with the surroundings. From his top- 
 boots to his broad-brimmed hat, the costume was 
 perfect ; we could not help an idea that it must 
 have been 'got up' for our especial delectation. 
 
APRIL DATS IN COLORADO. 249 
 
 The next day our faces fell when we greeted 
 him. He appeared in a 'boiled shirt' (Western 
 for a linen front) and white collar and cuffs. He 
 had also been to a barber's and got himself 
 ' shaven and shorn.' As a civilized gentleman, 
 he was now presentable ; but, alas ! for the ideal 
 frontiersman of yesterday, he was picturesque no 
 more. 
 
250 
 
 ON THE BANKS OP THE POTOMAC. 
 
 Like the army of rats who devoured Bishop Hatto 
 in his tower on the Rhine, ' we are not to be told 
 by the dozen or score,' as we swarm across the 
 gangway, and disperse our straggUng numbers 
 over the spacious decks of the steamer which is 
 about to bear us down the Potomac river to 
 Mount Vernon, the home of George Washington. 
 We two errant Englishwomen are, as usual, 
 obeying the mandate to which the tourist bows. 
 We could not return to our native land and admit 
 that we had left the home and the tomb of the 
 Father of his Country unseen ; but we had not 
 expected that so large a company would be bent 
 on the same errand. Here they come, * not in 
 single spies, but in battalions.' Families — father, 
 mother, and children — evidently only out pleasur- 
 ing for the day, as they are unburdened by hand- 
 bag or basket ; ladies alone and independent, old, 
 young, and middle-aged ; the bronzed country 
 farmer in his best broadcloth ; the pale, sallow 
 hard-worker of the great cities ; here is the beaver 
 
ON THE BANKS OF THE POTOMAC. 251 
 
 hat of the East, the slouched felt of the West, 
 and the Southern Panama. Here are a few scat- 
 tered Europeans — Germans, French, and English 
 — a few only. The majority of the excursionists 
 bound on this pilgrimage to the spot where Wash- 
 ington lived and died, and where his remains are 
 entombed, are of the country that calls him 
 father. Here are the musicians, fiddling briskly, 
 not the ' Star-spangled Banner,' nor any air that 
 might be deemed appropriate — no, but ' Nancy 
 Lee ' and ' Pinafore.' We never could get away 
 from ' Nancy Lee ;' often we wished that sailor's 
 sweetheart was married and done for ; the choruses 
 of the ' Pinafore ' had followed us to the Pacific 
 coast and back, and here on the Potomac the 
 melodious ' Yee-o ! yo-ho !' of Nancy Lee's lover, 
 and the familiar burden of ' I'm little Buttercup ' 
 greet our ears again. 
 
 It is an April morning, but balmy and glowing 
 as June. We lean over the stern of the boat, 
 and look back at the city of Washington — the 
 beautiful city, with its long stately avenues ra- 
 diating from the Capitol Hill, its noble buildings, 
 the tall trees that greenly fringe and shade its 
 streets even in the midday glare of the American 
 sun, the great white dome of the Capitol rising 
 high over all the city, detaching itself sharply 
 from the brilliant blue of the sky. 
 
252 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Fifteen miles down the broad Potomac, whose 
 long lazy ripples reflect as in an undulating mirror 
 the wood-crowned banks and the nestling villages 
 — fifteen miles of delightful drifting down the 
 shining flood of these summer waters, from which 
 all the tragical associations connected with their 
 name seem now to be washed away — and we ar- 
 rive at Mount Vernon. We land at the foot of 
 the hill, and gather a pleasant general impression 
 of swelliug slopes of turf, and winding paths, and 
 grand old trees, as we swarm on shore. Then 
 we survey the long, steep, upward path before 
 us with some discomfiture, as we stand about 
 in the glare of the morning sun, until, to our 
 relief, a vehicle that looks like a small hearse, 
 a kind of waggon shut in with black, shiny-leather 
 curtains, appears upon the scene. Into this we 
 climb, in company with two or three antiquated 
 females in rusty black, and, by way of contrast, 
 a pretty young girl, the very type of the brilliant, 
 yet delicate American beauty, whose toilette looks 
 as if it had walked out of the latest fashion-plate. 
 The remainder of the party walk, either from 
 choice, or because they do not care to wait until 
 our waggon can return to pick them up. We jolt 
 solemnly up-hill, one of the mourning spinsters 
 reading aloud from the guide-book meanwhile, 
 and presently alight at 'the Mansion,' as said 
 
ON THE BANKS OF THE POTOMAC. 253 
 
 guide-book describes tbe Washington residence. 
 
 It is a fine, old-fashioned house, with a long 
 frontage, and a splendid view of hill, and valley, 
 and woodland, and the broad, blue Potomac 
 shining in the sun. It is built of wood, painted 
 to imitate stone. Along the front runs a wide 
 verandah, in whose pleasant shade stand hospit- 
 ably-inviting garden-seats. Some of us sit down 
 to enjoy the fair landscape, and make friends 
 with a sociable dog, who comes out, wagging 
 his tail, to do the honours ; two or three of the 
 children set off with a war-whoop in chase of a 
 cat; another urchin makes ambitious but unsuc- 
 cessful attempts to attain the long, purplish-pink 
 hanging blossoms of the Judas Tree, which droop 
 gracefully just out of his reach. 
 
 Scattered about the great lawn in a promiscu- 
 ous kind of way are various out-houses, from one 
 of which presently emerges an ofl&cial-looking 
 person with a brass label on his hat, who takes 
 our party in tow, and ushers us into the Mansion, 
 where we find another party making the round 
 of the rooms, under the guidance of another 
 official person in a brass-labelled hat. In the 
 hall, a gentleman, evidently in authority, makes 
 his appearance on the scene ; our detachment 
 is honoured by a special introduction to ' Colonel 
 H.,' and be vouchsafes to do the honours to us in 
 person. 
 
254 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 We have travelled from East to West, Atlantic 
 to Pacific, and back, and here for the first time 
 in the United States we find a tone of Old-world 
 sentiment. Here is the tender cherishing of old 
 relics, the reverence for the Past, which we 
 thought we had left behind! Every souvenir 
 of Washington is carefully treasured here — the 
 footstool he was wont to rest his foot upon ; 
 the coat he wore; the bed on which he died 
 — every object that could be collected, that he 
 ever touched, used, or wore, from a sword and 
 saddle and a pair of top-boots, to a pincushion 
 made out of the silk of his wife Martha Wash- 
 ington's wedding-dress. All the guides speak 
 of the great and good man's wife as ''Lady Wash- 
 ington,' a form of phrase which is also new to 
 us in the Republic as applied to one of their own 
 citizens. We also catch in passing a fragment of 
 conversation which, for the first time, reminds 
 us that we are drawing near to the border which, 
 only a short score of years ago, was the frontier 
 between hostile camps, crossed by invading 
 armies, marked on the map by crimson blots, the 
 signs of many a bloody battlefield. 
 
 A tall, white-haired, and fiercely-moustached 
 veteran of soldierly presence, and with a certain 
 courtliness of manner which gave us the idea 
 that he would have been quite in his element 
 
ON THE BANKS OP THE POTOMAC. 255 
 
 in Washington's day, passing ceremonious com- 
 pliments with Lady Washington, pacing here in 
 state on this terrace in the formal dignity of the 
 time — this gentleman, then, we overhear observ- 
 ing to a subordinate who is, with assiduous 
 attention, showing him round : 
 
 ' Doesn't it sound strange to you to hear these 
 Yankees talk ?' 
 
 ' Well, no, sir ; I hear so many.' 
 
 'Well, it sounds strange to you?' turning to 
 his companion, 
 
 ' Oh, I'm used to it, I was raised in Yankee- 
 land,' this latter replies. 
 
 I fancied the old Southerner looked around him 
 with a sort of melancholy wonder — it must have 
 been his first visit North, .Did he feel as if he 
 had strayed into another sphere ? — was there 
 nobody here who could sympathise with him ? 
 ' He looked to me like a ghost of other days wan- 
 dering about among these relics of the past. 
 
 North and South alike unite in the tender 
 reverence with which all relics of Washington are 
 cherished, and the Mount Yernon estate, albeit in 
 close proximity to the fields of combat, was held 
 sacred and treated with all respect by both armies 
 during the civil war. 
 
 Each room of the dwelling-house is the charge 
 of some one special State, There is the ' Dela- 
 
256 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 ware Room,' the ' Pennsylvania Room,' the ' Vir- 
 ginia Room.' As there are not rooms enough to 
 go round, several States are left out in the cold. 
 
 In ' Lady Washington's chamber ' a hole had 
 been cut in the lower panel of the door expressly 
 for the entrances and exits of her favourite cat, 
 the family pet. As the guide dwells on this detail 
 of the Washingtonian domestic life, lo ! a hand- 
 some matronly tabby walks in through the hole. 
 One of the poke-bonneted old ladies in black looks 
 deeply impressed and almost thunderstricken. 
 
 ' And there is the cat !' she exclaims, reverently. 
 
 The guide looks unaffectedly sorry that he can- 
 not assure us that this is indeed the identical 
 animal — a ' Countess Desmond ' among cats, who 
 has ' lived to the age of one hundred and ten.' 
 He however avers that puss is a lineal descendant 
 of Washington's favourite. 
 
 Only second in interest to the room in which 
 Washington died is the room in which Lafayette 
 slept on his visit to Mount Vernon. He present- 
 ed Washington with the key of the Bastille, which 
 curious relic hangs in the hall. In one of the 
 upstairs rooms is an ancient spinet. 
 
 ' Perhaps some lady would favour the company 
 by playing an air,' suggests the guide. 
 
 The pretty fashion-plate who had ridden uphill 
 in the hearse with us steps forward, not reluc- 
 
ON THE BANKS OF THE POTOMAO. 257 
 
 tantly, albeit propelled by a proud mother. Her 
 slim white fingers run over the yellow keys, and 
 evoke cracked and jarring notes, as if the dead 
 music rebelled at being galvanised into a ghastly 
 semblance of life for the amusement of the herd. 
 No doubt, in the faded eyes of the ghosts who 
 glide unseen about these chambers haunted of the 
 great past, we tourists of to-day are but a very 
 contemptible herd. However, the young lady's 
 nimble hands strike out briskly such melody as 
 there is left in the old spinet. What is it she is 
 playing ? Shade of the mighty ! it is the ' Police- 
 man's chorus,' ' When the enterprising burglar's 
 not a-burgling !' 
 
 Having inspected the house, the party swarm 
 out into the grounds. Here our eyes are greeted 
 by the not unwelcome sight of a table under the 
 trees set out with a simple and Arcadian repast 
 — pitchers of fresh milk, rustic-looking pats of 
 amber butter, and rolls of white and brown bread. 
 A little further on, for those who desire some- 
 thing more than this light refreshment, there is 
 an excellent luncheon laid out in an old-fashioned 
 kitchen. The old Southern gentleman sits oppo- 
 site to us ; next him is a brisk and smiling young 
 man, whom I imagine to be a New York ' sales- 
 man,' with rings, a watch-chain, and a healthy 
 appetite. The old gentleman hands the ham, or 
 
258 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 the beef, or the cutlets with a stately courtesy, 
 but I fancy I trace in his look still that undefin- 
 able, half-pathetic air of strangeness to the place 
 and the people among whom he finds himself ; and 
 when his neighbour announces, ' Yes, we're going 
 to do Arlington Heights to-morrow — see Lee's 
 old place — guess that's got to be seen before we 
 go back to New York,' it is not my fancy that 
 the old Southerner winces, and I know that there 
 is one of the present company whom we shall not 
 see at ' Lee's old place ' to-morrow. We shall be 
 there, and the lively, busy young man from New 
 York will be there, but not the veteran who 'wore 
 the grey and marched with Lee !' 
 
 After luncheon, we go over the grounds. 
 Colonel H. conducts us first to the tomb where 
 Washington and Martha his wife are buried. 
 Then he shows us the ancient, formal box-hedges, 
 and a fine magnolia-tree raised from a slip 
 brought by Lafayette from Napoleon's grave at 
 St. Helena. Its crimson flowers are just break- 
 ing into bloom, and form the pride and glory 
 of the bouquet with which the colonel presents 
 us. We wander through a wooded glen, and 
 make our way slowly by shady ways down the 
 hill to the river, where the boat, with the steam 
 up for its return journey, awaits us. 
 
 The next day we decided to improve the shining 
 
ON THE BANKS OF THE POTOMAC. 259 
 
 hours — truly and literally shining in this radiant 
 spring weather of blue heavens and balmy sun- 
 shine— by paying a brief visit to the Capitol in 
 the morning, and taking the drive to Arlington 
 in the afternoon. It takes a good many brief 
 visits to see the Washington Capitol thoroughly ; 
 but one appreciates and enjoys it so far better 
 than by ' doing ' it in one long visitation, as we see 
 so many tourists ' doing ' it, with red guide-books' 
 in their hands, or bulging from their pockets. 
 (I must conscientiously confess, in parenthesis, that 
 we ourselves also carry a ' Guide to Washington,' 
 and, during the inspection of the Capitol, are apt 
 to refer to it pretty often.) In the endeavour to 
 take it all in on one day, the eye gets surfeited 
 with pictures and statues, mouldings and frescoes ; 
 the soul sickens at the further contemplation 
 of busts and bas-reliefs, bronze-panellings and 
 marble pillars ; Pocahontas and Washington 
 dance together dizzily in the confused brain ; 
 and Presidents and Puritan Fathers, William 
 Penn and Miles Stan dish, allegorical figures of 
 Freedom and Victory, the Declaration of In- 
 dependence, the Landing of Columbus, and the 
 Sword of Bunker's Hill, all mingle in a kaleido- 
 scopic jumble in the wearied mind. 
 
 However, we manage to see, and, what is more 
 remarkable, to remember a great many of the 
 
 s2 
 
260 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 most noted paintings and groups of statuary ; the 
 great bronze door of the Senate, the marble 
 staircases, and the Rotunda, in the passage-ways 
 around which we find boys selling, and tourists 
 buying, cakes, peanuts, and oranges. 
 
 We visit, of course, the Senate Chamber and 
 the Hall of Representatives, the former accom- 
 modating about seventy-four Senators ' on the 
 floor,' the latter having desks for over three 
 hundred members. Both chambers, handsome, 
 lofty, and airy, impi-ess us as comparing very 
 favourably with our own Houses of Parliament; 
 especially are we struck by the contrast between 
 the little grated prison, yclept the Ladies Gallery 
 at home, and the broad, open, comfortable gal- 
 leries of the American Houses of Legislature, 
 where the wives and daughters, sisters, cousins, 
 and aunts of the members (there appears to be 
 no vexatious limitation nor formality to bar the 
 privilege of entrance to the galleries) can see, 
 and be seen, at ease. 
 
 Outside the door of the Hall of Represen- 
 tatives, we pause a minute to inquire of 
 an individual, who appears to be fulfilling the 
 function of doorkeeper, what is going on there 
 just now? 
 
 The young man, whose occupation seems to be 
 lounging about in a loose-jointed kind of way. 
 
ON THE BANKS OF THE POTOMAC. 261 
 
 with an air of ineffable nonchalance, deigns to 
 reply, with a lofty, languid indifference not un- 
 tinged with contempt, 
 
 'There's nothing going on! only a-filibuster- 
 ing— they've been a-filibustering all day, and I 
 guess they'll go on all night. Oh, you kin go in 
 — but it ain't worth your while.' 
 
 After going in, and, I confess, seeing and hear- 
 ing nothing very interesting— the ' filibustering ' 
 apparently meaning neither more nor less than 
 obstructive tactics — we take our leave of the 
 Capitol for that day. 
 
 In the afternoon, we take a carriage to Arling- 
 ton, a beautiful drive of only about four miles. 
 All the way, the great white dome of the Capitol 
 dominates the landscape. Across the Potomac, 
 from Arlington Heights, beyond river, wood, 
 winding road, and city, we see it soaring into 
 the intense blue of the sky like an Alpine peak. 
 
 The Arlington mansion was built by George 
 Washington Parke Custis (grandson of Martha 
 and adopted son of George Washington). His 
 daughter married Eobert E. Lee, and here the 
 Lees kept hospitable house and happy home until 
 the disastrous days of war. During the long 
 struggle the estate was confiscated, and, having 
 been employed as head-quarters for the Federal 
 troops, was eventually turned into a ' national 
 
262 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 cemetery,' where over fifteen thousand soldiers 
 lie buried. 
 
 The beautiful park-like grounds are now a field 
 of the dead. Up the hillside, by thousands and 
 tens of thousands, stretch the long regular serried 
 lines of tombstones. Here, line by line, in rank 
 and file, at peace beyond the battle, lies the silent 
 army now. It is so hard to realise, looking on 
 these squadrons of the dead, still seeming drawn 
 up in battle array, that every one of those cold 
 white stones strikes down to the dust that was once 
 a human heart, that throbbed with the passionate 
 pain of parting at leaving home and love, that 
 thrilled at the trumpet's call, that beat high with, 
 hope and valour, and gave its life-blood for the 
 victorious cause that it held dear ! 
 
 One massive granite tomb covers a vault where 
 lie the remains of more than two thousand of the 
 unknown dead. But the deserted mansion itself 
 is as sad as any of the tombs that surround it. 
 The grand old house is empty and ungarnished ; 
 its bare floors echo mournfully to our footfalls ; 
 the hall door (the 'classic portal, resting on eight 
 massive Doric columns,' as the guide-book de- 
 scribes it) stands drearily open ; all the world is 
 welcome to enter there. It is not in the least 
 like a haunted house ; there are no corners whence 
 bats might flit at night ; no thick curtain of dust 
 
ON THE BANKS OP THE POTOMAC. 263 
 
 coats the wall, nor dark banners of spider's web 
 veil the windows. The lofty rooms are spotless, 
 speckless, carefully kept, and unutterably forlorn. 
 We wander from room to room through a desolate 
 silence only broken by our own steps ; the con- 
 servatories are barren of flowers ; the only living 
 thing we come upon is a dog sleeping in a patch 
 of sunlight. More mournful a memorial than 
 granite slab or marble cross, more eloquent than 
 inscription carved in stone, the forsaken mansion 
 stands, a silent monument to the Lost Cause. 
 
 As we descend the great staircase, a mighty 
 clatter and babble wake the hollow echoes, and 
 we meet a gay and rather noisy party, led by our 
 brisk young New Yorker of yesterday's Mount 
 Vernon excursion, swarming, chattering, and 
 laughing across the hall. Their happy, ringing 
 voices strike a jarring note here. Well, we have 
 done with Arlington Heights, and these joyous 
 ones may ransack the lonely corners of the de- 
 serted chambers at their own sweet will. As we 
 turn for a last look, we hear the youngest, live- 
 liest, prettiest of the party exclaim, as she trips 
 lightly into the bare drawing-room, 
 ' Oh, my I here's a room for a hop !' 
 We drive back to Washington, and return to 
 our hotel in good time for dinner, to which we 
 sit down, a company of some three hundred, round 
 
264 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 tables loaded with every delicacy of the season, 
 and dine to music, a band playing in the gallery 
 overlooking the dining-room, exhilarating the 
 spirits and stimulating the appetites of the as- 
 sembled Sybarites by stirring strains. 
 
 Assassins may shoot, and presidents may fall. 
 After a splashing and a circling in the waves, the 
 current flows on much the same, 
 
 ' Le roi est mort ! Vive le roi !' 
 
265 
 
 VIRGINIAN RICHMOND. 
 
 Across the wide grey gleaming vraters of the 
 Potomac the great white cupola of the Capitol, 
 visible and conspicuous from the railway as from 
 anywhere else in and around the city of Washing- 
 ton, rears its snowy crown up to the heavens. 
 
 ' Change cars for Richmond !' rings along the 
 train. 
 
 It is to Richmond that we are bound, and on 
 our way thither, after a brief visit to Baltimore, 
 find ourselves in Washington a second time. 
 
 ' You have a few minutes to spare,' observes an 
 attentive fellow-passenger, who has been showing 
 us strangers the ' lions ' by the way. ' You'd like 
 to see where Garfield was shot ? — it's right on the 
 way to the refreshment-room.' 
 
 He leads us to a long narrow slip of a waiting- 
 room, in the dingy floor of which is inlaid a 
 shining metal star. People are coming and going, 
 but few pass by this spot without a pause. A 
 tall man, with a white dust-coat and a black 
 
266 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 goatee, dashes hither in hot haste, summoning his 
 womenkind, four in number, to follow him. 
 
 ' Here — right here, he fell !' he exclaims, with 
 a rhetorical flourish of his cane. 
 
 One spectacled and strong-minded looking 
 female prods the spot with her umbrella, as if 
 ocular identification of the very place were 
 scarcely enough for her; a younger daughter 
 of Eve, who is evidently proud of her detailed 
 information on the tragic subject, describes in 
 high-pitched tones, how 
 
 ' Blaine was this side — and Guiteau made a rush 
 for that door — and just there they seized him !' 
 
 ' Come, we've only got five minutes for lunch !' 
 announces the matron, who is clearly the practical 
 mind of the party. 
 
 Then they are all off in a hurry to the refresh- 
 ment-room. We pause to bestow a tributary sigh 
 upon the memory of the second martyred Presi- 
 dent, the stirring pomp and circumstance of 
 whose funeral observances rest still fresh in our 
 memories ; and then hasten on our way, on the 
 first stage of our journey into the South. 
 
 The Richmond train seems to be bearing us 
 back from to-day into the Past— back twenty 
 years from now. Every common cry along the 
 cars is full of associations and interest — stirs 
 memories of the war. No need to specify what 
 war — it is ' the war ' here. 
 
VIRGINIAN EIOHMOND. 267 
 
 ' Gettysburg train !' ' Baggage for Fredericks- 
 burg /' ' Passengers for Vichburg change here !' 
 
 The names fall upon our ears like echoes out 
 of history — echoes not faint and far, but ringing 
 from a history too fresh to have ceased to thrill, 
 at least here, in this land teeming with memories, 
 where each name still glows red with the passion 
 of victory or defeat — tells its tale of the bay- 
 wreath of glory or the bitterness of death. 
 
 Here we are in Eichmond, Virginia. Twelve 
 hours' journey only from New York, and it seems 
 to be another world. The street-cars, drawn by 
 one dejected, unhappy-looking horse, are shabby 
 and draughty, with ill-fitting doors and windows 
 — at least, so we judge from our first experience ; 
 but perhaps it was our luck, as strangers, to get 
 into a car that was the exception, instead of the 
 rule. The city fades away in a ragged fringe 
 of poor, squalid-looking dwellings, apparently 
 inhabited chiefly by the coloured population. 
 Brown babies tumble, half-clad, up and down 
 the door-steps; their black mothers loll out of 
 the windows, and black fathers ' loaf ' on the 
 side-walks. In the best quarter, or west-end of 
 the town, there are very fine, wide streets, bor- 
 dered with new and handsome residences in 
 diverse styles of architecture that pleasantly 
 redeem this, the fashionable neighbourhood, from 
 
268 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 monotony. There is a peaceful, quiet, decorous 
 air about Richmond, a staid calmness about these 
 stately streets, which no rattle and clatter of 
 traffic disturbs. 
 
 The principal business thoroughfares, of course, 
 are busy enough to keep the city alive and the 
 people stirring. But what a contrast is this, 
 that was the capital of the Confederacy, to the 
 great, rushing, busy, booming Empire City, only 
 twelve hours' journey away ! The difference is 
 striking enough in external aspect alone, yet 
 more noteworthy is the change in the whole 
 character of life. The undercurrent rises from 
 a different spring, and flows to a different goal. 
 In New York there might never have been a 
 civil war for aught we ever heard of it — for any 
 trace we saw left upon the life there. But after 
 only a few hours in Richmond, one social evening 
 spent in a delightful and interesting Richmond 
 home, a few introductions to representative Eich- 
 mondians, who overwhelmed us with cordial kind- 
 ness and a warm, open-hearted hospitality we 
 have never known surpassed even in all the 
 hospitable land of America — after only a few 
 hours amongst these, we felt we were living on 
 the very morrow of the war. In the land of the 
 Lost Cause, it seems but yesterday. 
 
 Although we never doubt but that it is well 
 
VTEGINIAN RICHMOND. 269 
 
 that the ' Flag of Freedom and Union waves ' 
 over one United America — although we recognise 
 the victory of the North as tending to the ulti- 
 mate good of even the South — although the 
 success of the South must have meant the triumph 
 of the hideous wrong of slavery — although the 
 victorious Confederacy, built on the recognised 
 right of Secession, must have borne in it the 
 germ of further disintegration — although we 
 know all this perfectly well, yet the dusty, faded, 
 Confederate flag drooping from the roof of the 
 Capitol Library, takes hold of our hearts with its 
 dumb pathos, rivets our sympathies as we stand 
 there, amongst the portraits of the leaders of the 
 Lost Cause, ranged around the walls, whose 
 painted eyes gaze, fixed for ever on the faded 
 folds of the conquered banner — of which the 
 sweetest and fieriest singer of all the fervent 
 South sang, with that wail of the vanquished which 
 thrills so far deeper than the trumpet-tongued 
 triumph of the victor — 
 
 ' Furl that banner, for 'tis -weary, 
 Eound its staff 'tis drooping dreary ; 
 
 Furl it, fold it, it is best ! 
 For there's not a man to wave it, 
 And there's not a sword to save it, 
 And there's not one left to lave it, 
 In the blood which heroes gave it. 
 
 Furl it, hide it, let it rest ! 
 
270 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 ' Furl that banner ! furl it sadly ! 
 Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, 
 And ten thousands wildly, madly, 
 
 Swore it should for ever wave ; 
 Swore that foeman's sword should never 
 Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, 
 Till that flag should float for ever 
 
 O'er their freedom, or their grave ! 
 
 ' Furl it ! for the hands that grasped it, 
 And the hearts that fondly clasped it 
 
 Cold and dead, are lying low, 
 And that banner, it is trailing, 
 Wliile around it sounds the wailing 
 
 Of its people in their woe. 
 For, though conquered, they adore it, 
 Love the cold, dead hands that bore it. 
 Weep for those who fell before it ; 
 Pardon those who trailed and tore it ; 
 But oh, wildly they deplore it, 
 
 Now who furl and fold it so !' 
 
 Here hangs the portrait of Jefferson Davis — 
 'President Davis,' as one of our escorts (a Vir- 
 ginian, ' Old Dominion,' born and bred), possibly 
 by a slip of the tongue, alludes to him still. He 
 lingers with us — we nothing loth to linger too — 
 before the portraits of Stonewall Jackson, dark- 
 browed and eagle-eyed, and of General Lee, 
 whose noble and thoughtful face always recalls 
 to us the lines — 
 
 ' O good, grey head that all men knew ! 
 O iron nerve to all occasion true ! 
 
 O tower of strength that stood four-square to all the winds 
 that blew !' 
 
VIEGCNIAN EIOHMOND. 271 
 
 He shows us all over the Capitol, relating 
 anecdotes and episodes of the past meanwhile, 
 •which we, being by this time thoroughly in the 
 melting mood, devour greedily as Desdemona. 
 He tells us, Apropos of the conquered banner, 
 that the majority of the Confederate flags 
 instead of being surrendered were preserved and 
 kept as keepsakes. Then he conducts us into 
 the Capitol Square, a pretty park of some twelve 
 acres, surrounding the Capitol, or State House, 
 on the brow of a hill, commanding a magnificent 
 view of the environing city and country, and 
 conspicuous itself for miles around. In this park 
 is a colossal equestrian monument of Washing- 
 ton, surrounded by other great chiefs and pat- 
 riots, who in turn are supported by allegorical 
 figures of Justice, Independence, etc. (See guide- 
 book.) Then there is a marble statue of Henry 
 Clay, a present from his countrywomen to the 
 Commonwealth of Virginia ; and the bronze 
 statue, heroic size, of ' Stonewall Jackson ' — one 
 of Foley's most successful works — presented to 
 Virginia ' by English gentlemen.' 
 
 The inscription at its base concludes with the 
 quotation of General Bee's well-known exclama- 
 tion at the Battle of Manassas, from which the 
 ' soldier and patriot ' gained his world-renowned 
 sobriquet, 
 
272 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 ' Look ! There is Jacksoa standing like a stone 
 wall!'' 
 
 The Eichmondians are very proud of their city, 
 and when looking down from the surrounding 
 heights on the broad river, curved like a silver- 
 shining scimitar, and the city spreading along 
 its banks, we can sympathise with their pride. 
 
 ' Show me a scene like this !' exclaims our 
 enthusiastic Virginian friend, ' and then I'll 
 change my quarters, and live elsewhere than in 
 Richmond — but not till then !' 
 
 Two of the favourite drives are to ' Ohim- 
 borazo,' — once the site of the great Confederate 
 hospital — and to 'Gamble's Hill,' from both of 
 which eminences there is a grand view of the 
 city, and river, and distant hills. Various places 
 of interest are pointed out to us on our walks 
 and drives through Richmond. There along the 
 waterside stretch the great Tredegar Iron Works, 
 the Confederate arsenal of the war-days, where 
 cannon, shot, and shell were cast ; but now the 
 sword is exchanged for a ploughshare, and the 
 Tredegar Works send forth railway-bridges, 
 spikes, cars, sugar-mills, and so on. Here is 
 Libby Prison, a common-place-looking, brick 
 building, the place of confinement for Federal 
 prisoners during the war, now turned into a 
 manufactory by the Southern Fertilising Com- 
 
VIRGINIAN EICHMOND. 273 
 
 pany ; the Old Stone House, the oldest building 
 in Richmond — which every tourist is taken to see 
 — which, we are assured, has been 'visited by 
 thousands of strangers from all quarters of the 
 globe,' and ought to have a history, but does 
 not appear to have any, or to possess much 
 recommendation to interest beyond its antiquity ; 
 the Allan House, former home of the adopted 
 parents of Edgar Allan Poe, where that strange 
 meteoric genius spent a great part of his early 
 life ; the ' White House ' of the Confederacy, or 
 ' Jeff Davis Mansion ' of old, which, after the 
 war, became the head-quarters of the military 
 commanders of the district for a while, and then 
 after the restoration of civil government was con- 
 verted into the ' Central School,' in which capacity 
 it is now peacefully finishing its days. Then we 
 visit the tobacco-factories, which form one of the 
 chief features of Richmond, and hear the coloured 
 ' hands ' singing at their work, their quaint and 
 plaintive melodies suiting well the peculiar, pathe- 
 tic sweetness of the negro voice. 
 
 Then some of our new friends (friends but of 
 a few days, yet never to be forgotten, nor the 
 memory of their kind and cordial hospitality 
 effaced from our hearts) take us to see an old 
 negro, ninety-six years of age, one of their former 
 slaves, who had lived all his life in their family, 
 
 T 
 
274 BETWEEN TWO OOBANS. 
 
 seeing one generation after another grow up and 
 pass away. We found this relic of the ' Ancien 
 Regime ' in a comfortable ropm, evidently well 
 attended to, seated in an arm-chair, with his pipe 
 and tobacco by his side, his old age tenderly 
 cared for by those whose parents, nay, grand- 
 parents, he had served in his youth. It was one 
 of the many cases wherein the former slaves, now 
 aged and incapacitated from work, are supported 
 by their old masters, who would never dream of 
 letting those faithful old servitors want in their 
 failing years. 
 
 Old ' Uncle Henry's ' wrinkled face beamed 
 with smiles as he greeted our friends, and he 
 seemed quite interested at the novel spectacle of 
 ' ladies from England.' His memory was failing 
 him a little, but was clear enough about the days 
 of his youth, if uncertain about yesterday. 
 
 ' The ladies would like to hear about Lafayette,' 
 suggested one of our friends. 
 
 ' Ay, ay — Lafayette. I drove the mas'r and 
 mis'ess to the ball.' (' The ball given in Lafay- 
 ette's honour,' our friend explained.) ' I see him 
 well — he was a fine portly man — a fine man ; he 
 went in an open carriage drawn by four greys. 
 We thought a deal of him.' 
 
 When we took our leave, the old man rose up 
 and tottered, leaning on his stick, out on to the 
 
VIRGINIAN EIOHMOND. 275 
 
 threshold to see the last of us, and a ray of sun- 
 shine rested tenderly, as if in blessing, on his 
 white woolly head. 
 
 Good-bye, Uncle Henry ! Peace be with you, 
 old relic of an age that is being fast forgotten ! 
 survivor from days that are but history to us ! 
 
 Next, we visited the studio of the celebrated 
 Virginia sculptor, Mr. E. V. Valentine, and there 
 spent a delightful hour or two inspecting the 
 creations of his hand and brain, being especially 
 struck by the wonderful expression in such heads 
 as those of the ' Penitent Thief,' the ' Nation's 
 Ward' — a saucy, rollicking little negro — and 
 ' Knowledge is Power,' a sleepy little darkey with 
 his book dropping from his hand. We had the 
 pleasure and privilege also of seeing his latest, 
 and then not completely finished, masterpiece, 
 the Homeric group of ' Andromache and her Son,' 
 and his recumbent figure of General Lee, the ori- 
 ginal plaster cast for the marble statue now upon 
 the General's tomb in Lexington. The comman- 
 der-in-chief lies in his uniform, one hand resting 
 on his sword, the other across his breast, in utter 
 repose and peace, as if in sleep, not death. One 
 old Confederate soldier objected to the recumbent 
 attitude on sentimental grounds. 
 
 ' I don't like to see Lee represented in repose. 
 It doesn't seem natural to me. I think of him as 
 
 t2 
 
276 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 I saw him last, in action /' he said, with kindling 
 eyes. 
 
 ' But after action there comes repose,' rejoined 
 another, who had marched and fought under the 
 General through all the four years* campaign. 
 ' And when I think of Lee, it is as 1 last saw him, 
 lying — just as he lies there — with his arm across 
 his breast, asleep under a tree. When first I saw 
 this statue, it struck me like a shock. It was 
 himself as we knew him ! This was the attitude 
 in which he always lay ; and I like to think of 
 him resting just so at the last,' the old offices 
 finished, with that reverent tenderness evoked in 
 every Southern soldier by the memory of their 
 beloved leader. 
 
 Within a few minutes' drive of the city is 
 Hollywood Cemetery, a beautiful garden of the 
 dead, situated on the undulating high ground 
 overlooking the river, where our attention is 
 directed to many a historic grave. Two Presi- 
 dents of the United States, Monroe and Tyler, 
 are buried here. Here is the tomb of Maury, the 
 ' Pathfinder of the Seas.' Here a plain rough 
 granite pyramid, ninety feet in height, points up 
 to the heavens in memory of the thousands of 
 the Confederate dead buried around it. Here, on 
 this hillside, General Pickett sleeps in the midst 
 of his men ; and here lies Stuart, the gallant 
 
VIRGINIAN mOHMOND. 277 
 
 young cavalry leader, ' the Rupert of the war,' 
 who always dashed into action with a song or a 
 laugh on his lips. 
 
 One of our favourite amusements in Richmond 
 is feeding and playing with the grey squirrels in 
 the Capitol Park. Surely never were squirrels 
 so tame as these ! They scamper down from the 
 trees as we pass, and their bright black eyes de- 
 mand as plainly as words, ' Have you not saved 
 some nuts from your dessert for us ?' If we have 
 remembered our duty to our tiny grey-coated 
 friends and brought the nuts, the little fellows 
 come and eat them from our fingers. A call of 
 ' Bunny, bunny !' brings two or three of them 
 leaping to our feet, and sitting upon their bushy 
 tails, with their tiny forepaws held up for the 
 expected dainty. 
 
 The most beautiful scene in Richmond, I think, 
 is the view from the so-called ' foot-bridge,' really 
 a broad drive for all manner of vehicles, which 
 crosses the James River to the business suburb 
 of ' Manchester.' The river here is studded with 
 lovely little wooded islets ; it is like the famous 
 ' Thousand Islands ' of the St. Lawrence on a 
 miniature scale. To right and left, up and down 
 the river, wherever the eye falls, these luxuriant 
 thickets of rich and tender green, unfolding fresh 
 in unsullied April hues, nestle on the surface of 
 
278 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 the water, which round about here foams and 
 eddies in a series of shallow falls. 
 
 On that opposite shore once stood the lodge of 
 the Chief Powhatan, father of Pocahontas, in the 
 days when the red man still held power on his 
 native soil. Parallel with this bridge runs — or, 
 at least, ran, and probably runs again to-day — 
 the railway-bridge of the Danville route, which 
 was burnt down on the day that we left Rich- 
 mond. 
 
 Then and there we saw break out a glimpse of 
 that spirit which makes us feel one with North 
 and South, and realise that it is one blood which 
 courses through our veins — the spirit not of any 
 state nor section, not of greater nor of lesser 
 Britain, of the Old World nor the New, but the 
 tameless spirit of the unconquerable Anglo-Saxon, 
 the race that on native or alien soil, from the 
 east to the far west, does not know the meaning 
 of the word ' defeat.' The factories on the river- 
 banks caught fire from the blazing bridge. The 
 high wind unluckily blowing that day lashed up 
 the flames, caught the ascending sparks, and 
 swept them in a blazing shower over that quarter 
 of the city. They fell on the roof of the old 
 ' Allan House,' and would have set it on fire had 
 it not been for the passers-by, who gave the alarm 
 to the inmates and rushed upstairs, seizing bed- 
 
VTEGINIAN RICHMOND. 279 
 
 ding, blankets, and water on the way to extin- 
 guish the flame. From the Capitol Gardens we 
 saw the cloud of smoke rising to the sky, and the 
 tongues of flame licking upwards through it. 
 
 The city of Richmond went to work valiantly 
 in its own defence. No greater energy, pluck, 
 and promptness was ever displayed, even in the 
 thrilling days of Chicago's fiery ordeal. A tele- 
 gram was sent to Washington for fire-engines, 
 which, sent off instantly by special train, reached 
 Richmond in an almost incredibly short time; 
 but, ere they arrived, the people had fought the 
 fire down, and the city was safe. All the railway 
 officials, >from the manager and superintendent 
 downwards, were hard at work with their coats 
 off, dragging the cars from the burning dep6t. 
 While yet thousands of dollars were falling into 
 the flames with every moment, the owners of the 
 destroyed property were planning the improve- 
 ments they would make in the re-building. With 
 an undaunted persistency like that of the Bruce's 
 exemplary spider, they were scheming re-con- 
 struction while yet the ruins flamed and fell. 
 
 That very evening the trains all started as 
 usual, the only alteration in the arrangement 
 being that we passengers had to cross the 'foot- 
 bridge,' and take the cars on the Manchester side. 
 As we drove slowly across the bridge, our eyes 
 
280 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 were fixed upon the ruins of the railway-bridge 
 at our right. The burning wreck still smoul- 
 dered in a long line of flickering blue fire upon 
 the surface of the sluggish water ; the pillars of 
 the bridge, ' all that was left of ' it, still stood up, 
 black columns tipped with flame, like gigantic 
 blazing torches set in the darkness between the 
 black river and the murky sky. All along both 
 banks of the sombre flood that crept, dark and 
 sullen, past the smouldering fires, lay the ruins 
 that had been busy, crowded, whirring factories 
 that morning, now glowing gold and scarlet, like 
 live furnaces, as the tongues of fire still leaped and 
 wreathed around them. 
 
 ' Successful, common-place prosperity at noon, 
 they were transfigured into resplendent ruin at 
 night.' 
 
 They flashed into a dazzling glory of beauty 
 once — for one brief hour — their last. As all 
 things must come to a close, perhaps it was not 
 so bad an end. They had their years of use, and 
 their brief farewell hour of splendour. 
 
 Looking back from the train, the last we saw 
 of Eichmond was the glow of the dying fire ; the 
 sleeping city beyond was lost in shadow. 
 
281 
 
 SOUTH CAROLINA SKETCHES. 
 
 I.— THE CITY BY THE SEA. 
 
 In South Carolina at last I What visions, stories, 
 and poems crowd upon our minds at the very 
 name ! Our first impression of the country is 
 simply of seemingly illimitable swamp. Miles, 
 dozens, scores, hundreds of miles, of marsh, 
 swamp, and wood. There is beauty enough here 
 to delight the eye of an artist. The pine-trees, 
 dark and straight and slender, rise out of the 
 abundant, rank undergrowth that flourishes down 
 in the ooze of the morass. The tender green 
 boughs of budding spring interlace with branches 
 touched with dead gold and ripe russet, as if the 
 brand of autumn's fiery finger had been set upon 
 them prematurely, or the unfaded colours of the 
 last autumn lingered yet among the leaves. Fallen 
 trees lie prone in the stagnant shallows. Water- 
 lilies float on the glassy surface of the deeper pools. 
 The dogwood is in full flower, its white blossoms 
 spangling the variegated foliage-like showers 
 
282 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 of snow, as if the first frost of winter had stolen 
 between the mingled hues of fall and spring. 
 Here and there, but more rarely, a luxuriant 
 cluster of pale pink blossom gleams among the 
 trees as the train rushes past. Every now and 
 then a group of tall pines, blazed for the wood- 
 man's axe, hold their heads as high among their 
 brethren as if the white mark of doom were not 
 scored down their stately stems. 
 
 The stations, few and far between, at every one 
 of which our engine conscientiously stops, are 
 mere rough wooden sheds, each one with its 
 dozen negroes lounging about and gazing at the 
 train with lazy interest. Then more swamp, 
 miles and miles of wilderness and desolation ; 
 then another wood-shed. But where are the 
 towns, the villages ? — where are the people f we 
 wonder aloud. Our remarks attract the attention 
 of a native — a tall, pale, sallow young man, with 
 an enormous slouch hat, melancholy black eyes, 
 and a kind of ' Hamlet ' expression, as if he was 
 chronically debating with himself whether it was 
 worth while ' to be.' 
 
 'You mustn't judge of South Oa'lin'y by this,' 
 he observes, in the gentle trainante Southern ac- 
 cents, which are becoming familiar to our ears. 
 ' Back of this belt of swamp there lies the finest 
 land in the world.' 
 
THE CITY BT THE SEA. 283 
 
 We are now passing over the Big Santee 
 Swamp on a high narrow trestle-work, which 
 looks terribly fragile as the car plunges and 
 sways and jolts along it. The scene is pictur- 
 esque enough — the forest against the Southern 
 blue sky above, the green deeps and glassy shal- 
 lows of the swamp below ; but they may well call 
 it the Big Swamp, for it seems to us, as for miles 
 and miles we rush along, that we never shall get 
 to the end of it. 
 
 We are over it at last, and glad to be on terra 
 firma again. Every here and there along the 
 side of the track there are piled up huge heaps of 
 pine wood. These are to supply the locomotive, 
 as we do not burn coal in these regions, and 
 periodically — and, as it appears to us, with irri- 
 tating frequency — we stop to feed our engine, 
 that hungry engine, which makes such short work 
 of its food. We seem to spend half our time 
 watching the great logs being thrust into its 
 maw. It has been raining, and many of the 
 pinewood heelps are quite damp, but that does 
 not matter much ; the engine devours them all 
 the same. 
 
 Weary of imprisonment in the car, I take ad- 
 vantage of being in the South — where we hold as 
 a matter of faith that a man cannot say nay to a 
 woman — to persuade the conductor to let me 
 
284 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 have a camp-stool out on the platform of the car. 
 It is against the rules, but, as I anticipate, he 
 complies with my request. I ride out on the 
 rear platform, and enjoy the fresh air and the 
 view, and create a mild sensation — I and my 
 scarlet shawl together — amongst the negroes who 
 swarm at the few-and-far-between little sheds of 
 stations. The little darkeys particularly delight 
 in running down the railway line after us, halloo- 
 ing and cheering either me or the train — I could 
 not be quite sure which. 
 
 As we near Charleston, little black boys, look- 
 ing all white teeth and black eyes as they smile 
 up in our faces, come on board the cars selling 
 wild flowers. Having left the d^pot, we glance 
 eagerly around to gather our first impressions of 
 this ' city by the sea,' of which we have heard and 
 read so much. The first impressions are some- 
 thing old-world and picturesque — of wooden 
 houses, dilapidations, mud, dust, darkies — but we 
 are principally occupied in a vain endeavour to 
 keep ourselves and our small baggage on the seat 
 of the omnibus that bounds with us through the 
 street and plays a game of battledore and shuttle- 
 cock with us and our handbags. 
 
 The next morning we sally forth early under a 
 tropical sky of burning blue, and take our way 
 to the market, a bright and busy scene, and cool 
 
THE OITY By THE SEA. 285 
 
 and pleasant even this hot day, the breeze blow- 
 ing gently through its long airy sheds, supported 
 by open archways, the abundant array of fruit 
 and flowers and vegetables refreshing to the eye. 
 The negro element is in almost exclusive posses- 
 sion behind the stalls, the white in front, but not 
 exclusively. There is a negro majority in South 
 Carolina, in the market as well as elsewhere. 
 Here are all shades of black, yellow, and brown ; 
 here a good-looking brown girl with immense 
 gold earrings sits half-hidden behind tempting 
 great heaps of rosy tomatoes, golden Florida 
 oranges, and crimson plantains ; there an old wo- 
 man, black as a coal, coifed in a gorgeous striped 
 bandana, presses green peas upon our attention ; 
 here the tourist is buying bananas, and the house- 
 keeper pricing pineapples. 
 
 We linger among the fruit-stalls, and do not 
 hurry ourselves past the fishmonger's department, 
 where the cool shining fish lie on slabs spread 
 with green leaves. But we hasten through the 
 butcher's quarter ; it is too hot to look at raw 
 beef. We observe strutting about here, picking 
 up pieces under the stalls and perching over the 
 doorways, a number of large birds, which we take 
 at first for tilrkeys. They are, however, buzzards, 
 unfit to eat, but useful in picking up offal, and 
 therefore encouraged about this quarter of the 
 market. 
 
286 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Returning to the main street of Charleston, we 
 pass on by the ruins of the old church. 
 ' Burnt during the war, of course ?' 
 ' No, madam, burnt by accident before the war.' 
 There its ruined and blackened walls stand 
 still, the long grass growing where aisle and altar 
 were. We pass by the shops, and soon come to 
 the private houses, pretty and picturesque de- 
 tached villas (residences ' unattached ' are of 
 course the rule in these warm climes). Many are 
 surrounded by their own gardens ; some nestle 
 in the shadow of tall trees ; others are buried from 
 basement to roof in the luxuriant purple blos- 
 soms of the westeria. At the end of this street 
 we come upon the battery, the most beautiful 
 spot in this beautiful city by the sea. 
 
 Here, facing the strip of park which lies be- 
 tween them and the water, stand the finest resi- 
 dences in Charleston, built in the palmy days 
 before the war, some of them survivals of the 
 old Colonial times. No two of these handsome 
 houses are alike ; each is stamped with its own 
 character and individuality ; they are of all styles 
 — Greek, Gothic, Elizabethan, and nondescript, 
 and of all pale tints of cool grey, white, and light 
 brown. They all luxuriate in balconies, piazzas, 
 verandahs, and every device for enjoying an 
 almost tropical air in shade and sunshine, and 
 
THE TEIP TO FORT SUMTER. 287 
 
 many of them rejoice in their own shadowing 
 trees. The scorching breath of the Southern 
 summer has not yet rusted the green of the turf 
 and tree ; the grass in the Battery Park is the 
 richest velvet sward that our feet have ever 
 pressed ; the spring leafage of the scrub-oaks is 
 fresh and tender, though the warmer tints of 
 autumn linger yet here and there among the 
 boughs. At the further border of the long, 
 narrow slip of park is a fine sea-walk, beyond 
 which the sleepy waters of Charleston Harbour 
 lap the stone of the embankment. Here on the 
 battery stand various monuments, one, of course, 
 in memory of ' the brave who are no more.' It 
 is here, all along this walk, that the ladies of 
 Charleston collected in crowds, on one memorable 
 12th of April, to watch the bombardment of Fort 
 Sumter in the distance. 
 
 II.— THE TRIP TO FORT SUMTER. 
 
 FoET SuMTEE, of course, is the first excursion the 
 tourist takes from this city. A short cut through 
 the market leads us to the wharf where the little 
 paddle-steamer waits to carry us thither. The 
 sun blazes fiercely in a heaven of dazzling sapphire 
 blue, the little waves lap and gurgle softly in 
 transparent ripples of emerald, as the boat cuts 
 
288 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 its calm way along. We pass the sunny shores, 
 the green trees, and white villas of Mount Pleas- 
 ant — well so named ! — we pass Sullivan's Island ; 
 we near Fort Moultrie ; and now we are in sight 
 of Sumter. The deck is crowded with excursionists, 
 most of them Northern tourists ; there are a few 
 Southerners, one or two Germans — we discover 
 no English except ourselves. We make acquaint- 
 ance with some of our fellow-passengers ; all seem 
 sociably inclined; all gather together along the 
 bulwarks at the first sight of Fort Sumter. Here 
 are North and South, ' Yankee ' and ' rebel,' har- 
 moniously and amicably associating on a pleasure 
 excursion to the scene of the first conflict of the 
 terrible four years' struggle, the spot where, 
 ' twenty years and more ' ago, that first shot was 
 fired which rang through the civilized world, which 
 thrilled like a bugle-call through the hearts of 
 North and South, and ' let slip the dogs of war ' 
 to their dreadful work. Here this morning are 
 the men who wore the vanquished grey and those 
 of the victorious blue, brothers once more ! In 
 sight of the shattered walls of Sumter, no word 
 except of friendliness is heard. 
 
 We observe in the conversation of the various 
 groups that they one and all delicately refrain 
 from speaking of the ' other side ' in audible tones 
 except as ' Federal ' and ' Confederate,' although 
 
THE TEIP TO FOET SUMTEE. 289 
 
 to each other, in their sotto voce discourse, we 
 catch the old terms 'Yank' and 'reb' passing 
 freely. 
 
 The Federal element, as represented on board 
 this boat, does not appear very well informed as 
 to the facts and details of the siege. We inquire 
 in vain, how many were in the fort ? what was 
 the besieging force ? how many lives were lost ? 
 In answer to this last question, there are a variety 
 of answers, apparently most of them conjectural, 
 and ranging from ' three hundred ' down to 
 ' none.' 
 
 'It was from Fort Moultrie yonder that the 
 first gun was fired,' observes one tourist, drawing 
 from his next neighbour the mild correction, 
 
 ' Pardon me, sir, the very first shot was from 
 Fort Johnson.' 
 
 Hereupon both parties pull out of their pockets 
 — no, not revolvers, but little blue paper-covered 
 ' Guides to Charleston.' 
 
 Meanwhile, we are drawing nearer and nearer 
 to the low, sandy island that is the goal of our 
 excursion. We wonder, as we look on that barren 
 sand-heap scorching in the yellow sun-glare, was 
 that, once upon a time, the lofty fort of Sumter? 
 could ever those fragments of battered wall have 
 towered up towards these blue skies in proud 
 defiance? In fancy, we see the pall of smoke 
 
290 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 wrap Sumter round a^ain, hear the thunder of 
 the cannonade, and, above the ' burning battle- 
 hell * of fire and smoke, we see streaming to the 
 wind the ghost of the ' Stars and Bars !' 
 
 We land ou the little pier, and pick our way 
 along narrow planks laid across the heavy sand, 
 amongst heaps of cannon balls, old guns, new 
 guns, up steps, down steps,, underground and 
 overground, in and out of gloomy bombproofs, 
 from the loopholes of which the ' dogs of war ' 
 thrust forth their huge, black muzzles. One of 
 the little garrison of the fort shows us round, 
 and acts as general cicerone to our party. He 
 answers our questions — the Northern tourists put 
 quite as many as we strangers do ; is it not twenty- 
 two years since the siege ? a whole world behind 
 to them ; but our soldier-guide has the story fresh 
 in his mind. So has a bronzed and grizzled South- 
 erner, who now for the first time, in the subter- 
 ranean shades of a bombproof-tunnel, comes to 
 the fore, and thenceforth divides public interest 
 and attention with the lawful cicerone. 
 
 Somebody puts to this new authority the old 
 question — how many lives were lost in the open- 
 ing bombardment ? 
 
 ' Not one, sir,' is the prompt answer, ' not one 
 by the Confederate attack. Seems strange, but so 
 'tis. There was one life lost, and that was after the 
 
THE TEIP TO FOET SUMTER. 291 
 
 fort had surrendered. A man was blown up and 
 killed. He had laid a mine, as a trap to blow up the 
 Confederates, and he tripped his foot, stumbled, 
 and touched it off, and was killed by his own mine.* 
 
 A gentle smile of contemplative satisfaction 
 irradiated the Confederate countenance as he 
 narrated this anecdote — of which we afterwards 
 heard divers and contrasting versions. I was 
 walking with a gentleman from Massachusetts, 
 but, as my escort did not appear able to feed 
 my feminine curiosity with all the details I 
 desired, I drew the better-informed Confederate 
 authority to join us ; and we rambled on in 
 an exemplarily harmonious trio. 
 
 Our Southerner was brimming over with re- 
 miniscences, all uttered in dulcet and lamb-like 
 tones, which would well have befitted an idyllic 
 love-story. 
 
 ' With a seven-inch bore, like this,' he observed, 
 resting his boot-heel tenderly on a big gun that 
 lay half-buried in the sand, ' we sunk the first 
 monitor that came along. Hit the turret, and 
 made her careen, and then the lower battery took 
 her right between wind and water.' 
 
 He smiled softly, as if cherishing sweet and 
 tender memories. 
 
 ' I put a little Confederate flag on the buoy out 
 there,' he continued, pointing to a spot out on the 
 
 u2 
 
292 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 sunny water, 'and it stayed there all the time.' 
 
 ' Didn't we come after it ?' inquired the tourist 
 from Massachusetts. 
 
 'Oh, yes; the Federals, they came after it 
 several times. But they didn't happen to get it,' 
 the mild Carolinian replied in his soft, lingering 
 drawl. 
 
 I do not know how much or how little correct 
 history was current amongst us that day ; but 
 there certainly was a good deal of information 
 to be had for the asking. 
 
 ' Getting ready for our cousins !' observed a New 
 York girl, patting a fine new gun approvingly. 
 
 ' What cousins ?' I inquired. 
 
 ' Our English cousins,' was the reply. ' They 
 might take a fancy to come over here !' 
 
 ' I don't think we want to come over, except 
 as tourists, as we have come to-day,' I observed, 
 mildly deprecating. 
 
 ' I guess you and the Southerners have had 
 enough of that,' replied the young lady, con- 
 tentedly. 
 
 Our bronzed Southerner was picking up a sea- 
 shell from the sand as a souvenir for me, and, 
 probably by way of a coal of fire, he picked up a 
 finer shell for her, and polished it with his pocket 
 handkerchief. 
 
 In every group some chapter of the story of 
 
UNDER THE PALMETTO FLAG. 293 
 
 the siege was being told — I fear occasionally 
 coloured according to the bias of the narrator. 
 The names of Beauregard, Sherman, Lee, Ander- 
 son, were echoing on every side. Indeed, it was 
 not 1883, it was 1861, in which we all lived that 
 hour ! 
 
 Time was up ; the whistle sounded. We left 
 the sandy isle of Fort Sumter — deserted now, 
 save for a little garrison to be counted on the 
 fingers of one hand — and returned to our boat — 
 and to the present year of our Lord 1883. 
 
 III.— UNDER THE PALMETTO FLAG. 
 
 Another, shorter excursion from Charleston is 
 the drive to Magnolia Cemetery. The special 
 pet and pride of every American city is — its 
 cemetery. ' The Cemetery ' is the goal of the 
 horse-cars, the Sunday resort, the first place in 
 the mind of the citizen who is ' showing round ' 
 the stranger within the city gates, the primary 
 object of the tourist's interest as represented in 
 the guide-book. 
 
 Magnolia Cemetery is certainly well worth a 
 visit. It is like most Southern churchyards — a 
 forest-garden, with all the flowers of the season 
 blooming luxuriantly on the graves, where the 
 dead sleep in the peaceful shadow of noble forest 
 
294 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 trees. We drive throu^li avenues of splendid 
 oaks, all draped and festooned with the long, 
 drooping, grey Spanish moss, which so exactly 
 resembles an old man's beard. From every branch 
 these long, grey beards of moss depend ; some- 
 times, in their luxuriance, they trail gracefully 
 from bough to bough, and fall like «ombre 
 mourning draperies. They clothe the huge oaks 
 like a pall. The view down the vista of grey- 
 draped trees suggests the dim, grey aisles of 
 some great cathedral in the twilight. Wherever 
 we see the wreathing veil of this Spanish moss, 
 we somehow associate it with mourning. 
 
 The German burying-ground — known as Beth- 
 any — is one of the most beautiful of graveyards, 
 with its groves of magnificent moss-clad oaks 
 guarding the tombs. 
 
 Then we pass through the Catholic quarter 
 of the cemetery, a veritable flower-garden ; every 
 grave with its crucifix on headstone or slab. 
 Then we come upon the soldiers' graves. Here 
 lie buried those of the Federal soldiers who 
 died in Charleston — not so many of them. Here 
 spreads the wide field of the Confederate dead. 
 Many a nameless and unknown grave is here. 
 Lowly little head-stones, or mere slips of board, 
 mark the last resting-places of 'the men who 
 wore the grey.' Here they lie, side by side, in 
 
tJNDEE THE PALMETTO FLAG. 295 
 
 close and serried ranks, as they fought, and fell. 
 
 ' They sleep — what need to question now 
 If they were wrong or right ? 
 They know, ere this, whose cause was just 
 In God the Father's sight !" 
 
 Several times, during our drive through the 
 cemetery grounds, we come upon groups of wo- 
 men in deep mourning, tending the graves, water- 
 ing the growing flowers, or laying fresh bouquets 
 or immortelles upon the tombs. We are taken 
 next to see a grove of ' real English oaks,' which 
 to our eyes, however, wear an un-English aspect, 
 being festooned with heavy wreaths of hanging 
 grey moss. Near this grove stands a large, com- 
 fortable-looking country house, all its doors closed 
 and windows shut, and bearing as dreary and de- 
 serted an appearance as Hood's 'Haunted House.' 
 
 ' Yes, it is empty all summer. The family 
 move to the city in March. No one can live 
 here from the spring to the fall,' our companions 
 inform us. 
 
 ' But it is close to the city !' we rejoin. ' Why 
 move so short a distance ? If they can live in the 
 city, so near at hand, why can they not live here ?' 
 
 ' On account of the fever,' is the answer. 
 ' There is marsh-fever here. Wherever there is 
 that moss, there is fever. But,' the lady adds, 
 impressively, ' the city of Charleston is most 
 healthy.' 
 
296 BBTWUEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 We venture on an inquiry about the yellow fever. 
 
 ' Well, we may have a few cases of yellow fever 
 sometimes ; but the disease is imported, it is not 
 native here, nor epidemic ; and we never have a 
 case till July.' 
 
 We reflect, with comfortable feelings, that it is 
 now only April, and that long ere July we hope 
 to have turned our backs upon the balmy land of 
 the South. 
 
 On our way home, we observe a further proof 
 of the sanitary advantages of the city of Charles- 
 ton over the outlying neighbourhood. Waggon 
 after waggon full of workmen from the Phos- 
 phate Factory pass by, all hurrying home from 
 the factory to sleep in the city. None of them 
 reside in or round the works ; all must, for 
 safety's sake, return to Charleston at sunset. 
 Black men and white men (or white to our 
 eyes, inexperienced at distinguishing the fair- 
 skinned octoroon from the pure Caucasian) crowd 
 these waggons in social confusion, and uplift 
 their voices together harmoniously in snatches of 
 song. Through the picturesque streets of Char- 
 leston, past the old Church of St. Michael's with 
 its peal of historic bells, past many fine speci- 
 mens of the old colonial houses, past vacant ' lots ' 
 laid waste in the war, past here and there a ruined 
 wall, shattered and blackened by fire and shell, 
 
UNDEE THE PALMETTO FLAG. 297 
 
 just as it was left after the bombardment, we 
 drive on to the Battery. 
 
 It is sunset ; the whole azure vault of the 
 heaven is flecked and dappled with rose and gold ; 
 a faint, warm, glowing haze like the dream of a 
 blush possesses the atmosphere, and clothes with 
 an ineffable glory the soft velvet turf, the rich- 
 foliaged oaks, the picturesque houses, the serene 
 and shining waters that lie at peace, as if the 
 fiery feet of war had never trodden here. 
 
 On the grass the children were playing ; black 
 and white babies tumbling and tottering on the 
 green sward together in perfect amity. There 
 are two little girls, a blonde white child and a 
 mahogany-coloured mulatto, with their arms 
 round one another's waists, babbling their baby 
 confidences. Here a tiny white tot of some 
 three years old patters along, supported by the 
 hand of a little brown boy about a year older. 
 A few years hence she will not take his hand. 
 But the racp instinct is dormant as yet. It will 
 wake soon enough. 
 
 Our hostess for the day, an old inhabitant of 
 Charleston, and a lady of high position in the 
 city, amused us on the way home by anecdotes of 
 her own experiences amongst the coloured folks, 
 characteristically illustrative of their inbred respect 
 for and loyal feelings towards their former masters 
 
298 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 even in these days of political equality. And 
 here I must observe that I have never heard a 
 true Southerner speak in harsh or embittered 
 terms of the African race in general. Politically, 
 of course, the (Southern) white man and the 
 black are enemies, uncompromisingly ranged upon 
 opposite sides. Socially, the gulf yawns wide as 
 ever. But we could not detect any signs of 
 radical bad feeling between the races. At the 
 polling-booth they meet as antagonists, and at 
 election seasons all the potential ill-feelings and 
 old bitternesses on both sides are naturally stirred 
 up, like the witches' cauldron, until too often they 
 bubble into hostile demonstrations. But even at 
 these seasons of excitement the Southerner most 
 frequently regards the negro as a tool in stronger 
 hands, and bears no malice or rancour towards 
 the race to which, inferior though he religiously 
 deems them, he is attached by the strong ties of 
 early association. 
 
 He has naturally a kindly feeling towards old 
 Sambo, who carried him in his arms before he 
 could walk — Uncle Joe, who mounted him on his 
 first pony — his old nurse, Aunt Polly, who spoilt 
 and adored him, and calls him 'MassaTom.' to- 
 day. And the negroes, as a rule, feel a loyal 
 attachment to those of their old masters who 
 treated them with the kindness which, after all — 
 
UNDEE THE PALMETTO FLAG. 299 
 
 however great were the hardships of planta- 
 tion life — was in domestic service the rule that 
 proved the exception. In many a Southern home 
 to-day the courtyard that was the ' slave-quarters ' 
 is inhabited by the former slaves, faithful ser- 
 vants now. Many an old ' mammy ' cleaves still 
 to her 'young missis' — 'young Miss Clara,' per- 
 haps a grandmother now, and ' Mammy ' nursing 
 the third generation. On many an estate, albeit 
 its palmy days are over, and many of its broad 
 acres lying to waste, the old slaves, too old or too 
 feeble to work, are supported still. And many 
 and many a story we heard from the lips of those 
 most concerned of devotion shown to them in 
 days of trouble by their former slaves ; of loyal 
 service long after the enfranchisement; of self- 
 sacrifice in the negro's poor hut for ' the ole 
 massa's ' sake ; of the disabled, starving, wounded 
 Southern soldier sought out, cared for, and nursed 
 back to health by some old ' auntie ' who had 
 served in ' the family.' Indeed, to fully appre- 
 ciate the virtues of the coloured race, one ought 
 to visit the South and mix with the Southerners. 
 They know the blot on the negro character better 
 than the North ; they have good reason to know 
 it — (read the cases of lynch-law in the Southern 
 papers to-day). They believe devoutly in the 
 inferiority of the negro; it is their creed, their 
 
300 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 faith, to hold the African the lower race. But 
 they do justice to their many good qualities; 
 Enemies at the polling-booth, with the bridgeless 
 gulf of race between them socially, yet in sorrow, 
 sickness, trouble at home, the Southerner is still 
 the negro's friend. 
 
 Our friend in Charleston, who has still in her 
 service several of her old slaves, amused us by 
 recounting instances occurring in her own ex- 
 perience of their frequent objection to serve those 
 of their own colour — the refusal of a young girl 
 to take a situation to nurse a coloured baby, the 
 scornful rejection by an old mammy of a seat in a 
 ' nigger preacher's ' church, the proverbial saying 
 of the old darkey, as he belaboured his mule, 
 ' Niggers and mules is hard to drive.' 
 
 And, though no one can defend the cruel wrong 
 of slavery as an institution, we must in fairness 
 to the Southerners acknowledge that it was far 
 more their inherited misfortune than their sin ; 
 they reaped the bitter harvest sown by the crime 
 of generations before their day ; and all represen- 
 tative Southerners are clear-sighted enough to 
 own that it is well that evil is uprooted from the 
 land they love. I can recall many and many a 
 kind word spoken by Southerners of the coloured 
 race, but scarcely one of venom or prejudice. 
 
 ' My old mammy saved my life when the Fede- 
 
UNDER THE PALMETTO FLAG. 301 
 
 ral soldiers ransacked the place. I was lying 
 sick, and tliat old woman guarded tlie door.' 
 
 ' My father's old slaves, too feeble to work, are 
 all living on his estate supported by him now.' 
 
 ' Not one of our men left us for years after the 
 emancipation.' 
 
 These are the tales we hear, and although 
 during the war hundreds of homes were left de- 
 fenceless — the husband and father away at the 
 field of battle, the wife and children left alone on 
 isolated estates amongst their slaves, and help- 
 lessly at their mercy in the event of riot or rising 
 — yet that these slaves were somewhat ' idle and 
 negligent ' is the worst we ever heard said of their 
 conduct at a time when such unlimited powers 
 for evil were in their hands. 
 
 We found it very interesting to get into confi- 
 dential conversation with those who had been 
 slaves in their day. We gathered alternate and 
 impartial glimpses of both sides of the case in 
 this way. 
 
 ' No,' said one old man, a relic of the ancien 
 regime, ' I don't want to go North. Dey sot us 
 free, and we knows what we owe dem ; but we 
 don' unnerstan' dem, nor dey don' unnerstan' us. 
 We's at home here wid de ole folks.' 
 
 I remember black Amy — black as any ' coal- 
 black Eose ' of song — telling me the story of her 
 
302 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 parents. How her father fell in love with her 
 mother, who belonged to another master ; how 
 her father's master, who was ' the best man that 
 ever lived,' tried to buy her mother in order that 
 the lovers might marry and live together on his 
 estate ; how her mother's master refused to sell 
 ' Sue,' and ' Ole massa,' he said, ' Jim, Mr. So-and- 
 so won't sell Sue at any price. I'm sorry to part 
 with you, Jim ; but, if your heart's set on Sue, 
 why So-and-so offers to take you himself.' Jim 
 knew that So-and-so was a hard and cruel master, 
 but ' love will still be lord of all,' and poor Jim 
 made his life-sacrifice for love's sake, and chose 
 to be sold to the harsh owner of his Sue. 
 
 I was interested in this humble love-story, but 
 was disappointed at the end of it, which was that 
 Jim, cruelly treated and flogged for slight offences, 
 ran away into the swamps, and was never heard 
 of more ; while wretched, deserted Sue took to 
 drinking in her misery, and one day, when intoxi- 
 cated, fell into the fire and was burnt to death. 
 
 There was another woman to whom we took a 
 great liking. She was a mixed breed ; white and 
 Indian blood commingled with the African in her. 
 We heard that this triple mixture is supposed 
 often to produce a far finer type than the ordinary 
 mulatto ; and certainly Georgia (named after her 
 native State) was a splendid specimen of the 
 
UNDBE THE PALMETTO FLAG. 303 
 
 mingled race. Her voice, pathetic with the pecu- 
 liar rich sweetness of the negro tone ; her large, 
 soft, and brilliant black eyes, her natural refine- 
 ment and delicacy of uianner ; her quick intelli- 
 gence, attracted us strongly. 
 
 ' My father was a Beverley,' she said once, with 
 simple-hearted pride ; ' he freed my mother, and 
 I was born free.' 
 
 Georgia did not entirely approve of the conduct 
 of her own people. 
 
 ' The coloured people haven't behaved as they 
 ought to, sho',' she observed. ' They don't work 
 as they should — I'm disappointed in 'em.' 
 
 She related to us impartially anecdotes of the 
 ' good master,' for whoin his slaves would willingly 
 have ' just laid down and died/ and of the ' bad 
 master,' who actually kept the nails of one hand 
 lone in order to scratch their faces. This wicked 
 master had owned a friend of hers, who had four 
 little children. ' One day he say to her, " Lucy, 
 I'm going to take the chillun to the woods." So 
 Lncy she put on their little sun-bonnets and dress 
 'em up, and they go off with him, thinking they's 
 goin' to gather nuts. They don' come home 
 that evening — they don' come home that night. 
 The next day he come back, and she ask for the 
 chillun, and he tell her they're sold, and she'll 
 never see them no mo'. Po' Lucy she fell right 
 
304 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 down at his feet, and she never was good for 
 nothin' no mo'. She was took sick and died in 
 'bout two weeks.' 
 
 Georgia smoothly joined on to this episode 
 some reminiscences of the war, in which her tone 
 was entirely in sympathy with the Confederacy. 
 She was certainly impartial and unbiassed by 
 race-prejudice. 
 
 But I have run away prematurely from Charles- 
 ton. One more thing had to be done before we 
 left, with regret, the beautiful old city by the sea. 
 We had to visit the armoury of the Washington 
 Light Infantry, and see the ' Entaw flag,' one of 
 the noted battle standards of the revolutionary 
 war; also another relic of more recent history, 
 and, to own the truth, more interesting to us — 
 the old Confederate flag that waved over Fort 
 Sumter. There it hangs in its place of honour, 
 faded, torn, and shot-pierced through and through, 
 enshrined as a sacred relic in the heart of every 
 true Charlestonian — the banner that gleamed 
 above the pall of battle-smoke for the four years 
 whose history is written in the heart's blood of 
 the South. Remembering how 
 
 ' The valiant hosts are scattered 
 Over whom it floated high/ 
 
 we are not inclined to enter into question as to 
 the degrees of right and wrong in the Lost Cause. 
 
UNDER THE PALMETTO fLAG. 305 
 
 We only remember how heroically it was fought 
 and how gallantly lost — nobler in its fall than it 
 could have been in its triumph. 
 
 When leaving Charleston, seated in the car, 
 waiting for the train to start, we amused our- 
 selves watching a crowd of negroes, of all kinds, 
 sizes, and ages, one and all as black as the best 
 Wallsend, who were swarming along the plat- 
 form. The women carried bundles wrapped in 
 gay bandannas, the fellows to which were tur- 
 baned round their woolly heads. Some also 
 carried black babies — dark, soft, large-eyed, love- 
 able-looking mites, to whom the American epithets 
 ' cute ' and ' cunning ' seemed somehow more ap- 
 propriate than any English adjective. The men 
 ' loafed,' and chattered, and laughed their pecu- 
 liar, unmistakable laugh, and smoked bad to- 
 bacco. 
 
 The negro is sometimes a beau in his way, but 
 these were all roughly and poorly dressed ; and 
 as the bell rang, and they all crowded towards 
 the train, we wondered if these undesirable 
 companions were coming into our car ; for, being 
 fresh from the North, we did not think of the 
 possibility of there being a ' second-class.' How- 
 ever, a second-class car there was, next to ours, 
 and into it our sable fellow-travellers swarmed. 
 
 ' This is different from the North,' I remarked 
 
 X 
 
306 BETWEEN TWO OOKANS. 
 
 to the porter (a negro, of course). ' You have 
 a first and second-class here, then ?' 
 
 ' It's a different population here, ma'am, you 
 see,' he replied, in those soft and civil tones 
 that always pleased us in his race. 'Dose 
 people dar, dey's not fit company for ladies 
 and gen'lemen. Dey's come from work, and 
 dey's rough and dirty. I'm black myself ' (and 
 he was, as an ebony image !) ' but dose people 
 from de interior, dey ain't no refinement. Dey's 
 terr'ble rough, and ain't no company for you 
 white ladies.' 
 
 We had heard much discussion in the North 
 as to the treatment of coloured passengers on the 
 Southern railways. After this first experience of 
 it, I watched on every journey, and observed that 
 the arrangements for coloured travellers differed 
 on different lines. 
 
 At Savannah, I searched along the express- 
 train, and inquired of a polite ofl&cial, 
 
 ' Isn't there a second-class for coloured people ?' 
 
 ' No, no second-class on this train. They run 
 one in South Ca'lina, but we've none on the 
 Florida express.' 
 
 ' Where will they go, then ?' I asked, pointing to 
 a large family — father, mother, and five children, 
 all the blackest of the black, and clad in all the 
 colours of the rainbow. 
 
ITNDEE THE PALMETTO FLAG. 307 
 
 ' They'll ride in the forward part of the smok- 
 ing-car. Oh, it's quite a nice car. They're not 
 ill-used, I assure you. Why, they wouldn't care 
 to ride with white folks, if they might !' 
 
 This last statement did not, however, carry 
 perfect conviction home to my mind. A stage 
 further South, I found one car labelled, 'For 
 Coloured Passengers,' and stepped in on a visit 
 of inspection. This car was in every respect 
 exactly like the car reserved for us ' white folk ;' 
 the same velvet seats, ice-water tank ; every com- 
 fort the same — and, of course, the same fare. 
 In a New York paper I had just been reading 
 an account of these trains, and of the ' dirty, 
 bare, and unventilated kennels ' in which the 
 poor negro was compelled to ride. 
 
 In South Carolina once more we found again 
 the second-class and lower fares. 
 
 ' There's a sad prejudice against the coloured 
 people here,' said a Boston lady to me. ' You 
 see, they won't even ride in the same oar with 
 them !' 
 
 I suggested, meekly — what even a short trip 
 South is long enough to teach us — that to be 
 crowded in close contact with our African 
 brethren in the confined atmosphere of a railway- 
 car would call into requisition even a Bostonian's 
 •whole stock of endurance and eau- de-cologne. 
 
 x2 
 
308 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 [V.— COLUMBIA. 
 
 It was night when we arrived at the realisation 
 of another dream — ;Oolumbia ! Is there a heart 
 in Carolina — nay, in the South — but throbs 
 deeper at that name? Columbia, first in the 
 field at sowing the wind of war! (But who 
 reaped the whirlwind more terribly than she 
 did ?) Columbia, hallowed by her fiery . ordeal, 
 by the memories of that night of terror — the 
 stories of which had so often thrilled us — had 
 been the goal of our thoughts all day, as the 
 train bore us at a jog-trot through the rice and 
 cotton fields of Carolina, where, at this season, 
 the coming crop was represented only by little 
 grass-like stalks a few inches high. 
 
 It was a clear but moonless night as we drove 
 from the dep6t, and, in the dim dusk of starlight, 
 it seemed that we were driving through forest 
 aisles and woodland avenues, on and on under 
 great shadowing trees, with here and there lights 
 gleaming through the branches. Trees — trees — we 
 wondered when we should ever get to the city ! 
 And, while we so wondered, the omnibus lum- 
 bered round, and drew up at the door of the hotel. 
 
 A daylight view of Columbia revealed that it 
 was a city after all ; not a large city, certainly, 
 with a population of only about ten thousand, 
 
COLtJMBfA. 309 
 
 but spreading over a good deal of ground for that 
 number of inhabitants. It seems to us rather a 
 tract of the ' merrie green woods,' in which streets 
 and houses have sprung up, than a city in which 
 trees have been planted. Every street is a broad 
 and shady avenue, and to our eyes every avenue 
 looks exactly like every other. A little way out- 
 side the town, there is a pretty park, as it is 
 called, a wild luxuriance of wood and bush cloth- 
 ing a lonely little valley lying like a basin among 
 the low hills. In the town, every here and there 
 we come upon vacant lots, overrun with tall grass 
 and weeds, and even groups of trees growing up 
 from the level, scattered stones of the ruins that 
 once were thriving, happy homes. These rem- 
 nants of blackened wall, these gaps in the street, 
 these empty, weed-grown plots of ground are 
 relics of the war. There stands the State House, 
 from which on that never-to-be-forgotten night 
 the rockets went up as a signal that fire and 
 pillage were let loose upon Columbia. There is 
 the house of a dear friend of ours — the home 
 which alone, without husband, son, or brother — 
 (for there were no men left to guard their wives 
 and little ones in the doomed city that night !) — 
 she defended for hours, pouring water on the fire- 
 brands that fell in a flaming rain, until even the 
 enemy admired the brave woman's courage, and 
 one of the soldiers spoke up in her behalf — 
 
310 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 'Come, boys! let's leave her her home; she's 
 fought so well for it.' 
 
 This smiling Paradise was hell for one night — 
 it is all but impossible to realise it now ! All is 
 so pretty, so sunny, so peaceful to-day ; it seems 
 but an evil dream that, this tranquil Eden was 
 ever the prey of devouring flames,- ransacked, 
 pillaged, overrun with wild license, till the fire 
 itself seemed the gentlest element there that 
 night. 
 
 We wander round the grove-like streets, admire 
 the white, green-shuttered houses bowered in 
 climbing roses and blossoming shrubs, the luxu- 
 riant gardens, the noble forest-trees. We look 
 up at the faces in the windows with interest as 
 we pass. A fair face here leans out framed in 
 the lilac-blossoms of the westeria. Next door a 
 black face, with shining teeth and eyes, looks 
 down from a rose-garlanded window, and, catch- 
 ing our glance, smiles and nods good-humouredly. 
 Here a black family, the girls all in white dresses 
 and rainbow ribbons, are assembled on their 
 piazza among the flowers ; they salute and wish 
 us good evening as we pass. There is something 
 Arcadian about the very air. At first we wonder 
 to whom this brown workman, clad in his Sunday 
 best, and this coal-black, smiling old negro, who 
 looks so like a good-natured monkey, are bowing 
 
OOIUMBIA. 311 
 
 SO politely ? "We look round to see if there is any- 
 one behind us ; then it dawns upon us that these 
 smiles and salutes are meant for us — the tribute 
 of the coloured population of Columbia to the 
 strange white ladies. Once we come upon a 
 whole gang of young fellows, of Ethiopian black- 
 ness, lounging at a street-corner, laughing and 
 singing. They one and all uncover their woolly 
 heads, and make way for us with the utmost 
 courtesy. 
 
 It is Sunday evening, and a kind of Sabbath 
 stillness and serenity wraps Columbia in an 
 Elysian calm. Over it there broods an idyllic 
 atmosphere of purity and peace. It looks like 
 Eden before the 'trail of the serpent' marred its 
 harmony. As the sun sinks slowly in a dying 
 glory behind the stirless trees, and a rising sea 
 of amber light floods the cloudless azure of the 
 heavens, it seems that a faint golden haze clings 
 like a halo around the palm-crowned brow of this 
 fairest and sweetest city of the South. 
 
312 
 
 AMONG THE RED HILLS OF GEORGIA. 
 
 OuE glimpse of the great and historic State of 
 Georgia was only a brief one, but we carried 
 away with us, stamped in our memories, two 
 vivid pictures of her two chief cities — Savannah 
 on the sea-board, Atlanta in the interior. 
 
 Savannah, as we saw it first on a spring morn- 
 ing, steeped in semi-tropical sunshine, a city of 
 liberal distances, bounteously laid out on a large 
 and lavish scale, evidently by those who had limit- 
 less space at their command, and no niggardly 
 inclination to stint it — Savannah, with its wide 
 streets running in accurate parallel and rec- 
 tangularly across, with the chequer-board regu- 
 larity so often to be found in America, north, 
 south, east, and west — with its little grassy, 
 wooded squares, dignified by the title of ' parks,' 
 at the crossings of the chief roads — its boulevards 
 and avenues and long, deep, shady vistas of green 
 — well deserves its name of the ' Forest City.' 
 
 It has not the varied, florid, and fanciful 
 architecture of Charleston. It has, like Charles- 
 
AMONG THE RED HILLS OE GEOEGIA. 313 
 
 ton, its history, but bears less trace of it. No 
 grass-grown ruins, no shattered walls blot its 
 fair and stately streets ; no yawning gap in the 
 regular ranks of flourishing homes bints a story 
 of the war. There is an air of solid comfort 
 and substantial prosperity about Savannah. With 
 its busy wharfs crowded with shipping, its ' naval 
 store ' trade, its thriving commerce in timber 
 and cotton, it seems to combine the successful 
 business practicality of the North with the sunny, 
 slumberous peace of the South. There does not 
 appear to be much to see in Savannah ; even 
 the guide-book lays but light duties on the tourist 
 here. 
 
 There is the cemetery, of course, ' Buenaven- 
 tura,' one of the most impressive and gloomy of 
 all the beautiful cemetries of the South ; a forest 
 of grand and ancient oaks, heavily draped in 
 mourning veils of the grey Spanish moss — a 
 solemn silence brooding heavily down on the 
 vast shadowy glades and lofty, over-arched 
 avenues. There is nothing bright, light, or 
 cheerful in this grave-garden, only a great, 
 overwhelming gloom of solemn beauty of the 
 silent forest. The other sights of Savannah are 
 chiefly 'parks' — every green square is called a 
 park — churches, of course, and a tea-gardeny 
 kind of place, called ' Concordia.' There are 
 
314 BBTWEBN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Forsyth Park, Laurel Grove, and ' Thunderbolt,' 
 to all of which points of interest either steam 
 or horse-cars run. We find a Southern cordiality 
 and kindness about the conductors of these 
 street-cars, who one and all seem anxious to 
 do the honours to the stranger English ladies, 
 and help in all they can to conduce to our 
 enjoyment. 
 
 We drive about the lovely summer city in 
 comfortable, open cars — a most delightful form 
 of conveyance ! — and enjoy the air like balm, 
 and the warm Southern breeze, while the polite 
 conductor pauses in his passing to and fro to 
 point out to us the lions of the landscape, with 
 a hospitable air of sympathetic relish of our 
 interest and pleasure. 
 
 In complete contradiction of the prophecies of 
 some of our Northern friends, who had foretold 
 our manifold discomforts in Southern travel, we 
 find no lack of comfort, indeed of luxury, any- 
 where as yet. 
 
 We have two splendid, richly-furnished rooms, 
 and admirable accommodation altogether, at our 
 hotel ; but, while partaking of the excellent dinner 
 which is spread before us, we cannot help won- 
 dering whether the great State of Georgia has 
 any meat of its own; for our bill-of-fare reads 
 thus, ' Tennessee beef. Boston beef. New York 
 
AMONG THE BED HILLS OE GEOEGIA. 3l5 
 
 lamb. Boston pork. Southdown mutton. New 
 York capon!' It is evident that, if we were 
 bent on only eating Georgian meat, we might go 
 meatless — at least, in the hotels. 
 
 All that is to be seen in Savannah is very soon 
 seen, and we move on our way. The only other 
 Georgia city where we make a stay of a day 
 or two is Atlanta. 
 
 Atlanta, which suffered terribly during the 
 war, and has been built up almost literally from 
 the ashes since that time, is now, to our eyes, 
 as we see it first in a flood of morning sunshine, 
 really a beautiful city, as well as an important, 
 busy, and thriving one, with its broad streets 
 luxuriantly bordered with trees — like those of 
 almost all Southern towns — its handsome houses, 
 each in its blooming garden, in the residential 
 quarter — its stores and seven-storey high fac- 
 tories, and rattle and push of traflBc in the busi- 
 ness part. Peach-Tree Street, where the ' Execu- 
 tive Mansion,' or Governor's House is situated, 
 is in the most fashionable neighbourhood, and 
 there are many elegant new villas and picturesque 
 rose and vine-clad houses there. The city — one 
 thousand five hundred feet above the sea level — 
 with the valley sloping away below it, and the 
 mountains rising around it, undulates up and 
 down, creeps up and swells over the brow of the 
 
316 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 hill, and waves away downwards. With its boule- 
 vards and bordering trees, it merits the title of 
 the ' Forest City ' full as well as Savannah. 
 
 There is a beautiful drive out to Ponce de 
 Leon. We could not find that there was any- 
 thing to be seen at Ponce de Leon when you 
 got there ; but the drive was worth taking, even 
 in the absence of any distinctive goal. Certainly 
 there are the woods ! Every drive from Atlanta 
 ends in the woods, which surround the city — wild 
 and luxuriant woods, abounding in trailing flowers 
 and tangling vines ; the most beautiful and con- 
 spicuous among which is the red honeysuckle. 
 
 Emerging from the town, you plunge at once 
 into the depths of the dense forest, all bloomiug 
 and blazing with the scarlet bells of this wild 
 honeysuckle, which flourishes in a rank luxuriance, 
 wreathing round the great trees, and filling the 
 air with its fragrance. 
 
 Our companions on the car, on the homeward 
 drive from Ponce de Leon, were laden with the 
 honeysuckle, whose perfume pervaded the whole 
 car ; they carried it, not in nosegays nor hand- 
 f uls, but literally had their arms full of its rose- 
 red blossoming branches. One black beau, who 
 took his seat opposite us, especially attracted our 
 attention ; he was black and shining as ebony ; 
 he wore a dress-suit complete, white cravat, chim- 
 
AMONG THE BED HILLS OP GEOBGIAi 317 
 
 ney-pot hat and all ; his hands were encased in 
 white kid gloves, he had a bouquet almost as big 
 as his own woolly head in his button-hole, and 
 wore a beaming expression of such perfect and 
 unalloyed satisfaction with himself and the world 
 in general that one could hardly look at him 
 without reflecting his radiant smile. We decided 
 that he must be bent on an errand of courtship, 
 if not of bridal. 
 
 On this homeward drive we had a beautiful pan- 
 oramic view of the town of Atlanta. From this 
 valley road we saw the city spreading itself up 
 the hillside — a rising sea of houses, gardens, 
 clumps of trees, and shining roofs, climbing up 
 to the hill-tops, its broad red roads running in 
 parallels up the slope, the whole scene bathed in 
 the golden light of sunset. All the roads around 
 here are of a rich red earth ; all the banks and 
 vales, wherever unclad in green, all the barren 
 hills, are of the same deep ruddy hue. 
 
 ' The red old hills of Georgia, 
 So bold and bare and bleak ! 
 They have no robe of verdure, 
 Stript naked to the blast.' 
 
 These lines well describe the Georgian hills. 
 
 When we were at St. Louis (Missouri), we had 
 agreed that the Mississippi — the huge, lazy colos- 
 sus among rivers, which stretched its mighty 
 length and breadth so sluggishly, like a Titanic 
 
318 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 sleepy serpent slowly coiling across the land — 
 was a magnificent and impressive sight to look 
 upon, but not a nice river to drink, and they gave 
 it, and nothing else, to us to drink at our hotel, 
 in clear crystal goblets, which made its muddy 
 hue all the more painfully conspicuous. How- 
 ever, at Atlanta, when we went to make our toi- 
 lettes, we found there was something even worse 
 than Mississippi water. We poured into our 
 basins a liquid of a fine rich umber brown, and 
 imagined at first that the chambermaid had, under 
 some hallucination, intruded into the cook's de- 
 partment and filled our pitchers with thick pea- 
 soup. But the chambermaid, on being summoned, 
 protested that it was as good water as any in all 
 the city of Atlanta. 
 
 We devote one afternoon in Atlanta to visiting 
 the cemetery, of course, and find the whole popula- 
 tion of the city bent on the same errand. It ap- 
 pears that it is 'Memorial Day,' the day appointed, 
 for the pious duty of laying flowers on the graves 
 of the soldiers who fell in the war (answering to 
 the ' Decoration Day' of the North). The ceme- 
 tery is thronged with orderly and silent crowds, 
 the tide of humanity setting towards and eddying 
 around a lofty granite monument, on which we 
 read in gilt letters the simple words, 
 ' To our Confederate Dead.' 
 
AMONG THE BED HILLS OE GEORGIA. 319 
 
 The officials, who move about among the multi- 
 tude, answering inquiries and giving directions, 
 are one and all veterans of the war, and most of 
 them maimed or crippled in some way ; some 
 have lost a leg, some an arm, others only a few 
 fingers. Their task, so far as ' keeping order ' is 
 concerned, is a mere sinecure, the whole crowd 
 observing the respectful and even reverent de- 
 meanour that befits the occasion. "We observe 
 that the lower steps surrounding the granite 
 obelisk are occupied by a number of ladies in 
 deep mourning, seated in close ranks, facing the 
 platform reserved for the ' orators.' These 
 steps are evidently the posts of honour, and one 
 of the war veterans, learning that we are 
 ' strangers from England,' speaks to a superior 
 in authority, who kindly conducts us to seats 
 beside the select few. 
 
 The proceedings open by a prayer, followed 
 by various orations and discourses by evidently 
 distinguished citizens — ' General ' this, and the 
 ' Reverend ' that. It would have been hard for 
 even the most bigoted opponent of the fallen 
 cause to have quarrelled with the tone of these 
 discourses ; manly, dignified, full of fervent 
 pathos in allusion to the lost, yet accepting the 
 situation as it is without repining and without 
 vindictiveness, facing their defeat undaunted and 
 
320 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 uncomplaining, never bowing to plead guilty to 
 wrong-doing, yet never fretting nor chafing 
 against the inevitable. 
 
 After the services had concluded with the 
 singing of a hymn, the crowd dispersed itself 
 over the cemetery, laying flowers on the thou- 
 sands of lowly graves, whose simple headstones, 
 or mere slips of board sometimes, mark the last 
 resting-place of the ' Confederate dead.' The 
 graves of the Federal soldiers are not neglected ; 
 the kind and womanly hands that tend the 
 Southern tombs strew their flowery tribute, too, 
 on them. 
 
 The next day we left Atlanta, and on the cars 
 beguiled the hours of the journey by conversation 
 with a ' grim and grizzled ' fellow-passenger, long 
 of limb and dark of brow, with a bronzed face, 
 not only wrinkled, but absolutely seamed and 
 scarred with lines that seemed more of care and 
 pain than of age, whose aspect we noticed even 
 before we exchanged remarks. We always found 
 when travelling, either in the South or in the 
 West, that our travelling companions, who did 
 not seem to care to make much acquaintance with 
 each other, waxed sociably and most courteously 
 inclined towards us on discovering that we were 
 strangers and from England. Our fellow-passen- 
 ger now was no exception to the rule ; he devoted 
 
AMONG THE RED HILLS OF GEORGIA. 321 
 
 himself to assisting us to wile away tlie generally 
 monotonous and often wearisome hours of rail- 
 way travel. 
 
 He informed us that we were now running 
 through ' the great cotton-belt ' of Georgia, 
 though of the cotton crop at that season no- 
 thing was visible ; he expatiated on the wonder- 
 ful fertility and productiveness of the soil of this 
 his native State ; he admitted that it was more re- 
 munerative to free-labour now than it had been 
 to slave-labour in the old days. He pointed out 
 to us the Great Stone Mountain, a huge, dome- 
 shaped peak of granite, conspicuous for many 
 miles around, at whose base are dug almost 
 inexhaustible stone- quarries, yielding the grey 
 granite employed in so many of the public build- 
 ings in the neighbouring cities. He recommended 
 to us the ' lunches ' which were presently brought 
 on the cars for sale, each lunch done up in a 
 paper bag. In accordance with his advice, we 
 paid the large sum of, I think, about a shilling 
 for a ' lunch ' which comprised delicate fried 
 chicken, bread, hard-boiled eggs, and hot cakes, 
 apparently steaming from the fire. He watched 
 our surprised approbation of our shillingsworth 
 with a smile which curiously softened his weather- 
 beaten face. 
 
 Presently we accidentally struck upon the 
 
322 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 topic of the * Ku-Klux,' of whioli I confess that 
 we knew very little, and perhaps had drawn our 
 chief ideas from Judge Tourgee's striking story 
 of the 'Fool's Errand.' It was immediately evi- 
 dent that our new acquaintance knew a great 
 deal upon the subject, and was willing and even 
 eager to enlighten our ignorance. Amongst 
 other anecdotes he related to us one of his own 
 experience. He was, he informed us, at the time 
 he referred to, 'in charge of the gaol.' The 
 whereabouts of ' the gaol ' I forget, except that it 
 was in the heart of the wilds of his beloved native 
 State, and the precise position implied by being 
 ' in charge of ' the edifice he did not specify ; so, 
 it being left to our imagination, we ' placed ' him 
 as a deputy-sheriff, or something equivalent to 
 that. Here is his anecdote, in his own words, 
 transcribed verbatim : — 
 
 ' One night, madam, I was in my room — it 
 wasn't in the gaol, but in an adjoining building — 
 and I was sitting over my books and papers. The 
 room was warm, and I'd taken off my shoes and 
 coat ; I was stooping there over my writing-table, 
 when a gentleman — quite a gentleman — walked in 
 quietly and with no mask nor disguise of any 
 kind. 
 
 '"Mr. D ?" he said. 
 
 ' " That is my name, sir," I said. 
 
AMONG THE RED HILLS OP GEOEGIA. 323 
 
 ' Then he spoke, not roughly, but kind of cool 
 and stern. 
 
 ' " I am here to request you to give up the keys 
 of the gaol." 
 
 ' " That I can't do." 
 
 ' He was only one man, and I wasn't going to 
 give up my trust at any man's bidding. The 
 words were scarcely out of my mouth, when my 
 room was full of men — there were at least twenty 
 or thirty of them. About half-a-dozen of them 
 gripped me almost before I could start up from 
 my chair ; they'd got me held tight, so that I 
 couldn't stir hand nor foot ; they felt over mo till 
 they heard the jingle of the keys in my pocket, and 
 when they'd got the keys they didn't let me go. 
 The first one — he seemed the leader — gave the 
 order, " Bring him along." They took me along, 
 out into the road, a couple of fellows grabbing 
 me by the arm each side. Well, I'd no coat, nor 
 no shoes, and the stones cut my feet. 
 
 '"Gentlemen," I said, "it's cold. I'd be 
 obliged if you'd let me get my coat." 
 
 'The reply was — well, it was an oath I wouldn't 
 shock a lady's ear by repeating ; and click ! click ! 
 half-a-dozen guns were levelled at my head, 
 
 ' "You've got to come along !" 
 
 ' And I went along. There was the prisoner 
 at his window, making a row and calling for help. 
 
 t2 
 
324 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 He'd heard the noise, and he knew well enough 
 what it meant. I shouted to him, 
 
 ' " Keep quiet, do ! They've got me ; and you 
 may just as well stop hollering !" 
 
 ' We reached the gaol-door, and the leader 
 threw me the keys. 
 
 ' " Open that door !" 
 
 'With the muzzles of the guns close at my 
 head, I knew I'd got to do it. I went up the 
 steps, shot back the bolt, and turned to them. 
 
 ' " The door is open !" 
 
 ' Well, I thought I'd like to see whatever was 
 going on, and that I'd go into the gaol with them. 
 However, I was called back pretty quick. 
 
 ' " Come down !" 
 
 'I did. 
 
 ' " Step back !" 
 
 ' I did. Then four men stepped forward, and 
 went into the gaol. I heard no order given ; it 
 was evidently all planned — these four men picked 
 out beforehand, and obeying a pre-arranged 
 order. The four went straight upstairs ; I heard 
 a door burst open, and then a scuffling sound, as 
 if the prisoner had rushed to get behind the fur- 
 niture, and seized hold of a chair or something to 
 defend himself. It was all silent outside, waiting 
 — not a man spoke a word. I heard a voice from 
 upstairs, " Is this Charlie Clark ?" — another, "Yes, 
 
AMONG THE BED HILLS OF GEOKGIA. 325 
 
 no mistake ; it's he." Then instantly tliere was a 
 shot, a heavy fall, three more shots, silence, and 
 then the scraping sound of a match striking, and 
 a tiny flicker of light upon the wall. A voice said, 
 
 ' " He's dead !" 
 
 ' Then the four men came down the steps. 
 There was the one word said, " It's done !" and 
 quick as a flash they all fell into order, without 
 a word of command, and marched away just like 
 a regiment of shadows into the night, and were 
 gone like a dream. 
 
 ' And that, madam, was the Ku-Klux ! And 
 it was no gang of ruffians and murderers ; no, 
 madam ! it was the best citizens of the State, 
 banded together to do the justice the law couldn't 
 do them. Murders were set down to them that 
 they never committed. There was no man killed 
 under the genuine Ku-Klux without a fair trial.' 
 
 He spoke without the slightest grievance or 
 offence at the rough manner in which he person- 
 ally had been handled. He did not resent it in 
 the least ; his sentiments were only of sincere 
 admiration and approval. 
 
 ' But the murdered man ?' I asked. ' At least, 
 I mean,' I added, hurriedly, perceiving my first 
 form of phrase was a mistake, ' the man they 
 killed — was he a murderer ?' 
 
 ' No, madam,' he replied, gravely. ' I could 
 
326 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 not name his crime to you. I can only say he 
 merited his fate.' 
 
 I desired to ask our friend if he had read 
 Judge Tourgee's account of the horrors of the 
 Ku-Klux, and whether it was a fair and truthful 
 portrayal ? but, unfortunately for my curiosity, 
 just at that moment the train slackened into the 
 station, and 
 
 ' We parted, ne'er to meet again.' 
 
327 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF FLORIDA. 
 
 I.— JACKSONVILLE. 
 
 ' Ladies, you are now in Florida ! That bridge 
 was the boundary of Georgia 1' announces the 
 conductor. 
 
 We look out of the car- window with an un- 
 reasonable expectation of seeing some decided 
 tropical change in the landscape. Of course 
 there is none. There are the eternal pine-trees ; 
 the yellow pines of the South, unlike their 
 Northern brethren, tall, slim, and straight, with 
 their light, feathery foliage. They look so fra- 
 gile, and stand up so erect, we wonder how 
 those tall, slight stems can support even that 
 light and graceful leafy crown. There are groves 
 of baby cypresses, of fresher and tenderer green ; 
 but pervading and possessing the whole land- 
 scape are the everlasting pines, now ranged in 
 close and serried ranks, moving past us swift 
 and steady, like an army on the march, now 
 scattered as if the enemy had mown them down ; 
 here a gap where nothing is left but blackened 
 
328 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 stumps ; there a solitary tree on fire, one flicker- 
 ing wreath of golden flame entwining it from the 
 root even to the topmost twig, clinging so closely 
 in its glowing embrace that scarcely a spark flies 
 out to the neighbouring trees. 
 
 We are getting out of the regions of swamp 
 into the regions of sand now ; white banks and 
 stretches of sand glare like snow in the fierce 
 afternoon sun. The fine sand contributes liber- 
 ally to the dust that flies into the car, with the 
 sunbeams and the smoke from the engine, until 
 all about us that should be white is black, and all 
 that should be black is white. 
 
 * Daisy darling, where have you put the pistols?' 
 inquires the young man, who is evidently on his 
 honeymoon. 
 
 ' Here they are, dear, along with the quinine, 
 and the brandy, and the camphor,' replies the 
 bride, lifting the lid of a basket whose contents 
 cause us to glance at one another with some 
 dismay. 
 
 Can all this armoury of weapons, offensive and 
 defensive, be required 
 
 ' In the land we're going to V 
 
 The bridegroom meets our eyes, and smiles. 
 'Nothing more wanted but a porous plaster 
 and a Holman's liver pad !' he observes. 
 
 The train slackens along the busy wharf beside 
 
JACKSONVILLE. 329 
 
 St. John's river amidst a babel of whistling of 
 steamboats, clanging of engine-bells, and shouting 
 of hotel-runners. We are in Jacksonville, the 
 popular and fashionable resort of the Northern 
 tourist, the commercial metropolis and social 
 centre, the busiest, brightest city of Florida, 
 with a population of nine thousand, at the last 
 census. 
 
 Jacksonville is a beautiful semi-tropical city. 
 It is laid out on the large and liberal scale of 
 most Southern towns ; its wide, airy streets are 
 thickly planted with fine oak-trees — the water- 
 oaks and live-oaks that flourish so abundantly 
 here ; almost every street is a shady grove, every 
 turning a vista of rich forest green ; across One 
 avenue seventy feet wide the grand old water- 
 oaks arch and meet and interlace their heavy 
 boughs. The gardens that surround almost every 
 residence are beautiful with giant oleander and 
 magnolia-trees, with here and there a group of 
 palmettos; an occasional banana, and groves of 
 orange-trees, with their glossy leaves. There' is 
 just now, this April day, neither blossom nor 
 fruit on the orange-trees in Jacksonville ; the 
 magnolias, too, are not yet in bloom, but only 
 dimly breaking into snowy streaks of bud ; but 
 the great oleander-trees, from twelve to twenty 
 feet high, are aglow with their blush-red or shell- 
 
330 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS, 
 
 pink or wax- white flowers, whose fragrance fills 
 the air. 
 
 Bay Street is the business street ; there are the 
 banks, the offices, the shops, the latter good and 
 plenty; you can buy anything you want in Bay 
 Street. It appears that the article with which the 
 tourist is supposed to desire especially to supply 
 himself is a live alligator, for announcements of 
 ' Fine young alligators !' ' One hundred alligators 
 just received !' ' The cheapest alligators in town !' 
 greet one at every corner. Next to an alligator, 
 it is evident, by an inspection of the shops, that 
 the tourist is expected to invest in sea-beans, 
 shells, and fish-scale jewellery. The polished sea- 
 bean looks like a glossy chestnut, and is prettily 
 mounted in all manner of ways for ornament. 
 
 Greenleaf s ' curiosity-store ' is ^ place for the 
 traveller to visit; whether he purchases or not, 
 he is kindly welcomed. We had the pleasure of 
 seeing a fresh batch of young alligators poured 
 into a tank. Mr. Greenleaf obligingly set a fine 
 well-grown one on the floor that we might see it 
 run ; the active saurian ran so fast that we ran 
 too, and did not stop till he was picked up and 
 put back in the tank. In the yard at the back 
 of the store we saw safely caged two or three big 
 alligators, ten or twelve feet long, lying like logs 
 in a shallow muddy pool, with their malignant- 
 looking jaws 
 
JACKSONVILLE. 331 
 
 ' Closed in the hideous semblance of a smile.' 
 There were also wild-cats glaring viciously behind 
 their bars, and a pretty little baby panther curled 
 up, looking so lovely and innocent as he blinked 
 his soft sleepy eyes at us, we were tempted to 
 take him out of his cage and pet him like a 
 kitten. 
 
 A warm, fresh breeze is blowing as we step 
 out into Bay Street — a breeze that blows up into 
 clouds and whirlwinds the dust and sand which 
 render carriage-driving in Jacksonville so un- 
 pleasant, and even interfere with the pedestrian's 
 pleasure. The street-cars, however, afford an 
 agreeable refuge. Eunning smoothly on the rails, 
 they do not jolt and lurch over the heavy sandy 
 unpaved roads as do all other vehicles. In the 
 first car we enter the only occupant besides our- 
 selves is a small negro boy about six or seven 
 years old, bare-footed, ragged. As we look at 
 him curiously, he informs us gravely that he has 
 paid his five cents, pointing to the glass fare-box, 
 where, indeed, we perceive the coin ; the box is 
 so high up, the little fellow must have climbed up 
 on the seat to reach it. The driver glances at 
 his small passenger and smiles as he cracks his 
 whip and starts off his sorry-looking mules. 
 
 ' Now, sonny, you can dance !' he says. 
 
 The little negro waits for no further hint. 
 
332 liETWBEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Planting his brown arms akimbo, he immediately 
 sets off into a wild jig, something between a reel 
 and a hornpipe, stamping his wee, bare, brown 
 feet, and finishing with a truly astonishing pirou- 
 ette on one leg. Then he looks up at us with a 
 grin, exhibiting two shining rows of ivory that 
 seem to reach from ear to ear. We applaud, 
 whereupon he announces, ' I can sing, too !' and 
 breaks out anew into a dance, accompanied by a 
 plaintive howl, in which a tune is dimly distin- 
 guishable, although the words are not. We re- 
 ward his exertions by a small coin. 
 
 Two or three days afterwards, I was looking 
 out of the window of another street-car, when I 
 saw the little negro sitting on the sandy side- 
 walk. I did not recognise him, but he recognised 
 me, hailed me with a shout and a burst of what 
 he evidently intended for song, jumped up to his 
 feet, and I left him dancing his wild jig under an 
 oleander-tree. 
 
 During the winter, Jacksonville is inundated 
 by the tide of Northern travel. Florida is the 
 fashion for people with delicate lungs and throats, 
 and thither they flock by thousands. Here come 
 the invalids, and their families and friends, 
 and the tourist follows in their track. The 
 invalid and the tourist demand home-comforts ; 
 so here in Jacksonville are as fine hotels as any 
 
JAOKSONVILLE. 333 
 
 in tlie world, and pleasant boarding-houses, afford- 
 ing most excellent accommodation. Here the 
 invalid suns himself on the piazza, or basks in 
 the shade of the orange-groves ; here the tourist 
 buys a baby alligator for a dollar and a half, to 
 send home in a card-board box (the poor reptile 
 is generally dead before it reaches New York) ; 
 here the tourist's wife adorns herself with a sea- 
 bean bracelet, and a formidable alligator's tooth, 
 about as large as my thumb, set in gold as a 
 brooch. Here in the hotel parlours we exhibit 
 our Florida purchases. One young girl affirms 
 that she has tamed a little alligator, that he 
 crawls about the room after her, and croaks for 
 her when she leaves him 'just like a dog !' 
 
 This flood of Northern travel ebbs homeward 
 in the spring. In April, the North-bound trains 
 go away crowded, and the Southern trains come 
 in all but empty. 
 
 As usual in the far sunny South, the negro 
 population here seems to be in the majority ; 
 our coloured brethren swarm on street-corners, 
 and of course fill all subordinate offices, from 
 carrying our baggage to cooking our dinner. 
 
334 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 II.— THE OLDEST CITY IN THE STATES. 
 
 Feom Jacksonville to St. Augustine is a pleas- 
 ant half-day's journey. "We take the morning 
 steamer down the St. John's river to Tocoi, and 
 thence the mid-day train, which plunges immedi- 
 ately into a wild tangle of forest, that looks 
 about a thousand miles from civilisation. Ifc 
 is an impassable wilderness of yellow-pine, oak, 
 and cypress, of tall palmettoes lifting their 
 spiky heads against the burning blue sky, while 
 the ground is covered thickly with the cactus- 
 like palmetto scrub. Only an hour's run to St. 
 Augustine, but that hour seems to be through 
 the primaeval wilderness. 
 
 The omnibus that bounds and leaps with us 
 over the usual deep sand of the usual rough 
 and un-paved road from the station to the hotel, 
 passes gardens and groves that are gorgeous 
 with laden orange-trees, their glossy boughs bend- 
 ing under the weight of the glowing, golden 
 globes of fruit. There is no tree more richly, 
 luxuriantly beautiful than the orange-tree in fruit, 
 with its contrast of polished green and ruddy 
 gold. Here, in St. Augustine, we find the trees 
 both in fruit and flower, one branch, white with 
 its sweet blossoms, swaying in the breeze, while 
 the boughs on the next tree droop heavy-laden 
 under their golden burden. 
 
THE OLDEST CITY IN THE STATES. 335 
 
 Arrived at the pretty Magnolia Hotel, bosomed 
 in trees and flowering creepers, its piazza sweet 
 and gay with flowers, we look down from our 
 window on the palms and banana-trees in the 
 garden ; one of the bananas is in bloom, the 
 blossom drooping like a huge rose-bud of pur- 
 plish-crimson, its mammoth petals two feet long. 
 "We have oranges for dinner such as we never 
 tasted before, oranges fresh as the morning 
 breeze, oranges that seem to savour still of the 
 dew and sunshine. They are pictures to look 
 at, and nectar to taste, gushing with juice, and 
 weighing half a pound apiece. But we do not 
 get such oranges every day, even in Florida, 
 where we are as often served with poor and 
 flavourless fruit as elsewhere. In our after- 
 dinner walk, we buy some grape-fruit, which we 
 find excellent. It is a variety of the ' forbidden 
 fruit,' a very large, pale-yellow orange, with a 
 peculiar, tart, semi-acid sweetness. 
 
 The natural thing to do in St. Augustine 
 appears to be to bask in the sunshine, or in the 
 scant shade of a palmetto-tree, and eafc fruit or 
 lotos, and day-dream in the eastern breeze. For 
 the east wind here has changed its character. 
 As we recall the biting tooth of the nerve-rack- 
 ing, piercing, shrilly triumphant, and fiendishly 
 vigorous east-wind at home, which slays its 
 
336 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 hundreds, and seems to rejoice, as it whistles round 
 the corners, in its own evil deeds, we ask, Can it 
 be the east wind ? this soft, balmy, fresh, and 
 fragrant air that fans one's cheek as tenderly 
 as a kiss ! From no point of the compass blows 
 so sweet a breeze, mild and yet bracing, caress- 
 ing, and refreshing as the east wind in Florida. 
 
 From Jacksonville to St. Augustine is like a 
 going back from the nineteenth century into the 
 sixteenth. This, the oldest city in the United 
 States — with its history that should be printed 
 in red letters, being one volume of war, and siege, 
 and bloodshed — is to all appearance the old Span- 
 ish settlement still. The world seems to have 
 gone on, and left it behind ; the march of modern 
 improvement has passed it by; the tourist has 
 found it out, and the hotel-keeper, of course, keeps 
 him company ; but they have failed to spoil, or 
 modernise and mar the quaint old town. Step 
 outside your hotel, and you at once step into a 
 bygone age. The old Spanish city lies wrapt in 
 a dreamy peace ; it seems asleep in the sunshine. 
 Narrow, unpaved, sandy streets ; quaint wooden 
 houses breaking out into balconies and piazzas ; 
 untidy yards, with ragged banana-trees and palms 
 and oleanders and climbing roses; 'coquina' houses, 
 relics of old days, massive of wall and scant of 
 window, built of the curious material, ' coquina,' 
 
THE OLDEST OITST IN THE STATES. 337 
 
 found only hereabouts (formed of masses of 
 crushed shell dug out of Anastasia Island, just 
 across the river) — this is St. Augustine at a first 
 glance ! 
 
 The oldest inhabitant is sitting at his door 
 under his own vine and fig-tree, smoking the pipe 
 of peace in his shirtsleeves. He bids us good 
 evening ; we stop and chat awhile with the old 
 man, who is like a picture, his snow-white hair 
 and beard framing a rugged brown face. He is 
 a Spaniard, he tells us, born here, and nearly 
 grown to manhood when the Spanish flag was 
 hauled down to give place to the stars and stripes. 
 He points out one of the oldest Spanish houses, a 
 pink house, built of ' coquina,' and plastered over 
 with a delicious soft pink like the flush of sunset. 
 Its little lattice windows are broken, so that we 
 can see the thickness of its massive coquina walls ; 
 it is empty, and falling rapidly to ruin. Down 
 the narrow, sunny, sandy, almost deserted street 
 comes a riderless horse, trotting at a brisk pace. 
 He knows his home, and turns in under his own 
 archway smartly. Next comes a solitary cow, 
 and presently a mare, also unencumbered by rider 
 or saddle, followed by a pretty little foal. They 
 are all returning to their respective homes in a 
 quiet, business-like way. 
 
 "We walk on to the Plaza, the central spot in 
 
 z 
 
338 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 whicli the sluggish currents of life in St. Augus- 
 tine seem to meet and eddy and make a little stir 
 in the sleepy old place. Facing on the Plaza is 
 the old Catholic church, with its high quaint bel- 
 fry, to which guide-books and residents invariably 
 call the attention of the tourist. Here is the old 
 market, under whose arched roof men, women, 
 and children were bought and sold once upon a 
 time, and not so long ago, before the slave traflBc 
 (which brought its curse with it, and pulled down 
 the pillars of the temple, and drew ruin, at least 
 for a season, on these fair lands of the South) 
 gave place to the innocent bargaining for fish, 
 flesh, fowl, and fruit, which is all these old walls 
 look down upon to-day. 
 
 The Plaza is crowded with people, smoking, 
 sauntering, lounging, basking in the sun. At a 
 cursory glance round, it seems that the native 
 population of St. Augustine is mainly of African 
 descent. The floating population, the tourists 
 from the North, are here too — the New Yorkers 
 and Bostonians in travelling- suits that do credit 
 to their tailors (I saw one, but only one, who actu- 
 ally wore a 'chimney-pot ' hat). The ladies are 
 generally distinguished by palmetto hats trimmed 
 with long waving plumes of grass ; charming 
 head-gear, light, cool, and becoming. Being a 
 speciality of Florida, of course, every lady travel- 
 
THE OLDEST CITY IN THE STATES. 339 
 
 Hog here invests in one. Here are half-a-dozen 
 soldiers from the barracks in undress uniform ; 
 here are fiery-eyed Spaniards, looking like operatic 
 villains, with their sombreros pulled well down 
 over their brows; here, in the vast majority, 
 swarming as the sands in the sea-breeze, are the 
 ' coloured folks.' Happy courting couples, of all 
 shades, from the coal-black of the pure negro 
 down to the rich olive of the quadroon, saunter- 
 ing arm-in-arm, or walking coyly a little apart. 
 Chloe likes gay colours, and all the brightest hues of 
 the rainbow are represented in her dress. Here 
 an ebony face beams with smiles beneath a pink 
 bonnet surmounting a pale green go^vn with 
 crimson ruffles ; there is a ' symphony in black 
 and blue,' Chloe's esthetic tastes having prompted 
 her to adorn her black fingers with bright blue 
 mittens, and frame the midnight of her face in 
 the azure of a June sky. Sambo also is partial 
 to light gloves and brilliant ties ; occasionally he 
 blooms out resplendent in white tie, white gloves, 
 and a tall hat, and has quite a bridal appearance. 
 It is pleasant to look on their black smiling faces, 
 beaming with good-nature. But all the same, 
 with every inclination to regard the negro as a 
 man and a brother, I cannot shut out the percep- 
 tion that in a great many cases the cast of his 
 features resembles monkey more than man. 
 
 z2 
 
340 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 Two monuments occupy places of honour in 
 the Plaza. One commemorates the adoption of 
 the Spanish Liberal Constitution. The other is 
 the memorial to the Confederate dead. No city 
 in all the South is so poor, so ruined, so out of 
 the world that it has not its Confederate monu- 
 ment. Even here, with the market-place where 
 the unrighteous traffic was held before our eyes — 
 with the happy free human creatures all around 
 us who here, not three decades ago, were bought 
 and sold like cattle — here, while we rejoice that 
 the curse is lifted off the South, we sigh for the 
 ' fiery mass of living valour ' that fell with the 
 Lost Cause. Nor can we read without a dimness 
 of the eyes the inscription on one side of the 
 memorial column, when we recall the last wan- 
 dering words of the great leader whose tragic 
 fate was to be shot down by his own men's 
 mistaken fire, and read here, on this St. Augus- 
 tine monument so far from where he fell, 
 
 ' They have crossed over the river, and rest 
 Under the shade of the trees !' 
 
 Beyond the Plaza we come upon the ' sea-wall,' 
 which our little guide-book has led us to antici- 
 pate as a 'promenade.' When we behold it, 
 however, our dreams of promenading vanish. It 
 runs along the shore, from the modern barracks 
 
THE OLDEST OITT IN THE STATES. 341 
 
 at one end of the town to tbe ancient fort at tbe 
 other. It is simply a low, massive stone wall, 
 the top of which, unprotected by any rail or 
 parapet, is described as the favourite ' Lover's 
 Walk ;' but, if it is so, St. Augustine lovers must 
 be slender as well as affectionate. We find it 
 quite enough to walk singly upon it with a steady 
 head. The tourist is ' promenading himself ' 
 there of course, with his wife in her palmetto- 
 hat ; and we perceive, on observation of the 
 various couples, that lovers, when young and 
 slim, may walk double, though more frequently 
 he walks behind her. A soft, fresh breeze blows 
 up from the unseen Atlantic, which is shut from 
 our view by the long slip of Anastasia Island, 
 running parallel with the sea-wall, between the 
 ocean, whose salt fragrance floats faintly to us, 
 and the river lapping the base of the wall. The 
 sea-wall walk leads us to the old Fort Marion, 
 which is perhaps the sight to be seen here. 
 
 The first stone laid in 1592, the last, as the 
 inscription over the gateway tells us, in 1756. 
 The great fortress is in excellent preservation. 
 Its massive ' coquina ' walls stand almost un- 
 touched by time or siege, though the wild grass 
 waves under our feet in the barbican, and blue 
 flowers blossom from the chinks in the coquina 
 blocks. A grim silence broods over the ancient 
 
342 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 walls, as we explore turret and drawbridge, case- 
 mate and bastion. There is an old sergeant, 
 whose mission is to show visitors ov.er the place, 
 but he is apparently off duty, for we seek and 
 find him not. A fellow-tourist, however, gives 
 us all the information we require. We sit on 
 damp blocks of stone on a mud floor under a 
 vaulted roof, while he tells us of the ' locked 
 dungeon,' into which admission can only be gained 
 through the absent sergeant. He pioneers us 
 into the ' bakehouse,' a huge, dimly-lit stone 
 room, also with mud floor and vaulted roof, with 
 a recess which servqd as oven, and one aperture 
 which combined the offices of chimney and win- 
 dow. It was here that, during the siege of St. 
 Augustine, all the townsfolk collected for shelter; 
 and a wretched community they must have been ! 
 From this bakehouse a gloomy archway leads 
 into a pitch-dark dungeon. Our escort lights 
 matches, which only serve to make the darkness 
 visible. By their feeble glimmer we can see 
 neither roof nor walls, nothing but the thick 
 blackness which closes round us like a pall. We 
 are told, however, that the obscurity here is 
 nothing to the inky darkness of the ' locked 
 dungeon/ wherein, the story goes, skeletons 
 were found in iron cages — but this is, by the 
 best authorities, denied. 
 
THE OLDEST CITY IN THE STATES. 343 
 
 We next inspect a comparatively light and airy 
 cell, with a narrow grating high up, to our eyes 
 unattainable and impassable, but through which 
 the Indian chief ' Wild Cat ' is said to have 
 effected his escape. The great Osceola, his com- 
 panion in obscurity, nobly refused to avail himself 
 of the same means. It strikes us as possible 
 that the ' Cat ' was the slenderer and more agile 
 of the two. From the fort we cross a rough and 
 pathless stretch of sand and turf to another relic 
 of the past — to the old city gates. They are 
 built of coquina, of course. We inspect the 
 barred and grated sentinel-boxes, the high towers 
 flanking the gateway, and dutifully resist the 
 temptation to chip off- a piece of coquina as a 
 souvenir. 
 
 The next day is Easter Sunday; the quaint 
 old streets are crowded with gaily-dressed people ; 
 the Plaza is swarming with happy pairs. There 
 is a * coloured church ' adjoining our hotel. We 
 are made well aware of the theological views 
 of the coloured minister, as we lounge on the 
 piazza ; for, apparently under the impression that 
 his flock are all deaf, he shouts his sermon with 
 all the force of his stentorian lungs, and points 
 each lesson with a roar. All the churches are 
 gay with floral decorations. This is truly the 
 ' Land of Flowers.' As we saunter in the shade 
 
344 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 of the great trees that make King Street rather 
 a forest-glade than a street, and linger to gaze 
 into the groves and gardens which surround 
 almost every residence, we drink-in the fragrant 
 breeze, heavy with perfumes of myriad blossoms, 
 and revel in the luxuriance of tropical bloom and 
 foliage all around us. Here is the lance-leaved 
 palmetto, and here the beautiful feathery date- 
 palm ; here the oleanders droop their pink and 
 pearl, starred and scented boughs high out of 
 reach above our heads ; here climbing roses strag- 
 gle up to the housetops ; here are great forest- 
 like trees covered with the sweet yellow flowers 
 of the apoppinac ; here the giant magnolia, tall 
 as a poplar and sturdy as an oak, is opening the 
 great white petals of its mammoth flower. Now 
 and then we come upon the bridal blossoms of 
 the orange, and again upon branches weighed 
 down under their globes of ruddy gold. The sweet 
 oranges are almost over ; most of those that we 
 see are the ' sour ' variety, not exported, but de- 
 scribed as ' excellent for preserving and orange- 
 ade.' I tasted one out of curiosity, and dropped 
 it quicker than I took it up, instantaneously con- 
 vinced that so nauseously bitter a morsel could 
 never be ' excellent ' for anything. 
 
 We take a farewell stroll down St. George's 
 Street— where the oldest inhabitant still sits 
 
THE OLDEST CITY IN THE STATES. 345 
 
 smoking under his fig-tree, and the ragged ba- 
 nanas and spiky palms in the gardens stand out 
 against the deepening glow in the west — as even- 
 ing draws on. We wander down to the sea-wall, 
 which is nearly deserted now. There are one or 
 two wild-looking men on horseback, their saddles 
 mere mats of crimson or blue embroidered cloth, 
 their feet thrust into the unsightly bags known 
 as the Mexican stirrups. There are several dogs, 
 one large yellow mastiff taking his siesta on the 
 sea-wall, occupying the entire width of the ' pro- 
 menade ;' a canine friend, coming to interview 
 him, stands on his hind legs, with bis fore-paws 
 on the top of the wall. This somehow makes the 
 ' lover's walk ' look a very small affair. One of 
 the riders spurs his horse up on to the wall, and, 
 like the successful admirer of ' the Lady Kuni- 
 gonde of the Kynast,' he ' rides along the battle- 
 mented parapet,' breaking up the canine tete-a-tete. 
 Fortunately, there are no lovers on the wall to 
 be startled from off their own particular domain, 
 only the yellow mastiff scuttles down in a hurry 
 as horse and rider gallop by. 
 
 The sun is setting behind the town, and the 
 eastern sky before us catches a tender reflected 
 blush just on the horizon. Beyond the sea-wall 
 lies a stretch of water blue as heaven and calm as 
 a dream ; it scarcely laps against the old stones ; 
 
346 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 the little boats on its surface ' float double, boat 
 and shadow ;' an indescribable softness, like a 
 sleep, broods over its waveless tide. Beyond this 
 entranced water lies the long dark shade of Anas- 
 tasia Island ; beyond that, the pale reflected rose 
 of the eastern sky fades slowly with the dying 
 day. The one or two stragglers on the sea-wall 
 stand out in vivid silhouette against the blue 
 water and blushing sky ; the clatter of the horse's 
 hoofs, as the equestrian Blondin dashes along the 
 top of the wall, seems to shatter the silence like 
 the breaking of a spell. 
 
 m.—ON BOARD THE ' OKEEHUMKEE.' 
 
 From St. Augustine, in the morning, the little 
 one-car toy train takes us to Tocoi, where the 
 steamer — a fine ' palace-boat,' with its handsome 
 saloon furnished with luxurious sofas, rocking- 
 chairs, a grand piano, and a bazaar where we can 
 purchase all manner of nick-nacks — picks us up, 
 and bears us down the broad St. John's Eiver to 
 Palatka. Here we take the two o'clock train for 
 Ocala, and, pulling down all the blinds to shut 
 out the scorching sun and stifling dust, remorse- 
 lessly shut out the landscape too. Late in the 
 afternoon we change cars, and find ourselves for 
 the first, and we trust the last, time on a ' nar- 
 
ON BOAED THE ' OKEEHUMKEE.' 347 
 
 row-gauge line.' The rails are only thirty-six 
 inches apart, consequently the cars — which are 
 almost of the usual car width, seating four per- 
 sons across, to say nothing of the passage-way 
 down the middle — lap over the track so far that 
 they oscillate like a see-saw from side to side, and 
 we enjoy a motion which, whenever it fails in its 
 imitation of the roll of an ocean steamer, forcibly 
 suggests to us the stagger of an intoxicated 
 bicycle. 
 
 Southern trains seem to enjoy varying the 
 monotony of travel by an occasional breakdown ; 
 so our Ocala train breaks down. The forward 
 truck runs off the track, and selects for the place 
 of this entertainment the loneliest, dreariest wil- 
 derness imaginable, of straggling pines and 
 mournful-looking cypresses, far out of reach of 
 any human habitation. A stormy sunset is filling 
 the sky with cloud and flame, and the first deep 
 growl of a thunderstorm rolls round as we come 
 to a hopeless standstill. The pelting rain rattles 
 on the car, while we sit forlornly, with all the 
 windows tight shut, invoking malisons on thirty- 
 six-inch gauge roads. Darkness closes on us 
 quickly, and the evening hours pass very slowly 
 in listening to the crashing thunder and driving 
 rain, and watching the wonderful lightning which 
 leaps out from a Cimmerian pall of cloud, and 
 
348 BETWEEN TWO OOBANS. 
 
 wraps the whole landscape in a purple blaze. 
 
 A gang of men at last appear (we cannot 
 discover whence they came), and set to work to 
 get the wrecked truck either back on to the line 
 or clear off it. Hours pass ; the rain beats on. 
 Finally, the train is backed somehow till we reach 
 a siding, where we deposit our damaged truck, 
 and run on our way, in momentary anticipation, 
 as our car rolls and sways, of running off again. 
 
 About midnight we reach Ocala, and look out 
 into drenching rain and pitchy darkness. We 
 are about to step down from the car, when a 
 voice from the darkness warns us, 
 
 ' Halloa ! Mind ! there's a pool of water two 
 feet deep there !' 
 
 Two or three other voices from unseen mem- 
 bers of the chivalrous sex offer assistance, and 
 we are forthwith taken in charge. It is ' the 
 minister,' we afterwards discover, who loads him- 
 self with our small baggage, and vanishes in the 
 black night. A pair of strong arms lift me off 
 the car-steps, and convey me over two or three 
 small ponds, and through a morass, while a voice 
 belonging to the arms assures me, 
 
 ' You're all right. Conductor's got you !' 
 
 "We grope along — it seems a long way — through 
 mud, and mire, and darkness, clinging to our 
 unknown escorts. Having deposited us and our 
 
ON BOARD THE ' OKEEHUMKEE.' 349 
 
 baggage at the hotel, these chivalrous beings 
 vanish, nor do we ever see them more. Like 
 ministering angels, they came in the hour of need, 
 and then disappeared into the night. 
 
 We sleep at Ocala, and take an early train for 
 Silver Spring, the first stage of the Ocklawaha 
 river excursion, which is the primary duty of 
 every Florida tourist. At nine o'clock, we find 
 at Silver Spring the Ocklawaha boat awaiting 
 us, and have only time to get a-board when the 
 wheels begin to churn. We are oS ! and are 
 plunged at once into a scene of magical beauty. 
 
 We are sailing over — what ? Is it water, or 
 some enchanted lake of crystal ? Surely this is 
 some scene out of a fairy tale, and we shall wake 
 up to find it a dream ! In the crystalline trans- 
 parency of the water we lose all sense of depth 
 or distance. That turtle paddling there, those 
 silver-shining fish — are they but a few inches 
 under the surface, or a hundred feet below ? The 
 water is a spring of living light ; in its strange 
 radiance the waving river.grasses take a jewelled 
 sheen ; far down in the depths of the stream you 
 can count every gleaming blade and leaf. The 
 limestone rock on the bed of the river is not like 
 rock here ; it runs in veins of beryl and emerald, 
 of jasper and malachite. All hues and shades, 
 from the blue of the sky to the deepest purple of 
 
350 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 ocean and the tenderest green of spring, are here 
 shifting and mingling in one opaline glory, as the 
 long weeds wave and the little fishes dart down 
 in the magical depths of the transparent waters, 
 and we can even see the bead-black eyes of the 
 turtle in his flat head as he paddles along sixty 
 feet beneath us. There are only nine miles of 
 the Silver Run, but they are nine miles of pure 
 faerie land. 
 
 The banks draw closer, and our little steamer 
 enters the narrow channel of the Ocklawaha 
 river. This unique stream scarcely seems a 
 river so much as a twisting, turning, and for 
 ever tortuously winding water-lane serpentining 
 through an impassable, interminable jungle. It 
 is a stream without banks, and with scarcely any 
 perceptible current. It coils like a curling, 
 shining snake in and out amongst the barbaric 
 luxuriance of the tropical forest — the wilderness 
 of bush and scrub, the tangle of trailing vines 
 that wreath around the stately palms and smo- 
 ther the cypresses in their embrace. It is thickly 
 spread with floating lilies ; their broad, platter- 
 like leaves, their cup-like blossoms of yellow 
 and white, cover the surface like a carpet, save 
 in the narrow channel where the daily steamers 
 drive through. Along these level, swampy 
 shores, in the recesses of this primeval forest. 
 
ON BOARD THE ' OKEEHUMKEE.' 351 
 
 amongst the lilies and under the palms, the 
 alligator has his home. Often he crawls ashore, 
 and lies like a huge log on the oozy ground, 
 but at sight and sound of the steamer — presto ! he 
 is gone down to the depths, and we hurry to the 
 bulwarks, only to catch sight of the final flip of 
 his scaly tail as he disappears. 
 
 This Ocklajvaha used to be the haunt of 
 numerous beautiful birds, they tell us — the heron, 
 curlew, stork, and crane — until the tourist's gun 
 — day after day picking them off from the deck 
 of the steamer — scared them back to the im- 
 penetrable depths of the forest. The lazy, silent 
 stream is clear, though it lacks the marvellous 
 transparency of the Silver Eun. We have no 
 need to look up, we need only gaze down into 
 the water, and there the tall palms, the gracious 
 cypresses, the wreathing vines, the drooping 
 Spanish moss, the blue sky, and the snowy clouds 
 float under the water-lilies, reflected clear as in a 
 mirror. 
 
 Our boat is named the Okeehu7nJcee ; it is a 
 queer little craft, as unlike any other kind of ves- 
 sel that cleaves the waters as the river it is built 
 expressly to navigate is unlike all other rivers. 
 The Oheeliumhee manages to comprise the maxi- 
 mum of comfort in the minimum of space. Its 
 little saloon is fitted up with tempting sofas and 
 
352 BETWEEN TWO OOEANS. 
 
 rocking-chairs ; its tiny state-rooms are clean and 
 comfortable, although certainly at night the 
 gigantic cockroaches, the pest of Florida (and the 
 only giant things on board the diminutive Ohee- 
 humkee), manifest a sociable inclination to share 
 your berth. The dinner.bell summons us to an 
 excellent meal, and when we gather on the little 
 slip of deck ' forward,' we are well provided with 
 seats, and can enjoy the view in peace and 
 comfort. 
 
 The vessel has a general appearance of being 
 left incomplete ; its builders seem to have neglect- 
 ed all finishing touches, and forgotten to put any 
 railings, except just round the miniature upper 
 deck. But the eccentric-looking little steamer 
 manages to be comfortable even minus railings 
 and plus cockroaches. It is constructed expressly 
 to fit the Ocklawaha, and it does just fit it — and 
 sometimes only just. Every now and then we 
 barely squeeze through the narrow channel ; at 
 one point, yclept Cypress Gate, where two tall 
 straight kingly cypresses stand like giant senti- 
 nels on either bank, we graze between them with 
 about an inch to spare. It is the pride of the 
 captain to pass through this gate without a jar, 
 and he achieves the feat triumphantly. 
 
 Occasionally, when turning some acute angle 
 in the twisting stream, we run aground ; once we 
 
ON BOARD THE ' OKBEHUMKEE.' 353 
 
 collide with an obtrusive palm-tree, and remain 
 for hal£-an-hour jammed against it, until, after 
 much shouting and ' Ya — hi '-ing, we are shoved 
 off with long poles. Often the forest closes over 
 our heads and shuts out the sunlight ; often the 
 lower branches sweep the deck, causing a disturb- 
 ance among the passengers. Generally we see 
 the impending collision with some overhanging 
 tree in time to retreat from the bulwarks ; but 
 sometimes we are taken by surprise, and a big 
 branch crashes along the deck with furious force 
 as we graze past the bank. Then and there is a 
 cry of warning, a chorus of little shrieks, and a 
 rush of the gentlemen to thrust back the boughs 
 or drag the ladies out of the way. They tell of 
 one lady who was dangerously hurt by a violent 
 blow from ' just such a branch as this.' 
 
 Once a splendid bough, laden with a scented 
 snow of blossoms, strikes a young man's umbrella 
 out of his hand and his hat off his head, and 
 sends him and his campstool rolling along the 
 deck in a shower of torn white petals and stripped 
 leaves. More than once I spring aside only just 
 in time to escape a swooping tree that threatened 
 not only my hat but my head. 
 
 Evening closes in. How swiftly the tropical 
 twilight falls ! How vividly that group of lofty 
 palm-trees stands out to the last in ink-black sil- 
 
 AA 
 
354 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS. 
 
 houette against the darkening blue sky I At dusk 
 a great pine-log fire is built up in an iron caul- 
 dron on the top of the pilot-house ; the forest 
 aisles look weird as some dream-scene in the 
 ruddy glare. In some strange way the palm- 
 trees seem to separate themselves from their fel- 
 lows, and rise up like tall pale ghosts with their 
 lofty leafless trunks and huge feathery crowns. 
 We are all gathered on the forward deck, in defi- 
 ance of malaria, which is believed to lurk in the 
 night air here. Certainly there are a great many 
 precautionary measures amongst us. One lady 
 has a box of quinine lozenges, which she hands 
 round generously ; two others sit with their noses 
 buried in camphor-soaked handkerchiefs. Not to 
 be behind them, we produce a bottle of quinine 
 mixture, which we hospitably share with our 
 neighbours ; altogether, what with our tinctures, 
 our lozenges, and our essences, we are as sociable 
 a party of tourists as ever enjoyed the beauties of 
 the Ocklawaha by firelight. 
 
 Midnight ! and we are nearing Palatka, and 
 have drunk all our quinine. Many of the party 
 have retired to their cabins and cockroaches ; the 
 fire on the pilot-house is burning low, and the 
 banks of the broadening river are lost in mysteri- 
 ous dark. We are out of the narrow Ocklawaha 
 now, and are sitting up to be transferred to a 
 
ON BOAED THE ' OKEEHUMKEE.' 355 
 
 steamer for Lake Monroe, which we expect to 
 meet some time in the small hours. One o'clock ! 
 and in the distance we see a silvery glare of light, 
 which as it nears reveals itself to be the electric 
 lamp ahead of the espected steamer. Slowly the 
 approaching vessel takes shape, and towers like 
 a huge black monster, with a white blazing eye, 
 above our little craft. Four sharp whistles from 
 us, four answering blasts from them, a shout of 
 ' Passengers to be transferred !' and promptly the 
 big boat slackens alongside ours ; a gang-plank is 
 thrown across, and three minutes accomplish the 
 transfer. 
 
 We are on our way to Lake Monroe ; the Ock- 
 lawaha trip, so long anticipated, is over, and we 
 look back with a little regretful sigh — as for a 
 happy ' day of days ' fallen into the past — at the 
 dying fire of the little OkeeJiwnkee as she fades 
 slowly away into the distance and the darkness. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : PKINTED BY DUNCAN MACD0NA1.D, BLENHEIM HOUSE. 
 
MESSRS. HURST AND ELACKETT'S 
 
 LIST OF NEW WORKS. 
 
 GLIMPSES OF GEEEK LIFE AND SCENEEY. 
 
 By AoNES Smith, Author of "Eastern Pilgrims," &c, 1 vol. 
 
 demy 8to. With Illustrations and Map of the Author's Route 
 
 15a. 
 
 Contents : — An Atlantic Storm— First Impressions of Athens — In Athens— Sunium 
 
 and Hymettus— Marathon and ^gina — The Isthmus and the Aoro-Corinthus 
 
 — Myoenos and the Argive Plain — In Sparta— Near Taygetus— On Ithome— 
 
 Easter in a Monastery— From the Monastery to Krebi — In Olympia — From 
 
 Olympia to Megaspelion — A Journey to the Styx — Greek Hospitality 
 
 Diffloulties— A Thunderstorm on Mount Parnassus- From Parnassus to Corfu 
 —Language and Character of the Modem Greeks- Comparison of Syrian and 
 Grecian Travel. 
 
 BETWEEN TWO OCEANS; or, Sketches op 
 
 Ameeioan Travdl. By IzA Duteus Haedt. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 
 15s. (/re the Press.') 
 
 THE REAL LORD BYRON : New Views of the 
 
 Poet's Life. By John Cordt Jbapfreson, Author of " A Book 
 about Doctors," &c. 2 vols, demy 8vo. 30s. 
 "Mr. Jeaffreaon comes forward witla a narrative which, must take a very im- 
 portant place in Byronic literature. Almost every chapter contains material 
 which may be fairly called new, and the book differs from many biographies of 
 Byron in one very important point — it is scrupulously just to every person con- 
 cerned, the facts dealt with being placed before the reader in a judicial spirit. Mr. 
 Jeaffreson had a specific work to do. and he has done it fully, conclusively, and 
 well ; and it may reasonably be anticipated that these volumes will be regarded 
 with deep interest by all who are concerned in the works and the fame of this 
 great English poet." — T?ie Times. 
 
 *'No other book relating to the history of English literature in the nineteenth 
 century has appeared of recent years that can claim to contain so much novel 
 information as Mr. Jeaffreson's. He has had access to new sources of information, 
 and he may be congratulated on the use he has made of his good fortune. He has 
 produced a work that throws a flood of new light on the _moBt critical periods of 
 Byron's life, and that every future critic of modem English poetry will have to 
 read and re-read." — Atlienamm, 
 
 "Everybody will read these volumes, many for the sake of the great poet, 
 whose biography forms the subject, and others simply on account of the extra- 
 ordinary amount of interesting gossip which it contains about the famous per- 
 sonages who flourished in the days of our grandfathers. It is a very able book 
 admirably written, and evidently entirely unprejudiced." — Morning Post. 
 
 " This is a masterly performance, and one of the most important contributions 
 to literary biography published for many years. Mr. Jeaffreson writes not only 
 like a student, but a man of the world, and his entire analysis of the relation be- 
 tween Byron and his wife is admirable." — The World. 
 
 " Byronic literature receives an important accession in Mr. Jeaffreson's new 
 work, an ably-written review of the great poet's character and life. It abounds 
 with facts and new matter worthy of careful reflection. The author has had 
 access to valuable sources of information, and he has used his material with great 
 skill and judgment." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 
 
 NEW WO'RKS— Continued, 
 
 WITHOUT GOD: Negative Science and Natural 
 
 Ethics. By Percf Greg, Author of "Tho Devil's Advocate," 
 "Across the Zodiac," &c. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 12s. 
 
 "Mr. Greg has condensed much profound thought into his book, and has fully 
 succeeded in maintaming the interest of the discussion thro-aghouV— Morning Post. 
 
 " This work is ably written ; there are in it many passages of no ordinary power 
 and hrilliancy. It is eminently suggestive and stimulating." — Scotsman. 
 
 '• This is the work of a man full of thought upon a number of highly important 
 subjects, and of strong convictions strongly enunciated, which no one can read 
 without benefit." — Morrdng Advertiser. 
 
 "Mr. Greg's speculative works are always worth study, and this certainly not 
 the least of them. It is a powerful and instructive book for the doubter to read, 
 and the author has given us many discussions of great subtlety and depth." — 
 Spectator. 
 
 SIBERIAN PICTURES. By Ludwik Niemojowski. 
 
 Edited, from the Polish, by Major Szdlczewski. 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 " This book contains a good deal of interesting matter. M. Niemojowski's de- 
 scription of Siberian game and the hunting of it is clearly valuable, and shows 
 that he really has lived among the people. His work is not without interest to 
 ethnographers, for it deals with almost every race that inhabits Siberia — Tun- 
 guzes and Tartars, Samoyedes and Ostiaks, the Buriats of Lake Baikal, and the 
 Gilliacks of the Pacific coasts." — Saturday Review. 
 
 " Major Szulczewski has done a service by translating from the Polish the in- 
 teresting account which Mr. Niemojowski has given of the dreary land in which 
 he spent so many years of exile. The book contains a number of very interesting 
 stories." — AtJienssum. 
 
 " This book contains by far the most exhaustive and reliable account which has 
 yet been given in English of Siberia,.'"— British Quarterly Review. 
 
 REMINISOENOES OF MILITARY SERVICE 
 
 WITH THE 93rd SUTHERLAND HIGHLANDERS. By 
 
 Sukgeon-General Mhneo, M.D., C.B., Formerly Surgeon of the 
 
 Regiment. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s. 
 
 " This is a book of interesting reoolleotions of active military campaigning life. 
 
 It is told in a frank, simple, and unpretentious manner."— /ZZwsirateti London Nms. 
 
 "This took is not only bright and lively, but thoroughly good-natured. What 
 
 makes these reminiscences exceptionally readable is the amount of UJustrative 
 
 anecdote with which they are interspersed. The author has a keen appreciation 
 
 of humour, with the knack of recalling appropriate stories."— SaterAi!/ Swim. 
 
 " There is much in these interesting reminiscences that will gratify while it 
 pains the reader. A book like this, which portrays the horrors and not merely 
 the showy side of war, has distinct usefulness. Dr. Munro recounts many inci- 
 dents with pardonable pride." — Fall Mall Gazette. 
 
 THE FRIENDSHIPS OF MARY RUSSELL 
 
 MITFORD: As Recokded in Letters from her Literary 
 Corre'spondents. Edited by the Rev. A. G. L'Estrange 
 Editor of " The Life of Mary Russell Mitford," &c. 2 vols. Sis. ' 
 " These letters are all written as to one whom the writers love and revere Miss 
 Barrett is one of Miss Mitford's correspondents, all of whom seem to be inspired 
 with a sense of excellence in the mind they ate invoking. Their letters are ex- 
 tremely interesting, and they strike out recollections, opinions, criticisms which ' 
 will hold the reader's delighted and serious attention." — Daily Tdegraph ' 
 
 "In this singular and probably unique book Miss Mitford is painted not in 
 letters of her own nor in letters written of her, but in letters addressed 'to her- 
 and a true idea is thus conveyed of her talent, her disposition, and of the impres'- 
 Bion she made upon her friends. It seldom happens that anyone however dis- 
 tinguished, receives such a number of letters well worth reading as were addressed 
 to Miss Mitford; and the letters from her correspondents are not only from inter- 
 esting persons, but are in themselves interesting."— ;S<. James's Gazette. 
 
MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 
 
 NEW WOUKS— Continued. 
 
 COURT LIFE BELOW STAIRS; or, London 
 
 UNDEK THE FiRST GeOKQES, 1714—1760. By J. FiTZGEKALD 
 MoLLOT. Second Edition. Vols. 1 and 2. Crown Sto. 21a. 
 " Mr. Molloy's pages oontaia abundance of amusing anecdote. He writes in a 
 brisk and fluent style." — At]tenceum. 
 
 " Well written, full of anecdotes, and with its facts admirably grouped, this ex- 
 cellent work will prove of the greatest value to all who desire to know what man- 
 ner of men the first Electors of Hanover who came here really were. Pictures of 
 Court life so drawn cannot fail to be very instructive. Some of the word pictures 
 are wonderfully well drawn '' — Daily Telegraph, 
 
 VOLS. III. and IV. of COURT LIFE BELOW 
 
 STAIBS; or, London Undee the Last Geokses, 1760—1830. 
 
 By J. FiTzoEBALD MoLLOT. Second Edition. 2l3. Completing 
 
 the Work. 
 . "The reigns of George the Third and George the Fourth are no less interesting 
 and instructive than those of George the First and George the Second. Mr. 
 Molloy's style is bright and fluent, picturesque and animated, and he tells his 
 stories with unquestionable skill and vivacity." — Athens&um. 
 
 " These last two volumes of Mr. Molloy's ' Court Life Below Stairs ' are likely 
 to attain as much popularity as the flrst two did. The narrative is fluent and 
 amusing, and is far more instructive than nine-tenths of the novels which are 
 published nowadays." — 3t James's Gazette, 
 
 " The success of Mr. Molloy's flrst two volumes of ' Court Life Below Stairs ' 
 showed the eagerness of the popular appetite for scandal. As the second section 
 of the author's book is of the same type, it will probably not fall short of it in 
 popularity." — Academy. 
 
 " These volumes are quite equal to the earlier ones. Mr. Molloy's portraits of 
 the famous men and women of the time are etched with care, and his style is 
 crisp." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 WITH THE OONNAUGHT RANGERS in Quae- 
 
 TBRS, Camp, and on Leave. By Gtenekal E, H. Maxwell, G.B., 
 Author of " Griffin, Ahoy 1" 1 vol. 8vo. With Illustrations. 15s, 
 
 "General Maxwell tias, in the course of his military career, seen much of the 
 world, taken part in a considerable amount of fighting, and experienced many 
 adventures. He writes in a genial fashion." — Athm(Bum. 
 
 " A warm welcome may be presaged for General Maxwell's new work. It is an 
 eminently readable book, quite apart from the special attraction it must possess for 
 all who are, or who have been, connected with the gallant SStK"^Daily leUgraph. 
 
 "When General Maxwell made his d4but in that capital book, 'Griffin, AhoyT 
 we expressed a hope that we should soon meet him again. This expectation is 
 now fulfilled, and again we have to congratulate the author on a distinct success. 
 Scarcely a page in his volume but has its little anecdote, and these stories have a 
 real touch of humour in them." — Qlobe. 
 
 GRIFFIN, AHOY I A Yacht Cruise to the Levant 
 
 and "Wanderings in Egypt, Stbia, The Holy Land, Greece, and 
 Italy in 1881. By General E' H. M.axwf;ll, C.B. One vol. 
 demy 8vo. With Illuatrations. 15s. 
 " The cruise of the Oriffin affords bright and amusing reading from its beginning 
 to its end. General Maxwell writes in a frank and easy style — Morning Post. 
 
 PRINCE CHARLES AND THE SPANISH 
 
 Mabklvge : A Chapter of English History, 1617 to 1623 ; from 
 Unpublished Dooimieuts in the Archives of Simanoas, Venice, and 
 Brussels. By Samuel Rawson Gardiner. 2 vols. 8vo. 30s. 
 " For the flrst time in our literature the real history of the Spanish match, and 
 what took place when Charles and Buckingham were at Madrid, is here revealed. 
 Mr. Gardiner has brought to bear upon his subject an amount of historical read- 
 ing and consultation of authorities which we believe to be almost without a 
 parallel."— i^^ote and Queries. 
 
 3 
 
MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 
 NEW ^O'B.KS— Continued. 
 
 LIFE OF MOSOHELES; with Selections from 
 
 HIS DIARIES AND CORRESPONDENCE. By His Wiee. 
 
 2 vols, large p08t 8to. With Portrait. 243. 
 " This lite of MoBcheleB will be a valuable book of reference for the musical his- 
 torian for the contents extend over a period of threescore years, commencing with 
 1794 and ending at 1870. Moscheles writes fairly of what is called tho ' Music of the 
 Future,' and his judgments on Herr Wagner, Dr. Liszt, Eubenstein, Dr. von BUlow, 
 Litolff'&c, whether as composers or executants, are in a liberal spirit He re- 
 cognizes cheerfully the talents of our native artists: Sir S. Bennett, Mr. Mao- 
 farren, Madame Goddard, Mr. J. Bamett, Mr HuUah, Mr. A. Sullivan, &c. The 
 volumes are full of amusing anecdotes." — Athenxum. 
 
 MONSIEUR GUIZOT m Private Life (1787- 
 
 1874). By His Daughter, Madame de "Witt, Translated by Mrs. 
 
 Simpson. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 158. 
 " Madame de Witt has done jastice to lier father's memory in an admirable re- 
 cord of his life. Mrs. Simpson's translation of this singularly interesting book is 
 in accuracy and grace worthy of the original and of the subject." — Saturday Review. 
 
 MY OLD PLAYGROUND EEVISITED ; A Tour 
 
 m Italy in the Spring of 1881. By Benjamin E. Kennedy. 
 Second Edition, with Appendix. 1 vol. crown 8vo. With Illustra- 
 tions, by the Author. 6s. 
 " It is no small merit of Mr. Kennedy that he has rendered an account of a 
 journey over such familiar ground as that lying between London and Naples re- 
 markably readable. These pages are full of really useful information, and travel- 
 lers 'going South' cannot do better than take Mr. Kennedy's experiences as 
 their rule of conduct." — Morning Post. 
 
 '"My Old Playground Revisited' will repay perusal. It is written with the 
 ease that comes of long experience." — Graphic. 
 
 WOEDS OF HOPE AND OOMFOKT TO 
 
 THOSE IN SORROW. Dedicated by Permission to The Queen. 
 Fourth Edition. 1 vol. small 4to. 5s. 
 
 "The writer of the tenderly-conceived letters in this volume was Mrs. Juliua 
 Hare, a sister of Mr. Maurice. They are instinct with the devout submissiveness 
 and fine sympathy which we associate with the name of Maurice; but in her there 
 is added a winningness of tact, and sometimes, too, a directness of language, which 
 we hardly find even in the brother. The letters were privately printed and circu- 
 lated, and were found to be the source of much comfort, which they cannot fail 
 to afford now to a wide circle. A sweetly-conceived memorial poem, bearing 
 the well-known initials, 'E. H. P.', gives a very faithful outline of the life." — British 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING. By Author of " John Halifax, 
 
 Gentleman," 1 vol. crown 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 "We recommend 'Plain Speaking' to all who like amusing, wholesome, and 
 instructive reading. The contents of Mrs. Craik'e volume are of the most mulii- 
 farious kind, but all the papers are good and readable, and one at least of them 
 of real importance."— ^i. James's Gazette. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF QUEEN HORTENSE, MOTHER 
 
 OF NAPOLEON III. Cheaper Edition, in 1 vol. 6s: 
 
 " A biography of the ieautitul and unhappy Queen, more satisfactory than any 
 we have yet met with." — Daily News. 
 
HURST AND BLACKETTS 
 
 THE BRANDEETHS. 
 By the Right Hon. A. J. B. Beresford Hope, M.P., 
 
 Author of " Strictly Tied Up." 
 
 " In ' The Braudreths ' we have a sequel to Mr. Beresford Hope's clever novel oC 
 
 Strictly Tied Up,' and we may add that it is a decided improvement on his 
 
 maiden effort Mr. Hope writes of political life and the vicissitudes of parties 
 
 with the knowledge and experience of a veteran politician. The novel iw one 
 
 which will repay careful reading." — Times. 
 
 " 'The Brandreths ' has all the charm of its predecessor. The great attraction 
 of the novel is the easy, conversational, knowledgeable tone of it ; the sketching 
 from the life, and yet not ao close to the life as to be malicious, men, women, 
 periods, and events, to all of which intelligent readers can fit a name. The poli- 
 tical and social sketches will naturally excite the chief interest among readers 
 who will be attracted by the author's name and experience." — Spectator. 
 
 SOPHY: 
 
 OR THE ADVENTURES OF A SAVAGE. 
 By Violet Fane, 
 
 Author of ''Denzil Place," &c. 
 
 " ' Sophy' is the clever and original work of a clever woman. Its merits are of 
 a strikingly unusual kind. It is charged throughout with the strongest human 
 interest. It is, in a word, a novel that will make its mark." — World. 
 
 "A clever, amusing, and interesting story, well worth reading."— -Po^i. 
 
 " This novel is as amusing, piquant, droll, and suggestive as it can be. It over- 
 flows with humour, nor are there wanting touches of genuine feeling. To consider- 
 able imaginative power, the writer joins keen observation." — Daily News. 
 
 "'Sophy' throughout displays accurate knowledge of widely differing forms of 
 character, and remarkable breadth of view. It is one of the few current novels 
 that may not impossibly stand the test of time." — Oraphic. 
 
 MY LORD AND MY LADY. 
 
 By Mrs. Foekestek, 
 Author of "Viva," "Mignon," &c. 
 
 "This novel will take a high place among the succeBses of the season. It is as 
 fresh a novel as it is interesting, aa attractive as it is realistically true, as full of 
 novelty of presentment as it is of close study and observation of \i!e."— World. 
 
 " A love story of considerable interest. The novel is full of surprises, and will 
 serve to while away a leisure hour most agreeably." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " A very capital novel. The great charm about it is that Mrs. Forrester is quite 
 at home in the society which she describes. It is a book to read." — Standard. 
 
 " Mrs. Forrester's style is so fresh and graphic that the reader is kept under its 
 spell from first to last." — Post. 
 
 HIS LITTLE MOTHER: and Other Tales. 
 ' By the Author of "John HaHfax, Gentleman." 
 
 " This is an interesting book, written in a pleasant manner, and full of shrewd 
 observation and kindly feeling. It is a book that will .be read with interest, and 
 that cannot be lightly forgottea "—."?(. James's Gazette. , , ,. a 
 
 "The Author of 'John Halifax' always writes with grace and feeling, and 
 never more so than in the present volume." — Morning Post. i. . n 
 
 " ' His Little Mother ' is one of those pathetic stories which the author tells 
 better than anybody else."— /oA(» 5uJJ. . , , ^. ,,. , v,„.™ „f 
 
 " This book is written with all Mrs. Craik's grace of style, the chief charm ot 
 which, after all, is its simplicity."— eiosffoto Herald. 
 
Published annxially, in One Vol., royal 8t)0, with the Arms beautifully 
 engraved, handsomely hound, with gilt edges, price 31s. 6rf. 
 
 LODGE'S PEERAGE 
 
 AND BARONETAGE, 
 
 CORRECTED BY THE NOBILITY. 
 
 THE FIPTT-TEIRD EDITION FOK 1884 IS NOW EEADY. 
 
 Lodge's Peerage and Baronetage is acknowledged to be the most 
 complete, as -well as the most elegant, work of the kind. As an esta- 
 blished and authentic authority on all questions respecting the family 
 histories, honours, and connections of the titled aristocracy, no work has 
 ever stood so high. It is published under the especial patronage of Her 
 Majesty, and is annually corrected throughout, from the personal com- 
 munications of the Nobility. It is the only work of its class in which, the 
 type being kept covstanily standing^ every correction is made in its proper 
 place to the date of publication, an advantage which gives it supremacy 
 over all its competitors. Independently of its full and authentic informa- 
 tion respecting the existing Peers and Baronets of the realm, the most 
 sedulous attention is given in its pages to the collateral branches of the 
 various noble families, and the -names of many thousand individuals are 
 introduced, which do not appear in other records of the titled classes. For 
 its authority, correctness, and facility of arrangement, and the beauty of 
 its typography and binding, the work is justly entitled to the place it 
 occupies on the tables of Her Majesty and the Nobility. 
 
 LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS. 
 
 Historical View of the Peerage. 
 
 Parliamentary Roll of tlie House of Lords. 
 
 Englisli, Scotcli, and Irisli Peers, in their 
 orders of Precedence. 
 
 Alphabetical List of Peers of Great Britain 
 and the United Kingdom, holding supe- 
 rior rank in the Scotch or Irish Peerage. 
 
 A Iphabetjcal list of Scotch and Irish Peers, 
 holding superior titles in the Peerage of 
 Great Britain and the United Kingdom. 
 
 A Collective list of Peers, in their order of 
 Precedence. 
 
 Table of Precedency among Men. 
 
 Table of Precedency among Women. 
 
 The Queen and the Eoyal Family. 
 
 Peers of the Blood Royal. 
 
 The Peerage, alphabetically arranged. 
 
 FamUies of such Extinct Peers aa have left 
 Widows or Issue. 
 
 Alphabetical List of the Surnames of all the 
 Peers. 
 
 The Archbishops and Bishops of England 
 and Ireland. 
 
 The Baronetage alphabetically arranged. 
 
 Alphabetical List of Surnames assumed by 
 members of Noble Families. 
 
 Alphabetical List of the Second Titles of 
 Peers, usually borne by their Eldest 
 Sons. 
 
 Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of 
 Dukes, Marquises, and Earls, who, hav- 
 ing married Commoners, retain the title 
 of Lady before their own Christian and 
 their Husband's Surnames. 
 
 Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of 
 Viscounts and Barons, who, having 
 married Commoners, are styled Honour- 
 able Mrs. ; and, in case of the husband 
 being a Baronet or Knight. Hon. Lady. 
 
 A List of the Orders of Knighthood. 
 
 Mottoes alphabetically arranged and trans- 
 lated. 
 
 " This work is the most perfect and elaborate record of the living and recently de- 
 ceased members of the Peerage of the Three Kingdoms as it stands at this day. It is 
 a most useful publication. We are happy to bear testimony to the fact that scrupulous 
 accuracy is a distinguishing feature of this book." — Times. 
 
 "Lodge's Peerage must supersede all other works of the kind, for two reasons: first, it 
 is on a better plan ; and secondly, it is better executed. We can safely pronounce it to be 
 the readiest, the most usefid, and exactest of modem works on the subject." — Spectator. 
 
 "A work of great value. It is the moat faithful record we possess of the aristo- 
 cracy of the day." — Post. 
 
 "The best existing, and, we believe, the best possible Peerage. It is the standard 
 authority on the subject." — Standard, 
 
HURST &BLACia:TT'S STMDMD LIBRARY 
 
 OF CHEAP EDITIONS OF 
 
 POPULAR MODERN WORKS. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY SIR JOHN GILBERT, MILLAIS, HOLMAN HUNT, BIRKET 
 FOSTER, LEECH, TENNIEL, J. LASLEIT POTT, ETC. 
 
 Each in a Single Volume, -with Frontispiece, price 5s. 
 I.— SAM SLICK'S NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 "The first volume of Messrs. Hurst and Blackett's Standard Library of Cheap Editions 
 forms a very good beginning to what will doubtless be a very successful undertaking. 
 'Nature and Human Nature ' is one of the best of Bam Slick's witty and humorous pro- 
 ductions, and well entitled to the large circulation which it cannot fail to obtain in its 
 present convenient and cheap shape. The volume combines with the great recommenda- 
 tions of a clear, bold type and good paper, the lesser, but attractive merits of being well 
 illustrated and elegantly bound." — Morning Post. 
 
 IT.— JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. 
 
 "The now and cheaper edition of this interesting work will doubtless meet with great 
 success. John Halifax, the hero of this most beautiful story, is no ordinary hero, and 
 this his history is no ordinary book. It ta a full-length portrait of a true gentleman, one 
 of nature's own nobility. It is also the history of a home, and a thoroughly English one. 
 The work abounds in incident, and many of the scenes are full of graphic power and true 
 pathos. It is a book that few will read without becoming wiser and better." — Scotsman. 
 
 "This story is very interesting. The attachment between John Halifax and his wife is 
 beautifully painted, as are the pictures of their domestic life, and the growing up of their 
 children; and the conclusion of the book is beautiful and touching." — AtMnasum. 
 
 IIL—THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS. 
 
 BY ELIOT WARBURTON. 
 
 "Independent of its value as an original narrative, and its useful and interesting 
 information, this work is remarkable for the colouring power and pl'ty of fancy with 
 which its descriptions are enlivened. Among its greatest and most lasting charms is its 
 reverent and serious spirit." — Quarterly Review. 
 
 "Mr. Warburton has fulfilled the promise of his title-page. The 'Realities of Eastern 
 Tri,.vel ' are described with a vividness which invests them with deep and abiding inter- 
 est; while the 'Eomantic' adventures which the enterprising tourist met with in his 
 course are narrated with a spirit which shows how much he enjoyed these reliefs from 
 the ennui of every-day life." — Qlobe. 
 
 IV.— NATHALIE. 
 
 BY JULIA KAVANAGH. 
 
 " 'Nathalie 'is Miss Kavanagh's best imaginative effort. Its manner is gracious ani 
 attractive. Its matter is good. A sentiment, a tenderness, are commanded by he,r whicli 
 are as individual as they are elegant. We should not soon come to an end were we to 
 specify all the delicate touches and attractive pictures which place ' Nathalie ' high among 
 books of its class." — Atlienceum. 
 
 v.— A WOMAN'S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 
 
 "These thoughts are good and humane. They are thoughts we would wish women to 
 think: they are much more to the purpose than the treatises upon the women and daugh- 
 ters of England, which were fashionable some years ago, and these thoughts mark the 
 progress of opinion, and indicate a higher tone of character, and a juster estimate of 
 woman's position." — Athenseum. 
 
 "This excellent book is characterised by good sense, good taste, and feeling, and is 
 written in an earnest, philanthropic, as well as practical spirit."— J/oT-nmg' Pest. 
 
HURST & BLICKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 VI.— ADAM GEAEME OF MOSSGEAY. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 " ' A.dam Graeme ' is a story awakening genuine emotions of interest and delight by its 
 admirable pictures of Soottisli life and scenery. The plot is cleverly complicated, and 
 there is great vitality in the dialogue, and remarkable brilliancy in the descriptive pas- 
 sages, as who that has read 'Margaret Maitland' would not be prepared to expect? 
 But the story has a ' mightier magnet still,' in the healthy tone which pervades it, in its 
 feminine delicacy of thought and diction, and in the truly womanly tenderness of its 
 sentiments. The eloquent author sets before us the essential attributes of Christian 
 virtue, their deep and silent workings in the heart, and their beautiful manifestations in 
 the life, with a delicacy, a power, and a truth which can hardly be surpassed." — Morning 
 Post. 
 
 VII.— SAM SLICK'S WISE SAWS AND 
 MODEEN INSTANCES. 
 
 "We have not the slightest intention to criticise this book. Its reputation is made, and 
 will stand as long as that of Scott's or Bulwer's novels. The remarkable originality of 
 its purpose, and the happy description it affords of American life and manners, still con- 
 tinue the subject of universal admiration. To say thus much is to say enough,, though we 
 must just mention that the new edition forms a part of the Publishers' Cheap Standard 
 Library, which has included some of the very best specimens of light literature that ever 
 have been written." — Messenger. 
 
 VIII.— CAEDINAL WISEMAN'S EECOLLECTIONS 
 OP THE LAST FOUE POPES. 
 
 " A picturesque book on Rome and its ecclesiastical sovereigns, by an eloquent Koman 
 Catholic. Cardinal Wiseman has here treated a special subject with so much generality 
 and geniality that his recollections will excite no ill-feeling in those who are most con- 
 scientiously opposed to every idea of human infallibility represented in Papal domination." 
 
 IX.— A LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OP "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 
 
 "We are always glad. to welcome Mrs. Craik, She writes from her own convic- 
 tions, and she has the power not only to conceive clearly what it is that she wishes to 
 say, but to express it in language effective and vigorous. In ' A Life for a Life ' she is 
 fortunate in a good subject, and she has produced a work of strong effect. The 
 reader, having read the boob: through for the story, will be apt (if he be of our per- 
 suasion) to return and read again many pages and passages with greater pleasure 
 than on a first perusal. The whole book is replete with a graceful, tender deli- 
 cacy; and, in addition to its other merits, it is written in good careful English." — 
 AtJienceum. 
 
 "' A Life for a Life ' is a book of a high class. The characters are depicted with a 
 masterly hand ; the events are dramatically set forth ; the descriptions of scenery and 
 sketches of society are admirably penned ; moreover, the work has an object — a clearly 
 defined moral — most poetically, most beautifully drawn, and through all there is that 
 strong, reflective mind visible which lays bare the human heart and human mind to the 
 very core.'' —Morning Post. 
 
 X.— THE OLD COUET SUBUEB. 
 
 BY LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 "A book which has afforded us no slight gratiflcation."— ^ttmiram. 
 
 " From the mixture of description, anecdote, biography, and criticism, this book is very 
 pleasant Te&ding."— Spectator. 
 
 " A more agreeable and entertaining book has not been published since Boawell pro- 
 duced hisreminiscences of Johnson." — Observer. 
 
HUEST & BLACKETT'S STANDAKD LIBRARY 
 
 XI.— MAEGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE VALLEY OF A HUNDRED FIRES." 
 
 " We recommend all who are In searoli of a tasoinating novel to read tWa work for 
 themselves. They will And it well worth their while. There are a freshness and origin- 
 ality about it quite charming, and there is a certain nobleness in the treatment both of 
 sentiment and incident which is not often found." — Atfienxum. 
 
 XII.— THE OLD JUDGE ; OE, LIFE IN A COLONY. 
 
 BY SAM SLICK. 
 
 " A peculiar interest attaches to sketcheB of colonial life, and readers could not have a 
 safer guide than the talented author of this work, who, by a residence of half a century, 
 has practically grasped the habits, manners, and social conditions of the colonists he de- 
 scribes. All who wish to form a fair idea of the difficulties and pleasures of life in a new 
 country, unlike England in some respects, yet like it in many, should read this hook." — 
 John Bull. 
 
 XIII.— DARIEN ; OR, THE MERCHANT PRINCE. 
 
 BY ELIOT "WARBURTON. 
 
 " This last production of the author of ' The Crescent and the Cross ' has the same 
 elements of a very wide popularity. It will please its thousands."— (J^ofte. 
 
 "Eliot Warburton's active and productive genius is amply exemplifled in the present 
 book. "We have seldom met with any work in which the realities of history and the 
 poetry of Action were more happily iritevwoven."—Illtistrated News. 
 
 XIV.— FAMILY ROMANCE ; OR, DOMESTIC ANNALS 
 OF THE ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 BY SIR BERNARD BURKE, ULSTER KING OF ARMS. 
 
 " It were impossible to praise too highly this most interesting book, whether we should 
 have regard to its excellent plan or its not less excellent execution. It ought to be found 
 on every drawing-room table. Here you have nearly fifty captivating romances with the 
 pith of all their interest preserved in undiminished poignancy, and any one may be read 
 in half an hour. It is not the least of their merits that the romances are founded on fact 
 — or what, at least, has been handed down for truth by long tradition— and the romance 
 of reality far exceeds the romance of fiction." — Standard. 
 
 XY.- THE LAIRD OF NORLAW. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 "We have had frequent opportunities of commending Messrs. Hurst and Elackett'a 
 Standard Library. For neatness, elegance, and distinctness the volumes in this series 
 surpass anything with which we are familiar. 'The Laird of Norlaw' will fully sustain 
 the author's high reputation. The reader is carried on from first to last with an energy 
 of sympathy that never flags." — Sunday Times. 
 
 "'The Laird of Norlaw' is worthy of the author's reputation. It is one of the most 
 exquisite of modem novels." — Observer. 
 
 XVI.— THE ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY. 
 
 BY MRS. G. GRETTON. 
 
 "Mi's. Gretton had opportunitieB which rarely fall to the lot of strangers of hecoming 
 acquainted with the inner life and habits of a part of the Italian peninsula which is the 
 very centre of the national crisis. "We can praise her performance as interesting, uuexag- 
 gerated, and full of opportune instruction." — TJie Times. 
 
 " Mrs. Qretton's book is timely, life-hke, and for every reason to be recommended. It 
 is impossible to close the book without liking the writer as well as the subject. The work 
 is engaging, because real." — Athenssum. 
 
 9 
 
HUEST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 XVII.— NOTHING NEW. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 
 
 " 'Nothing New' displays all those superior merits which have made 'John Halifax 
 one of the most popular works of the day. There is a fores and truthfulness about these 
 tales which mark them as the production of no ordinary mind, and we cordially recom- 
 mend them to the perusal of all lovers of Nation."— Momiitrj Post. 
 
 XVIII.— LIFE OF JEANNE D'ALBRET, ftUEEN OF 
 NAVAERE. 
 
 BY MISS FREERi 
 
 "We have read this book with great pleasure, and have no hesitation in recommending 
 it to general perusal. It reflects the highest credit on the industry and ability of Miss 
 Freer. Nothiug can be more interesting than her story of the life of Jeanne D'Albret, 
 and the narrative is as trustworthy as it is attractive." — Morning Fast. 
 
 XIX.— THE VALLEY OF A HUNDEED FIRES. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS." 
 
 " If asked to classify this work, we should give it a place between ' John Halifax ' and 
 'The Oaxtons." " — Standard. 
 "The spirit in which the whole book is written is refined and good." — Athenteum. 
 " This is in every sense a charming no^eV— Messenger. 
 
 XX.— THE ROMANCE OF THE FORUM; OR, NARRATIVES, 
 SCENES, AND ANECDOTES FROM COURTS OF JUSTICE. 
 
 BY PETER BURKE, SERJEANT AT LAW. 
 
 "This attractive book will be perused with much interest. It contains a great variety 
 of singular and highly romantic stories." — JoJm Bull. 
 
 " A work of singular interest, which can never fail to charm and absorb the reader's 
 attention. The present cheap and elegant edition includes the true story of the Colleen 
 Bawn "—Uliistrated News. 
 
 XXI.— ADELE. 
 
 BY JULIA KAVANAGH. 
 
 "'Adfele' is the best work we have read by Miss Kavanagh; it is a charming stcry, 
 full of delicate character-painting. The interest kindled in the first chapter burns brightly 
 to the close. "^ — AtJieiiceum. 
 
 *" Adfele' will fully sustain the reputation of Miss Kavanagh, high as it alrpady ranks." 
 — Jo?m Bull. 
 
 " ' Adfele ' is a love-story of very considerable pathos and power. It a a very clever 
 novel." — Daily News. 
 
 XXII.— STUDIES FROM LIFE. 
 
 *' These ' Studies ' are truthful and vivid pictures of life, often earnest, always full Oi. right 
 feeling, and occasionally lightened by touches of quiet, genial humour. The volume is re- 
 markable for thought, sound sense, shrewd observation, and kind and sympathetic feeling 
 for all things good and beautiful."— d/ornm^ Post. 
 
 "These 'Studies from Life' are remarkable for graphic power and observation. The 
 book will not diminish the reputation of the accomplished author." — Saturday Review. 
 
 10 
 
HURST & BLICKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 XXIII.— GRANDMOTHER'S MONEY. 
 
 BY F. W. ROBINSON. 
 " We commend ' Grandmother's Money ' to readers in search of a good novel, 
 characters are true to human nature, and the story is interesting."— ^(/lajicaro. 
 
 XXIV.— A BOOK ABOUT DOCTORS. 
 
 BY JOHN CORDY JEAFFRESON. 
 
 " A book to he read and re-read ; flt for the study as well as the drawing-room'table and 
 the circulating library." — Lancet. 
 
 " This is a pleasant book for the fireside season, and for the seaside season. Mr. Jeaflre- 
 son has, out of hundreds of volumes, collected thousands of good things, adding thereto 
 much that appears in print for the first time, and ■which, of course, gives increased value 
 to this very readable book." — Atlienceum. 
 
 XXV.— NO CHURCH. 
 
 BY F, W. ROBINSON. 
 
 "We advise all who have the opportunity to read this book. It is well worth the 
 study." — AtJienceum. 
 " A work of great originality, merit, and power." — Standard. 
 
 XXVI.— MISTRESS AND MAID. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 
 
 " A good wholesome book, gracefully written, and as pleasant to read as it is instruc- 
 tive." — Atkenamm. 
 
 " A charming tale, charmingly toli."— Standard. 
 
 "All lovers of a good novel will hail with delight another of Mrs. Craik's charming 
 stories."— /ote Bull. 
 
 XXVII.— LOST AND SAVED. 
 
 BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON. 
 
 " ' Lost and Saved ' will be read with eager interest by those who love a touching atory 
 It is a vigorous novel." — Times. 
 
 ■'This story is animated, full of exciting situations and stirring incidents. The charac- 
 ters are delineated with great power. Above and beyond these elements of a goodnovel, 
 there is that indefinable charm with which true genius invests all it touchQa.'' —rDaily News. 
 
 XXVIII.— LES MISERABLES, 
 
 BY VICTOR HUGO. 
 Authorised Copyright English Translation. 
 
 "The merits of *Les Miserables' do not merely consist in the conception of it as a 
 whole ; it abounds with details of unequalled beauty. M. Victor Hugo has stamped upon 
 every page the hall-mark of genius." — Quarterly Beuiew. 
 
 XXIX.— BARBAEA'S HISTORY 
 
 BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS. 
 
 " It is not often that we light npon a novel of so much merit and interes as 
 ' Barbara's History,' It is a work conspicuous for taste and literary culture. It is a very 
 graceful and charming book, with a well-managed story, clearly-cut characters, and, 
 sentiments expressed with an exquisite elocution. The dialogues especially sparkle with 
 repartee. It is a book which the world will like. This is high praise of a work of art, 
 and so we intend it." — The Times. 
 
 11 
 
HURST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 XXX.— LIFE OP THE EEV. EDWARD IRVING. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 " A good iDook on a most interesting theme." — Times. 
 
 "A truly interesting and most affecting memoir. 'Irving'B Life' ougTit to have a niche 
 in every gallery of reiigioua biography. There are few lives that will be fuller of, in- 
 struction, interest, and consolation." — Saturday Review. 
 
 XXXL— ST. OLAVE'S. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JANITA'S CROSS." 
 
 "This novel is the work of one who possesses a great talent for writing, as well as 
 experience and knowledge of the world. The whole book is worth reading." — Athenosum. 
 
 " ' St. Olave's ' belongs to a lofty order of fiction. It is a good novel, but it is something 
 more. It is written with unflagging ability, and it is as even as it is clever. The author 
 has determined to do nothing short of the best, and has succeeded." — Morning Post. 
 
 XXXII.— SAM SLICK'S TRAITS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. 
 
 " Dip where you will into this lottery of fun, you are sure to draw out a prize. These 
 Traits ' exhibit most successfully the broad national features of American humour." — Post. 
 
 XXXIIL— CHRISTIAN'S MISTAKE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OP " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 
 
 "A more charming story has rarely been written. It is a choice gift to be able thus to 
 render human nature so truly, to penetrate its depths with such a searching sagacity, and 
 to illuminate them with a radiance so eminently the writer's own." — Times. 
 
 XXXIV.— ALEC FORBES OF HOWGLEN. 
 
 BY GEORGE MAG DONALD, LL.D. 
 
 "No account of this Btorywould give any idea of tho profound interest that pervades 
 the work from the first page to the last." — AtJrnicmm. 
 
 " A novel of uncommon merit. Sir Walter Scott said he would advise no man to try 
 to read ' Clarissa Harlowe ' out loud in company if he wished to keep his character for 
 manly superiority to tears. We fancy a good many hardened old novel-readers will feei 
 a rising in the throat as they follow the fortunes of Alec and Annie."— Pa!! MaM Oaiette. 
 
 XXXV.— AGNES. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 " 'Agnes ' is a novel superior to any of Mrs. Oliphant's former works."— Athenisum. 
 
 "Mrs. Oliphant is one of the most admirable of our novelists. In her works there 
 are always to be found high principle, good taste, sense, and retinement. 'Agnes' is 
 a story whose pathetic beauty will appeal irresistibly to all readers." — Morning Post. 
 
 XXXVI.— A NOBLE LIFE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 
 
 "Few men and no women will read 'A Noble Life' without feeling themselves the 
 better for the effort." — Spectator. 
 
 " A beautifully written and touching tale. It is a noble book."— Morning Post. 
 
 " ' A Noble Life ' is remarkable for the high types of oharaeter it presents, and the 
 skill with which they are made to work out a story of powerful and pathetic interest." 
 — Daily News. 
 
 XXXVII— NEW AMEEICA. 
 
 BY W. HEPWORTH DIXON. 
 
 "A very interesting book. Mr. Dixon has written thoughtfully and welL" — Times. 
 "We recommend everyone who feels any interest in human nature to read Mr 
 Dixon's very interesting book." — Satm'day Review. 
 
 12 
 
HUEST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRAEY 
 
 XXXVIIL— ROBERT FALCONER. 
 
 BY GEORGE MAO DONALD, LL.D. 
 
 " ' Eobert Falconer ' is a work brimful of life and humour and of the deepest hmnan 
 interest. It ie a book to be returned to again and again for the deep and searching 
 knowledge it evinces of human thoughts and feelings." — Athmc£um. 
 
 XXXIX.— THE WOMAN^S KINGDOM. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEIVIAN." 
 
 "'The Woman's Kingdom' sustains the author's reputation as a writer of the purest 
 and noblest kind of domestic stories." — AiJiencEUTn. 
 
 " ' The Woman's Kingdom ' is remarkable for its romantic interest. The characters are 
 masterpieces. Edna is worthy of the hand that drew John Halifax." — Morning Post. 
 
 XL.— ANNALS OF AN EVENTFUL LIFE. 
 
 BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT, D.G.L. 
 
 " A racy, well-written, and original novel. The interest never flags. The whole work 
 sparkles with wit and humour." — Quarterly Review, 
 
 XLI.— DAVID ELGINBROD. 
 
 BY GEORGE MAC DONALD^ LL.D. 
 
 "A novel which is the work of a man of genius. It will attract the highest class of 
 readers." — Tim^. 
 
 XLIL— A BEAVE LADY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.*' 
 
 "We earnestly recommend this novel. It la a special and worthy specimen of the 
 author's remarkable powers. The reader's attention never for a moment flags." — Post. 
 
 '"A Brave Lady' thoroughly rivets the unmingled sympathy of the reader, and her 
 history deserves to stand foremost among the author's works." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 XLIII.— HANNAH. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN," 
 
 " A very pleasant, healthy story, well and artistically told. The book is sure of wide 
 circle of readers. The character of Hannah is one of rare beauty." — Standard. 
 
 "A powerful novel of social and domestic life. One of the most successful efforts of a 
 Ruccessful novelist."— .ZJai^y News. 
 
 XLIV.— SAM SLICK'S AMEEICANS AT HOME. 
 
 "This is one of the most amusing books that wo ever read." — Standard. 
 " 'The Americans at Home' will not be less popular than any of Judge Halliburton's 
 previous works." — Morning Post. 
 
 XLV.— THE UNKIND WOED. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN," 
 
 '* These stories are gems of narrative. Indeed, some of them, in their touching (grace 
 and simplicity, seem to us to possess a charm even beyond the authoress's most popular 
 novels. Of none of them can this be said more emphatically than of that whi:;h opens the 
 series, ' The Unkind Word.' It is wonderful to see the imaginative power displayed in 
 the few delicate touches by which this successful love-story Is sketched ouV—The Edio. 
 
 13 
 
HURST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 XLVL— A ROSE IN JUNE. 
 
 BY MRS. OLrPHANT. 
 
 " ' A Eose in June ' is as pretty as its title. Tlie story is one of tlie best and most 
 touching wtiicli we owe to the industry and talent of Mrs. Oliphant, and may hold its own 
 with even ' The Chronicles of Carliugtord.' "—Times, 
 
 XLVII.— MY LITTLE LADY. 
 
 BY E. FRANCES POYNTER. 
 
 "This story presents a number of vivid and very charming pictures Indeed, the whole 
 book is chaiming. It is interesting in hoth character and story, and thoroughly good of 
 its 'kinA"— Saturday Review. 
 
 XLVIII.— PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 "This last 'Chronicle of Carlingford' not merely takes rank fairly beside the first 
 which introduced ua to 'Salem Chapel,' but surpasses all the intermediate records. 
 Phoebe, Junior, herself is admirably drawn." — Academy. 
 
 XLIX.— LIFE OF MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 BY PROFESSOR CHARLES DUKE YONGE. 
 
 " A work of remarkable merit and interest, which will, we doubt not, become the most 
 popular English history of Marie Antoinette." — Spectator. 
 "This book is woll written, and of thrilling interest." — Academy. 
 
 L.— SIR GIBBIE. 
 
 BY GEORGE MAG DONALD, LL.D. 
 
 " ' Sir GibMe ' is a book of genius." — Pall Mall Ganette. 
 
 " This book has power, pathos, and humour. There is not a character which is not 
 lifelike." — AtJiemeum. 
 
 LI.— YOUNG MRS. JARDINE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.'' 
 " 'Young Mrs. Jardane ' is a pretty story, written in pure English."— ?%fl Times. 
 " There is much good feeling in tlis book. It is pleasant and wholesome." — Athencsum 
 "This story is charmingly told." — The Quern. 
 
 LII.— LORD BRACKENBURY. 
 
 BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS. 
 
 "A very readable story. The author has well conceived the purpose of high-class 
 novel-writing, and succeeded in no small measure in attaining it. There is plenty of 
 variety, cheerful dialogue, and general ' verve ' in the book." — Atherumm. 
 
 Lni.— IT WAS A LOVER AND HIS LASS. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 " In ' It was a Lover and his Lass,' we admire Mrs. Oliphant exceedingly. Her story is 
 a very pretty one. It would be worth reading a second time, were it only for the saJie of 
 one ancient Scottish spinster, who is nearly the counterpart of the admirable Mrs Mar- 
 garet Maitland. "—K'mes. 
 
 14 
 
THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HURST & BLACKETT. 
 
 SAM'S SWEETHEAET. By Helen Mathers, 
 
 Anthor of " Comin' thro' the Rye," " Cherry Ripe !" " Land o' the 
 
 Leal," &c. Second Edition. 3 vols, 
 "A new novel by Miss Mathers is a great treat." — Athmceum. 
 " ' Sam's Sweetheart ' is clever and amusing. It is superior to its predecessorB 
 from the same pen : the plot is closer, and better constructed."— Grtf^/nc. 
 
 A MAID CALLED BARBARA. By Catharine 
 
 Childar, Author of "The Future Marquis," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 "This Btory is stronger and more romantic than the author's previous works. 
 She has drawn some good characters, and there is not a little pathos in the lives 
 of the hero and heroine." — Athenceum. 
 
 " A bright, pleasant, and readable noveL The characters are lifelike and the 
 scenes are well developed." — John Bull. 
 
 ADRIAN BRIGHT. By Mrs. Caddy, Author of 
 
 " Artist and Amateur," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 "This novel will be read with avidity and keen pleasure by all epicures in Ac- 
 tion, who know how to enjoy what is good." — Standard. 
 
 " There is much to interest and amuse in this life-Uke picture of the home of 
 Adrian Bright. The story increases in interest as it proceeds." — Morning Post. 
 
 JUNE. By Mrs. Forrester, Author of "Viva," 
 
 " Mignon," " My Lord and My Lady," &c. Third Edition. 3 vols. 
 " * June ' is as clever as any of Mrs, Forrester's novels. There is closer ob- 
 servation and better writing than the author has hitherto put into her books." — 
 The World. 
 "This story is told in Mrs. Forrester's best manner."— i)a% Ifeics' 
 
 SQUIRE LISLE'S BEQUEST. By Anne Beale, 
 
 Author of " Fay Arhngton," &c. 3 vols. 
 " This novel can be recommended to those who are satisfled with an unaffected 
 story gracefully told. It is healthy and high-toned throughout The plot is well- 
 imagiaed and neatly put together." — Morning Post. 
 
 RED RIDING-HOOD. By Fanny E. Millett 
 
 NoTLET, Author of " Ohve Yarcoe," &c. 3 vols, 
 
 " This story is well written, as well as conceived with something more than the 
 ordinary success." — At?iencGum. 
 
 "The best novel Mrs. Notley has written since ' Olive Varcoe.' It is a most 
 ■Exciting story." — John Bull. 
 
 HER SAILOR LOVE. By Mrs. Macquoid, Author 
 
 of "Patty," " Diane," &o. 3 vols. 
 " This is a good buBiness-like novel of tlie homely sort. There is a great deal 
 in the story to awaken interest, and not a little to afford pleasure and entertain- 
 ment" — Illustrated London News. 
 
 MISS OHEYNE OF ESSILMONT. By James 
 
 Grant, Author of " Romance of War," &c. 3 vols. 
 "A wholesome and entertaining romance of modern life. The plot is well- 
 constructed and exceedingly dramatic, and the characters are sketched with that 
 care and ability for which Mr. Grant is justly celebrated."— jl/oniiogr Post. 
 
 THE SENIOR SONGMAN. By the Author of 
 
 " St. Olave's," " Janita's Cross," &o. 3 vols. 
 "This well- written story deserves the popularity assured to anything written 
 by the author of ' St. Olave's.' There is not a page in the whole novel which tails 
 to command attention or to repay it" — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 15 
 
THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS. 
 PUBLISHED BY HURST & BLACKETT. 
 
 A BEGGAE ON HORSEBACK. By Mrs. Power 
 
 O'DoNOGHDE, Author of "Ladies on Horseback," " Unfairly Won," 
 &o. 3 vols. 
 
 MR. NOBODY. By Mrs. John Kent Spender, 
 
 Author of " Godwyn's Ordeal," " Both in the Wrong," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 TO HAVE AND TO HOLD. By Sarah Stredder, 
 
 Author of " The Fate of a Year," &e, 3 vols. 
 
 ONLY YESTERDAY. By William Marshall, 
 
 Author of " Monsell Digby," " Strange Chapman," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 ONE FALSE, BOTH FAIR. By John Berwick 
 
 Hakvcood, Author of " Lady Flavia," &c. 3 vols. 
 •' This work is a mild oompoBlng draught which may be taken with oonfldence 
 and even comfort. It is pleasant reading. The scenes are very brightly and 
 cleverly sketched." — Academy. 
 
 DI FAWOETT : A Year op Her Life. By 0. L. 
 
 PiRKis, Author of " A Very Opal," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " ' Di Fawcett ' shows a remarkable increase of power. The narrative is lively, 
 the action natural and rapid, and the main situation well introduced."— jKAcnceMm. 
 
 " ' Di Fawcett ' is, in most important respects, an advance upon termer works 
 from the same pen. It is fairly interesting, brightly written, and decidedly 
 amusing." — Oraphic. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS ROSE. By Mrs. Randolph, 
 
 Author of " Gentianella," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " MrB. Randolpli's new tale, flower-named, according to her custom, is a pleas- 
 antly readable society novel. All the characters are cleverly drawa" — Academy. 
 
 *'This capital novel will rant well beside the otter works of the talented and 
 amusing author."— Z)aii;?/ Telegraph. 
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. By a New Writer. 3 vols. 
 
 *' This novel displays some power and a good deal of promise. The sketch of 
 Swift's life at Moor Park and in his Irish livings is drawn with much skill."— 5(. 
 James's Gazette. 
 
 "The various points in the hero's character are balanced with nice judgment, 
 and the whole book is so good that a long-accustomed pen might well be pleased 
 to achieve such a result as we have in 'Jonathan Swift.' " — Literary World. 
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. By Alan Muir, Author of 
 
 " Lady Beauty," " Children's Children," &c. 3 vols. 
 " ' Golden Girls' is as pretty a story as Mr. Muir has written. There is a good 
 deal of fine perception and candid reproduction of human characteristics, and the 
 ■ author's lively style secures his reader's interest," — AtfmKeum. 
 
 "This novel contains a series of very clever, realistic, and vigorous character- 
 studies, and is pervaded by a humour at once genial and satirical." — Scotsman. 
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. By the Author op 
 
 " QuEENjE," " Miss Daisy Dimity," &c. 3 vols. 
 " This is a very well-writton tale, full of pleasing pictures of family life, and 
 vivid descriptions of that most beautiful of English counties, Devonshire. In 
 every way Miss Crommelin has the right to be considered an agreeable novelist, 
 whose works are deserving of much praise." — Morning Post. 
 
 PEARLA. By Miss Betham-Edwards, Author of 
 
 " Kitty," " Bridget," &c. 3 vols. 
 " ' Pearla ' can be safely trusted to teach nothing but what is good, even to its 
 most youthful readers. It is written with a certain measure of elegance and 
 ease." — Morning Post.