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NOTES 
 
 OF 
 
 Foreign Travel 
 
 J.^H. BATES 
 
 PRINTED FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 BURR PRINTING HOUSE, 
 
 1891. 
 
^^ 
 
 Copyright, 1891, 
 Bv J. H. BATES. 
 
 rr: 
 
 & 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF CONGRESS 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
NOTES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL. 
 
 May r, 1S89. — At last, after so many years, I am about to 
 I'ealize the dream of my life — a visit to lands beyond the 
 sea ; and this cool, bright morning, at half-past six, finds me 
 with wife, daughter Betty and niece Mary on board the huge 
 steamer "City of New York," which at the above hour slowly 
 swings from her moorings into the Hudson at Pier 43, and 
 carefully feels her way down the river and harbor, through 
 the Narrows, into the broad Atlantic. 
 
 We leave the city bedecked as never before for the wonder- 
 ful three days' pageant of the Centennial Celebration of 
 Washington's Inauguration as President of thirteen United 
 States, now grown to forty-four, with a population increased 
 twentyfold ! 
 
 The " City of New York," of the Inman Line, now entering 
 on her seventh passage, and her twin sister, the " City of 
 Paris," are the largest steamships now afloat, each being 580 
 feet long and of 10,000 tons burden. We have state-room No. 
 5 on the promenade-deck. The first-class passengers number 
 three hundred and sixty-four. We found on the tables in the 
 dining-room many presents of flowers, fruits, wines and deli- 
 cacies, which the kind thoughts of the donors suggested might 
 relieve the tedium or illness of travel by sea. I think tokens 
 of kindly remembrance are more grateful on the occasions 
 when we are about to absent ourselves from home than at any 
 other time. Specially touching to me were the fine presents 
 from the people in my employ, with the kind words accom- 
 panying put into the form of verse and bearing an assurance 
 that each and all would do the best possible in my behalf 
 while absent, with kind wishes so heartily expressed that I 
 must think them sincere. 
 
4 On Our Way. 
 
 The ocean is as fully at rest to-day, I should think, as it ever 
 becomes, "dark heaving" only, with the gentlest possible 
 pulsation of its mighty heart. 
 
 The North German Lloyd steamer "Trave" left her dock 
 when we did, and although we passed her in the harbor, she 
 has kept in sight, bearing away on a more northerly course, 
 until now, four o'clock p. m., she shows faintly with a veiling 
 banner of smoke far on our larboard, and many miles behind. 
 
 I lost the seats I had engaged at table a week ago, because 
 when the steward asked me for what trip I wanted them, I 
 answered the next, and found, when claiming them, that the 
 "next" trip meant the second time the steamer sails from New 
 York, as the "trip" dates from Liverpool. However, good 
 seats were assigned us at a table with Dr. Willoughby Walling 
 and his family of wife and two youthful sons. Dr. Walling is 
 returning to Edinburgh, where he was consul under President 
 Cleveland, and is not likely to be disturbed by the change in 
 the Administration, as he is a friend of President Harrison, 
 and from Indianapolis. 
 
 May 2. — The sea continues tranquil, but since noon yester- 
 day the sky has been obscured by dull, chilly clouds, with 
 occasional spatters of rain. The warmest wraps are needed 
 on deck to protect from the raw air, and the entire aspect of 
 sky and water is dreary. The face of the deep, away to the 
 horizon's edge, takes on the ashen hue of the sky, and the 
 poet's 
 
 " Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste" 
 
 is fully appropriate. 
 
 At noon we had made four hundred and eighty-four miles 
 from Sandy Hook, or four hundred and thirty-four miles in 
 twenty-four hours. I saw on the deck a pert English sparrow 
 hopping tamely about. One of the sailors stated that these 
 friendly little creatures often go out with the steamers far to 
 sea, sometimes making the entire passage. It grew more and 
 more chilly in the afternoon, and night came on with a heavy 
 rain, driving everybody under cover of the state-rooms and 
 rather insufficient public sitting-rooms. The rain continued 
 all night. 
 
 May 3. — At six o'clock in the morning the deafening fog. 
 horn gave token that we were in the remote neighborhood of 
 
Some Distinguished Passengers. 5 
 
 the Banks of Newfoundland. We have been in fog all day, 
 with some short intervals of open weather, and every half 
 minute the steam-horn screeched terribly enough to wake the 
 Seven Sleepers. The fog is not dense enough at any time to 
 obscure the view within a quarter of a mile of the steamer, 
 nothing at all like what often settles on the East River be- 
 tween New York and Brooklyn. We made four hundred and 
 twenty miles yesterday. 
 
 I could not find my sparrow anywhere on deck this morning, 
 and was told that quite likely, as often happens, he had flown 
 too far from the steamer, and could not get back. There is 
 only a moderate swell of the ocean, imparting no more than a 
 slight motion to the huge steamer. After comparatively 
 clearing away, the fog will gather with wonderful celerity, and 
 the dismal fog-horn sounded all night, much to our disturbance, 
 as our rooms are on the promenade-deck, with port-holes open, 
 for it has come off warm. The sea roughened toward night, 
 and the crests of the swells show white with foam all about. 
 Still, the only motion of the steamer is a slow roll, just enough 
 to affect a few of the most sensitive passengers. 
 
 May 4. — Warm, with very little sea, and the fog quite gone. 
 The run was four hundred and thirty-three miles, so that, 
 under the most favorable circumstances, the steamer is not 
 doing as well as was expected. The machinery is said not to 
 be working well at all points. Now, at 4 p.m., the sun is out 
 almost for the first time since the first half day, and the sky is 
 not all clear from clouds. 
 
 I have just seen my little sparrow, or another equally at 
 home, on deck. Life on board is the laziest imaginable. We 
 stroll about or lounge, reading, in the steamer chairs ; eat with 
 relish not only the three regular meals at table, but of the many 
 dishes frequently brought about by the cabin-boys. We have 
 on board Senators Sherman and Cameron, with their families ; 
 John C. New, Consul-General to London ; Thomas, Minister 
 to Sweden, where he married a pretty Norwegian girl, whom 
 he has had home to Portland, Me., on a visit, and is now on his 
 way back ; Henry Abbey, the popular theatrical manager, with 
 his family, and a miscellaneous company of the sort one usually 
 meets in travel, including a due proportion of those half-out- 
 landish men and women in looks, dress, and manner, whom one 
 never does see except away from home, but who must needs 
 
6 Life on Board. 
 
 abide somewhere when on land. We are an epitome of the 
 great world of social existence, twelve hundred miles at sesi, in 
 the midst of a loneliness so utter that one feels easily that we 
 alone are left of the human race. Pools on the daily run of 
 the steamer are sold in the smoking-room by a Hebrew 
 auctioneer with a half-horsey look, and the interest taken in 
 them is surprising. The weather continues heavy, with more 
 or less rain, a mild sea and light fogs. 
 
 May 5, Sunday. — No change during the night except increas- 
 ingly warm, so that wraps are uncomfortable. Divine service 
 in the dining-room at lo a.m., Captain Lewis reading the 
 prayers and a Boston musical club singing. The noble 
 English service had a peculiar solemnity in mid-ocean, where 
 God's power and man's helplessness are so feelingly contrasted. 
 The run was only three hundred and ninety-two miles, a fall- 
 ing off caused by some injury to one of the propelling screws, 
 disabling it yesterday for some four hours, during which only 
 half speed was made. The outline of a steamer is dimly seen 
 at 3 p. M. on the western horizon, and a little later a full-rigged 
 ship showing spectrally through the mist. The weather is 
 warm, with low clouds all about, giving down frequent drizzles 
 of rain. After dark we watched from the stern the far-stream- 
 ing line of phosphorescent light in our wake. 
 
 May 6. — Raining hard in the morning, but about noon the 
 sky cleared, the wind freshened and grew cool, the sea changed 
 its dull hue to the dark blue one associates with it, and heaves 
 in foam-crested swells. A small company of white gulls is 
 noticed hovering with swift wing not far away, although we 
 must be not less than six hundred miles from any land. The 
 run was four hundred and twenty-nine miles. 
 
 In the evening a concert took place in the dining-saloon, 
 Senator Sherman presiding. The entertainment would have 
 been thought good anywhere, and yielded something over four 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 May 7. — All things nearly the same as yesterday. The run 
 was four hundred and thirty-one miles. In the evening, at a 
 meeting over which Senator Sherman presided, a resolution 
 exceedingly complimentary to the steamer. Captain Lewis and 
 all in any way connected with her, was passed. This sort of 
 thing always gets itself managed somehow, and may mean 
 much or little, or nothing at all. 
 
At Queenstoiun. 7 
 
 May 8. — At half-past one this morning wakened by the fizz 
 of a rocket, and looking out, saw the famous Fastnet Light 
 gleaming through the thin mist like a huge red star, and when 
 I went on deck at four o'clock the wind was fresh, the atmos- 
 phere transparent, the blue waves tossing manes of foam, 
 tiocks of gulls swirling wildly all about, just such a sea as one 
 imagines guarding the British Isles, and right at hand on our 
 left the precipitous shore of Ireland, its dark rocks forever 
 chafed by the encroaching sea. Above the cliffs all was green 
 and fair and tender in the morning light of May, the east 
 luminous, a church-tower outlined against it from the long 
 crest of a slope, coming down to the steep shore. The first 
 view of the Emerald Isle is enchanting. 
 
 At five we were off the entrance to Queenstown Harbor, and 
 slowed up for a perky little tender called the " Flying 
 Squirrel," which came bobbing out to fetch away the Queens- 
 town passengers and mails. But the sea was decided to be 
 too rough, and the steamer worked into the harbor and came 
 to anchor while the transfer took place. Our luggage came 
 ashore with us at the Customs Wharf, where the examination 
 was of the slightest. The only articles dutiable are spirits, 
 tobacco, fire-arms, and dynamite. We took rooms and break- 
 fasted at the Queen's Hotel, and after luncheon rode in a 
 jaunting-car for some distance up the river Lee, then to a 
 point where the broad harbor, formerly known as the Cove of 
 Cork, lay before us in the light of a perfect day. This 
 harbor equals in size and beauty that of New York, is fully 
 land-locked, the ample river Lee coming into it, quite as 
 the Hudson enters New York Bay. Queenstown itself is 
 a small town of little interest. The trains from the in- 
 terior have brought in hundreds of emigrants to take ship 
 to-morrow for America, who crowd the quays and move along 
 the street fronting them in long procession. They are mostly 
 young men and women, a few of middle age, and fewer still of 
 aged, robust in health, and, as it seemed to me, more pleased 
 than sad at the prospect of leaving a land which promises so 
 little to their future. But surely there must be some funda- 
 mental wrong in a country when the very substance and flower 
 of it go into voluntary exile, as the Irish have done and are 
 now doing I Three thousand sailed from this port alone last 
 week. 
 
8 Arrive at Cork. 
 
 At half-past three p.m. we took the train for Cork, twelve 
 miles distant, the road following the Lee. The "pleasant 
 waters of the river Lee " flow down to the sea through a 
 charming valley, thickly set with comfortable houses, with now 
 and then the large, handsome residence of the rich citizen, 
 well retired among old trees in full leaf, with lawns of the 
 deepest green. Very much of the land we saw is in grass for 
 pasture, and I have never seen at home such rank, dense herb- 
 age and perfect mat of intense green. These small pastures are 
 enclosed in substantial walls of stone, laid in mortar, as in- 
 deed are all boundary walls. The larger fields are surrounded 
 by green hedges. Flocks of Southdown sheep grazed content- 
 edly in these, with now and then a herd of comfortable cows. 
 All along the roads the gray boundary walls are overgrown 
 with ivy ; on the wide upper surfaces violets and tinted daisies 
 peep from green mosses, and rich grass studded with dande- 
 lions hide the lower stones. Everywhere is green luxuriance. 
 Quaint cottages, mostly of stone covered with plaster, with 
 roofs of thatch, and half ivy-clad, appear frequently, blending 
 harmoniously with the landscape, and forming pastoral scenes 
 of peaceful beauty. 
 
 We took rooms in the comfortable Hotel Imperial at Cork, 
 and after a good dinner, well served in our private parlor, re- 
 tired early to sleep on huge bedsteads of solid mahogany, 
 deeply curtained, our first sleep on British soil. I found my- 
 self lurching from side to side in my walking for several hours 
 after landing, and steadying myself as when the steamer 
 rolled. 
 
 May 9. — A rainy day. Ordered a landau, and drove about 
 the town, which lies pleasantly on both sides of the Lee, slop- 
 ing up from the river, two branches of which unite just below 
 the city. The two parts are connected by nine handsome 
 stone bridges, one of them of great age. The population of 
 Cork is about 80,000, and it has a very considerable export 
 trade. It is well and solidly built, with not much of marked 
 interest to see. 
 
 We visited the Cathedral, a modern and not impressive 
 structure of gray stone, with a fine mosaic chancel floor. 
 Went to the little church of St. Ann, in whose belfry hang 
 the bells of Shandon, widely famous for the purity and 
 sweetness of their tones, and thought to be in these respects 
 
Blarney Castle. 9 
 
 almost the finest in the world. The church was closed, but at 
 a rear entrance we found a verger, who sent for his daughter, 
 a young person of a fresh and pleasant face, who took us up 
 into the old stone belfry and rang several changes, ending with 
 "There is a Happy Land." The tones of the bells are ex- 
 quisitely soft and sweet. In the little churchyard is buried, 
 in the plain vault of his family. Rev. Francis Mahony, cele- 
 brated as Father Prout, the scholarly and witty priest who 
 died in 1866 in a monastery in Paris. Very tender are his 
 verses to " The Shandon Bells," beginning : 
 
 " With deep affection 
 And recollection, 
 I often think of 
 
 Those Shandon bells. 
 Whose sounds so wild would, 
 In days of childhood, 
 Fling round my cradle 
 ' - Their magic spells. 
 
 " On this I ponder, 
 Where'er I wander, 
 And thus grow fonder, 
 
 Sweet Cork, of thee ; 
 With thy bells of Shandon, 
 That sound so grand on 
 The pleasant waters 
 
 Of the river Lee." 
 
 Returned to the hotel for lunch, and kept our parlor for the 
 rest of the day, for it rained steadily. 
 
 May 10. — The morning heavy and showery, but at noon 
 clear and bright. Drove out to Blarney Castle, following the 
 Lee up for three miles on its left bank, then turning into the val- 
 ley of the Coman, a narrow, swift stream, following it some two 
 miles farther. This we cross by a foot-bridge, and are in front 
 of the highest wall of the square stone tower, built from the base 
 of the projecting crag, on which the structure stands. This 
 wall rises to the height of 120 feet, the opposing wall, by 
 reason of its resting on the crag, being little more than half 
 this height. This massive tower rises impressively, in almost 
 perfect preservation, its battlements continuing almost intact. 
 These project over the walls a distance of three feet, and at 
 intervals are spaces opening downward, through which the 
 besieged could look down the face of the walls, not only to 
 
10 The Blarney- Stone. 
 
 see the operations of an assaulting force, but also to hurl 
 down missiles of whatever sort upon it. Indeed, one of these 
 openings is shown where the defenders are said to have poured 
 down molten lead on Cromwell's soldiers. On the inner side 
 of another portion of the projecting battlement, and so three 
 feet from the wall, is a stone representing the traditional 
 Blarney-Stone, the object of earnest osculation to all pilgrims 
 here, by reason of its attributed power of conferring upon 
 those who touch it with the lips an irresistible fascination. 
 To kiss the present Blarney-Stone the devotee lies prone upon 
 his stomach, reaches across the opening of three feet, grasps 
 the upright iron stanchions extending on either side for a sup- 
 port, one with each hand, pulls himself or herself (for one 
 may be sure the gentler sex will not miss this opportunity of 
 replenishing its armories with so fatal a weapon) forward until 
 able, by bending downward nearly two feet, to press the lips 
 upon the lower stone. It is really something of a feat, and 
 ladies generally will require to be held firmly by the ankles 
 while struggling forward. 
 
 As I understand the matter, the Blarney-Stone was formerly 
 a huge block of basaltic stone, which stood on the floor of 
 the highest portion of the main tower, and so, easily acces- 
 sible. The poet Milliken more than a hundred years ago sung 
 of it : 
 
 " There is a stone there 
 
 That whoever kisses, 
 
 Oh ! he never misses 
 To grow eloquent. 
 
 'Tis he may clamber 
 
 To a lady's chamber 
 
 Or become a member 
 Of Parliament. 
 
 * -x- * * * * 
 
 Don't hope to hinder him 
 Or to bewilder him ; 
 Sure he's a pilgrim 
 
 From the Blarney-Stone." 
 
 The thick walls are pierced at irregular intervals with 
 loop-holes for archery. The winding stone stairs terminate 
 on frequent landings with recesses where the men-at-arms 
 might collect for concerted action. This fortress was built 
 near the middle of the fifteenth century by Cormac McCarthy, 
 
" The Groves of Blarney." 11 
 
 and vividly realizes all one has imagined of the grim strong- 
 holds of the bold chieftains of those cruel ages when the 
 strong preyed upon the weak, and men lived for war and 
 rapine. A goodly prospect lay spread before the eyes of the 
 warder as he looked forth from the turrets of this stout castle 
 of Blarney : the gentle valley of the Coman winding amid the 
 gradual hills of either bank to lose itself in the larger and 
 still fairer valley of the Lee, rich in green pastures and 
 delightful groves. The grounds on the banks of the Coman 
 at the castle's foot are laid out with taste, but hardly corre- 
 spond in particular features with the description of the poet 
 Milliken. 
 
 "The groves of Blarney, 
 They look so charming, 
 Down by the purlings 
 
 Of sweet silent brooks. 
 All decked by posies 
 That spontaneous grow there, 
 Planted in order 
 In the rocky nooks. 
 'Tis there the daisy 
 And the sweet carnation. 
 The blooming pink 
 And the rose so fair ; 
 Likewise the lily 
 And the daffodilly. 
 All flowers that scent 
 The sweet open air. 
 
 ****** 
 
 There are statues gracing 
 This noble place in, 
 All heathen gods 
 
 And nymphs so fair, 
 Bold Neptune, Cse.sar, 
 And Nebuchadnezzar, 
 All standing naked 
 
 In the open air \" 
 
 ****** 
 
 Enough remains, however, to remind the visitor of the poet's 
 further description : 
 
 " There gravel walks are 
 For recreation, 
 And meditation 
 In sweet solitude. 
 
12 A Delightful Drive. 
 
 'Tis there the lover 
 May hear the dove or 
 The gentle plover 
 In the afternoon." 
 
 The drive to the castle is delightful. In one pasture of not 
 more than six acres were twenty-five cattle grazing the 
 luxuriant turf, and the driver of our landau said it would 
 keep forty head all summer. We passed a field where a 
 number of cows were feeding, and were told they belonged to 
 the landlord, who had seized them for rent and had put them 
 here, waiting a chance to dispose of them. Our driver said 
 this would be hard to do, as no one in Cork would dare buy 
 them, and no shipper would allow them to be sent out of the 
 country with his. Consequently, they have almost no value. 
 The landlord of the greater part of the land hereabouts is 
 Lord Cork, who has no residence here, but lives and spends 
 his money abroad. The annual rent for such pasture as that 
 mentioned above is three pounds per acre. 
 
 At 4 P.M. drove to St. Ann's, where I had arranged yesterday 
 with the verger to have his son chime the Shandon bells. 
 We heard half-a-dozen tunes, sitting in our open carriage. 
 The tones floated sweetly down from the old belfry, justifying 
 the praises given these fine old bells. Drove thence along 
 the upper part of the city among the best residences, the 
 most extensive of which is owned by a Mr. Murphy, of a firm 
 of distillers here. 
 
 Cork is a handsome, well-built city, amid beautiful surround- 
 ings, and has an appearance of fair prosperity. But the 
 wretched appearance of a considerable portion of the popula- 
 tion indicates a depth of misery under the surface. There are 
 said to be two thousand paupers in the city and near suburbs 
 cared for by public charity, and whiskey, it is said, will explain 
 seventy-five per cent of the cases. The spring is much in 
 advance of ours. We have had on our table here new 
 potatoes, asparagus, cucumbers, and cauliflowers, grown in 
 the immediate vicinity in the open air. 
 
 May II. — Left for Killarney at 12 m, reaching the Lake 
 Hotel there at 4 p.m. by the Great Southwestern Railwa}^, via 
 Mallow. To this point the country on either hand is of the 
 same charmingly pastoral character as all we have heretofore 
 
Killarney. 13 
 
 seen, but soon after presents a less fertile and cultivated 
 appearance, stony hill-sides, neglected fields and stretches of 
 bog-land alternating with better soil and cultivation. In one 
 dreary tract, made more so by the chill rain which had begun 
 to fall, we noticed, from the carriage windows, the procession 
 of a peasant's funeral, made up of little donkeys attached 
 to the clumsy two-wheel carts used on the farms. There 
 were not less than a dozen of these, each carrying three or 
 four mourners, who sat on them as best they could, the 
 w'omen wrapped up to the ears in large black or red cloaks, a 
 train of grotesque misery. 
 
 Our hotel is situated directly on the Lakes of Killarney, or 
 more precisely on Castlelough Bay, opening from Lough 
 Leane, the largest of the three sheetsof water which constitute 
 the Lakes of Killarney. The country had improved in appear- 
 ance as we approached the town of the same name, but there 
 is little intimaticm of change in its physical conformation, 
 until, on a sudden, we come on the sight of an exceedingly 
 irregular stretch of peaceful water, lying softly in the midst 
 of meadows and many mountains of most agreeable form 
 and variety. The rain is falling chillily, but in a comfortable 
 private parlor, with bedrooms fronting the water, over a 
 good dinner, we wait in patient contentment for a bright 
 to-morrow. 
 
 May 12, Sunday. — Bright and clear. Walked along the bend 
 of the bay for a mile, and by the payment of a shilling each 
 entered through the lodge-gate to the grounds of Mr. H. A. 
 Herbert, within which are the well-preserved ruins of Muck- 
 ross Church and Abbey, built in 1343, on the site of a still 
 older church of Franciscan monks. This is said to be the best- 
 preserved ruin in Ireland. The outer and partition walls, 
 chimneys and tower are almost intact, but the roof and floor 
 of the upper or third story are quite wanting. The mullioned 
 east window is perfect and graceful. The abbey is quite 
 separated from the body of the church by a partition wall of 
 stone, and the cloisters, running round three sides of a small 
 court, are in perfect preservation. In the centre of this court 
 is a magnificent yew, of very great age evidently, and said to 
 be of equal date with the structure itself. On the second 
 floor were the living-rooms of the fraternity, the refectory, 
 the store-rooms, the kitchen, with fireplace so enormous 
 
14: Muckross Abbey. 
 
 that a hermit is said, a hundred years ago, to have made it his 
 abode for eleven years. The abbot's room adjoins the refectory, 
 and through narrow slits of windows he could note the monks 
 as they moved about the cloisters below. The infirmary was 
 also on this floor, and so arranged that through openings in 
 the wall the sick could witness the services in the church 
 adjoining. The structure, under the best circumstances, must 
 have been cheerless to a degree, and I can easily imagine the 
 infirmary crowded with rheumatic brothers. Best not coun- 
 terfeit, however, for my lord abbot had an exceedingly vile 
 dungeon at his disposal, as we saw, where simulated twinges 
 would soon become real. A royal endowment of land went 
 with the abbey, the fair meadows, rich and broad all about, 
 and noble woodlands, now succeeded by planted trees of 
 oak and beech and ash, throwing their shadows to-day along 
 sward of the deepest green, where a great flock of contented 
 sheep are feeding, much, it maybe, as in the good old days 
 before the Reformation came to harass and suppress. Many 
 a jolly abbot must have ridden his sleek palfrey with " jing- 
 ling bridle-rein" over the lovely demesne of Muckross Abbey. 
 
 After dinner drove to the abbey, past the handsome resi- 
 dence of Mr. Herbert, the owner of many thousand acres, 
 including a good part of the old abbey lands, which, upon its 
 suppression by Elizabeth, was bestowed with an earl's title 
 upon a McCarthy, the last of the line marrying a Herbert, 
 several generations back. But he was badly in debt, and a 
 fair wife becoming faithless, he went to America seven years 
 ago. It was understood here that he was engaged to marrj^ a 
 Baltimore lady, and the tenants had prepared their wedding 
 presents, but finally it came to be said that the lady, not liking 
 the divorce, had withdrawn from the match. 
 
 In the preserves through which the road lies we saw many 
 score rabbits, very tame. After crossing by a bridge the 
 narrow channel connecting the lower and middle lakes and 
 skirting a third of the circumference of the latter, we reached 
 the Tore Cascade, formed by a little stream flowing from a 
 basin of water 2200 feet up the side of Margeton, called the 
 Devil's Punch-Bowl. The fall is about 70 feet, and is pretty, 
 but not notably so. From the top of the ravine is a charming 
 view of mountains, lakes and smiling fields. 
 
 May 13. — Engaged a boat and four stout rowers, and made 
 
The Lakes of Killarney. 15 
 
 a full tour of the lakes, passing twice over their whole length 
 of twelve miles, taking the entire day for it. I cannot 
 describe, even in the most imperfect way, the Lakes of Kil- 
 larney. They lie among the feet of a score of mountains, 
 winding in and out of their recesses in the most ravishing 
 way, widening here, narrowing there, gemmed with I know 
 not how many islets, green to the water's edge. The moun- 
 tains have each its peculiar form and character, very much de- 
 tached, green with vegetation well up toward their crests, and 
 these of a soft brown color, easily becoming purple and violet 
 as the sun touches them through an atmosphere of haze or 
 light mist. Although not impressive by their height to one 
 who has seen their lofty brethren in Mexico and California — 
 the highest, Carrantual of Macgillicuddy's Reeks, rising only 
 to the height of 3400 feet — these mountains still have a sweet 
 majesty of their own, and offer constant and delightful sur- 
 prises. Nowhere have I seen such delightful variety. Indeed, 
 these lakes and their surroundings surpass anything I had 
 imagined of them, and I have never seen any description at 
 all adequate, nor is any possible. They fulfill the dream of 
 the poet and the imagination of the painter. We had a day 
 of perfect weather, and mark it with a white stone. 
 
 We landed on " sweet Innisfallen," an island of some twenty 
 acres, of pleasantly diversified surface, a solid turf of the rich- 
 est green, studded with noble ash-trees centuries old. The 
 glades are strewn with primroses, violets, cowslips, bluebells, 
 blooming shrubs of many sorts, and the air is tuneful with 
 many birds, the thrush among them. The ruins of a large 
 abbey lie scattered about, said tt) have been founded in the year 
 600, but of this I know nothing. But the old churchmen, as well 
 as those of the present time, had a happy faculty of selecting 
 sites for their establishments, and one notices that even the 
 heretical Methodists of our day pick out, with infallible certain- 
 ty, the most romantic and picturesque spots for their great 
 camp-meetings 
 
 We touched at Ross Island, an island only at high water, 
 being connected with the main-land by a narrow isthmus. 
 This is only less interesting in its loveliness than Innisfallen, 
 and has the pretty well-preserved remains of a considerable 
 castle, said to be the last in Munster to surrender to Crom- 
 well. Several old cannon project from a preserved portion of 
 
16 In Dublin. 
 
 the wall, looking, from their position, more likely to harm the 
 besieged than the besiegers. They seem almost absurdly in- 
 congruous, stuck on walls built to protect only from a flight 
 of arrows. One Krupp gun would knock the whole structure, 
 tower and all, into "smithereens" in two hours' time. On 
 Innisfallen is a holly, 15 feet in circumference, said to be the 
 largest in Ireland. The arbutus grows to the size of large 
 trees on this and other of the islands. 
 
 Earl Kenmare is lord of the land here, and has a new resi- 
 dence of red sandstone in a great park near the lower lake, re- 
 ported to have cost him ninety thousand pounds. He is said 
 to be deeply in debt, and living beyond his income. 
 
 May 14. — We had at breakfast a salmon taken from the 
 lower lake last evening, of delicate flavor. On our return 
 yesterday from the upper lake, at a certain part of the Long 
 Range, a stretch of narrow water separating the middle from 
 the upper lake, we passed a long, detached rock, worn by 
 action of the water into a fancied likeness to the hull of a man- 
 of-war. The captain of our boat, Paddy Lynch, a stout man, 
 middle-aged, serious of visage, but of quick, Hibernian wit, 
 ordered the rowing to cease, saying it was usual here to hold 
 a little talk with Captain Green, and proceeded to execute a 
 colloquy in a loud voice, after the manner of mariners hailing 
 at sea, revealing that bad Captain Green had been to town 
 the day before, and been confessedly drunken. Each sentence 
 was given a pause after it, and one after another repeated by 
 a remarkable echo, in startling distinctness. At another 
 point, opposite Eagle Rock, Paddy awakened an echo repeated 
 seven times, with lessening volume. 
 
 Took train at 11. 15 for Dublin, via Mallow, arriving here at 
 5.45 — distance, one hundred and eighty-six miles. The coun- 
 try passed over is, for the most part, of the same fertile, lux- 
 urious character, as nearly all we have seen in this delight- 
 ful countr}^ One can tire himself with writing superlative 
 phrases in praise of it. Rode over the charming country 
 where the poet Spenser once had a residence, crossing the 
 little river Awbeg, the Mulla of the poet. We are quartered 
 at the Shelburne, in spacious and handsome rooms, looking 
 out on Stephen's Green, a well-kept park of some twenty 
 acres. 
 
 May 15. — Drove through Phoenix Park, a level pleasure 
 
Trinity College. 17 
 
 ground of about eighteen hundred acres. It has handsome 
 parts, but, as a whole, it is not equal to Central Park in New 
 York nor Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Its natural tameness 
 is relieved by clumps of noble oaks, picturesquely placed, 
 with hundreds of deer scattered over the sward. Drove after- 
 ward over the city, along the streets of the best residences 
 and those of the best shops. I have seen Sackville Street 
 mentioned as one of the most magnificent in Europe. It is a 
 wide street, with neat shops on both sides, but the architec- 
 ture is common and bald, and the shops small. The buildings 
 are not more than four stories high anywhere. This street is 
 ennobled by the Nelson Monument, a symmetrical circular 
 shaft rising from the middle of it to the height of 120 feet, 
 with a marble statue of the hero at top, 13 feet high. The 
 whole is majestic, and one feels that it is really worthy of its 
 subject. 
 
 After lunch, walked to the Bank of Ireland to draw some 
 money. It is not often that a bank gets into such quarters, 
 this huge granite building with its beautiful Grecian portico 
 having been the House of the Irish Parliament up to the time 
 of the Union. The House of Lords stands exactly as it was 
 left, even to the long table with the chairs about it, where the 
 peers sat. In the portico before the entrance to the bank, 
 two soldiers from a regiment of Highlanders here paced quick- 
 ly back and forth. Opposite the bank, on College Green, is 
 Trinity College, an enormous pile of buildings, standing about 
 a large quadrangular paved court, with grounds attached of 
 at least forty acres. This land once belonged to All Hallow 
 Priory, a very old foundation, and the college was established 
 as far back as 1320, but had several periods of disaster, until 
 in the time of Elizabeth it received such grants, gifts and en- 
 dowments as put it into the flourishing condition it continues 
 to hold. It has now twelve hundred students in attendance. 
 The term of study is four years, and one of the professors, 
 who was exceedingly courteous to us, stated that a student 
 could live comfortably in commons and carry on his studies 
 for eighty-six pounds a year. We visited the examination 
 room, the chapel, the commons hall, and the grand library 
 with its arched roof and galleries and rows of marble busts of 
 men famous in science and letters, from Aristotle down. This 
 library, now numbering nearly 250,000 volumes, began in a 
 2 
 
18 The Great Brewery of Guinness &= Co. 
 
 singular way. The nucleus was formed by the subscriptions 
 of the English Army to commemorate the victory over the 
 Spaniards at Kinsale, and on these shelves rest the rich treas- 
 ures since accrued. I cannot attempt any enumeration of the 
 rare and beautiful books and manuscripts beyond price, which 
 moved my soul to covetousness, during the all too brief visit. 
 The organ over the entrance to the theatre or examination 
 room is said to have been taken from one of the ships of the 
 Spanish Armada. 
 
 Passing a fruit-store, I noticed a barrel of handsome, sound 
 apples from Boston, price twenty shillings. This is cheaper 
 than I bought apples of my grocer at any time last winter, 
 and this dealer said that until lately he had sold them at ten 
 shillings per barrel. 
 
 D'Arcy is the name of one of the Norman families cutting 
 a grand figure in this isle for some centuries after the Con- 
 quest. Looking out of window this morning, I saw it painted 
 on the side of a poulterer's cart going by. In like manner 
 we have in New York descendants of the high historic names 
 of O'Sullivan, O'Donohue and McCarthy flourishing peaceful 
 whips over the coach horses of Americans who cannot trace a 
 great-grandfather. 
 
 May 1 6. — Visited the great brewery of Guinness & Co., 
 covering forty acres on the right bank of the Liffey. They 
 manufacture only porter or brown stout, and send it out only 
 in barrels and half barrels. This they do at present to the ex- 
 tent of twelve thousand hogsheads a day, and can increase the 
 amount to twenty-five thousand hogsheads. They supply the 
 home demand, and export to all parts of the inhabitable globe 
 where the English tongue is spoken. All the processes are on 
 an enormous scale, with the use of all possible appliances. 
 Presenting my card to a liveried attendant at the entrance, 
 we were ushered into a handsome waiting-room until permis- 
 sion could be obtained from some superior, and then placed 
 in charge of a guide, to be shown such part of the processes as 
 I might request. Thorough cleanliness exists everywhere. 
 The brown color is imparted by roasting a certain proportion 
 of the malt to a dark tint. After the hops are added, the fer- 
 mentation goes on in huge, square tanks, holding fourteen 
 thousand barrels each, and cooled from ice made by steam 
 power on the premises. The fluid is then drawn into vats to 
 
Dublin Castle and St. Patrick's Cathedral. 19 
 
 ripen. These are huge casks, of which there are two hundred 
 and forty, each holding the inconceivable quantity of eighteen 
 hundred hogsheads. From these the now perfected liquor is 
 conveyed in subterranean pipes nearly a quarter of a mile to 
 a great covered space beside the river, where it is barrelled 
 for shipment. That for home consumption is of lighter body 
 and is allowed to remain in the vats for a month only, while 
 that for export beyond sea is not only heavier, but remains 
 in the vats ripening from a year to eighteen months. In a 
 well-appointed and clean stable I saw two hundred largest 
 sized Clydesdale horses, used in delivering casks of the porter 
 to city buyers. 
 
 Visited the Castle of Dublin, the residence of the Lord-Lieu- 
 tenant of Ireland, now occupied by Lord Londonderry. It is 
 an architecturally mean pile of buildings, standing about a 
 large, open court, chiefly of brick, constructed originally, in 
 the year 1220, for the defence of the town, and early in 
 Elizabeth's reign fitted up as a viceregal residence. We enter 
 the court by a massive gateway and find the housekeeper, 
 a pleasant, middle-aged lady, who shows us the grand stair- 
 case, the presence chamber, where receptions are held, the 
 ball-room, the portrait chamber, the private drawing-room, 
 and bowing us out, accepts a shilling with gratitude. These 
 rooms are not impressive, only moderately grand, and the 
 entrance rooms and passages and surroundings are insignifi- 
 cant and gloomy. 
 
 Visited St. Patrick's Cathedral, on the site of a church said 
 to have been founded by St. Patrick in person, and declined 
 to taste the water from a well in the north transept, at which 
 he is said to have baptized the natives. The present building 
 was begun in 1190 and added to in 1370. Only the old form 
 and some crypts remain unchanged, for twenty-five years ago 
 Sir Guinness, the brown-stout knight, " restored" it by facing 
 all the outside walls and pretty nearly rebuilding all parts, so 
 that it has little venerableness. In the nave, side by side, lie 
 Swift and Mrs. Hester Johnson, the " Stella" of his verse. He 
 was dean here, and his pulpit stands in the baptistery. At the 
 western door is a queer monument to the wife of Richard 
 Boyle, the great Earl of Cork, wrought in black marble, deco- 
 rated with wood-carving, gilding and painting, showing the 
 earl and his lady reclining, with their sixteen children about 
 
20 Ch'ist Church Cathedral. 
 
 them, seven of whom are demure maidens with long black 
 hair, resembling the Sutherland Sisters, as one of the young 
 people of my party remarked. The inscription sets forth that 
 the " religious wife lieth entombed here with them all, expect- 
 ing a joyful resurrection." There is also a bust to John Philpot 
 Curran, looking as one might think he was indeed, and a tablet 
 to Samuel Lover, "poet and painter." 
 
 Christ Church Cathedral is ancient enough, and would 
 be interesting doubtless had not the distiller, Henry Roe, 
 recently "restored" it out of all odor of old sanctity. The 
 distillers and brewers seem to have pretty much all the money 
 in the country, and well they may, since they furnish the one 
 article of universal consumption. There is in a side aisle a 
 monumental tomb of Strongbow, the first invader of Ireland. 
 He lies on his tomb clothed in mail, and beside him his son, 
 who was killed by his father. Very likely it was done by divid- 
 ing him just below the waist, for only the upper half is shown 
 in the effigy. History does not state the cause of this impious 
 taking off, but as the doughty warrior is quite minus a nose, 
 perhaps the provocation was that his unfilial offspring bit that 
 member off in a pet. 
 
 Dublin presents to the stranger a prosperous appearance — 
 more so, perhaps, than the facts will warrant. It lies pleas- 
 antly on both banks of the river Liffey, which, running from 
 west to east, is embanked within the city limits by walls of solid 
 stone masonry with wide quays, which show considerable traffic. 
 The river opens into a broad harbor six miles below, and rises 
 and falls with the tide. The city is well and solidly built of 
 brick and stone, and would be bright except for the smoke 
 from the bituminous coal which has left its grime on the house 
 fronts, and so smutched as to positively disfigure the elaborate 
 fagades of the magnificent public buildings. The main streets 
 are wide, well paved with stone, very charming to eyes used 
 to the streets of New York and Brooklyn, and cheerful with a 
 moderate degree of metropolitan life. I have lieard the women 
 of Dublin described as beautiful. Those entitled to commen- 
 dation anywise approaching the significance of that word have 
 kept well out of sight for three days now. It would seem to 
 me that trade must be light from the appearance- of the prin- 
 cipal streets. It has almost no manufactures. This chief 
 city of Ireland has not quite held its own in population. 
 
Belfast. 21 
 
 This was 254,000 in 1861, 246,000 in 1871, and 249,000 in 
 1881. 
 
 May 17. — Took train on the Great Northern Railway at 
 7.25 A.M. for Belfast, distant one hundred and twelve miles. 
 Reached the Imperial Hotel at 10.30. The whole way is over 
 a most charming country, mostly level, but often diversified 
 with gentle valleys, long-drawn vales and undulating slopes of 
 brightest verdure, such scenery as poets feign, the remote and 
 romantic hills of Antrim always in the background. Far as 
 the eye can reach on either hand, the luxuriant champaign is 
 divided by old stonewalls or hedges of yellow furze into little 
 fields of arable and pasture land, four-square, triangular, loz- 
 enge, stellar, circular. Often the eye rests on the gray ruins of 
 castle or monastery, picturesquely placed on the brow of some 
 commanding eminence. At Balbriggan peasants were troop- 
 ing along the roads to a county fair. At Drogheda we crossed 
 the Boyne, and looked up the valley where stout Cromwell 
 breached the walls of the well-defended town, and where, later, 
 William of Orange defeated James II. with bloody slaughter, 
 on through Dunkald and Lurgan and many another historic 
 town ; for all these towns and hamlets have traditions and 
 records going back for centuries. 
 
 Visited the flax-mills of Mr. Michael Andrews at Ardogne, a 
 surburb of the city, and were freely shown the manufacture 
 of his beautiful linen goods. The weaving is done by hand- 
 looms of the simplest sort, almost rude in their construction, 
 in musty old stone rooms on the ground floor of a number of 
 irregular, detached buildings, enclosed in a high stone wall. 
 We were also shown the various patterns and qualities of the 
 finished goods in the store-room, but for prices and goods 
 were referred to Messrs. Murphy & Orr, their sole agents here, 
 of whom we made some purchases, and were then driven over 
 the city for an hour. It is solidly and handsomely built, with 
 wide, well-paved and kept streets, in outward appearance very 
 like several of our best second-rate cities. It has a thrifty, 
 prosperous look, as if there might be less whiskey and more 
 industry than I have remarked elsewhere on this island. It 
 appears, at one view, that the native race has been advantage- 
 ously grafted with another good stock, or that some difference 
 of religion and mental aptitudes and manners have the ascen- 
 dency, and we can readily believe that the canny Scotch are 
 
23 Giant's Causeway. 
 
 at the fore here, and that their sagacity and plucky persistence 
 have created this prosperity. Even the shifty Yankee shrinks 
 before these more rugged and grim Scotch-Irish, w^ho, crossing 
 the Atlantic, take front rank in whatever calling, like those 
 who fill the pews in Dr. Hall's church in New York on Sunday, 
 and make to themselves friends of the mammon of unright- 
 eousness on week days. 
 
 May i8. — Left for Giant's Causeway, sixty-seven miles by 
 rail to Portrush, then eight miles to the Causeway by electric 
 tramway. The intervening country wears the same delightful 
 aspect I have so vainly attempted to describe, its green mantle 
 extending to the very tip-ends of its northernmost coast in the 
 latitude of Labrador. Near the entrance to the Causeway is a 
 handsome summer hotel, commanding a wide and delightful 
 prospect of land and sea. It is fitted with modern improve- 
 ments, has electric lights and lawn-tennis grounds, and the man- 
 ager stated that they have guests, transient and permanent, from 
 all parts of the globe. Hired a boat with two rowers and a 
 guide, and after lunch walked down into a deep craggy cove, 
 quite suitable for a smuggler's landing in the old time, with 
 his cargo of brandy and claret from Bordeaux. We have been 
 favored with excellent weather ever since leaving home, and 
 here our good fortune continued, as the sea lay smooth as a 
 pond, and the tide was at its ebb, enabling us to enter with 
 our boat two huge caverns, worn by the action of the waves 
 on the limestone rock into vaulted chambers, one 300 and the 
 other 600 feet in length. The perfectly formed arches are 60 
 feet in height, with bands of red and yellow color along the 
 base and up the sides, caused by the presence of iron and 
 sulphur in the rocks. The sea within is of the deepest green ; 
 the least noise deepens to a solemn and almost awful sound. 
 Near by the entrance is a crag so rounded and battlemented 
 into the form of a castle that it is said a stray vessel from the 
 Spanish Armada fired several broadsides into it, in the belief 
 that it was the Castle of Dunluce, five miles down the coast. 
 Beyond is an amphitheatre formed by a perpendicular wall of 
 trap-rock over 300 feet high, set with precise uniformity in a 
 semicircle, fronting the sea. The distance across on the sea 
 line must be at least 1000 feet. All particulars conspire to 
 help the illusion. A row of columns some 80 feet high runs 
 around the top ; below this is a projection, broad and rounded, 
 
Dunluce Castle. 23 
 
 like an immense bench ; then another row of pillars, and so on 
 down to the base, where the water of the cove is enclosed by 
 a circle of black boulder-stones. This is exceedingly im- 
 pressive. The whole coast here is bold and craggy, and the 
 entire scene one of grandeur. 
 
 The Causeway itself is composed of basaltic rocks standing 
 in the form of a promontory of no great extent, and rising out 
 of the sea nowhere more than 20 feet, sloping down from the 
 middle or ridge of the little cape, so that we easily stepped 
 out of our boat on one of them near the outer point. They 
 are said by geologists to have been formed by the cooling of 
 the molten material of which they are composed, the fusion 
 being due to volcanic action. Chemically they are made up 
 of, say, one half of flinty earth, one quarter iron, one quarter 
 clay and lime. Their color is a brownish gra3\ As the melt- 
 ed mass cooled, it crystallized into these pillars, which stand 
 closely fitted into each other, only the smooth tops, upon 
 which we walked, being visible, except where a mass of them 
 rises above the general level here and there, or at the outer 
 edges they are exposed at the sides. None, perhaps, are more 
 than a foot, or at the most, I should say from those I saw, a 
 foot and a half in diameter. A curious person who counted 
 them states that they number over forty thousand. Almost all 
 have five, six or seven sides ; there are three of nine sides and 
 quite a number of four and eight sides. These figures are 
 taken at second hand, of course. It will be understood that 
 the form of the pillars can only be known by noting the lines 
 of cleavage on the upper ends, or tops, as only these are 
 shown, except in the cases mentioned above. Where an entire 
 pillar can be examined, it is found to be smooth, as if polish- 
 ed and formed in sections of, say, one foot long, fitting into 
 each other exactly like the ball and socket joint of an animal. 
 I expected to be disappointed in the Causeway, but, on the 
 contrary, taking it in connection with its surroundings, it ex- 
 ceeded my expectations. 
 
 Hired a jaunting-car so as to drive back to Portrush and 
 see Dunluce Castle, a most picturesque ruin, rising from an 
 insulated crag, separated from the main-land by a narrow 
 chasm. The masonry of the walls is so fitted to the irregu- 
 larity of the crag that crag and castle seem one. It stands 
 100 feet above the sea, its hoary towers looking out on the 
 
24 Attend a Presbyterian Church in Belfast. 
 
 broad Atlantic, as they have for centuries. It is washed on 
 all sides by the waves, except at one point, where a wall is 
 built up across the chasm, the top of which, not more than 
 eighteen inches wide, forming the only approach from the 
 structure on the main-land, and, of course, the only way by 
 which it could be assaulted. Its age is not accurately known, 
 but history finds it in possession of the English in the fifteenth 
 century. Many romantic stories are told of it. Walter Scott 
 visited it in 1814, and described it in his diary. The seaward 
 view and along the coast in its neighborhood, this fine spring 
 afternoon, is glorious. 
 
 We reached our hotel here in Belfast at 9 p.m., taking the 
 main line of the railway at Coleraine, near the village of Lima- 
 vaddy, made famous by Thackeray's " Peg of Limavaddy." 
 
 May 19, Sunday. — Warm and pleasant. All attended a Pres- 
 byterian church opened in 1827 by Dr. Chalmers, The con- 
 gregation large, solid and respectable-looking. Services be- 
 gan at 11.30 o'clock. The minister occupied a high pulpit, 
 and the choir sat behind him. There was no organ nor any 
 other musical instrument in sight or in use. The services 
 were quite plain and business-like. After the second psalm 
 had been sung from the metrical version, the preacher deliv- 
 ered a short sermon to the children. This sermon presupposed 
 a sound early training in the essentials, as he dwelt chiefly 
 on the mysterious nature of the Eucharist. Another psalm 
 was sung, and looking at my watch and finding the 
 hour 12.15, I began to congratulate myself that the services 
 were to be brief ; but, after a short prayer, the minister gave 
 out another psalm of twenty-two verses, with instructions to 
 sing but sixteen, read another chapter followed by another 
 psalm, then entered on the real work of the day, and gave a 
 sermon evidently sound to the core, then a short prayer, with 
 still another psalm. Besides these psalms there were two 
 hymns coming in somewhere. The psalms were sung in a 
 sing-song sort of way, all the congregation joining with full 
 throats, the choir only giving to the volume of the sound a 
 certain steadiness and ornament. The effect was not unpleas- 
 ing. One of the stanzas ran as follows : 
 
 " When wicked men arose, 
 My adversaries all 
 To eat my flesh arose ; 
 They stumbled and did fall." 
 
Carrickfergus Castle. 25 
 
 A sturdy folk, these Scotch-Irish, fearing God, loving gain and 
 hating the Pope. 
 
 Mr. Jury, the landlord of the Imperial Hotel, has been ex- 
 ceedingly civil to us, furnishing his private landau to take us 
 about town, and after lunch sending his private jaunting-car, 
 with a driver in full livery, to take the two young people and 
 myself to Carrickfergus Castle, ten miles down the spacious 
 harbor, v^here we went in such dignity of equipage that I 
 might have been taken for a rack-renting, absentee landlord, 
 and fired at from behind a hedge. I was rather disappointed 
 in the castle, which is described as " one of the most complete 
 specimens of ancient Anglo-Norman fortresses in the king- 
 dom." The narrow approach to the entrance is between two 
 high stone walls, and the old portcullis is raised to its place, 
 ready to descend in its grooves of stone. The interior has 
 been modified by the erection of barracks. The cross of St. 
 George fioats from the donjon tower, and several figures of 
 the soldiers of a part of a Highland regiment quartered there, 
 lounging on the battlements, gave the exterior quite a look of 
 romance. The famous regiment of the Black Watch, renown- 
 ed in history and story for more than a hundred years, is sta- 
 tioned now in Belfast. The castle, as it stands at present, is 
 said to have been built in the twelfth century. 
 
 Belfast has grown with steady rapidity. Its population in 
 1821 was 37,000 ; in 1881, 208,000. The land on which it stands 
 and much of the surrounding country is owned by the Done- 
 gal family, descendants of Sir Arthur Chichester, who took it 
 in 1612, and so on back to a grant of the province of Ulster 
 to De Courcy by Henry II. The oldest son of the Prince of 
 Wales is expected here on a visit to-morrow, and the streets 
 are being decorated for his reception. Looking up Donegal 
 Place, the street our hotel is on, I notice one American flag 
 floating in the Irish air. There is a hum of expectation all 
 about ; the papers are full of the "visit of royalty ;" the news- 
 boys are hawking a pamphlet containing a programme of the 
 ceremonies, to last two days. And this young sprig of royal- 
 ty is only the grandson of Victoria, with a tough grandmother 
 and a healthy father between him and the throne. 
 
 May 20. — Visited the Museum, and noted the Irish antiqui- 
 ties with some interest, weapons and utensils of the stone and 
 bronze ages, and a few later ornaments — spearheads, dirks, 
 etc., etc. A lean display, yet Black speaks of it as very fine. 
 
26 Eccle/echan, the Home of Carlyle. 
 
 I suppose the truth is, there is not much left, if all objects of 
 the kind remaining in Ireland were brought together. Time 
 and war and rapine and poverty have swept them away. 
 
 At 4 P.M. left Belfast by rail for Larne, an hour's ride north- 
 ward on the coast, where we took the side-wheel steamboat 
 " Princess Beatrice" across the North Channel to Stranraer, 
 at the head of Loch Ryan, this being the shortest sea passage 
 to Scotland, and done in two and a half hours. Thence by 
 rail to Dumfries, seventy-three miles, reaching the King's 
 Arms Hotel at ii p.m. In Loch Ryan passed the Queen's 
 yacht, having on board Prince Victor on his way to Belfast. 
 
 We left Ireland with deep and pleasant impressions. 
 
 May 21. — Warm and sunny. Hired a pair of horses and 
 wagonette and drove to Ecclefechan, eighteen miles, crossing 
 the Annan, a fine broad river, and over a charming, undulat- 
 ing country of green pastures, meadows and highly cultivated 
 fields, where apparently all the people, men, women and chil- 
 dren, were hard at work planting various crops. Drove to 
 the little tavern. Bush's Hotel, and had an excellent lunch. 
 Visited the house where Carlyle was born, a small, two-story 
 stone cottage, built by his father, who was a mason by trade. 
 The only room on the ground floor is the kitchen, and above 
 that the room where he was born, about 14 feet square, and 
 besides, only a bedroom not more than 6 by 9 feet. The cot- 
 tage is one of a row of similar ones on the south side of a poor 
 street, and connected with the one adjoining it on the east by 
 an arched way. It is a mean, paltry street, with wide, dusty 
 roadway running between low stone cottages, white with 
 plaster, not a green tree or shrub to soften the hot glare of 
 the sun. Just before the street reaches the Carlyle cottage, 
 the sewer of the village, which to that point is covered, flows 
 out into an open way and runs down the middle of the street 
 in front of the cottage, offensive to a degree. The daughter 
 of his favorite sister Jane, the niece who cared for him in his 
 lonely last days in London, married her own cousin, the son 
 of his brother Saunders who went to America, and is now 
 Mrs. Alexander Carlyle, and resides in London. Her father's 
 name was Aitkens. She has bought the cottage here and re- 
 cently fitted up the larger of the rooms on the second floor 
 with articles of furniture brought from the London house at 
 24 Cheyne Row, the carpet, the lounge and some chairs from 
 
The Carlyles. 27 
 
 the sitting-room there. His study-chair stands by his study- 
 table, on which rests his student-lamp, with his tobacco-cutter, 
 quite a formidable implement, for cutting " plug," beside his 
 little copper coffee-pot, and the clock from the London kitchen 
 ticks on the wall. One easily imagines the sources of his 
 obfuscating dyspepsia when looking at this apparatus for mid- 
 night coffee and nicotine. There are many photographs of 
 himself at various periods and some of Mrs. Carlyle, the dates 
 and some circumstances connected with them being fixed by 
 a note to each in his own hand. It is hard to see how Mrs. 
 Carlyle, judging from these, could have ever been a handsome 
 woman. To be sure, there are none showing her as younger 
 than fifty years, and she was evidently much worn, but the 
 long, strong, nervous face, with its excessively high forehead, 
 is not of a sort associated with beauty of feature. But, as all 
 know, a photograph, while actually reproducing whatever falls 
 upon it, is strangely deceptive by what fails to reach it. A 
 sadly touching one is that of himself — it must have been in 
 his very last days — seated, all shrunken of face and form, 
 wnth his fair young niece standing beside him. Unlike the 
 rest, this has no inscription from his pen, for the hand which 
 had guided it for so many laborious years would not seem 
 capable of touching it again. From his birthplace, went to 
 his grave in the poor little churchyard of the Presbyterian 
 church, near by. In among the numerous graves, with their 
 plain headstones, is a small space enclosed by a plain, sub- 
 stantial iron fence, with three large, upright stones, his own, 
 of red sandstone, having this simple inscription written by 
 
 himself: 
 
 *' Humilitate." 
 
 Here rests Thomas Carlyle, who was born at Ecclefechan, 
 
 ^th Dec, 1795, and died at 
 
 24 Cheyne Row, Chelsea, London, on Saturday^ 
 
 Sth Feb., 188 1. 
 
 Lower down is an inscription, in the same brief terms, relating 
 to his brother John. The stone on the right of his is to his 
 father and mother, with a touching epitaph written by him, 
 and the one on the left bears the names of other members of 
 the Carlyle family. There are none of his name now alive in 
 Ecclefechan, and Mrs. Carlyle lies buried in Haddington, near 
 Edinburgh. 
 
28 What is Thought of Carlyle in Dutnfries. 
 
 We drove back to Dumfries in the beautiful afternoon, 
 along the road he took so often, many times on foot, his mind 
 full of high thoughts and heroic purposes, his heart sad and 
 lonely, sure only of one thing, that he would never do a base 
 deed, that he would fight all forms of vice and false pretence, 
 though it should lead to destitution and the obloquy of men. 
 Grave, stern, grandly poetic soul, with many failings, harsh 
 prejudices and sharp and bitter speech, yet true to the inward 
 voice of conscience and duty ! 
 
 Carlyle does not seem to be much thought of in Dumfries, 
 nor, it would seem, much cared for in Ecclefechan. Mine 
 hostess of the King's Arms insisted that no person attended 
 his funeral outside the circle of mourners and friends who 
 came up from London with the remains, and here in Dumfries, 
 she said, nobody liked him. Remembering that for many 
 years after he went to London, he insisted on having his 
 clothes made by a Dumfries tailor, I made inquiry after him 
 of a self-contained old burgher, who was said to know very 
 much about everybody, who, after searching himself profound- 
 ly for a little, conjectured it must have been old Pattison, 
 and sent his son with me to an ancient shop, where we found 
 '* Sartor Resartus" in the person of an offshoot of the earlier 
 Pattison of the Carlyle epoch. My guide, in a shamefaced 
 sort of way, like one engaged in what he thought small busi- 
 ness, stated that here was a gentleman to ask if this might be 
 the shop where Mr. Carlyle got his clothes. The younger 
 Pattison, vainly ruminating, asked what Carlyle. " The one 
 they call the philosopher," said my guide. The obliging 
 tailor, having no recollection of his own about the matter, 
 carefully consulted the index to his ledger, still to no purpose, 
 and saying it might be on the old one, drew it forth and went 
 over its index, all in vain. When I had asked him how far 
 back that ledger went and got for reply, 1765, I concluded 
 that Carlyle had not placed his orders there. 
 
 But this is pre-eminently the land of Burns, and all along 
 the coast, from the sands of Solway to the Clyde, he reigns 
 lord paramount. Dumfries is the chief town in southwest 
 Scotland, with a population of 17,000. There stands in the 
 square a life-like statue of Burns in white marble. The house 
 where he died in 1796, and where his widow, ' ' My bonny Jean," 
 lived until her death in 1834, is in a narrow and rather poor 
 
The House where Burns Died. 29 
 
 street, now called Burns Street. It has a respectable front of 
 two stories high, and perhaps 30 feet wide. Hawthorne 
 speaks of the meanness of the surroundings, but when one 
 considers that the town a hundred years ago was poorly built, 
 that the better residences were mingled with the poorer, and 
 that the character of the neighborhood has changed in so long 
 a time, I think that it may be concluded that Burns was 
 housed here in Dumfries in a style above the average. In the 
 churchyard of St. Michael, the Presbyterian church near 
 where he lived, he lies buried in an elaborate and costly tomb 
 of white marble, enclosed in handsome grounds carefully 
 tended. Visitors are admitted on the payment of twopence 
 into an ample room over the vault, where some fifteen years 
 ago the last of his race was placed and the vault finally sealed. 
 The wall of this room, fronting the entrance, is occupied by 
 the beautiful sculpture in white marble of the Genius of Poesy 
 finding Burns at the plough. The figures are largely chiselled 
 in high relief, and the conception and execution are grandly 
 impressive. 
 
 The old Globe Hotel is entered through a narrow passage 
 between high stone walls, and there is shown a snug little 
 room on the left of the passage where the poet used to grow 
 cheerful with his convivial comrades. It has an exceedingly 
 cosey look in the half light from the one window looking on 
 the narrow passage, with its wainscoted walls, low ceiling and 
 neat fireplace, and I should not find it difficult, with two or 
 three transatlantic friends I could name, to grow into so com- 
 fortable a frame of mind as to excuse the hilarious evenings 
 the bard passed here. The chair he used, of good, solid ma- 
 hogany, is shown, but kept under lock and key, as is the 
 pretty china punch-bowl, holding near a gallon, with a neat, 
 fiowery band about it, an inch below the top. This bowl has 
 been, and is, much sought after, and the old landlady in her 
 time refused a hundred guineas for it, and her son after her, 
 not long ago, five hundred, it is said. In a snug chamber 
 just over this room are two panes of glass, 7 by 9, in the 
 heavy frames of the window, kept with almost equal care, for 
 on them Burns wrote with a diamond these lines, one on 
 each : 
 
 " O lovely Polly Stewart, 
 O charming Polly Stewart, 
 
30 Some Objects of Interest in Dumfries. 
 
 There's no a flower that blooms in May 
 That's half so fair as thou art. ' 
 
 " Gin a body meet a body 
 Coming thro' the grain, 
 Gin a body kiss a body, 
 The thing's a body's ain." 
 
 There are quite a number of objects of interest in and about 
 Dumfries. The New Greyfriars' Church occupies the site of 
 the old castle close by the Greyfriars' Monastery, in the church 
 of which Bruce slew the Red Comyn. Eight miles from the 
 town, on the Solway, is Caerlaverock Castle, an old strong- 
 hold of the Maxwells. A mile distant, where the Cluden 
 joins the Nith, is Includen Abbey, founded by the Benedic- 
 tine monks in the twelfth century. Three miles farther up 
 the Cluden is the churchyard of Irongray, in which is the 
 grave of Helen Walker, the original of Jeanie Deans. On the 
 west of the Nith Estuary is Sweetheart Abbey, founded in 
 1275 by Devorgilla Balloil, and so named because she had 
 her husband's heart buried here in her own tomb. 
 
 Left at 8 p.m. for Ayr, by rail, following the windings of the 
 easy flowing Nith, an inconsiderable but pretty stream, its 
 softly curved valley green and fair. We saw plainly on our 
 right — for at this latitude one sees to read at 9 p.m. — the white 
 farm-house of Ellisland, where Burns tried farming to small 
 purpose, on through many a little village, with its low, white 
 cottages, through Mauchline, the maiden home of Jean 
 Armour, where Burns married her, reaching the Station Hotel 
 at II P.M. 
 
 May 22. — The Queen's birthday, so that it was not easy to 
 get a carriage to the Burns cottage, the shops being closed 
 and all forms of business suspended. Drove directly to the 
 cottage where Burns was born in 1759, a one-story stone 
 house, containing just two rooms, each about 12 feet square. 
 In a recess 6 by 4 feet, opening into the kitchen, just large 
 enough to admit a bed, the poet first saw the light, and dim 
 enough it must have been, for it came only through a deep-set 
 window, not a foot square. The rough board dresser, stand- 
 ing on the original stone floor against the wall, between this 
 recess and the oven beside the fireplace, is the only article of 
 furniture remaining in the room, except the spinning-wheel of 
 his mother, but there is no change in the room itself, except 
 
Burns' Cottage and Alloway Kirk. 31 
 
 that a window has since been let into the front wall. On the 
 other side of the short, narrow passage is the remaining room, 
 now used as a shop for the sale of innumerable articles of 
 ornament, finely made of sycamore or plane-tree wood, with 
 pretty pictures in great numbers on them, illustrating persons 
 and scenes of his poems. I easily touched the ceiling of this 
 most humble kitchen with my hand, but certainly I experienced 
 in it a tenderer feeling mingled of love and reverence than I can 
 possibly do in the stateliest palace in these islands. 
 
 Never rose brighter star from darker cloud, 
 
 Bard of immortal song ! 
 Thy fame shall ever brighter grow, while Doon- 
 
 Runs murmuring along. 
 
 To this low dwelling come from all lands where English 
 speech is used a prodigious multitude of pilgrims. A register 
 is kept, where visitors are asked to enter their names. Many, 
 it is likely, do not comply. For instance, of my party of four, 
 only two did so. Yet, going back, I found by actual estimate 
 only a few short of four thousand names entered during July, 
 1888. On one page I saw names from Queensland, Nova 
 Scotia, New York and San Francisco. The registering turn- 
 stile, through which all who enter the cottage pay twopence 
 for the support of the place, showed something over twenty 
 thousand visitors last year. The cottage was built by Burns' 
 father. There is a handsome hall, founded with Masonic 
 honors on the anniversary of his birth in 1847, attached to the 
 cottage, both owned by the Burns Monument Trustees. In 
 this hall are very numerous mementoes of Burns, many por- 
 traits, statuettes, the manuscript of "Tarn o' Shanter," the 
 alleged chairs which Tarn and Souter Johnny used in life. In 
 one of the glass cases lies a newspaper clipping, containing a 
 a charming little poem to Burns, and signed "An American," 
 which our cicerone said was written by Colonel Robert Inger- 
 soll, who was here not many years ago. A fresh, eager lad, 
 who might be a student, was intently copying it. 
 
 A little farther on the highway stands Auld Alloway Kirk 
 the scene of the witches' unholy revel. It is a low stone struc- 
 ture, 43 by 21 feet, roofless now, the eastern end fronting the 
 road, crowned at the peak with a small bell tower, and having 
 the old Gothic window, through the ribs and arches of which 
 Tarn, attracted by the blaze streaming from the kirk, saw the 
 
32 Burns'' Monicrnent. 
 
 witches merrily footing it to the bagpipe of "Auld Nick." 
 The original of Tarn o' Shanter was a farmer named Douglas 
 Grahame, living, and now buried at Kirkoswald, thirteen miles 
 from Ayr. Souter Johnny, his "ancient, trusty, drouthy 
 crony," was John Laughlin, a shoemaker of Ayr, who lies 
 buried, with a small, plain stone at his head, in the church- 
 yard of " Auld Alloway." At the time Burns wrote Tarn 
 o' Shanter, in 1790, the interior space of the church was un- 
 obstructed, but sixty years ago a partition wall was built one 
 third of the distance back from the eastern end, and in the 
 western part there are now several tombs. 
 
 We follow the road down to the ancient stone bridge, only 
 a few rods distant, and leaning over the parapet, look down 
 on the softly flowing Doon, here about 60 feet wide, its braes 
 and banks extending up and down in the tender green of 
 spring, dotted with daisies and musical with birds. On a 
 knoll opposite the entrance to the bridge stands, in well- 
 planted and richly cultivated grounds, kept with strict care, 
 an imposing monument to Burns, 60 feet high, a not quite 
 pleasing structure, in which there is an attempt to blend 
 Grecian and Roman architecture, a range of nine Corinthian 
 pillars, surmounted by a dome, built in 1820. It owes its ex- 
 istence to the efforts of the late Sir Alexander Boswell of 
 Auchinloch, a direct descendant, I believe, of Johnson's Bos- 
 well. Within the monument is a bust of Burns by the cele- 
 brated Scotch sculptor Park, the features of which show more 
 delicacy than any of the great number I have seen. Pre- 
 served here are the two volumes of the Bible presented by the 
 poet to Highland Mary, their inscriptions quite legible, and a 
 slender lock of her hair, faded a good deal, but with a slight 
 golden glow still remaining. In a grotto within the grounds 
 are the life-size and striking statues of Tam o' Shanter and 
 Souter Johnny, cut in white marble by Thom. They are 
 seated over their cups, and one feels they might well have 
 been the men here portrayed. 
 
 This neighborhood has become a show-place to an almost 
 unpleasant extent, and the good citizens are working Burns' 
 name and fame for all there is in them. The way to the " auld 
 brig" is tormented with whining beggars. A dirty fiddler 
 stood at the very entrance scraping tunes out of his wretched 
 catgut, and on the very "keystane of the brig" stood a hungry 
 
Call at the Tarn o' Shantcr Inn. 33 
 
 creature, fiercely intent on reciting its history. These things 
 jar harshly on the feelings of those who would fain find here 
 the pastoral simplicity of the poet's pictures. The pilgrims to 
 these scenes, attracted by love of Burns, must leave in the city 
 of Ayr, by an easy estimate, in various expenses, more than 
 one hundred thousand dollars annually, an amount increasing 
 year by year. One tenth of it would have assuaged the poet's 
 poverty, lifted him from the black depths of life-long misery, 
 and perhaps have saved him from the wild courses he often 
 ran in his despairing moods. 
 
 We drove back to the town by a different road, crossing the 
 Ayr on the new bridge, built to replace the "new brig" of the 
 poem, the old one still standing picturesquely, as the poet pre- 
 dicted it would do. This " auld brig" was builded in the 
 early part of the thirteenth century by two maiden sisters, who 
 devoted their whole fortune to it. It is narrow, " where twa 
 wheelbarrows tremble when they meet," and is only used by 
 foot-passengers. Called at the Tarn o' Shanter Inn, the iden- 
 tical little stone tavern where Tam and Johnny sat 
 
 " . . . . glorious, 
 O'er all the ills of life victorious," 
 
 the night of Tam's memorable ride. They show a little wooden 
 cup, or " quaich," now hooped with silver, said to be the one 
 Burns used to drink his usquebaugh from in the poor cham- 
 ber above. I asked the lad in attendance behind a shabby 
 bar what sort of liquor he supposed Burns drank, who replied 
 with a grin, " Amaist ony he could get." I ordered a tooth- 
 ful of his best put into the cup, and sought to drink it with 
 reverent thoughts. Tam was wise in sticking to his " ream- 
 ing swats." Had he sat the evening through over this special 
 "John Barleycorn," he would never have tried to cross the 
 bridge. 
 
 Ayr is an old, solid seaport town of 20,000 inhabitants, with 
 a good trade in coal. Almost all the coal used in Ireland is 
 from Scotland. 
 
 May 23. — Left for Glasgow by rail, distant forty miles, one 
 hundred from Dumfries, reaching the Station Hotel at 11 a.m. 
 These station hotels are built and owned by the railroad com- 
 panies, and are far the best in their appointments, we find. A 
 gentleman at Ayr told me he had been familiar with this 
 3 
 
34 Glasgow and its Cathedral. 
 
 coast for many years, and that he never saw the country look- 
 ing so thoroughly well and handsome as now, vegetation not 
 only here, but in all parts of Scotland, being as forward as is 
 usual in the latter part of June. The weather is regarded by 
 the people as very warm, and the Edinburgh Scotsman com- 
 ments on the great heat of the day before yesterday, when the 
 mercury touched 74° ! 
 
 Glasgow is the second city in the kingdom, with a popula- 
 tion, including the suburbs, of 750,000, solidly built of stone 
 and wearing a look of great prosperity. It has many fine 
 public buildings, but everything is dingy with the smoke from 
 soft coal. Its manufactories are very extensive, its shipping 
 trade enormous, and in ship-building it outranks any city in 
 the world. But the bustling spirit of the modern banishes the 
 romance of the olden time, and there is not much to detain 
 the tourist intent upon the past. The old Salt Market is swept 
 away, the house of good Bailie Nicol Jarvie, standing until 
 lately, is demolished, and the street of the Trongate modern- 
 ized out of its old fashion. 
 
 Took a long drive about the city, visiting the principal 
 points. All shops are closed and all business suspended to 
 keep the Queen's birthday, as was the case in Ayr yesterday. 
 The real day is to-morrow, but it seems that the different 
 towns celebrate it on such near days as they find most con- 
 venient. 
 
 May 24. — Visited the Cathedral, standing on the highest 
 point in the city. It dates from the twelfth century, with por- 
 tions in the fourteenth. It is 320 feet long, 70 feet wide and 
 90 feet high ; its tower is 220 feet in height. The windows 
 throughout are filled with modern stained glass from Munich, 
 at a cost of one hundred thousand pounds. It ceased to be a 
 cathedral at the era of the Reformation, and the choir is now 
 used as one of the city churches. The most interesting por- 
 tion is the crypt under the choir, which is really a lower church 
 formed on the sloping ground under a portion of the Cathe- 
 dral irself. It is supported by sixty-five pillars and lit by forty- 
 one windows. The clustered columns are graceful and sym- 
 metrical, with exquisite sculptured capitals and bosses in the 
 groined vaulting, all thoroughly well preserved. Edward 
 Irving, the founder of the sect of Irvingites, and early friend 
 of Carlyle, is buried here. In this crypt, then called the 
 
Dumbarton Castle. 35 
 
 ** Laigh (low) Kirk," Scott placed the scene of Rob Roy's 
 mysterious warning to Francis Osbaldistone. The Cathedral 
 is surrounded by a churchyard, and among the monuments is 
 a memorial tablet to nine persons who suffered martyrdom in 
 1666 for adhering to the Covenant. A rude stanza in the in- 
 scription concludes, 
 
 "They'll know at resurrection day, 
 To murder saints was no sweet play." 
 
 May 25. — Left Glasgow 11 a.m. by rail for Balloch, twenty- 
 one miles, situated on the south or lower end of Loch Lomond. 
 At Dumbarton had a good view of the castle of that name on 
 its steep, rocky hill, 280 feet high. This is one of the four 
 castles secured to Scotland at the time of the Union. Wallace 
 was imprisoned here. Queen Mary, on her way to France to 
 be educated at the French court, embarked here in March, 
 1548. The towm of Dumbarton lies at the mouth of the river 
 Leven, through which Loch Lomond empties its waters into 
 the Clyde. The Leven flows deeply and silently, brimming 
 its level, grassy banks. Smollett, the novelist, was born in 
 this neighborhood in 1721. 
 
 At Balloch we take a small side-wheel steamer and proceed 
 . the whole length of Loch Lomond, twenty-two miles, to 
 Inversnaid, where coach is taken to cross the ridge between 
 this lake and Loch Katrine. The scenes which successively 
 present themselves to view during the passage up the lake are 
 of exceeding and memorable beauty, and I may not attempt 
 their description. As at Killarney, the effect is produced by 
 a felicitous union of the agreeable and impressive features of 
 natural scenery, each striking in itself and all blending in har- 
 mony of form and color, in large and charming variety. At 
 its southern end the Loch is five miles broad, but gradually 
 narrows to a few hundred yards at its northern or upper end. 
 It lies for its entire length between ranges of gradual hills, 
 from which mountain-peaks rise abruptly ; it is studded fre- 
 quently with little islands of beautiful forms and foliage ; it is 
 indented with many gentle capes and bold headlands, and 
 pushes itself laughingly into sullen recesses of the mountains 
 and bays of the foot-hills, all its shores and the region, far and 
 near, famous in history, tradition, story and song. 
 
 Soon after leaving the pier we pass on the left Glen Fruin, 
 
36 Loch Lomond. 
 
 overhung with the ruins of Bannchara Castle, the residence, in 
 the old time, of the Colquhouns. The name Glen Fruin 
 means sorrow, and here was a sharp battle between the 
 McGregors and the Colquhouns, wherein the latter were ter- 
 ribly defeated. We pass the isle of Inch Murrin, preserved as 
 a deer-park by the Duke of Montrose, who owns the land on 
 both sides the lake for its entire extent, including its islands. 
 On the south end of Inch Murrin are the ruins of Lennox, once 
 a residence of the earl of that name. We pass the isle of 
 Inch Cailliacli, on which is the burial-ground of the McGregors. 
 Here on the eastern shore, in the vale of Endrick, is Buchanan 
 House, the chief seat of the Duke of Montrose. He is of the 
 famous old family of that name which figures all along in 
 Scottish history. Farther on, we sail by the mouth of a nar- 
 row pass on the east shore, Balmaha, through which the High- 
 landers used to go down into the lowlands on forays. In ad- 
 vance on our right is Ben Lomond, rising in stately view to 
 the height of 3200 feet, until we reach Inversnaid, where we 
 leave the steamer to go by coach across to Loch Katrine. On 
 the west side of the Loch, here grown narrow, rises Ben Vor- 
 lich, 3000 feet, surrounded by many peaks of lesser note, all 
 celebrated in song and story. These Scottish mountains differ 
 from ours in the respect that the various peaks are more dis- 
 tinctly and sharply separated down to their bases, and so pre- 
 sent a greater individuality and character. Only the little 
 islands in the Loch and the narrow strip of land between the 
 hills and shore are wooded ; the hills themselves have not a 
 single tree or shrub, but are covered to their summits with 
 short grass and heather, the latter now dark, but when in 
 flower in August lying in great purple patches all over the 
 hills. The ride over the divide between Lomond and Katrine 
 is about five miles, the ascent being quite sharp. There is 
 tolerable pasture of short, sweet grass all the way, and we 
 saw many of the Highland sheep, large and handsome, not 
 yet shorn of their heavy fleeces of long, straight, coarse wool. 
 They have black noses and black rings around the eyes, and 
 the hinder part of their shanks is black also. 
 
 After descending a little way, the fair water of Loch Katrine 
 gleamed on our sight through its protecting hills. We are 
 now, and have been all day, within the enchanted circle of the 
 great wizard, Walter Scott, whose sway over these mountains 
 
Loch Katrine. 37 
 
 is as absolute as that of Burns on the Ayrshire coast. "The 
 Lady of the Lake" will almost serve for a guide-book here, 
 and it is interesting to note the fidelity with which Scott has 
 located his scenes. By a sharp descent we come down to 
 Stronachlacher, a bright hotel on the west shore of the lake, 
 near its head, and after lunching there, step on board the snug 
 little screw-steamer, " Lady of the Lake," and sail down the 
 full length of the lake, nine and one half miles. 
 
 If we were not just from Loch Lomond, we would think 
 Katrine the prettiest of all the lakes we have seen. Until we 
 approach the eastern end the shores are not so striking on 
 either hand as those of Lomond. Then the scene becomes of 
 exceeding beauty and grandeur. On the right rises the noble 
 form of Ben Venue, 2400 feet, with its deep vertical gash, 
 called Coirnan-Urisken, a remarkable specimen of the High- 
 land corrie, piled with rocky debris, where Scott located the 
 dread Goblin's Cave. Opposite is the cragy peak of Ben A'an, 
 and between, Ellen's Isle, hidden to the water's edge by a lux- 
 uriant growth of trees and shrubbery, within the verdant 
 screen of which we may well imagine the open glade with 
 space enough for all the purposes it is required to serve in the 
 poem. The little steamer makes a circuit of the isle, and 
 while it is evident that Malcolm would have no very long 
 swim to reach the shore, nor the fair Ellen be compelled to 
 over-exert herself to guide her "light shallop" to it from the 
 silvery beach where she took on board Snowdoun's knight, 
 still all these distances and conditions are quite sufficient, and 
 the lovers of the poem — and who is not ? — need have no fear 
 of lessening their admiration by visiting its scenes. 
 
 The city of Glasgow, thirty-six miles distant, takes its 
 supply of water from Loch Katrine, carrying it over its moun- 
 tainous rim. At the head of the lake we take coach for Aber- 
 foyle, passing through the Trossachs, a mountain defile, 
 through which the Teith, draining Loch Katrine, finds its 
 way to the Forth near Stirling. The Trossachs do not realize 
 my expectations, are only moderately impressive, not equalling 
 in sublimity the "Gulf" below Proctorsville, in the town of 
 Cavendish, Vt. They are really a well-wooded valley, with 
 little of the sternness and grandeur I had presupposed. But 
 there is sufficient to afford material for genius to shape into 
 poetic forms, and with pardonable exaggeration body forth 
 
38 Clachan of Aberfoyle. 
 
 " the Trossachs' rugged jaws." We skirt the southern shore of 
 beautiful little Loch Achray soon after emerging from the 
 pass, of which the aged minstrel Allan took his parting look 
 from the eastern side of Ben Venue. 
 
 " Where shall he find in foreign land ' 
 
 So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ?" 
 
 Exquisite is the view on this perfect day as we climb the 
 hilly range separating the valley of the Teith from that of the 
 Forth, Ben Ledi in the background, with softer slopes and 
 gentle glens and narrow green fringes of pasture and meadow, 
 extending far down to Loch Vennachar, with a dim view of 
 the Brig of Turk, the meadow of Coilantogle Ford and Lanrick 
 Mead. Anhour's winding in and out, up and down the ridge, 
 always grass-grown, brings us in full view of the broad valley 
 of the Forth, and we descend sharply from the shoulder of 
 Craigmore on the old clachan of Aberfoyle at the foot of the 
 comb and on the north bank of the Forth, here of small size. 
 A modern hotel stands on the site of the old inn celebrated 
 in " Rob Roy" as the scene of the encounter between Francis 
 Osbaldistone and the Highlander, where honest Bailie Nicol 
 Jarvie intervened so effectually with his red-hot poker, as is 
 duly shown on the swinging signboard and in pictures on the 
 cover of the wine list of this Bailie Nicol Jarvie Hotel, where 
 we dined, waiting for the train to Stirling. 
 
 After dinner strolled out to an old stone bridge over the 
 Forth, and not many times hereafter can we hope to look 
 upon a more enchanting scene than lay extended up its valley 
 to the west. The sun was nearing its setting, flooding the crest 
 of Ben Lomond and all the lesser heights about him with 
 purple light, and touching with peculiar softness the broad, 
 verdant meadows of the tranquil, winding stream, the whole 
 vista refined and withdrawn into the unreal domain of fairy- 
 land by the violet flush half screening the outlines of hills 
 bordering the long-drawn vale on either hand. 
 
 Took train at 7.30 p.m. for Stirling, and after a ride of an 
 hour are gathered, at the close of another day worthy of 
 marking with a white stone, within the portals of the Golden 
 Lion, whose gilded effigy crouches above it, wearing that 
 grim smile attributed in heraldry to the king of beasts. At 
 9.30 one easily reads a book by daylight. 
 
A Walk Round Stirling Castle. 89 
 
 May 26, Siniday. — My family attended services in the " Free 
 Church," while I strolled up the steep streets of the old town, 
 standing on the sloping side of the crag on whose abrupt 
 edge the castle towers 340 feet above the wide valley of the 
 Forth, here greatly broadened, having received the waters of 
 the Teith some miles above. 
 
 We passed yesterday, but did not visit, the Lake of Monteith, 
 with its Isle of Rest — Inchmahone — on which are the remains 
 of the monastic pile where Princess Mary, afterward Queen 
 of Scots, was conveyed after the battle of Pinkie, to seclude 
 her from the " rough wooing" of Henry VIII. in behalf of his 
 son Edward, and where she lived some time with her four 
 Marys — Mary Beaton, Mary Seaton, Mary Livingston and Mary 
 Fleming. I took the walk called the Back Walk, which winds 
 entirely round the castle half way up the crag on which it 
 rests, made with a deal of labor by excavating the abrupt 
 sides of the crag. The view up the luxuriant valley of the 
 Forth is exceedingly beautiful. On the south side, far below, 
 lies the " King's Garden," with its turfy embankments. In 
 the centre is a raised octagonal space, flat at top, where the 
 monarch, James V., and his courtiers engaged in the amuse- 
 ment of the Round Table, which perhaps consisted in person- 
 ating the fabulous King Arthur and his court. Alleys, banks 
 and all are covered with rich turf. This garden is said to 
 have been restored early in this century from a plan of the 
 original found in the castle, and as often as its outlines 
 become effaced they are renewed by the town authorities. 
 
 After dinner at four o'clock, served at that early hour, as 
 the housekeeper said, to give all a Sunday rest — we are now 
 among the grim descendants of the Covenanters — I took the 
 young people on the same walk I had made in the morning. 
 A detachment of the Salvation Army has greatly infested these 
 narrow, steep streets since last evening, and with red banner, 
 and with wilder and fuller-throated tunes than I have hereto- 
 fore heard, are almost picturesque. But they seem to get as 
 little attention here as at home. 
 
 May 27. — Engaged a landau and pair for a full day. Had 
 an excellent, well-informed driver. Rode up the steep street 
 leading to the entrance of the castle, alighted, passed the 
 sentinel, and engaged for guide, as requested, an army pen- 
 sioner, who did not look over fifty, although he stated he had 
 
40 Stij'ling Castle. 
 
 served forty-five years. The castle covers a large area, and 
 its various buildings are now used for military purposes, and 
 but few rooms are open to the public. The most interesting 
 exterior is that of the palace built by James V., its walls rich 
 with sculpture. Entrance is given to what is called the 
 Douglas Room, a small, low chamber, some ten feet from the 
 ground, where James II. stabbed William, Earl of Douglas, in 
 a fit of passion, in 1452, because he would not consent to 
 submit to his authority. This room adjoins a still smaller 
 one, from the window of which the body of the murdered earl 
 was thrown. It had been supposed that he was buried where 
 he fell, and in 1797 some masons, making an excavation there, 
 found a human skeleton, believed to be that of the Douglas. 
 Queen Victoria has filled the little window above the spot 
 with illuminated glass, containing the Douglas arms, a bleed- 
 ing heart. From that part of the ramparts styled the 
 " Queen's Look-out," since Queen Victoria visited the castle, 
 is a most magnificent view, including that part of the valley 
 of the Forth we traversed from Aberfoyle and still farther 
 westward, taking in the vale of Monteith, and bounded by Ben 
 Lomond to the extreme left ; then, rising in due order to the 
 right, Ben Venue, Ben A'an, Ben Ledi, the cone of Ben 
 Vorlich, Uamvar, the Ochil Hills to the north and east and 
 the Campsie Hills to the south ; Sanchieburn, where James III, 
 was defeated by his insurgent nobles in 1488, the house near 
 by still standing where he was assassinated the day after the 
 battle ; to the north the field of Stirling, where Wallace gained 
 his first victory over the English in 1297, and farther on, the 
 upland slope of Sheriff Muir, the scene of the battle between 
 the Earl of Mar for the Pretender and the English forces 
 under the Duke of Argyle, in 1715. On a rough piece of 
 ground on the crag, but outside the castle walls, still stands 
 the " Beheading Stone," where many a noble and fair head 
 fell under the headsman's axe. Underneath the wall on the 
 northeast of the castle, a very narrow passage, walled high on 
 both sides, leads steeply down to the level, called from old 
 time Ballangeich, which James II. was wont to take when 
 going out in disguise for purposes of business or gallantry. 
 
 As all know, this castle of Stirling has played a most im- 
 portant part in Scottish history from the earliest time. It is 
 said that the date of its building and its earliest history are 
 
Argyles Lodging and '■^Mars Work.''^ 41 
 
 unknown, because Cromwell carried away its records, and 
 when he sent them back at a later period, they were lost at 
 sea. It was a fortress in 1124, and was taken by Edward I. of 
 England in 1304. It withstood siege for three months, and as 
 there were no cannon then, the king called on all knights to 
 join his large army, and it was found necessary to bring from 
 London Tower all the besieging implements then known. 
 One of these, called the "Wolf," effected a breach, the castle' 
 was taken and held by the English ten years, and so impor- 
 tant was it considered that Edward II. brought a great army 
 to maintain it, and in the end was defeated by Bruce under 
 its walls at Bannockburn. It became a royal residence with 
 the accession of the house of Stuart to the Scottish throne. 
 James II. and James V. were born here, and the latter crowned 
 here, and James VI. and his son Henry were baptized here. 
 These are trite facts, old and musty, but they are rehabilitated 
 in new flesh as one looks upon the scenes themselves with 
 living eye. They bring back to me the time when in the 
 wilds of the new West I pored over the " Tales of a Grand- 
 father," and dreamed of the plumed Wallace and the Black 
 Douglas. 
 
 In a steep, narrow street near the castle stands a fine house 
 called Argyle's Lodging, now used as a hospital, wjth pinna- 
 cled round-towers and finely decorated windows. It belonged 
 to William Alexander, the poet, created Earl of Stirling by 
 Charles I., the same who obtained the grant of Nova Scotia. 
 In 1640 it came to the Argyle family, whose arms are sculp- 
 tured over the doors and windows. It was the headquarters 
 of John, Duke of Argyle, during the rebellion of 17 15. 
 
 An exceedingly interesting front of an unfinished house, 
 with its sculptured doors and windows and numerous grotesque 
 gargoyles, in an adjoining street near by, is the one called 
 " Mar's Work," begun by the Earl of Mar and left unfinished ; 
 for, having plotted the death of Queen Mary, he lost his head 
 at Stirling in 1572. Before the castle entrance stands a statue 
 of Robert Bruce, of heroic size, erected in 1877, its face turned 
 toward Bannockburn, whither we also went directly. A 
 little burn runs winding through a slightly undulating stretch 
 of plain, with no memorial of the foughten field except a rock 
 almost buried in the earth called the " Bore Stone," in the top 
 of which is a jagged, circular hole, in which the royal stand- 
 
43 Doune and its Old Castle. 
 
 ard is said to have been set. This stone is now covered with 
 an iron grating to save it from relic-hunters. A mile away is 
 an eminence called '' Gillies Hill," behind which Bruce had 
 stationed his camp-followers, who, showing themselves at a 
 critical moment, threw the English into a panic, and gave the 
 Scotch the victory. On the way our driver pointed to a snug 
 suburban residence, where he said General Grant lunched with 
 the Provost when he visited Stirling. 
 
 Drove back to the northeast of the town to the ruins of 
 Cambus-Kenneth Abbey, founded in 1147 by David I., and 
 said to be one of the richest in Scotland, whereof only the 
 square massive Norman tower remains. Here the Lady of the 
 Lake was left by her father, the Douglas, when he went to 
 Stirling to make his peace with the king. On a crag rising 
 from the plain, just as that of Stirling does, but to the greater 
 height of 560 feet, the sides clothed with sylvan verdure, is a 
 recently erected monument to Wallace, 220 feet high, in the 
 form of a baronial tower, most unpleasing to my eyes. Wal- 
 lace's sword is kept here — a huge blade over six feet long, well 
 adapted to lopping off heads, which was the steady employ- 
 ment of all heroes in the good old days. We crossed the 
 Forth on the old bridge of Stirling, in perfect preservation, 
 though built in the fifteenth century, and for a long time the 
 only bridge over the Forth or Tay, and so the only gate 
 between the north and south of Scotland. Archbishop 
 Hamilton was hanged on this bridge for his share in the mur- 
 der of the regent Moray in 1570, from which we conclude that 
 masons did good work in those early times, and archbishops 
 engaged in murders and got "stretched " for them — sometimes. 
 
 After lunch drove to Doune to visit the castle there, eight 
 miles from Stirling, crossing the Forth and going through the 
 beautiful grounds of Blair Drummond, a seat of G. Stirling 
 Home Drummond Moray, Esq., enriched with magnificent 
 oaks and beeches standing singly in the miles of park, and cast- 
 ing a vast circumference of shade on the velvet sward. We 
 cross a noble bridge over the Teith, built in 1535 by Robert 
 Spital, tailor to the Most Noble Princess Margaret, the queen 
 of James IV., as an inscription on the parapet declares, where 
 the worthy tailor, with the heart of nine, boldly chiselled his 
 arms, a pair of scissors en saltier. 
 
 Half a mile below, on a peninsula formed by the union of the 
 
^^ Keek into the Draw-wcil, Janet." 43 
 
 Ardoch Burn with the Teith, stands the majestic ruin of the 
 old castle of Doune, with its two square towers, turrets, and 
 high embattled walls, its spiral staircase, dungeons, and battle- 
 ments, from which exquisite views are obtained up the Teith, 
 whose slender waters glide softly between high banks dusky 
 with the shades of low, overhanging trees, and verdant with 
 fliower-strown turf. The court-yard is loo feet square, and in 
 the centre is the old draw-well, 60 feet deep, which supplied 
 the inmates with water, cold and sparkling, of which we drank. 
 The site of the well was discovered only a few years ago, and 
 it was recurbed to the depth of 40 feet, the curbing below that 
 depth being in good condition. At the bottom was found the 
 old oaken windlass, well preserved, and now shown in one of 
 the upper rooms. The castle has long been the property of 
 the Moray family, and lately two of the rooms have been re- 
 stored in good taste. One of these is the dining-room, on the 
 second story of one of the quadrangles, and a fine old mas- 
 sive hall it was and is. The kitchen has a famous fireplace, 
 15 feet across the front, where a whole ox could easily 
 have been roasted, with an enormous chimney, still black with 
 the fires that roared up its throat centuries ago. The castle 
 dates back to the time of James I., 1436, who occupied it. It 
 is supposed that Scott's Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz- 
 James, slept here the night before he set out for the chase, and 
 the castle also figures in Scott's novel of "Waverley. " John 
 Horne, the author of the play "Douglas," was taken prisoner 
 at the battle of Falkirk by the Royalists and confined here, 
 and the room is shown from the window of which he let him- 
 self down by tying his bedclothes together — some 60 feet, I 
 should say. The custodian of the castle is a certain James 
 Dunbar, formerly of the 79th Cameron Highlanders, and pos- 
 sessed of a gift of gab exceeding anything ever known, I am 
 sure, in that windy vein. He has written a book on the castle, 
 bound in wooden covers made from the Hangman's Tree, once 
 standing just outside the walls. Noticing that it seemed less 
 in volume than his talk would certainly be, I purchased a copy, 
 and hurried away to the quaint and pretty village of Dunblane, 
 on our way back to Stirling, to see the Cathedral there, said 
 to rival in the beauty of its proportions that of Melrose Abbey, 
 and to be one of the few specimens of Gothic architecture 
 which to a great extent escaped the destruction of the Refor- 
 
44 Dunblane. — Edinburgh. 
 
 mation period. There is a beautiful little window in the west- 
 ern gable in the shape of a forest-leaf, and the doorway and 
 the arches of the clerestory are exquisitely formed and shaft- 
 ed, and filled with foliated work. It dates back to iioo. The 
 carved and canopied stalls of oak, black with age, are still 
 preserved in the choir, now used for Presbyterian worship. 
 There, too, lie side by side the effigies of the Earl and Coui~- 
 tess of Strathearn, as they have lain since 127 1, something the 
 worse for wear, time or man having bereft the fair countess 
 of her head, and nipped away the nose of her stout liege. 
 Noses seem to be lacking always from these effigies ; and 
 they carried them so high in air, too, when in the flesh ! 
 
 We cross the river Allan, a little stream rising in the Ochil 
 Hills, and joining the Forth just below. The village, Bridge 
 of Allan, has fame as a health resort from its sheltered posi- 
 tion, but chiefly from some mineral springs. Rode entirely 
 round the castle on a level with the plain. Perched on this 
 beetling crag at such a dizzy height, commanding in wide 
 sweep as fair scenes as I have looked upon, this castle of Stir- 
 ling fulfils my ideal. The castle rock is greenstone trap, the 
 same formation as the Palisades of the Hudson. Dined at 
 the Golden Lion, and left at 9 p.m. for Edinburgh, thirty-six 
 miles distant, and are well cared for at the Royal Hotel, where 
 we found awaiting us our heavy luggage, which had come for- 
 ward directly from Glasgow on Saturday. 
 
 May 28. — We could not have desired better weather than 
 we have enjoyed ever since landing at Queenstown. With 
 the exception of one rainy day at Cork, we have had no foul 
 weather to hinder or even incommode us. Experienced friends 
 insisted we were a month too early for the Highlands, and 
 that we should be frozen and drenched, and that the fogs and 
 mists would hide everything from us, and fieMs and trees be 
 bare. In fact, we have needed only light wraps — linen dusters 
 would have suited better than mackintoshes — not a day of 
 mist or fog, the whole land smiling in the flowery verdure of 
 forest, meadow and hill. This morning there is rain, but in a 
 cosey private parlor with a bay-window, giving a view up and 
 down Prince Street and across the fair borders of. the ravine 
 separating the old from the new town, of the stately buildings 
 crowning the opposite ridge, of the imposing monument to 
 Walter Scott just at the left, and the classical buildings of the 
 
A General Vietv of the City. 45 
 
 Museum and National Gallery on the right, and with just a 
 glimmer of fire on the hearth and a fresh budget of letters 
 from home, we pass a cheerful morning, despite a shifting 
 mist, which does its best to screen us in. 
 
 After luncheon, the clouds having lifted, we engaged the 
 much-to-be-commended Frazer, with his "best horse in Edin- 
 burgh," and a snug little landau to take us for a general view 
 of the city ; and a fair city it is too, with its wide and regu- 
 lar streets, its handsome and solid houses, its frequent bits of 
 parks, well kept and enriched with fine monuments and statues. 
 Many of these small parks are circular, and the streets and 
 houses about them conform. The night did not become fully 
 dark until nearly eleven o'clock, and happening to awake at 
 two in the morning, I found it daylight. 
 
 May 29. — Frazer came up and took us to drive across the 
 ravine — in the lower part of which run railway-tracks — up into 
 the old town and into High Street, which extends steeply 
 down in a straight line from the castle to Holyrood Palace, 
 but taking along its course the names of Castle Hill, Lawn- 
 market, High Street, Netherbo, and the famous Canongate. 
 Many old houses still stand in a dilapidated state on this street, 
 once occupied by rank and fashion in the days of the Stuarts. 
 Beginning at the castle, that nearest to it was the mansion of 
 the Duke of Gordon, still bearing his carved ducal coronet, 
 and having in its gable a cannon-ball said to have been shot 
 from the castle in 1745. Just below the esplanade to the left 
 is a lane leading to the house of the poet, Allan Ramsay, author 
 of the "Gentle Shepherd," who died here in 1758. Passing 
 along down on the right is the General Assembly Hall of the 
 Church of Scotland, which held its first annual session in 1560. 
 May is the month, and it is now holding daily meetings in this 
 handsome Gothic building, with its tapering spire of 241 feet. 
 The Queen is represented at these meetings by a peer ap- 
 pointed for the purpose, who is styled the Lord High Com- 
 missioner, and occupies a seat in what is called the throne 
 gallery. A little farther down on the north side of the street, 
 here called the Lawnmarket, is James' Court, where David 
 Hume lived and Boswell, who brought Johnson here before 
 they set out for their tour to the Hebrides in 1773. Near this is 
 Lady Stair's Close, named after Elizabeth, Dowager Countess 
 of Stair, whose singular history forms the groundwork of Scott's 
 
46 John Knoxs House. 
 
 story of " My Aunt Margaret's Mirror." Over the doorway 
 is the inscription, " Fear the Lord and depart from evil ; 1622." 
 The Close adjoining, called Baxter's, contains the lodging 
 first occupied by Burns when here in 1786. Then we reach, 
 still in High Street, St. Giles' Cathedral, or the old Parish 
 Church of Edinburgh, named for St. Giles, the patron saint 
 of the city. This we do not visit to-day. At the northwest 
 corner of it once stood the Old Tolbooth jail — the Heart of 
 Midlothian — made world-famous by Scott's novel of that name. 
 The site is indicated by the figure of a heart in the causeway. 
 In the little square here was once a churchyard, where John 
 Knox lies buried, his grave marked by a small stone near the 
 equestrian statue of Charles H., and inscribed "J. K., 1572." 
 This statue of Charles is in lead, and erected at the expense 
 of the city in 1680. He is shown in Roman garb, but the 
 weak, sinister face shows poorly above the dignified toga. 
 On the east of the little square stands the old original Market- 
 Cross, a shaft topped by the heraldic unicorn on a restored 
 base, the latter the gift of the Hon. W. E. Gladstone, four 
 years since. The old Parliament House on the square we do 
 not visit to-day, nor the Advocate's Library connected with it. 
 Visited John Knox's house a little way down, protruding itself 
 into the street. This is the manse where he lived from 1559 
 to his death in 1572 while minister of Edinburgh, and an ex- 
 ceedingly pleasant and quaintly interesting old house it is, 
 with its odd little rooms, handsome old oaken panels, tiled 
 fireplaces and many relics. There is a little pent-house thrust 
 out over the street with a window looking up it, where he 
 might stand and preach to the crowd below. Above the 
 entrance-door is the inscription in Old English letters and 
 the spelling of the time, 
 
 " Lofe. God. aboune . al .and .yohr . nechtbohr . as .yiself," 
 
 and under the window a rude effigy pointing to the name of 
 God carved on a stone above in Greek, Latin and English. 
 A little below two new streets come in, made to open up the 
 dense mass of old buildings here. On one of these was re- 
 placed Trinity College Church, which before stood lower down 
 and in the way of the modern improvements. This church was 
 founded in 1462 by Mary of Gueldres, wife of James II. The 
 stones were numbered in taking them down, so that it is 
 
Holyrood Palace. 47 
 
 exactly restored. Here begins the Canongate, a narrow street 
 going down to the palace of Holyrood. Many of the ancient 
 nobility had their residences on either side of it down to the 
 palace. A notable one is Moray House, on the south side, the 
 mansion of the Earl of Moray, built in 1618 by Mary, Countess 
 of Home, eldest daughter of Lord Dudley. On her death in 
 1645, goes the record, it fell to one of her daughters, Margaret, 
 Countess of Moray, and so became the property of the Moray 
 family, and remained in the same until 1835. Oliver Cromwell 
 occupied it the first time he visited Edinburgh, both before 
 and after the battle of Dunbar, 1648-50, when he established 
 friendly relations with the Covenanters, and it is said the 
 design of beheading Charles I. was first considered within its 
 walls. Soon after the marriage of the Marquis of Lome with 
 Lady Mary Stuart, Lord Moray's eldest daughter, took place 
 here, and it is related that the wedding party witnessed from 
 the balcony the Marquis of Montrose being led to execution. 
 Near the Moray House is 13 John Street, where Lord Monboddo 
 and the fair Miss Burnet lived. Burns often visited here while 
 in Edinburgh, and her early death inspired one of his most 
 feeling poems. At No. 10 lived James Ballantyne, Scott's 
 publisher — at least he printed the Waverley novels. Smollett 
 lived near by. Still farther down stands the Canongate Tol- 
 booth, erected in the reign of James VL, an exceedingly inter- 
 esting exterior. We did not visit the Canongate Church to- 
 day. But time fails to notice all the houses of interest on 
 this famous old street. Near the foot on the north side is the 
 ancient hostelry of the White Horse, one of the oldest of the 
 Edinburgh taverns. Opposite is the Abbey Court House, and 
 two lines of darker stone in the pavement mark limits within 
 which a debtor could not be molested by his creditors — a sort 
 of handy Canada. 
 
 We are now at the open space before Holyrood Palace, dating 
 as it is now mainly from 1670. It was originally a convent, 
 as the name abbey implies, and dates back to the early part of 
 the twelfth century, when King David \. founded and endowed 
 the Church of the Holy Rood. After a time, of which the 
 records are not complete, other buildings were added for a 
 royal residence. The tower and high-roofed buildings, con- 
 taining what are now called Queen Mary's apartments, were 
 built by James V., as an inscription on them shows. All the 
 
48 Picture Gallery and Queen Marys Rooms. 
 
 abbey except the church was burned by the English in 1544. 
 The whole of the palace, except the double tower and the 
 building adjoining containing Queen Mary's apartments, was 
 again burned at the close of the civil war. Charles II. built 
 the present palace in the form of a quadrangle, with a piazza 
 running all around the inner court, a bare space covered with 
 gravel. This building does not much interest me. 
 
 In one of the sides of the square is the Picture Gallery, the 
 largest apartment of the palace, and the only one in the modern 
 portion shown to visitors, the other rooms all around the court 
 being occupied by the apartments and offices of one sort and 
 another pertaining to a royal residence. This Picture Gallery 
 is 120 feet long, and on its plain walls are hung, say, one hun- 
 dred portraits of Scottish kings, from Fergus I. to James VII., 
 all painted by one artist, De Witt, 1685. The earlier ones, of 
 course, have little or no value as portraits, but have, I should 
 say, considerable merit as paintings, and the faces are stamped 
 with much individuality. Specially interesting are those of 
 Mary Queen of Scots and Charles II., the latter strikingly ex- 
 pressing the essential meanness of his character. A long table 
 is set in this room to-day, and now for several days during the 
 session of the General Assembly, to which the present Lord 
 High Commissioner, Earl Hopetoun, daily invites a considerable 
 number of the delegates for dinner. His lordship and suite were 
 just going forth in much state from the palace as we entered, 
 in two coaches and four, guided by a postilion in scarlet jacket 
 and white breeches on the nigh horse of each pair, enveloped 
 in a whirl of cavalry and preceded some paces in advance by 
 two troopers with carbines held at "ready." In this hall the 
 sixteen members of the peerage of Scotland are elected for 
 each Parliament by the Scottish peers themselves, as provided 
 by the Treaty of Union. Here, too. Prince Charles Edward 
 gave the ball described in "Waverley." Queen Mary's apart- 
 ments, in the original portion of the palace, are much in the 
 same state as when she last used them. In the audience 
 chamber, a room about twenty feet square, stands the bed of 
 Charles I., on which Prince Charlie slept in 1745. From this 
 opens Queen Mary's bedroom, about fifteen feet square, with 
 her bed and many articles of her furniture and toilet. , Here is 
 her Venetian mirror, said to be one of the first brought to Scot- 
 land, which was wont to reflect her fair face, keeping its beauty 
 
The Murder of Rizzio. 40 
 
 through her life of suffering ; her work-box, with its cover 
 wrought in silken figu res by her own fair fingers, and a touching 
 memento in a little willow baby basket — work in willow being 
 then new and rare and highly prized — covered with faded, tat- 
 tered blue silk, sent to her by Queen Elizabeth for the use of 
 the little James, who succeeded her on the throne of England. 
 A narrow door opens through the thick wall to a little private 
 supper-room, not ten feet square, into which her husband, 
 Darnley, with several armed attendants, burst on the evening 
 she sat at table with several of her maids of honor and Rizzio. 
 They came up from Darnley 's rooms below by a secret passage 
 opening into the adjoining bedroom. Our guide's version of 
 the murder is somewhat different from the current one. It is 
 that they at once proceeded to stab him ; that Mary rushed 
 past them into the bedroom, Darnley following and placing 
 himself before her while the armed band were dispatching 
 Rizzio with repeated stabs ; and when she would have gone 
 back to intercede for him, drew his dagger and said, " Madam, 
 if you stir a foot I will cut you into coUops" — a statement well 
 calculated to keep almost any woman quiet. They dragged 
 his bleeding body through the audience-chamber and left it 
 at the head of the stairs leading to the court below, where, on 
 the authority of our guide, it lay all night. The guide relates, 
 what I think is not to be found elsewhere, that in the morning 
 Mary "was quite annoyed" at finding the body there, and 
 ordered the dark old oaken partition put up, which now parts 
 off a portion of the audience-chamber nearest the stairs, so 
 as to shut out the hateful spot. Our guide, too, quite mocks 
 at the notion of a stain of blood on the clean, worn floor, and 
 he is correct in this, for there is no such spot, as may well be 
 supposed. It was a picturesque tragedy : the low-browed 
 little room hung with tapestry from the looms of France ; the 
 fair faces, the rich robes, the jewels sparkling in the full light 
 of the chandeliers, the conspirators filing up the narrow wind- 
 ing staircase, pale Ruthven foremost, clad in complete steel, 
 the sudden terror, the quick dagger-thrust, the shower of suc- 
 ceeding blows — thirty-six stabs in all — the cries of the women^ 
 the proud and compassionate anger of the insulted queen. 
 
 The Chapel Royal is a fragment of the ancient abbey of 
 Holyrood House, adjoining one side of the quadrangle, dating 
 back to 1 1 28, now in ruins by the tooth of time and the relig- 
 4 
 
50 77/1? Funeral of the Earl of Caithness. 
 
 ious frenzy of the Reformers. There is a roofless nave with 
 beautifully carved doorway. There are a few tombs of noble 
 families on the northern side, and it is a circumstance of in- 
 terest to us that we look on a grave newly dug to receive the 
 body of the Earl of Caithness, who died here suddenly last 
 Saturday at the age of thirty, and will be interred here an 
 hour hence — the last burial, it is said, that will be permitted 
 in Holyrood. He is the fifteenth earl of the name, was never 
 married, and the title now goes to a descendant of the eleventh 
 earl. By will he has left his estates to a college friend, on 
 condition that he takes the family name of Sinclair. As we 
 were about to leave the palace, we were motioned back behind 
 a half-drawn curtain, shutting the corridor we were in from 
 the main entrance, by a flustered lackey in red livery, whose 
 manner indicated some tremendous portent impending, and 
 looking out, saw a fellow-mortal in a long black robe holding 
 in both hands a mace with a gold head as big as his own, 
 who stood facing the entrance, through which marched, in high 
 fig of scarlet and gold, my Lord Hopetoun, a well enough 
 looking, youngish man, returning from the opening of the 
 General Assembly in all the pomp with which we saw him set 
 out two hours before. Several functionaries, bareheaded and 
 powdered, some in. dresses marking their offices, all the signifi- 
 cance of which I am ignorant, walked close about him, as if to 
 see that the order of the universe gets no detriment this day. 
 I suppose it tickles the dull imaginations of these grim old 
 Scotch Presbyterians, whose ancestors brought their Church 
 through from the militant to the triumphant condition, to 
 have the semblance of royalty attending upon their assemblies, 
 with all its feathers on. In the royal vault in the chapel are 
 buried, among others of note, David II., James II., James V. 
 and Magdalen, his queen ; Henry, Lord Darnley. 
 
 Although I have noted our visit to Knox's house as occur- 
 ring before that to the palace, in point of fact it immediately 
 followed, and from the window at which the Reformer was 
 wont to stand and preach we saw the funeral of the Earl of 
 Caithness descending the steep street from St. Giles to Holy- 
 rood, with much sad pomp and circumstance. Six black 
 horses plumed and caparisoned in sable drew a huge hearse 
 in which lay open to view the oaken coffin, followed by his 
 piper, with his pipes draped, and the house steward, both on 
 
The National Museum of Antiquities. 51 
 
 foot, and after, a train of carriages, the foremost conveying 
 the male relations and friends who acted as pall-bearers. 
 There were no ladies in the train. 
 
 After luncheon visited the National Museum of Antiquities 
 in the Royal Institution near the National Gallery, both build- 
 ings in the classical style with Grecian porticos, a favorite 
 style here, practised largely by the architect Playfair. The 
 collection seemed to me of exceeding interest. There has 
 been no catalogue for twelve years now. I can attempt almost 
 no description of the contents. There is the " Maiden," the 
 ancient Scotch beheading machine, consisting of a wide 
 blade sliding up and down in grooves and loaded with a stone 
 to give it needed force. The victim stooped over and rested 
 his neck on the bed of the framework, some three and one 
 half feet from the ground. Many noble and fair heads have 
 been shorn away by this fatal axe. There are several forms 
 of the "Thumbikins" or thumb-screws, the pain from the ap- 
 plication of which the matron who has the Knox house in 
 charge says is "awfully bitter and goes to the heart." Also 
 the " Branks," an iron head-dress with a projection to thrust in 
 over the tongue as a punishment for arrant scolds, and an iron 
 band with chains and fetters to fasten about the body and se- 
 cure the victim to the stake for burning. Here is the blue 
 ribbon worn by Prince Charles as a Knight of the Garter in 
 1745, and a ring given him at parting by Flora Macdonald, 
 and an exceedingly interesting collection of Scottish weapons 
 during many centuries. 
 
 May 30. — Visited the castle, standing on a precipitous 
 crag of basalt 300 feet above the valley below, and occupying 
 almost eight acres of irregular ground. Most of the buildings 
 are modern and plain and greatly detract from the effect of 
 the view from below, but enough remains of walls and the 
 older structures to render the whole extremely grand and pic- 
 turesque from whatever point it is viewed. I cannot under- 
 take its history, which begins authentically when in 617 
 Edwin, King of Northumbria built a fortress on this rock, at the 
 foot of which sprang up Edwin's Burgh. It is accessible only 
 on the eastern side. We approach by an esplanade, cross a 
 drawbridge over a moat which must have been a dry one, as 
 there could not have been a supply of water, pass through the 
 old portcullis-gate, underneath the ancient State Prison in the 
 
52 The Crown Room and Queen Mary's Room in the Castle. 
 
 " Argyle Tower," where the Marquis of Argyle and many ad- 
 herents of the Stuarts were confined before their execution, 
 and note the barred window of the little room where the brave 
 marquis passed his last night, the old sally-port leading to the 
 town below, St. Margaret's Chapel, the oldest of all the build- 
 ings, to the Crown Room, where we are shown the insignia of 
 Scottish royalty, the regalia, called also the " Honors of Scot- 
 land," consisting of crown, sceptre and the sword of state. 
 
 The history of these crown jewels is interesting, and is told 
 at length by Sir Walter Scott. I can only say here that they 
 were lost from the knowledge of men from 1707 to 1818, when 
 commissioners were appointed to search for them, Scott being 
 one. They were found in the very room where they are now 
 shown, this room having remained closely shut and neglected 
 during this hundred years. The two massive doors, one of 
 iron and one of oak, were forced, as was the great oaken chest, 
 the only article of furniture in the chamber, and to the great 
 joy of the people gathered below, who raised a shout as the 
 news of it spread, all the articles were found safe and sound. 
 They are of exquisite form and workmanship. With them 
 was found the mace of the Lord Treasurer, wrought of solid 
 silver. There is also shown a ruby ring set round with dia- 
 monds, the coronation ring of Charles I., a large, fine ruby ; 
 also a golden collar of the Order of the Garter, presented to 
 James VI. by Queen Elizabeth on his being created a Knight 
 of the Garter, a fine piece of workmanship. The beautiful 
 sword of state was presented to James IV. by Pope Julius II. 
 in 1507. 
 
 Adjoining this room, but reached by another entrance from 
 the court, is Queen Mary's Room, where she gave birth to 
 James VI., commemorated by the initials H. and M. and the 
 date 1566 over the doorway. This room has its original ceil- 
 ing, with the initials J. R. and M. R. wrought in the panels. 
 There is a portrait of Mary of inexpressible sweetness and 
 beauty and tenderness, a copy of the one in the Bodleian Li- 
 brary at Oxford, the origin of which I would like to know. 
 There is still another of a bolder and more coquettish air 
 painted by Furino about 1562, when she was Dauphiness, and 
 presented by her to Cardinal Lorraine. In this her hair is a 
 dark rich auburn. Adjoining is a little room from the win- 
 dow of which it is said the infant James was let down in a 
 
A Drive to Calton Hill. 53 
 
 basket to be conveyed to Stirling for greater security. On 
 the bomb battery is the big gun, Mons Meg, now mounted on 
 a carriage, and it seems to me a very creditable cannon to 
 have been made in 1476, so soon after the discovery of gun- 
 powder. It is 13 feet long, 20 inches in diameter and weighs 
 five tons. It was forged at Mons, Belgium, of long bars of 
 malleable iron held together by bands of the same, these 
 bands being continuous, welded perfectly, and the bore smooth 1 
 and solid. James IV. used it at the siege of Dumbarton in 
 1489 and at that of Norham Castle in 1497. It burst near the 
 powder-chamber when firing a salute in honor of the Duke of 
 York in 1682. It was drawn about on a wooden carriage by 
 an immense number of horses, and could not be elevated or 
 depressed, and the surface is so rough that it could not be 
 sighted. The balls were huge round stones, several of which 
 are lying near by having been picked up in those parts of the 
 country where this unwieldy monster deployed its horrors to 
 the consternation of bowmen, spearmen and harnessed knights 
 as its huge boulders lumbered along their ranks. 
 
 After luncheon the intelligent Frazer took us for a drive in 
 his comfortable landau to Calton Hill, 355 feet high, at the 
 east end of the New Town, where is the Royal Observatory. 
 A time ball-signal here on a flag-staff atop of the ungainly Nel- 
 son Monument fires a gun from the castle every day at i p.m. 
 A fine view of the city is obtained here. Thence to Arthur's 
 Seat which rises up directly from Holyrood 800 feet. An ex- 
 cellent road called the " Queen's Drive" goes entirely round 
 the upper portion of the hill and commands a wide and beauti- 
 ful prospect, embracing the smoky city, the estuary of the 
 Forth, the mountains all about and many a fair field and val- 
 ley and pleasant wood. We pass the ruins of a little chapel 
 on the hill-side — that of St. Anthony — once connected with a 
 hermit's cell, below which is a pure and abundant fountain 
 dedicated to that saint. These are alluded to in the old ballad, 
 
 " Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, 
 Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, 
 Since my true love's forsaken me." 
 
 Near by on our road is Muschett's Cairn, a pile of stones mark- 
 ing the spot where Jeanie Deans held the interview with her 
 sister Effie's lover in Scott's "Heart of Midlothian." A por- 
 
54 A Charming Bit of Country. 
 
 tion of the road is overhung by a range of porphyritic green- 
 stone columns of a pentagonal form, from 50 to 60 feet high, 
 called " Samson's Ribs," a part of Salisbury Crags, at the foot 
 of which was Scott's favorite walk. At the foot of Arthur's 
 Seat to the southeast lie Duddingston Loch and village. The 
 house where Prince Charles Stuart slept the night before the 
 battle of Prestonpans is pointed out, and the red-tiled roof of 
 the cottage of Jeanie Deans' father. On the wall of a little 
 church in the village near the entrance hangs an adjustable 
 ring suspended by a chain the height of a man's neck, used to 
 fasten an offender by that member — a sort of stock called 
 the " Jougs." About a mile south, the road running across a 
 charming bit of country, is Craigmillar Castle, nobly situated 
 and well preserved, dating from 1374. It was a favorite resi- 
 dence of Queen Mary, and no wonder, for from the battle- 
 ments are views fit for a queen's eye by sea and land. It is 
 much more commodious and with more abundant living-rooms 
 than we have seen in any other castle, and seems to have been 
 a sort of strongly fortified summer residence. Mary lay sick 
 here, it is said, on the night Darnley was killed by the explo- 
 sion in a near suburb of the city, called Kirk o' Field, a spot 
 now occupied by the University. 
 
 May 31. — The Morning Leader here has a long article on the 
 late Earl of Caithness, whose funeral we witnessed yesterday, 
 headed *' Caithness — a Lapsed Earldom. Thrilling Story of 
 the Centuries;" and as it illustrates well the past of this coun- 
 try, and throws light on the history of those who fill the high 
 places, I feel an interest in recording the facts of the case, and 
 quoting from this article at some length : 
 
 " Tragedy and romance mingled strangely round the cere- 
 mony of the sealing of the tomb at Holyrood, wherein on 
 Wednesday were deposited the remains of the Earl of Caith- 
 ness. It was the symbol of four hundred years of history 
 completed. Yea, more, it seems to have signified that the last 
 of the many conspicuous Scotchmen destined to rest within 
 the precincts of the venerable Chapel of Holyrood had taken 
 his appointed place, and the dust of the dead within these 
 tombs will remain undisturbed till the last syllable of recorded 
 time. 
 
 "According to the Domesday Book, the estates of the Earl 
 of Caithness in Caithness-shire extend to 14,460 acres, and the 
 
An Article on the Late Earl of Caithness. 55 
 
 rental is ;j^4478. Stagenhoe Park, the property in Hertford- 
 shire belonging to the family, extends to 613 acres, of which 
 the rental is ^973. 
 
 "The earldom of Caithness is of very great antiquity — some 
 chroniclers say it is the oldest in Scotland — and has been held 
 by different families. It was one of the titles of the ancient 
 Vikings, or sea kings. In the ancient sagas and the Danish 
 records mention is made of Dungaldus, Earl or Jarl of Caith- 
 ness, as far back as 875. It is undisputed that the early earls 
 were also Earls of Orkney. Harold, Earl of Caithness and 
 Orkney, was a good and faithful servant of William the Lion 
 till 1 1 96, when he broke out into rebellion, and after defeat 
 by the troops of his royal master, was confined in a turret of 
 Roxburgh Castle till his irate sovereign's wrath was appeased, 
 after which the prisoner was set at liberty. His restless and 
 rebellious spirit, however, soon got him into further trouble ; 
 and after murdering John, Bishop of Caithness, he had the 
 compunction (if he felt any) of seeing his son Torpin's eyes 
 put out, the latter having become a hostage to the king for 
 his father's fidelity. In 1231 John, Earl of Caithness, was 
 murdered in his own house by his servants, in retaliation for 
 his connivance at the burning by an angry mob of another 
 Caithness bishop — Bishop Adam, a tithe-exacting ecclesiastic 
 who had made himself obnoxious to the people. The succes- 
 sion to the earldom about this time is involved in perplexity, 
 and little that is authentic is known, but it appears that John, 
 Earl of Caithness, was one of the Scottish nobles to whom 
 Edward addressed a letter proposing the marriage of his son 
 to Margaret of Norway, the young Queen of Scotland. He 
 was also one of the peers who made default when Baliol held 
 his first Parliament at Scone, February loth, 1282-93. 
 
 " The title was next possessed by a branch of the royal 
 family of Stuart, Prince David, Earl-Palatine of Strathearn, 
 eldest son of King Robert II., having been by his father 
 created Earl of Caithness early in his reign. On the at- 
 tainder of Lord Brechin, afterward Lord Caithness, for the 
 execrable murder of his nephew, James I., in 1437, the 
 earldom was forfeited and annexed to the crown. A Sir 
 George de Crichton, who had acquired the favor of King 
 James II., and who had obtained several large grants of 
 land from that monarch about 1450, was the next inheritor 
 
56 An Article on the Late Earl of Caithness. 
 
 of the title, but on his death in 1455 the title became extinct, 
 and the large estates appear to have reverted to the Crown. 
 
 *' This brings the narrative to the date of the accession of 
 the St. Clair or Sinclair family, for in the year mentioned 
 (1455) James II. conferred the earldom on William Sin- 
 clair, third Earl of Orkney, Lord High Chancellor of Scot- 
 land, in compensation, so the charter bears, for a claim of 
 right he and his heirs had to the lordship of Niddesdale. 
 From this earl the branch of the family that recently enjoyed 
 the title was remotely descended. William Sinclair, the 
 second earl of this race, was killed with his royal master, 
 James IV., at the battle of Flodden Field, in 15 13. The 
 succession of John Sinclair, the third earl, marks the be- 
 ginning of that series of feuds and quarrels with the neighbor- 
 ing earls of Sutherland, in the course of which no form of 
 baseness and cruelty on the part of the Sinclairs seems to 
 have been too gross to be resorted to. The prosperity of the 
 earldom reached its climax under George, the fourth earl, to 
 whom the descent of Mr. James Augustus Sinclair, the Aber- 
 deen banker, who is heir-presumptive to the title, remotely 
 traces back. This fourth earl was a cruel and avaricious 
 nobleman, who s'crupled not at the commission of the greatest 
 crimes for the attainment of his purpose. In company with 
 a neighboring chief, Donald Mackay, he took possession of 
 the bishop's lands during the absence of the latter in banish- 
 . ment in England, levied the rents and pocketed them. Fol- 
 lowing up this barefaced robbery by more aggressive measures, 
 Mackay possessed himself of Skibo, one of the bishop's 
 palaces, while the noble lord, the instigator of this outrage, 
 installed himself in the Castle of Strabister, another episcopal 
 residence, which he fortified. In 1555 he was committed by 
 the Queen Regent, then sojourning at Inverness, to the 
 prisons of Inverness, Aberdeen and Edinburgh successively, 
 for refusing to bring his countrymen with him to the court, 
 then sitting at Inverness. Oddly enough, we find this gentle- 
 man serving on the jury on the trial of the Earl of Bothwell 
 for the murder of Darnley. But the foregoing were mild 
 offences compared with what was to come. His hatred to 
 John, Earl of Sutherland, was notorious and intense ; and, to 
 gratify his thirst for revenge, he conceived the diabolical pur- 
 pose of poisoning the earl and countess. His plan matured, 
 
An Article on the Late Earl of Caithness. 57 
 
 he got his cousin, Isobel Sinclair, a relation also of the Suther- 
 land family, to do the dirty work ; and by her means the 
 noble earl and his lady were done to death by eating poisoned 
 food prepared for their supper at Helmsdale in 1567, their 
 only son and heir, Alexander Gordon, making a very narrow 
 escape, not having returned from a hunting expedition in time 
 to join his father and mother at supper. To free himself 
 from the imputation of being concerned in the murder he 
 punished some of the Earl of Sutherland's most faithful ser- 
 vants under the color of avenging his death. Isobel Sinclair, 
 the guilty instrument of this arch villainy, was soon after 
 apprehended by the murdered earl's friends, tried in Edin- 
 burgh and condemned, and during the time of her incarceration 
 previous to her death in prison, on the day fixed for her ex- 
 ecution she uttered the most dreadful imprecations on the 
 Earl of Caithness for having incited her to the horrid act. 
 No crime, however bold, daunted the heart of the tyrant. 
 He had the effrontery, in order to get the young Earl of 
 Sutherland into his hands, to carry him into Caithness, and 
 though he was only fifteen years old, forced him to marry 
 Lady Barbara Sinclair, his daughter, then thirty-two years of 
 age. Divorce put an end to this unhappy //rt'/j'^/z, the lady con- 
 tinuing a connection with her paramour, Mackay of Far, an ally 
 of her father's. In the mean time, the Earl of Caithness had 
 fixed his residence at Dunrobin, in Sutherlandshire, the seat of 
 his minor son-in-law, whom he treated with great indignity, 
 and burned all the papers belonging to the house of Sutherland 
 on which he could lay his hands. He expelled many ancient 
 families from Sutherland, put several of the inhabitants to 
 death, and burned others, after disabling them in their person 
 by new and unheard-of modes of torture, and stripping them 
 of all their possessions. He even entertained the design of 
 destroying the Earl of Sutherland himself, and marrying 
 William Sinclair, his own second son, to Lady Margaret Gor- 
 don, the eldest sister of the Earl of Sutherland ; but the latter, 
 being apprised in time of his designs, succeeded in escaping 
 from Dunrobin Castle. The bloodthirsty earl in revenge 
 burned the Cathedral of Dornoch, and reduced the town, in 
 which a band of followers of the Sutherland family had taken 
 refuge. His eldest son, John, Master of Caithness, who car- 
 ried out this expedition, accepted three hostages from the de- 
 
58 The Late Earls of Caithness. 
 
 fenders that they would depart out of Sutherland within three 
 months, but the earl, his father, refused to ratify the condi- 
 tions, and basely beheaded the hostages. 
 
 " This long-drawn-out tale of ferocious cruelty reached a 
 climax in the punishment meted out to the earl's own son. 
 The Master of Caithness, having incurred the suspicion and 
 displeasure of his father for not having, when he found the 
 opportunity, extirpated the whole of the inhabitants of Dor- 
 noch, was flung into a dark dungeon beneath the castle, where 
 for seven years he dragged out a wretched existence. His 
 keepers, David and Ingram Sinclair, relatives of his own, de- 
 termining at last to destroy him, kept him for some time with- 
 out food. They then gave him a large mass of salted beef, 
 and, withholding all drink from him, left him to die of raging 
 thirst. This inhuman earl died in Edinburgh in September, 
 1582, and his body was buried in St. Giles', where, mirabile 
 dictic, a monument was erected to his memory. His heart was 
 cased in lead and placed in the Sinclair's aisle in the church 
 of Wick, where his murdered son was interred. The decline 
 of the earldom commenced through the improvidence of this 
 man's grandson and successor, George, the fifth earl. In the 
 time of his great-grandson, George, sixth earl, the estates had 
 become so burdened with debt that he sold them in 1672 to 
 his principal creditor. Lord Glenorchy, and by him and his 
 successors all that remained of the family possessions were 
 disposed of, many of the wadsets with which the earldom was 
 burdened having become purchasers of the several lands pos- 
 sessed by them. Of the fifth or, as he was termed, 'the 
 wicked Earl,' the compass of the article permits us only to say 
 that he amply maintained the unenviable reputation earned 
 by his grandfather. With the assistance of a professional 
 blackleg, one Arthur Smith, who was condemned to death for 
 counterfeiting the coin of the realm, he filled Caithness, Ork- 
 ney, Sutherland and Ross with base money, the illegal work- 
 shop being situated in a retired spot under the rock of Castle 
 Sinclair, to which there was a secret passage from the earl's 
 bedchamber. For his share in this crime the earl was appre- 
 hended, but received the sham punishment of a pardon on 
 promising, forsooth, to remain at peace with his hereditary 
 foes the Earls of Sutherland. About the same time 'the 
 wicked Earl ' distinguished himself by assaulting Lord George 
 
The General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. 59 
 
 Gordon in the High Street of Edinburgh ; and not long after 
 he added to his laurels by surrendering a cousin, John, Lord 
 Maxwell, whom he professed to befriend, and whom, on that 
 footing, he lured to Castle Sinclair. Lord Maxwell, who was 
 under hiding for the murder of Sir John Johnstone, was after- 
 ward, in May, 1613, beheaded at the Cross of Edinburgh. 
 With the death at the age of seventy-eight of this lawless 
 bandit, the careers of the Earls of Caithness became much 
 less eventful. 
 
 "On the death of John, the eleventh earl, a major of the 
 78th Foot (wounded in the groin by a musket-ball in America 
 while reconnoitring with Sir Henry Clinton at the siege 
 of Charlestown), the title went to a very distant branch of 
 the family. Sir James Sinclair of Mey, the ninth in lineal 
 descent from George Sinclair of Mey, third and younger 
 son of the fourth earl. This Sir James Sinclair had two sons, 
 and it is from the second son, Robert Sinclair of Durran, that 
 Mr. James Augustus Sinclair is descended, his father having 
 been Lieutenant- Colonel John Sutherland Sinclair, R.A., born 
 in 1778." 
 
 If the records of the titled families of these islands whose 
 names stand in the Domesday Book should be brought to the 
 light from their dusty hiding-places, how many would be 
 found likewise stained with blood and foul with many a deed 
 of cruelty and shame ? 
 
 Attended morning session of the General Assembly of the 
 Church of Scotland in the hall built for its use, and one of the 
 worst in its acoustic properties I was ever in. The Lord High 
 Commissioner came to the hall in the flamboyant style I 
 described a few pages back and occupied a seat on a raised 
 throne railed off at one end with a private entrance, his purse- 
 bearer one side in powder and scarlet with a big red bag 
 holding papers of one sort and another which he produced 
 and put back without apparent purpose ; on the other his 
 chaplain in gown and single eyeglass, flushed with good 
 living, and a step behind two pages in red coats and powdered 
 hair, an aid with more gold braid on his chest than it 
 could well hold, a big gilt mace hanging at one side from the 
 crimson canopy of the throne. His lordship took no part what- 
 ever in the proceedings which were guided by the Moderator 
 seated just below him at the head of a long table, about which 
 
60 The National Picture Gallery. 
 
 the leading lights of the Church clustered. The delegates 
 occupied the central portion of the hall and seemed a solid, 
 heavy sort of men, almost all wearing full beards. I should 
 say that, compared with a similar body in our country, they 
 looked less intellectual and more sensible. They did business 
 in a straightforward, dull way, speaking briefly and to the 
 purpose on the subjects before them. There was less Scottish 
 peculiarity of speech than I expected, but their fashion of 
 clipping words and the faults of the hall made it difficult to 
 catch the full purport of any speaker's remarks, even when 
 we were seated not far away. Admission is by tickets, which 
 I had procured, but our seats were so poor that I went out 
 and was referred to the " agent," of whom I asked more 
 desirable sittings. He said he could do nothing as the part 
 allotted to spectators was crowded, but on my stating that we 
 were from America, said there was a reserved portion of the 
 hall where we could go at one shilling each. I bought 
 four tickets and we were shown to better seats. Think of the 
 General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in the United 
 States reserving a part of their place of convocation and 
 selling tickets to it ! 
 
 P.M. visited the National Picture Gallery, where we saw- 
 many pictures by the leading Scotch artists of the last hundred 
 years, as well as instances of the famous artists of many lands 
 and times, including Van Dyck, Greuze, Salvator Rosa, Cuyp, 
 Titian, Murillo, Valasquez, Rubens, Rembrandt, Watteau, 
 Jordaens, Teniers, Jan Steen, and other masters, constituting 
 by far the best gallery I have seen. They gave me the live- 
 liest pleasure, but I am almost new to the best works of this 
 delightful art and like an humble disciple will wait until I 
 have more experience before giving my feelings expression. 
 
 Our life here is very agreeable. We have a parlor where 
 our meals are served, with good sleeping-rooms connect- 
 ing, with fine views from our windows, all our wishes 
 when indoors noiselessly attended by a waiter specially 
 assigned to us and we gather about our table after a day's 
 sight-seeing quite as at home. Prince Street extends in nearly 
 a straight line for a mile from east to west, built up only on 
 one side, is terraced in front in pleasure grounds down to the 
 bottom of the deep ravine, beyond which rise grandly the 
 buildings on the opposite side. Near at hand on the upper 
 
Rosslyti Chapel and Rosslyn Castle. 61 
 
 terrace rises the majestic monument of Walter Scott to the 
 height of 200 feet, in form of a Gothic spire, with arches like 
 those in Melrose Abbey. Under the central canopy is a 
 marble statue of Scott in a sitting posture, his dog Maida 
 beside him. This monument was completed in 1844, at a cost 
 of sixteen thousand pounds. Along the same stretch of 
 terrace are bronze statues of Livingston, Professor Wilson 
 (Christopher North), and several other celebrities. 
 
 June I. — Driven by Frazer to Rosslyn seven and a half 
 miles, over a fine road — macadamized, as all the roads are 
 hereabout — with charming views on either hand, rounded and 
 woody Corstorphine to the west, nearer and farther south- 
 ward, the long uneven line of the Pentland Hills, and stretch- 
 ing far along to the east and southeast the sad range of Lam- 
 mermoor. Rosslyn Chapel is a poem in stone, unfinished, only 
 the choir being completed. All parts are exquisitely carved, no 
 pattern beingintroduced,butdoneasif pious heartshad patient- 
 ly wrought their tender and gentle fancies with reverent hands 
 into imperishable forms. Vaulted ceiling, columns, arches 
 and panellings, all exposed parts, indeed, of the interior are 
 ornamented with leaf and flower in bewildering variety and 
 exuberance, affording the eye new pleasures at every turn. 
 All this finds its fullest expression in the " Prentice's Pillar," 
 of which tradition relates that the master builder, being 
 unable to execute it from the designs he had in hand, went 
 to Rome to study there, and on his return, finding it com- 
 pleted by an apprentice, mad with envy, smote him dead 
 with his mallet. Most fair stands this chapel in an enclosed 
 field of richest verdure, and not to be forgotten. 
 
 We lunched near by, and made the walk of two miles down 
 the wild and rocky glen of the Esk to Hawthornden, passing 
 at first through the court of Rosslyn Castle quite in ruins, 
 but with a portion of the wall standing on the side of the 
 deep ravine through which the muddy Esk flows in its narrow 
 bed, and impressive as one looks up from below. In the space 
 once enclosed by the castle walls stands an enormous yew said 
 to be six hundred years old and still vigorous. The castle stands 
 not far from the chapel, and these, with large lands all about, 
 are the property of the present Earl of Rosslyn, descended 
 from the family of that name. The glen is savagely pictu- 
 resque, but not more so than the " Gorge " of the Black River 
 
62 A Ramble Over the Grounds of Sir James Drummond. 
 
 in Cavendish, Vt. A foot-path leads down by the water, and 
 following it we at length cross a bridge, to enter on the domain 
 of Sir James Drummond of Hawthornden, a direct descendant 
 of the poet Drummond, Shakespere^s friend, whom Ben Jon- 
 son walked up from London to visit. A portion of the old 
 house remains, and succeeding owners have added portions, 
 making a picturesque mansion in an imposing situation on a 
 bold rock descending precipitously to the stream nearly a hun- 
 dred feet below. There is a curious arched passage cut 
 through the solid rock just below the house, extending a hun- 
 dred feet, and broadening into a chamber of say ten feet 
 square, with recesses of nearly the same size on either hand, 
 one called Bruce's bedroom, the other, which has quite a well- 
 cut set of bookcases in the rock on one side, his library, the 
 tradition being that Bruce once took refuge here. A villain- 
 ous sword is shown here under an iron screen, said to be his. 
 One cannot believe all he hears. But here are these strange 
 subterranean chambers, and a well in a recess cut down at least 
 twenty feet into the toughest sort of rock. A huge plane-tree 
 stands near the house, said to be the one under which Jonson 
 and Drummond sat in " conversation." It is an enormous 
 tree, and flourishing as if good for another hundred years. 
 
 I should say that when we entered Lord Rosslyn's chapel I 
 paid a shilling apiece for my party of four, and a like sum 
 when we entered the grounds of Sir Drummond. Gentle 
 blood here does not despise the " siller." I understand 
 the Esk does not much increase in volume before joining 
 its south branch. If not, it is hard to see where " Ford there 
 was none " in the time of Young Lochinvar. 'Tis easy to see 
 he might have waded his horse across anywhere. Swimming 
 is more poetical, but Scott generally, I find, makes all things 
 conformable, taking a good deal of pains to do so ; witness 
 his showing by actual trial that James Fitz-James could have 
 ridden in one day from Coilantogle Ford to Stirling. 
 
 Frazer met us at the lodge-gate, and we drove to Dalkeith 
 House, the seat of the Duke of Buccleuch and Queensbury, 
 passing through the little village of Lasswade, where Scott 
 passed some happy years of his early life, as he has written. 
 Melville Castle, the seat of Viscount Melville, is near by. Dal- 
 keith House stands in a large park with noble trees, singly 
 and in clumps, over a far-spreading and luxuriant greensward. 
 
A Morning Service at St. Giles' Church. 63 
 
 The house, or palace, is a large stone building, not specially 
 grand or attractive in its exterior, but within containing pic- 
 tures, china, and cabinets worth a king's ransom. I think the 
 contents of the duke's drawing-room would bring at public 
 sale in New York half a million dollars. We were freely shown 
 all parts of this most interesting palace by a dignified matron, 
 to whom I offered a shilling on our departure with a shame- 
 facedness quite uncalled for. 
 
 We have found almost no American news in the local papers 
 at points we have visited, and I have found mostly a report 
 about an inch long, day after day, of a game of chess, as the 
 only item thought worthy of telegraphing from our side of 
 the water. But as we drive into town to-night we see posted 
 in the windows of the little shops where newspapers are sold 
 freshly printed and written placards announcing " Appalling 
 Accident in America," and eagerly buying an evening news- 
 paper at my hotel, find a long telegram from New York giving 
 the first known particulars of the dreadful flood which devas- 
 tated the Conemaugh Valley below Pittsburgh, a horror which 
 I fear, from the nature of the accident, will prove even more 
 distressing than the first reports indicate. 
 
 June 2, Sunday. — Attended morning service at St. Giles', the 
 most ancient church in the city, although its renovated exterior 
 does not indicate it. The well-known publisher, the late Dr. 
 William Chambers, made judicious alterations almost wholly at 
 his own expense, which have restored it to its pre-Reformation 
 state. The old spire has never been disturbed. Its history is 
 of national interest, but I must pass it over. Here the Nation- 
 al League and Covenant was sworn to and subscribed in 1643. 
 In 1636 the attempt to introduce the new "service-book" of 
 Charles I. led to Jenny Geddis throwing her stool at the head 
 of the dean, thereby intimating that she was too sensitive in 
 her religious nature and too refined and cultivated of intel- 
 lect to tolerate any service smacking of papacy. She con- 
 founded "collect" with "colic," but distinctions were not nice 
 then, nor forms of speech, and this uncomfortable female has 
 a brass tablet to her memory. The church was crowded. 
 The Lord High Commissioner came in his accustomed state 
 and occupied a high stall against one of the walls, and after 
 he had bowed thrice to the congregation we were at liberty to 
 transfer our attention from this reflection of regal grandeur to 
 
64 A Walk Through the Old Farts of the City. 
 
 the King of kings. The provost and bailies of the city enter- 
 ed in a body in powdered wigs, preceded by halberdiers and 
 followed by the judges in their wigs and gowns. A silver mace 
 was hung behind the preacher's chair after he entered the pul- 
 pit, and removed by a verger in red facings just before he 
 vacated it. The prayers were read, and the service altogether 
 was more ceremonious than that of the High Church Episco- 
 palians at home. The grandeur of the whole service — for it 
 had a certain grandeur in this massive church, high-roofed and 
 many-pillared, with its broad arches and stained windows — was 
 heightened by a heavy thunder-storm, whose solemn reverbera- 
 tions rolled heavily through nave and choir and chapel. 
 
 After lunch Dr. Walling called, and we walked for two hours 
 through the old parts of the city, traversing the Canongate, 
 Grass Market and Cowgate, and many obscure wynds and 
 closes. These are now the most squalid portions of the city, 
 and many poor wretches showed themselves on the streets and 
 at the windows, but we can easily match anything I have seen 
 so far in several parts of New York. A mist came on while 
 we were out, '' a fine specimen of a right Scotch mist," the 
 doctor said, which dampened my clothing and carried a chill 
 with it. It is common here, and we have not had a clear morn- 
 ing since our arrival, but mostly it scatters as quickly as it 
 comes. 
 
 June 3. — Rained all the morning, but the people pay little 
 attention to it, carrying umbrellas, and further protected by 
 water-proof outer garments, manufactured here in many 
 kinds and colors, of fine finish and excellence. I should say, 
 from what I see and hear, that the climate is for the most part 
 sombre and dull, though never very hot or very cold. The 
 morning papers have two columns of telegraphic despatches 
 from New York about the fearful freshet. Passed the p.m. se- 
 lecting photographs of scenes visited in Scotland. 
 
 June 4. — Left on g.30 train for Loch Leven, crossing the 
 Firth of Forth by a ferry — five miles — to Burntisland, thence 
 on by rail through Kirkcaldy, where Carlyle and Irving once 
 taught separate schools. Near Dysart are the ruins of an ex- 
 ceedingly old castle known as Macduff's Castle. Forty-three 
 miles from Edinburgh Kinross is reached, only twenty-seven 
 miles by turnpike on the direct highway to Perth, seventeen 
 miles farther on. Are driven through its old and crooked 
 
Loch Leven Castle. 65 
 
 streets to an old and comfortable inn, where we dine well, the 
 famous Loch Leven trout figuring on the bill of fare. Hired a 
 boat and rowed to the island, half a mile from the shore, on 
 which stands Loch Leven Castle, now a ruin, but with enough 
 remaining to give a good idea of what it was once. The don- 
 jon stands almost entire, as well as the walls enclosing the 
 court-yard of 150 feet square ; and the southeast tower, con- 
 taining the apartments in which Queen Mary was kept a pris- 
 oner by the Confederated Lords in 1567 for a year, when she 
 made her escape, is also well preserved. An ancient elm, called 
 " Queen Mary's Tree," stands in the deserted court-yard, now 
 overgrown with luxuriant grass, while all about the solid walls 
 are festooned with wild ivy. Here, as in all these old ruins, 
 there are no traces of woodwork remaining. Not much wood 
 was ever used, but floors and doors are always lacking unless 
 restored by later hands. All buildings, old and new, are of 
 stone. I have not seen any sort of a wooden structure 
 since we landed at Queenstown. Brick is used considerably 
 in the larger towns of Ireland, but both there and in Scotland 
 every sort of habitation and improvement for man's use is of 
 the most durable materials, except the poorest cottages or huts, 
 and they are of earth and plaster. What surprises me in these 
 old ruins is the tenacity of the mortar. It outlasts the stone, 
 and in cases I have noticed where a fissure or break has taken 
 place, it is the rock and not the mortar which has yielded. 
 This castle of Loch Leven dates back beyond authentic history,, 
 and is attributed to Congal. King of the Picts. All the stone 
 used in its construction was brought from the main-land no- 
 where nearer than half a mile. The story of Mary's escape is 
 told by Scott, and is full of romance. The lake is oval in shape,, 
 nearly four miles long by about two wide, a charming sheet 
 of water set among tranquil hills — Benarty, Lomond, Cleish, 
 Ochil — with peaceful meadows at their feet. There are about 
 seventy acres of the island on which the castle stands, and a 
 still larger one named St. Serf, where are the ruins of the very 
 ancient Priory of Port Mary, which figures in Scott's " Abbot." 
 We have so far met very few tourists from home, being here 
 too early in the season for the annual stream, but these are 
 arriving at the Royal in daily increasing numbers. A curious, 
 specimen, presuming me to be an American, began a conver- 
 sation this evening in the smoking-room, and advised me by 
 5 
 
66 Leave Edinburgh with Regret. 
 
 all means to go to London, where he had just passed four 
 days, having come on to Edinburgh by last night's train. He 
 said I would find it an " orderly" city, and that if I felt as much 
 interest in historical subjects as he himself, I should by 
 no means omit seeing Madame Tussaud's Wax Works, they 
 give so much information, although he confessed he should 
 not have recognized the effigy of General Grant except by 
 the label. 
 
 June 5. — Frazer drove me slowly through the Canongate 
 and Cowgate streets of the old town, to deepen the im- 
 pression I have of them, the most interesting parts of all the 
 city to me. Arranged for a coach to drive from here up 
 through England by a route I have marked out. 
 
 June 6. — Visited the Advocates' Library, housed in dim 
 alcoves of a long arched hall, nowise comparable to Trinity in 
 Dublin. There are present here a boyish letter of Charles I. 
 to his father and one from Queen Mary to her mother, 
 both distinctly legible ; also a copy of the first Bible printed 
 from stereotyped plates. The library adjoins the courts of 
 law, connected by a long, fine hall, adorned with portraits and 
 statues of eminent judges and advocates. This seems to be a 
 hall of consultation, and a dozen or so of lawyers were walk- 
 ing up and down, singly and in couples, wearing black robes 
 and queer powdered wigs, giving them, especially the younger 
 ones, a bizarre appearance. We have passed ten very pleas- 
 ant days in Edinburgh, and leave it with fond regret. It is 
 a stately and beautiful city. 
 
 June 7. — Left the Royal on our hired coach to go as far as 
 Stratford-on-Avon or London, or, if sooner tired of it, to dis- 
 miss it at any intermediate point. It is the form of a coach 
 called here a drag, having a closed coach-body, with seats in- 
 side for four, and on the roof for ten, besides those for coach- 
 man and groom. I sent direct to London all superfluous lug- 
 gage, putting hand-bags, wraps, etc., inside, and one steamer 
 trunk on the roof. We set out with considerable ee/at and 
 ^ bowled along the streets of the city, through the suburbs, and 
 entered on the fine old-time stage road to London at the rate 
 of ten miles an hour. Twelve miles to the south we strike 
 the Lammermoor Hills, and traverse them for the most part 
 along a glen beside the Heriot, a clear, bright stream, tribu- 
 tary to the Tweed, and in some part of its course one of the 
 
Melrose Abbey. 67 
 
 sources of the water-supply of Edinburgh, gathered in a reser- 
 voir some twenty-five miles distant from the city. The scenery 
 all along is charming, with wide prospects from the roof of the 
 coach, the motion exhilarating, and all is life and enjoyment in 
 our little party of four, when the nigh wheeler, after " strik- 
 ing" badly, seemed stunned, and pulling up short, staggered 
 and reeled as if to fall. After a moment's rest he seemed to 
 revive, and we went on again to Stowe, some three miles far- 
 ther, and twenty-seven from Edinburgh. Here we lunched 
 and baited, and a half hour later, as we drew near Galashiels 
 on the Gala River, our invalid wheeler again showed heavy 
 pain ; coachman and groom sprung to him, had him out of 
 harness in a trice, left him in charge of the groom, put one of 
 the leaders in his place, and on we sped to Melrose, seven miles 
 away, but shining with somewhat diminished splendor. Put up 
 at the Abbey Hotel, immediately connected with Melrose 
 Abbey by a door into the grounds, and had rooms assigned us 
 which looked directly through the nave to the fine eastern 
 window of the chancel. We went at once into the abbey and 
 wandered among its ruins until dusk, and later sat long, 
 looking from our windows on the beautiful eastern window, 
 revealed in the full light of the rising moon. 
 
 "Slender shafts of shapely stone, 
 By foliaged tracery combined." 
 
 Melrose Abbey, now a grand and beautiful ruin, was 
 founded by David I. in 1136 as a monastery for the Cister- 
 cians, and dedicated to St. Mary. Edward I. of England 
 destroyed it, and Robert Bruce rebuilt it in the early part of 
 the fourteenth century in the late Gothic style with elaborate 
 magnificence, as the ruined church, the only portion remain- 
 ing, abundantly testifies. The nave and central tower are 
 much destroyed ; only a small part of the roof remains over the 
 south transept ; but the grace of the slender and lofty pillars, 
 with their rich capitals, the harmonious proportions, and 
 chiefly the symmetrical tracery of the windows, and the 
 association of all with the tender and glowing poetry of Scott, 
 make of this ruin a memorable object. Among the tombs is 
 one containing the heart of Robert Bruce, and another with a 
 bizarre effigy, called the grave of the wizard, Michael Scot. 
 William Douglas, " the dark knight of Liddesdale," and James 
 
68 At Abbotsford. 
 
 II., earl of that name, with others of that family, are buried 
 here. In the grass-grown choir beneath the broken central 
 tower stands a section of a fallen column on which, our guide 
 informed us, Scott used to sit for hours at a time in medita- 
 tion. The church was of goodly size, the nave even now some 
 250 feet long and the transept 130 feet. 
 
 Before retiring my coachman came to say that the groom 
 had just come from Galashiels, that the sick horse had dropped 
 down dead all of a sudden in the stable, that he had himself 
 telegraphed to Edinburgh for another horse, which would be 
 here ready to start at 9 a.m. to-morrow. He is the same 
 coachman, George Punton, who drove Mr. Carnegie and his 
 party of twelve, including Mr. Blaine and his two daughters, 
 last summer from London to the north of Scotland, a short, 
 stoutish, fresh, cheerful man of thirty-five, self-possessed, 
 resourceful, and handling four horses as if they were one. He 
 is in the employ of Scott, Croall & Sons, Job and Post- 
 masters — so their card reads — of whom I hire my coach at a 
 fixed sum per day. This firm own and work in various ways 
 sixteen hundred horses, keeping their lives insured. The 
 farrier at Galashiels reports that the horse we lost yesterday 
 died of heart disease. 
 
 June 8. — At 9 a.m. George is at the door fresh and smiling 
 with a stout wheeler to fill the gap made yesterday, but the 
 becoming uniformity of our four dappled grays is broken by 
 the new-comer in his soberer suit of dark bay. However, he 
 looks stanch and true, and we take the road from the 
 narrow, crooked streets of Melrose, in the market square of 
 which stands an old stone cross with the date 1642, to Abbots- 
 ford, three miles west, over a charming country, with the 
 Eildon Hills — the Tremontium of the Romans — on our left 
 close at hand, the highest of the three peaks rising 1385 feet. 
 The famed wizard, Michael Scot, whose tomb and bizarre 
 effigy we saw in the abbey, is reputed to have formed these 
 three peaks by cleaving apart the one rounded dome erewhile 
 standing there. But a greater magician of the family has 
 cast a mightier spell over all this region, and here we are at 
 Abbotsford, where the open sesame of a shilling apiece admits 
 us to such rooms as are open to visitors. These are shown 
 by a civil custodian, and consist of Sir Walter's study, 
 library, drawing-room, armory and entrance hall, shown in 
 
The Home of Scott. 69 
 
 the order given above. Everything in these rooms is pretty 
 much as Scott left it, and they are crowded with objects of 
 exceeding interest, which I can undertake only to barely men- 
 tion in small part. In the study are his writing-table and 
 ample leathern chair, which stands as if waiting for him, 
 with books and pictures, one of these, a portrait of Rob Roy, 
 covering the walls. A small turret-room opens from this, 
 which Scott was wont to call " Speak-a-bit," alluding to its 
 convenience for a tete-a-tetc, where is kept the bronze cast of 
 his head taken after death, showing the strong features com- 
 posed and calm. The carved panelling of this little room is 
 said to have belonged to a bedstead used by Queen Mary at 
 Jedburgh during her visit and dangerous illness there in 1566. 
 
 The library, a handsome room 40 by 15 feet, with a ceiling 
 richly carved in oak, copied mostly from the roof of Rosslyn 
 Chapel, contains about twenty thousand volumes standing 
 orderly on their shelves, mostly in handsome bindings, the 
 upper ranges being reached from a light iron gallery extend- 
 ing round. The marble bust done in 1820 by Chantry has the 
 place of honor, and conveys an expression of more humor than 
 in the copies I have seen. There is also a full-length portrait 
 of Scott's eldest son, the second Sir Walter, in the uniform of 
 the 15th Hussars, a tall, slender young man — he died young — 
 with no resemblance to his father. There are the miniatures 
 of Scott and Mademoiselle Charpentier, afterward Lady Scott 
 (these are the pictures they exchanged before marriage), and a 
 score of most interesting historical articles. The mother-of- 
 pearl cross which Queen Mary last pressed to her lips is here. 
 
 The drawing-room is a large well-proportioned room hung 
 with Chinese paper, and contains many" interesting paintings, 
 including a water-color sketch of Sophia Scott (afterward 
 Mrs. Lockhart), one of Anne Scott in fancy dress, a portrait 
 of Scott's mother, and one of Scott himself by Sir Henry 
 Raeburn, painted in 1809, representing him at full length, 
 seated, with his greyhound Percy at his feet, and the valley of 
 the Yarrow for a background. There is an " awesome" por- 
 trait of the head of Mary Queen of Scots after decapitation, 
 with the signature of the painter, Amyas Cawood, dated 
 February 9th, 1587, the day after her execution, a picture to 
 haunt one with its stony features of ashen pallor. 
 
 The armory bristles with all sorts of weapons, offensive and 
 
70 To Dryhurgh Abbey. 
 
 defensive, admirably disposed, and, like all the objects here, 
 in excellent condition. Here are a sword given to the great 
 Marquis of Montrose by Charles I., and Rob Roy's gun, a 
 handsome long Spanish-barrelled piece with his initials, 
 R. M. C, Robert McGregor Campbell, the latter name as- 
 sumed by him in compliment to the Argyle family ; also his 
 broadsword with Andrew Ferrara blade and basket-hilt, and 
 long Highland dirk with blade of the same maker. 
 
 The entrance hall in like manner is filled with armor of all 
 ages and countries. Here are the original keys of " The Heart 
 of Midlothian," or Old Tolbooth of Edinburgh. There are 
 two fine cap-a-pie suits of polished steel tilting armor, glorious 
 to see. The last suit of clothes Scott wore lies well preserved 
 in a glass case, including a singularly high and wide-brimmed 
 white hat. I noticed the shoe, whose outlines indicate a 
 small, shapely foot. 
 
 Abbotsford is built of a light cheerful stone, with consider- 
 able ornament of one kind and another in its ambitious 
 architecture, and is really a fine residence, but one has a 
 feeling that somehow it is not altogether what the builder 
 intended, as if he had been compelled to stay his hand before 
 having all to his mind. No doubt he tried for too much, and 
 enslaved himself to meet the demands on him. The situation, 
 too, is on the level bank of the river, sloping upward in its rear, so 
 that it is shut out of view until one comes right upon it. But the 
 broad brown Tweed flows swiftly with murmuring song close 
 below the windows of the cheerful alcoves of his goodly library ; 
 no fairer fields may be than those sloping southward to the sun 
 on the opposing bank far up and down the valley ; a deep 
 serenity is over all, and one can feel how dear to the master's 
 heart Abbotsford must have become. The place is now owned 
 by the Hon. Mrs. Maxwell Scott, Sir Walter's great-grand- 
 daughter, the daughter of a daughter of Lockhart. The 
 custodian informed me that about six thousand persons visited 
 Abbotsford last season. About twenty thousand visited Burns' 
 birthplace during the same time. 
 
 We drove back through Melrose to Dryburgh Abbey, five 
 miles, that we might see where Scott lies buried. We climb 
 Bemerside Hill, whose summit commands a glorious view of 
 the Tweed Valley and all the fertile space southward to the 
 blue line of the Cheviots. It is said that here Sir Walter 
 
A History of the Abbey. 71 
 
 always reined up his horse to admire the scene. Dryburgh 
 Abbey was founded in 1150 by Hugh de Moreville, Lord of 
 Lauderdale and Constable of Scotland. The Tweed sweeps 
 round the well-wooded knoll on which it stands. In 1322 
 Edward II., returning from his unsuccessful invasion of 
 Scotland burned the monastery which then underwent 
 repairs. At the Reformation it passed into a temporal lord- 
 ship, as was the fate of such institutions, and is now owned 
 by the Earl of Buchan. It is much in ruins but specially 
 interesting by reason of the considerably well-preserved 
 remains of so much of the monastic buildings, including the 
 refectory, the abbot's parlor and the wine and almonry 
 cellars. There is a St. Catharine's window in this part of the 
 ruin, 10 feet in diameter, much overgrown with ivy, and high 
 up the same wall climb rose-vines gay with flowers against the 
 hoar}^ stones taken from the same quarry as those of Melrose 
 Abbey. In the grounds stands a yew of great size, said 
 to have been planted soon after the foundation of the abbey. 
 The most beautiful and interesting part of the ruin is that of the 
 north transept, called St. Mary's Aisle. Here Sir Walter Scott 
 was buried on the 26th of October, 1832, in the tomb of his 
 maternal ancestors, the Haliburtons of Newmains, at one time 
 owners of the abbey. His wife lies beside him. She died 
 in 1823. On the other side is the tomb of his oldest son, and 
 at his feet that of his son-in-law, Lockhart. No others of his 
 family are buried here. All is fair and peaceful around this 
 tender and venerable spot, cheered by the various songs of 
 many tuneful birds, a spot, fitting for the final rest of a weary 
 and gifted soul, who has vastly added to the innocent and 
 high enjoyment of his kind, leaving a name the world will not 
 willingly let die. 
 
 Crossing the Tweed by a foot-bridge we rejoined our coach 
 and sped merrily on for twelve miles over the same fair and 
 fertile country we find all along to the ancient Border town of 
 Jedburgh, the county town of Roxburghshire, situated in the 
 pretty valley of the Jed. It was a " royal burgh" seven hun- 
 dred years ago, and the chief town of the middle marches. 
 The citizens in the old days were famous for their skill in 
 handling a peculiar partisan called the " Jethart Staff." Their 
 war-cry was " Jethart's here," and their coat-of-arms a mount- 
 ed trooper charging. The proverb of "Jethart justice," 
 
72 Jedburgh, and What it Contains. 
 
 " Where in the morn men hang and draw, 
 And sit in judgment after," 
 
 appears to have taken its rise from some instances of sum- 
 mary justice executed on the Border marauders, says Black, 
 The population of the town is now about 3500, chiefly well 
 built in modern houses, some few of the old buildings 
 still remaining ; among these a long two-story house with 
 the Scottish coat-of-arms chiselled on one of the walls, 
 where Queen Mary is said to have lain dangerously sick for 
 several weeks after her visit to Bothwell at Hermitage Castle, 
 not far away. 
 
 But Jedburgh has its lion in the favorite form of a ruined 
 abbey dating back to near the middle of the twelfth cen- 
 tury, and built by that father of so many in this kind, David 
 I., for a society of Augustine friars from France. There is 
 a fine Norman west door, a flamboyant St. Catharine's window, 
 and a graceful display of pillars and arches in the nave. The 
 triforium and clerestory are in excellent preservation, and show 
 the Norman mingled with the Gothic in an interesting man- 
 ner. The tower is in perfect condition, 100 feet high, and I 
 was simple enough to be persuaded into going to its top by 
 the narrow winding stairs usual in these structures of the un- 
 comfortable old times, and have registered a vow never again 
 to elevate my two hundred pounds avoirdupois to any such alti- 
 tude by a similar process. 
 
 Our inn here is the Spread Eagle, a gilt effigy of the same 
 surmounting the door, not the " fierce gray bird with bending 
 beak" of Uncle Sam, but a most tame dunghill creature with 
 double head and supine tail flattened on the wall, humiliating 
 for the free-born American to look upon. But here under its 
 feeble wings we are doomed to stay over the more than Puri- 
 tan Scottish Sabbath. 
 
 June 9, Sunday. — A sour, rainy, chilly day, so that a melan- 
 choly fire in our dingy private parlor in this mouldy old house 
 agreed well with the state of nature outside. Finished read- 
 ing Froude's " Two Chiefs of Dunboy," an exceedingly in- 
 teresting book as illustrating the state of things in Ireland 
 something over a century ago. In the afternoon walked 
 in the churchyard by the abbey, noticing on the stones 
 names often appearing in the histories and stories of the 
 old Border times — Turnbull, Allan, Elliott, Graham, Hilson, 
 
Off for Newcastle. 73 
 
 Chisholm, Fenwick, Rutherford, Douglas, Grahamslaw, 
 Cranstoun, Borthwick, Laidlaw. 
 
 Jutie 10. — Fine, cool, bracing morning. Took the road at jo 
 A.M. for Newcastle, fifty-six miles, to be done in easy stages of 
 two days. Followed the narrow and picturesque valley of the 
 Jed some seven miles, then bore away more to the south straight 
 upon the long, wide range of the Cheviot Hills. These are a 
 series of low hills, or rather an irregular succession of broken 
 ranges, with innumerable small peaks and domes, woodless, 
 grassy to the top, rising out of a high moor tufted with wild 
 grass and stretching away indefinitely in all directions, 
 with no outcropping of rock of any sort — at least until the 
 southern slope of the plateau is reached. On the crest of 
 almost the last ridge to the south is the dividing line 
 between the two countries, and we pass from Scotland into 
 England at a good round trot, and for the first time are on 
 right English soil. All about us, on hill-sides, in valleys, on 
 broad stretches of moor, are thousands of sheep — for the whole 
 region is pasture — watched by shepherds whose solitary huts 
 rise infrequent, the work being mostly done by dogs of the 
 collie breed, whose movements we watched with lively interest. 
 Each shepherd was accompanied by at least two of these, and at 
 a quiet intimation conveyed by voice or gesture they headed 
 the flock in any required direction, closed it up or opened it 
 out or separated it into as many parts as was wanted, without 
 a moment's indecision. George, our Scotch coachman, says 
 he has himself seen the collie go into a large herd of cattle 
 pasturing in common and bring out those of his master as 
 handily and more speedily than a man could do. 
 
 After driving twenty-six miles to Otterbourne, we are still 
 on the southern slope of one of the ranges of the Cheviot. 
 We purposed stopping at the little tavern here, but found all 
 good space taken by a party of young folk from Newcastle on 
 their Whitsuntide holidays : 
 
 " The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn, 
 'Tis pleasant there to be ; 
 But there is nought at Otterbourne 
 To feed my men and me." 
 
 Therefore we drove back four miles to the Redesdale Arms, 
 Horsley, where we are in just such a snug, clean, quiet country 
 inn as I have read about and longed for since boyhood, and in 
 
74: Newcastle-on-the- Tyne. 
 
 our private parlor I am closing the day with these imperfect 
 notes of it, a lump of coal flickering in the high grate, two tall 
 candles in high, silver-gilt stands on my table, half-a-dozen 
 small cases of stuffed birds on the low walls, solid mahogany 
 furniture, an old mirror, and exceeding peace. Such a broad, 
 free view we had after dinner, just two hours ago, the still 
 water of the Redes winding below us, with its narrow valley 
 above, growing dusky in the slant rays of sunset ! 
 
 June II. — Clear and cool. Had the best breakfast since 
 leaving home — brook trout from the stream near by, savory 
 ham, excellent coffee with rich cream, toothsome bread, all 
 good and well served, and at a cost of unwonted moderation. 
 We shall have a kindly memory of the Redesdale Arms, into 
 which we fell by accident. We were on the road at 9 a.m., 
 with much such scenery as yesterday, now on a lower level ; 
 hills sharp and gradual, long stretches of moor and fen, pretty 
 valleys, high pastures with multitudinous sheep, abundance 
 of small game, rabbits, grouse, partridges, plover, and many 
 sorts of birds. I saw the starling for the first time and the 
 meadow-lark, although I had been asking for a sight of the 
 latter ever since we landed in Ireland. This morning George 
 said, pointing with his whip, " A lark," and a small brown bird 
 rose toward the sun with a continuous, wavering song, clear 
 and sweet, ever mounting higher, until the tiny form, lost to 
 sight in the sun's effulgence, seemed to dissolve in melody. 
 
 Lunched and baited at the Highland Inn, whose sign of a 
 Highland piper, looking as if he had come out of bonny Scot- 
 land with Prince Charlie in '45 and got badly " left," very 
 fairly indicated the entertainment for man and beast. But it 
 could have been worse, and it sustained us well for the ten 
 remaining miles, when we entered the smoky, bustling town 
 of Newcastle-on-the-Tyne, and drew to their doors a fair share 
 of its 150,000 inhabitants as we rattled up to the Station Hotel. 
 There is little here we care for, and we are here only because 
 it is in our way. The town lies on the left bank of the Tyne, 
 nine miles from its rhouth in the midst of an extensive coal- 
 field, and is probably the chief coal-exporting city of the 
 world. The old church of St. Nicholas has a striking lantern- 
 tower resembling that of St. Giles' in Edinburgh. The keep 
 of the castle, the only part remaining, dates from 1170, and is 
 85 feet high — to the top of the turret, 107 feet — with walls 12 
 
A Pleasant Walk to Durham Cathedral. 75 
 
 to i8 feet thick. There is a bridge over the Tyne designed by 
 Robert Stephenson, and above its roadway, another for 
 railways, both solid, and doing excellent service. The upper 
 level is 112 feet above the water, and on the top of one end is 
 a locomotive built by George Stephenson, " Stephenson's No. 
 
 I Engine." 
 
 June 12. — At 9 A.M. left for Durham, fourteen miles. Passed 
 through Chester-le-Street, the only place of interest on the 
 route, an old town of 6ooo population. It was the seat of the 
 Bishop of Bernecia from 883 to 995. Saw near at hand on the 
 left, Lumley Castle, the seat of the Earl of Scarborough. At 
 
 II A.M. pulled up at the portals of the County Hotel, Dur- 
 ham, another good instance of an English inn. And I desire 
 to put on grateful record my relish of such a mug of ale as one 
 encounters but few times in his mortal pilgrimage. Strength- 
 ened thereby with the adjunct of an excellent lunch, I took 
 my little party by a pleasant walk along the Wear to the 
 Cathedral, which stands proudly on a high tongue of land 
 around which the river forms a loop. Deeply impressive to 
 me is this massive pile, with its square Norman central tower 
 of 214 feet in height, its walls 70 feet high, its length 510 feet, 
 its width across the transepts 170 feet, across the nave, 80 
 feet. But these figures give no idea of the effect of mingled 
 awe and admiration with which one gazes from the western 
 end through the pillared nave and rich choir, and still beyond 
 over the reredos to the great rose-window over the " Nine 
 Altars." The huge piers and pillars supporting the arches on 
 which the triforium rests, the clerestory above, and still far- 
 ther away the heavily groined roof, all parts complete and vari- 
 ously representing in form and ornament the changing phases 
 of what are styled the Romanesque and Gothic, almost 
 oppress the senses, like the near presence of some majestic and 
 awful object in nature. 
 
 I shall attempt no description of this great Cathedral, reck- 
 oned as one among the six finest in England. I do not believe 
 any description of cathedrals can convey an adequate impres- 
 sion. They may be felt, not described. Nor shall I dwell 
 upon its history, which begins when Bishop Williams, the 
 second bishop after the Norman Conquest, completed the 
 choir in 1093. The work went on through four centuries, and 
 some changes, called "renovations," mostly for the worse. 
 
76 The Cathedral and its Surroundings. 
 
 have occurred since. It is dedicated to St. Andrew, and has 
 been specially honored by the presence of the bones of St. 
 Cuthbert, which are supposed to rest behind the reredos in a 
 spot of peculiar distinction. Great must have been the odor 
 of his sanctity, for the monks of Lindisfarne, fearful that the 
 Danes would covet his bones, brought them here and bestowed 
 them in a church completed in 990, succeeded by the present 
 Cathedral, because this spot is better fitted for defence. Out of 
 deference to his saintly abhorrence of woman as a suggester of 
 evil thoughts, it is said, the Lady's Chapel is set in the unusual 
 position of the west end, and some twenty-five feet from the 
 western door is a blue stone cross in the pavement of the nave, 
 beyond which no woman must venture in the old days. Pre- 
 tended personal articles and memorials of the fine old saint 
 are shown to such an extent in cases in the library that one 
 might fancy himself among the relics in a Mexican cathedral 
 rather than in a Reformed Protestant church. 
 
 I was much interested in the monastic buildings formerly 
 occupied by the Benedictine monks in connection with the 
 Cathedral. These are well preserved, and the huge kitchen, 
 still used as such, with its conical roof and larders and high 
 windows ; the long hall of the dormitory, with its oaken 
 roof black with centuries ; the comfortable refectory ; the ample 
 cloisters, with their " carrels" or recesses for study, call back the 
 old days, and the imagination easily peoples these stout habi- 
 tations with buxom monks, wearing the days of their life away 
 in animal content, caring little what befell, so that the venison 
 pasty was hot and toothsome and the ale clear and foaming in 
 the tankard. By-the-bye, I wonder if the beer I have this day 
 commended is brewed after the recipe left by the good monks 
 for the benefit of the inhabitants of quaint Durham for all 
 time ? 
 
 For centuries the bishops of Durham were earls of North- 
 umberland as well, and most princely was their state of inde- 
 pendent sway over the Palatinate of Durham. They occupied 
 the castle on the other side of the Palace Green, dating back 
 to William the Conqueror, rebuilt and altered since, and now 
 since 1833 occupied by Durham University, the lofty keep 
 being used by the students as dormitories. There is in one part 
 a fine carved staircase of oak black with age, leading to a 
 series of apartments used as living and sleeping rooms by 
 
Oti the Way to York. 77 
 
 certain judges of the courts and professors of the University. 
 One of these, an ancient hall about 40 feet in length by 25 
 wide and 20 high, with its huge handsome fireplace, built four 
 centuries ago, in which a good fire was burning, window 
 recesses the thickness of the wall — not less than 12 feet — heavy 
 oaken wainscoting with carved oak ceiling, and rich old 
 mahogany furniture, was a delight to me. It is used by the 
 professors, who come up here for their dessert after they have 
 dined in hall below with the students. If I might not be 
 Bishop of Durham, I think the next thing I should choose 
 would be to serve as a professor here, and sitting in the mellow- 
 light of this quaint room, with a cobwebbed bottle or so to 
 give a smack to the old jokes over the walnuts, wear the hours 
 away. 
 
 Ju)ie 13. — The sweet Cathedral bells were chiming the first 
 quarter after 9 a.m. as George gave rein to his freshened 
 horses through the ancient city of Durham, and we entered on 
 the level highway in the direction of York, sixty-eight miles 
 southward. The road is macadamized, and ever since we left 
 Edinburgh smooth and firm as the driveways in Prospect 
 Park. Lunched at the King's Head, in the town of Dar- 
 lington, important only for its manufactures of woollens and 
 carpets. The luncheon was excellent, and in an hour we were 
 on the road again, and at 4 p.m. are snugly within the portals 
 of a second Golden Lion at North Allerton, having en- 
 countered the first in Stirling. This is a market town half 
 way between Durham and York, and our inn was of conse- 
 quence in the old coaching days. The main street is over 100 
 feet wide, paved with cobble-stones from the front line of the 
 little houses slantwise down to the centre, leaving there a 
 level road-bed, say 20 feet wide. 
 
 Our ride to-day has been over a fair rolling country, culti- 
 vated into greater fertility as we advance southward. The 
 arable lands are prepared for crops with great pains, the heavy 
 soil being worked to thorough mellowness, tilled fields, mead- 
 ows and pastures are separated by verdant hedges, on whose 
 line stand single trees not unfrequently, so that the wide pros- 
 pect on either hand offers a most agreeable variety. Here 
 and there rise the red-tiled roofs of low cottages scattered 
 over the landscape, with now and then a stately mansion half 
 hidden among trees. We dash through the single street of 
 
78 On a Coach- Top. 
 
 many a quaint village, drawing to the cottage-doors stout little 
 children whose flaxen hair and blue eyes declare their Saxon 
 descent. The white plastered walls are green with ivy and 
 flushed with clambering roses, now in full bloom, contented 
 cattle browse in the rich pastures or lie in the shadow of broad 
 beeches, oaks and elms, and over all is the air of an exceeding 
 and enduring tranquillity. The day has been almost cloudless, 
 but the sun does not shine with the fierce glare of our June at 
 home, but as if his rays passed through some medium which 
 partially abstracts their fervor. The songs of many birds 
 went with us all along, the thrush, hedge-sparrow, and, 
 chiefest, the meadow-lark, who rained his melody down from 
 the upper air, like faint tones from the Celestial City. 
 
 How many times have I yearned to ride over some interest- 
 ing part of England on the top of a coach, and now the fact 
 exceeds the anticipation ! The Englishman seeks to hide his 
 home life, and the first thing he undertakes in building is a 
 high wall of stone or brick to shut out even the prying eyes of 
 passers-by. But from the vantage of our coach-top we over-: 
 look his insufficient defences, and get views of the pretty 
 swards and flower-beds and gardens and orchards hidden 
 behind these churlish barriers. I should say, from what little 
 I have seen of the Briton, that his nature is a good deal like 
 his home, rough and repellent on the outside, but sunny and 
 cheerful once you are allowed inside. We crossed the Tees, a 
 few miles below Durham, and noted the plain on our left just 
 before reaching North Allerton, where the battle of the Stand- 
 ard was fought between the English and Scotch in 1138. 
 
 June 14. — On our way again, all in good condition at 9 
 A.M., lunching at the York, a poorish tavern in the little village 
 of Easingwold, and reaching the welcome of the Black Swan 
 in York at 4 p.m., where we are made comfortable in clean, 
 old-fashioned rooms. Found mail awaiting us, and eagerly 
 devoured the news from home. Our ride to-day has been 
 almost a repetition of that of yesterday, except that the coun- 
 try is more level, stretching away, indeed, like a Western 
 prairie, only far on our left lay the blue range of the Appleton 
 Hills. York is a very ancient city, the Eboracum of the 
 Romans, who made it their principal city of Britain during 
 their long occupancy of five hundred years. It was founded, 
 so go the records, by Julius Agricola, made Governor of 
 
York, and its History. 79 
 
 Britain by Vespasian, a.d. 78. The Emperor Hadrian took 
 up his residence here a.d. 120, and it became a luxurious 
 Roman capital. The Sixth Legion accompanied the emperor 
 and continued here nearly three hundred years. Severus 
 came here about 207 in his old age and died in 210, was 
 cremated, and his inurned ashes taken to Rome for burial. 
 In 304 Constantius Chlorus, Emperor of the West, came to 
 Britain and took up his residence here, where he died two 
 years later, when his son, Constantine the Great, was here 
 proclaimed emperor. When the Romans withdrew from 
 Britain in 420, the city, left to its fate, was sacked by the bar- 
 barian Scots and Picts, but despite all calamities still con- 
 tinued to hold its importance through all the changing fortunes 
 of English history. During the Wars of the Roses, Richard 
 Plantagenet, Duke of York, fell at the 'battle of Wakefield, 
 1460, and his head, crowned with a paper diadem, was, by 
 order of Queen Margaret, stuck on a pole over Micklegate 
 Bar, one of the city gates — 
 
 " Off with his head and set it on York Gate, 
 So York may overlook the town of York." 
 
 And so through all the centuries this has continued to be 
 almost the chief city in historical interest in the kingdom. 
 It has now settled down into a prosaic city of some 60,000 
 inhabitants, and while for the most part wearing a modern 
 look, has many characteristics of the past. It is a walled 
 city ; and after dinner we walked on the top for a considerable 
 portion of the circuit, the whole being two and three quarter 
 miles, and complete, except in those few places where neces- 
 sary improvements for extending the city outside are going 
 on. These walls are about 18 feet high and 4 feet thick, with 
 an outer crenellated parapet, and rounded into towers a few 
 feet higher at short and regular intervals. There are eight 
 entrances or gates, called " bars," in the circumference. 
 These consist of square towers built over a circular arch, 
 with embattled turrets at the angles. They had an outer 
 gate with a massy chain across, then a portcullis, and then a 
 heavy inside gate. In several of the gates these are still pre- 
 served. When a portion of the walls gives way it is restored 
 at the expense of the city, and these are used as promenades. 
 These walls are ancient, going back to the time of Edward 
 
80 York Cathedral. 
 
 II., and in Henry III.'s time a patent was granted, empower- 
 ing the levy of a toll on goods coming for sale in York, to be 
 applied to the support of the walls and fortifications. 
 
 At sunset strolled out and looked at the glory and pride of 
 York, its Cathedral. It requires more than one look to 
 realize the vast size of this structure. It is cruciform, with 
 an extreme length from east to west of 524 feet, height of 100 
 feet, 104 feet wide across the nave and 224 feet across the 
 transepts. The two western towers are 201 feet and the cen- 
 tral tower 216 feet high. The satisfaction of the first glance 
 is somewhat lessened by a certain blotchy appearance caused 
 by patches of the fagades peeling off and showing the white 
 of the magnesian limestone of which the Cathedral is con- 
 structed. These ragged spots contrast unpleasantly with the 
 surface, darkened by time, which is slowly consuming the 
 lavish ornaments of the exterior, and even weakening the 
 strength of the very walls, so that a considerable force of 
 masons is constantly at work repairing damages. 
 
 June 15. — Hired a hack and drove about the city, noting 
 many quaint old houses with overhanging upper stories, and 
 ;-ejoiced in one of these dated 1579, with its carved gables, its 
 projecting windows, its exposed frame of heavy timbers filled 
 with yellow-tinted plaster. Also drove entirely round the 
 circuit of the walls, visiting the several gates ; then a pictu- 
 resque, ivy-clad manor house, built by Henry VIII., now a 
 school for the blind ; then into the Philosophical Society's 
 Gardens, in which stand the picturesque ruins of St. Mary's 
 Abbey and what is called the Multangular Tower, consisting 
 of ten sides, determined to be a Roman work of the third 
 century. It is capped by several layers of stone of mediaeval 
 date. It is in perfect preservation, and formed one of the 
 angle-towers of the walls of Roman York. Visited in the 
 same gardens an old timber and plaster building, supposed to 
 have been the hospitium of the abbey. In the upper room — 
 the old refectory — the Yorkshire Philosophical Society has a 
 museum of antiquities, mostly Roman, consisting of stone 
 coffins, altars, tessellated pavements, coins, lamps, tiles, 
 vases, urns, articles of Roman use and ornament in great 
 variety. Almost all these were found here in excavating for 
 the site of the great railway station, said, by the way, to be 
 the longest in the world — 800 feet. Startling it was to see the 
 
A Ponpoiis Verger. 81 
 
 abundant, rich, dark auburn hair of a Roman lady taken from 
 her coffin of stone, still fastened with two pins of polished jet. 
 It might, so lively is the look of it, have been shorn away in 
 its glossy pride but yesterday. From another coffin came a 
 fillet of gold which had rounded the brow of a woman buried 
 therein, and in her mouth a small Roman coin — the denarius. 
 Was this Charon's fee for her ferriage over the Styx, and did 
 he, in the press of business that day, neglect to take it ; or 
 did pity or admiration of her beauty move his churlish spirit ; 
 or, sad to think, has her shade never crossed, but is still wan- 
 dering, wailingly, on the hither shore, because he will have 
 no denarius, but his obolus only ? Well, here is the coin, 
 waiting, waiting. 
 
 Passed most of the p.m. in the Cathedral. Entered by the 
 door in the south transept and felt disappointed. Whether 
 the ponderous majesty of Durham Cathedral still overshad- 
 owed my mind, or whether this was not my cathedral day, or 
 whether the circumstances were untoward, I could not realize 
 the impression which should come from the first view of so 
 vast an interior. The noble heights, the broad spaces, the 
 clustered columns, the harmonious and pure ornaments, 
 wrought by the pious skill of centuries — all these indeed 
 moved me deeply, but something was wanting. The plague 
 of all places of interest here is the professional guide, from 
 whom it is so difficult to escape. Here it is one of the 
 vergers, who was in the act of collecting a drove of visitors to 
 show them the choir and other parts of the Cathedral kept 
 under lock and key and only exhibited on payment of sixpence. 
 I tried to arrange with him to be shown about later, but this 
 could not be, as no other party can be allowed to-day. So 
 we paid each his toll as we filed through a narrow gate lead- 
 ing to the south aisle and were conducted through the beauti- 
 ful lady's room, the treasury, the chapter-room and choir, un- 
 able in reverent silence to consider these beautiful things, the 
 mind being distracted and worried by the hard, quick, monot- 
 onous description in a set order of just what the guide sees 
 proper to call one's attention to. For instance, taking a 
 straddling attitude before the glorious eastern window and 
 playing with his watch-chain, he proceeds something in this 
 fashion: "This window may justly be called the wonder of 
 the world, not only for masonry but for glazing. You will ob 
 6 
 
83 The Chapter-House in York Cathedral. 
 
 serve that there are one hundred and seventeen portions, and 
 so much of the Holy Writ is taken up thereby that you see at 
 a glance a'moast the whole history of the Bible. Of the Scrip- 
 ture characters the following are the principal : the Creation, 
 the Temptation, the Tower of Babel, patriarchs and Moses and 
 David, including Revelation. This window is 77 feet high, 32 
 broad and divided into two hundred compartments about a 
 yard square. John Thornton of Coventry was the glazier, and 
 he begun a.d. 1405 for four shillings a week and must have it 
 done inside of three years. The pay looks small, \i\x.\. you must 
 remember," fixing his cold eye on me, as if I were about to for- 
 get, '' that a penny then would come near buying a whole 
 sheep and a shilling a whole beef." This could not hinder me, 
 however, from admiring the beautiful Chapter-House, octago- 
 nal in form, 63 feet in diameter and 67 feet high. Large 
 windows of stained glass dating back to 1350 fill seven of the 
 sides, and the whole circumference below the windows is taken 
 up with forty-four canopied stone stalls for the dignitaries 
 composing the chapter. These canopies are richly ornamented, 
 and at the lower termination of each is a small head exquisite- 
 ly carven. Some of these are sweet female faces, beaming in 
 saintliness, while next one of them perhaps is the head of a 
 sensual monk leering at her — all sorts of grotesque features 
 being wrought in this holy place as if in mockery and satire of 
 its ministers. How does it happen such imagery has place here 
 and in the corbels and gargoyles of the exterior and in many 
 another place all about these old churches ? Was religion in 
 those centuries only half in earnest ? Was piety mingled in a 
 half impious way with all manner of carnal pursuits and 
 pleasures ? We are shown the statue of an archbishop here 
 with a violin on his breast, in position to play, and are told that 
 he was a wild boy who ran away from home with his fiddle, 
 turned pirate, and after many adventures through many 
 years, returned to York, became archbishop, and here he 
 stands in stone, fiddle and all. 
 
 When the building of this Cathedral, as it now stands, was 
 begun in 1215, as funds were wanting, the archbishop of that 
 time, Walter de Grey, a thorough worldling, granted indul- 
 gences to those who would contribute, as did the then pope ; 
 also to aid the work a former archbishop was canonized 
 and a fame established for him as a miracle-worker of peculiar 
 
The Choir of the Cathedral. 83 
 
 force, and in consequence great contributions were made by 
 those flocking to his shrine. 
 
 I cannot undertake to give an account of this great Cathe- 
 dral. It was founded by King Edwin, the first Saxon king of 
 Northumbria, in 627, and in the crypt we saw a piece of Saxon 
 wall in what is styled herring-bone masonry, this being all that 
 remains of the first structure dedicated to St. Peter. It was 
 built and. rebuilt, added to and altered from that time on, the 
 building as it now stands having been begun in 1215 and com- 
 pleted in 1472, different parts being done by different hands ; so 
 that, as the Norman style was undergoing changes through all 
 these years, almost all good forms of English ecclesiastical 
 architecture find their expression here. 
 
 Jimc 16, Sunday, — Attended morning service in the Cathe- 
 dral, the magnificent choir of which is fitted up with pews, 
 the entrance to it being through a small arched door in the 
 richly ornamented stone organ-screen. This is 25 feet in 
 height, and in its fifteen niches are statues of the kings of 
 England arranged in order from William I. to Henry VI., 
 who was on the throne when this work was done. Most im- 
 pressive on entering is the view of the lofty roof, the groined 
 arches, the clustered columns and, most of all, the great east 
 window. This choir by itself occupies the space of a very- 
 large church. The seats are v/ell filled this morning, as the: 
 ordination of some forty priests and deacons by the Arch- 
 bishop, who is the Primate of England, takes place. The: 
 fifty-two oaken stalls on the sides are filled this morning with, 
 high-colored Yorkshire maidens and matrons in spring hats, 
 and frocks, showing prettily under the dark carven can.opi.es,. 
 But I could take no interest in the ceremonial, having no eyes 
 or thoughts for anything but the wonderful windows with 
 their old stained glass. These are the special glory of this 
 minster, the original glazing existing here, it is said, to a 
 greater extent than in any other church in England. Such 
 marvellous purples and blues and yellows and grays combined 
 with such cunning skill and infinite patience into harmonious 
 and perfect forms ! Wherein lies the vast difference between 
 these rich colors and the effects produced now by even the 
 best modern artists ? Is the art of staining glass as it was 
 done five hundred years ago here in England a lost art, or 
 has time mellowed these tints through centuries of storm and. 
 
84 Its Stained-Glass Windows. 
 
 sun, even as it mellows and deepens the color of all things in 
 nature and in art too, not always with benefit ? In the north 
 transept are five beautiful lancet windows, each one 54 feet 
 high and 5^ feet wide. These are called "the Five Sisters," 
 from having been presented to the minster by five sisters, 
 who each wrought with her own hands the embroidered pat- 
 terns for the stained-glass devices. They form the subject 
 of Dickens' story of the " Five Sisters of York," in " Nicho- 
 las Nickleby." 
 
 I discovered this morning why I felt disappointed in my 
 first view of the interior yesterday, in comparison with that of 
 Durham. The organ stands above the rood-screen, so as to 
 shut out the view of the east window and really to separate 
 .the nave from the choir and destroy the effect of the great 
 distance from the extreme west to the east — a considerable 
 defect as it seems to me. At Durham the organ consists of 
 two parts, one on each side of the choir, and the view to the 
 east window not being obstructed, from the west to the east 
 end is for that reason more impressive, although the nave of 
 the York Minster is forty feet longer than that of Durham. 
 The greatness of the parts grows on the mind like Niagara. 
 But it is idle, at least for me, to attempt to describe these 
 ■marvels of man's hand. 
 
 Attended evening service, but had little good in the charity 
 .sermon — able and disposed for nothing but studying the win- 
 dows. The sinking sun set them ablaze with emeralds, tur- 
 quoises, sapphires, rubies and diamonds and made every pane 
 a flashing glory. When the sun withdrew his shining, little 
 jets of gas glimmered far up, circling the capitals of the lofty 
 pillars ; the gorgeous hues died slowly out, Michael sheathed 
 his flaming sword, his bright squadrons folded their lustrous 
 ■wings, the roses faded, and the ineffable glory of these win- 
 dows passed into darkness, in all likelihood never to be rekin- 
 dled before eyes of mine. Vale venerable minster and may 
 the couplet inscribed over the door of the Chapter-House in 
 Saxon letters continue to stand for many an age : 
 
 " Ut Rosa flos florii,m 
 Sic est Do?nii.s ista Domornm. ' ' 
 
 I intended to note that in the vestry of the Cathedral, for- 
 anerly called the Treasury, we were shown in an old oaken cup- 
 
The Curfew Bell. — Leeds. 85 
 
 board, among other curious things, the horn of Ulphus, a great 
 carved drinking-horn of ivory. Ulphus was a Saxon prince, 
 who, finding his two sons on the point of quarrelling over their 
 inheritance, came to York with his horn and kneeling before 
 the altar in the minster, filled it with red wine and devoutly 
 quaffing it — a swingeing draught it was too — gave all his lands 
 and rents to God ; and the Cathedral to this day holds a very 
 considerable property, by the evidence of this horn. In the 
 wall of the south aisle of the choir is a tablet to the memory 
 of Jane Hodson, wife of Dr. Hodson, Chancellor of the Cathe- 
 dral, who died in 1636 in giving birth to her twenty-fourth 
 child, she herself being in her thirty-eighth year. If one may 
 judge from the troops of children everywhere, Yorkshire ma- 
 trons are emulous of the patient continuance in well-doing 
 exhibited by this fruitful dame of other days. 
 
 The curfew bell is still tolled in York at eight o'clock in 
 the evening from the steeple of St. Michael, a small ancient 
 church ; and at 6 a.m. every morning except Sundays, after 
 this bell strikes the hour it is tolled a certain number of 
 times and then struck once for each day of the month already 
 passed, a sum of money having been bequeathed for that pur- 
 pose b)'^ a traveller who, having lost his way in the neighboring 
 wood in the olden time, located himself by hearing this bell 
 strike six. 
 
 June 17. — George came to the door smiling at 9 a.m., his 
 horses in good fettle, coach and harness burnished, and we 
 rolled in good form out of this exceedingly interesting old city, 
 stopping long enough in front of a section of the ancient wall 
 to have our equipage photographed, as a token of our coach- 
 ing experience, and proceeded to Leeds, twenty-six miles 
 distant, passing through several small villages of no especial 
 note, unless one might be Boston Spa, reputed to have a heal- 
 ing spring, of which we saw nothing. Lunched at the poor- 
 est wayside inn we have yet fallen on, in the poor little hamlet 
 of Wetherby, it being conveniently situated half way, and at 
 4 P.M. had ample solace at the excellent Queen's Hotel in 
 smoky Leeds, a manufacturing town of 300,000 souls and as 
 like Pittsburg as need be. Not often does the sun penetrate 
 the hovering cloud of factory smoke belched from its thousand 
 chimneys. 
 
 To-day has been the warmest we have felt since landing at 
 
(ff> 
 
 86 T/ie Old Coach Roads. — Sheffield. 
 
 Queenstown, and man and beast seem to suffer and feel it as 
 very hot, but it does not so affect us. As I have said before, 
 the sun's rays are dulled by some property of the atmosphere, 
 so that we miss the sultry glare and fierce heat of our summer 
 skies at home. The country continues of the same attractive 
 sort I have tried to so little purpose to describe. Fields of 
 white clover studded with wild, flaring red poppies are fre- 
 quent. The hawthorn hedges all along are sweet with wild 
 roses, and if not "white with May" are "red with June." 
 From the rose-clad cottages of the straggling villages the 
 children pour out to see the passage of our coach and salute 
 us with robust cheers, while their elders heed the phenomenon 
 more stoically. I seem now and then, however, to notice an 
 old man in these villages bring his rheumatic limbs into posi- 
 tion with stiff celerity, his dull features kindling somewhat 
 into a pleased expression, as if the now unusual spectacle of a 
 four-in-hand had called back to his failing memory the old 
 times before the railways had superseded the coaches which 
 ran their regular trips on these highways, making twelve 
 miles an hour, with hourly change of horses, and so doing 
 a hundred miles in the daylight of each day on the through 
 line from York to London if, as a handbill I saw in York, 
 dated 1707, states, "God permits." All is changed now ; the 
 roads are still kept in perfect condition, as if the traffic were 
 likely to return any day, the ample stables of stone are in 
 every village and the inns too ; but how fallen from their 
 state, when the horn of the guard announced to the jolly 
 landlord coachful after coachful of hungry and thirsty guests 
 and the great carts which then moved all merchandise from 
 point to point crowded his noisy court-yard. Then huge 
 roasts smoked on the table and the ale frothed and 'twas 
 merry all along these old roads. 
 
 June 18. — Left Leeds in good condition for Sheffield, distant 
 by highway thirty-two miles. The scenery grows more diver- 
 sified soon after leaving Leeds and presents an agreeable 
 variety of hill and dale, and the immediate neighborhood of 
 Sheffield is picturesque and lovely. Twelve miles from Leeds 
 we passed through Wakefield, where on a bridge over the 
 Calder is a chantry, an interesting fourteenth-century relic 
 of a demolished church. Lunched at Barnsley, six miles 
 farther on, and found the Victoria Hotel at Sheffield an excel- 
 
Si'g/i^s on the Road. 87 
 
 lent one, as are all the railway hotels where we have put 
 up. Sheffield is another Leeds, only more so, grimy all over, 
 a huge workshop, of nearly 300,000 inhabitants, overhung 
 with a pall of dun smoke from hundreds of tall chimneys. Its 
 reputation for cutlery is of old, there is a guild, the Cut- 
 lers' Company, incorporated in 1624, and the office of Master 
 Cutler is the highest dignity of the city. For miles before 
 reaching the city we meet miners by the hundreds, returning 
 to their cottages from the mines, black as negroes, and for 
 the last three days have encountered along the road an in- 
 creasing number of wretched tramps begging their way. We 
 meet vans of showmen of all sorts, many handsomely painted, 
 with little stove-pipes protruding from the roofs, smoking 
 along, and clean lace curtains drawn back with red ribbons at 
 the little windows — such carts as Dr. Marigold was wont to go 
 about in. 
 
 Jicne 19. — Had an uninteresting drive of eighteen miles to 
 Clay Cross, half way to Derby. The whole way to Chester- 
 field is lined with shabby factory villages, made hideous by 
 great hills of slag and refuse from the smoking factories, spoil- 
 ing a fair rural country in the way which has so wrung the 
 artistic soul of Mr. Ruskin. At Chesterfield is a large and 
 ancient parish church, whose tall, fluted, pointed spire is 
 curiously twisted and bent to an angle of some fifteen de- 
 grees. The local legend is that Satan gave it a twist in a mad 
 freak, but a more prosaic explanation is that the woodwork 
 within the leaden outside has yielded to the action of time. 
 Lunched at Clay Cross and rode to Derby, thirty-six miles 
 from Sheffield. For three miles the road runs on a narrow 
 ridge dividing the landscape, which stretches away in the most 
 enchanting manner on either hand. Indeed, the whole way 
 this afternoon is over as fine a country as we have traversed, 
 but our satisfaction has been lessened by the cloud of dust 
 made by the coach and borne along with it by a following 
 wind. There has been no rain now for many days, and the 
 country, while not suffering, is yet quite dry. We find grow- 
 ing all crops usual to our farmers in the Western States, ex- 
 cept Indian corn, and all look well. Haying is just beginning, 
 while wheat will certainly not be ready to harvest before the 
 latter part of July. Large fields of turnips and beans are seen 
 and all field crops are tended with great care. Very much of 
 
88 Dei'hy. — Lichfield. 
 
 the last year's wheat all along the road is yet in the stack, being 
 held for better prices. In many cases more than one year's crop 
 is standing in the stack, which would be ruinous to the grain at 
 home, but they make such solid stacks, almost works of art, 
 and shelter them so perfectly with water-proof covers of 
 thatch, sloping like roofs, that I imagine the grain keeps almost 
 as well as in barns ; still, there must be some waste and dete- 
 rioration by such keeping, and the loss of interest on the value 
 must be added. 
 
 At 5.30 P.M. reached the St. James', a comfortable inn at 
 Derby, a well-looking town of some 90,000 inhabitants. 
 It lies on the full-flowing Derwent, and is the county-town 
 of Derbyshire. It was presented by William the Conqueror 
 to his natural son, Peveril of the Peak, whose castle, once 
 dominating the town, has entirely disappeared. It marks the 
 most southerly point reached by Charles Stuart and his High- 
 landers in the march to London he tried to make in 1745. 
 The Midland Railway Company have works here covering two 
 hundred and fifty acres, employing ten thousand men, most 
 of whom I should say we met pouring out of their shops after 
 working hours — a sturdy, well-looking body of workmen. The 
 only building of interest to us is All Saints' Church, whose 
 tower, 170 feet high, of the sixteenth century, is very hand- 
 some. 
 
 June 20. — Got off in good form at 9.30 a.m. for Lichfield, 
 twenty-three miles, without stopping except once to give the 
 horses each a half pail of water. George does not water his 
 team during an eighteen or twenty-mile drive, saying " the 
 best way is to keep water off them, for they get sickened with 
 it." Whether there is anything in this vague maxim more 
 than the senseless jargon of a groom I cannot say, but true it 
 is that our four-in-hand are making their long steady drive in 
 admirable condition. Half way lies Burton-On-Trent, where 
 are the prodigious breweries of Bass and Allsop, the former 
 covering one hundred and thirty acres of ground and employ- 
 ing two thousand men, the latter fifteen hundred. They send 
 their ales out in casks, and whoever chooses buys and bottles 
 them with such name on the labels as he pleases. We get both 
 as good in New York as I find them here. We have not passed 
 over a richer or handsomer country than to-day. Haying is 
 going on, and I should say the crop, so far as I see it, is yield- 
 
Lichfield Cathedral. — llie House of Dr. Johnson. 89 
 
 ing from two and one half to three tons per acre, and wheat 
 oats and barley promise well. The weather is warm and dry 
 and we had some annoyance from dust. We have had fine 
 strawberries now for several days, large and sweet. 
 
 Reached the George Hotel, Lichfield, at 1.30 p.m., and found 
 a batch of letters from home. No ill news, save particulars of 
 the terrible catastrophe in the Conemaugh Valley. After 
 luncheon visited the Cathedral, exceeding graceful and beau- 
 tiful, dating from about 1250 and two hundred years building. 
 It is of reddish sandstone, has borne the weather well, and 
 wears a fresh, warm look. It is 408 feet long, 65 feet wide, 
 and across the transepts 149 feet ; height, 60 feet ; central 
 steeple, 260 feet ; those of west end 190 feet. But these cold, 
 dull figures convey no notion of the harmony and grace of 
 the west fagade, or the symmetrical lightness of nave and 
 choir. The early English and later decorated styles are well 
 shown here side by side. I can in nowise put on paper any- 
 thing which will hereafter recall the picture in my mind to- 
 night of this exquisite church, which surpasses in certain 
 essential features of beauty any one I have yet seen. The 
 choir-stalls are modern, exquisitely carved and all done by 
 Thomas Evans, of Elliston, a brother of George Eliot. The 
 apse is polygonal, with glorious stained glass, three hundred 
 and fifty years old, brought from a convent in Liege. Fine, 
 too, is the Chapter-House, octagonal, with a ribbed roof sup- 
 ported by a central arch. Above is the Diocesan Library, 
 where I specially noted with rankling envy an illuminated 
 manuscript of Chaucer's " Canterbury Tales," done about 
 1400, and a Saxon copy of the Gospels (St. Chad's Gospels), 
 not later than 700, easily worth its weight in gold ; also a copy 
 of South's Sermons belonging to Dr. Johnson, the margins of 
 the leaves all the way through being marked in an uncouth 
 way with various signs, evidently having significance to him. 
 The Cathedral is dedicated to St. Chad, the patron saint of 
 Lichfield, of some 8000 souls — a city because of its Cathedral, 
 while Leeds, lacking that ornament, with its population of over 
 300,000 is only a town. 
 
 Dr. Johnson was born here in a house still standing in good 
 preservation fronting the market square, with a bill of sale in 
 the window. It is a wide three-story house of stuccoed brick, 
 and shows well now even in this well-built town, and when the 
 
90 Three Crowns Inn. — Coventry. 
 
 Doctor first saw the light in it, must have ranked among the 
 best houses. A huge and not quite pleasing statue of him 
 stands in the square just in front of the house, representing 
 him seated, intent upon a folio volume in his hand. The fea- 
 tures in this effigy and in the bust in the Cathedral are lighter 
 and finer than in the engravings I have been used to see of 
 him. Went into the Three Crowns Inn, the house next his 
 birthplace, where he entertained Boswell when they visited 
 Lichfield together in 1776; and here it was that the "sage" 
 after a " comfortable supper" gave expression to his encomium 
 of his townspeople, that they " are the most sober, decent 
 people in England, are the genteelest in proportion to their 
 wealth, and speak the purest English." How easy it is to 
 speak well of our neighbors after supper, and take most of it 
 back next morning ! Was shown into a comfortable room to 
 the rear of the bar, where the landlady said the Doctor used 
 to sit, and she had the nerve to point out a chair which she 
 said he used. And why not? I sat down in it in full faith 
 and partook of a " light collation" in the form of a glass of 
 Lichfield brewed ale, not very good, but I called to mind that 
 the Doctor was not particular in his eating and drinking and 
 so fared very well. The George Hotel, where we remain until 
 to-morrow, is said to be the scene of Farquhar's " Beaux Strat- 
 agem." 
 
 Jutie 21. — Left Lichfield at 10 a.m. for Coventry, twenty- 
 eight miles distant, and tried to lunch at the Swan in Foleshill, 
 probably the dirtiest village tavern in all this land. But the 
 country all along our road to-day is most fair and fertile and 
 the whole drive delightful. Before reaching Coventry we re- 
 mind ourselves that hereabouts are the localities where George 
 Eliot passed her early years, and that on the Foleshill road, 
 some five miles to the north of Coventry, stands the house 
 where she lived with her father before his death. Not know- 
 ing just how far we might be from this house and having 
 found that those one meets on the road never, by any chance, 
 know anything of the neighborhood where they live, outside 
 the radius of five miles at the most, I got down at the post- 
 office in the rustic village of Meriden and inquired of the 
 middle-aged postmistress if she knew anything of the house 
 where Mr. Evans, the father of George Eliot, lived. With her 
 was a young lady of some twenty years, quite a bright, intel- 
 
The Three Tall Spires of Coventry. — St. Marys Guildhall. 91 
 
 ligent-looking girl, and neither one had ever heard of George 
 Eliot and knew nothing about the place I wanted ; yet, as we 
 found after reaching Coventry, it could not have been more 
 than a mile away. Arbury Farm and Griff, where she passed 
 the first twenty years of her life, are between Coventry and 
 Nuneaton, some ten miles to the north. 
 
 Coventry is an ancient city of some 45,000 inhabitants, where 
 the old and new are blended in a pleasant way, the modern 
 buildings being of a good sort and the old ones quaint and 
 interesting. The streets are mostly narrow, crooked and 
 winding, and every once in a while one comes on a timbered 
 house overhanging the street, venerable with its three hundred 
 years. We are well received at the Queen's, an exceedingly 
 comfortable hotel, and engaging a landau, visit the sights of 
 the town, which Falstaff was ashamed to march through with 
 his ragged regiment, and where, according to the legend ver- 
 sified but not verified by Tennyson, Lady Godiva won the 
 freedom of the city from her nice husband, in the eleventh cen- 
 tury, by fulfilling what he thought an impossible condition 
 which he had imposed. As the condition was that she should 
 ride naked through the town on horseback in broad daylight, 
 it did seem unlikely this lady would comply; but she did 
 make the ride, " clothed on with chastity" and a full head of 
 long hair, all the citizens shutting themselves up in their 
 houses save " Peeping Tom," who is shown high up on a cor- 
 ner house in a red collar, green sleeves and blue cap, a sorry 
 spectacle for all virtuous folk to hiss at. But my lord was as 
 good as his word and set the city free in these words : " I Lu- 
 richi for the love of thee doe make Coventrie tol-free," and it 
 is to be hoped never suggested to his lady such an act of self- 
 sacrifice again. 
 
 St. Michael's Church, built of red sandstone, is a noble 
 building with a beautiful spire 300 feet high — and I mean 
 all that is implied in the word beautiful when a spire is 
 spoken of, me judice ; Trinity Church also has a fine spire, 237 
 feet high ; and these with that of the old Greyfriars Mon- 
 astery make " the three tall spires" of Coventry. Very inter- 
 esting to me also is St. Mary's Guildhall, a piece of municipal 
 architecture of the fourteenth century, with the great kitchen 
 and the mayoress' parlor, and chiefly for its great hall with a 
 large window of old glass at one end and pointed narrow ones 
 
92 Kenilworth Castle and Us History. 
 
 high up on the sides, the oaken roof with carved beams, its 
 tapestry, its suits of Cromwellian armor and a carved oak seat 
 used by Henry VI. when holding parliament here, which, 
 could I set it down in the hall of 64 Remsen Street, I would 
 make the occasion of a festival and ask a houseful of friends 
 to come and see and admire and envy me the possession of. 
 This is the hall described by George Eliot — who attended 
 school here — as the scene of Hetty's trial in her novel of " Adam 
 Bede." 
 
 Drove to Rosehill, " Ivy Cottage," close to the city, where 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bray lived, the long friends of George Eliot, 
 where she often visited. Mrs. Bray is still living, over eighty 
 years old, but hale and hearty. Her husband, at one time a 
 prosperous manufacturer of ribbons, failed in business and 
 Mrs. Bray subsists on the income of one hundred pounds per 
 annum provided by George Eliot. After dinner I walked 
 about the streets for an hour, going into the court-yard of 
 Bablake Hospital, built in the sixteenth century, well pre- 
 served and pleasing, and Ford's Hospital, of the same period, 
 equally so. 
 
 I like Coventry ; its situation is pleasant and it wears a 
 cheerful look. George remarked as we approached it that it 
 had a ''squandered" look, by which I found that he meant it 
 covered a good deal of ground. We have here as good straw- 
 berries as I ever ate. big and luscious. 
 
 June 22. — Drove to Kenilworth, five miles, over a charming 
 country. The castle here is a ruin, but a noble one, well in- 
 dicating its former magnificence. There was a castle here 
 from very early times and it played all along an important 
 part in English history. By the marriage of Blanche, daughter 
 of Henry of Lancaster, to John of Gaunt, son of Edward III., 
 and soon after created Duke of Lancaster, it became greatly 
 enlarged and enriched, as the fine remains of the banqueting 
 hall he built still attest. At his death Richard II. seized it 
 from his cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, who recovered it when he 
 became king as Henry IV. Henry VIII. repaired it largely, 
 and Elizabeth, early in her reign, gave it to Robert Dudley, 
 son of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, whom she 
 created Earl of Leicester. He expended a prodigious sum 
 upon it, and in July, 1575, entertained Queen Elizabeth here 
 in the magnificent style described by Scott in the notes to his 
 
Warivick. — The ''Twelve Poor Brothers:' 93 
 
 novel of '' Kenilworth," which moving tale has thrown a 
 glamour over all the scene. The Earl of Leicester left Kenil- 
 worth by his will to his brother Ambrose, Earl of Warwick, for 
 his life ; next to Sir Robert Dudley, Knight, his son by Lady 
 Douglas Sheffield, daughter of Lord Howard of Effingham, 
 whom Leicester had secretly married but never owned as his 
 wife, having in her lifetime married the Lady Lettice, Countess 
 of Essex. Sir Robert could not or rather was not allowed to 
 establish his legitimacy, and by a series of sharp practices 
 Charles I. acquired it. Then came Cromwell and his Puritans 
 and ruined it, as they did most of the venerable buildings 
 throughout the kingdom ; then the Restoration, when the 
 lands and ruins of Kenilworth were granted to a Hyde, and by 
 marriage of a female descendant they passed to Thomas 
 Villiers, Baron Hyde, afterward Earl of Clarendon, one of 
 whose descendants with that title still owns them ; and a lib- 
 eral gentleman must he be, protecting the ruins by constant 
 repairs in excellent taste, as it seems to me, and freely admit- 
 ting all the world to roam about at pleasure for threepence a 
 head. 
 
 Drove on to Warwick through a most lovely and fertile 
 country, getting glimpses of Wootton Court and farther on of 
 Guy's Cliff, the charming home of Miss Bertie Percy, and " put 
 up" for lunch at the Warwick Arms, clean and good. This is 
 a quaint old town situated on high ground near the Avon. 
 Drove to the Hospital of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, an 
 exceedingly interesting pile of old buildings in timber and 
 plaster established by Lord Dudley for " twelve poor brothers" ■ 
 in 1571, although the buildings themselves are said to be con- 
 siderably older. The quadrangle is very picturesque, and in 
 the various rooms are many rare and curious relics of armor 
 and furniture, one being a Saxon chair said to be one thou- 
 sand years old, and a rich bit of embroidery by Amy Robsart. 
 The Spanish chestnut beams of the old dining-room look 
 perfectly fresh. The endowment is sufficient to have kept 
 here in comfort now for three hundred and fifty years twelve 
 worthy indigent persons chosen from the neighborhood, with 
 certain conditions. They wear always when abroad a livery 
 of a handsome blue broadcloth gown with a silver badge of a 
 bear and a ragged staff, Lord Leicester's crest. The_ badges, 
 all but one, are those worn by the first brethren, whose names 
 
94 Warwick Castle and its Treasures. 
 
 with the date 15 71 are engraved on the back. The pensioner 
 who showed us about said he had been here forty-four years 
 and still looked a tough old boy with a good deal of wear in 
 him. A man might be much worse off than a poor brother 
 here and I do not pity them. 
 
 Thence to Warwick Castle, standing on a commanding 
 height, about whose base the Avon winds. The. view from a 
 bridge just below the walls and a nearer one from the site of 
 an old mill up to the dizzy summits of the towers and along 
 the stretch of the lofty walls are most impressive and realize 
 one's ideal of a feudal castle. The avenue leading to the outer 
 court is cut through solid rock, and we come into the beautiful 
 inner court with its velvety turf through a double gateway be- 
 tween the "Caesar Tower" and "Guy's," the latter 128 feet 
 high. Caesar's Tower is the oldest portion, nearly 150 feet 
 high, and dates almost back to the Norman Conquest. The 
 interior of the castle is shown in part to visitors on payment of 
 one shilling, and I wish to say once for all that I think it a 
 most handsome and generous thing for the gentlemen owning 
 the priceless treasures of these old hereditary homes to open 
 them to the public and to have in charge, as in this instance, 
 courteous and well-informed servitors to point out and explain 
 the rare objects which crowd the great rooms. I can give no 
 idea of the treasures of armor and pictures in the great en- 
 trance hall, 60 feet long, 40 feet wide, 39 high. It is said that 
 there is no such private collection of armor in Europe. The 
 model of a horse is completely covered with the defensive armor 
 Scott so loves to describe and on it a knight armed cap-a-pie in 
 a magnificent suit of plate-armor. The guide told a curious 
 incident of these. In a fire in this room in 1871 some of the 
 armor became much injured and the defensive armor of this 
 horse was replaced with a suit obtained by the present earl's 
 agent, after much search, in Germany. When it was being 
 put in place and the rider mounted it was found by private 
 marks on the suits that they were originally intended for each 
 other. The state-rooms, thrown open as we saw them, dis- 
 close a vista over 300 feet long and are filled with amazing 
 treasures of pictures, cabinets, furniture, china, etc. There 
 are, for instance, sixteen portraits by Van Dyck, including his 
 " Charles I. ;" nine by Rubens, including his full-length por- 
 trait of Ignatius Loyola, and a pair of lions, said to be the only 
 
The Church of St. Mary. — Stratford-on-Avon. 95 
 
 picture of animals he ever painted ; Raphael's "Assumption 
 of the Virgin," Godfrey Kneller's "Queen Anne," Holbein's 
 " Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn," Teniers' " Card-Players," and 
 a multitude of. others. There is in one of the rooms a mask of 
 Cromwell's face taken soon after death, which fully justifies 
 the worst his enemies have said of his appearance, with its long 
 square chin, massive jaws, coarse wide mouth, huge ugly nose, 
 and low, bony, retreating forehead, like an African's — the face 
 of a coarse bigot. 
 
 The celebrated Warwick vase, found in Hadrian's Villa at 
 Tivoli, stands in a place of honor in the conservatory fronting 
 the castle and is shown and described ad nauseam by a weari- 
 some commissionaire until one wishes him drowned in the 
 huge sculptured marble bowl of it. 
 
 These magnificent treasures are the accumulations of cen- 
 turies by the great family of the Grevilles, the first of whom, 
 born in 1554, was a cousin of Sir Philip Sidney, with whom he 
 was educated. The present Earl, George Guy Greville, was 
 born 1818. He has been very ill here for some weeks now, 
 and has just gone to London, and has afforded us an enter- 
 tainment I shall not soon forget. 
 
 The Church of St. Mary here has a fine chapel. Beau- 
 champ — pronounced here Beecham — with fine old windows and 
 carved oak seats, a rich and handsome monument to its 
 builder, Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, who died in 
 1464. There is another to the favorite of Queen Elizabeth, 
 the Earl of Leicester, who entertained her so famously at 
 Kenilworth. He lies here clad in armor, his wife the Coun- 
 tess Lettice beside him in her robes of a peeress — both com- 
 fortable effigies and looking better content with each other 
 than they were supposed to be in life. An inscription by 
 the countess, who survived him, states that " his most sorrow- 
 ful wife, through a sense of conjugal love and fidelity, hath 
 put up this monument to the best and dearest of husbands !" 
 What lies are told by very nice people — on tombstones ! 
 
 Drove to Stratford-on-Avon and have very pleasant rooms 
 at the Red Horse, with a bay-window in our sitting-room. 
 The country between here and Warwick is most fertile and 
 charming, and we can hardly hope for a more agreeable ride 
 than this has been in the cool of the cloudy afternoon amid 
 sights and sounds of a June landscape, sweet as famed Area- 
 
96 CJiurch of the Holy Trinity, Shakespere' s Church. 
 
 dia. As we approach Stratford, we follow the southern 
 boundary-wall of Charlecote Park, fair to see from our coach- 
 top, with its verdant lawns spotted with numerous deer, and 
 have a good view of the old red brick Elizabethan house, still 
 occupied by a descendant and namesake of the Lucy family. 
 When Shakespere was a youth here the story is that he was 
 brought up before Sir Hugh Lucy for deer-stealing and that 
 he afterward took his revenge by making him the " Justice 
 Shallow" whom Falstaff visited on his way to Shrewsbury. 
 A likely enough tradition : why not ? Stratford is a clean, 
 pretty town of some 8000 inhabitants, with wide streets and 
 substantial modern buildings mingled with quaint old timber 
 and plaster houses of two and three centuries ago. Its busi- 
 ness seems to be chiefly Shakespere and all departments seem 
 working successfully. 
 
 June 23, Sunday. — Our hotel has the room where Washing- 
 ton Irving wrote his paper on Stratford-on-Avon. The chair 
 he sat in is kept locked in a glass cupboard, and the poker he 
 used to stir the fire while meditating is done up in a worsted 
 case. Attended morning service at the Church of the Holy 
 Trinity — Shakespere's church — a much handsomer, larger and 
 more imposing building than I had supposed. It dates back to 
 the fifteenth century, has a lofty spire and is charmingly situ- 
 ated directly on the Avon among fine old trees, an avenue of 
 overarching limes leading to the west entrance being specially 
 noticeable. The services were held in the nave. Some changes 
 are going on in the interior, so that a scaffolding shut off the 
 choir. The congregation was large, decent, dull and homely. 
 There is no access to the chancel on Sunday ; so after ser- 
 vice we strolled through the grassy churchyard and returned 
 by the site of New Place, the house Shakespere bought when 
 he retired from London and where he lived until his death. 
 The house, one of the finest in town after he had altered 
 it over to suit him, was razed to the ground in 1759 by the 
 Rev. Francis Gastrell, who had come into possession of it in 
 1753, because he was compelled to pay the monthly assess- 
 ments for the maintenance of the poor of Stratford. He dis- 
 posed of the materials and left the town for good. Three 
 years before he had cut down the mulberry-tree behind the 
 house planted by the poet's own hand, then remarkably large 
 and fine, because he was troubled by visitors desirous of see- 
 
New Place, the House of Shake spere. 97 
 
 ing it. For these impious deeds may dogs dishonor the grave 
 where his body lies ; may his spirit, harder than adamant, be 
 condemned to wander until it relent and soften, in a hot and 
 thirsty land where no shade is, its weeping eyes tortured with 
 the far-away sight of an unattainable mulberry-tree, with its 
 phantom whisperings of cooling shadow ever in its ears ; 
 may — 
 
 With the house Shakespere bought about one hundred and 
 twenty-five acres of land extending in orchard and meadow 
 down to the Avon, on the greater part of which are now well- 
 built streets. But a portion nearest the site of the house in 
 the rear is now a public garden, and the spot where the house 
 stood and the house next it, together with the Birthplace, 
 were purchased in 1847 with funds raised by public subscrip- 
 tion, and are under the control of trustees. This garden is open 
 on Sundays only from 2 to 6 p.m., and after an early dinner we 
 strolled there. By chance the custodian of the New Place, a ge- 
 nial-looking matron, was walking in the grounds, and although 
 visitors are not admitted on Sunday, she kindly noticed us 
 near the gate separating the grounds from the public garden, 
 came forward and admitted us to the ample corner lot where 
 the house once stood. The space is say 60 by 150 feet, 
 covered with greensward, nicely tended, and surrounded by 
 a handsome iron railing. The outlines of the foundations of 
 the outer walls are preserved by enclosing the space of their 
 thickness in lines of brickwork level with the ground, the de- 
 pressed space within showing pieces of the old stone broken and 
 lying loose. The old well which supplied thehouse with drink- 
 ing-water stood in the cellar and is now curbed and overgrown 
 with ivy. We drank from it and found it clear and cold. The 
 remains of the bay-window are pointed out where he sat 
 when he wrote "The Tempest." A little back of this is a 
 flourishing mulberry-tree, a scion of the old one. We were 
 shown into the adjoining house which connected with Shake- 
 spere's and was occupied in his time by Mr. Nash, whose 
 son afterward married Shakespere's grand-daughter Elizabeth, 
 daughter of Mrs. Hall. Within the Nash house are shown 
 many articles in some way connected with the great poet. 
 What struck me most was the " shuffle-board,"' a long table 
 from the Falcon Tavern on the opposite corner, where he used 
 to drop in for a game. 
 7 
 
98 Shakespere's Grave. — His Bust. 
 
 Strolled in the pleasant gardens connected with the Me- 
 morial Buildings lying along the Avon. These buildings in- 
 clude a pretty theatre and a handsome library, including many 
 editions of Shakespere's plays and many interesting portraits 
 of actors, the interiors being much better than the external 
 appearance of the structures gives promise of. All these were 
 paid for by subscriptions, and handsome mention should be 
 made of the statue of Shakespere with the striking figures of 
 Falstaff, Lady Macbeth, Hamlet and Prince Henry at its base, 
 the gift of Lord Ronald Levison Gower. 
 
 Jttne 24. — Our coach returns to Edinburgh this morning, 
 leaving us to get to London as best we may. We are sorry 
 to part with it. We have lived two happy weeks on the top 
 of it. George is a good fellow and capital coachman. We 
 have not met the slightest mishap since the first day out, when 
 one horse fell dead of heart disease, and not any rain to drive 
 us inside. It could not have been better. Nor should the 
 guard, "Alec," be passed over without a good word, sitting 
 stiff as a ramrod all day long, his face burned to peeling — we 
 are all well tanned for that matter — attentive, civil, prompt, 
 just what we would have him. They both seemed sorry to 
 leave us. We should have kept on to Oxford as intended, but 
 could not get rooms there this week as I had hoped to do. 
 
 Directly after breakfast went to the church and straight 
 into the chancel, on the north side of which is Shakespere's 
 grave. The flat slab over it contains nothing but the verse 
 invoking a curse on whoever shall disturb the bones of the 
 sleeper below. On his right hand and filling the space between 
 his grave and the wall is the grave of Anne Hathaway, his 
 wife, who survived him nearly eight years ; on his left hand 
 lie the remains of Thomas Nash, who married his grand- 
 daughter Elizabeth ; next. Dr. Hall, and on his left his wife 
 Susannah, Shakespere's eldest daughter. These graves are 
 within the sanctuary, reached by two steps up from the pave- 
 ment of the nave. I should certainly say the slabs over them 
 are not the original ones but others, recut later. They are in 
 the most honorable and sacred part of the church, and with 
 the bust in its position of honor on the north wall just above 
 these graves, sufficiently attest the high social position held 
 by the families of Shakespere and Hall. The well-known 
 bust executed soon after his death by Gerard Johnson in- 
 terested me greatly. It was ordered and put in place by the 
 
His Birthplace. — The Stratford Portrait. 99 
 
 Halls. Dr. Hall was a physician of good standing, an author 
 of repute, of excellent social position, and it is a very reason- 
 cible supposition that the bust, executed and put in place at 
 so considerable an expense, would be as good a likeness as 
 could be had, certainly that it would be satisfactory to his near 
 relatives. The bust was cut from a fine sandstone and the 
 features painted to resemble life — the cheeks florid, the eyes 
 a light hazel, the hair and beard auburn. Malone in 1793 had 
 the whole whitewashed, but many years ago this was removed 
 by a chemical process bringing the original colors to view. 
 The face is strong and handsome, indicating a large, vigorous 
 physique well nourished, a joyous, open nature, while the 
 dome of the forehead, the broad brow and the large, full eyes 
 in their capacious cavities, betoken a sensitive and ample soul. 
 The bust is certainly authentic and genuine. I am not aware 
 that so much can surely be said of any other portrait or 
 effigy of any sort claiming to be a likeness. 
 
 From the church we went to the house known as the Birth- 
 place. This house has undergone many changes and resto- 
 rations, so that one cannot feel much certainty about the 
 apartments. The plan of the house is pretty certainly the 
 same, and it all looks ancient enough to be the poet's birth- 
 place. The timber framework is no doubt the same and the 
 recent restoration aimed to reproduce the house as it stood in 
 1564. The room where he is supposed to have been born is 
 shown, and about the different rooms are many interesting 
 articles, more or less authentic, associated with him. Most 
 interesting tome is the so-called "Stratford portrait," care- 
 fully kept in an iron safe hung up against the wall, the doors 
 of which are kept swung open during the day, to allow its 
 being seen. This shows the poet in the same dress as the 
 bust in the church. This portrait is a very interesting one, 
 and while the expression of the features varies from that of 
 the bust, there is, on the whole, a striking resemblance. It 
 belonged to the Clopton family. Sir Hugh Clopton built the 
 house about the year 1530, which Shakespere bought when he 
 returned to Stratford to live, also the fine bridge over the 
 Avon, and he and other members of the family lie buried in 
 the church. Nothing is more likely than that this family 
 should have been on intimate terms with Shakespere, have 
 admired his genius and have possessed a portrait of him. 
 
 This is, of course, an exceedingly interesting spot, but the me- 
 
100 Drive to Shottery and See Anne Hathaway' s Cottage. 
 
 chanical garrulity of the attendants and the busy stir of a throng 
 of sight-seers of all ages go far to quench such glow of sen- 
 timent as might naturally warm one's fancy shut up alone in 
 the quaint old walls. There is a considerable garden attached 
 where for a long time such flowers as Shakespere mentions in 
 his plays were cultivated, but this pleasing practice has been 
 discontinued. 
 
 Drove to Shottery, one mile from town. Here is Anne 
 Hathaway's cottage standing as it did when Shakespere came 
 here a-courting and even more interesting as an old house 
 than the Birthplace, because of its perfect preservation in its 
 condition of three hundred years ago. The family room with 
 its small lead-glazed window-panes and the deep-sunk chim- 
 ney with seats inside is unchanged from the time when the 
 boy Shakespere sat here beside the "fair Anne Hathaway," 
 some eight years older than himself, he being eighteen. By 
 the way, a curious question has arisen as to whether Anne, 
 who survived her husband seven years, was married a second 
 time. The entry in the parish register stands just as below : 
 
 [" 1623 ,' Mrs. Shakespere, 
 
 Aug. 8. ; Ajina Uxor Richardi Jaines"^ 
 
 This entry, although included in brackets, probably means two 
 different persons buried on the same day, for the inscription 
 on her stone is this : " Here lyeth interred the body of Anne, 
 wife of William Shakespere, who dpted this life the 5th day of 
 Aug., 1623, being of the age of 67 years ;" still the entry is un- 
 usual and careless in either case. The old lady having care of 
 the cottage is a descendant of the Hathaways — a Mrs. Baker. 
 The garden in front is now blooming with old-fashioned flow- 
 ers, from which the kindly old woman culled us each a nose- 
 gay- 
 Noticed in town a handsome old half-timbered house where 
 John Harvard, founder of Harvard College, married his wife. 
 It bears the date 1596. Looked into the quaint old building 
 where the grammar-school founded by Edward VI, is still 
 maintained. The master politely showed us the room where 
 Shakespere attended school as a boy — his desk is shown at 
 the Birthplace — and the small ancient hall where very likely 
 he was wont to see the players in their visits to Stratford. 
 June 25. — Went to the church and again carefully looked at 
 
London. — Chelsea. — The House in which Carlyle Died. 101 
 
 the bust. My previous favorable impressions are confirmed. 
 Walked through the still churchyard on close-shaven turf of 
 deepest green, studded with great roses flaming with June, to 
 the eastern end of the church separated from the poet's grave 
 only by the chancel-wall, and looked across the brimming 
 Avon, lingering here without noise, upon a broad meadow 
 odorous with its freshly cut grass. Beyond, still other smooth, 
 fertile fields, then gentle swells of rich and quiet landscape — 
 a picture of joyous tranquillity. Just then from the untedded 
 swaths of meadow-grass rose first one lark, then another, both 
 mounting skyward on waves of their own song. Other tuneful 
 birds were not wanting in tree and hedge, and all nature seemed 
 interfused with the cheerful spirit of the Master Soul of all 
 the world of men. 
 
 Left at twelve noon by rail for London, passing through 
 Banbury, Oxford, Reading, with many a fair view along the 
 slender stream of the upper Thames, and at 4 p.m. reached 
 our rooms at the Metropole, engaged with difficulty by a friend 
 on the spot, who informs me he never knew London so full as 
 now. 
 
 June 26. — Took a hansom and made several calls. These 
 hansoms furnish a very quick, cheap and comfortable way 
 of getting about. The magnitude and ponderosity of this 
 enormous city oppress me and I feel quite helpless to strug- 
 gle with it. Hired a landau with driver in livery — a hand- 
 some turnout — for regular use during our stay here. P.M. 
 drove about the city and at the fashionable hour, 5.30 to 7, in 
 Hyde Park — a crowded scene of wealth and luxury in dress 
 and equipage. Received calls from friends in the evening. 
 
 June 27. — Passed the morning with family in shopping ; even- 
 ing to see " Macbeth" at the Lyceum Theatre. Had stall-seats 
 corresponding to the parquette-seats at home. These run in 
 unbroken rows across the full width of the theatre, and are 
 reached by narrow and not very pleasant passages along the 
 first tier, from which stairs go down to their level. The audi- 
 torium is of about the size of the best New York theatres, with 
 rich, unobtrusive ornamentation. I never saw any play so su- 
 perbly mounted nor so poor a Macbeth as Mr. Irving. 
 
 June 28. — Drove down to Chelsea to see the house where 
 Carlyle lived so long and where he died. The number is 24 
 Cheyne Row, changed from No. 5. There is a bust of him on 
 
102 Westminster Abbey. 
 
 the front wall, and the present owner, Mrs. Cottrell, is an old 
 friend. It is an English basement house, say twenty feet wide 
 and three stories high, with a deep garden in the rear. He died in 
 the second-story front room, a good-sized, pleasant apartment. 
 The street is not less than thirty feet wide, and, while humble, is 
 not mean nor specially unpleasant. It abuts on the Thames 
 embankment, which has been improved along here since his 
 time, I believe. Crossed the Thames by the Albert Suspen- 
 sion Bridge, and drove along Battersea Park — finely laid out 
 and admirably kept — and returned by the Vauxhall Bridge. 
 
 Jitne 29. — Drove to Spurgeon's church, on the Surrey side, to 
 get passes for morning service to-morrow. It is in a poorish 
 neighborhood, much like that of Atlantic Avenue and the 
 streets south of it in Brooklyn. Returned by London Bridge, 
 on which the traffic is enormous. Passed all the morning 
 until one o'clock in Westminster Abbey. I shall attempt no 
 description of this great minster, where those whom England 
 has held in most reverence and love for a thousand years 
 lie buried or have the honor of a bust or tablet or some form 
 of lasting remembrance. There are costly monuments to 
 a good many nobodies, and men, women and children one 
 would not expect to find honored here, while so many names 
 one readily recalls are overlooked, but the vast abbey is the 
 worthy home of much of the world's departed greatness. The 
 structure, as a whole, does not impress me with the solemn 
 awe of Durham or York Cathedrals, but neither of these 
 approach the richness of many of the different parts, and the 
 tracery of the roof is beautiful, beyond anything we have 
 seen. In the Baptistery I had a little shock at seeing halfway 
 up the lofty wall a long brass tablet bearing the inscription, 
 
 " D.D. Georgius Gitlielnius Childs, Civis Americanus •" 
 
 for when I left my native land this eminent Philadelphia phil- 
 anthropist was heartily above ground, and from his habits 
 of total abstinence from all forms of vicious indulgence, likely 
 to continue so for many good years to come, let us hope. But 
 I soon recajled that having much in common and greatly 
 sympathizing with those tender and sensitive souls, George 
 Herbert and William Cowper, he has filled two windows above 
 his name with stained glass in their honor, and sought to veil 
 his part in the beautiful work by using the dead language of 
 
Hear Mr. Spurgeon Preach. 103 
 
 the ancient Romans in the modest inscription. There is a 
 good bust of Longfellow in a good place, and I was pleased 
 to notice a fresh white rose on his breast, put there, it may be, 
 by the loving hand of one of his own countrywomen. Dick- 
 ens' plain slab is above his grave in the very best part of the 
 Poets' Corner, while the handsome busts of Thackeray and 
 Macaulay are rather overshadowed by the fine full-length 
 statue of Addison, a little behind which they stand. 
 
 In the evening witnessed a performance of " Lohengrin" at 
 Covent Garden, the Royal Italian Opera House. Had stall- 
 seats, one guinea each. This opera house is not quite so large 
 as the New York Academy of Music in Fourteenth Street, and 
 is comfortable, but plain. There are four tiers of boxes running 
 entirely round it. Full dress is de rtgueur, and the show of 
 bare arms and necks, both in stalls and boxes, quite imposing 
 and a little startling ; but we are working toward the same at 
 home. There w^ere many fine toilets and a rich show of dia- 
 monds, but I should say that neither the house itself nor audi- 
 ence nor the performance at all surpassed what our own Met- 
 ropolitan can show in a good season. The exclusion of ladies' 
 hats — this is done at the Lyceum Theatre also — gives a hand- 
 some drawing-room appearance to the auditorium, saying 
 nothing of the comfort and convenience of the spectators, and 
 we might well imitate this excellent fashion. At the rising of 
 the curtain scarcely a box was occupied, nor were they filled 
 until the second act was well begun. 
 
 June 30, Sunday. — Drove over Blackfriars Bridge to the Surrey 
 side to hear the famous Mr. Spurgeon preach. I was furnished 
 with little envelope tickets on which was printed a request 
 that the holder would put into them a contribution for the 
 work of the church. These admitted us at the entrance for 
 pew-holders, so that we were not compelled to wait outside 
 until these were seated, but were shown into good seats well 
 forward in the vast, plain building, which easily accommodates 
 five thousand, and can, under stress, hold seven thousand. 
 Pretty nearly the former number were present this morning. 
 Two wide galleries run entirely round the deep hall, well 
 lighted and ventilated. At the end opposite the entrances is 
 a raised platform some six feet high, railed about and occupied 
 by a miscellaneous thirty or so of young and old men, 
 among whom I noticed one reporter and a precentor who sought 
 
104 A Description of the Great Preacher. 
 
 to lead the congregational singing — there is no organ or 
 other instrument of music. Six feet above this, on a level with 
 the first gallery, is a smaller semicircular platform, railed in 
 and reached on each side by a flight of steps from the ground 
 floor and also from the level of the gallery behind it, and 
 furnished with a little table and chair. 
 
 Precisely at eleven o'clock there walked heavily, limping 
 a little as it seemed, down from the inclined plane of the 
 lower gallery a short, stoutish, solid man with much the 
 appearance of a substantial farmer, and took his seat in the 
 chair on the upper platform. Mr. Spurgeon has a softer 
 face than his portraits show ; still his features are somewhat 
 coarse and dull, his forehead is low, his eyes full, his iron- 
 gray hair thick on his head, with full brown whiskers a little 
 streaked with gray, cut rather close, open a little on the chin, 
 without mustache. His stubby hands are red and look as if he 
 used them in labor, and his physique and manner suggest Mr. 
 Beecher, although his face to-day neither showed the animal 
 force of Mr. Beecher's when at rest nor its spiritual exaltation 
 when wrought upon by the fire of the inner spirit. But any- 
 thing like resemblance ceases here. Spurgeon's voice is an 
 admirable one, both soft and strong, and perfectly under his 
 control. Some years ago I read a volume of his sermons and 
 tried to see wherein lies the secret of his power. That will 
 be found in the man himself, for his personal magnetism is 
 extraordinary and of the same kind I sometimes felt in hearing, 
 in the new West, those spiritual pioneers put into those rough 
 fields by the Methodist Church known as presiding elders, so- 
 called, who with plain and forcible natural gifts trained by 
 constant contact with natural men in the deep forests and on 
 the broad prairies, where God seems most present, were able 
 to move the heart beyond the arts of the most accomplished 
 orators. So with Spurgeon, whose city life seems to have had 
 no effect on his mind or person, as he steps into his pulpit a 
 natural man with God's message, as if he had received it 
 direct in the desert and could not rest until he had come forth 
 and declared it. He sinks himself and in plainest speech utters 
 it from the heart of him, not without a certain force of high 
 imagination, almost always belonging to such men. He is a 
 powerful man far beyond what I had understood, and has 
 none of the tricks of manner or speech usual with popular 
 
The National Gallery. — Hyde Park. 105 
 
 preachers. The vast audience was greatly moved and swayed 
 by him, and while I do not hold the faith he professes, I do 
 declare that I far prefer his methods and gospel to the 
 mediaeval ceremonies and perfunctory worship we have at- 
 tended in the great churches of the Established Church since 
 we came to this country. May he live long and prosper ! 
 
 July I. — Passed the morning in the National Gallery and 
 saw great store of great pictures by masters of the Italian, 
 Flemish and Dutch schools, leaving the others for a future 
 visit. Here for the first time do I see at their best the famous 
 painters whose works hand them down to fame in all time. 
 How well deserving, as it seems to me, they are — Fra Angelico, 
 Leonardo da Vinci, del Sarto, Dolci, Raphael, Correggio, 
 Pellegrino, Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, Salvator Rosa, Titian, 
 Velasquez, Van Dyck and so many more, but chiefest, thou, 
 great Rembrandt! 
 
 Evening drove in Hyde Park, and am more and more im- 
 pressed with the display of wealth and magnificence made 
 here in this heart of the world. A single one of the equipages 
 here would attract attention in any one of our great parks, 
 and there are literally thousands like the best of ours rolling 
 along in an endless tide. It is hard, when mingled in it, to 
 believe that there can be want and misery anywhere in the 
 world, so profuse and prodigal is the show of wealth and 
 pomp. We managed to cut quite a respectable figure in our 
 hired landau, with a well-stepping pair of handsome bays and 
 coachman in brave livery, with the regulation purple cheeks. 
 
 July 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. — These days include one " event," the re- 
 gattas or rowing matches at Henley, thirty-five miles up the 
 Thames, for which we left London by rail at 5 p.m. on 
 Tuesday. We were met at Henley Station by a London friend, 
 through whose thoughtful kindness and the exceeding hospi- 
 tality of his family we were enabled to witness the whole three 
 days' pageant in the most agreeable circumstances. We were 
 driven to the mansion of Lord Camoys, which, with three 
 thousand acres of the estate, is rented by our host for a 
 summer residence, during a term of years. Just such a 
 house I have always desired to visit. Parts of it are more 
 than five hundred years old. It is of brick, the main part 
 having a front of at least 100 feet, with two wings of half that 
 length, and at the end of one of them an old chapel of stone, 
 
106 The Henley Regattas. 
 
 with windows of stained glass, where a priest of the Roman 
 Catholic Church daily officiates, the Camoys family being of 
 that faith. Within are intricate arched passages leading into 
 all sorts of quaint rooms with high-arched windows, a honey- 
 comb of entanglements, where it is easy and pleasant to be- 
 come lost and most natural to meet any description of ghosts, 
 especially as the walls are hung with ancestral portraits run- 
 ning back for centuries, and of a diversity able to supply any 
 species of ghost, from a turbaned warrior, glaring fiercely out 
 of his frame from behind a pair of tremendous mustachios, to 
 the peach-tinted maiden in her teens, with arched eyebrows and 
 decorous curls, smiling now for these hundred years in a fade- 
 less frock of white. There is a secret door and passage from 
 one of the sleeping-rooms, said to lead by a subterranean way 
 to a neighboring wood, useful in the troublous times of the 
 Pretender, when arms were hidden here and robed priests 
 came and went stealthily on unlawful errands. There are a 
 large, fine library stored with books gathered during many 
 centuries, a drawing-room of admirable proportions, alto- 
 gether a house to see, to feel and to remember. We were 
 four of sixteen guests, all cared for — such is the admirable 
 domestic management in this great house — as if each were the 
 only one. 
 
 Next morning all driven five miles to the "house-boat" 
 of mine host, at Henley. This is a flat-bottomed boat 
 some fifty feet long, with a well-appointed cabin and caboose, 
 with a flat roof over all, railed about and furnished with seats, 
 shaded with awnings, decorated with flags and flowers, where 
 sixty people can have comfortable stations, looking on the 
 river from a height of fifteen feet. Similar boats to the "lone" 
 were moored side by side, nearly touching each other close to 
 the shore on one side of the Thames, here flowing with 
 a scarcely perceptible current some thirty rods wide, forming 
 a fine rowing course of a mile and a half, staked off midway 
 in the stream and pretty well in straight line. Here for fifty 
 years the Henley regattas have been rowed during three days, 
 when thousands of the better sort of people come to assist in 
 forming an aquatic pageant. There was a rowing match nearly 
 every half hour from 12 noon to 7 p.m. The scene on the river 
 during all these hours was of the brightest and most animating 
 description. We have nothing at home at all similar. Prob- 
 
A Beautiful Stg/it. 107 
 
 ably there were on the course during the intervals of the races 
 not less than a thousand craft of all sorts, ranging from steam 
 and electric launches down to the canoe, moving slowly up and 
 down, laden chiefly with ladies in charming summer toilets, the 
 fair-complex,ioned, plump girls reclining in easy abandon on 
 cushions of rich-colored cloths, forming the most charming 
 pictures. All was a continually moving pageant full of life 
 and color, an aquatic pomp noiseless and brilliant in a setting 
 of green and shady shores, with softly rounded hills behind, 
 all rich with the luxury of an English midsummer. The good- 
 nature, self-possession, and courtesy shown by the occupants 
 of the crowded, constantly colliding boats was pleasant to 
 see. All was joy and sunshine, and I was surprised to see 
 how fully the steady English folk can give themselves up 
 to prolonged holiday. Nothing could exceed the pains taken 
 by our entertainers to make all agreeable for their guests. 
 Excellent refreshments were served at frequent intervals, good 
 wines flowed freely, and, notably, the strawberries grown on 
 the grounds of one of the family and gathered each morning 
 for the occasion were not easily to be surpassed in size and 
 flavor. 
 
 We dined, breakfasted and slept in the great Elizabethan 
 house, reaching it at a laie hour, and driving down to Henley 
 each morning. On the night of the third day, Friday, all the 
 house-boats were illuminated with thousands of colored lights, 
 and hundreds of boats were moving up and down, carrying 
 Chinese lanterns, and far as the eye could see the right bank 
 of the river shone like the city of a dream, a vision of fairy- 
 land. We glided up and down in the midst of this dreamlike 
 pageant in an electric launch, moving without noise or jar, as 
 if by magic, in the midst of excellent fireworks from the 
 " lone" and most of the other house-boats. The " lone" alone 
 was hung with six hundred colored lights. 
 
 We reached the hospitable mansion of our friends at mid- 
 night, on this last day, after three days of great enjoyment. 
 We bade adieu to our most kind hostess, and returned to Lon- 
 don and the Metropole by the ii a.m. train on Saturday. 
 
 July 7, 8, 9. — Have done little in these days but nibble a bit 
 at the rind of this huge cheese of a cit)?^, postponing any seri- 
 ous doing until we return to it for a longer time. Have passed 
 another half day in the National Galler)-, chiefly among the 
 
108 The Tower of London. 
 
 fresh, pure and clear paintings of the British school. Such 
 beautiful, natural landscapes of Constable, a scene by Mor- 
 land, any number of Gainsboroughs, many by Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, such dogs by Landseer, and a whole roomful of 
 Turner's romantic canvases, magical as dreams — many, too, by 
 Hogarth. Hired a courier for the Continent, Girado Frattini, 
 sometime of Milan. 
 
 July lo. — Called on Mr. Lincoln, our Minister to the Court 
 of St. James, to whom I had letters. He is a plain, unpretend- 
 ing gentleman, in his manner quite American, but not, as I 
 could see, with any look, expression or feature of his great 
 father. He seems a man of sense, and the two or three speeches 
 he has been obliged to make here on public occasions have 
 shown much of the tact and happy knack of saying the right 
 thing on the spot so marked in his two immediate predeces- 
 sors. 
 
 July II. — Passed the day making calls and shopping with 
 family. Drove down to 24 Cheyne Row to get a photograph 
 of Carlyle with his faithful niece who cared for his last days 
 with such affection standing beside him, partly promised me 
 when we called before, but Mrs. Cottrell had not been able to 
 procure me one. The little house again struck me as not un- 
 comfortable or unpleasant and the neighborhood not at all 
 mean. 
 
 We were at the Tower yesterday. The several towers or 
 masses of buildings, enclosed by a massive wall and, with the 
 ample open spaces, occupying some thirteen acres, have be- 
 come so modernized as not to make a very serious impression 
 as a fortress and prison where, during the dark and bloody 
 centuries of early English history, so much transpired of a sort 
 to touch and sadden the mind. The moat is dry, broad paved 
 driveways lead into the courts thronged with groups of sight- 
 seers and bustling with various activity and signs of modern 
 life, so that one experiences little emotion on being informed 
 in broad daylight that at the foot of a certain staircase the 
 bodies of the murdered princes were supposed to have been 
 buried, there being no token whatever of such an event ; nor 
 can one — at least I could not — grow sad in spirit over certain 
 flat stones forming a pavement in a sunny court with in- 
 scriptions in most cases illegible from wear and dust, the sun 
 shining down hotly on them and a busy throng of holiday 
 
Leave London for Brussels. 109 
 
 people moving about, where certain illustrious dust of victims 
 of old-time tyranny is supposed to lie. But the show of ancient 
 armor is very fine and in marvellous quantity and perfection. 
 The regalia, too, is interesting. In Queen Victoria's crown is 
 a huge ruby which burned in the casque of Henry V. on the 
 field of Agincourt. On the whole, I was disappointed in the 
 Tower. 
 
 July 12. — Left London at ii a.m. for Brussels via Dover and 
 Calais by the Southeastern Railway. Our way to Dover, 
 seventy-three miles, lay through the fair county of Kent, fertile, 
 well cultivated, rich in promising fields of hops and many 
 orchards. Reached Dover at i p.m., and thought of Shake- 
 spere's " Lear" as the train swept along the base of the white, 
 chalky cliffs beside the Channel. Our good luck in weather 
 still attended us, for the sea was smooth as a pond, and we 
 reached Calais in just one hour, in all comfort, on a new, 
 large, well-arranged boat, the " Calais-Douvre. " Lunched 
 in the Calais vStation restaurant, and took train at 2 p.m. 
 Frattini showed tact in procuring us a coupe or forward end 
 of a carriage with a glass front, all to ourselves, and this with 
 no extra cost except a small fee to the guard. The roads are 
 not so smooth as the English nor the carriages as good. These 
 are mounted on higher wheels, much as ours are. After leav- 
 ing Calais we crossed for a long way a low, level country. At 
 twenty-six miles we reach St. Omer, with 20,000 inhabitants ; 
 at sixty-six miles, Lille, 188,000 inhabitants, the chief town 
 of the French Department of the North, Tall chimneys 
 everywhere indicate its importance as a manufacturing 
 town. 'Tis here Lisle thread is largely made. The Picture 
 Gallery is said to be one of the largest in France, embracing 
 eight hundred and fifty pictures, many of them by the best 
 artists. Eleven miles farther on we reach the Belgian frontier 
 at Blandain and have our luggage inspected at the custom- 
 house there — inspection a mere form. At sixteen miles is 
 Tournai, with 36,000 population, very ancient and the most im- 
 portant in the province of Hainault, very pleasantly situated 
 on the Schelde. Like the most of these border towns it has a 
 checkered history, belonging first to one and then to another 
 of the greater neighboring powers, but in 1728, by the Treaty 
 of Aix-la-Chapelle, it was set back to the Netherlands. We 
 pass on through Ath, thirty-five miles from Lille, through 
 
110 Fertility and Thrift. 
 
 Enghien, fifty miles, Hal, fift}'^-three miles — a famous resort of 
 pilgrims to the wonder-working image of the Virgin in the 
 Church of Notre Dame — and reach Brussels, sixty-eight miles 
 from Lille and one hundred and thirty-four from Calais, at 
 8 P.M., and are very comfortably established in the charming 
 Hotel Bellevue in the upper part of the town near the Park. 
 
 At Enghien we passed from the province of Hainault into 
 that of Brabant ; and our whole ride this p.m. has been through 
 a country naturally fertile, but rendered many times more so 
 by such minute, patient and thorough cultivation as I have 
 never seen or hardly thought possible. Imagine a vast plain 
 stretching away indefinitely, with no greater irregularities of 
 surface than an occasional knoll never attaining the dignity of 
 a hill, or rising beyond a series of long, low undulations, all this 
 surface compelled to yield the utmost possible of an exceeding 
 variety of crops in little space — wheat, oats, barley, beans, beets, 
 potatoes, etc., all in the same small field, so that the whole face 
 of the country presents the appearance of a vast garden. Es- 
 pecially as we draw near Brussels every inch of land is made to 
 produce something. 
 
 It is now the season of the wheat harvest, and in a bit of 
 triangular land among green crops I saw in one case two and 
 in another one little shock of wheat carefully set up. All 
 crops are looking excellently well, as they must under such 
 cultivation. Such abounding fertility, such fecundity of 
 nature would of itself form a delightful picture ; but when 
 amid fields where green bits of pasture and meadow thick 
 with red and white clover and varied crops also richly green, 
 and yellow wheat fields as yet untouched or set thick with long, 
 slender shocks and round stocks of sheaves, are many trim 
 farm-houses, yellow-roofed, with low walls of brown, yellow, 
 white and even blue, and dainty villages among trim trees, 
 out of which rises the church-belfry, all these not at dis- 
 tant intervals, but in constant succession, the wide scene 
 becomes of amazing beauty. On spots of vantage gray wind- 
 mills, often high-stilted, fling out huge vans, sixty feet long, 
 looming against the blue sky, at rest or lazily revolving in 
 the light breeze of to-day, and over all is tranquillity and 
 peace. The elms rise tall and slim from constant trimming, 
 in graceful rows along the canals and the boundaries of the 
 little farms, with willows dwarfed by cutting off the tops, and 
 
', Brussels. — TJie Palais de Justice. Ill 
 
 Lombardy poplars — not growing in the scraggy, funereal way 
 we see them at home, but fully and gracefully, branched low 
 down, green and thrifty. 
 
 The Belgian provinces we traversed to-day sustain the pro- 
 digious numbers of more than eight hundred to the square 
 mile. I fancied I saw a more complete cultivation and thrift 
 from the time we crossed the frontier from France, though 
 much struck with both before. This little kingdom of Belgium 
 is only one hundred and seventy-nine miles long by one hun- 
 dred and ten miles wide, but its population in 1886 was 5,900,000, 
 of whom about two and one half millions are Flemings of Teu- 
 tonic origin and two millions Walloons, partly of Celtic origin, 
 more enterprising as well as more excitable than the phleg- 
 matic Flemings. Belgium is a thoroughly Roman Catholic 
 country, there being only some 1500 Protestants with 3000 
 Jews in its population. It became independent of Holland by 
 a revolution in 1830, and a national congress summoned by the 
 provisional government called to the throne in 1831 Leopold 
 of Saxe-Coburg, whose son, Leopold II., is the present king. 
 Charlotte, the widow of Maximilian, the ill-starred Emperor 
 of Mexico, is his sister. 
 
 July 13. — Here we are in Brussels, a well-built, handsome 
 city of 175,000 inhabitants, and if its ten suburbs are reck- 
 oned, more than double that number. The streets of the 
 upper town rebuilt after a great fire in 1731, are wide and 
 paved with square granite blocks ; the private dwellings — 
 mostly of brick covered with stucco and painted white — are 
 handsome and fine, and the public buildings, both for the use 
 of the State and city governments, really magnificent and far 
 beyond anything we pretend to in any city at home. The 
 new Palais de Justice is said to be the largest architectural 
 work of this century, and is a wonderful structure. It is 
 almost square at the base, is 590 feet long by 560 wide, and 
 occupies a greater area than the Church of St. Peter's at Rome. 
 The dome is 320 feet high in the interior, which contains 
 twenty-seven large court-rooms, two hundred and forty-five 
 other apartments and eight open courts. The gilded cross on 
 the top is 400 feet above the pavement. Imagine this mighty 
 mass of stone, richly wrought in its principal parts and 
 adorned with many statues, and the cost of ten million dollars 
 of our money seems almost preposterous when one thinks 
 
112 The Palais des Beaux Arts. 
 
 that that amount of money expended by the city authorities of 
 New York would not build one wing of it. 
 
 In the beautiful Hotel de Ville, completed in the middle of 
 the fifteenth century, containing the rooms used by the Com- 
 mon Council, are costly paintings and tapestry, the ceiling- 
 painting by Victor Janssens representing the gods on Olym- 
 pus, the figure of Cupid turning toward the spectator its face 
 and bended bow in whatever position he may stand. This 
 is an orderly city, so these gorgeous rooms are in per- 
 fect condition ; the city fathers have not stolen the pic- 
 tures and tapestry nor disfigured them nor the beautiful 
 carved oak with boot-heels or tobacco. Charming old rooms, 
 these. 
 
 The king has a huge palace here, occupying the full space 
 of a New York block, and a summer residence at Laeken, 
 a near suburb, with a great tract of good land, where we 
 drove about on the royal farm, parts of which with a park 
 are open to the public, who are made content by thus shar- 
 ing in a mild way the advantages they bestow on their 
 rulers. No subject is so poor that he has not an interest 
 in his sovereign and can feel proud and important in pro- 
 portion to the grandeur of his state, no matter how much 
 he himself is stripped in helping to maintain it. So these 
 Belgians, numbering not quite 6,000,000 souls, make fine 
 provision for a good-sized royal family and furnish them 
 palaces and parks and all the etceteras of the most power- 
 ful monarchs. But they seem able to do it with their won- 
 derfully patient energy and thrift, and who will begrudge 
 them their pleasure in it ? 
 
 Passed the morning in the beautiful halls of the Palais des 
 Beaux Arts among the paintings there, many poorish and 
 many of a high order. As we are near Antwerp, the home 
 and special field of Rubens' prolific pencil, his work abounds 
 here, this gallery containing at least a dozen by him, the 
 magnificent "Adoration of the Magi" among them. He 
 has a large piece illustrated with all his wealth of color, so 
 horribly repulsive that one sickens at the sight of it. It was 
 painted for the Church of the Jesuits at Ghent, and is called 
 the " Martyrdom of St. Livinus." The executioner has torn 
 out the tongue of his victim with pincers and is offering 
 it to a dog standing by. The taste of Rubens in choosing 
 
What we Satv in Brussels. 113 
 
 his subjects often seems to me of a debased sort. I cannot 
 dwell in my poor hurried notes on the satisfaction we found 
 in the works of masters who were only names to me three 
 months ago — Claude Lorraine, Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, 
 Guido Reni, Van Oost, the Teniers — many examples — the 
 Ruysdaels, Maes, Jan Steen, the Brueghels, Frans Hals, 
 Hobbema, Van Dyck, Adrian van Ostade, Van der Weyde, 
 Memling, Quentin Matsys and a long list of lesser but bright 
 names. 
 
 July 14, Sunday. — This is the Feast of St. Michael, the 
 patron saint of Brussels, and there are special exercises at the 
 Cathedral of St. Gudule and a pretty procession of school-chil- 
 dren in white dresses and veils. The finest of all the numer- 
 ous squares in the city is the Grande Place, in the centre of 
 the lower town, where the noble Hotel de Ville stands, and 
 all about it the old guild-houses. Great events in the history 
 of Belgium have transpired here ; among them the execution, 
 in the spring of 1568, of twenty-five of the nobles of the Nether- 
 lands by order of the Duke of Alva, including Counts Egmont 
 and Horn, to whom fine statues have been erected. The 
 Porte de Hal, at the south extremity of the lower town, is all 
 that remains of the old fortifications, built in r38i, and during 
 the Belgian Reign of Terror the Bastile of Alva. It is a huge 
 square structure with three vaulted chambers, one above the 
 other. Notable, too, is the palace of the Due d'Arenberg, 
 once the residence of Count Egmont, with its beautiful, gar- 
 dens. So, too, the market squares for flowers, fruits and vege- 
 tables, all brought in from the country round in little carts 
 drawn by stout, intelligent, well-looking dogs in harness with 
 collars, sometimes in pairs, oftener single. So, too, the new 
 Exchange, the Bank and many another magnificent building 
 in such number, with fine private residences, as make this the 
 handsomest city we have yet seen. Everywhere is order and 
 cleanliness and the shops are filled with fine goods in every 
 kind. 
 
 We visited a shop where lace is made and saw old and 
 young workers bending unremittingly over their delicate and 
 exacting work. The worn, sad face of a woman of seventy 
 years impressed me, low bent, her spectacled eyes within six 
 inches of the cushion on which an exquisite flower in- lace was 
 growing under her worn fingers. She had so- wrought, the 
 8 
 
U14 The Manikin Fountain. — Battle-Field of Waterloo. 
 
 woman in charge told me, since she was a child, and her pay 
 -when fully expert was two francs per day. " Is there any 
 provision for such as she when quite unable to work longer ?" 
 J inquired. The only answer was an indescribable shrug ex- 
 pressing more clearly than words could do that such workers 
 must take their chances with all other old and infirm creatures 
 in this teeming hive of industry, where little girls go about 
 the streets and older ones stand in doorways knitting stock- 
 ings, all human creatures careful and busy at some task. 
 
 Our rooms in the Hotel Bellevue look out on the Place 
 Hoyale, on the left of which stands the Church of St. Jacques 
 ;sur Caudenberg with a handsome portico of the Corinthian 
 -order, with noble statues and a warm fresco on the tympanum 
 ,by Portaels representing the Virgin comforting the afflicted. 
 In front is the equestrian statue of Godfrey de Bouillon, the 
 ;hero of the First Crusade, said to be the finest modern Belgian 
 work of the kind, erected in 1848 on the spot where the hero 
 iin 1079 is said to have exhorted the Flemings to the Crusade. 
 He sits with majestic face, grasping with right hand the ban- 
 ner of the Cross. Near by is a charming park, originally the 
 garden of the Dukes of Brabant, laid out and tended with 
 great skill and care and set thickly with pleasing sculptures. 
 
 Back of the Hotel de Ville stands one of the curiosities of 
 Brussels, a diminutive bronze figure called the Manikin Foun- 
 tain, a great favorite among the lower classes and always dressed 
 in gala costume on great occasions. This being a festal 
 .day he wears a court costume of velvet of the fashion of two 
 .hundred years ago. He has changed his colors with the dif- 
 ferent changes of government during the last one hundred and 
 .fifty years and now possesses eight different suits. He has a 
 valet appointed by the civic authorities to attend on him at a 
 salary of two hundred francs per annum, and some years ago 
 an old lady left him a legacy of one thousand florins. In 181 7 
 he was carried away from the scene of his aqueous activity by 
 some sacrilegious hand, and great was the popular rejoicing 
 at his discovery and restoration, the loss being felt as a public 
 calamity — an odd illustration of the extent a fantastic notion 
 will take hold of an intelligent, industrial community. 
 
 July 15. — Drove in a landau to the battle-field of Waterloo, 
 ten miles from the city. Passed through a part of the Bois de 
 Ja Cambre on the southeast side of the city, made into a fine 
 
The Mound of the Belgian Lion. 115 
 
 park from a part of the Foret de Soignes, said to be much 
 like the Bois de Boulogne of Paris. There is a driveway of 
 square granite blocks quite to the battle-ground. The village 
 of Waterloo is a long single street, chiefly of connected farm- 
 houses, whence jssued droves of stout children with great flaxen 
 heads, to turn summersaults and beg beside the carriage. 
 Went directly to the Chateau of Hougomont, passing through 
 the little village of Mont Saint-Jean. This chateau, as it is 
 called, is a strong brick house with numerous out-buildings, 
 all enclosed by a heavy brick wall some eight feet high, which 
 also surrounds an orchard of say four acres — really a strong 
 defence against anything but artillery. It was just in front of 
 the lines of the allied forces and was pierced, walls and all, 
 with loop-holes the day before the battle and occupied by 
 the Coldstream Guards and some German riflemen, partly 
 protected by the small cannon in the main line of the Allies 
 behind. The French assaulted it at the beginning of the decisive 
 battle of the 1 8th, but so stout and determined was the resist- 
 ance of its handful of brave defenders that although during 
 the day some twelve thousand men were hurled against it— - 
 nearly one-fifth of the entire French force— it was not taken. 
 The buildings still stand in good preservation, showing the 
 marks of bullets, and within the court-yard stands the battered 
 brick tower over the old well into which some two hundred 
 bodies of the ghastly dead were thrust. 
 
 Lunched at a little tavern near the field, then walked to the 
 Mound of the Belgian Lion, an artificial pyramidal mound 
 thrown up on the spot where the Prince of Orange was 
 wounded on that day. The lion, weighing twenty-eight tons, 
 was cast from captured French cannon. Climbed up the steps 
 leading to the summit, whence the undulating country lay be- 
 fore me like a map, and with the aid of an old Frenchman who 
 has made a business of laying out the plan of battle for so 
 many years that he seems fully to believe in its genuineness, 
 tried to get an idea of the general disposition of the respective 
 forces and to comprehend the changing fortunes of the day. 
 It seemed to me on the spot that I had pretty well done so, but 
 when I had shaken myself down the long flight of steps, I 
 ceased to feel certain of anything about it except what I had 
 well known before, that this was one of the famous battles of 
 the world, and that when all conjecturing is done with as to 
 
116 Ghent. — The Bell Rolaiid. — St. Bavon Cathedral. 
 
 what the result might have been had this or that gone dif- 
 ferently, we who trust in a Providence who orders the affairs 
 of nations believe that by the very nature of His laws a limit 
 is set to human ambition and endeavor, whereby the hour had 
 come for the overthrow of Napoleon Bonaparte, the gigantic 
 enemy of the human race. The fair fields, once ghastly with 
 corpses, now wave with harvests, with no traces of the tem- 
 pest which laid them waste, unless the red poppies showing 
 among the yellow wheat like stains of blood have caught their 
 hue from the ensanguined stream which filled these furrows 
 seventy-four years ago. A little bird has built its nest in the 
 jaws of the great lion on the mound, the cheerful voice of the 
 .peasant is heard, land and sky are full of peace. 
 
 July i6. — Left this fair city and the capital Hotel Bellevue 
 at II A.M. for Ghent, where we arrived by rail at the Hotel 
 Royal in the Place d'Armes, and drove about the city, noting 
 well the belfry rising near the Cathedral with its great 
 bell Roland, bearing an inscription in Flemish the translation 
 of which is, " My name is Roland : when I am rung hastily, 
 then there is a fire ; when I resound in peals there is a storm 
 in Flanders." Many a storm has it announced in these tur- 
 bulent and much-tried lands, calling to arms the stout 
 burghers in the tall houses of these narrow streets and waking 
 with affright the peasants far out on the level fields. The 
 gifted Theodore Tilton, whose star went out in darkness be- 
 fore the midday of his life, took this bell for his theme in a 
 stirring poem at the beginning of our civil war, calling the 
 country to arms. How well I remember his showing me the 
 manuscript just after it was written and how when printed it 
 rung through all the North like a battle-cry ! The lofty square 
 bell-tower supporting the chime, of which Roland is one of 
 the oldest and heaviest bells, was begun in 1183 ; work was 
 suspended on it in 1339 and it was only carried up two-thirds 
 of the intended height. The tower is 270 feet high with a 
 spire added some fifty years ago, reaching altogether to 375 
 feet. 
 
 Visited the Cathedral of St. Bavon, plain on the outside, but 
 rich within. The crypt was consecrated in 941 and the whole 
 completed in 1300. The last chapter of the Knights of the 
 Golden Fleece was held here by Philip II. in 1559 and the 
 walls of the nave bear their names and armorial bearings. 
 
The Paintings in the Cathedral. 117 
 
 There is a fine pulpit by Delvaux, half oak, half marble, 
 representing Time and Truth in allegory, and .handsome 
 carved mahogany choir-stalls. There are four enormous 
 copper candlesticks some ten feet high before the choir, which 
 once stood in St. Paul's, London, and were sold by Cromwell 
 during the Protectorate. There are many good pictures, too ; 
 but the glory of the church is the " Adoration of the Immacu- 
 late Lamb," by Jan and Hubert van Eyck,two brothers — Hubert, 
 the elder, born 1366, and Jan, the younger, in 1381. Hubert 
 was believed to have invented oil painting. While it is now 
 said by the best authorities that he did not do this, still he 
 carried the use of oil as a medium so far in his wonderful color- 
 ing that what was believed has good grounds. The famous 
 picture in the Cathedral here is in its chief parts the work 
 of Hubert, the remaining of Jan. It is an altar-piece, consist- 
 ing originally of twelve sections, but the wings, excepting the 
 figures of Adam and Eve, which are at Brussels, are in the 
 gallery of Berlin. I see, for my part, in this renowned picture 
 great power and beauty, but am not able to see in it so much 
 as great critics do — the more is the pity for me, no doubt. 
 But I shall honestly adhere in all these things to saying what 
 I think and not what others have said. To me the picture is 
 pleasing and high, but not great except when it is considered 
 that he, in a time when art was low, began that noble work of 
 revival which blossomed into the splendor of a century later. 
 Give the Van Eycks high praise certainly for their lofty con- 
 ceptions and beautiful execution. This picture has a history 
 worth noting. Philip II. tried to get hold of it, but had to 
 be satisfied with a copy. In 1566 it was barely saved from 
 the Puritanical Reformers and in 1641 it had a narrow escape 
 from burning. In 1794 it was taken to Paris and only the 
 central pictures were replaced, the wings, by ignorance or 
 fraud, having been sold to a dealer from whom they were 
 bought by the Museum of Berlin for four hundred and ten 
 thousand francs. The two wings with Adam and Eve were 
 kept concealed here as unsuitable for a church until 1861, 
 when they were removed to the Museum at Brussels, where 
 we saw them, and queer figures of our common parents they 
 are. Lucky for her male descendants that Eve did not freely 
 transmit to her daughters her corporeal characteristics as shown 
 by the good brothers Van Eyck. The missing wings are re- 
 
118 The"- Beguinages. ' ' 
 
 placed with copies by a clever artist named Coxie. The verger 
 who showed us about and opened the doors covering this 
 renowned picture with reverent and tender hands is a singular- 
 looking man, and the like of him is not possible, I think, in our 
 country. Such short legs, dwarfing his height, while all the 
 rest of him is of good size, his big Flemish face, whose features, 
 taken singly, are coarse and ugly, yet are harmonized and 
 pleasing from an habitual composure of them into a cheerful 
 and kind expression, a voice of gentle goodness and uni- 
 form politeness of tone, and a manner in all he did conforming 
 to these, made of him a picture to be laid away in connection 
 with the memory of the treasures he shows with such affec- 
 tionate care that his acceptance of the expected gratuity did 
 not belittle him. 
 
 In the same square is the Hotel de Ville, said to be the 
 most beautiful piece of Gothic architecture in Belgium. It 
 dates back to 15 18, In the Marche du Vendredi, surrounded 
 by antiquated buildings, is a statue to Jacques van Artevelde, 
 and a stout and tough demagogue he seems, with a look some- 
 thing like our own Ben Butler. In a corner of this square is 
 a huge cannon called " Mad Meg," dating from the fourteenth 
 century, a sister in size and shape to the " Mons Meg" in the 
 court-yard of Edinburgh Castle. We did not visit any picture 
 galleries here, not understanding them to be of especial merit, 
 and being something weary of pictures, wanted a little rest 
 before seeing the more important ones of more famous galle- 
 ries elsewhere. 
 
 Drove in the afternoon to a huge convent, or rather village 
 of conventual houses on the northeast side of the town, called 
 the " Beguinages," from St. Begga. It is really a little town 
 enclosed by walls and moats with streets, squares, gates, eigh- 
 teen convents and a church, forming a curious and picturesque 
 whole. The houses are small two-storied Gothic brick struc- 
 tures, the wall, running all along their fronts, being pierced for 
 little doors numbered and having the names of the saint to 
 whom each is dedicated painted on them. These institutions 
 were founded in 1234 and have been spared through all the 
 destructive changes of the centuries. The objects aimed at 
 are a religious life, works of charity and the honorable self- 
 support of women of all ranks. At present nearly a thousand 
 
Bruges. — ^SV. Sauveur Cathedral. Il9 
 
 women occupy the convents and separate dwellings. They 
 make lace, which is sold at a house near the entrance. 
 
 Ghent is the capital of East Flanders with nearly 150,000 
 population, and has always been an important city, but is los- 
 ing its consequence since the separation of Belgium from Hol- 
 land, and presents a dull but comfortable and pleasing appear- 
 ance, with considerable manufacturing of cotton goods, the 
 raw material coming increasingly from British India. 
 
 Left for Bruges at 5 p.m. by rail and arrived at the Hotel de 
 Flandre in forty-five minutes. Dined and took a long carriage 
 ride about the city, which for mediaeval picturesqueness and 
 quaintness surpasses anything we have yet seen. Five hun- 
 dred years ago it was one of the renowned cities of the world 
 and the mart where the East and West brought their divers 
 products for sale and exchange. Venice, Genoa, Constanti- 
 nople and the English cities brought here their richest stuffs, 
 and it held this supremacy almost up to the sixteenth century, 
 when its decline began, and now out of its population reduced 
 to 50,000, one-quarter are said to be paupers. One effect is 
 that the city stands as the refluent tide of mediaeval prosperity 
 left it, no changes being called for to meet the demands of mod- 
 ern trade. So we passed along narrow winding streets of high 
 narrow houses with deeply notched gables, projecting windows, 
 steep roofs and walls whose original colors of white and gray 
 and blue and red have become toned by time into hues softer 
 and richer than painter may spread on canvas, through public 
 squares where the grass shoots up between the stones and the 
 clatter of a pair of sabots awakens prolonged echoes, over which 
 dominate the lofty structures of centuries ago, such as the 
 Tour des Halles, or Belfry, with its sweet chime of bells, now 
 one hundred and fifty years old, Au Lion de Flandre, the 
 Cranenburg, the Hotel de Ville, dating back to 1376, the 
 Maison de I'Ancien Greffe, the Palais de Justice, and fifty more, 
 each a joy to the lovers of the old in architecture. 
 
 July 17. — Visited the Cathedral of St. Sauveur with pictures 
 by P. Pourbus, Jacob van Oost, Seghers, De Crayer and 
 Francken — all excellent these. Then to the Church of Notre 
 Dame, where is a statue of the Virgin and Child by Michael 
 Angelo, a marble group of life size and extreme beauty. The 
 French carried it to Paris during the Revolution, and the re- 
 
120 Hospital of St. John. — Church of St. Bdsile. 
 
 fined Horace Walpole is said to have offered thirty thousand 
 florins for it. There are also two sumptuous tombs in a side 
 chapel here of sculptured brass with life-size effigies recum- 
 bent on them of Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, and his 
 daughter Mary, wife of the Emperor Maximilian, wrought by 
 the famous artists Beckere and Jongelincx in the sixteenth 
 century. Beautiful they are. Near at hand is the Hospital of 
 St. John, upward of five centuries old, where the sick are tend- 
 ed by Sisters of Charity. It contains two hundred and forty 
 beds, and in the quaint prescription-room two sisters with 
 pleasing, intelligent features in great black bonnets faced with 
 white, were preparing remedies from huge jugs and bottles, 
 and all sorts of quaint vials and packages ranged on shelves 
 all about. But what the world comes here mainly to see are 
 the pictures by Memling, who lived and worked and died 
 here in 1495, and for thirty years or more painted small pic- 
 tures of sacred subjects of such perfect workmanship that a 
 magnifying-glass in enlarging them only reveals their beauties 
 the more. Sweet-faced saints look out from his canvases in a 
 way to touch the heart. The Chasse of St. Ursula, a reliquary 
 of Gothic design standing on a rotatory pedestal in the centre 
 of the room, is said to be his finest work. There are five of 
 his pictures here in all. 
 
 Such mellow quaintness of color and form along the canals 
 as we drove about, such sweet, clear tones from the many bel- 
 fries ! I shall not soon forget thee, ancient and stately Flem- 
 ish town ! I must not forget to mention the richly ornament- 
 ed little church of St. Basile, commonly called Chapelle de 
 Saint-Sang, dating from 1150. Its name comes from some 
 drops of the blood of the Saviour said to have been brought 
 from the Holy Land in 1149 by Theodoric of Alsace, Count 
 of Flanders, who deposited them here, where they are exhib- 
 ited every Friday. N.B. — Do the priests who have the care of 
 this imposition and the higher church authorities, who of 
 course order and sanction its exhibition, really believe in this ? 
 Who can tell ? I saw in a suite of rooms the regular yearly 
 records of the city ranged on shelves, running back to 1235 ! 
 In the Palais de Justice is a noble chimney-piece, filling up 
 almost the entire side of the room, done in 1529 by Guyot de 
 Beaugrant to celebrate the battle of Pavia and Peace of Cam- 
 brai — wonderfully fine. 
 
Antwerp. — The Cathedral of Ndtre Dame. 121 
 
 Left Bruges for Antwerp at 4.30, arriving at 7 p.m., passing 
 through Malines, where we had a very good view of the tower 
 of the Cathedral of St. Rombold, dating back to 131 2, never 
 completed, but now 324 feet high with a clock whose face is 
 49 feet in diameter. This cathedral was mostly built with 
 money raised from pilgrims who flocked here during the four- 
 teenth and fifteenth centuries to buy the indulgences issued 
 by Pope Nicholas V. 
 
 Frattini had secured us good rooms in the Hotel St. An- 
 toine. 
 
 July 18. — Unless I make myself a slave to this flimsy jour- 
 nal, which I cannot do, I must be content with the merest jot- 
 tings and only touch on a few things. I hoped, by the sight of 
 a somewhat full record of what we see abroad, to help my, 
 memory in the years to come, if haply I shall be spared to live 
 these months over again in retrospect, but objects of interest so 
 press that I cannot. The great cathedrals we visit are my de- 
 spair and I have ceased to attempt any description of these rev- 
 erent piles, where pious souls, inspired and glowing, wrought 
 in " sad sincerity" these marvels of ages not to be renewed. 
 They can be felt, not described. So one feels when gazing on 
 the tower of the Cathedral of Notre Dame here, rising like the 
 fabric of a dream 400 feet into the air, delicate as a spider's web 
 and so beautiful in its workmanship that Napoleon well might 
 compare it to a piece of Mechlin lace. We went directly there 
 in the morning to see Rubens' masterpiece, ** The Descent from 
 the Cross." I have never been so moved by any work of 
 human art. I could not, I am not ashamed to say it, hold back 
 my tears at sight of the bloodless Christ, whose relaxed limbs 
 and pallid face showed how great the agony had been, with 
 what inexpressible suffering the strong and noble form had at 
 last yielded up the ghost. And then the afflicted mother be- 
 numbed with woe, and Mary Magdalene clasping his wounded 
 feet with eager love, as if she would not even yet think him 
 dead — these, and all the accessories, so harmonious, so contrib- 
 uting without one detracting element, to perfect the sad 
 scene, show the marvellous power of the painter's art beyond 
 anything I had thought possible. In all Rubens' pictures I 
 have seen before this one — and I have already seen many — there 
 is something to detract from the effect, coarseness of sentiment 
 often and huge unnatural limbs, but in this great picture noth- 
 
122 The Museum of Paintings. — The Bourse. 
 
 ing of these disturbs the mind from realizing the awful im- 
 pressiveness of the scene. The picture has winged sides show- 
 ing the Salutation and the Presentation in the Temple. Into 
 these Rubens has introduced, as he often did, the portraits of 
 his first wife and daughter. On the other side of the altar is 
 his hardly less famous " Elevation of the Cross," full of life, 
 with a noble figure of Christ, but the canvas is overcharged 
 with figures whose limbs are abnormally distended with brawn. 
 The high-altar piece is also his : an " Assumption," wonder- 
 fully fine. There is also fine stained glass of 1615 and a noble 
 pulpit carved in wood, of the seventeenth century, by Van der 
 Voort. In the Cathedral tower is a chime of ninety-nine bells, 
 the smallest only fifteen inches in circumference, the largest, 
 cast in 1507, weighing eight tons. Near the principal door of 
 the Cathedral is an old well with a canopy of wrought iron 
 done by Quentin Matsys, buried in 1529 near the entrance to 
 the tower, exceedingly graceful. 
 
 The handsome Hotel de Ville has a fine chimney-piece from 
 the old Abbey of Tongerloo, representing the marriage of 
 Cana. 
 
 The Museum of Paintings has some seven hundred pictures, 
 many of them gathered from the suppressed monasteries and 
 churches of the city, including nearly a score by Rubens. No- 
 table among these are his " Baptism of Christ," " Christ 
 Crucified between the Two Thieves" {^^ Le Coup de Lance") — 
 a wonderful picture — "Adoration of the Magi" {" Chi-ist a la 
 Paille"), "The Doubting Thomas," "St. Theresa Interceding 
 for Souls in Purgatory," and " Holy Family" (" La Vierge au 
 Perroqitef), exceedingly fine, and so on. Fine too are very 
 many of the works of Schut, Jordaens, Maes, de Vos, Rem- 
 brandt, Hals, Jan Steen, Van Dyck (including his " Christ on 
 the Cross"), D. Teniers the younger, Quentin Matsys, Jan van 
 Eyck, Roger van der Weyde and many others. Curious to 
 see the many good pictures marked in the excellent catalogue, 
 " onbekennen" — artist unknown. 
 
 In 17 18 the old Jesuit Church of St. Charles Borromee was 
 burned. This was planned by Rubens and he furnished for it 
 thirty-nine pictures, all of which were consumed except three 
 large altar-pieces, now in the Belvedere Gallery at Vienna. 
 
 The new Bourse is a large space covered with glass and sur- 
 rounded by a double arcade, held up by sixty-eight columns, 
 
Church of St. Jacques. — Mus^e FlantinMoretus. 123 
 
 opening toward the centre in Moorish-Gothic arches, a very- 
 curious business-place. 
 
 The Church of St. Jacques, finished in 1656, is exceedingly- 
 rich and sumptuous in its monuments and ornaments. Among 
 the richest of the many private chapels of the wealthiest and 
 most distinguished families of Antwerp is that of Rubens in 
 the choir at the back of the high altar. This beautiful Gothic 
 chapel was designed by him. The altar-piece, a " Holy Fam- 
 ily," is among his most beautiful works. All the faces are said 
 to be family portraits. He sleeps between his two wives under 
 the chapel floor, where he was laid to rest at the age of sixty- 
 four in 1640. There are many fine pictures in this rich church, 
 and beautiful stained glass of 1626. 
 
 Quite near the Royal Palace stands Rubens' house, large and 
 richly decorated, built from his own designs, showing well that 
 he was a prosperous man of affairs. 
 
 The National Bank Building, of massive and rich architec- 
 ture, covers an enormous space — as large as one-half a full 
 block in Brooklyn. 
 
 Passed all of one morning in an exceedingly interesting 
 place, the Musee Plantin-Moretus, the house of the famous 
 printer, Christopher Plantin, who set up his printing-office in 
 Antwerp in 1555, and since 1579 almost to the present day- 
 business has been carried on by Plantin at first, then by the 
 family of his son-in-law, Moretus. Since 1800 the printing- 
 office was only used at intervals until 1875, when the building 
 with all its antique furniture, tapestry, paintings (ninety por- 
 traits, including fourteen by Rubens and two by Van Dyck), 
 and all other collections were bought by the city of Antwerp. 
 The whole, as the guide-book to which I am indebted for the 
 above inventory well remarks, " now presents a unique picture 
 of the dwelling and contiguous business-premises of a Flemish 
 patrician at the end of the sixteenth century." The almost 
 monastic building surrounds a large court and consists of a 
 long series of delightful old rooms, oak-panelled, with the 
 quaintest little windows. There is the printing-office with the 
 hand-presses, cumbersome but good, standing as if ready for 
 work to-morrow, the proof-readers' room with copy lying 
 about, the proprietor's office with its gilt leathern hangings, 
 the type-room with old matrices, the composing-room with 
 various type arranged in cabinets as is practised now. There 
 
134 The Steen. 
 
 are rooms containing the finely cut wood type, including great, 
 initial letters once used so much in books, and copper plates 
 with impressions from them, and many original designs — some 
 by Rubens — for title-pages. There are rooms with first copies 
 of early books and a library of those published by the house. 
 There is a type-foundry too, and beautiful living-rooms with 
 the furniture, and rare old china, brasses, etc., of this wealthy 
 family during many generations, all in perfect order and good- 
 ly to look upon. How different the recluse and dignified air 
 of this old place from the swift maelstrom of giddy activity of 
 the hand-to-mouth work of the modern printer ! In a frame 
 on the wall of the publisher's business-room, tacked on with big 
 brass-headed nails and covered with glass as if put there yes- 
 terday, is a well-printed list of books forbidden by the Holy 
 Inquisition to be bought, sold or read — an " Index Expurga- 
 torius" issued by the court of that infamous institution and 
 approved by the Duke of Alva when the Spaniards held this 
 city. 
 
 From the reading of this it was natural enough to visit the 
 Steen, once forming a part of the Castle of Antwerp, the seat 
 of the Spanish Inquisition, now a museum of antiquities of no 
 great interest. But with candle in hand one goes down into 
 dungeons where many a sturdy Flemish Protestant went, 
 never to return more. At the foot of the dark stairway, going 
 down from the Judgment Room on the first floor, is a large 
 circular opening which may be closed, as now it is, by a trap- 
 door, and when the condemned, whose sentence had been ren- 
 dered to him in ambiguous words, had been ordered down the 
 dark stairs, he dropped into the deep pit below. Our candle 
 showed us a vaulted room of stone, circular in shape, into 
 which the condemned felt the water slowly rising about him, 
 with a pump at hand, by which his most active exertions just 
 sufficed to keep the water at a standstill, then felt it gain on 
 him as his strength failed, until, inch by inch, it filled the 
 room. In the old world then, as in the new, in the Nether- 
 lands as in Mexico, the traces of the Spaniard are the same, 
 bloody and cruel. 
 
 Although Antwerp is sixty miles from the sea, the difference 
 between high and low tide in the Schelde is anywhere from 
 12 to 25 feet. 
 
 In the Church of St. Andrew, dating from 1514, is a wonder- 
 
Churches of St. Andrew and St. Paul. — Their Works of Art. 125 
 
 ful pulpit carved from wood by Van Geel and Van Hool, 
 representing St. Peter and St. Andrew in a boat on the sea, 
 called by the Saviour. All the figures are life-size. In the 
 Church of St. Paul is a fine Rubens, " Scourging of Christ," 
 and delightful wood-carvings of the choir-stalls and confes- 
 sionals, beside the doors of which are life-size figures of the 
 apostles and saints. In the court on the south side of the 
 church and rising high on an artificial mound, styled Mt. 
 Calvary, are winding ways up to the top, on which all along 
 are statues of saints, angels, prophets, patriarchs, in great 
 numbers — a curious and rather striking exhibition. At one 
 side in a recess behind great iron bars is a representation of 
 Purgatory, with plaster faces painted in all forms of suffering 
 expression, wrapped in red flames. 
 
 I greatly enjoy looking at the beautiful Cathedral tower. 
 Last evening at sunset it pierced the blue of the sky flecked 
 with small bright clouds, seeming to lift its summit above 
 them, and lower down many swallows whirled about it in wide 
 circles, the liquid notes of the bells chiming the hours dropping 
 softly down from the lofty height. 
 
 Passed half an hour again in the Cathedral this morning 
 before Rubens' " Descent from the Cross." In the square in 
 front stands his statue in bronze, fair to see. It shows a large 
 frame clothed with abundant flesh, such as he loved to wrap 
 his mortals in — and immortals too, for that matter — his face 
 full, clear and handsome. In the joyful exuberance of his 
 fancy, the depth of his invention, the richness of his colors, he 
 seems to me to resemble Shakespere. He painted more than 
 one thousand pictures, throwing them off with a free hand. 
 
 Even beyond Bruges was this city of Antwerp grand and 
 opulent three hundred years ago, but under the Spanish regime 
 its population, numbering 125,000 in 1568, had dwindled in 
 1589 to 55,000, and following the Treaty of Munster in 1648, 
 by which no sea-going vessel was permitted to ascend the 
 Schelde to Antwerp, it shrunk to 40,000. Still worse, in 1830 
 it was bombarded by the Dutch, who, in their turn, were be- 
 sieged by the French in 1832 and the city frightfully laid waste. 
 But its natural advantages as a distributing point are so 
 great that it quickly rallied, and when in 1863 the navigation 
 of the Schelde was made free, it came forward with a bound, 
 and now has a population, including its suburbs, of 240,000, 
 
126 On the Way to The Hague. 
 
 with a commerce increasing in a ratio beyond any city in Eu- 
 rope. It is, too, one of the strongest fortresses on this side of 
 the water, made so by modern earthworks. It has not remain- 
 ing so many of the traces of the old times as Bruges. We 
 drove to the docks, which include an area of some two hun- 
 dred and fifty acres. The quays of solid stone lead to the 
 several basins where ships from all parts of the world lie, each 
 in its own dock of stone. 
 
 I saw a curious thing in the Museum yesterday. In one of 
 the saloons — there are a number of copyists at work in all the 
 galleries we visit — there was an easel standing before a picture 
 — " Card-Players," by the younger Teniers, if I mistake not — 
 with an unfinished copy on it, which I glanced at and thought 
 fully as good as any others, when what was my surprise to see 
 a bright-looking little man drop into a chair before it, and 
 slipping his feet from his loose shoes, lift one leg to his hat 
 and remove it by taking hold of the edge of the brim with his 
 big and next toe and placing it on the floor in a perfectly 
 easy and careless way. I then noticed that he had no arms 
 and that his toes were bare. He proceeded in the handiest 
 way — if such a word may be used of the feet — to open some 
 vials of colors, mix them to suit, took his palette with the toes 
 of his left foot, adjusted his stick, seized his brush between 
 the big and next toe of his right foot and went to work with 
 as much ease and skill as another. Frattini said he had a com- 
 mission to make the copy on which he was working for three 
 hundred dollars and that his work is well thought of ; also 
 that he shaves himself, ties his cravat and does his toilet 
 otherwise, all with his toes. Speaking of this phenomenon to 
 Mr. Stewart, our Consul here, that gentleman informed me 
 that he not only knew this case, but also another in a gallery 
 in some German city. 
 
 July 19. — After three interesting days here left for The 
 Hague at 3.30 p.m., and reached comfortable rooms at the 
 Hotel Bellevue there at 6.30, a railway ride of three hours. 
 At Roosendaal, twenty-three miles from Antwerp, we under- 
 went the Dutch Custom-House, which threatened to be for- 
 midable, as many squatty officials with much gilt braid on 
 them rushed out with much jargon and gesture and compelled 
 all the train into the big examining-room by one entrance, 
 guarded so that no return was possible until the word was 
 
The Hague. 137 
 
 given, but really it proved quite mild, as not a single box or 
 bag was opened, I believe. Passed through busy Rotterdam 
 with its 200,000 inhabitants and thronged canals, Delfshaven, 
 Schiedam, the source of " Schnapps," " Hollands" and " Gene- 
 va," so called from the jenever or juniper-berry with which it 
 is flavored, of which it is noted there are over two hundred 
 distilleries, also that some thirty thousand pigs are annually 
 fattened from their refuse ; through Delft and Ryswyk, where 
 the great peace between England, France, Holland, Germany 
 and Spain was concluded in 1697. 
 
 The country we passed through in Holland is so wet, not- 
 withstanding the numerous canals and ditches, that field crops 
 are not cultivated at all to the extent hitherto noticed, but 
 instead are miles and miles of good pasture land, on which 
 thousands of fine Dutch cattle are feeding, big handsome 
 creatures, mostly white with large patches and bands of black. 
 Lofty picturesque windmills are seen everywhere. I counted 
 twenty in sight at once from the car-windows. On the canals 
 great, burly, awkward brown boats with all sorts of queer 
 cargoes and clumsy, lumbering tackle are towed along slug- 
 gishly by men or horses, sometimes moving creepingly by the 
 use of a tall, mahogany-colored sail, with broad-backed boat- 
 men, in wide hats, puffing short pipes. There are no fences 
 by the road-sides or dividing the fields any more than in Bel- 
 gium, only hedges and more frequently lines of trees, which 
 are everywhere cultivated with great care and often set in 
 double rows, forming avenues along the canals. These are in 
 many places higher than the country they traverse, and the 
 water is pumped up into them by the windmills out of the 
 ditches intersecting every acre of the land, one would think. 
 
 Just before reaching Dordrecht we crossed an arm of the 
 sea called the Kollandsch Diep on a bridge seven-eighths 
 of a mile long, formed by fourteen iron arches, each of 1 10 yards 
 span and 15 feet above the level of the highest tide, with swing 
 bridges for the passage of large vessels. Thirteen stone but- 
 tresses support the bridge, each 50 feet long by 10 wide. The 
 foundation of three of these is 50 feet below low-water mark. 
 The cost was about two and one half million dollars. Fares 
 are low on the railways here and in Belgium, but the practice 
 of charging well for every pound of luggage brings the cost 
 to about the same as our roads at home. 
 
138 The Mauritshuis and its Picture Gallery. 
 
 The Hague is a pleasant, well-built town of 140,000 souls 
 and has a prosperous and rather high-toned look, owing to the 
 residence of the court and other high functionaries, home and 
 foreign. It has a modern look and the public buildings are 
 not specially imposing nor interesting. Most so are the old 
 Hall of the Knights, the Town Hall, the Groote Kerk and the 
 Mauritshuis built by Prince John Maurice of Nassau in 1679, 
 wherein is now a celebrated picture gallery of three hundred 
 paintings. Jan Steen, Terburg, David Teniers the Younger, 
 Gerard Dou, Adrian van Ostade and Adrian van de Velde are 
 seen at their best here, with fine landscapes by the Ruysdaels. 
 Rubens and Van Dyck also each have several excellent pic- 
 tures here and Wouverman half a dozen, said to be among his 
 best, and fine they are. There is a beautiful " Madonna" by 
 Murillo. There is a " Susanna" by Rembrandt, greatly praised, 
 but not pleasing to me although I recognize the greatness 
 of the style, because of the ugliness of the form portrayed. It 
 is said that his wife Saskia stood for the model. If so he 
 could easily have chosen better elsewhere. His " Presentation 
 in the Temple" is here, but I did not become greatly interested 
 in it ; but did greatly in his " School of Anatomy," a large 
 painting showing a group about a corpse, listening to the 
 celebrated Dr. Nicolaus Tulp as he explains the anatomy of 
 the arm. Wonderful is this picture with its strong faces and 
 striking accessories. An ornament of the collection is Paul 
 Potter's " Bull," famous the world over and justly so. The 
 whole canvas — peasant, cow, sheep and bull — is alive — the bull 
 is almost flesh and blood. Potter painted this picture at the 
 age of twenty-two. There are two others here, also by him, 
 one fine, very fine, a landscape with cows and pigs. Alto- 
 gether a fine collection of pictures. 
 
 We had admission to a small collection in the private 
 residence of Baron Steengracht, say a hundred in all, hung 
 in his drawing-rooms, all of a high order, comprising choice 
 examples by Gerome, Willems, Horace Vernet, Winterhalter, 
 Meissonier, Bouguereau, Blees, Koekkoek, Rubens (" Drunken 
 Bacchus"), Cuyp, Jordaens, Paul Potter ("Three Cows"), 
 J. Ruysdael, A. van Ostade, Teniers the Younger, Jan Steen, 
 Hobbema, Gerard Dou, and Rembrandt's "Bathsheba after 
 her Bath," called one of his finest, but not liked by me for 
 the same reason as I give in the case of his " Susanna." 
 
A Drive to Delft. — Schevenitigen. 129 
 
 There are many pleasant squares in the town, and in front 
 of the Royal Palace on one of these is a fine statue of William 
 I. of Orange. 
 
 We drove out to Delft, five miles, and saw the beautiful 
 marble monument to William of Orange, the Silent, in Nieuwe 
 Kerk, and the Prinsenhof Palace, where he lived and was 
 assassinated in 1584. In the Oude Kerk lie Admiral Tromp, 
 who defeated the English fleet under Admiral Blake and 
 hoisted a broom to his masthead afterward to signify that he 
 had swept the sea, and Admiral Piet Hein, who in 1628 
 captured the Spanish " silver fleet " with a freight valued at 
 twelve million florins, nearly five million dollars. Both 
 have monuments where they lie, well carved in marble, 
 short in the legs, but stout of heart. The road to Delft ran 
 along a great canal, the Avater in it and in all the many others 
 — we crossed scores and scores of them — full of algae and 
 looking dirty, as it really is, and smelling vilely. I should 
 say a good country for quinine. And such huge windmills, 
 two and three stories high all along ! 
 
 Our pleasant rooms at the good Hotel Bellevue look across 
 a canal into a well-kept lawn where is a great herd of 
 deer, the fringe of a noble park with finer trees than I have 
 seen anywhere except in a few places in England, great 
 beeches and elms and horse-chestnuts. I walked here on 
 Sunday afternoon. Thousands of decent, orderly people 
 were moving about slowly in the grand avenues, quietly 
 conversing or listening to the music of an excellent band. 
 Here and there were clean little carts with the brightest of 
 brass cans, from which milk was sold, the only fluid visible. 
 Hardy little infantry soldiers were frequent, being off duty, 
 with their sweethearts holding by the sleeve of their ill-fitting 
 jackets ; ditto in the cavalry service, with hot fur shakos a 
 mile too big for their round heads, and terrible, long spurs to 
 their heels. 
 
 We made a visit to Scheveningen, a watering-place on the 
 sea, three miles from The Hague. There is a good beach 
 enough, a big hotel, a good many shops and boarding-houses, 
 plenty of sand, bathing-machines, innumerable wicker-cov- 
 ered chairs crowding the shore and looking in the distance 
 like cones of yellow sand, some bathers, many people moving 
 up and down, happy children with toy shovels, and all the 
 9 
 
130 The '■'■ House in the Wood." 
 
 marks of a seaside place, but nothing peculiar, and inferior 
 to our Coney Island, in the location, the accommodations and 
 the various life. 
 
 In a corner of the park I have spoken of, a little out from 
 the city, is the Huis ten Bosch, meaning, in the easier Ameri- 
 can tongue, the " House in the Wood," a royal villa erected 
 by the widow of Prince Frederick Henry of Orange, who died 
 in 1647. The late Queen, first wife of the present King 
 William III., was a friend to Motley, and he resided here some 
 time while writing his '' Rise of the Dutch Republic." His 
 portrait hangs in one of the rooms. Let no one come here 
 without visiting this house, in whose stately and beautiful 
 rooms are such treasures of hangings, furniture, mural paint- 
 ings, frescoes, cabinets, vases and many more precious things, 
 such as one is not likely to meet many times, wherever he 
 may wander. 
 
 July 23. — At 4.30 P.M. left The Hague for Amsterdam, arriv- 
 ing at 6 P.M. and finding most excellent quarters at the hand- 
 some Brack's Doelen Hotel. Indeed, the size and sumptuosity 
 of our parlor rather disturbed me for fear of the cost, but 
 Frattini, whose previous letter had secured all this splendor, 
 explained that the cost would be only the ordinary charge for 
 simply good rooms ; so we bestow ourselves without scruple, 
 taking the risk of being thought to belong to some one of the 
 many ranks of nobility in which these small kingdoms do so 
 much abound. The country we came over from The Hague 
 is nowhere more than two feet above the surface of the water 
 in the small canals and ditches which interlace the whole face 
 of it like the veins and arteries of the human hand. In a 
 great many places there are miles and miles not six inches 
 above the water. The great canals into which the water is 
 lifted from this intricate system are an5^where from ten to fifteen 
 feet above the level of the land. The country is in great part 
 in pasture, supporting immense herds of Dutch cattle, with 
 frequent fields of wheat, oats, beans, every foot being care- 
 fully cultivated. At one point I counted twenty-nine wind- 
 mills from the car-windows. It has been a good deal rainy- 
 since we came into the Netherlands, and the farmers seem to 
 b^ troubled by it in securing their wheat and hay. 
 
 Amsterdam is an old city, numbering now nearly 400,000 
 inhabitants, and is the commercial capital of Holland, lying 
 at the influx of the Amstel, one of the mouths of the Rhine, 
 
Amsterdavi. 131 
 
 into an arm of the Zuyder Zee. Although the number of 
 ships that enter its excellent harbor is only about one-third 
 that of Antwerp, it is the chief mart for the colonial produce 
 of the Dutch colonies and one of the first commercial cities of 
 Europe. The city lies in the form of a semicircle and is 
 divided into ninety islands by the " Grachten" or canals, 
 crossed by some three hundred bridges. The water in these 
 canals is about three feet deep, with almost the same depth 
 of mud below. This is dredged out and the water frequently 
 renewed by an arm of the North Sea Canal, so that the canals 
 in and about the city look cleaner and smell less offensively 
 than those of The Hague or Antwerp. The nature of the soil 
 is such that no structure can be erected without driving piles 
 to sustain it down through the upper strata of loam and fine 
 sand into the firm sand below. All the houses are so founded. 
 The Exchange rests on 3469 and the Royal Palace on 13,000 
 such piles. The vast system of the city canals is connected 
 with the large and commodious harbor, and this with the 
 North Sea Canal leading to the sea-coast, fifteen miles away. 
 
 The streets are narrow for the most part, except where they 
 border on the canals, and the houses high and narrow, rising 
 often in five or six stories, of exceedingly various and quaint 
 styles of architecture, the greater number with lofty gables 
 curved in and then rounding out again, presenting the appear- 
 ance of an open loop. Near the top projects the end of a 
 beam covered by a little roof with a hook on the under side 
 for attaching a pulley. Bricks, thin, dark and fine, are the 
 principal material used in the houses, and a firm gray sand- 
 stone in many of the more important public buildings. The 
 streets are well kept and quiet, as there are very few carriages, 
 and the business traffic is chiefly by water. Indeed, pedes- 
 trians freely walk in the driveways of the streets and slowly 
 make way for a passing carriage, the driver of which must 
 regulate his pace according to the free or crowded condition 
 of the thoroughfares. The numerous shops look bright and 
 well filled with good wares of every sort, and the people seem 
 contented and well-looking, though not comparable in their 
 personal appearance with those of Brussels or Antwerp, the 
 men, and especially the women, seen abroad in the former city 
 being better formed and handsomer in face than any I have 
 seen on the Continent. 
 
 The Hebrew element is large here, comprising some 30,000 
 
132 The Royal Palace. — Ryks Museum. 
 
 German and 3500 Portuguese Jews, who come to the front 
 apparently with the ingenious activity characteristic of the 
 race in whatever land it gets a foothold. The large trade in 
 diamonds and the cutting of them is quite in their hands ; in- 
 deed, we hardly visit a shop for articles we take an interest in 
 without finding the proprietor a suave and polished Hebrew, 
 and if not honest, a Yankee on a brief visit is not likely to 
 discover it. 
 
 The number of specially fine public buildings is not great, 
 but the whole city is well built, and in the endless variety of 
 detail giving the houses an individuality, so that scarcely any 
 two are just alike, it presents a series of pictures constantly 
 fresh and new and charming. I greatly admire these strange, 
 quaint houses. A considerable number of them lean out of 
 the perpendicular by reason of the sinking of some part of 
 their artificial foundations, but this, even when it has gone to a 
 considerable extent, does not seem to affect their stability. 
 Except in the case of quite well-to-do families, the citizens 
 seem to live over their shops and places of business of what- 
 ever kind, where they have large and commodious premises. 
 
 The Royal Palace is a large and massive structure, once a 
 town hall, but presented to King Louis Napoleon as a residence 
 in 1808. In contains fine halls and its tower is crowned with 
 a gilded ship. The great Central Railway Station is an in- 
 stance of what a great architect can do to make an impos- 
 ing and handsome structure devoted to common and prosaic 
 uses. But the crowning glory of the city is its government 
 museum, called Ryks Museum, covering nearly three acres 
 of ground and including, besides one of the finest picture 
 galleries we have seen, containing over fifteen hundred pict- 
 ures of old and modern masters, collections in all fields of the 
 history, arts and sciences of the Netherlands. These are 
 housed in three hundred and thirty rooms, spacious, highly 
 ornamented and finely lighted. The word magnificent is not 
 too strong to apply to this noble building built by the govern- 
 ment, wherein it is proposed to place all the great paintings 
 of the kingdom, and only the natural reluctance of towns like 
 The Hague, Haarlem, and indeed all others (for gems of art 
 are scattered through them all) prevents. But here are the 
 best works of the Dutch artists whose names I have already 
 had occasion to mention so often heretofore, and as this is 
 
The Little Island of Marken. 133 
 
 Rembrandt's home, so here we find several of his best pictures, 
 and notably his " Night Watch," his largest and most celebrated, 
 work, II by 14 feet. It represents Captain Frans Banning 
 Cocq's company of arquebusiers emerging from their guild- 
 house, whose lofty vaulted hall is lighted only by windows 
 above, so that many figures are in partial twilight, while the 
 faces and forms in the foreground are shown in an atmosphere 
 of light, mellow, wonderful, and all the canvas stirs with the 
 most energetic and picturesque life. The room where this 
 picture is shown is called the Rembrandt Room, and while his 
 spirit does not pervade this city as that of Rubens does Ant- 
 werp, the tokens of him are frequent, and his statue stands in 
 a little square called by his name, where are stately trees and 
 many flowers and benches where the citizens sit and smoke 
 and meditate. ' Tis a handsome statue in bronze, showing a 
 handsome man in Flemish dress, with a face earnest, thought- 
 ful and a certain deep, half sad look like that Dante wears. 
 Indeed, in the homely and repulsive subjects he often chooses 
 for his pencil and the mystical mingled with the realistic tones 
 and colors he used, he seems to me not unlike the great Italian 
 poet. 
 
 I hired a little steam-launch one morning, which we took 
 just beside our hotel, and we threaded our way among the 
 canals into the river Y, passing under a great many bridges, 
 so that the little smoke-stack had to be constantly lowered 
 and raised — a process the stolid mariner attending on it took 
 as quite a matter of course — and where this estuary issues 
 from the Zuyder Zee were raised to the level of its surface, a 
 height of three feet, by a lock which protects the system of city 
 canals from overflow. Two hours' quite smart steaming on 
 the broad inland sea brought us to the objective point of the 
 trip, the little island of Marken, which rises just above the level 
 of the sea and has been from time immemorial the abode of a 
 race of fishermen who with their families are the sole occu- 
 pants, who intermarry and have for centuries held strictly to 
 their old habits, manners and costumes. The dreary little 
 island consists of say a hundred acres, intersected everywhere 
 by narrow canals, and contains something over a thousand in- 
 habitants, who subsist entirely by fishing. I counted one hun- 
 dred and twenty of their stout, brown, lumbering boats, each 
 with a tall, strong mast, a little pennon flying atop, drawn up 
 
134 Quaint Custo?ns and Costumes. 
 
 on the beach in double rows in the most perfect order. They 
 hold themselves aloof from the outside world, are proud, and 
 jealous of strangers, who, as a. rule, are not made welcome, 
 and I engaged a man to go with us who, by many visits, has 
 ingratiated himself with them, learned their ways, and now 
 makes a business of getting visitors the privilege of landing, 
 and to some extent visiting them in their homes. The men 
 wear little caps, loose blue blouses, huge baggy trowsers. end- 
 ing at the knee, long, coarse woollen stockings and wooden 
 sabots, and are strong, bold, independent-looking men. The 
 women wear caps of white lace, jackets embroidered in gay 
 colors, blue petticoats puffing out enormously at the hips, and 
 sabots like the men. The children until seven years of age 
 are dressed alike in long gowns, with embroidered caps, and 
 with their hair banged in front are of undistinguishable sex 
 except by a circular bit of different colored cloth in the crown 
 of the caps of the boys. At the age of seven the boys assume 
 the toga virilis and go at once into the full costume of the men. 
 We saw a sturdy, flaxen-pated little fellow who had put on 
 his only a few days before, in which he strutted about quite 
 at home in his enormous breeks, and our conductor pointed 
 to the heavy silver clasp which fastened his blouse at the neck 
 and explained that all the men wore these of such value that 
 should any poor fellow become drowned and his body be 
 found by strangers, the value of this jewel would pay for his 
 burial in some spot of earth — a sad and touching indication, I 
 thought, of the perilous life they lead. 
 
 A smart shower was falling as we threaded our way along 
 the dismal and slippery path leading from the landing to the 
 nearest of the little villages, when a small cracked bell in the 
 little tower of the only poor little church on the island began 
 to toll in the dismalest way, and we saw a long, straggling 
 procession of these picturesque people coming from another 
 village, and were aware of its funereal character by the slow, 
 measured pace and the clanging bell, and as it came nearer, 
 by a boat towed along on one of the ditch-like canals, a coffin 
 resting in it on low trestles and several women about it bow- 
 ing their heads on their knees. I have never seen so mourn- 
 ful a funeral as this, which passed directly by us as we managed 
 to stand aside on the insecure soil to give it room, in atti- 
 tudes of respectful sympathy, and noticing with interest the 
 
Thrift and Cleanliness. 135 
 
 brown, manly faces and strange costumes. They have one 
 huge common tomb in a low mound, where the coffins of the 
 dead are placed together since a great inundation a century 
 ago swept the island and washed the dead from their graves 
 and out to sea. All parts of the island are subject to over- 
 flow, except the few somewhat higher spots where the three 
 or four villages are placed. They raise no crops but grass 
 and maintain no domestic animals save some half-dozen 
 cows to supply a little milk, all other food coming from the 
 main-land — fish of course excepted, which with potatoes and 
 bread form the chief part of their food. And yet in the little 
 houses — they are more than huts — of these fisher folks are 
 certain treasures of old Delftware, brass and pewter, carved 
 oaken furniture, old clocks and old silver work, which would 
 make a collector green with envy, nor can they be had of 
 these poor people for love or money. They treasure them 
 from age to age, from generation to generation, handing them 
 down as precious home-treasures to be sacredly kept along 
 with the embroidered wedding and gala dresses, which lie care- 
 fully bestowed in old cabinets for hundreds of years. Only 
 in the last extremity, when the pressure of distress can no 
 longer be endured and other relief is despaired of, does any 
 owner of these precious heirlooms part with enough to pro- 
 long life. And so they remain here as in the two houses we 
 visited, the two little rooms of each actually made noble by 
 rows of these precious articles kept in these mean surroundings 
 with the utmost care and pride. There would seem to be no 
 reason for apprehending an extinction of this peculiar people, 
 as the island swarms with children, who kept us eager com- 
 pany in our tour and struggled for the small coins and cakes 
 dealt out by our conductor, with a clamorous vigor promising 
 well for their length of days. 
 
 We steamed across to Monnikendam, a quaint, dull town 
 on the main-land, then down a sluggish canal to Broek, so 
 picturesque and clean that a dirty sidewalk would have been 
 refreshing, and visited a farm-house where Edam cheese is 
 made, with such wonderful neatness in all the arrangements 
 that one would hardly suspect the tiled stalls for the cows 
 to be used by four-footed tenants. Thence back to Amsterdam 
 by the old North Holland Canal, some ten feet higher in many 
 places than the country on either side, a country level, green 
 
136 Leave Amsterdam for Berlin. 
 
 with rich pastures bordered with trees, and thousands of 
 sleek, tranquil cattle feeding, windmills all along the horizon, 
 little villages and great farm-houses with huge pyramidal red 
 roofs, making such a picture in the soft light of sinking day 
 as will not easily be effaced from my memory. 
 
 There is scarcely anything left of national costumes or 
 peculiarities of dress anywhere in the Netherlands. In Belgium 
 we saw nothing distinctive in that way, and in Holland only 
 now and then a rich head-dress of lace, with plates of gold in 
 front of the ears and great gold pins standing high up like 
 horns on some matron of the old-fashioned sort, and becoming 
 it seemed too, giving a kind of dignity to the wearer. But 
 ready-made clothing is reducing all nationalities to a dreary 
 uniformity of ugliness, and the people in the streets of Brus- 
 sels, Antwerp and Amsterdam might, so far as appearance 
 goes, have bought their clothing in Rochester. Only the sabot 
 holds its own astonishingly well when one considers what 
 an inflexible wooden trough it is, and its use is quite common 
 among the poorer people. It is interesting to see how well 
 they manage them, and the children run and leap in them 
 with a freedom and ease one would not think possible. 
 
 On Sunday I strolled along the streets well filled with neat- 
 ly dressed people sauntering soberly about in a contented sort 
 of way, and as well fed, housed and clad as the people of our 
 own cities ; and this is true of all the cities, big and little, we 
 have visited here. There may be depths of misery somewhere, 
 but nothing apparent indicates it either in town or country. 
 I noticed nearly one half the shops were open, but very few 
 customers inside. 
 
 Holland has a population of about four and one half millions, 
 three-fifths of which is Protestant. Long may these pros- 
 perous and, to the eye of the traveller, happy people of the 
 snug little kingdoms of the Netherlands continue so, kept from 
 foreign harm by the jealousy of the surrounding nations, and 
 so left to pursue, as they are successfully doing, all the arts 
 of peace. 
 
 July 29, Monday. — Left the goodly city of Amsterdam, 
 where I would gladly have lingered a month at least, at 
 9 A.M. for Berlin, where we arrived at 10.30 p.m. the same day 
 and found good rooms at the Hotel Kaiserhof, secured in 
 advance by the attentive Frattini, We had a comfortable 
 
Berlin. 137 
 
 compartment to ourselves all our journey, and a warm dinner 
 handed in at one station, the trays, with ingeniously arranged 
 dishes, being taken off at the next. As far as Utrecht the 
 country continues at the same low level of pasture land, sus- 
 taining thousands of fine cattle on grass, which is not renewed 
 for ages, and only invigorated by the manure of stock spread 
 broadcast on the land, forty acres of which keep in excellent 
 condition sixty head of the large Dutch cattle. All that part 
 of Holland we have visited is in the Rhine delta, and the land 
 was deposited by that river in the long past and is a rich 
 alluvium at top. I have not seen a stone in Holland big 
 enough to throw at a dog, unless brought into it, as is all the 
 enormous amount used in constructing their docks and dikes 
 and other great public works. After leaving Utrecht, how- 
 ever, the face of the country is somewhat more elevated, the 
 moisture in the soil less, and good field crops succeed one 
 another all along. 
 
 At Emmerich we take the customs examination, and the only 
 piece of my luggage examined was a hand-bag holding some 
 forty-five cigars, for which a polite German official mulcted me 
 in the sum of one and three-quarter marks — about forty-three 
 cents of the coin bearing the image of the American eagle. I 
 smiled on him benignly, as I had in an unopened trunk another 
 full box. We crossed fertile and well-tilled Westphalia, all 
 along snug brick farm-houses with red roofs of curved tiles, 
 many pretty villages and charming views among the hills, for 
 we were in quite a high and dry region there, though the general 
 face of the country is level ; on through Hanover — entitled to 
 whatever credit may belong to it for giving birth to the first 
 of the English Georges ; on through a land less fertile, with a 
 soil growing more sandy ; still on in the growing darkness 
 until the long rows of distant gas-jets give token of a great 
 city near, and we roll into the commodious railway depot of 
 Berlin, the capital of the great and mighty German Empire. 
 
 I find this city of Berlin to be handsome, even magnificent. 
 It is comparatively modern, and under the fostering care of 
 Frederick William, the " Great Elector," its population in 
 1685 was only 20,000. Under Frederick the Great, who nour- 
 ished it in all ways and lavished money on its architecture, it 
 had increased at the time of his death in 1786 to 145,000, and 
 from 200,000 in 1819 it grew to 330,000 in 1840, and now, as 
 
138 *' Unter den Linden^ — The Royal Palace. 
 
 the capital of Prussia, the residence of the Emperor of Ger- 
 many, centrally situated in the empire, with large commerce 
 through its extensive railway system and navigable rivers, ex- 
 tensive manufactures and important money market, it has 
 reached a population of 1,300,000 and ranks as the third city in 
 Europe. Its situation is not interesting, on a level, sandy plain, 
 with the dull river Spree flowing through it, a location not 
 unlike Chicago with Lake Michigan omitted, and, like that city, 
 brought forward by the steady application of intelligent 
 human energy, and enjoying in addition the affectionate foster- 
 ing of a long line of rulers. The whole look of the city is 
 modern, and there is not much that is picturesque about it, 
 not even a cathedral or town-hall. But the eye rests with 
 pleasure on broad, regular streets, well paved in granite and 
 asphalt, lined with lofty, solid and architecturally fine build- 
 ings of stone or stuccoed brick, squares adorned with statues 
 and refreshed with fountains, shops rich with the finest goods 
 in all kinds, and abounding marks of opulence on every hand. 
 I am rather disappointed in the famed " Unter den Linden," 
 a street 200 feet wide and a mile long, planted on each side 
 with an avenue of trees, from the Brandenburg Gate to the 
 statue of Frederick the Great. The old linden-trees seem 
 to have come to grief, most likely through the severity of the 
 weather, for the wind must come in bitingly, in the winter- 
 time, through these wide streets from the broad plain round 
 about, and their places are filled with young, smallish trees 
 of several sorts, as elms, horse-chestnuts, and not many 
 of a new race of lindens. Its width, too, gives it a rather 
 dreary look, with rows of plain chairs and benches strung 
 along under the trees, and this bareness is not relieved by the 
 lively movement of handsome equipages up and down, such 
 as we are used to in our larger Arnerican cities, where nearly 
 all well to-do citizens keep carriages, as does not seem to be 
 at all the case in any continental city we have seen so far. 
 But ^veral palaces border it — the plain ancient one of old 
 " Kaiser William," where at one of the corner windows on the 
 lower floor he loved to station himself down to his last days, 
 at precisely ten in the morning, to see his favorite guards 
 march by ; the late Emperor Frederick's and the royal palace 
 of the present Emperor William, now absent on an excursion 
 to Norway, so that we visited the great rooms of state in it. 
 
" Old Museum.'" — The Royal Palace at Charlotte nburg. 139 
 
 and putting on felt shoes so as not to mar the oak floors, 
 traversed some fourteen very rich rooms with good pictures, 
 much gilding and some fine effects in decoration. The ball- 
 room and royal chapel are quite impressive in those respects. 
 The reigning family is Protestant of course, and it struck me 
 oddly that a massive crucifix stood on the altar, with one 
 great wax taper burning before it. 
 
 The finest building in the city is the " Old Museum," so 
 called, opposite the Royal Palace, built in 1824 by the famous 
 architect Schinkel, who did a great deal of good work here in 
 his time. This is in the Greek style with an Ionic portico of 
 nineteen columns, and we saw many good pictures there, and 
 among the antiquities the very interesting friezes from the altar 
 of Zeus on the Acropolis of Pergamus, found and excavated 
 by the engineer Herr Humann in 1879, supposed to have been 
 erected by Eumenes II. 180 B.C., in honor of his victory 
 over the Gauls there. Most parts of these are thoroughly well 
 preserved, fresh, full of life and rich in fancy and fine execu- 
 tion. The usually trusty Baedeker says there are no other 
 antique remains so good on such a scale. At the entrance is 
 Kiss' Amazon. 
 
 We drove out to Charlottenburg, passing through one of 
 the five arches of the Brandenburg Gate, the central one of 
 which is guarded by sentinels, so that none but royalty may 
 pass there. Our road took us through the very handsome 
 public park of the Thiergarten, containing six hundred acres 
 ornamented with fine avenues of large trees, miniature lakes, 
 grassy lawns, natural forests, many statues — an admirable park 
 and one of the best we have seen. The Royal Palace at 
 Charlottenburg was built for Sophia Charlotte, wife of the 
 first Frederick, in 1699, and we wandered through the gor- 
 geous rooms of it opening into each other in a vista of 500 feet. 
 In one apartment is a fine show of old china of all the facto- 
 ries then known, artistically arranged, quite covering the walls, 
 and said to be in the same arrangement as when the good 
 Charlotte left all these vanities to lie down in dust, as royal 
 heads must do at last, and the good Emperor Frederick did 
 sadly not many months ago at Potsdam, stopping here a 
 few weeks on his way thither. A gloomy, damp, close-smelling 
 sort of a place, this Royal Palace of Charlottenburg, despite 
 its magnificence. We passed a whole day among the remains, 
 
140 HohenzoUern Museum. — Potsdam and its Palace. 
 
 traces and tokens of the Great Frederick, a character in whom 
 I have always been interested. 
 
 In the HohenzoUern Museum in the Monbijou Chateau 
 are a great number of reminiscences of him and his time. 
 There is a wax model of his face after death, singularly- 
 striking, showing every lineament of his strong face and 
 every line of each feature with startling distinctness, his cloth- 
 ing from childhood to death, including a uniform and little 
 musket in which he underwent the severe drilling to which 
 his martinet of a father subjected him, his flute and the manu- 
 scripts of his musical compositions, and his horse, Conde, 
 cream-colored, and life-like in its state trappings. Interesting, 
 too, are the relics of his father, Frederick William I., including 
 his turning-lathe, the table of his " Tobacco College," with a 
 great array of the long clay pipes used, and the large, com- 
 fortable, high-backed, rudely painted wooden chairs in which 
 he and his councillors used to sit far into the night in a cloud 
 of smoke, drinking deeply, with much horse-play and quarrel- 
 ling, as Carlyle so graphically describes in his life of Frederick 
 the Great, one of the wonderfulest books in the world. There 
 are also many good portraits and busts of characters of that 
 time, old tapestry and furniture, cabinets, porcelain, table 
 services of kings and electors, including a series of tankards 
 going far back 
 
 Visited Potsdam, sixteen miles southwest from the city, 
 well situated on an island in the Havel, with some 50,000 
 inhabitants, where the Great Frederick erected many build- 
 ings and pretty much made the interesting place what it is, 
 and where he loved to reside. Crossing the bridge from the 
 station to the town, we come at once upon the palace with 
 the famous lime-tree, its trunk covered now with metal, but in 
 good foliage and bearing itself sturdily, where petitioners 
 used to take position and wait for Frederick the Great to 
 appear. This palace was built in 1660, but took its present 
 form under Frederick in 1750. His rooms are kept as he 
 used them, and fine rooms they are, done by the artists he 
 brought from France, their ceilings rich in fresco and abun- 
 dant gilding on walls and doors in the revived classic fashion 
 of the time. Here are his writing-desk, convenient and roomy, 
 his music-stand, and snug library with shelves on one side 
 filled with French books handsomely bound. Among them is 
 
The Park and Palace of Sans Souci. 141 
 
 a full set of Voltaire's works bound in red morocco, with many 
 marks of reference rising from the gilt upper edges, just as 
 Frederick placed them. This library is separated from his 
 bedroom only by a heavy silver balustrade, and adjoining it 
 is a charming little cabinet with double doors and a cheerful 
 outlook from its one window, and a round table in the centre, 
 the central part of which could be readily let down into the 
 kitchen below and returned without any servants being pres- 
 ent, where he entertained confidentially, quite free from all 
 espionage. 
 
 We entered the vault under the pulpit of the plain Garrison 
 Church where lie the remains of the Great Frederick in a 
 chest of lead as they were placed at his funeral, and beside 
 him, the only other occupant of the little vaulted room, those 
 of his redoubtable father, still and peaceful enough now in 
 this plain case of black marble. Several dried wreaths of bay 
 rested on the coffin of the Great Frederick, and taking a fresh 
 red rose from the jacket of one of the young ladies of my 
 party, I placed it among them. The grizzled and stiff old 
 soldier who had admitted us smiled grimly, and handed me 
 with hesitating carefulness a leaf from a wreath of bay placed 
 there in 1813 by the Czar Alexander of Russia, and we 
 emerged musingly, soon to find ourselves in the fair and 
 famous park of Sans Souci, laid out by French gardeners 
 under Frederick's care, in imitation of Versailles. There are 
 innumerable statues, single and in groups, along the broad 
 avenues, and in the centre a fountain rising to the height of 
 112 feet, and falling into a basin more than a hundred feet in 
 diameter. From this scene of cultivated sylvan beauty a 
 broad flight of steps intersects six terraces leading up dd feet 
 to the palace of San Souci. These terraces are prettily culti- 
 vated in turf and flowers, and on their sunny steep sides 
 grapes ripen on trellises, and I noticed dwarf trees of apples 
 and pears in huge earthen pots, laden with ripening fruit of 
 more than average size. At the east end of the upper terrace 
 the greyhounds and chargers of the Great Frederick are 
 buried, and near a statue of Flora is a favorite spot where he 
 used to say he would like at last to lie — " Quand je serai la, je 
 serai sans souci." The long palace of one story was built for 
 him in 1745 and he lived there almost constantly, and his rooms 
 are still kept as they were in his life. They are handsome 
 
142 The Orangery, 
 
 rooms, and show the occupant to have been a man of culti- 
 vated and luxurious tastes. His portrait by Pesne in his 
 fifty-sixth year is said to be the only one for which he ever 
 sat. The features are the same as in the death-mask, and as 
 shown in the majestic statue in front of the Royal Palace in 
 Berlin. Here also is a small library, chiefly of the French 
 classics, and some fine paintings by Pesne, Watteau, Lancret 
 and others, and a few ancient busts on the walls. A small 
 white marble clock is shown which he used to wind up him- 
 self, said to have stopped at the precise moment of his death, 
 2. 20 P.M., August 17th, 1786. In the west wing is the un- 
 altered room in which William IV. died, and another is shown 
 as the one occupied by Voltaire. 
 
 Not far from the palace, on the way to the Orangery, I 
 noticed the old wooden windmill, whose owner refused to sell 
 it to the great king. We climbed a flight of broad steps to 
 look at the fagade of the Orangery, a structure in the Floren- 
 tine style, 330 yards in length, completed some forty years 
 since, imposing and fine with its many statues, but I cannot 
 dwell upon it nor the garden of tropical plants adjoining, nor 
 the Palace of Friedrichskron a mile away, founded by the 
 Great Frederick in 1763 after the Seven Years' War, and com- 
 pleted at a cost of four hundred and fifty thousand pounds. 
 We noticed its handsome fagade of 375 feet, and its noble 
 dome rising among the lofty trees of the surrounding park, 
 but did not seek to enter as we might have done, in the 
 absence of its occupant, the Empress Victoria. Her husband, 
 the Emperor Frederick, died here a little more than a year 
 ago. In fact, we have " supped full " of palaces in the last 
 few days, and are glad to get back later in the day into the 
 quiet of our rooms at the Kaiserhof and dine in the covered 
 court under electric lights, amid much gilding and marble 
 and fresco, attended by a civil waiter with English nearly as 
 good as that of Frattini, whose manner mildly rebukes my en- 
 thusiasm over what we have seen since falling under his care, 
 as he requests me from time to time to wait until we shall 
 reach Italy, and then, etc., etc. 
 
 I neglected to say that the sandy, level parade-ground over- 
 looked by the windows of the old palace in Potsdam, where 
 the fathei;: of Frederick the Great used to drill his big grena- 
 diers, still serves as a parade-ground, and in his rooms in the 
 
Dresden. 143 
 
 Sans Souci Palace are shown the perpendicular graduated 
 scale by which he used to measure the recruits for his 
 gigantic guards, and a long row of stout canes wherewith he 
 used to belabor all sorts and conditions of people, his own 
 family included. 
 
 In riding and walking about this city of Berlin, I am more 
 and more impressed with the solidity, prosperity and magnifi- 
 cence of it. In a general way too, the cities on this side of the 
 Atlantic are growing and prospering in a manner not so much 
 behind those of our own country. The apathy of feudalism, 
 the inertness of the old traditional life feels the quickening of 
 the modern spirit, and progress is rapid and thorough almost 
 everywhere we visit — at least so it seems to me. To illustrate 
 the growth of population, take the city of Hanover, once the 
 sleepy capital of the kingdom of that name, the cradle of the 
 Georges of England and now the capital of a Prussian prov- 
 ince. In 1837 its population was only 27,000 ; to-day it is 
 160,000. 
 
 August 2. — Left Berlin for Dresden at 8 a.m., arriving at the 
 latter city at 11.20. The route by rail is one hundred and 
 five miles oyer a sandy, unfertile plain, with few farm-houses 
 in sight and the scantiest crops, in spite of a good deal of la- 
 bor expended on the land. We passed not more than half a 
 dozen small villages in all the distance. Find excellent quar- 
 ters in the Hotel Bellevue, close beside the river Elbe, over- 
 looked by a pleasant terrace, where one can partake of the 
 good rolls and coffee one finds almost everywhere on the Con- 
 tinent. 
 
 Dresden is the capital of the kingdom of Saxony, where its 
 sovereigns have resided since 1485, and, like almost all towns 
 we have so far visited on the Continent, has been greatly re- 
 built, and enlarged during the present century in rapid growth 
 until it now numbers 245,000 souls. It lies on both sides of 
 the Elbe, here about 300 yards wide, artificially made so from 
 a width above and below the town of say 150 yards. There is 
 a picturesque old bridge always in view from the hotel terrace, 
 connecting the old and new parts of the city, lively with much 
 passenger traffic on the tramway and sidewalks. This bridge, 
 resting on sixteen fine arches and one-quarter of a mile long, 
 was built in the thirteenth century. The valley of the Elbe 
 here is pleasant, with low ranges of hills in plain sight ; but I 
 
144 The Palace at Dresden. — The Court Church. 
 
 do not find the environs of Dresden so attractive as the reports 
 of travellers usually make them. It is well built, and in view 
 of our hotel is an imposing opera house, the Hoftheater, in 
 the Renaissance style, by Gottfried Semper, opened in 1878, 
 and called one of the finest in Europe," covering an area of 
 over 5000 square yards, ornamented with statues and richly 
 decorated by eminent artists. On the same square rises the 
 Palace, a large, dull structure with the highest tower in the 
 city, 331 feet. In a room or series of rooms on the ground 
 floor, called the Green Vault, is a wonderfully fine collection 
 of curiosities, including the jewels of the reigning family, of 
 exceeding value, with a great number of fine diamonds, among 
 them one of green color weighing five and one half ounces, set 
 as a hat-clasp. There are many large pieces in gold of the 
 work of the earlier German goldsmiths, ivory carvings, includ- 
 ing one of ninety-two figures, cut out of a single piece, repre- 
 senting the " Fall of the Angels," Limoges enamels, and an 
 endless number of rare and costly objects in silver, brass, tor- 
 toise-shell, crystal and the various precious stones, on which 
 an incredible amount of labor has been expended by famous 
 artists, making this, it is said, one of the most valuable collec- 
 tions of these curious things to be found anywhere. One 
 wonders how the rulers of this small state come to possess all 
 these treasures, and is obliged to look on them as accumula- 
 tions made during those centuries when the divine right of 
 kings stood for much more than it does now, and the strong 
 hand to take went with the desire to possess, and the means 
 to buy were wrung from abject subjects with no one to with- 
 stand or gainsay. 
 
 The Roman Catholic Court Church is also on our square 
 built in what is called the "baroque style," by which I under- 
 stand a commingling of various styles so as to produce a sort 
 of harmonious and not unpleasing effect. This church dates 
 from 1737 and has some sixty statues of saints on the parapets 
 and at the entrances. We attended mass there Sunday morn- 
 ing, as the music is notable, and listened with pleasure to the 
 magnificent baritone voice of the officiating priest intoning 
 the prayers and the soprano in the choir, the only female voice, 
 Frattini says, to be heard in any Catholic church in Europe. 
 But the old kings of Saxony were Protestant, and it will be re- 
 called that stout Ernest of Saxony was one of Luther's stanch- 
 
The Picture Gallery. 145 
 
 est friends and supporters, and possibly this pure female voice 
 rising from the braided melody of the numerous choir is a 
 lingering reminiscence of those days when old bands of church 
 practice and custom were relaxed and women mingled in the 
 worship of God more openly than under the Romish forms. 
 
 But the crowning attraction of Dresden is its Picture Gallery, 
 housed in an ample and handsome museum designed by the 
 architect Semper, completed in 1854, and ranking as one of 
 the finest collections of pictures in the world. I cannot dwell 
 at length on the many choice examples of the various schools 
 of painting shown here. Here are the " Sacrifice of Abraham," 
 by Andrea del Sarto ; " The Madonna Enthroned," " Madonna 
 with St. Sebastian," "The Holy Night," "The Madonna and 
 St. George," all by Correggio ; " The Tribute Money" and 
 portrait of his daughter Lavinia, by Titian ; masterpieces 
 of Paul Veronese, Tintoretto, Velasquez, Murillo, Claude Lor- 
 raine, Watteau, Nicolas Poussin, Rubens, Van Dyck, Rem- 
 brandt — his portrait of his wife, Saskia, portrait of himself 
 with her on his knee, " Samson's Riddle," " Manoah's Sacrifice" 
 — Gerard Dou, Paul Potter, Wouverman, and the long list of 
 Flemish, Dutch and German painters whose works I have seen 
 and partly noted elsewhere. Here are Diirer's " Crucifixion," 
 Holbein's portrait of Morett the English goldsmith, two 
 most charming pictures by Angelica Kauffmann and two by 
 Heinrich Hofmann, " The Child Jesus in the Temple" and the 
 " Woman Taken in Adultery before Christ," worthy to rank, 
 as it seems to me, with the works of the great masters. 
 But what can I say of the exceeding glory of the " Sistine 
 Madonna," by Raphael, hanging in a quiet and almost 
 sacred room, the only picture there, whither visitors come 
 from the connecting halls where they have chattered and 
 criticised straying carelessly and noisily, to uncover their 
 heads as in a holy place and softly and with no words to gaze 
 long and tenderly on this divine apparition ? Who can do so 
 unmoved ? There stands the Virgin Mother blessed above all 
 women, holding to her breast the infant Redeemer, the beauty 
 of her face faintly shadowed by the awful mystery whose full 
 import she cannot yet have comprehended. What unfathom- 
 able depths in those tender, luminous eyes, what saintly beauty 
 in all those Oriental features ! What composure of maternity 
 in them touched with something of shy virginity, of modest 
 10 
 
146 The Dresden Porcelains. 
 
 pride, of vague jealous fear, of happy awe ! No wonder the 
 world comes to admire and reverence and worship. And 
 what a wonderful thing it is that the brain and heart and hand 
 of man can with a few earthy pigments create so glorious an 
 image, looking as if ready to step down to earth with throbbing 
 heart and lips informed with human speech ! 
 
 We drove across the old bridge through the new town and 
 by a long, rising road, passed in the suburbs the picturesque 
 house looking down on the river, where Schiller lived for a 
 time with his friend Korner, author of 'the " Song of the Sword," 
 and crossed the Elbe, on our way back to town, by an awkward 
 ferry-boat, which did its work handily enough, and passed 
 through the small but pretty Briihl Terrace, well kept and 
 enriched with frequent statues of famous men. 
 
 I was wakened one morning hereby the shrill notes of some 
 not at all musical wind instrument, and looking out of the 
 window saw a group of soldiers collected at the foot of a long 
 iron ladder running up the lofty side of the opera house, being 
 drilled in evolutions on it as firemen and regulating their 
 movements by the notes of the aforesaid instrument in the 
 mouth of the officer in charge. Three men mounted the ladder 
 at a time, some distance apart, with a common and measured 
 step, so deliberate as to be almost amusingly solemn, and 
 fastening with simultaneous motions a strap each wore round 
 the waist by a hook to a rung of the ladder, let go their hands 
 and accustomed themselves to using them freely and to bend 
 backward from the waist so as to be at liberty to expend their 
 force in any action required in the exigencies of a fire. They 
 then descended in the same uniform manner, and others took 
 their places. All these movements were made with automatic 
 precision. 
 
 The royal manufactory of the famous Dresden porcelains is 
 at Meissen, fourteen miles from here. This was founded in 
 17 lo, when the chemist Bottger discovered how to make 
 " china." We visited the show and sales rooms of the com- 
 pany in the city, and saw most beautiful productions — vases, 
 plaques, figures, etc. The most expensive of their dinner 
 sets of one hundred and twenty-four pieces in stock cost 
 three hundred and fifty dollars here. Sets of higher cost are 
 only made to order and easily run into the thousands. The 
 paternal government of Uncle Sam claps a duty of sixty per 
 
Leave Dresderi for Frankfort. 147 
 
 cent on these wares in order that some New Jersey potterie 
 may experiment, as they have been doing for fifty years. 
 Without this enormous duty, the manager said sadly, they 
 would do a large business with America. 
 
 Our hotel here is the best we have found since the Bellevue in 
 Brussels, and very pleasant it is to sit under the striped awning 
 swung over the terrace of tessellated marble, festooned at the 
 sides with clambering vines, the brown Elbe with its lazy boats 
 just below, the gray old many-arched bridge near by on the 
 right, and on the opposite shore the dull red roofs of ancient 
 houses with queer windows in them, so arched in tiles that a pair 
 of them look like eyes staring unwinkingly at you. Here we 
 order our meals served at one of the many little tables and 
 rest dreamily. 
 
 August 6. — Left Dresden for Frankfort at 8.30 a.m. and 
 arrived there at 9.45 p.m. Rooms at the Hotel d'Angleterre 
 on the Rossmarkt, the small but principal square of the city. 
 We changed cars at Leipsic at 10.45, the intermediate country 
 between that city and Dresden being flat, the soil light and 
 sandy, but well cultivated. At Halle we cross the river Saale, 
 a muddy water, here some thirty feet wide, and farther on pass 
 along the larger of the two Mansfeld lakes, the only salt water 
 in Germany. Twenty-four miles from Halle is Eisleben, the 
 birthplace of Luther in 1483. The house in which he was 
 born and another in which he died here in 1546 are both 
 standing. There are silver-mines near here employing over 
 two thousand men. The face of the country grows more 
 interesting as we advance, and at Wallhausen begins a beauti- 
 ful and fertile region lying along the river Helme, a small 
 brown stream. Many peaceful villages are passed, the most 
 considerable being Nordhausen on the southern slope of the 
 Harz Mountains, Heiligenstadt on the little river Leine, and 
 Eichenberg. Thence down the valley of the Werrato Witzen- 
 hausen, with charming scenery all along, changing trains 
 again at Cassel on the Fulda, once the capital of the Electorate 
 of Hessen and now the seat of the government of the Prussian 
 province of Hesse-Nassau. In the centre of the Friedrichs- 
 Platz stands the statue of the Landgrave Frederick IL, who 
 furnished the English during our war for Independence with 
 twelve thousand of his subjects, the hated Hessians, for twenty- 
 two million dollars, nearly two thousand dollars per head. 
 
148 Marburg. 
 
 These poor wretches, torn from their homes and leaving their 
 bones to whiten in an alien land beyond the sea and their 
 memory to the continuing execration of a great nation, had 
 no interest whatever in the war they were engaged in, and 
 were sold bodily to fill the treasury of a petty prince. The 
 world moves, however, and a like act could not possibly occur 
 again in any part of the civilized world. 
 
 The station-masters on the German roads are gorgeous in 
 the extreme. The first one I noticed chanced to be a man 
 of a somewhat warlike carriage and 'mien, and for a moment 
 when considering him I really took him to be a personage of 
 high military rank. His blue double-breasted coat with great 
 gilt buttons and black velvet cuffs, these and the collar faced 
 with a heavy gilt braid, a sort of incipient epaulette sprouting 
 from a big gilt button on each shoulder, a red cap also heavily 
 gilded in the band, and dark broadcloth trousers with a red 
 stripe down the leg constituted him a warrior in appearance 
 fit to figure in one of Wouverman's battle-pieces. And to think 
 that his mission is to come out when the train approaches, 
 stare sternly at the passengers for a space, and then pull a 
 bell to announce the time for leaving ! 
 
 A most picturesque town is Marburg, with its red-roofed 
 houses, climbing in semicircular tiers up a precipitous hill 
 about the castle at the top, an imposing, well-preserved structure 
 where in 1520 Luther, Zwingli and Melanchthon with other Re- 
 formers held a conference to try and come to an agreement upon 
 the nature of the Eucharist, which failed because of Luther's 
 holding fast to the exact words, '''' Hoc est corpus ineuni" which 
 he wrote in large letters on the table. There is a prosperous 
 university here founded in 1527, attended by a thousand 
 students. Frattini pointed out one of these at the station 
 with a long purple scar on his left cheek, got by the slash of a 
 sword in a duel, and still another, out of the four to 
 be seen in red caps, with a similar mark of foolish courage. 
 The students are said to be v^ery proud of these scars, and 
 exaggerate them by irritation during their healing. From the 
 level at the foot of the hill rise the towers of the Church of St. 
 Elizabeth, pure and noble, to the height of 310 feet. 
 
 We follow the fertile valley of the Lahn, with old villages 
 of timber-framed houses filled in with brick, and half a dozen 
 ruined castles frowning darkly from the heights on either side 
 
Frankfort on-the-Main. — Rdmerberg Market-Place. 149 
 
 in the advancing twilight, through Friedberg, once a free 
 imperial city, with its well-preserved, handsome watch-tower, 
 165 feet high, and at last, slackening speed in a maze of many- 
 colored lights, come to a stand in "the huge new Central Rail- 
 way Station of Frankfort-on-the-Main. This important city 
 with its 154,000 inhabitants lies on the right bank of the Main 
 in a spacious plain, with the Taunus range of hills all about. 
 Down to 1866 it was one of the free towns of the German 
 Confederation and the seat of the Diet, but now belongs to 
 Prussia. Although an old city, its antiquity is being rapidly 
 modernized away, and at the rate changes are going on, not only 
 here but everywhere else in fact, the relics of the mediaevel ages 
 in a very few years will be largely swept away. In the square 
 before our hotel is a fine monument to Gutenberg, designed 
 by Launitz and erected in 1858. It represents himself, Faust 
 and Schoffer of life size. On the pedestal are portrait heads 
 of fourteen famous printers, among them Caxton. We visited 
 the house of Goethe's father, where the poet was born August 
 28th, 1749, a large, comfortable mansion, probably among the 
 best of the city at the time it was built. It contains many 
 memorials of his family and himself, among these many 
 busts and portraits, remarkable for their unlikeness to one 
 another. 
 
 Very interesting is the Romerberg market-place, the pictu- 
 resque old buildings around which are mostly unchanged. 
 Among them the Romer, built in 1405, with its three lofty 
 gables and broad, pointed doorways, and halls where the 
 electors used to choose the emperor and where he dined with 
 them afterward, after showing himself to the people from 
 the balcony. The lofty dining-hall is hung with portraits of 
 the emperors, from Charlemagne down, presented by German 
 princes, art and other associations and private persons— a 
 gallery of imposing portraits, as like their subjects, it may 
 be presumed, as the sculptured heads of the English kings in 
 the minster at York. 
 
 Until the present century no Jew was permitted to enter this 
 square, and the Judengasse or Jews' Street, where the people 
 of that enterprising nationality were compelled to reside, 
 was closed at night and during Sundays, a precaution which 
 does not seem to have hindered them from driving a good 
 business in the daytime, for here, midway of the old Jews' 
 
150 Homburg. — Its Springs. 
 
 Street, now handsomely rebuilt and christened Borne-Strasse, 
 Stands at No. 148, as it stood a hundred years ago, the well- 
 looking residence of the founder of the Rothschild family. 
 Their present place of business is near by on the corner, a 
 huge, dull, silent-looking house of massive stone. 
 
 The opera house is very imposing. We went to a little 
 museum called the Ariadneum, and saw the group of Ariadne 
 on the panther by Dannecker, the Stuttgart sculptor, so well 
 known in America from the little Parian copies of it. It is 
 shown in a small circular room, the light excluded except 
 from above, whence it falls through a flesh-colored curtain 
 upon the beautiful figure as it slowly revolves on its pedestal 
 to meet the eye of the spectator. 
 
 There is an old bridge of red sandstone over the Main, built 
 in 1342. Near by the statue of Charlemagne in a recess of 
 the parapet half way over, is a very old figure of Christ on an 
 iron cross surmounted by a cock, the image of the one with 
 which the architect paid his vow to sacrifice to the devil the 
 first living creature crossing the bridge. 
 
 August 7. — At 3.30. P.M. by rail to Homburg, that naughty old 
 watering-place, fourteen miles north of Frankfort, and found 
 shelter in the crowded Four Seasons, this being the height of 
 the fashionable season. This little town of 8500 inhabitants is 
 charmingly situated on a low spur of the Taunus Mountains, 
 which projects itself into a wide, fertile valley, the higher 
 ranges of the same hills lying three miles distant, and culmi- 
 nating in the Great Feldberg, 2900 feet high. Some ten 
 to twelve thousand visitors come here annually to enjoy 
 the diversions and drink the water of half a dozen springs of 
 saline and chalybeate properties, and I should judge, from the 
 taste and the account of them by Fr. Hoeber, M.D., "Sanitary 
 Councillor to H.M. the King of Prussia" — a fair pamphlet in 
 which I invested one mark and eighty pfeaning — quite the 
 same as half a dozen which might be selected out of the some 
 thirty now gushing at Saratoga. These springs are situated 
 in the midst of prettily wooded grounds, and in their long, 
 shaded avenues, during the hours when the waters are taken 
 from seven to nine in the morning, a great multitude of 
 people of both sexes and all ages and conditions of physical 
 being promenade about, waiting the time for a second or 
 third glass from some prescribed spring or attending upon 
 
The Cursaal. 151 
 
 the complete digestion of the regular allowance to the accom- 
 paniment of a good band. 
 
 There are agreeable walks into the neighboring country for 
 the more hardy and adventurous visitors and an extensive 
 tennis lawn rimmed round with stately and flourishing forest- 
 trees, specially affected by the younger people, who, scattered 
 prettily about on the rich turf, display their graceful skill to 
 each other and to the groups of comfortable older people 
 seated in stuffed willow chairs under great gaudy umbrellas. 
 There is very little driving, and nothing of the fine show of 
 equipages we see at Saratoga. All is quiet and orderly, with 
 no appearance of the brilliant wickedness we read about in 
 books written twenty years ago. But the gaming-tables 
 here then attracted male and female adventurers from all 
 Europe, and fortunes were lost and made — chiefly lost — on 
 the green cloth spread in the gorgeous halls of Mons. Blanc, 
 whose prosperity was blighted some seventeen years ago by 
 the fiat of the government, which closed his establishment. 
 This gentleman gracefully yielded and presented the build- 
 ing and fair grounds adjoining to the town, and these now 
 form the Cursaal, and his costly apartments are used as 
 dancing-hall, concert, reading-rooms, etc. On the north side, 
 fronting the grounds, extends a wide, light piazza for some 
 300 feet, with a few broad steps leading down to a wide terrace 
 of equal length, from which is easy descent to the grounds 
 themselves. The piazza is set with little tables, where light 
 refreshments may be ordered ; the terrace-floor is of smooth, 
 firm earth strown thick with fine sand, and here all the world 
 comes in the evening to promenade back and forth in the full 
 electric light, the ladies in handsome costumes looking their 
 best, the younger ones under the eyes of observant parents or 
 chaperones, willing to captivate and not unwilling to be capti- 
 vated in turn. One sees a pretty face or figure now and then — 
 one where in a like gathering in America he would see ten. 
 It cannot be said that the German maidens here are well- 
 favored. There are many solid, fresh-looking English families, 
 with a sprinkling of Americans, the latter quite at home and 
 bearing themselves with easy nonchalance, as if Homburg 
 were the most natural place in the world for them. Many 
 stylish, self-possessed German officers saunter by in handsome 
 uniforms, the bright metal scabbards of their long, trailing 
 
153 The Saalburg. 
 
 swords leaving a line in the sandy terrace as they pass. By ten 
 o'clock the excellent band has finished its programme, the 
 company melts away into the numerous hotels and more 
 numerous pensions, and the mild dissipation is ended. 
 
 We made a long drive to the Saalburg, said to be the remains 
 of the walls of a Roman castle built about the year 70 a.d. to 
 protect the Germanic provinces Rome had conquered from 
 the incursions of other German tribes. These ruins are on 
 the lower summit of the line of the Taunus range, 1300 feet 
 above the sea-level, and look to the unpracticed eye like a 
 row of stone-walled cellars from which the houses over them 
 had been removed — very prosaic memorials of old Rome, if 
 such they be. The widow of the late Emperor Frederick 
 has a castellated residence near the town in spacious grounds, 
 and is at present residing here. Everything indicates that 
 Homburg is a healthful, as it certainly is a pleasant and 
 cheerful resort. 
 
 August 10. — Left for Frankfort at 10 a.m., and at 11 took 
 train there for Strassburg, arriving at 5.30 p.m. to find pleas- 
 ant rooms at the Hotel Ville de Paris. Seventeen miles from 
 Frankfort we reach Darmstadt, the capital of the Grand 
 Duchy of Hessen, a bright-looking town of 54,000 souls. 
 Here begins the Bergstrasse, an old road made by the 
 Romans and continued in repair and use, which skirts the 
 rounded hills of the Odenwald range for twenty-seven miles 
 to Heidelberg. The railway lies parallel to this road, the 
 slopes of the Odenwald fresh with vines and fruit-trees and 
 frequent ruins of castles and towers on the left and a wide 
 expanse of cultivated plain on the right. These towers, 
 perched on high commanding points, were in the middle 
 ages the nests of robber barons and lawless knights, whence 
 they swooped down on the defenceless ;- and I made for our 
 solace, as we went along at the slow German rate of about 
 twenty-five miles an hour, many a picture of timid merchants 
 with long trains of sumpter-horses laden with rich stuffs, toil- 
 fully wending northward, with many an anxious glance at 
 these frowning keeps, momently expecting, and not in vain, 
 to hear the blast of the warder's horn, sharply on the lookout 
 for their approach. Then the hot mounting in the court-yard, 
 the clang of steel, the resounding drawbridge as the maraud- 
 ing band rides clattering over it, the noonday sun glancing 
 
Strassburg. — Its Cathedral. 153 
 
 from helm and lance, the swift attack, the pillage, the pale 
 trader left penniless, fortunate if his life be spared, the gay 
 return to the mountain fastness with the rich booty, and the 
 wild carouse at night by the red glare of flaming torches, 
 lighting up the warlike furnishing of the great hall. These 
 are things of the past, but the gray strongholds stand along 
 the Odenwald, memorials of those fierce and bloody centuries 
 when war and rapine were the vocation of the strong, and 
 society knew but two classes, the oppressor and the op- 
 pressed. 
 
 I hoped that in old Strassburg we should find mediaeval 
 architecture and unusual and strange customs, manners and 
 costumes. The first thing I noticed on emerging from the 
 station was a tramcar of the latest fashion pulled by a pair of 
 solid horses on an excellent track along a modern street 
 paved with square granite blocks, a line of hackney landaus, 
 and pedestrians in easy garments, the like of which are shown 
 in the windows of the Bowery clothing-stores. Still, the 
 march of innovation has spared many a strange old building 
 in out-of-the-way streets crooked and narrow, as if shrinking 
 together and seeking to hide themselves. A feature new to 
 me appears in these old houses ; enormously high and steep 
 roofs mostly with four ranges of queer dormer-windows in 
 them. But one would hardly find Strassburg attractive 
 enough to warrant a visit except for its cathedral, and this 
 will amply repay any pains. I have given up the description 
 of these noblest of man's works in dumb despair. This was 
 three hundred years building, a stretch of time extending 
 from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries, during which time 
 the Romanesque style passed by gradations into the pure 
 Gothic, so that the various parts show examples of all styles. 
 Many famous architects gave their lives to the work in turn, 
 among them Erwin von Steinbach, a rare soul, to whom is 
 due the glorious west fagade with three richly carved portals, 
 said to be among the finest Gothic works in the world, and 
 the great rose-window above them, exquisite as the flower it 
 is named after, with its wonderful old glass. The entire 
 facade, including the Gothic Three Portals, is wrought in 
 delicate tracery, and ornamented with hundreds of sculptured 
 figures and imposing statues. From it rises the single tower 
 to the dizzy height of 465 feet, 30 feet higher than the dome 
 
154 Strassburg's Famous Clock. 
 
 of St. Peter's in Rome. It is of delicate open work and the 
 distant summit is airy and almost bodiless, like the fabric of 
 a dream. The interior with its broad central aisle is har- 
 monious and impressive, altogether a thing of beauty. The 
 material is chiefly a red sandstone which resists the tooth of 
 time so well, that the exterior shows few marks of age, and 
 the injuries done by the bombarding Germans in 1870 have 
 been carefully repaired. 
 
 In the south transept is the famous clock built by 
 Schwilgue, a Strassburg clockmaker, in 1838-42, to replace an 
 older one constructed in 157 1, which was in use down to 1789. 
 The beautifully painted case of the old one is all that was 
 used in the new. It exhibits itself at noon every day, and on 
 Sunday we attended the manifestations. Precisely at twelve 
 o'clock a figure of Death strikes the hour on a bell in his left 
 hand with a hammer in his right, and as he begins, an image 
 of a genius turns the hour-glass he is holding ; before the image 
 of Christ higher up the twelve apostles pass in order bowing 
 before Him while He waves them a benediction, and a cock 
 on His right, looking like life, flaps his wings and crows three 
 times in the most natural manner. The quarters are struck 
 in turn by four images : the first of Childhood, the second of 
 Youth, the third of Manhood and the fourth of Old Age. 
 Each day its symbolic deity moves out of a niche, Apollo for 
 Sunday, Diana for Monday, and so on. I bought a thin 
 pamphlet of a handsome and much-begilt verger with a long 
 staff of office, and have read with interest what this wonderful 
 piece of mechanism is capable of, and will say in brief that it 
 exhibits a perpetual calendar with the variable feasts, an 
 orrery after the Copernican system, showing the phases of 
 the moon, the eclipses of the sun and moon calculated for all 
 time, a celestial globe with the precession of the equinoxes, and 
 so on, the whole regulating itself and fitting its motions to 
 those of the seasons — altogether a wonder of a clock. 
 
 In the Protestant Church of St. Thomas, which dates back 
 to 1273, is a magnificent and strikingly original monument 
 erected to Marshal Saxe, the victor of Fontenoy, done by 
 Pigalle at the order of Louis XV. of France. It was finished 
 in 1776, after twenty years of labor. Very impressive is the 
 manly figure of the Marshal as he steps fearlessly forward 
 to the open coffin to which the half-shrouded figure of Death 
 
P&te de foie gras. 155 
 
 is beckoning him, while an agonizing female typifying 
 France, strives to detain him, and Hercules leaning mourn- 
 fully on his club, looks helplessly on. The figures are of 
 heroic size, and the whole is startlingly realistic. 
 
 Noticed a huge stork's nest on the broad capstone of a 
 stack of chimneys rising from a lofty roof. It is said that 
 formerly great numbers of these birds inhabited the roofs 
 in this manner, but the bombardment in 1S70 frightened 
 them away. 
 
 This city has long had a reputation for \ts pate de foie gras, 
 which it continues to prepare and export in great quantity. 
 Frattini says that to obtain the enormous livers of which two 
 fill one of the cans sold in the shops, the geese are nailed by 
 the feet to the floor of a warm room and stuffed with food to 
 the point where the enlarged livers threaten suffocation and 
 then killed. I did not verify this statement. 
 
 Strassburg, with its 100,000 inhabitants, is the capital of 
 Alsace and Lorraine, the seat of the governor and administra- 
 tion of that province, the headquarters of the 15th Corps of 
 the German Army and the see of a Roman Catholic bishop. 
 It is situated on the river 111 two miles from the Rhine, and is 
 connected with the latter by a canal. Louis XIV. seized it in 
 1681, without the shadow of a cause in a time of peace, having 
 before annexed to France the rest of Alsace, and time brought 
 its revenge in 1870, when Germany with a strong arm took it 
 back. It has always been looked on as a place of great 
 strategical importance and kept heavily fortified. It with- 
 stood a siege by the Germans in 1870 for thirty days, during 
 which the citadel and other works erected by the great 
 engineer Vauban in 1682 were destroyed by the bombs of the 
 besiegers, and many parts of the town, including the Cathe- 
 dral, suffered greatly. But all damages have been repaired 
 and a great system of earthworks established all around the 
 town, extending out for some five miles. As there are twenty- 
 five thousand soldiers stationed here, they are to be met 
 everywhere, as in all the German cities we visit, hearty, 
 vigorous young men, looking well used to labor, marching, 
 drilling, and strolling about the streets. 
 
 August 12. — At 8 A.M. left Strassburg by rail and a few miles 
 out, at Offenburg, changed to a train on the Schwarzwald 
 Railway, running directly across the mountainous region 
 
156 The Black Forest. 
 
 known as the Black Forest, named so probably from the dark 
 masses of pine which closely clothe all the hills and valleys of 
 this extensive tract. We enter upon the mountains by the 
 fertile valley of the bright little stream called Kinzig, rounded 
 mountains sloping gently down to it, on one of which, vine- 
 clad, rises the Chateau of Ortenberg, overlooking a village of 
 the same name. At Gengenbach, six and one half miles away, 
 we have risen 580 feet, and note the fine old Benedictine Abbey 
 there. At Hausach the road leaves the valley of the Kinzig 
 and ascends the picturesque valley of the Gutach, a clear little 
 stream, babbling like the New England brooks, and at Horn- 
 berg, twenty-seven miles from Offenburgow, on the level plain, 
 we have risen 1265 feet. All about are charming pictures 
 capped by a chateau on a precipitous hill. At Triberg, eight 
 miles farther on, in the heart of the Black Forest, we are 2000 
 feet above the sea, and at St. Georgen, ten miles away, 2660, 
 winding up the heights in loops and zigzags — so that often 
 we see a stretch of the road in a parallel line below us — over 
 lofty viaducts and through twenty- six tunnels in eighteen 
 miles. The highest point reached is at Sommerau, 2730 feet, 
 the watershed of the Rhine and Danube, where we emerge 
 through a tunnel of 1852 yards, the whole constituting a 
 wonderful feat of engineering, reminding one of the Colorado 
 Division of the Union Pacific and Denver and Rio Grande 
 railways. 
 
 At St. Georgen we enter the valley of the Brigach, a little 
 mountain stream which, running twenty miles, unites at 
 Donaueschingen with the Brege, a like stream, and forms the 
 great Danube, which, after traversing western Germany, 
 discharges its enormous volume of water into the Black Sea, 
 1872 miles away as the river runs. We cross the plateau and 
 descend the gradually sloping side of the mountain range to 
 Donaueschingen, thence along the flat and marshy line of the 
 Danube, giving, like a dull boy, little indication of the great- 
 ness before it. At Singen we turn southward to Schaffhausen 
 and reach the excellent Hotel Schweizerhof at Newhausen at 
 3 P.M., and are met and served by brown, healthy maidens 
 in picturesque Swiss costumes. 
 
 A great many beautiful scenes passed under our eyes during 
 the passage of the Black Forest, heightened by the strange and 
 quaint character ot the construction of the dwellings, both in the 
 
The Falls of the Rhine. 157 
 
 villages and country-side, all along the way. Deep in the green 
 recesses of the hills and along the narrow valleys and on the 
 mountain-sides stand long, one-story weather-browned wooden 
 houses with steep thatched roofs twice as high as themselves 
 and balconied gables hooded by the drooping projection of the 
 roof. Often, especially in the little villages, these houses are 
 of two stories, with a wide, open balcony running all along 
 the sides. Many were the ruined castles and chateaux perched 
 on high among the mountains. Nigh a score of these we saw 
 during the day, and very notable among them, as we skirt the 
 Hohgau, are those of Hohensinger and Hohentwiel, frowning 
 from the summit of lofty, detached volcanic cones, well-nigh 
 inaccessible to man and impregnable before the use of gun- 
 powder. The latter stronghold is famous in German song 
 and story. 
 
 At Neuhausen, in full view of the balcony of our rooms at 
 the hotel, are the famous Falls of the Rhine. The river 
 above — the water of the deepest green — is something over 500 
 feet wide and descends in three almost continuous leaps 
 some 60 feet, broken into the whitest foam, with a deep 
 roar not so heavy as to be disagreeable to the ear. It is usual 
 to count the swift but not striking rapids above as a part of 
 the falls, and call the whole 100 feet. Although not great 
 compared with several in our country, these are consid- 
 ered among the finest in Europe, and taken in connection 
 with the charming surroundings, the Falls of the Rhine are to 
 be greatly commended, and I do hereby commend them. 
 Every evening a strong electric light is thrown upon them, and 
 they are lit up by many Bengal lights, red and green and 
 blue, along the sides and from the craggy peak rising in the 
 middle of the stream. The effect is beautiful, and noticeable 
 in the bills of the guests, where each one is charged a mark 
 toward the expense of the exhibition, and cheap enough, as 
 any one will admit who has seen the fairy effect upon the 
 foamy green of the waters and the old gray turreted walls 
 of the Schloss Munoth on the high bank opposite the garden of 
 the Hotel Schweizerhof. May they flow and foam and murmur 
 many a year, and the good hotel stand facing them as now. 
 
 August 13. — Were driven in a comfortable omnibus some- 
 thing over a mile up to Schaffhausen, where at 10 a.m. we 
 took a little steamboat up the Rhine to Constance. Schaff- 
 
158 Schaff hail sen. 
 
 hausen is the capital of the Swiss canton of the same name, has 
 nearly 12,000 inhabitants and is quaint and picturesque, words 
 I find myself often using for the want of better in my slender 
 vocabulary. In the Cathedral hangs a big bell cast in i486, 
 with a Latin inscription, ^' Vivos voco : 7nortiios plango : fulgura 
 frango." The Castle of Munot has almost the finest round- 
 tower I have seen, with a conical projecting cap. 
 
 The squat captain of our little boat has, I think, the most 
 remarkable nose ever bestowed on man. It resembles an 
 enormous toad in a high state of inflammation applied to his 
 face back up, a nose corrugated, carbuncled, Bardolphian, 
 lustrous, wonderful ! The late Dr. Valentine Mott would 
 have begged of its owner the favor of removing it without 
 charge. The crew in uniforms do not hold themselves better 
 than the passengers, but condescend to occupy the choicest 
 positions under the awning, and smoke and enjoy themselves, 
 the captain looking on, probably to see that the passengers do 
 not insult them. At one landing a jovial person with a green 
 apron got aboard, and a smart shower falling, he took posi- 
 tion under the awning and entertained the crew, who 
 gathered about, with waggish stories, which caused pro- 
 digious laughter and quite hindered any one from giving 
 attention to anything else. 
 
 We steamed up against the stiff current of the beautiful 
 Rhine, the northern bank on our left rising into gentle 
 hills covered with vines lying warmly to the sun, the southern 
 into woody stretches and cultivated fields. Wise and solemn 
 storks sat here and there on the trees by the shore and would 
 not stir for all the noise made to frighten them. Old gray 
 and brown villages repose sleepily on either side, often the 
 time-stained walls of the street next the water being washed 
 by the current. 
 
 At Stein is a Rathhaus charming to see, and on a hill near 
 Berlingen rises a chateau built by Eugene Beauharnais, son 
 of the Empress Josephine by her first husband, and a little 
 farther on a residence of his sister, Hortense, the mother of 
 Napoleon III., and now owned by the ex-Empress Eugenie. 
 The river has widened before this point is reached into the 
 broad Untersee, but narrows again as we pass Gottlieben, in 
 the chetteau of which Huss and Jerome of Prague were con- 
 fined before their execution. 
 
Constance. 159 
 
 Landed at the pier in Constance at 1.30 p.m. and found 
 excellent apartments ready at the Konstanzer Hof, charmingly 
 situated where the river emerges from the lake. Constance 
 — Konstanz — is a very old city, and formerly much more pros- 
 perous than now. A population of 40,000 has dwindled away 
 during the last three centuries to 14,000. It was a free town 
 until 1548, but became subject to Austria after the Reforma- 
 tion, and in 1805 became a part of Baden, so that it is now 
 a German city. It is agreeably situated on the Rhine at the 
 northwest extremity of Lake Constance, which stretches away 
 before it for forty miles, with a width of some seven miles. 
 It is really a huge basin of the waters of the Rhine. So far 
 as we can see, the shores are gently sloping, with a pleasant 
 diversity of wood and cultivated fields, but to the eastward 
 would be seen, did the weather permit, the chain of the 
 Appenzell Alps with their snow-clad peak of the Sentis, all shut 
 from us in our two days here by banks of sullen clouds. 
 The Cathedral dates from 1052, but has been rebuilt, and 
 its open spire of light gray sandstone is quite modern. 
 It has at the western portal doors of oak beautifully carved 
 by Haider in 1470, and exquisite wrought-iron screens before 
 several of the chapels. A stone is pointed out in the nave 
 where Huss is said to have stood when he received his death 
 sentence, and in the Kaufhaus or Town Hall is the great 
 Council Chamber where the conclave of cardinals met in 1414. 
 The massive oak pillars supporting the roof still stand, and 
 the form and structure are unchanged, but it has lately been 
 wainscoted anew and decorated with frescoes illustrating the 
 history of the town. West of the city and outside the walls as 
 it then was is the spot where Jerome of Prague and Huss 
 were burned in 1416, marked by a great boulder with inscrip- 
 tions. 
 
 We were served at dinner with a very good fish something 
 like our sea-bass, called felchen, and, as I was informed, 
 peculiar to the lake. 
 
 August 15. — Left for Zurich by rail at 10 a.m. Although 
 the distance is only seventy-six miles, we were three and a 
 half hours making it. We followed the Rhine back on the 
 route we came as far as Stein, reviewing the points of interest 
 along its banks and again admiring specially the well-pre- 
 served Castle of Hohenklingen, dominating the valley from 
 
160 Zurich. 
 
 a lofty point opposite Stein. Turning to the left at this 
 point we cross the Thur over a fine bridge 148 feet high, 
 change cars at Winterthur, and half an hour later are at the 
 charmingly situated Hotel Baur au Lac, whose well-kept 
 gardens run down to the narrow lake of Zurich, stretching 
 away southeast for twenty-five miles, its waters of a pale green 
 hue. The country we passed over to-day is about 1500 feet 
 above the sea-level, and presents in its vegetation an ap- 
 pearance very like upper New England. The same kinds of 
 crops are grown, with wayside weeds and flowers mostly the 
 same. I noticed a little patch of Indian corn doing as well as 
 could be expected among strangers and in an alien soil, where, 
 I fear me, it is more mocked at than respected. What do the 
 benighted people of this Continent know of the supreme satis- 
 faction of boiled corn on the ear, succotash and fried mush ? 
 Cows are worked in harness singly and in pairs, the draught 
 being on a stuffed band of leather applied just below the 
 horns. They work contentedly and easily, with moderate 
 loads, and look in good condition. All along, wherever we 
 have been on the Continent, women work in the fields in 
 numbers, I should say, equal to the men, but this may be 
 especially the case in the time of harvest. The tools used 
 seemed to one accustomed to the light, handy implements of 
 our farmers, clumsy and bungling, but the work seems to be 
 well and quickly done with them. I noticed a farmer mowing 
 a short, second growth of clover with a most awkward scythe, 
 having only one long handle, which he clutched near the top 
 in such a way that nothing could be expected of him, but the 
 swath he cut was clean and smooth as could be wished. 
 
 Zurich is a handsome town of 25,000 population, situated at 
 the north end of the lake of the same name, on the river Lim- 
 mat, which drains the lake into the Rhine. It is the capital 
 of the canton of the same name, is a prosperous city with im- 
 portant manufactories of silk and cotton. Unless one takes 
 pains to turn aside to get into them, he might stay here a 
 month and see no streets not lately built up in solid and 
 expensive styles, chiefly of excellent stone. Made a trip up 
 the lake extendingits entire length of twenty-five miles in a com- 
 fortable steamboat doing business up and down the lake, stop- 
 ping at many points on the north side both in going and coming. 
 This long, narrow, deep and winding sheet of clearest water 
 
Vie7v fro7ii the Uetlibcrg. 161 
 
 in a rim of gradually rising hills, or rather mountains, with 
 many an old village and single farm-house amid the green 
 meadows and tilled fields of the more level shores, then 
 orchards and sloping pastures, and, higher still, woodlands 
 open to the sun. But on the north shore, with a southern 
 exposure, miles of vines attached to short stakes in even, well- 
 tended rows bask in the hot sun, promising fruitful clusters 
 and a fair wine later on. The trip used up the greater part 
 of the day, and the whole scene lay before the bodily eye like 
 the vision of a peaceful dream. Sweet bells answered one 
 another across the lake out of square, gray towers tipped with 
 tall, slim spires of dull red, and, as we neared Rapperswyl, 
 the low, rich little island of Ufnau rose fair with its Abbey of 
 Einsiedeln, a ruin now, where intrepid Ulrich von Hutton, the 
 stout Reformer, came for refuge from his enemies, and died 
 in 1523. How true it is that men live in deeds, not years ! 
 He died at the age of thirty-six. 
 
 We lunched at Rapperswyl, and climbed the Lindenhof and 
 had a wide view of great beauty from among the huge lime- 
 trees in front of the old Schloss, now a museum of articles 
 relating to Poland, of not much interest. We should have 
 had the Appenzell range of the Alps in good view all day, but 
 heavy clouds have hid the east since our arrival, and not a 
 single peak shone on our waiting eyes until on the morning 
 we left Zurich, as we attained the top of the Uetliberg, the 
 northernmost point of the Albis range, 2864 feet high, we 
 had a glorious view, sweeping from the Sentis to the Jungfrau, 
 and just in front the Rigi and Pilatus. But for envious clouds 
 in the north we might have seen the peaks of the Hohgau, 
 Hohentwiel, etc. The railway up the Uetliberg, constructed 
 in the usual way, only that the engines run behind the trains, 
 rises about 1500 feet in five and one-half miles. A beautiful 
 panorama is spread before the observer along the slowly wind- 
 ing way to the summit, Zurich town and lake, many a soft and 
 bold valley, shining village and lofty snow-clad mountain. 
 
 August J"]. — Came by railway to Lucerne, forty-one and one- 
 half miles, in two and one-half hours, through pleasing moun- 
 tain scenery, with many a verdant valley and narrow meadow 
 and smiling pasture sloping to the sun, with sleek, gentle cows 
 feeding, and narrow fields where tanned and brawny harvest- 
 ers were cutting, binding and stooking the quite good wheat, 
 11 
 
162 Lucerne. 
 
 or resting in tired groups, men, women and children gathered 
 about the luncheon-baskets and big, blue water-jugs under the 
 apple-trees, quite numerously planted here, but, unless this is an 
 '' off year," not flourishing well. The apple-trees, as well as the 
 numerous pear-trees, look neglected, and I should think neither 
 here nor in Germany where we have been, is much care given 
 to the cultivation of fruit. We skirt the little lake of Zug, 
 exquisitely set in its ring of great mountains, enter on the val- 
 ley of the broad, green Reuss, which bounds joyously along 
 to join the Rhine after its confluence with the Limmat, form- 
 ing the Aare. The Reuss both feeds and empties the Lake of 
 Lucerne, or, as it stands on Swiss maps, the Vierwaldstatter 
 See, and Lucerne is situated at the point of its discharge. 
 
 Lucerne is a walled city of some 18,000 population, and 
 the capital of the canton of the same name. It lies more than 
 1400 feet above the sea-level, and beautiful for situation it is 
 on this emerald water, wherein most famous Alpine peaks, 
 white with snow, look to see themselves reflected not by day 
 only, but in the night, under the awful silence of the stars. 
 All the world comes here to worship nature in the prescribed 
 and fashionable way. The Hotel Schweizerhof, where we have 
 rooms looking down the lake, shelters six hundred and fifty 
 guests, lodges numbers in private houses, and turns many 
 away. Looking over only two recent pages of the register, I 
 find names from Melbourne, San Francisco, New York, Mon- 
 treal, London, Paris, Russia, Roumania, Egypt, Rome, Naples, 
 Madrid, and so on. English and Americans outnumber all 
 others. Near at hand on the right rises the bare and jagged 
 peak of Pilatus from its foot-bills of fair pastures, shining out 
 from dark masses of pines, deeply serrated and gashed with 
 frightful chasms ; on the left, the Rigi, ending precipitously 
 on the north, but sloping away southward into green pasture 
 lands, whereon thousands of cattle find nourishment in the 
 short, sweet grass, and still lower into tilled fields and orchards 
 of fig, chestnut and almond trees. In front rise, rank above 
 rank, countless peaks of the Uri range, each with its signifi- 
 cant German name, some in cold, naked grandeur, with lofty 
 ravines, with glaciers, and others verdurous to the very tops. 
 There is a goodly stretch of the old town wall left on the west 
 side, with half a dozen fine towers in perfect preservation. 
 At some remote age a glacier tore its way through the rim of 
 
The Lion of Lucerne. — Chapel to Willia?n Tell. 163 
 
 hills, cutting a deep chasm through what is now the centre of 
 the town, leaving precipitous walls of sandstone. In the face 
 of one of these is carved the well-known Lion of Lucerne, from 
 a model by Thorwaldsen. The majestic lion, twenty-eight feet 
 in length, lies dying, transfixed by a broken lance, noble and 
 impressive, in his last agony still guarding with nerveless paw 
 the Bourbon lily, signifying that his blood is shed not for the 
 Swiss fatherland, but for France. The effigy commemorates 
 the twenty-six officers and seven hundred and sixty soldiers of 
 the Swiss Guard who fell in defence of the Tuileries, August 
 loth, 1792. One thinks sadly that this great monument per- 
 petuates the memory of mercenaries who fell bravely fighting 
 in defence of an alien despot, and would prefer that it kept 
 before the eyes of the Swiss the heroic virtues of that earlier 
 and better time when their fathers knew so well how to roll 
 back from their mountain passes the tides of Burgundian and 
 Austrian invasions, and the bare breast of Winkelried harvest- 
 ed so many hostile spears that liberty came in by the way he 
 made. He too has a fine monument in a village near by, 
 showing him in act of falling, struck through with many 
 spears. 
 
 We sailed up the full length of the lake, including the south 
 arm, called Urner See, or Lake of Uri. On the east bank of 
 this lake, not far from its union with the Lake of Lucerne, 
 stands a little chapel to William Tell, erected on the site of one 
 built by Canton Uri in 1388, on the spot where Tell is said to 
 have sprung from Gessler's boat. Once a year, on Friday 
 after Ascension Day, mass is said and a sermon preached at 
 7 A.M., when the people assemble in gala form in boats gayly 
 bedecked. And now come along the cold-blooded critics and 
 say, and perhaps prove, that no William Tell ever existed, and 
 that all his exploits are the merest fable. This is a pity, for 
 it is a noble myth, if myth it be, dignified and worthy of the 
 brave people who have believed it for so many years, and long 
 will it be before it fades from the popular heart. The deep 
 green waters of this narrow lake are closely shut in by mag- 
 nificent mountains smiling to their frozen tops with pastoral 
 scenes, sweet and tender amid the awful grandeur cast from 
 above. 
 
 We made the ascent of Rigi from the pretty town of Vitznau 
 on Lake Lucerne by a railway whose engines use the cogged 
 
164 A Fine View from the Top of the Rigi. 
 
 wheels familiar to Americans on the road up Mount Washing- 
 ton. The road-bed is solidly laid in the conglomerate rock, 
 the maximum grade is one foot in four, and something over 
 an hour is used in reaching the top or kulm, where is a capital 
 hotel, four stories high, solidly built of stone, brick and 
 cement, a building, both in its handsome exterior and well-fin- 
 ished inside, which would do credit to any large town. The 
 view from all sides is wonderfully fine, ranks of pinnacled 
 Alps, snow-clad, stretching away interminably ; a shining sea 
 storm-tossed, delightful valleys fresh with verdure, green lakes 
 far below, on whose edges clustering villages lift their red 
 roofs with many a spire and tower; a broad, rich, indescribable 
 panorama, of which no idea has or can be conveyed to a human 
 soul except through the organs of sight. Almost under our 
 feet lies bright Lake Lucerne ; near by, an emerald gem, Lake 
 Zug, and shining not far off. Lakes Sempach and Egeri, near 
 which were fought the two famous battles of Sempach and 
 Morgarten. Sentis, Glarus, the Wetterhorn, the Eiger, the 
 Jungfrau, and many another famous Alpine peak and pinnacle 
 are visible. I cannot speak of them in any fitting terms. 
 
 We look northward right across a most fair valley upon a pro- 
 longed mass of mingled earth and rocks, now partly covered 
 with vegetation, reaching from the base of Rossberg far out into 
 the narrow plain, and think with awe how on the 3d of Sep- 
 tember, 1806, this enormous and gloomy mass slid from the 
 steep side of the mountain, leaving a vast space bare and yel- 
 low where it became detached, and in a mass a mile long, 
 1000 feet wide and 100 feet thick, fell on the pretty and thriv- 
 ing village of Goldau and buried it and more than seven hun- 
 dred villagers forever out of sight, and lies there, darkly, under 
 our eyes this sunny day, amid the stagnant pools which have 
 formed about it ; the gloomy burial-mound of a whole com- 
 munity. I remember when a lad reading a striking account 
 of this great calamity written by some able pen, it being the 
 unlikeliest notion to me, in my pioneer home on a Western 
 prairie, that I should ever visit the scene of it. 
 
 Here at Lucerne are the very birthplace and cradle of Swiss 
 liberty and the Swiss nation. The three forest cantons of 
 Schwyz, Uri and Unterwalden border on the lake. Their 
 league for mutual defence against Austria in 1291 was the 
 nucleus of the confederacy which gradually extended through 
 
From Lucerne to Andermatt. 165 
 
 five centuries of various fortune, and now embraces twenty- 
 two cantons, constituting the Republic of Switzerland. 
 
 I engaged Bossard, a sturdy Swiss, with his four horses 
 to make a carriage journey over the Alps into Italy by the 
 St. Gothard Pass. We leave Lucerne regretfully. I did not 
 think earth had anything at once so fair and so sublime as 
 the scenes outspread on every hand. 
 
 August 2 2. — We take leave^of the excellent Hotel Schweizer- 
 hof, where we have met many American acquaintances, at 
 7.30 A.M., breakfast on the steamboat which conveys us to 
 Brunnen, at the head of the lake, and at once take our hired 
 carriage, which drove up yesterday so as to start fresh this 
 morning, as to-day's drive is to be long and hard. The car- 
 riage is a sort of drag with a landau body, a seat in front for 
 two, over which a hood like a buggy-top can be drawn, and in 
 front of that still another, holding the driver and Frattini. 
 Behind is a strong rack easily taking two big trunks, and 
 under it a close box with a tight-fitting door, in which hand- 
 bags, extra wraps, etc., are carried. The horses look strong 
 and seasoned and are fitted out with red tassels and pleasant- 
 jingling bells. Our plan is to make the Pass of St. Gothard 
 so far as the Hospice on the highest ridge, then return to 
 Hospenthal and make the Furka Pass much beyond, so that 
 we must climb up to Andermatt to-day. 
 
 We skirt the east shore of Lake Uri on a splendid road high 
 above the lake, built at enormous cost, and guarded at all 
 curves by a solid stone parapet and elsewhere by heavy 
 stone posts set in the ground about ten feet apart. Consider- 
 able distances are blasted out of the solid rock, with several 
 tunnels and cuttings. At one point, in a long tunnel through 
 a rocky projection, a wide opening has been made toward the 
 lake, affording a magnificent view of the noble mountain 
 forms which rise sharply from the opposite shore, as well as 
 of the deep green lake far below. At ten miles Fluelen is 
 reached, 1434 feet above the sea-leveJ. This is the port of Uri 
 and the starting-point of the high-road over the St. Gothard. 
 Two miles farther is Altdorf, the capital of the canton of Uri, 
 pleasantly nestled among the feet of the mountains. This vil- 
 lage is the scene of many exploits of Tell, and a big statue of 
 plaster stands in the little square on the spot where he is said 
 to have stood when he split the apple on his son's head with 
 
166 Exquisite Pastoral Scenes. 
 
 his arrow. This was erected in 1861. About four hundred 
 feet distant from the statue is a fountain with a statue to a 
 local dignitary styled Besler. This is believed to stand on 
 the site of the lime-tree against which the boy was placed. 
 This tree is said to have been standing in 1567. About a 
 mile to the right is Burglen, another charmingly located vil- 
 lage, where Tell is said to have been born, and we got a 
 glimpse of a chapel erected on the site of his house in 1522. 
 I am not familiar with the evidence by which it is sought to 
 establish that this Swiss hero never lived nor did the deeds 
 attributed to him, but it should be of a clear and convincing 
 kind. It will hardly answer that certain early chroniclers did 
 not mention his name, for that might easily be, since the early 
 historians were a queer lot, and scarcely more likely to record 
 what did than what did not happen. 
 
 We lunch at Amsteg, where we are 1760 feet above the sea, 
 and at Andermatt, where we pass the night, thirty-five miles 
 from Brunnen, 4738 feet. All day we have followed up the 
 course of the Reuss, a turbulent Alpine stream, foamy and dis- 
 colored with the grayish particles of triturated rock it is 
 sweeping down from the glacial source of its principal branch 
 high among the summits of the St. Gothard Alps. It sweeps 
 roaring down, tumbling in white cascades, gliding in rapids, 
 boiling in eddies, and fed on either hand by frequent stream- 
 lets gliding like silvery serpents down the abrupt crags lining 
 its narrow valley. All the way up we climb by the zigzag 
 windings of an admirable road kept in perfect order by con- 
 stant attention, through scenery on either hand of the grand- 
 est and most beautiful description. The gigantic mountains 
 which shut in the narrow valley of the Reuss, throughout its 
 entire extent, lift their summits above the clouds, crowned 
 with everlasting snow or bare and desolate, but their feet 
 clothed with the richest verdure, and the eye rests on a suc- 
 cession of exquisite pastoral scenes, soft as the Vale of Tempe. 
 Nor is the presence of man wanting to vivify the picture. At 
 incredible and, so far as the eye can see, inaccessible heights 
 stands many a chalet with its little patch of pasture and still 
 smaller bit of tilled field clinging with steep slope to the 
 mountain-side, or lining the depths of rocky recesses with live- 
 liest verdure. 
 
 The weather signs were not favorable when we left Lucerne 
 
Andermatt. - 167 
 
 in the morning ; Pilatus had donned all his storm insignia, cap, 
 collar and sword, the barometer threatened, while on the lake 
 in the morning we had rough wind and a heavy rain, which 
 moderated and ceased by fits all day, but clouds rested always 
 on the highest peaks. Toward evening the rain grew heavier 
 and the clouds came deeper down the sides of the mountains, 
 and at Devil's Bridge, a little way below Andermatt, where the 
 Reuss rushes far below, a torrent of gray foam churned by its 
 fall of a hundred feet, the wind swirled down the deep rifts 
 of the mountains and up the gorge of the Reuss, bearing swift- 
 flying trails and streamers of watery vapor, deepening the 
 natural horrors of the spot by fitfully obscuring the " Hell of 
 waters," whose deafening roar deadened all other sounds. At 
 a point not far below the bridge the road is covered for sev- 
 eral rods by a heavy shed of stone to protect it from the ava- 
 lanches so frequent there. 
 
 The quaint old village of Andermatt is charmingly situated 
 on a plain made from the deposits of the Reuss, where its val- 
 ley widens for nearly a mile. It is a good deal of a health re- 
 sort, and the Hotel Bellevue, a large, well built and finished 
 house, with " dependences" or smaller buildings near by, is 
 filled with guests. 
 
 August 23. — Although the weather is threatening, we start 
 at 9 A.M. to cross the St. Gothard, and follow from the 
 hamlet of Hospenthal at the head of the Urseren-Thal — as 
 the broad valley on which Andermatt is situated is called — 
 the smaller of the two branches of the Reuss, rising in 
 Lake Lucendro, a clear mountain stream, like the moun- 
 tain brooks of New England, and haunted by trout, as we 
 proved at Andermatt this morning, where we had a mess 
 for breakfast and found them excellent, as well as the honey, 
 these being two local products much esteemed. We mount- 
 ed up by continuous zigzags, the gloom and desolation in- 
 creasing, with effect heightened by the lowering sky and 
 falling rain ; yet, at the very Pass itself, 6936 feet above the 
 sea, and all along the valley leading up to it, is such abun- 
 dance of vegetation as to keep herds in pasture, and they are 
 driven up from Italy for the summer. At a point not far 
 below the Pass was a flock of two hundred and twenty-four 
 big, white, handsome sheep, tranquilly resting in the care 
 of two swarthy Italians with slouched hats and long, ample 
 
168 The St. Gothard Road.— Lugano. 
 
 cloaks. At a quarter of a mile south of the highest point is a 
 decent hotel, the Hotel du Mont Prosa, where we were glad to 
 take shelter from the rain, which now came down furiously. 
 We lunched there, and during the p.m. came back to Ander- 
 matt in a pouring rain, safely sheltered in our landau, and 
 took rooms at the Bellevue for the night, proposing to make 
 the Furka Pass next day. The night was cold and dreary, 
 with heavy rain, changing to snow before morning, when the 
 mountains and valleys were covered in a deep mantle of it, 
 and more still falling. We decided to give up the Furka Pass 
 and went down to Goschenen, where we took the 11.45 ^^^^ 
 train on the St. Gothard road for Lugano. At Goschenen this 
 wonderful road enters the tunnel, nine and one-quarter miles 
 long, through the St. Gothard Mountain. We occupied 
 twenty-three minutes in the passage, and came out on the 
 Italian side in the warmth'of summer. Two hours before, we 
 left people shovelling snow, to find others basking under a hot 
 sun, harvesting hay. We wind down to the level of Lake 
 Lugano by easy, zigzag gradients with many tunnels, follow- 
 ing the swift and clear Ticino, and leaving the beautiful valley 
 of it at Bellinzona, are soon at the delightfully situated Hotel 
 du Pare in Lugano, with charming views from our rooms upon 
 the lake of that name. 
 
 This is the largest town of the Italian Swiss canton of Ticino, 
 with 6000 population, and a delightful spot it is. Our hotel was 
 once the monastery of Santa Maria degli Angioli, prosperous 
 and fatly endowed, I ween, if one may judge from the big, com- 
 fortable rooms and high-arched corridors, ample cloisters and 
 fair refectory, now changed into the good restaurant, where I 
 am sure the wines are not better now than the bef rocked cellarer 
 could draw in the vaulted crypts below. The church of the old 
 convent immediately adjoins the hotel, and is made famous by 
 the frescoes of Bernardino Luini on its walls. The great space 
 of the rood-screen is wholly covered with his picture of " The 
 Crucifixion ;" on the walls of a side-aisle is a " Last Supper," 
 and in a chapel a "Madonna," of which I have a fine engrav- 
 ing at home and always greatly admired. These masterpieces 
 were painted on the plaster of the walls early in the sixteenth 
 century, and have lost much of their freshness by the damp- 
 ness, and to save them, in the case of all except " The Crucifix- 
 ion," the whole portion of the plaster containing them has been 
 
St res a. 1G9 
 
 ingeniously cut out, secured upon some kind of substantial 
 backing, framed, and replaced against the walls, but some 
 inches removed from them. 
 
 August 26. — Went by a small steamboat down Lake Lugano 
 to Ponte Tresa, thence crossed by rail to Luino on Lake Mag- 
 giore. We underwent the Italian Custom-House at Ponte Tresa, 
 where I was compelled to pay one franc for each five ounces of 
 a half box of cigars I had in a hand-bag. This made me feel 
 quite at home, especially as the low-browed, black-muzzled 
 bandits who ploughed through our luggage had manners quite 
 like the tobacco-squirting Texans who rifled our luggage, on 
 behalf of Uncle Sam, at El Paso, to levy toll on a few Mexican 
 curiosities we had ventured to bring home from our tour in 
 Mexico. 
 
 At Luino, where Garibaldi won a battle against the Aus- 
 trians and is honored with a striking statue in the square 
 fronting the lake, took steamboat down Lake Maggiore to 
 Stresa, and passed the night at the commodious Hotel des 
 lies Borromees, fronting the lake at its finest part and in the 
 midst of beautiful grounds. Most charming is the view from 
 the balcony on which our rooms open, and it is not easy 
 to imagine a more beautiful scene than the fair lake bor- 
 dered by a great variety of wooded and pinnacled mountains 
 and beset with shining villages. We would gladly remain 
 here a week, but have not yet got through with the Alps. 
 The fair Borromean Islands lie just off Stresa — Isola Madre, 
 Isola dei Pescatori and Isola Bella — on the last of which 
 one of the old and famous Borromeo family erected a chateau 
 in the latter part of the seventeenth century and laid out 
 fantastic grounds. 
 
 Frattini engaged Jacob Heininger with his five horses to 
 carry us over the Simplon. Jacob produced a testimonial 
 from an eminent New York physician beginning " My Dear 
 Heininger," and ending with an invitation to visit him in New 
 York as his friend, both he and his wife signing it. As it 
 stated Jacob had driven the worthy couple for a month with 
 great acceptance, I instructed Frattini to secure him at once, 
 and at 8.30 a.m., the 27th of August, we set forth in great 
 style, the plumes waving from each horse's head, the bells 
 jingling, and the entire pe rsonncl oi the hotel bowing and scrap- 
 ing. Bossard, who drove us over the St. Gothard Pass, had 
 
170 Our Eccentric Coachman. 
 
 an idiotic way of incessantly cracking his whip to urge on his 
 horses, they having become entirely indifferent to it, but 
 Jacob uses the most extraordinary means to that end ever 
 conceived of. Indeed, I cannot help thinking the doctor 
 found it a phenomenon so interesting from a medical point 
 of view, that he was led to value Jacob beyond his capability 
 as a mere whip. His sole note of warning, threatening or en- 
 couragement to his horses, consists in that peculiar spasmodic 
 eructation to which the school-boy is liable after his first cigar ; 
 that convulsive prelude to the final catastrophe uttered from 
 the uncontrollable throat of the sensitive voyager leaning over 
 the side of an ocean steamer in rough weather. So habitual 
 is the use of this remarkable sound with Jacob, that whenever 
 he has finished any sentence of the remarks he frequently in- 
 dulges himself in, this sound invariably follows, as if, sicken- 
 ing of the ordinary forms of speech, he were about to throw 
 up all his feelings at once. But we go merrily on with Jacob 
 up the fertile valley of the Tosa, a swift and considerable 
 stream which helps to feed Lake Maggiore, and note with 
 pleasure the careful cultivation of a very considerable variety 
 of crops, including many small patches of Indian corn. I re- 
 marked that I was amazed to see so much maize grown here, 
 whereupon the younger members of my party very properly 
 declared they must abandon me at the next attempt of this 
 sort. But almost anything goes among these sombre Alps, 
 and I have several times caused hilarity in Frattini by the 
 production of exceedingly ancient stories which, having served 
 their full time, have long been discharged from service. But 
 the wily Italian well knows when he is expected to laugh, 
 and I dare say that, could I detect it, I should find he has his 
 revenge in the items of the weekly account he renders. 
 Women, young and old, are at work out of doors, more 
 numerous than men, doing the heaviest kinds of work, mowing, 
 gathering the short cut grass into long, tapering baskets, in 
 which they carry, strapped to their shoulders, incredible loads 
 of the various crops, no other sort of conveyance being in use. 
 We saw many cases of goitre in different stages of advance 
 among these poor peasants, caused by their hard life and poor 
 and insufficient food. Frattini says that many among them 
 make a bread out of chestnuts to last a whole year, pounding 
 up and soaking it into a kind of porridge. 
 
Napoleons Great Road. 171 
 
 We lunch on brook trout at the Hotel de la Ville et Poste 
 in the quaint village of Domo d'Ossola, driving into a great 
 court-yard round which the yellow quadrangular buildings 
 rise four stories high, witli railed balconies running along each 
 story. Two hours before, at eleven o'clock, at Pallanzeno, 
 Jacob had halted to give his horses a draught of a thickish 
 meal-porridge, followed by three loaves of the black, hard 
 bread of the country, cut into slices ; a feed, in the midst of a 
 hard drive, to throw George, our Scotch coachman, into a 
 sweat only to hear of it. We passed extensive quarries of 
 rose-tinted granite at Ornavasso, and near it are the still more 
 extensive and old marble quarries from which the Cathedral 
 of Milan is built. 
 
 So far as Domo d'Ossola we have been accompanied by a 
 solidly built railway which, if all things favor, is to be carried 
 over and through the Simplon. The telegraph-wire runs from 
 Stresa atop of solid granite pillars. Here the ascent seriously 
 begins, the Tosa brawls more vociferously down its narrowing 
 valley, and we climb slowl}'' up on the road built by Napoleon 
 I. on the highway from Milan to Paris. This road as well as 
 that over the St. Gothard and all roads we have ridden over 
 in Europe so far, are kept in perfect order by constant repairs, 
 are laid out by competent engineers and built solidly in 
 broken stone. We know little about good roads in America 
 in comparison. We still have luxuriant vegetation in favored 
 spots and chestnut, fig and mulberry trees and patches of corn, 
 with lofty mountains frowning from above. At several points 
 we noticed a stout single wire stretching from the roadside 
 across the deep bed of the Tosa and fastened to a point on 
 the opposite cliff, not less than a thousand feet high, on which 
 woodmen on the narrow shelf, almost out of sight, fastened 
 little bundles of firewood cut from the slender pines on the 
 steep slopes. These came sliding down slowly at first, then 
 with increasing velocity, until they landed with a crash beside 
 the road. 
 
 We passed the night comfortably at the Hotel Posta in the 
 little hamlet Iselle, lulled to rest by the Tosa chafing in its 
 rocky channel. There is an Italian customs-station here, 
 where all coming from Switzerland have strict examination^ 
 and a score of lusty fellows are kept patrolling the mountain- 
 paths night and day on the lookout for smugglers, who never- 
 
173 The Ravine of Gondo. 
 
 theless carry on a brisk trade, taking an occasional scrimmage 
 with the revenue officers, who are backed by a small force of 
 gendarmes and a lock-up close at hand. We calmly saw the 
 down-coming diligence overhauled, for we, leaving Italy, were 
 not liable to examination. The diligence is a lumbering 
 coach-body with a glass window-front called the coupe. This 
 is fully shut off by a partition from the main part called the 
 interieur, and perched up behind is a covered seat for two 
 called the banquette, making eight seats in all for passengers, 
 the coupe holding two. They are drawn by four horses 
 changed often, and are dreary conveyances, the only desirable 
 part being the banquette. 
 
 We set out in good case next morning at 8.30, in weather 
 which fully repaid the pains we had taken to make sure of a 
 good day for one of the great Alpine passes. Yesterday could 
 not be complained of, but to-day there is not a speck visible 
 anywhere in the blue sky, the atmosphere to the very moun- 
 tain-tips is clear as crystal and the sweet air charged with 
 life. Great peace and a high serenity fill these august upper 
 
 spaces as 
 
 " Tenderly the haughty day 
 Fills his blue urn with fire." 
 
 At two miles on the ascending road we pass a granite column 
 on which is cut the word " Italia," marking the boundary be- 
 tween Italy and Switzerland, and soon reach the hamlet of 
 Gondo, where we pass the Swiss Custom-House without exam- 
 ination, and are at once in the midst of the most majestic 
 scenery conceivable. On both sides of the wild roadway tower 
 bold cliffs 2000 feet, far below in a sunless gorge hoarsely 
 roars the stream shrunken by distance to a line of swift-darting 
 foam, while to the left opens the awful Ravine of Gondo, re- 
 vealing the Bodmer Glacier glistening icily above. In charm- 
 ing contrast, on midway terraces and slopes, wherever vegeta- 
 tion can have got any footing, are bits of green pasture, and 
 even patches of mowing land with grass so sweet and nutri- 
 tious that Jacob says it is better than corn. It is this remark- 
 able union of the pastoral with the savage and desolate that 
 constitutes the inexpressible beauty of these mountains. Sleek 
 cattle feed in sober security beside the track of the avalanche, 
 and mowers whet their scythes on slopes overhung by ever- 
 lasting snows. From the Italian lakes we saw the snowy top 
 
Simplon. — The Hospice. 173 
 
 of the Fletschhorn rising nearly 13,000 feet, and now it towers 
 above us close at hand. 
 
 We dine capitally at Simplon, and after resting the horses 
 for two hours, climb up past the old Hospice at the base of the 
 Schonhorn, rising snow-capped, and are at the highest point on 
 the Simplon Pass, 6595 feet, 500 feet less than the correspond- 
 ing point on the St. Gothard. Here is a broad, open valley 
 of good pasture land, and all about and far as the eye can see, 
 snowy peaks, including the towering cone of the Wetterhorn, 
 on the right the Rossboden Glacier with its hilly moraine, and 
 many a shining top of the long Bernese range. We called at 
 the Hospice, a large solid stone building, were shown by a 
 polite brother the comfortable rooms where travellers may 
 lodge, the refectory, a long, high hall, where a table was spread 
 with a coarse but clean linen cover, had a bottle of sourish 
 white wine produced in the high valleys near by, peeped into 
 the pretty chapel where services of song were going on by 
 three of the brothers with pleasant voices and not a listener 
 in sight, dropped into the iron-bound chest the sum which 
 elsewhere comes to one in the form of a bill of charges, patted 
 a handsome St. Bernard puppy and began the steep descent. 
 On the way up we gathered by the roadside pink crocuses, 
 blue gentians, Alpine roses, until a height was reached where 
 only the last is found. All along on either side of the pass 
 we saw little cascades falling as from the clouds out of their 
 snowy sources, some gleaming deep within the narrow channels 
 they have been for unknown ages chamfering in the solid face 
 of the rock, others glancing in wider fall from shelf to shelf, 
 like an endless web of unfolding lace. Those French engineers 
 who carried this road up from the valley of "the "arrowy 
 Rhone," gleaming far down below us in the warm rays of the 
 declining sun, surely knew their trade well, and the granite 
 masonry of bridge and buttress and parapet stands firm 
 and shapely. We got a view at one point of Brieg, our desti- 
 nation, 5000 feet below, with the green bit of the widened 
 Rhone valley on which it stands showing in such miniature as 
 would be produced by looking at it through an inverted tele- 
 scope. We descend briskly, zigzagging down sharp gradients, 
 one wheel sliding on a broad wooden shoe which Jacob has 
 attached, not to be removed until we pull up in front of the 
 Couronnes et Poste, our hotel for the night. The scenery 
 
174 The Village of Brieg. — A Funeral Procession. 
 
 on the way down is fully as striking as on the ascent. The 
 Alpine snow-peaks gradually disappear for the most part, but 
 the Rauthorn with its glacier and the shapely Fletschhorn are 
 still shining above us ; we wind under lesser but still tremen- 
 dous mountains where avalanches are nursed, around craggy 
 points where the head grows dizzy with looking down pre- 
 cipitous gorges a thousand feet deep, and everywhere that 
 slope or terrace or ledge will permit tree to stand or grass to 
 grow are signs' of human existence and sylvan life. 
 
 After a comfortable night in pleasant rooms looking out on 
 a little garden where a meek fountain plays softly, and just 
 beyond a clear mountain stream hastens down an artificial 
 channel of stone to mingle with the Rhone, we strolled about 
 the little village of Brieg, remarkable for nothing but its fair 
 situation among the mountains, and cgime upon a little open 
 square among the old stone houses, w'here a high-rounded 
 coffin stood on trestles in the central spaee, with many wreaths 
 of evergreens and flowers on it ; a table covered with a cloth 
 on which stood four lighted candles flaring in the warm sun- 
 light, and another table on which stood a bowl of holy water. 
 Two female watchers in white robes and cowls stood near, and 
 now and then some one would advance from the little group 
 of people in their best clothes standing about, and dipping a 
 leafy twig in the bowl, sprinkle the coffin with drops of water. 
 Later from our balcony we saw a long procession moving by 
 in solemn silence, the bier borne on the shoulders ^of six men, 
 and a great number of priests in white surplices carrying 
 among them a huge cross with an image of the Saviour on it. 
 Behind came a lengthy train of well-dressed people all on foot, 
 and the whole filed down a long avenue of Lombardy poplars to 
 cross the Rhone to the church on the other side. I wondered 
 how so many could be got together on any occasion whatever 
 in this small community, for the cortege was nearly a third of a 
 mile long, and was informed it was to celebrate the funeral of 
 an estimable and well-beloved lady who had done many kind 
 deeds here. Frattini said the shops were mostly closed and, 
 the funeral over, the day would be kept as a holiday and most 
 of the people indulge in a drunken debauch. I hope not, but 
 am not likely to know, for at i p.m. we took train for Mar- 
 tigny, where we arrived at 4 p.m., having made the average 
 run on the Swiss roads of forty-seven miles in three hours. 
 
Mont Blanc. 175 
 
 From Briegwe followed the Rhone down its pleasant moun- 
 tain valley. It has its source in the Glacier du Rhone, some 
 thirty miles above Brieg, and as it brings down in its swift 
 current a great quantity of the powdery detritus into which 
 the glacier grinds the rocks in its irresistible course, its color, 
 like all glacial water, is ashen gray. It flows swiftly and 
 deposits all along its course the earthy matter with which it 
 is charged, forming new land, which the enterprising native 
 of the valley enters upon at the earliest possible moment. We 
 saw picturesque ruins at Sierre and Sion. 
 
 We lodged well at the Hotel Clerc in Martigny, and next 
 morning took a low carriage hung like a Victoria, with two 
 seats facing each other and another for the driver, drawn 
 by two horses, to cross the Tete Noire on the way to Cha- 
 monix. Frattini followed in a heavier wagon with our lug- 
 gage. Until within three or four years only light carriages 
 drawn by one horse and carrying two persons could be used 
 on this difficult road, now much improved. At first we fol- 
 low the great St. Bernard road through Martigny-Bourg, 
 Drance Bridge, La Croix ; then, turning to the right, wind up 
 slopes rich with meadows, orchards and vines, to the Col dela 
 Forclaz, three and one half hours from our starting-point and 
 nearly 5000 feet above the sea. All along the backward view 
 of the Rhone valley and Martigny with its old castle has 
 been increasingly fine, and now we enter the forest of dark firs 
 at the base of the Tete Noire, the slender waters of the Trient 
 murmuring nearly 2000 feet below. 
 
 We dine quite well at the Hotel de la Tete Noire, and after 
 resting the horses two hours, proceed through scenes wilder 
 and fully as impressive as any we have met. We descend by 
 a road of dangerous steepness to the gloomy valley of the Eau 
 Noire, and pass from Switzerland into Savoy, since i860 belong- 
 ing to France. At Col des Montets, 4740 feet above the sea, the 
 Mont Blanc chain comes into view, and we descend rapidly 
 into the valley of Chamonix by a series of bold loops and 
 gradients, as many as five of which are in sight at once. Be- 
 fore this, Frattini, pointing to a dome-shaped cloud far down 
 the valley which seemed to rest on the dimly seen tops of the 
 great mountains at the entrance, had exclaimed, " Mont 
 Blanc," and I had respectfully taken off my hat to this mighty 
 monarch of European mountains, although beholding his ma- 
 
176 The Aiguilles. — Chamonix. 
 
 jesty dimly and more by faith than sight. But on our immediate 
 right, as the day is warm and clear, with not a stain on the 
 sky, rise in their terrible majesty, stark and sharp, piercing 
 the very heavens to the height of more than 10,000 feet, 
 several of those granite peaks called the Aiguilles, or needles, 
 each having its own name. We rode close by the base of the 
 majestic one called Buet, and I have never been so impressed 
 by a mountain form before. Soon, however, we come into full 
 view of the great Mont Blanc range with its glistening domes 
 and pinnacles, huge buttresses and many glaciers slanting 
 down to the valley. We pass that of Tour, in which the Arve 
 has its rise, next the larger one of d'Argentiere, then the 
 famous Mer de Glace, from which the Arveyron issues, soon 
 to unite with the Arve, forming a considerable river, which 
 rushes down the valley, on its journey to join the distant 
 Rhone, with a mad velocity not often seen, and are soon most 
 comfortably established in the Hotel Imperial at Chamonix, 
 in rooms with a balcony looking directly on the mountains in 
 front, and so near that it seems easy to stroll to the summit ; 
 so deceptive is the distance in the sunset light. 
 
 The ride to day has been long, hard and hot. After dinner 
 we gaze from our balcony upon the heights of eternal snow 
 gleaming spectrally under the summer stars. Down the valley 
 of the Arve the crescent moon is glimmering through a soft 
 haze, and just above the snow, in the gorge between the domes 
 of Mont Blanc and du Gouter, burns with sparkling lustre 
 the planet Jupiter, soon to be eclipsed by the Dome du Gouter 
 and reappear again on the side of the valley. 
 
 The village of Chamonix is a point where tourists congre- 
 gate, and is made up of hotels, the houses of the associated 
 guides, shops and a few villagers besides. The valley of the 
 same name, watered by the Arve, is some twelve miles long, 
 about one-half mile wide, fertile, and lies 3400 feet above the 
 sea. I have before me one of those little books of local infor- 
 mation which I look for in places of interest, because I find 
 them valuable, being usually written by some careful and often 
 scholarly man in love with his subject and knowing the facts. 
 This one, which I have had in hand for parts of two days, 
 being pretty well confined to my rooms from the effect of the 
 heat and fatigue of our hard ride from Martigny, is written 
 by the pastor of a church at Vevay, and gives what may be 
 
The Mont Blanc Range. 177 
 
 styled the history and literature associated with Mont Blanc 
 and the region hereabout. I might as well say that I am dis- 
 appointed in Mont Blanc. In my ignorance I had expected 
 to find an individual mountain of that name towering heaven- 
 ward after the manner of great Popocatapetl from the plain of 
 Mexico. Instead, I find Mont Blanc to be the head or nucleus 
 of a mountain range bearing its name, over thirty miles long, 
 and immediately surrounded by peaks and domes not greatly 
 inferior to itself in height. These all rise from the back- 
 bone of the range, itself nearly 8000 feet high, so that the dif- 
 ference in altitude of the various peaks is not apparently 
 great, seen from the base where we are. Of course, seen from 
 a great elevation or at a distance, this difference will be more 
 apparent ; still the actual difference does not much exceed 1000 
 feet between the dome of Mont Blanc and several of its neigh- 
 bors, the gigantic pinnacle of Aiguille Verte rising 13,500 feet, 
 du Dru 12,500 feet. Dome du Gouter 14,200 feet, with many 
 others not much inferior, while the height of the summit of 
 the dome of Mont Blanc itself is 15,730 feet. The whole 
 scene, however, is one of the highest sublimity and magnifi- 
 cence. Wonderful it is to see the frozen rivers of the glaciers 
 running down between cultivated fields and green pastures, 
 their vast masses of a hundred feet in thickness firm and un- 
 yielding in the hot summer sun. As is well known, the entire 
 mass of billowy ice composing these glaciers moves downward 
 at a well-ascertained rate, slower or faster during periods of 
 years, and here averaging about five inches per day. They 
 grind their way down the enormous gorges with irresistible 
 power, crushing the rocks at the sides and bottom to the finest 
 powder, and at the lower end, where they gradually yield to 
 the solar heat, depositing the debris in a rounded heap. 
 
 Not being enough recovered to do any walking, I drove with 
 my family to the foot of the great glacier of the Bossons, and 
 waited in the shade of a neat white cottage with deep, project- 
 ing eaves and green balconies filled with flowers until they 
 should have visited it. A pretty little girl of eight years came 
 quietly out, seated herself on a bench beside the door, took 
 from a little pocket her various colored yarns, carefully selected 
 the shades needed, and patiently for a long time wrought quite 
 natural flowers on a small square canvas, looking furtively out 
 at me from under her straw hat from time to time, with large, 
 12 
 
178 The Famous Mountain Guide, Francois Devouasoud. 
 
 soft eyes, and when I put a franc into her little brown hand, 
 thanking me in a low, sweet voice, with modest blush. I 
 waited three hours, for the young people, after climbing up 
 to the little house of rest beside the glacier, took it into their 
 heads to cross it, and did so, putting on woollen socks over 
 their shoes and being helped over the crevasses and up slip- 
 pery steps by two guides, Frattini following as best he could. 
 
 At my invitation, the famous mountain guide Frangois 
 Devouasoud, called on me in our rooms, and as he speaks Eng- 
 lish quite well, I had an interesting talk of an hour with him. 
 He is fifty-eight years old, and has followed his trade of guide 
 .for forty years, having scaled all the mountain-peaks of im- 
 portance in Switzerland and many elsewhere, notably the 
 ihighest of the Caucasus, Mount Elbru, 18,500 feet. He has 
 imade the ascent of Mont Blanc twenty-seven times, and from 
 our balcony pointed out the path pursued from the Grand 
 Mulcts across the Glacier Bossons by the Petit Plateau, the 
 Grand Plateau, the Dome du Gouter and the Bosses du 
 Dromadaire ; or, according to the state of the weather, by 
 the Corridor, the Mur de la Cote and the Petits Mulcts, 
 to the summit. All this route to the very top lay so plain 
 and palpable on the vast snowy flanks of the range in 
 the bright, clear afternoon that it seemed one might put on 
 his rubbers and stroll up and back before supper ; yet 
 we were obliged yesterday to look through a powerful 
 telescope to distinguish a party of six who were making 
 the ascent, forming a string of black, spider-like specks con- 
 nected by a filmy rope, as they toiled up a background of 
 dazzling snow. The plan is to go up to the Grand Mulcts — 
 10,000 feet — the afternoon before, sleep at the comfortable 
 station there, and a little after midnight cross the Glacier 
 Bossons by the light of a lantern, attain the summit about 
 8 a.m., and descend to Chamonix the same day. Francois stated 
 that with careful guides the ascent is quite safe, almost the 
 only danger being from a sudden storm coming on when near 
 the top, and that the difficulties are not nearly so great as in 
 the ascent of several of the Aiguilles or abrupt granite peaks 
 of the range. 
 
 A very interesting man is Frangois, sincere, frank, brave, as 
 his strong, quiet features show, and with the natural dignity, 
 politeness and modesty of a gentleman. He is strongly built, 
 
Jacques Balinat. 179 
 
 with somewhat slouchy movements, like a farmer having a 
 holiday, but with a quick, resolute look at times, as if obliged 
 often to decide and act promptly. He said he himself had 
 never experienced any alarming or very unpleasant symptoms 
 at any height he had attained, but many whom he had con- 
 ducted did so. He suffers somewhat from rheumatism, "for," 
 said he, " weather which breaks granite is felt in the bones," 
 and goes among the mountains less and less, and after two or 
 three years more will cease altogether and do no more than 
 tend his little farm and cattle a mile from the village, where 
 he lives comfortably in a snug house and keeps with pride 
 many presents, commendations and grateful tokens from 
 people he has guided among these perilous heights for nearly 
 half a century. He told in the simplest, heartiest way of his 
 trip to Paris this summer, what wonders are in the Exposition, 
 and, what surprised and amused me, that he would not ven- 
 ture to go up the Eiffel Tower, " because," he said, '' you are 
 among a lot of other people, and if anything happens to the 
 lift there is nothing you can take hold of with your hands to 
 save yourself." Here is a man who has climbed the precipi- 
 tous crag of d'Aiguille Verte, seeking hold for hand and foot 
 in its perpendicular wall, with 5000 dizzy feet of precipice ^ 
 below, who would not trust himself to ride in an elevator with 
 a party of easy citizens. He has two younger brothers who 
 are also famous as guides. 
 
 I learn from my little book that Mont Blanc was first 
 climbed by Jacques Balmat in 1786, who after several trials 
 succeeded, tempted by the inducements offered by the natural- 
 ist de Saussure, who was anxious to find a way up for himself 
 that he might make some observations and experiments there. 
 He did so the following year guided by Balmat, and there is 
 in the little square in Chamonix a spirited monument repre- 
 senting him pointing the way up the glittering heights to his 
 rapt companion. Since that time there have been more than 
 one thousand ascents, of which I note sixty-four were by 
 women, and now during the fine weather parties go up almost 
 daily. 
 
 Chamonix is well organized for robbing tourists, some fif- 
 teen thousand of whom come here annually. The guides and 
 muleteers are fully organized, with an exorbitant tariff of 
 rates, and as no one can come or leave except by diligence or 
 
180 Geneva. 
 
 private conveyance, the coachmen have it all their own way, 
 and a vile way it is. 
 
 Frattini engaged a conveyance to Geneva, but early on the 
 morning we were lo leave saw the driver of it trotting shame- 
 lessly out of town with a full carriage. Another was hired, 
 who put on part of the luggage and then refused in the most 
 nonchalant way to put on any more, and was driven off with 
 ignominy by the now frantic Frattini, who, storming the town, 
 soon returned in triumph, seated on the box beside an excel- 
 lent Jehu, who, obliged to return to Geneva this morning, 
 pulled up his four horses with a flourish, in the prospect of an 
 unexpected fare. So at 9 o'clock, on the morning,of the 3d of 
 September, we set out in fine style for Geneva, distant forty- 
 three miles. Our road followed the milky Arve down its 
 swift current through the smiling valley of Chamonix, from 
 which opens a wild ravine with fine backward views of the 
 Mont Blanc range, which seems to grow in magnitude the 
 farther we get from it. At the hamlet of Magland a huge 
 spring, like the one we visited at San Philipe, near the Rio 
 Grande in Texas, gushes out from under a great cliff by the 
 roadside in enormous volume. 
 
 We lunch, not very well, at Bonneville, reaching it over a 
 broad, fertile meadow-land, and note the Castle of Chatillon 
 perched high up on a crag, seeming inaccessible. Bonneville 
 is in the midst of a fertile and highly cultivated plain with 
 grand mountains all about, of which the Pointe d'Andey and 
 Mole rise 6000 feet. Two miles from Geneva we cross the 
 French frontier, with only the formality of a question from 
 the Swiss customs-officer by the roadside, and soon through a 
 broad, shady avenue lined on either hand with handsome 
 country-seats in spacious and charming grounds, enter on 
 t±ie steep streets of the old city of Geneva, and crossing the 
 blue Rhone, now cleared of all impurities by its long rest in 
 the tranquil lake, just where it issues from it, are soon in- 
 stalled, with the abundant care, civility and politeness charac- 
 terizing the Swiss hotels, in excellent quarters in the Hotel 
 Beaurivage, fronting the lake. 
 
 - Geneva is the largest of the Swiss cities, with a population of 
 about 70,000. It lies pleasantly at the lower end of Lake 
 Leman, sloping down the gradual southern shore in the form of 
 a crescent, and divided by the Rhone into halves connected 
 
Geneva's Watch-making Industry. 181 
 
 by eight good bridges. It is the capital of the canton of 
 Geneva, has nothing remarkable in its architecture, but has a 
 prosperous, busy look and an endless number of little shops 
 where all sorts of jewelry and ornamental goods are displayed 
 in endless variety. It thrives on foreigners, selling them es- 
 pecially a prodigious number of watches, which are made here 
 and in all the little villages among the hills. The parts of a 
 watch so made are put together here by leading firms, and 
 as fashion has for a long time favored these watches, pretty 
 much everybody who comes here buys. There is a school 
 here where watch-making is taught, and this single industry 
 supports and enriches a vast number of people. 
 
 The legions of victorious Rome marching northward to 
 conquer the barbarous tribes inhabiting these valleys found 
 a town in existence here one hundred years before the Chris- 
 tian era and named it Genava, and for two thousand years, 
 with stormy and varying fortunes, it has cut something of a 
 figure in the world. Here lived and wrought and died in 1564 
 grim John Calvin, the artificer of the theological scheme known 
 as Calvinism, which I believe has cast a darker shadow over 
 more human souls during the last four hundred years than any 
 system contrived by man since Christ was born upon the earth. 
 With the pitiless logic of a subtle brain and an icy heart, he 
 dared to aim at knowing the divine counsels, to formulate the 
 methods of the Almighty, to limit His mercy, direct His ven- 
 geance, and forecast with the awful inevitableness of fate the 
 eternal doom of the whole human race. Our pious New Eng- 
 land forefathers strove with some success to accept his conclu- 
 sions and shape their lives by his dogmas ; their descendants 
 have struggled less successfully to the same end, have grown 
 careless and faithless, until now who of them can, or would if he 
 could, believe in the dark predestination taught by this stern 
 Genevan ascetic ? He came here a Protestant seeking refuge 
 from persecution because he doubted^ and getting place and 
 power, burned at the stake Michael Servetus, the learned Span- 
 ish physician fleeing from persecution, because he doubted. 
 But Michael's doubts were not John's doubts, and could only be 
 resolved and purged by the element of fire. Sweet, pure and 
 loving Teacher of Nazareth, how could such fiery fruit come 
 from the tender seeds of charity and peace and joy which Thou 
 didst sow and water with Thy cherishing blood ? " Surely an 
 
183 The House of John Calvin. — A Vain Search for his Grave. 
 
 enemy hath done this," and the fagot and the axe are the tares 
 of wickedness he sowed. 
 
 We set out to find the house in which Calvin lived, and 
 learned, after we had started, that our driver knew nothing 
 about it, and several citizens applied to by Frattini in a loud 
 voice, from his seat on the box, professed themselves unable 
 to reveal the secret ; and when, at my suggestion, he addressed 
 the question to a troop of bright boys just coming from school 
 with satchels full of books, they seemed, by their indecorous 
 hilarity and outcries, to think he was chaffing them. But after 
 many hesitations and windings we came to a street named 
 Calvin, and found a broad, substantial stone house which a 
 melancholy butcher leaning out of a low door hard by averred 
 to be that of Calvin, an assurance backed up by a little puck- 
 ered-up old lady in a great white cap. I looked into the 
 dusty court where were no signs of life save a cat playing with 
 a mouse in the hot glare of the afternoon sun. We drove to the 
 cemetery of Plainpalais to visit his grave, which the local 
 guide-book, by J. E. Muddock, F.R.G. S. — whatever that may 
 be — insists is in that spot ; but the confident female in charge 
 of the entrance assured us that no John Calvin is buried here. 
 Relating this to a gentleman residing in the city, he informed me 
 that the place of his burial is not known. So utterly are the 
 traces of him who was so great and powerful obliterated ! And 
 as if in mockery of the dyspeptic bigot who interdicted the 
 stage and all other forms of amusement, there rises in the 
 fairest part of the city almost the handsomest theatre, outside 
 and in, I have ever seen, costing nearly a million dollars ! 
 
 We visited the Cathedral, which has little of interest, and 
 the Greek church with its gilded domes and handsome sandal- 
 wood doors, which, after thirty years, still emit a faint odor ; 
 also the well-arranged public library of one hundred thousand 
 volumes and many interesting early manuscripts. We drove 
 to the Villa Diodati, occupied by Byron for some time, and 
 looked upon the scenes which fed his high thoughts and cooled 
 his wild pulses — scenes he celebrated in verse as beautiful al- 
 most as our language can show. Also we drove to Ferney, on 
 the opposite side of the lake, to the chateau built and occu- 
 pied by Voltaire, where we walked in the long, close-shaded 
 alley of dwarf beeches he planted, his favorite walk, where he 
 barbed those arrows of scornful raillery which stung despots 
 
Miis/e Ariatia. 183 
 
 on their thrones and pierced through and through the drag- 
 ons of superstition and mocked at holy things with repre- 
 hensible sneer. He had charming grounds here and lovely- 
 views. Many interesting relics of him are shown in some 
 rooms of the chateau, now owned by a Parisian gentleman 
 who married the daughter of the purchaser of the estate from 
 Voltaire. Among these are portraits of the Great Frederick 
 and Catherine II. of Russia, presented to him by themselves. 
 He built a chapel near his house, as the inscription on it 
 shows, and a number of manufactories, and was a sort of 
 benefactor to the working people here gathered about him. 
 
 On the way here we visited the Musee Ariana, a collection 
 of works of art open to the public without charge by the kind- 
 ness of its owner, M. Gustavus Revilliod, one of those gener- 
 ous souls, not uncommon as we have found, who take pleasure 
 in sharing the satisfaction they find in beautiful treasures of 
 art with those less fortunate. This gentleman has built, in 
 a spot commanding a charming view of the lake, a costly build- 
 ing of cream-colored stone, solid and beautiful, and in magnifi- 
 cent rooms within it are, among the many treasures, an endless 
 number of exquisite specimens of the pottery of all countries 
 and times, handsomely arranged for viewing, and labelled so 
 as to show full particulars about them all. We saw the kindly 
 old man walking slowly about, his benevolent-looking wife on 
 his arm, enjoying seeing others enjoy the good things he had 
 set forth for their happiness. Long may they both live, tran- 
 quilly happy in their noble disinterestedness ! 
 
 There stands near the lake in Geneva an imposing monument, 
 66 feet high, to Duke Charles II. of Brunswick, who died here 
 in 1873, leaving his property, some twenty million francs, to the 
 city. It must have cost a great deal of money, for it is sump- 
 tuous in costly statues and carving, but is not fully pleasing. 
 
 September 9. — Took a steamboat to the upper end of the 
 lake. It stretches away forty-five miles in length, with an 
 average width of eight miles, and its shores, in th& lazy tran- 
 quillity of a warm summer morning, recede hazily toward the 
 lower mountains of the Savoy Alps on the right and the 
 dusky ranges of the Jura on the left. Half way up the scenery 
 begins to grow bolder. The Jura vanishes by degrees, but 
 on the southern shore great Alpine spurs come boldly up to 
 the lake one after another and cluster about the eastern end, 
 
184 The Castle of Chillon. — Bonnivard's Dungeon. 
 
 where the Rhone has worn its impetuous entrance and deposited 
 a broad alluvial tract of glacier-worn sediment. The shores 
 are studded with costly villas and numerous villages, partly 
 gray with age and partly span new, in curious contrast, 
 ancient towers rising beside factory chimneys and venerable 
 castles on neighborly terms with flaring new hotels. Most 
 charming is the situation of Clarens, sheltered from harsh 
 winds by the closely overhanging and picturesque mountains. 
 Byron, who paints external nature with literal fidelity and 
 poetic feeling, has described it as nearly as words can in the 
 third canto of " Childe Harold." 
 
 We left the boat at Chillon, quite near the upper end of the 
 lake, to visit the castle of that name. Byron has done a great 
 deal for it, for it is not so formidable a structure as one expects 
 to find, and Bonnivard's dungeon, a long hall supported by a 
 range of great stone pillars in the centre, is not greatly worse 
 than the rooms shown as the private apartments of the Dukes 
 and Duchesses of Savoy, when they resided here. Bonnivard 
 was imprisoned here for six years because he took sides with 
 the Genevans in their contests with the Duke of Savoy, lived a 
 long time after his discharge, and died respected in 1536, at a 
 good old age. The most interesting room in the castle, which 
 rises picturesquely from the lake, as much like a chateau as a 
 stronghold, is the great kitchen with its well-preserved oaken 
 ceiling and its huge chimney and fireplace, where an ox could 
 easily be roasted entire. This would indicate good cheer, but 
 I suppose not many cutlets found their way down into the 
 long, high vaulted dungeon lighted by narrow slits in the 
 wall, so high up that no peep could be had of the blue water 
 and glorious mountains opposite, to-day half veiled in a warm, 
 grayish mist. There is a ring in one of the pillars which looks 
 as if it might be ten years old ; and the pillar called Bonnivard's 
 is literally carved into names. Among them is Byron's, the 
 letters of which are worn greatly, as if by the touch of the 
 fingers of his pilgrim admirers. Eugene Sue, George Sand 
 and Victor Hugo have also taken the trouble to cut their 
 names among the thousands on these pillars, which are said to 
 date back to about 800. The castle was improved and fortified 
 in the thirteenth century by Count Peter of Savoy, and now 
 stands pretty much as he left it, having been used as an arsenal 
 for the last one hundred years. 
 
Church of St. Martin. 185 
 
 Returning, we left our carriage at Chillon and took elec- 
 tric tramway, passing through an almost continuous line of 
 villages, including Clarens, with modern houses along the 
 lake and large, handsome hotels, where many people come to 
 escape the heat of summer, for the " grape cure," so called, in 
 autumn, and to be protected in the winter iroxn ih& Ifisc, or 
 cold, moist north wind. We took rooms for the night in 
 the Grand Hotel at Vevay, and it illustrates the popularity of 
 this region that this hotel, in its construction and appoint- 
 ments, is fully equal to any one we have seen on the Continent, 
 and it is not easy to imagine a more pleasing scene of blue 
 lake and striking mountains than its beautiful grounds look 
 out upon. 
 
 Next morning drove to the Church of St. Martin, built 
 about 1500, with nothing interesting about it except a fine 
 view across the lake from the terrace where it stands, an 
 agreeable square tower, and the fact that it contains the graves 
 of the regicides Ludlow and Broughton, who took refuge and 
 died here, the Swiss refusing to surrender them at the demand 
 of Charles II. Broughton read the sentence of the court, con- 
 demning Charles I. to death, and associated with him as joint 
 clerk was John Phelps, also buried here. On the wall is a 
 tasteful tablet with a graceful inscription placed there by 
 his descendants " William Walter Phelps of New Jersey and 
 Charles Phelps of Massachusetts, from across the sea." We 
 drove up the gradual hills back of Vevay to the Chateau of 
 Hauteville, two miles from the lake, and were shown through 
 ever so fine and large gardens laid out in terraces, with end- 
 less profusion of flowers in beds of many forms, and roses such 
 as I never saw the like of in size and hues. The chateau looks 
 down upon a broad expanse sloping in gentle undulations to 
 the lake's border, with miles of vineyards, noble copses of 
 forest-trees — oak, chestnut, walnut — and flourishing orchards 
 of apples, pears and plums. 
 
 On our drive to the Castle of Blonay, two miles higher up, 
 a quaint, turreted, inhabitable structure, where the family of 
 that name has lived for more centuries than anybody seems 
 to know, we passed through the hamlet of La Chiesaz, where 
 an artist, now in Paris, whose work I seem to remember in 
 some way, A. Beguin, was born, and where he exhibited at 
 once his youthful artistic precocity and exuberance of animal 
 
186 Lausanne. — Its Cathedral. 
 
 spirits by a considerable number of huge cartoons on the 
 plaster walls of the roadside houses, stables and other out- 
 buildings. These are mostly rollickingly facetious, rough, 
 vigorous sketches of running horses galloping madly after 
 having hurled their riders down fathomless abysses, and so 
 forth, but with a female head or two of much beauty and 
 grace. 
 
 We have come nearer to seeing the ideal Swiss chalet here 
 than anywhere else, but have not yet seen one — I mean the 
 chalet shown in pictures and models. The old peasant houses 
 in the Black Forest, the shepherds' huts perched all along 
 the mountain-sides everywhere, the little fancy houses where 
 the comfortable bourgeois disports himself in his summer 
 vacation, all present more or less of the features of the model 
 chalet, but no one I have seen unites them all or even the 
 greater part. The ideal chalet, the national costumes, the 
 mountain horn and its Ranz des Vaches are still as far away as 
 ever, although I have Frattini's assurance that they are still 
 in existence somewhere. 
 
 September 12. — After lunch took railroad for Lausanne, an 
 hour's ride, and passed the night at the Hotel Gibbon. In 
 the garden sloping down toward the lake from the hotel the 
 great historian is said to have composed much of that stalwart 
 book which, promising at first to be a comfort and ally of 
 Silas Wegg, finally led to his discomfiture and overthrow, 
 " The Decline and Fall Off of the Roman Empire." Lausanne 
 slopes sharply down a small mountain called Mont Jorat, is 
 well built, has 30,000 population and a prosperous, bright and 
 refined appearance, as if many refined people are among its 
 inhabitants. We drove up to the "Signal," above the town, 
 where we should have gained a wide view of valley, lake and 
 mountain, if a thick haze had not shut off the distant scene of 
 the Mont Blanc range, as it has done provokingly since we 
 reached Geneva. The Cathedral consecrated by Gregory X. 
 in the presence of Rudolph of Hapsburg has an interesting 
 tower and some fine carvings, and is a good specimen of the 
 Gothic style, but is bare and melancholy inside. No sight is 
 more incongruous and unpleasing than an old cathedral 
 stripped of all ornaments, its shrines desolate, its statues 
 broken, its monuments defaced, and one end of its transept 
 or a little space in front of the chancel " coldly furnished 
 
Legislatiofi in a C/idteau. 187 
 
 forth" with two dozen skimp fresh pine benches, with rows of 
 new hymn-books atop of the railings, where a congregation of 
 some form of Protestant Dissenters holds its stated worship. 
 The Church of England comes so directly from the Church of 
 Rome that its ceremonial worship in the great cathedrals of 
 that countr}'' is nearly enough allied to the Mother Church to 
 furnish a pomp still partly suitable to these vast interiors, but 
 the beggarly bareness and chill austerity of these translated 
 Swiss cathedrals are enough to freeze the very marrow of the 
 skeleton of worship. There is a well-preserved castle here on 
 a commanding height, but we contented ourselves with a 
 survey of its outer walls and quaint round-towers looking 
 threateningly down upon the town. 
 
 Took railroad p.m. to Neuchatel (two hours), on west side 
 of the beautiful lake of same name, and had rooms at the 
 Bellevue, overlooking the deep green water. We part here 
 from esteemed Brooklyn friends who had joined us at Geneva. 
 The lake is eighteen miles long by three to four miles wide, 
 modestly but charmingly set in its frame of gently sloping 
 hills. Neuchatel has a population of 16,000, is the capital of 
 the canton of the same name, rises sharply up the slope of 
 the Jura from the lake's edge, has a prosperous and contented 
 look, and with its agreeable commingling of new and ancient 
 architecture, most picturesque site and surroundings, forms 
 almost as interesting a spot as any lake town we have visited, 
 always excepting Lucerne, the unsurpassable. On a height 
 above the town is a picturesque old chateau restored in 
 parts and the seat of the cantonal government. We looked 
 into the legislative chamber, with seats for one hundred and 
 nine deputies to make the laws for a population of 100,000. 
 Very quaint and comfortable are their quarters here, with 
 magnificent views from the old stone balconies opening from 
 the hall, offering all possible inducements to make legislation 
 slow and easy. The Chamber holds four sessions a year, of 
 two weeks each, and the members are paid eight francs per 
 day. Suffrage is free, all citizens of the legal age being en- 
 titled to vote. There is no veto of the acts of the Chamber, 
 but if within two months after the passage of a bill, three 
 thousand citizens of the canton shall have signed a petition 
 to that effect, the measure must be submitted to a vote of the 
 whole body of citizens in the canton. 
 
188 The Ancestors of Count Louis 
 
 Visited the Municipal Museum and Picture Gallery, where 
 in a handsome and commodious building is housed an inter- 
 esting collection of old armor, domestic utensils, pottery, and 
 perhaps one hundred and fifty oil paintings, of fair average 
 merit. All this in a town of 16,000 people. 
 
 In the choir of the old Abbey church adjoining the chateau 
 is an interesting Gothic monument with fifteen life-size 
 figures, erected in 1372 by Count Louis of Neuchatel, these 
 being effigies, male and female, of his ancestors. The men 
 are clad in armor, the women in white robes, with golden 
 hair. The ladies have a modest, gentle, submissive and truly 
 pious air, suitable to saints in peaceful rest. The artist, either 
 from the nature of the subjects he had to deal with or from 
 his lack of skill in expression, was not so happy with the dis- 
 tinguished males of that turbulent line. One of them, no 
 doubt a tough rascal in his day, stands with praying hands 
 and an artificial look of overdone sanctity, as if he hoped to 
 impose on St. Peter and slip into heaven by virtue of a tardy 
 piety, while another seems about to start off with a mincing 
 gait and confident air, as if he fully thought he was' expected 
 above and his coming would very considerably augment the 
 glory of the heavenly state ; still another has the visor of 
 his steel morion drawn furtively down over his eyes, as if he 
 trusted to sneak through the celestial gate in disguise ; and 
 altogether these old mortuary images, as in almost all in- 
 stances I have seen, are more comical than serious. 
 
 The guests at the Bellevue and elsewhere recently are 
 largely English people, for the most part well-bred and un- 
 demonstrative. Occasionally an exception presents itself, 
 and opposite us at the table d'hote last evening sat a demon- 
 strative, youngish couple, whose speech was so little like what 
 I was accustomed to hear in England, that for some minutes I 
 thought them to be talking in German, they so murdered the 
 king's English in their pronunciation. When one comes to 
 pronounce ^/««^^ as if it were written glons and similarly tor- 
 tures every word made use of, mystification can go no farther. 
 I used to notice at home how much more English those English 
 who live in America are than the English themselves ; and I 
 have met an occasional American over here of a sort I have 
 never seen at home. It would seem as if these self-conscious 
 tourists were fearful their nationality would not be readily 
 
Berne. 189 
 
 discovered unless they exaggerated the national peculiari- 
 ties. 
 
 September 12. — Came to Berne by rail, forty-one miles, fol- 
 lowing the western shore of the lake at the base of the Jura 
 range, here nearer and more abrupt, the slopes all along smil- 
 ing in vineyards, where, alas for the owners ! many yellow 
 leaves show the fatal progress of the phyloxera, whose ravages 
 among the lakes here began, I am told, three years ago. The 
 train leaves the Lake of Neuchatel, and soon after reaches the 
 pretty little Lake of Bienne, nine miles long, with gentle 
 shores sprinkled with red-roofed villages and gemmed with 
 the wooded island of St. Peter, where Rousseau passed the 
 summer of 1765. 
 
 At Neuveville we enter Canton Berne, leaving the French for 
 the German language, and changing cars at Bienne, cross the 
 broad, green river Aare, and after twenty miles of charming 
 scenery are set down at the Bernerhof in rooms looking down 
 the valley of the Aare and across to the magnificent range of 
 the Bernese Alps. We should have enjoyed a perfect view of 
 these on our way from Neuchatel, but the September haze 
 interfered, and here it is the same, only, as the sun was setting, 
 the Jungfrau; Eiger and all the range shone out quite clearly, 
 suffused with a roseate glow. The weather here is much like 
 the Vermont weather on the Twenty-mile stream at this time 
 of year, and the signs of autumn in the atmosphere and vege- 
 tation much the same. 
 
 Berne is the capital of the canton of Berne as well as of 
 Switzerland, for here the National Council meets and the 
 President of the Republic resides, both Council and President 
 having for their use a handsome building in the Florentine 
 style, 400 by 165 feet. The city dates from the latter part of 
 the twelfth century, and has undergone the many vicissi- 
 tudes common to the annals of all old European towns, 
 struggling for its rights with oppressors on every hand. It is 
 picturesquely situated on a promontory of sandstone rock, 
 about which the clear, green waters of the Aare wind 100 feet 
 below, a small part of the old town lying down by the river, but 
 the chief portion on the level heights above. It has a popula- 
 tion of some 45,000, and while the modern portion is well 
 built, there are more mediaeval features left than is common 
 in the Swiss towns, an especial feature being the arcades, 
 
190 The Ogre Fountain. — The Cathedral at Berne. 
 
 formed by extending strong, slanting buttresses down from 
 the second story of the compact houses on each side of a street, 
 opening side arches between them, leaving, say, ten feet in 
 width open into the street side of the first story and arching it 
 overhead, so as to form continuous covered ways the entire 
 length of the street. The shops open into these, so that the 
 passer-by is protected from all kinds of weather. Arcades or 
 sheltered passages for shops are not unusual in the continental 
 cities, but not of this sort. Another feature here is the foun- 
 tains, one of which, called the Ogre Fountain, has on top of a 
 queerly decorated column the life-size figure of an ogre in act 
 of devouring a child, and with pockets and girdle stuck full 
 of others. Frattini says mothers here scare their children by 
 threatening them with the ogre. The Bernese children are 
 brought up among ample terrors, for the heraldic emblem of 
 Berne being the bear, Bruin not only appears everywhere in 
 effigies, realistic and grotesque, but an open den of these 
 beasts is maintained and has been from time immemorial, at the 
 expense of the city. The den is a deep-sunk, circular pit, some 
 80 feet in diameter^ divided into equal parts by a high wall, the 
 circular barrier being about 15 feet high from the bottom, and 
 made of dressed stone rising waist-high above the terrace, 
 from which visitors look down and are allowed to throw to the 
 sluggish guardians of the town bread and vegetables. They 
 have a handsome house of stone for shelter, and are well cared 
 for. We saw six of a small brown species lazily disporting 
 themselves. and begging contributions from above as know- 
 ingly as if they wore frock and cowl and had relics to show. 
 
 The west portal of the Cathedral has elaborate sculptures, 
 representing the " Last Judgment," of several hundred small, 
 well-wrought figures showing throngs of the blessed and 
 the lost going separate ways, the first placidly exultant, the 
 second hiding their faces in confusion. The pigeons have a 
 favorite roost atop of the inextricable heads, and whiten the 
 crowns of saint and sinner impartially. Another portal shows 
 life-size figures of the wise and foolish virgins, the latter much 
 dejected, and the foolishest one of all striving to wipe away a 
 stony tear with a great hand of stone in the most grotesque way. 
 Inside are some old stalls of carven oak with portraits of apos- 
 tles and saints of exceeding beauty, and stained glass of the 
 fifteenth century. In one of the chapels is a Pietas in Carrara 
 
A Curious Old Clock. 191 
 
 marble by Tscharner, sweetly expressive, designed in 1870. 
 The same artist executed a statue of Berthold von Ziihringen, 
 the founder of Berne, with a bear for his standard-bearer, and 
 bronzes in the pediment showing scenes in the building of the 
 city, all full of spirit, as is the equestrian statue of Rudolph 
 von Erlach, who won the battle of Laupen in 1339. At the 
 four corners of the pediment are four bears of life size and 
 appearance, all designed by Volmar, of this city. The 
 unfinished Cathedral tower contains nine bells, the largest of 
 which, according to a local guide-book, weighs twelve tons, 
 and is the seventh largest bell in the world, and the largest 
 which is rung by swinging. 
 
 The old city walls no longer exist, but on the east front of 
 the tower over one of the ancient gates is a curious old clock 
 having at one side of the great quaint dial a painted figure of a 
 mediaeval king seated in his chair of state, with a huge hour- 
 glass resting on his knee. A little higher up, at his left hand, 
 stands the court-jester, holding a bell-rope in his hand, with a 
 mocking figure at his side peering across at a bear rampant, 
 and below his majesty a circular procession of mounted men- 
 at-arms and grotesque bears marching on their hind legs, 
 bitted and armed. At two minutes before the hour an asth- 
 matic cock on the right of the royal chair crows wearily, the 
 jester sharply pulls his bell-rope and rings a clear-sounding 
 bell hid somewhere out of sight in the tower, and on the hour 
 the cock again crows ; his majesty turns his hour-glass and 
 extends his sceptre, the mocking figure salutes by taking off 
 its hat, the rampant bear returns the compliment, the armed 
 procession below wheels slowly into view, the great tower-bell 
 strikes the hour, a minute later the weary cock crows again, 
 and thus is each hour of the day duly honored and has been 
 for I don't know how many changeful years. 
 
 There stands on one of the squares a large stone building 
 (why should I write stone, when almost every structure every- 
 where here, as elsewhere in Europe, except the mountain cha- 
 lets, is of stone ?) where until a late period enough grain was kept 
 stored to supply the city for four months. Improved means of 
 communication render such precaution against famine needless 
 now. Under this storehouse is a huge old vaulted wine-cellar, 
 with venerable tuns ranged along the sides, holding, as the 
 measures painted on the heads declare, some ten thousand 
 
192 Fribourg. — Its Grand Organ. 
 
 gallons, some sixty-two thousand bottles. Plain tables with 
 benches run along the centre, and wine, both white and red, 
 is served to customers in pint decanters, " to be consumed on 
 the premises." I tasted the white wine and found it, like all 
 the Swiss wines, too acid for my palate. I might say that so 
 far I have not found the quality of any wine I have ordered 
 better than one gets in New York, nor at the hotels any 
 cheaper. 
 
 Took train and ran out to P'ribourg, twenty miles, to hear 
 the organ in the Gothic Church of St. Nicholas, and found 
 one of the most picturesque towns we have seen. I wonder 
 more stress is not laid on it by those we meet. I certainly 
 would urge any one visiting this part of Switzerland not 
 to pass it by. It is situated, much like Berne, on a still 
 more abrupt, rocky height, w4th the clear green Sarine flow- 
 ing windingly by. Such quaint rows of houses on the steep 
 hill-side, with the gray walls of an old nunnery washed by the 
 clear stream ! In a square near the handsome Rathhaus 
 stands an exceedingly old lime-tree, fourteen feet in girth, 
 banded with iron, its two flourishing limbs resting on a heavy 
 frame. The story is that in 1476 a boy came running into 
 town from the battle of Morat, breathless and bloody, and 
 crying " Victory !" fell dead. The lime-twig he bore in his 
 hand was stuck in the ground and became this tree. 
 
 I had supposed, in a vague sort of way, that somehow the 
 Roeblings were the first to build cable bridges, but it seems 
 that they only built them on a larger scale than had been 
 known. Here at Fribourg is a p07it siispendu built by Chaley 
 in 1834, 810 feet long and 168 feet above the Sarine, precisely 
 like a miniature of the great one below Niagara Falls. A 
 little farther up is another, built in 1840, over the Vallee de 
 Gotteron, 747 feet long and 305 feet above the water ! 
 
 The organ in the Church of St. Nicholas at Fribourg, rank- 
 ing as almost the finest in Europe, was built by Mooser, and 
 has 67 stops and 7800 pipes, some of them 32 feet long. The 
 significance of these facts I do not, in my ignorance of music, 
 realize, but I may venture to say that I was moved and de- 
 lighted by its great power and sweetness in the hands of the 
 master who performed the following programme, which I set 
 down as a token of our visit to Fribourg, a journey of forty 
 
An Organ Recital in the Church of St. Nicholas. 193 
 
 miles, to be present for an hour, at 1.30 p.m., at the great 
 organ recital : 
 
 1. Freludium, . . .^ . . A.W.Bach, 
 
 2. Andante, Hummel. 
 
 3. Fuga, T. S. Bach. 
 
 4. Priire de Moise, .... Rossini. 
 
 5. Invocation, Guilmant. 
 
 6. Scene Pastoral, T. Vogt. 
 
 In the last number a storm is described, and one rarely 
 hears louder or grander peals of thunder than rolled from this 
 mighty organ. 
 
 Over the west portal of the church is another "Last Judg- 
 ment," represented by a great number of small figures carved 
 with much skilful care. The damned are being driven by 
 grinning devils to the scene of torture, where a great caldron, 
 already full of seething bodies, is steaming over a hot fire 
 which a little imp is fanning with a pair of bellows. Above 
 the rim of the caldron rise faces distorted with pain, a huge 
 monster with goggle eyes is in act of swallowing one victim 
 out of a throng bound and lying in a pile before him, and, 
 huger in bulk, sits Satan, high up, diabolically exultant. This 
 horrible scene was cut in enduring stone by pious hands no 
 doubt, from designs by pious architects, approved by holy 
 fathers of the Church and set up in this consecrated spot for 
 the instruction and admonition of the faithful and the pro^ 
 fane. 
 
 I have neglected to say that the chimneys of the old houses. 
 in Berne are a curious feature. They have little sloping roofs 
 with projecting eaves, and rows of tiny openings just below 
 for the smoke to escape, and odd little arches and circles 
 and windows with tiny pent-house roofs over them set on 
 brackets. The effect of a house depends much on its chim- 
 neys. Geneva is half spoiled by the vermicular snarl of gal- 
 vanized iron pipes sticking out of its chimneys. 
 
 I inquired out the best tailor here and ordered a full suit of 
 clothes, for which the steady little German measured me to 
 an extent beyond anything I had known and sent them home 
 in two days. The cloth I selected out of an ample stock is of 
 Scotch make, such as I have often worn at home, is made up 
 13 
 
194 Interlaken. — Amateur Tourists, 
 
 with good trimmings and work, and cost one hundred francs, 
 or twenty dollars. 
 
 We get good pears and plums, but not good apples nor 
 often good peaches. 
 
 September i6. — Came to Interlaken ; by rail to Thun, then up 
 the lake of same name nine miles by boat, total distance about 
 thirty miles, and have rooms in the Victoria, one of the very 
 largest and best-appointed hotels in Switzerland, and always 
 full during the season. Interlaken is a long, straggling vil- 
 lage, made up of hotels, pensions and shops, situated in the 
 midst of a fertile and cultivated plain formed by the deposits 
 'Of two rivers, one the Liitschine, flowing into what is now the 
 ^Lake of Brienz, and the Lombach, discharging its waters into 
 X,ake Thun. These rivers during an enormous period of time 
 "deposited the matter they brought down from the glaciers at 
 'ctwo opposite points on the north and south sides of what is 
 Relieved to have been one body of water, and at last cut it 
 into two nearly equal parts, forming a plain, of something like 
 a mile square, through which the Aare flows, connecting the 
 two lakes, both of which it feeds and empties. Interlaken 
 (between the lakes) has only the natural beauty of its situa- 
 tion to attract travellers, but that is very great, as it stands 
 among lofty mountains and agreeable scenery near at hand. 
 The plain is highly cultivated, with orchards and groves and 
 avenues of great walnut and chestnut trees, meadows and tilled 
 fields. 
 
 This is a favorite point for tourists intending pedestrian 
 excursions. We meet various degrees of these everywhere, 
 with more or less formidable alpenstocks, iron-pointed, and 
 sometimes headed with a hatchet or pick. The greater num- 
 ber are amateurs, who do not take the mountains very serious- 
 ly, while the greater part who do, present a worn appearance, 
 something like the contestants in a " go-as-you-please" walking 
 match on the third day. A great many in mountain costume 
 look as if dressed to figure in the chorus of Scott's " Anne of 
 Geierstein" done into opera. I noticed at Weggis, on Lake 
 Lucerne, standing on the wharf as the boat touched there, a 
 pretty French girl with a long alpenstock, from which fluttered 
 the ends of a blue ribbon. She wore dainty Parisian shoes with 
 high heels, well forward, and fresh kid gloves. But to render it 
 apparent to all beholders that she considered herself doing 
 
The Ranz des Vac he s. 195 
 
 duty among the Alps, she had donned a stout skirt, looped 
 up so as not to interfere with the free movements of her neat 
 ankles on the mountain-paths, and had turned back the col- 
 lar from her shapely neck so as to allow the sun to impart 
 to It a healthy brown hue, which it is permitted one to hope 
 will attest her stories of wearisome and perilous clamberings 
 when she shall have got safely home again. But there is a 
 certain number of young pedestrians of quite another sort 
 who, with stout staff and slender scrip, make light of the 
 difficulties of these formidable mountain-peaks and passes 
 and come in fresh and tranquil after an all-day's march. 
 Such were a young Englishman and his two sisters who came 
 into Andermatt in the evening of the stormy night we passed 
 there, having walked from the Rhone Glacier, and directly 
 appeared at the table d'hote in evening costumes, showing no 
 traces whatever of their thirty-mile tramp over muddy moun- 
 tain-paths. Weighted with threescore years and two hundred 
 pounds avoirdupois, so that I get my views from the top of a 
 mountain carriage or some height reached by " funicular" or 
 other sort of railroad, I try to keep myself from envying these 
 active young climbers by thinking how much more at liberty 
 I am in making my observations than they, who clamber up the 
 face of these great heights through forests which shut out all 
 views and up crags which claim their full strength and atten- 
 tion, to be rewarded after the toilful strain is over in a wider 
 or grander view than the ordinary tourist is capable of attain- 
 ing. 
 
 We drove up the narrow valley of the Liitschine to Lauter- 
 brunnen, eight miles, between prodigious mountain-walls 
 which yet nurse soft and tranquil meadows under their frown- 
 ing crags, dotted thick with brown chalets and musical with 
 the cheerful bells of sleek cattle grazing in bits of greenest 
 pasture. At last we are favored with the Ranz des Vaches, not 
 as one would prefer to have it, from the pipe of the free-born, 
 untamed descendant of Tell, high up among the clouds, but 
 from the long horn of a degenerate son, who by the wayside 
 sounded its few notes clear and bright as those of a key- 
 bugle, for a small eleemosynary coin. But this was a good deal 
 better than nothing, and the well-accented call, to which from 
 dell and high mountain-side " 'twixt the gloaming and the 
 mirk the kye come hame," died out in soft, far echoes most 
 
196 The Jungfrau. — Giessbach Falls. — A Wofiderful Canon. 
 
 pleasingly. These Swiss cattle are fine, gentle creatures, 
 smallish mostly, snugly built and strikingly like the Alder- 
 neys, great numbers having all the external marks, fawn 
 color, black switch, small horns, and, I was told, black mouths. 
 I tried several times to find out something definite about them, 
 but could only get for answer that they are " Uri '' cattle. 
 
 At a turn of the valley at Lauterbrunnen we came face to 
 face with the Jungfrau rising in dazzling glory, with the 
 Eiger and Monch beside her, and on our right close at hand 
 the Staubbach falls from an abrupt wall of rock nearly looo 
 feet — at first a little cascade shining high up, as if poured 
 from the clouds, then dissolved into mist by its long descent, 
 and at last collecting itself again in a little stream at the bot- 
 tom. 
 
 In the afternoon we took steamboat up Lake Brienz to visit 
 the Giessbach Falls, made by a considerable stream which 
 falls abruptly a distance of iioo feet from one of the great 
 mountains closely shutting in the lake. 
 
 September i8. — Left Interlaken for Lucerne, going by steam- 
 boat up to the head of Lake Brienz, eight miles, to the brown, 
 sleepy village of the same name, where we took the railway 
 crossing the Brunig Pass. At Meiringen we lunched, had 
 three hours to wait, and visited the gorge formed by the Aare, 
 having cut its way during unknown ages sharply down 
 through a rocky mountain-range. The canon so formed is 
 even more wonderful than the Black Canon of the Gunnison. 
 For more than half a mile the perpendicular walls on each 
 side rise looo feet, and so near together that in places one, by 
 extending his arms, can touch both sides. At the bottom of 
 this awful chasm rushes the Aare, gray and icy from the near 
 glaciers whence it springs, and the hard rock of the walls is 
 worn into enormous pot-holes, whose remains present many 
 fantastic resemblances to the architectural work of man's 
 hand. It is made possible to see the whole extent of this sur- 
 prising wonder by an admirable foot-path made, at very con- 
 siderable cost and great labor, by setting iron braces into the 
 stone wall on one side and laying planks of wood on them 
 with a secure railing. This careful path runs the entire 
 length of the canon, some twenty feet above the stream. 
 
 Our train, with an engine constructed for the purpose, climb- 
 ed up the Brunig through pastures, orchards and fine woods 
 
The Hotels of Stvitzerland.—Mt. Pilatus. 197 
 
 of walnut, chestnut and beech, with broad views, widening as 
 we ascend, of the rich valley of the Aare far below, the sage- 
 green expanse of Lake Brienz and the noble mountains 
 around it far beyond Interlaken. At the height of Brunig 
 Pass we are 3400 feet above the sea, and descend to Lucerne 
 through wild and pleasing scenery, reaching that charming 
 town at 6 p.m. to find the Schweizerhof, where we had rooms 
 before, so full as not to be able to take us in, although Frat- 
 tini had telegraphed from Interlaken the night before. The 
 landlord had been good enough to secure us rooms at the 
 Swan, where we were made comfortable for the night. 
 
 There are more than one thousand hotels in Switzerland, 
 and never has any such pressure been made on them as during 
 this season, when the best ones turn away great numbers 
 every day. They are admirable hotels in every respect, and 
 managed with such efficiency that they do not seem crowded, 
 and everything goes on without friction or worry. The 
 charges are not high for the quality of the accommodation, 
 and the bills, of precise and, to an American, vexatiously long 
 list of items, when footed up will be found less than those of our 
 best hotels. The European innkeeper can afford the same ac- 
 commodations as his transatlantic brother at less prices be- 
 cause he avoids by his methods the wasteful extravagance of 
 the American hotel-table, where a guest is permitted to order 
 unlimited dishes, and pays the same as if he restricted himself 
 to one. On this side of the water the guest pays for just what 
 he has, no more and no less, and is not allowed to waste more 
 at table than he consumes there. The feeing of servants, 
 when one comes to understand just what the custom is, does 
 not go beyond what the waiters of various kinds expect at our 
 city and watering-place hotels. The service everywhere here 
 is excellent. 
 
 September 19. — Took train at 6 a.m. on the Brunig road back 
 as far as Alpnach-Gestad, where, having joined a party of 
 Brooklyn friends, we made the ascent of Mount Pilatus by a 
 railway which began running last June. It is a marvel of 
 engineering, boldly conceived and admirably executed, and not 
 to be ventured on without a tremor, as it climbs squarely 
 up the mountain's face on an average gradient of 40 feet in 
 100, bridges awful chasms, winds along dizzy depths, scales 
 precipices, and after two hours sets the thankful passenger 
 
198 Metz. 
 
 down a few feet from the summit of the highest peak, 6965 
 feet above the sea. It is not common to get a good view from 
 Pilatus, his top being much oftener hidden in clouds than the 
 Rigi, 1000 feet lower. But we enjoyed a day absolutely perfect, 
 a " day of a thousand," as the manager of the resting-place on 
 the summit informed us. During the forenoon all the vast ex- 
 panse of land and water below was buried from our sight 
 under the shining billows of a sea of clouds, out of which 
 rose, all about the horizon, hundreds of mountain-peaks, many 
 green and smiling, like " sunny-sided Teneriffe," while the 
 entire range of the Appenzell, Glarner and Bernese Alps, includ- 
 ing Sentis, Ruchen-Glarnisch, Finsteraarhorn, Wetterhorn, 
 Monch, Eiger, Jungfrau, Blumlisalp, Stockhorn, and a hundred 
 lesser peaks, reared their sublime heads, refulgent with everlast- 
 ing snow, into a sky without stain. Below, the translucent 
 clouds, soft as carded wool, shifted and parted, often disclosing 
 glimpses of the green earth, blue lakes and dwarfed villages ; 
 above, in wide semicircle, the most illustrious of earth's moun- 
 tains, cold, steadfast, unchangeable, the image of eternity ! 
 Later in the day the clouds at our feet slowly melted away, 
 like the unsubstantial fabric of a vision, and the whole vast 
 panorama revealed itself smilingly, valleys, plains, lakes and 
 forests and mighty hills, verdure-clad, with the towers, spires 
 and houses of Lucerne clustered at the foot of its cruciform 
 lake. Not again may I expect to look on such a scene of 
 mingled sublimity and loveliness. 
 
 We took the evening train to Basel and slept there, leaving 
 by early morning train for Metz, the capital of Lorraine, where 
 we arrived at 2 p.m., passing through Strassburg and again 
 gaining a look at its lofty, graceful Cathedral spire. This old 
 Roman town of Metz, plundered by Vandals and Huns in the 
 fifth century, the capital of the kingdom of Austrasia in the 
 sixth century, then a free city of the German Empire, was 
 captured by the French in 1552, and incorporated with Ger- 
 many in 1871. The French made it one of the most strongly 
 fortified places in Europe, the Germans have strengthened it 
 still more, and now it is a vast fortress, girdled with outworks, 
 nearly fifteen miles in circumference, and swarming every- 
 where with soldiers, sixteen thousand of whom are stationed 
 in the town itself, the citizen population of which numbers 
 something over 50,000 — less than before it was annexed to Ger- 
 
The Cathedral. — Public Cemetejy. — Treves. 199 
 
 many, and it is said more than a fourth of these are German 
 settlers. 
 
 We met soldiers everywhere, lounging on the streets and 
 squares, marching in squads, drilling in battalions in the open 
 spaces of the suburbs, in a bewildering confusion of uniforms, 
 blue, green, black, red, with intermediate shades, there being 
 as many uniforms as states comprising the Empire. Officers 
 of various rank strut up and down, fine, proud, bold-looking 
 men, with strong faces, broad shoulders, erect, soldiers from 
 top to toe. 
 
 We visited the fine Gothic Cathedral, dating from the 
 thirteenth century, with its unusually lofty nave and old stained 
 glass, and drove to the public cemetery, where the French 
 have erected a great monument to seven thousand of their 
 countrymen buried here in a vast grave after the great battles 
 of August and September, 1870, which resulted in the surrender 
 of Metz by General Bazaine, with nearly two hundred thousand 
 men and a prodigious amount of munitions of war. The mon- 
 ument is covered with wreaths and touching mementos of 
 many kinds sent from all parts of France, and hung here in 
 memory of a husband, son, or brother, sacrificed to the weak 
 ambition of Napoleon III., whose star sunk in blood behind 
 the hills of Gravelotte, now saddened by the touch of the 
 frost of two nights ago, while the blue Moselle, then choked 
 with the slain, flows peacefully between its vine-clad banks. 
 
 We came on to Treves by evening train, and have good lodg- 
 ings at the Hotel de Treves. 
 
 September 20. — I came here mainly to see the famous Roman 
 ruins, and am not disappointed in them. Treves (German, 
 Trier), on the right bank of the Moselle, with 26,000 inhab- 
 itants, is called the oldest town in Germany, was founded by 
 the Romans soon after Caesar had conquered the Belgic tribe 
 of the Treveri, 56 B.C., during the fourth century was a fre- 
 quent residence of the Roman emperors, and the Roman re- 
 mains here are said to be the finest on this side of the Alps. 
 Constantine introduced Christianity, and from the year 328 
 onward for fifteen centuries it was the residence of the bishops, 
 archbishops and electors. All this is stated in my trusty Bae- 
 deker. The site is a noble one, on a broad plain watered by 
 the Moselle and girdled by soft ranges of wooded hills. The 
 vine flourishes on its banks, and the Moselle wines, ranging from 
 
200 Remains of the Porta JVtgra, Roman Palace and Public Paths. 
 
 one to ten marks per bottle, are among the best of the light- 
 bodied white wines. There is now in session here what is some- 
 what ambitiously called the Wine Congress, consisting of rep- 
 resentative wine-growers from all the vine districts of Germany, 
 their object being to discuss methods of growing and marketing 
 wines, testing the qualities of different wines for a series of years, 
 and so forth. I have tried to pick up some information from 
 these intelligent gentlemen, several of whom speak English 
 well and courteously answer questions. I will keep what I 
 think I have learned — which is not much, but seems something 
 to me, as I knew so little before — until I have seen and located 
 the choice regions they speak of on the Rhine. 
 
 I was astonished to see such a perfect relic of the palmy 
 days of Rome as the Porta Nigra, a fortified gate of the 
 old Roman wall which once surrounded the city, with its 
 towers mostly in perfect condition. This imposing structure 
 of red sandstone is 115 feet long, 75 to 90 feet high, and 
 29 feet in depth. The huge blocks of sandstone are fas- 
 tened with braces of iron and copper instead of mortar. It 
 rises in three lofty stories, with handsome pillars between the 
 windows ; the arched passage was defended by a portcullis, 
 and an enemy passing the outer barrier found himself in an 
 inner space where he could be assaulted on all sides and from 
 above — a most satisfactory ruin. Another fine ruin is the 
 Roman Palace, of great extent, one massive corner of which is 
 65 feet high. It must have been a regal abode in its time, 
 with its enormous halls, courts, and spacious servants' quar- 
 ters, all heated by warm air, the channels for which are visi- 
 ble in many places. It was built of broad, thin bricks, laid 
 in mortar, the name of the manufacturer still legible on the 
 edges of some. There are also the extensive remains of the 
 public baths lately exhumed near the Moselle, which supplied 
 the water through covered brick aqueducts ; and besides the 
 spacious swimming-pools there were tepid and hot baths ; hot 
 air to produce them being applied under the tiled floors. The 
 arena of an amphitheatre, 228 feet in diameter from north to 
 south and 159 feet from east to west, is distinctly shown, with 
 its entrances for spectators, dens for the wild beasts and doors 
 for the gladiators. It accommodated thirty thousand specta- 
 tors ; and here in 306, Constantine, who had then " experienced 
 religion," caused several thousand captive Franks to be torn 
 
A Library of Rare and Valuable Books. 201 
 
 by wild beasts ; and seven years afterward thousands of the 
 Bructeri were slain here for the amusement of the populace. 
 
 Four hundred years ago the monks of a monastery here 
 began a library, which has been growing in the old vaulted 
 rooms ever since, and is now owned by the city. Here are 
 some of the rarest and most valuable books in the world locked 
 away in vaults and constantly watched by a custodian who 
 exhibits them with a great deal of proper pride — for a consid- 
 eration. Among them is the Bible of Faust and Gutenberg of 
 1450 and the Catholicon or Dictionary of 1460, and the entire 
 Bible written on parchment in the eighth century in a beauti- 
 ful hand, but so fine that it cannot be read without a glass of 
 very considerable magnifying power. There is a specimen 
 dating from 950 of the art of illumination as then practised, 
 which the librarian insists is the finest known — the " Codex 
 Egberti." But the crown of all, which is never allowed out of 
 its glass case, is the " Codex Aureus," containing the four 
 gospels, presented by Ada, the sister of Charlemagne, to the 
 Abbey of St. Maximin. It was written in the latter part of 
 the eighth century by a monk of the monastery of Rigeneau, 
 on the Bodensee — Lake Constance — and was bound in the 
 fourteenth century in gold inlaid with precious stones, among 
 them a cameo as large as the palm of my hand, engraved with 
 a representation of the family of Constantine, done in his life- 
 time. The librarian stated that the city had been offered 
 twenty-five thousand pounds for this volume. He stated that 
 the first Napoleon, stopping here on one of his campaigns, 
 came into the library and selected some four hundred volumes 
 and sent them to Paris, where they are now in the National 
 Library, and that, in concluding the peace with France in 187 1, 
 Germany would have required their restitution, but it was 
 overlooked, and that no money which has since been offered — 
 and he mentioned a very large amount — has been able to 
 secure their return. On the shelves in the various recesses of 
 this library are rows on rows of huge folios running back 
 almost to the beginning of printing ; some of enormous thick- 
 ness, bound in carved boards dark with age, boar's-hide and 
 heavy embossed Spanish leather with enormous brass and iron 
 clasps ; and many with chains attached to fasten them to the 
 wall, so they might not be carried away. There is a pair of 
 handsome globes made one hundred and fifty years ago, finely 
 
202 Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Helen.— The Holy Coat. 
 
 mounted and not less than four feet in diameter. On the ter- 
 restrial one California is represented as a long, narrow island. 
 
 The Leibfrauenkirche is an interesting early Gothic church, 
 dating from the early part of the thirteenth century, with a 
 portal ornamented with sculptures of equal date, exhibiting 
 scenes from the Old and New Testaments. It is connected 
 with the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Helen by the most 
 perfect cloisters I have yet seen, broad and arched, surround- 
 ing a cheerful, sunny court. The Cathedral itself is in- 
 teresting because a part of it was a quadrangular basilica, 
 built b}^ the Emperor Valentinian I. about 370, and soon after 
 changed into a Christian church and modified from time to 
 time, so that several styles of architecture are shown in the 
 different parts. 
 
 But the distinguishing honor of the Cathedral, and indeed 
 of the city of Treves, is the possession of the " Holy Coat," the 
 seamless tunic or outer garment of our Saviour, said to have 
 been brought from Palestine in the fourth century by that 
 indefatigable and eminently successful relic-hunter, the Em- 
 press Helena, mother of Constantine, and by her deposited 
 here and exhibited solemnly to the public at long intervals of 
 time, the latest exposition having occurred in 1844, when a 
 prodigious multitude of pilgrims from all parts of Europe 
 gathered here to bless their eyes and hearts with the vision of 
 it, to possess themselves of articles charged with miraculous 
 virtue from having touched it, and to participate in the bene- 
 fits of the miracles it works. As this tunica sacrosancta is now 
 laid away in its costly shrine we may not see it, but as there 
 are, I believe, twenty others in existence in various parts of 
 Europe for which the same claims are made, we may chance 
 to come across one yet. This one is described as smock-like 
 in shape, with a hole for the neck and short half-sleeves. The 
 color is a peculiar shade of brown, and the appearance like 
 that of old Chinese silk without gloss. The history of this 
 relic can really be traced no further back than the latter part 
 of the twelfth century, when it was " rediscovered" — a most 
 helpful and convenient word. It is still an object of profound 
 reverence to the Catholic world, and doubtless the streets of 
 this quaint old city will swarm again with visitors at the next 
 promised exposition two years hence. 
 
 September 23. — The weather this morning was cold and foggy 
 
Porcelain Stoves. — A Bed-Poultice. 203 
 
 and threatened a decidedly bad day, but our good fortune in 
 this regard continued, for on our way by rail to Coblentz the 
 fog soon lifted and the sun came out, not warm, but cheerful. 
 We have had quite cool weather for a week, and in Treves had 
 a fire steadily in our sitting-room in one of those tall, cylin- 
 drical porcelain stoves which are found in the rooms we 
 occupy everywhere in Germany and Switzerland as well. They 
 are of many sizes and patterns ; some a long cylinder running 
 up to the ceiling of the room, with a fluted capital, some half 
 as high, others square. Sometimes they are ornamented with 
 brass bands running round them. In the shops where antiqui- 
 ties are sold I have seen old ones with the tiles painted in 
 figures and landscapes, and in a room in the house of Goethe's 
 father in Frankfort is a charmingly quaint one with excellent 
 pictures on it. Ours at Treves worked nicely and gave out a 
 soft and agreeable warmth somewhat as does the freestone 
 stove one meets with now and then in old-fashioned houses 
 in New England. But the most astonishing contrivance for 
 protection from cold, and one as universally in use as the 
 porcelain stove, is the thick sack of down, a little over three 
 feet square, used as a coverlet on the beds. It is impossible 
 to understand how so sensible a people as the Germans got 
 into the way of tolerating such a covering at night ; for it is 
 neither one thing nor the other, and lies on the sleeper in the 
 centre or at either end of him like a ridiculous, huge, puffy 
 poultice. Nothing is more comical than a human creature 
 lying asleep with one of these down bags on his stomach, rising 
 and falling with his breathing. 
 
 Our way to Coblentz lay along the clear, easy-flowing Mo- 
 selle, whose banks, terraced high up at great expense, grow 
 very choice grapes. There is nothing poetical about a vine- 
 yard in these districts. There may be where the vines are 
 trellised and overrun arbors, with the dark eyes of laughing 
 maidens peeping out from among the leaves ; but a vine four 
 feet high tied to a pole a foot higher than itself is not a 
 specially pretty thing, either singly or by millions, and alto- 
 gether less satisfactory to the aesthetic sense than a field of 
 hops or Indian corn. 
 
 Coblentz lies pleasantly at the union of the Moselle with 
 the Rhine. We lunched here, and drove across the bridge of 
 boats and up to the platform of the old castle of Ehrenbreit- 
 
204 Cologne. 
 
 stein, perched on a precipitous rock nearly 400 feet above the 
 Rhine. This castle is a disappointment to me. presenting now 
 only the long line of a modern fortification built on the scarcely 
 visible ruins of the grim old fortress which once frowned on 
 the smiling valley below. 
 
 At 2 P.M. took the express steamboat down the Rhine, 
 but as it is our intention to ascend the river soon, I will defer 
 writing my impressions until then. We reached Cologne at 
 6 P.M. and found excellent accommodations in the fine Hotel 
 du Nord. This city has filled an important place in history 
 from a very early time, and was founded by the tribes of the 
 Ubii 38 B.C., when driven by the Romans from the right to 
 the left bank of the Rhine, about one hundred and fifty miles 
 above Rotterdam. In a.d. 51 Agrippina, the mother of Nero, 
 established a colony of Roman veterans here and named the 
 settlement Colonia Agrippina. She was born here, and 
 Vitellius and Trajan were proclaimed emperors here. In 310 
 Constantine built a bridge over the Rhine here, afterward de- 
 stroyed by the Normans ; and his mother, St. Helena, founded 
 the Church of St. Gereon. In 355 it was devastated by the 
 Franks. Their kings, Dagobert and Pepin, resided here, and 
 the wife of the latter founded the Church of St. Maria im 
 Capitol. Charlemagne had a palace here. Then follows a 
 long and dreary record of internal strife and outside wars, 
 but the city prospered in spite of them, and at the end of the 
 fifteenth century was one of the richest and most prosperous 
 towns in Germany, with a commerce extending to all parts of 
 the known world. Its Easter fairs were famous, it had great 
 warehouses in London, the arts flourished, and in science and 
 letters it could boast of Duns Scotus, Albertus Magnus and 
 Thomas Aquinas, and many a famous painter and architect. 
 Its prosperity waned through the change in the channels of 
 trade consequent on the discovery of America, by the revolu- 
 tion caused by the Reformation, by the Thirty Years' War, 
 and lastly by its occupation by the French in 1794, when it 
 lost its independence and was plundered to such an extent 
 that of its one hundred and thirty-seven churches and chapels 
 only thirty were spared, and its population in 1807 had 
 dwindled to 42,000. But after the overthrow of Napoleon 
 and its annexation to Prussia, it again exhibited its strenuous 
 vitality, and has grown with astonishing rapidity into a hand- 
 
Cologne Cathedral. 205 
 
 some, mostly modern town of nearly 200,000 inhabitants, the 
 third largest city in Prussia and the sixth largest in Germany. 
 Indeed, I have scarcely visited a city of finer buildings in 
 its extensive modern parts. 
 
 The crowning architectural glor}^ of Cologne, and, indeed, 
 of all this mighty German land, so rich in architecture, is its 
 great Cathedral, completed in 18S0 — six hundred and thirty- 
 two years after the laying of the first stone. The history of 
 this magnificent Gothic structure is very interesting, and I 
 make a resume of it from an interesting pamphlet I find here, 
 compiled by F. T. Helmken, of this city. It stands on an 
 artificial mound raised by the ruins of buildings dating from 
 the Roman period, on the spot where stood the Capitol, 
 the Forum and the Temple of Mercury. A church dedicated 
 to St. Peter stood here in the time of Charlemagne. But 
 when the relics of the Magi were brought from Milan to 
 Cologne in 1163, pilgrims flocked to worship them to such an 
 extent from all parts of Europe that it was decided to build 
 them a more worthy shrine, and the foundation-stone of the 
 present Cathedral was laid with great pomp on August 15th, 
 1248. There is a doubt about the name of the architect who 
 prepared the designs, but it seems to have been a certain 
 Gerard, the superintendent of the building of the choir. This 
 part was carried on by his successor, Arnold, and completed by 
 Arnold's son in 1330. In the year 1347 the walls of the south 
 nave and south tower were begun, but hindered by feuds and 
 strife, so that the work only went on by piecemeal until 1560, 
 when it ceased altogether, and the structure remained in a ruin- 
 ously unfinished state until 1833, when, at the instance of King 
 Frederick William III. of Prussia, a subsidy was granted to 
 restore the parts damaged by time, and gradually the enthu- 
 siasm of the German people became kindled toward its restora- 
 tion, rulers of the various German states, societies and public- 
 spirited individuals interested themselves, abundant means 
 were supplied, and in 1842 the foundation-stone for its con- 
 tinuance was solemnly consecrated by Archbishop John of 
 Geissel and laid in place by the king, in the presence of an 
 illustrious assemblage of princes, bishops and noblemen. In 
 the course of his speech on the occasion the King said : 
 
 " This is the work of fraternal affection among all Ger- 
 mans, all confessions. When I reflect on this fact, my eyes 
 
206 The Cathedral a Miracle of Art, 
 
 fill with tears of joy, and I thank God for having permitted 
 me to see this day. Here, where this stone is being laid, 
 hand in hand with yon towers, the finest gates in the world 
 shall arise. Germany is building them, and may they, by the 
 grace of God, be the portals through which Germany shall 
 enter upon new, grand and good times." 
 
 I cannot trace the steps in this interesting story ; how 
 this miracle of grace and grandeur grew, as the forests grow, 
 to its completion, until now it stands the most perfect Gothic 
 structure, it is said, in all the world. The entire sum expended 
 between 1842 and 1880 amounted to upward of nine hundred 
 thousand pounds. It is a curious fact that a part of this vast 
 sum was raised by a lottery. A huge crane which was taken 
 down from the unfinished south tower in 1868 had stood there 
 for four hundred years. The whole was completed according 
 to the original designs, and in glass cases in one of the chapels 
 are preserved two parts of these designs, supposed to be lost, one 
 of which was found in Paris in 1816 ; one portion of another 
 at Darmstadt in 1814, and the remaining portion of this also, in 
 Paris, in 1816. No wonder devout souls looked upon their acci- 
 dental recovery as a signal act of Divine Providence. It is 
 vain for me to attempt a description of this noble edifice. 
 I will content myself with copying the bald figures of its 
 enormous dimensions. Unlike those cathedrals which were 
 begun in the early Norman style and during centuries con- 
 tinued to grow under different architects, who used plans 
 modified by the changing styles, until, when completed, they 
 show parts expressive of each, this one is pure Gothic of the 
 best period. It is built in the form of a cross, mostly of 
 gray sandstone from the Drachenfels. The nave is flanked 
 with double, the transept with single aisles. The total length is 
 444 feet ; breadth, 201 feet ; length of transept, 282 feet ; height 
 of the walls, 150 feet; of the roof, 201 feet; of the towers, 
 512 feet — the loftiest church-towers in Europe. The prin- 
 cipal portal between the towers is 93 feet high and 31 feet wide. 
 The interior is borne by fifty-six enormous pillars, and its area 
 is 7400 square yards. Meagre and cold are the figures which 
 seek to convey some idea of the dimensions of this miracle of 
 art, this wonder of man's conception and execution, but colder 
 still must be the human soul that does not feel moved and 
 exalted by its sublimity and beauty. It is something as if 
 
The Bones of the Magi. 207 
 
 one should find himself in a noble forest where everything 
 incongruous and trivial had been permitted to perish ; so 
 that only the huge trunks of lofty trees in the utm'ost of per- 
 fection of branch and leafage, as they stood in towering, 
 overhanging and interlacing boughs, had been touched by 
 an angel's finger and turned to enduring stone. As the 
 afternoon sun enters through countless windows, its light 
 broken into all rich colors by glass wrought into holy forms 
 of saints and confessors, archangels and the diviner forms 
 of the Son of God and his virgin Mother, this bewildering 
 light gleaming everywhere, intercepted only by perfect forms 
 of pillars and tracery, far as the eye can reach, in a space 
 so vast that he feels himself a mere atom : there is it re- 
 vealed to the mind of man how nearly the truest art is allied 
 to worship, and how veritably this vast and awful cathedral 
 is a temple of the Most High, albeit made with hands. 
 
 In one of the chapels of the choir is the famous painting 
 called the Dombild, a large winged picture by Stephen Lochner, 
 representing the " Adoration of the Magi," said to be the best 
 painting of the early German school, and, as it seems to me, 
 a fine work. Speaking of the Magi, there is something very 
 interesting, if one thinks upon it, of the part the " Bones of 
 the Magi," or three wise men, Gaspar, Melchior, and Bal- 
 thazar, who are reputed to be they who came from the East 
 to worship the Infant Christ at Bethlehem, have played in the 
 history of Cologne. They are said to have been brought to 
 Constantinople by the Empress Helena, and afterward taken 
 to Milan in the year 324, and in 1164 presented by Frederick 
 Barbarossa to Archbishop Reinald von Dassel, who removed 
 them to Cologne. The fame acquired by the city as the pos- 
 sessor of these holy relics is said to have greatly increased its 
 prosperity, and the idea of the present Cathedral was con- 
 ceived by Archbishop Engelbert to give a proper shrine for 
 these illustrious remains ; and in the Treasury of the Cathe- 
 dral, among many rich and interesting articles, they are now 
 enshrined in a costly reliquary of beautiful workmanship made 
 in 1 190 ; a silver shrine, 6 feet long, 3^ feet wide, and 4^ feet 
 high, gilded with pure gold and set with precious stones. In 
 the lower portion of this shrine it is pretended that these 
 bones now rest, and in the upper portion those of Sts. Na- 
 bor, and Gregory of Spoleto, whoever these last may be — a 
 
308 The CathedraVs Relics. —Its Peal of Bells. 
 
 strange belief, or pretence of belief, to have lasted so firmly 
 and actively from an early period in the spread of Christian- 
 ity. The'remains of St. Engelbert, the canonized archbishop, 
 are also enshrined here in a large, costly reliquary, wrought 
 in this city in 1663, of solid silver gilt with gold ; a magnifi- 
 cent example of goldsmith's work, weighing one hundred and 
 sixty-seven pounds. The upper portion of St. Peter's staff is 
 also shown, consisting of an ivory knob resting on twelve 
 inches of old hollow brass, such as might serve for a cane- 
 handle. That I might correctly understand, I asked the sacris- 
 tan if it formed a part of the staff St. Peter the Apostle 
 used to carry. He said, " Certainly ; do you not see how old 
 and black the ivory is ?" By the miraculous power inherent 
 in it, St. Maternas, the first bishop of Cologne, is said to have 
 been raised to life forty days after his death. There is also a 
 rich Gothic reliquary of the fifteenth century containing two 
 links of the chain of St. Peter — that is, of the chain with 
 which he was bound in prison at Rome. There is also in the 
 Treasury great store of crucifixes, croziers, staffs, monstrances, 
 mitres, and so on, of prodigious intrinsic value, in gold and 
 precious stones and ivory wrought with wonderful skill, all 
 being presents from mighty dignitaries in Church and State 
 during many centuries. 
 
 In the third story of the south tower hangs the peal of bells, 
 five in number. The largest of these, the "Emperor's Bell" 
 (Gloriosa), cast in 1875, weighs twenty-seven tons, the largest 
 and heaviest bell in Europe, the bell of Toulouse coming next, 
 then the bell of St. Stephen's Tower in Vienna, then Big Ben 
 of Westminster. The tongue or hammer is eleven feet long 
 and weighs sixteen hundred pounds, and requires the force of 
 twenty-eight men to strike it. This bell was cast from cannon 
 taken from the French in the Franco-Prussian war, and bears, 
 among other inscriptions in German, the following as it is 
 
 translated : 
 
 " I'm called the Emperor's bell, 
 The Emperor's praise I tell. 
 On holy guard I stand, 
 And for the German land 
 Beseech that God may please 
 To grant it peace and ease." 
 
 In the Gurzenich, built in 1440 by the city as a house in 
 
Churches of St. Gereon, St. Maria im Capitol and St. Ursula. 209 
 
 which to entertain distinguished guests, is a noble banqueting 
 hall 174 feet long by 72 feet wide, with a gallery, whose lofty 
 ceiling of carved oak is sustained by twenty-two finely carved 
 wooden pillars. 
 
 The Church of St. Gereon is interesting in several respects. 
 The original structure was circular and of Roman origin, 
 having been built by the Empress Helena, mother of Constan- 
 tine the Great, and later changes have converted this portion 
 into a decagonal nave 153 feet high, with a groined vault. 
 This church is dedicated to St. Gereon, who with three hundred 
 and eighteen Christian soldiers is said to have suffered death 
 here during the persecution of the Christians under Diocletian. 
 Stone sarcophagi arranged around a gallery along the chapels 
 surrounding the nave are said to contain the bones of these 
 martyrs, whose skulls are set in rows under gilded arabesques 
 about the choir. 
 
 The Church of St. Maria im Capitol, consecrated in 1049 by 
 Pope Leo X., has an ambulatory around the semicircular ends 
 of the choir and transepts, giving the east end a trefoil shape. 
 The original structure is said to have been founded by Plec- 
 trudis, wife of Pepin of Heristal and mother of Charles 
 Martel. Her tomb, with a recumbent effigy of well-carved 
 stone, in excellent preservation, and dating from the twelfth 
 century, is in the large and handsome crypt sometimes used 
 as a place of worship. 
 
 There is a Romish legend that an English princess named 
 Ursula, on her return from Rome, whither she had gone on a 
 pilgrimage, was intercepted here by the Huns, and with eleven 
 thousand virgins of her train barbarously murdered. She 
 was canonized, and we visited the old Church of St. Ursula, 
 where thousands of bones, said to be those of these spotless 
 maidens, are arranged in open cases, in all sorts of fantastic 
 patterns, in the neatest and strangest way. Great stone 
 coffins stand ranged about the chapels, said to be full of the 
 same osseous fragments, while row upon row of smooth brown 
 skulls are arranged on shelves, each dressed in a wide 
 embroidered band, the work of generations of pious nuns. 
 The priest who showed them, in answer to my question said 
 they had recovered all the bones of the whole eleven thousand, 
 including those of Ursula herself, which are choicely kept in 
 a costly reliquary in the Treasury, only the skeleton of the 
 14 
 
310 Aix-la-Chapelle and its Cathedral. 
 
 right foot and an arm-bone mounted in silver being shown in 
 separate shrines. Herein, too, is matter for reflection, if one 
 will consider it. I should add that the burial-place of these 
 martyrs was indicated by a dove, whose figure is shown in 
 many places in the church, in painting and sculpture. 
 
 We ran down to Aix-la-Chapelle — German, Aachen — by rail, 
 forty-four miles, over a broad, fertile plain — passing through 
 Stolberg, a very important manufacturing town of ii,ooo 
 population, founded by French Protestant refugees who set 
 up foundries here in the seventeenth century — and went directly 
 to the Cathedral, an interesting structure of two distinct parts, 
 in different styles of architecture ; one, built by Charlemagne 
 lin 800, in the Byzantine style, in octagon form, copied from 
 ■St. Vitale in Ravenna, the remaining portion in the Gothic 
 '.styles of different periods. The interior of the original octagon 
 is supported by eight great columns, the upper story being 
 relieved by a double row of pillars, some of marble brought 
 from Rome, Treves, and Ravenna. Napoleon carried the 
 marble ones to Paris in 1794, but they were restored in 1815. 
 In the dome is a huge mosaic on a gold ground, and below 
 hangs an enormous circular candelabrum of gilded iron, pre- 
 sented by Frederick Barbarossa in 1168. There stands in the 
 choir a reading-desk of great beauty cast in copper in the 
 fifteenth century — an eagle, said to be of Roman work, on a 
 copper stand. The pulpit, richly carved and stuck with 
 precious stones and carved ivory, is a present from Henry II. 
 of Germany in the year 1000. From it St. Bernard preached 
 the second Crusade. In the gallery of the octagon stands a 
 settle or chair made of marble slabs joined with iron clamps, 
 a rude piece of furniture, in which, as the story is, Charle- 
 magne was found seated in his tomb when it was opened by 
 Otho III. in the year 1000, dressed in his imperial robes, bearing 
 the insignia of the empire, his sword by his side, on his knees 
 a copy of the Evangels bound in gold, and on his head a 
 fragment of the Holy Cross. Frederick Barbarossa opened 
 the tomb a second time in 1 164 and put the remains in a beau- 
 tiful, well-preserved Roman sarcophagus of Parian marble 
 with the " Rape of Proserpine" finely cut in relief on the 
 .sides, and placed it in the gallery where it now stands. The 
 chair was used for the coronation of the emperors. 
 
 This city was a favorite residence of Charlemagne, who 
 
The Cathedral Treasury. 211 
 
 raised it to the second city of his empire, and died here 
 in 814. All the German emperors from his time down to 1531 
 were crowned here, and it was specially designated the Free 
 City of the Holy Koman Empire and Seat of Royalty. The 
 insignia of the Empire were kept here until 1793, when they 
 were transferred to the Imperial Treasury at Vienna. Many 
 important treaties of peace have been concluded here, among 
 them that of 1668 between Louis XIV. and Spain. It now has 
 a population of 95,000 and is as modern a city as possible, with 
 almost no remains of mediaeval times except its churches, 
 and is mainly, I should say, a dull and uninteresting town. 
 
 When one considers the wealth of the Cathedral Treasury 
 in relics, one is not surprised to be informed, as I am by a 
 curious little pamphlet sold me by a sacristan who made a 
 great show of doing it stealthily, that during several centu- 
 ries, beginning with the eleventh, pilgrims flocked here in 
 prodigious numbers to witness the exposition of these relics, 
 so that my veracious description states that in one day, in the 
 year 1496, only four years after America became known to the 
 world, one hundred and forty-two thousand were gathered in 
 and about the cit)^ Indeed, there seems to have been a sharp 
 rivalry between Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne as to whose pros- 
 perity should be most enhanced through the possession of rel- 
 ics superior in number and sanctity. The tide of popularity, 
 gifts from rich pilgrims and the "offering-penny" from the 
 poor, flowed to one and the other of these cities and cathedrals, 
 according to the alternate rumors of new miracle-working 
 relics acquired by each ; and as the rivalry went on an enor- 
 mous number were aggregated in the treasuries of their cathe- 
 drals, and their accumulation from time to time, to counteract 
 each other's successful acquisitions, must have greatly taxed 
 the ingenuity of the pious ecclesiastics charged with the duty 
 of enhancing the revenues of their respective churches. The 
 strange and wonderful subject of sacred relics and miracles 
 has here in this state of things a lively and striking illustra- 
 tion. I have given a list of a few exhibited in Cologne. I 
 copy at some length from the authenticated list of those in 
 Aix-la-Chapelle. 
 
 In the Treasury of the Cathedral, in a great shrine of the 
 thirteenth century, adorned with twelve hundred precious 
 stones, are the "superior" or, as popularly known, "great " 
 
312 The Treasury's Relics. 
 
 relics. These were during many centuries shown only once in 
 seven years, except to crowned heads, on their special demand. 
 They are : 
 
 The yellow white garment of the mother of our Lord. 
 
 The swathing-clothes of our Saviour. 
 
 The cloth in which was laid the body of St. John the Bap- 
 tist after his decapitation. 
 
 The cloth which our Saviour wore around his loins in the 
 dreadful hour of his death for our salvation. 
 
 Besides these is a long list of the inferior relics, from which 
 I select only a few : 
 
 The woven linen girdle of the holy Virgin, in a reliquary 
 
 of the fourteenth century. 
 The girdle of Jesus, made of leather, in a precious vessel 
 
 of the fourteenth century. 
 Part of the rope with which our Saviour was tied in his 
 
 passion, in a vessel of the fifteenth century. 
 
 Joined in a reliquary : 
 
 A fragment of the sponge that served to refresh our dying 
 
 Lord upon the cross. 
 A particle of the holy cross. 
 Some hair of the Apostle St. Bartholomew. 
 A bone of Zachary, father to St. John the Baptist. 
 Two teeth of the Apostle St. Thomas. 
 
 In a shrine, richly enamelled and adorned with pearls and 
 precious stones, given by Philip IL, King of Spain : 
 
 A fragment of the reed that served to make a mock of 
 
 our Saviour. 
 A part of the linen cloth which was spread over the holy 
 
 face of our Lord in the grave. 
 Some hair of St. John the Baptist. 
 A rib of the first martyr, St. Stephen. 
 A golden cross of Charlemagne, containing a particle of 
 
 the holy cross. 
 A statue of St. Peter the Apostle, showing in his hand a 
 
 ring from the chain with which this man of God, who 
 
 had suffered so many persecutions and trials, was 
 
 chained in the prison. 
 
Other Relics Elseivhere. 213 
 
 A vessel containing little pieces of the bones of the twelve 
 
 apostles. 
 A silver vessel containing bones of St. John the Baptist 
 
 and of St. Nicolas. 
 
 Also in the Church of St. Adalbert here : 
 
 A shoulder-bone and a leg-bone of St. Mary Magdalen. 
 Two small particles of the sponge with which our Lord 
 
 was refreshed upon the cross. 
 A fragment of the crib in which our Lord was laid at his 
 
 birth. 
 
 Also in the parish Church of St. John the Baptist near the 
 city : 
 
 A cross containing two particles of the holy cross, 
 particles of the clothes of Jesus Christ, of the pillar and 
 the whip serving at the scourging of our Lord, of the 
 garment of the Holy Virgin and bones of St. Paul and 
 St. James the younger, and finally a particle of the rod 
 of Aaron and Moses. 
 
 In a small vial some blood of St. John the Baptist. 
 
 A particle of the bones of the innocent children. 
 
 Also in the Free Abbey of Cornelimuenster : 
 
 The linen cloth with which our Saviour girded himself 
 
 and dried his disciples' feet at the Lord's Supper. 
 A large piece of the cloth that covered the Lord's face 
 
 while in the grave. 
 
 The reason for this vast accumulation of relics as seen by us 
 here is plainly to advance the prosperity of these two cities 
 and aid in building their cathedrals, and is it not fully prob- 
 able that they were invented and named and sanctified by the 
 Church to further these ends? Could their motives have 
 been honest ? Were they sincere ? How far at this time can 
 these questions be answered ? Certainly all the civilized world 
 easily believed in them for centuries, as do devout Catholics 
 now, and came to reverence and to worship. Nor in these 
 very years were our English ancestors at all behind in relic- 
 worship, for the shrine of St. Edward the Confessor in West- 
 minster Abbey contained a no less holy relic than the crystal- 
 line vessel of our Saviour's blood. This precious relic was 
 presented to King Edward, and is thus mentioned by Brayley 
 
214 The Drachenfels. 
 
 in his history of the Abbey : " In 1247, on the day of the trans- 
 lation of Edward the Confessor, a vessel of blood which in the 
 preceding year had been sent to the king by the Knights 
 Templars and Hospitallers in the Holy Land, and was attested 
 by Robert the Patriarch of Jerusalem to have trickled from 
 our Saviour's wounds at the time of his crucifixion, was pre- 
 sented with great ceremony to this church," and conveyed in 
 solemn procession by King Henry III in his own hands on 
 foot from St. Paul's to the Abbey. The Bishop of Norwich 
 that same day preached before the king in commendation of 
 the relic, furnished the proofs of its genuineness, and the bish- 
 ops there present pronounced one year and one hundred and 
 sixteen days' pardon to all who should come and reverence it. 
 Besides this vessel there was in this shrine, the stone marked 
 by the impression of Christ's foot at his Ascension, a thorn 
 of Christ's crown and a large piece of the true cross. 
 
 Returned to Cologne, and September 27th, at 7.30 a.m., took 
 steamboat up the Rhine as far as Bingen, where we left the 
 boat and passed the night at the Victoria Hotel. We had 
 already descended the river by boat from Coblentz, sixty 
 miles. For the first twenty miles between Cologne and Bonn 
 the scenery along the river has only the interest belonging to 
 a fiat, well-cultivated region. At Bonn the banks rise in 
 gently sloping hills, growing more and more abrupt, the river 
 narrows, and soon the bold crag of the Drachenfels with its 
 picturesque ruined castle rises on our left 900 feet above the 
 river, all the circumstances agreeing to make an impressive 
 picture. The Seven Mountains, being seven peaks of volcanic 
 origin, rise grandly from the long range of which the Drachen- 
 fels is the head. The view up and backward on either hand 
 unites beauty and a tender grandeur well portrayed by Byron 
 with his masterly touch : 
 
 "The castled crag of Drachenfels 
 
 Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
 Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
 
 Between the banks which bear the vine, 
 And hills all rich with blossomed trees 
 
 And fields which promise corn and wine, 
 And scatter'd cities crowning these 
 
 Whose far white walls along them shine." 
 
 Only now the tints of autumn are on the trees, and the prom- 
 
The Famous Vineyards of the Rhine. 215 
 
 ise of the vine is realized in the ripened clusters. One might 
 feel disappointed in the Rhine who should not see it above 
 Coblentz, but certainly not above that city, where it is lessened 
 by the very considerable volume of the Moselle, and as far up 
 as Bingen flows in many windings between lofty banks, pre- 
 cipitous in many places, abruptly sloping elsewhere, often 
 intersected by narrow and dark ravines, bearing terrace upon 
 terrace of vines, bright with the white walls of many an ancient 
 village with its quaint towers and spires, lifted into the 
 region of poetry by its ruined castle frowning down upon it, 
 as if still affording a haughty protection ; and mediaeval strong- 
 holds whose names abound in a wide realm of tradition and 
 song and story. Stolzenfels, Marksburg, Sterrenberg, Lieben- 
 stein, Deurenburg, Rheinfels, Schonburg, Gutenfels, Stahleck, 
 Furstenberg, Nollich, Hoheneck, Sooneck, Falkenburg, Rhein- 
 stein, Ehrenfels, Mouse Tower, who is not more or less 
 familiar with these from his boyhood ? Very notable, won- 
 derfully fair, were all these to me, seen in the hazy light 
 of this September afternoon, the breath of Autumn in the air, 
 and her many-hued mantle flung wide over all the stately 
 landscape, as the boat passed slowly up the strong brown 
 current of the classic Rhine. 
 
 At Bingen the river suddenly expands, its southern bank 
 quickly sinks into the level of a broad plain, only at infre- 
 quent intervals presenting a rounded elevation of no especial 
 interest. On the other hand, the bank slopes roundly up to 
 the southern sun, and for the next twelve miles, with the 
 special name of the Reingau, contains the famous vineyards 
 of the Rhine in this order as we ascend the river : Rlides- 
 heim, Geisenheim, Schloss Johannisberg, Marcobrunner, Stein- 
 berg. These vineyards are small in extent. That of Schloss 
 Johannisberg consists of forty acres, in perfect cultivation, lying 
 about the old yellow chateau standing on a rounded knoll, the 
 site of an old Benedictine monastery. It is the property of 
 Prince Richard Metternich, who once a year sells the product in 
 the cask at auction on the premises. Near b)'' are vineyards 
 yielding the Johannisberg Klaus, next in value to the true Jo- 
 hannisberg, and besides there are vineyards about the village of 
 Johannisberg, whose vintage is called by the general name 
 of Johannisberger. These last are the wines we get in New 
 York and other cities at home, when we get an3'thing at 
 
216 Bingen. — German National Monument. 
 
 all entitled to be called genuine. The Steinberg vineyard, 
 sixty acres in extent, belongs to the government and is 
 esteemed equally precious with the Schloss Johannisberg. It 
 belonged to the rich Cistercian Abbey of Eberbach, seen 
 dimly, by the aid of a glass, nestled in a narrow valley two 
 miles away, and for more than six hundred years the good 
 monks tended these precious vines, whose produce is also sold 
 at auction every spring, the sale attracting the great wine 
 merchants of a wide region. It is easy to see how limited is 
 the quantity of these famous wines and what a prodigious 
 amount of the ordinary wine of the country is bottled and 
 sold under their titles. 
 
 The village of Bingen lies pleasantly on the sloping south- 
 ern bank, and is picturesque and quaint with its surviving 
 towers and bits of ancient wall. Very naturally would the 
 " soldier of the Legion" who, in Mrs. Norton's fine poem, 
 " lay dying in Algiers," turn his longing heart to his birth- 
 place in " Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine." Just opposite, 
 on the crest of a fair eminence, rises the great German 
 National Monument, raised to perpetuate the rising of the 
 German people and the foundation of the German Empire in 
 1870. The base is 78 feet high, and the grand figure of Ger- 
 mania with her sublime and serene and beautiful face, looking 
 across the river, rises from it to the height of more than 30 feet. 
 
 The fifty-nine miles of river from Bingen to Mayence has 
 little to interest, and we do no more in this latter city than 
 visit an interesting museum of Roman and mediaeval antiqui- 
 ties, the Cathedral, the house where Gutenberg was born, 
 another where he set up the first printing-office ever known, 
 and his noble statue in one of the squares, designed by Thor- 
 waldsen, and by the afternoon train come to Heidelberg, a 
 somewhat weary party, to find good welcome, and a grate- 
 ful fire in the tall German stove, in pleasant rooms of the 
 Hotel de I'Europe, where we propose to rest quietly over 
 Sunday. 
 
 September 30. — Yesterday was a decidedly stormy day and, 
 with its unseasonable cold, quite the worst we have encoun- 
 tered since leaving home, where we should call the weather of 
 the last few days a magnified equinoctial storm ; but we feed 
 the odd stove with sound beech-wood, read the packet of 
 letters from home awaiting us here, and succeed very well in 
 
Heidelberg Castle. — The Great Tun. 217 
 
 creating something of a home atmosphere in the heart of this 
 old foreign city. To-day brings some improvement in the 
 weather, and we have used it in a long visit to the Castle, the 
 most famous in all the German land. The Castle or Chateau 
 of Heidelberg is a fortified residence of huge extent, stand- 
 ing, a well-preserved ruin, on a wooded point projecting from 
 the abrupt range of the Konigsstuhl, which ends precipitously 
 at the Neckar, just above the city, on which it looks down 
 from the height of more than 300 feet. The oldest part was 
 built by the Count Palatine Rudolph I. in 1294, was extended 
 by several successors and strongly fortified, and in the six- 
 teenth century palatial parts were added by several of the 
 Electors who resided in it, among them Frederick V., King of 
 Bohemia, who married Elizabeth, daughter of James I. of 
 England. It stood intact until after its capitulation to Count 
 Melac, a French general, in the war Louis XIV. was waging 
 against the Rhenish Palatinate, who dismantled it, destroyed 
 its fortifications, and tried with only partial success to blow it 
 up with gunpowder, leaving it a magnificent ruin of vast ex- 
 tent. It covered with its outer enclosures some forty acres, 
 and its towers and the long line of palatial walls of red sand- 
 stone, richly carved and embellished with many heroic effigies 
 of valiant mediaeval knights and warriors of renown, its great 
 halls, all desolate now, where feasting and revelry went on in 
 royal fashion, its huge kitchens with hearths so prodigious 
 that whole oxen were easily roasted below the enormous fun- 
 nelled chimneys, its arched cellars below stored with wines, 
 its halls of audience, its throne-room, its armory, its defen- 
 sive walls, twenty feet thick, its deep moat, supplied from a 
 reservoir up among the hills, its battlemented gates, all attest 
 the strength and extent of this palatial fortress, and bring 
 back the romance of the middle ages more vividly than the 
 pictured pages of Froissart or Scott. Ivy festoons its outer 
 walls and long weeds flaunt from its lonely battlements. Still, 
 it is not to me so picturesque nor striking as several of those 
 ruder keeps perched on the crags of the Rhine nor so impres- 
 sive as Stirling Castle, which realized to my mind the ideal of 
 a structure of this kind. In the cellar stands, sound and 
 good, the great tun or cask, 30 by 25 feet, capable of holding 
 forty-nine thousand gallons of wine — or rather it does not 
 stand, but lies on huge beams, as it has done since 175 1, when 
 
218 The Heidelberg Wines. — Wiirzburg. 
 
 it was built to take the place of one made by Charles Philip 
 in 1728, it in turn supplying the place of one built by Charles 
 Lewis in 1662, and this succeeding the first one constructed 
 by the Count Palatine Casimir in 1591. Huge as it is, it has 
 frequently been filled, but not in these later years. There 
 stands near it a wooden figure, in the style of a tobacco-shop 
 sign, of Perkeo, court-jester of Elector Charles Philip, and 
 fastened to the wall beside him a merry jest of his contriv- 
 ance — one rings a bell, the handle of which depends from 
 the bottom of a cupboard, the door of which flies open and 
 a fox-tail is whisked into one's face — a bit of facetious coarse- 
 ness worthy of a court-fool. 
 
 Heidelberg is a pleasant little city of nearly 30,000 souls, 
 about one-quarter Catholic, and is crowded between the moun- 
 tain-range on which the castle stands and the Neckar, a con- 
 siderable stream, joining the Rhine some fifteen miles below, 
 with sunny banks which furnish the Hock wines. I am told 
 that the wines made into " sparkling" Hock and Moselle are 
 usually of an inferior sort. There are factories at several 
 points for manufacturing the sparkling German wines. The 
 university here is the chief light of Southern Germany, and 
 celebrated its five hundredth anniversary in 1886, It boasts 
 of nearly one thousand students. The buildings are plain 
 and simple, and the students' rooms mean, bare and dirty to 
 an astonishing degree, but there is a fine new hall, which we 
 were kindly permitted to see, together with other parts, al- 
 though the winter semester is not yet begun. 
 
 October i. — Left Heidelberg for Nuremberg at 8.30 a.m. 
 by rail, following the windings of the turbid Neckar for two 
 hours, its steep wooded banks glowing in the dyes of autumn 
 and fringed with narrow margins of verdurous meadows and 
 beset with many a brown old village overlooked by its ruined 
 stronghold ; a continuously pleasing scene in the grateful sun- 
 light. Leaving the valley of the Neckar, the road crosses to 
 that of the Main, and at Wurzburg, a distance of one hun- 
 dred miles, we lunch at the Russischer Hof, and give three 
 hours to this very ancient and interesting city of 55,000 inhab- 
 itants, about one sixth of whom are Protestants. The capital 
 of the district of Lower Franconia, it was formerly the seat of 
 a prince-bishop and has been under ecclesiastical rule almost 
 from its foundation. Its first bishop, Burcardus, was conse- 
 
The Rtyyal Palace.— Walther von dcr Vogelweide. 219 
 
 crated by St. Boniface in 741, and from that time until incor- 
 porated with Bavaria in 1803 it was ruled by an unbroken line 
 of eighty-two bishops, who were made Dukes of Franconia in 
 1 1 20. This well illustrates the kind of government these 
 cities and adjacent regions, from Cologne up the course of the 
 Rhine, were subject to until the power of Rome was broken 
 by the Reformation. Haughty prelates lorded it over all this 
 land, putting on armor oftener than the cassock, and wielding 
 a mightier sway than mere secular princes were able to do. 
 In the old Cathedral here stands a double row of them in well- 
 wrought effigies of stone, and this cold material scarcely 
 suffices for the arrogance and pride in which they stare for- 
 ever from above the worn brasses whereon their praises are 
 sounded in lying eulogy. At least one should be excepted ; 
 the good Bisho'p Echter von Mespelbrunn, who in the latter 
 part of the sixteenth century founded a great hospital, whose 
 extensive buildings we visited, where six hundred persons are 
 fed and lodged and tended, the property belonging to it hav- 
 ing an estimated value of four hundred and fifty thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 We took a peep at the Royal Palace, one of the residences of 
 the King of Bavaria, built in the style of the Palace of Ver- 
 sailles, with an imposing front of five hundred feet, a great 
 stone staircase, a gaudy chapel, a theatre, and two hundred 
 and eighty rooms, many richly furnished. And this is only 
 one of the residences of a king of a nation unable to stand 
 alone and forming only a component part of the German Em- 
 pire ! The cellars are said to be the most spacious in Ger- 
 many, and to have in them some two hundred casks of good 
 wine from the royal vineyards. 
 
 Near the Cathedral is a small ancient church, several times 
 restored in its different parts, with cloisters now effaced, in 
 one of which the famous mediaeval Minnesinger or minstrel, 
 Walther von der Vogelweide, was buried in 1230. There is a 
 tablet to his memory on the exterior wall of the choir, erected 
 in 1848, with inscriptions, and at the top a carved nest of 
 young birds in act of being fed. The minstrel, as the story is, 
 left a sum of money to be used for all time to feed the birds, 
 but soon the priests attached to the church appropriated it, 
 and it was seen no more. May the malison of all good sing- 
 ers rest heavily on their memory ! 
 
230 Nuremberg. 
 
 There is a fine old bridge over the Main, 650 feet long, built 
 in 1474, with rows of saintly stone statues of heroic size on 
 either parapet. The city has many interesting ancient build- 
 ings ; a Rathhaus with a fine old square tower, and a ruined 
 castle on a crag above the river, now restored and occupied 
 as a citadel, and is altogether a town of attractions. But we 
 hurry on at 5 p.m. to Nuremberg, where we have taught our- 
 selves to expect the perfect expression of the mediaeval period, 
 and reaching it at 7 p.m. after dark, see, for a beginning, a 
 horse railroad in the light of glaring electric lamps on poles 
 thirty feet high. Only these we note on the way to the com- 
 fortable Bavarian Hotel, where we await the morrow. 
 
 October 2. — We awake to find ourselves in a huge, rambling 
 hotel consisting of several connecting houses, one side running 
 along the Pegnitz, which flows midway of the city, with two 
 courts enclosed, overhung by old balconies, the whole dating 
 from the fifteenth century. Its long, winding passages, 
 numerous stairways and irregular rooms and general monastic 
 air prepare one for antiquity outside. 
 
 Nuremberg, or Niirnberg, as the Germans spell and pro- 
 nounce it, has a population of 114,000, and until 1806 was an 
 independent imperial town, but has since belonged to Bavaria. 
 It dates back to the early part of the eleventh century, when 
 its castle was begun by the Emperor Conrad II., extended by 
 Frederick Barbarossa in 1158, and fitted up as a royal resi- 
 dence in 1854 in the Gothic style. The city grew to great 
 prosperity, in spite of the feuds, dissensions and frequent 
 change of rulers common to all towns through the dreary 
 middle ages, and in the beginning of the sixteenth century 
 ranked next to Augsburg as the chief seat of trade between Ger- 
 many, Venice and the East. Its citizens were rich and liberal, 
 and built fine private residences in the best style of the times, 
 and lavished their wealth in embellishing them. By a happy 
 coincidence, there arose here at this period artists whose lives 
 were given to beautifying the city in their respective provinces 
 of art — Adam Krafft in sculpture, Veit Stoss in wood-carving, 
 Peter Vischer and his sons, the brass-founders, Ludwig Krug 
 and Peter Flotner, the die-cutters, the goldsmiths Wengel Jan- 
 nitzer and Valentin Maler. Here lived and wrought the great 
 painter Albrecht Diirer, and here the merry cobbler Hans Sachs 
 sang his joyful songs. All kindly arts flourished in these fos- 
 
The Walls and Houses of Nuremberg. 221 
 
 taring circumstances of easy opulence, treasures of art accumu- 
 lated here, and although the prosperity of the city fell off 
 after the new sea-route to India was found, and was abated 
 still more by the Thirty Years' War, these treasures continued, 
 and the old town stands less changed from its mediaeval state 
 by the modern prosperity come to it from its incorporation 
 with Bavaria than any city we have visited on this side the 
 Atlantic, quaint Bruges perhaps excepted. 
 
 The walls surrounding the early city date from the middle 
 ages and are intact, except where they have been opened at 
 several points to afford communication with the newer parts 
 growing up outside, and with the covered ways extending 
 along their tops, interrupted at intervals by noble and pictu- 
 resque towers various in form and built with an eye to beauty 
 as well as to safety, forming a fitting frame to the lofty, red- 
 tiled houses rising from narrow, sinuous streets, topped with 
 steep roofs as tall as themselves ; broken from foundation to 
 ridge with openings for doors ; and windows, square, round, 
 oval, lozenge, ornamented with the quaintest, most fanciful 
 and graceful, even when grotesque embellishments of carved 
 stone balconies, copings, tiny pent-house sheds rising into tiled 
 pinnacles — fifty forms, in short, of curious device, to impart a 
 charming variety to the ancient roofs and gables. It seems 
 as if each builder exercised his individual taste and invented 
 his own peculiar dwelling, making it an expression of his own 
 sentiments and character, not even paying regard to the line 
 of the street in placing it ; so that the houses stand not in 
 rows, but at all sorts of angles to the streets ; and the narrow 
 footways are obliged to conform as well as they can, running 
 along the front of one, in width scarcely enough for a single 
 pedestrian, widening in front of the next, turning a sharp 
 angle to a third, and so on, with admirable differences and pic- 
 turesqueness, presenting something rare and strange at every 
 turn. Time has softened and enriched the grays, reds and 
 yellows of walls and roofs, so that viewed from a high point, 
 like the platform of the castle, the whole presents a harmoni- 
 ous and agreeable picture. 
 
 The castle is one of the most interesting we have seen ; in- 
 deed, one's ideal of an antique stronghold is fully realized when 
 one stands in the court-yard with square towers and round, con- 
 nected by battlemented walls shutting him in — here the low 
 
232 Nurejiibei'g Castle. — Iiistj^uments of Torture. 
 
 entrance through an iron door which has swung on its worn 
 hinges for five hundred years ; there a worn flight of stone steps 
 leading down to a half-subterranean chapel, now bare, but in 
 perfect preservation, where Christ and the Virgin were wor- 
 shipped seven hundred years ago, and on every hand perfect 
 remains of ages before the land we live in was even conjec- 
 tured to exist. In the centre of this court stands the huge 
 trunk of a lime-tree, now well denuded of its branches, but 
 still sound and able to show some tufts of foliage, believed to 
 have been planted by the fair hand of the Empress Cunigunde, 
 wife of Emperor Henry II., in the year looo — a thing probable 
 enough when we consider the prodigious age attributed by 
 the botanists to the big sequoias of California. In some of the 
 ancient rooms are several old tiled German stoves of patterns 
 and decoration which make them delightful works of art, and 
 from a balcony looking out from the queen's apartments is a 
 broad and beautiful view across the great plain to the blue 
 Franconian hills and down upon the picturesque city ; its steep, 
 dull-red roofs surmounted with a hundred antique domes and 
 towers and spires ; on the broad moat, now grown with great 
 trees and laid out in little garden-plats ; on odd-shaped little 
 parks scattered among the streets, enlivened with noble 
 statues of famous men, artists and poets who lived and worked 
 here ; and fountains in stone and bronze, works of old art 
 and beautiful exceedingly. 
 
 Near one of the towers in the court is a famous well, dug 
 down through the solid rock more than 300 feet some centuries 
 ago, and still furnishing excellent water. Half way down 
 this well begin two opposite subterranean passages, one lead- 
 ing to the centre of the city, the other to a point beyond the 
 walls. We are shown, in a sort of dungeon of one of the 
 towers, a great collection of instruments of torture, comprising 
 all sorts needful to agonize and mutilate God's image — long 
 pincers with wooden handles to be heated red in the brazier 
 standing by and used in tearing away the quivering flesh ; iron 
 caps which could be forced into the brain by tightening ; iron 
 boots for crushing the leg ; a notched blade fitting into another 
 by a hinge for cutting out the tongue ; many forms of thumb- 
 screws ; a cradle set with iron nails ; the wheel, the rack — in- 
 deed, the walls are hung full of the devilish enginery by 
 which their High Mightinesses, lay and ecclesiastical, terror- 
 
The fiDig frail. 223 
 
 ized and held in abject submission the bodies and souls of the 
 toiling masses subject to their tyranny. 
 
 In a gloomy chamber of massive stone, in another tower, 
 stands, where it is said to have stood for centuries, an instru- 
 ment of death called the Jungfrau— " Young Maiden "—the 
 heavy cast iron statue of a girl with smiling face, but opening 
 in two ponderous, longitudinal parts, hinged at the back, with 
 the concave inner sides of face and breast stuck full of long, 
 sharp spikes. The destined victim, who has passed his last 
 night on earth in a rough stone crib set in a dark angle of the 
 walls, is led before it, the body opens, he is thrust backward, 
 still erect, within its dreadful hollow, it resumes its form, the 
 iron face smiling in cruel mockery, and there only remains a 
 ghastly mass of quivering flesh to be dropped down through 
 the trap-door opening below the feet of the statue. One deems 
 it incredible that these dreadful instruments could actually have 
 been used by man on man, and that an age has ever been when 
 so much cruelty and diabolical savagery existed in the world; 
 for have I not just seen in the great Gothic church of St. Law- 
 rence, whose beautiful and pious walls grew through these same 
 centuries at the foot of this stronghold of cruelty ; illumined 
 .with windows where saints and angels shine in the many-dyed 
 glory of old glass, and rich with rows of holy men in well- 
 carven stone, the ciborium or tabernacle for the sacred Host 
 by Adam Krafft, under whose patient and pious hands the 
 stone figures of it grew to life, amid rarest forms of carven 
 flowers, the whole graceful and airy as a dream of the night ? 
 And in those same ages can it be that Peter Vischer conse- 
 crated thirteen years of devout toil to the wonderful bronze 
 tomb wherein, in the Church of St. Sebaldus, are enshrined 
 the bones of that holy personage? Was Diirer giving to 
 immortal canvas then, the sweet, pitiful face of the Virgin and 
 her divine Son ; and could merry Hans Sachs tune a glee- 
 ful lay — could all these masterful and tender souls labor here, 
 with wails of prisoners moaning on the rack, falling on their 
 ears from the castle on the hill ? Strange and incongruous is 
 this mingling of the savage and the refined ; this barbarism 
 with enlightened art ! 
 
 In the interesting museum of antiquities admirably arranged 
 in the halls and cloisters of an old Carthusian monastery, 
 among a great store of mediaeval relics, is an ancient guillotine, 
 
224 An Ancient Guillotine. — Ratisbon. 
 
 which has evidently done service, of the precise pattern used 
 in France for capital punishment, except that it lacks the 
 plank to which the victim is lashed ; showing plainly, since it is 
 not less than three hundred years old by the arrangement of 
 the collection, which is most exactly made by learned Ger- 
 man antiquarians, that Dr. Guillotin, of the Reign of Terror 
 epoch, did not invent the instrument to which he gave 
 his name. Perhaps he improved it in some respects, and so 
 got the reputation of an inventor ; as Colonel Colt of Hart- 
 ford did in the article of the revolver ; a form of which, dating 
 back not less than two hundred years, is to be found in many 
 collections of old arms I have seen. There is in this museum 
 a pistol with seven barrels, all fired by one lock. 
 
 The several bridges over the Pegnitz, of quite individual 
 styles, are interesting features of the city — one covered, one 
 in imitation of the Ponte Rialto in Venice, one set with 
 statues, and among them a suspension foot-bridge built in 1824. 
 
 We part reluctantly from this most interesting city, and at 
 7 P.M. take train for Ratisbon — German, Regensburg — a ride 
 of two and one-half hours. We passed the night here in the 
 Goldenes Kreuz, or Golden Cross Hotel, built more than four 
 hundred years ago, having a massive tower, on one side of 
 which is a medallion of Don John of Austria, the famous gen- 
 eral, a natural son of Charles V., and a pretty girl here, 
 Barbara Blumberger. The Emperor lodged at the Golden 
 Cross when attending a Diet here in 1546, and Don John fol- 
 lowed as one of the consequences in 1547. 
 
 October 5. — We came to this old city of Ratisbon chiefly to 
 visit the Walhalla — " Hall of the Chosen" — erected on a hill 
 320 feet high, six miles from the town, to which we drove in 
 the bright autumn weather, over a pleasant level country, meet- 
 ing many peasants on foot carrying huge panniers filled with 
 vegetables and fruits, and queer carts drawn by cows harness- 
 ed to them by the horns, trudging to market ; with many more 
 men, women and children at work gathering the late crops in 
 the fields on either hand. The season is advanced, much the 
 same as in southern Vermont at this time of year, and 
 the forests and patches of woodland, distant and near, show 
 pretty nearly the same variety and depth of colors in the fo- 
 liage of the oaks, maples, lindens, chestnuts, walnuts and the 
 lesser shrubbery. 
 
The Walhalla. 225 
 
 This Walhalla was designed by the famous architect Klenze 
 for King Louis, who founded it in 1830 for a German 
 "Temple of Fame," wherein to place the busts of such Ger- 
 mans of renown as he should think worthy — a royal conception 
 royally carried out at a cost of more than a million pounds 
 sterling. The edifice is in the pure Doric style, inclose imita- 
 tion of the Parthenon at Athens, built of unpolished gray 
 marble, is 246 feet long and 115 feet broad, and surrounded 
 by a colonnade of fifty-two fluted columns nearly 60 feet high. 
 The interior consists of one vast hall in the Ionic style, light- 
 ed from above. The ceiling, richly ornamented and gilded, 
 is supported by fourteen painted Walkyries (warrior virgins 
 of the ancient German Paradise), the sides and the floor are 
 of beautiful marble-mosaic — everything of stone. The most 
 eminent German artists were employed in its construction and 
 decoration. The Walkyries are by Schwanthaler. The mag- 
 nificent marble frieze running all around the hall, depicting the 
 life of the Germanic nation from the earliest times to the intro- 
 duction of Christianity, is by Wagner, the six beautiful marble 
 statues of Victory are by Ranch. In this grand, cold, silent hall 
 are one hundred finely executed marble busts arranged along 
 the walls, and for them the massive pile was builded. The king 
 showed a catholic taste in his choice of candidates for his 
 *' Temple of Fame ;" and Frederick Barbarossa, Gutenberg, 
 Frederick the Great, Luther, Bliicher and Mozart stare at 
 each other with steady eyes of stone across the vast, empty 
 spaces. A strange thing under the sun is this shining Greek 
 temple standing here in the lonely country-side, dedicated to 
 such a purpose ! The views from the porticoes are sublime and 
 beautiful, including the winding sweep of the blue Danube 
 past the gray walls of towered Ratisbon, its broad shining 
 tributary, the Regen, and the dark line of the Bavarian forests 
 in the far western horizon. 
 
 There are in Ratisbon some fine mediaeval houses with 
 peculiar towers of defence, and a cathedral with long, high 
 aisles, like those of Strassburg, and handsome open towers and 
 charming old cloisters with richly carved window-frames, and 
 floors fully paved with tombstones of canons and patricians of 
 the church and city ; but it is a dull and rather gloomy town, 
 whose 36,000 inhabitants do not seem to prosper overmuch. 
 We had table d'hote dinner in the great musty dining-hall at one 
 15 
 
226 Munich. — The Old Pinakothek. 
 
 o'clock, the German hour, the landlord sitting, in the good old 
 way, at the head of his table, as did mine host at Nuremberg, and 
 rising and bowing ceremoniously to the guests as they left the 
 room. The table manners of the average German seem to fall 
 something short of the standard prevailing in other countries. 
 A well-dressed, highly respectable and intelligent-looking 
 neighbor at table leaned forward so as to bring his face close 
 down to his plate, and emptied it into his mouth with both 
 knife and fork impartially. Here and elsewhere I observed 
 both ladies and gentlemen take toothpicks from the stands 
 containing this useful article set all along the tables, and 
 beginning after the first course, use them freely and openly ; 
 laying them down on the cloth, and resuming them at each 
 change of cover. With the dessert, lighted candles were set 
 along the tables with alcoholic dips for smokers, who lighted 
 up and puffed away regardless of the ladies around them. 
 
 We took train for Munich at 5 p.m., and in four hours were 
 enjoying an open wood fire in cheerful rooms in the Four 
 Seasons, well fagged with a hard week's work. 
 
 October 6, Sunday. — A cheerless, cold, rainy day, passed 
 around the fire and over books. Monday — not much better — 
 we passed in the old Pinakothek, a Greek name given to the 
 admirable building containing the pictures of the old masters. 
 This famous gallery — on the whole the best, I think, we have 
 seen — contains some fourteen hundred pictures, arranged 
 chronologically and according to schools, with a catalogue, 
 which is a model of its kind, giving a few clear items about 
 each painter and a description of each picture, translated from 
 the German of Dr. Franz v. Reber into English of most 
 felicitous expression by Mr. Joseph Thacher Clarke. The 
 introduction gives a very interesting account of the sources 
 of this collection, and sets forth how, under a succession of 
 wise and liberal rulers who spared no pains or money in gather- 
 ing paintings from all countries, this great gallery grew during 
 three hundred years to its present excellence. The persever- 
 ance with which these royal enthusiasts hunted for individual 
 works of fame, the diplomacy they used in the pursuit, the 
 checks, delays, disappointments and triumphs they experi- 
 enced in their acquisitions, and the perils to which these 
 treasures were many times exposed by the shifting fortunes 
 of war and the rivalries of other royal collectors, make a 
 
JFor/cs of the Old Masters. 227 
 
 romantic story, but I cannot enter upon it. Let it suffice that 
 here they are to-day, royally housed and open without charge 
 to all the world. Nor can I undertake to give particulars of 
 the treasures on the walls of the twelve great saloons, lighted 
 from above, with twenty-four adjoining cabinets. Here 
 are eighty-nine pictures of Rubens, including many of the 
 finest works of this most fertile master, who exhibits in this 
 one collection a prodigious range of imaginative power, 
 extending from his awful " Last Judgment" through all grades 
 of the savage and the tender, the wild and the graceful, to 
 the " Children with Garlands." Many of these are not fully 
 pleasing to me, but wonderful richness pervades them all. 
 There are many by Rembrandt, but with the exception of his 
 " Descent from the Cross" and two or three of his wonderful 
 portraits, nothing to be compared with those I have seen 
 elsewhere, especially at Amsterdam. There are some fine 
 examples of Diirer and a few of Titian, his " Christ Crowned 
 with Thorns" and his portrait of Charles V. among them,. 
 Here are Raphael's Madonnas, di Tempi and della Tenda, and. 
 his "Holy Family" from the House of Canigiani. Here is the 
 original of Andrea del Sarto's " Holy Family," of which many 
 " repetitions" are to be found elsewhere. But I cannot enlarge.. 
 Nearly all the great painters of all lands and times before the 
 middle of the last century are represented here. The charm,, 
 and perfection of the collection to me, however, are not so 
 much in the merit of particular pictures as in the great number 
 of excellent painters of each school ; so that the eye goes with 
 delight over a wide range of the works of the best painters of 
 every age and school, including those of the Dutch, Flemish, 
 Upper German, Italian, Spanish and French. I must mention 
 Murillo's " Beggar Boys." What a painter he was ! I have 
 not seen a poor Murillo ; not one but is most natural and 
 admirable. 
 
 I love to linger in these spacious continental galleries, so, 
 quiet and orderly, picking out what most pleases me in design 
 or form or color, and if often weary of the interminable array 
 of themes from Biblical story and the legends of the saints^ 
 still find something to admire and be thankful for in the 
 tender piety and graceful love which sought in dark and 
 untaught times to shadow forth a mystery or record a miracle 
 for the comfort and instruction of the people. What visions 
 
228 The New Pinakothek and its Modern Pictures. 
 
 of grace and beauty, what dreams of terror, what grotesque 
 fancies haunted the minds of these early workers in the world 
 of art ; from the dying and dead Saviour and tender Madonna 
 to the emaciated saint and demons belching flames ; and how 
 they struggled with touch upon touch and color upon color 
 to depict them adequately ; great bands of gold and wealth of 
 purple and crimson and blue and green, and how well, in some 
 one respect at least, each one has succeeded ! The motive 
 may be unnatural or grotesque, the drawing at fault, the 
 grouping absurd, the personages and costumes archaic ; but 
 one is sure to find some beautiful, tender or noble sentiment, 
 or some bit of delightful execution, which lifts the work of 
 >ieven the earliest painters from the mean and trivial, and 
 iinvests it with a certain sacred dignity and beauty. At least 
 tso it seems to me, as day after day, now for months, I go 
 about in gallery after gallery and church after church, in 
 these old continental cities. 
 
 There is a collection of modern pictures in a noble building 
 designed by Voit, called the New Pinakothek. This numbers 
 several hundred pictures by the leading German artists who 
 have painted in the present century, including examples by 
 Achenbach, Becker, Braekeler, Camphausen, Defregger, 
 Diday, Dietz, Feuerbach, Hasenclever, Kaulbach, Lenbach, 
 Max, Piloty, Rottmann, Verboeckhoven, Zimmermann, etc. 
 With few exceptions, I was not much interested in these, but 
 returned again and again to the old collection with renewed 
 satisfaction. We also passed a day in two great collections 
 contributed by the painters who send their works in to be sold. 
 These are very interesting and contain many fine pictures, 
 which seem to me to show and indicate a greater variety 
 and exuberance of talent than the more stately New Pina- 
 kothek. 
 
 Munich is one of the great centres of the fine arts, and the 
 agreeable evidences of it are visible on every hand. I think, 
 if forced into exile, I should be as well content to wear away 
 some years here as in any spot we have found. The streets 
 are wide and broken by frequent bits of squares and angles, 
 giving place to many noble statues and fountains, the shops 
 are bright and rich with all sorts of artistic handiwork, the 
 houses are large, commodious and of agreeable exterior. 
 The people have a comfortable and refined air which seems 
 
The Old Palace. — The Brduhaus. 229 
 
 to be in some sort imparted from their elevating surround- 
 ings. Munich is situated on a vast plain watered by " Iser, 
 rolling rapidly," and has something over 250,000 inhabitants. 
 It spreads over a good deal of space, and although an old 
 city, has become so modernized that scarcely more remains of 
 its mediaeval features than suffices to give it picturesqueness. 
 A long line of Bavarian rulers of wealth and taste and liber- 
 ality have found their pleasure and pride in enriching their 
 capital with noble architecture. 
 
 We visited the Old Palace, or Alte Residenz, erected by 
 Elector Maximilian in 1600, and passed through a long series 
 of magnificent apartments, and in the Festsaalbau, a modern 
 building in the later Italian Renaissance style by Klenze, 
 examined the large frescoes by Schnorr, illustrating the poem 
 of the Nibelungen. These quite cover the walls of five large 
 rooms on the ground floor. This poem is the source of the 
 plots of Wagner's operas. In the Glyptothek, or Repository 
 of Sculptures, we found many interesting and beautiful 
 things. I was specially pleased with a statue of " Venus of 
 Cnidos," after Praxiteles, and an original Greek torso of a 
 child of Niobe. 
 
 A charming feature of Munich are the plantations of fine 
 trees in all quarters, disposed in many natural and agreeable 
 forms, which impart a secluded and sylvan aspect to the 
 residential portion. 
 
 The beer brewed here under government control is famous 
 all over Germany, and also goes largely abroad under the 
 general name of Bavarian beer. 'Tis a capital beer, but 
 should be drunk here, because, as is said, it is not sent long 
 distances without being reinforced with a greater proportion 
 of alcohol to preserve it. I went to the Brauhaus, expecting, 
 from the glowing accounts I had heard, to find a notable, 
 spacious and elegant Trinkhalle where the burghers meet with 
 their families, in a sort of half elegance, to drain the foaming 
 brown-amber brew and indulge in social amenities to the 
 inspiriting sounds of choice music. I passed by a broad door- 
 way through a dingy, gray-walled building of enormous 
 extent with iron-barred windows, into a gloomy, rough court, 
 on one side of which opened a long, low, badly lighted hall 
 crowded with plain tables, with wooden settles before each 
 one, these filled with the commonest sort of working people. 
 
230 Mimich Beer. 
 
 not many women, drinking the royal beer from earthen, pew- 
 ter-lidded mugs, in a stifling atmosphere of tobacco-smoke 
 rolling from five hundred pipes, and a prodigious clatter of 
 tongues. The mugs hold a quart, and each consumer, on 
 ■entering, goes to a tier of long shelves, takes one down, rinses 
 it under a running faucet, carries it to a long counter, where 
 it is filled from a huge cask ; the brown, mellow girths of a 
 whole brotherhood of which loom out of the haze in the back- 
 ground. The romance of the Trinkhalle of the Hof Brauhaus 
 was rudely dissipated, and one more illusion vanished. But I 
 took down a mug, laid on the bar fifteen pfennings, equal to 
 three and three-quarter cents, and took a seat opposite a dull 
 but cleanly enough gentleman, who might be by profession, 
 let us say, a stonemason, deliberately intent on slicing a 
 sausage which lay on the table before him in a wrapping of 
 newspaper,* and had likely come from his pocket. I noticed 
 all about me, that each drinker, when he had finished a 
 draught, carefully shut down the lid of his mug, fearful, it 
 would seem, of losing some of the finer essence or aroma of 
 the wonderful concoction, studiously brought to its perfection 
 during three hundred years of learned experiments. When I 
 had lifted the lid of my great flagon and taken a deliberate 
 and thoughtful pull at it, I set it down with a feeling that the 
 lot of the poor man in Munich is very considerably amelio- 
 rated by the possibility of such beer — if he only fully realizes 
 the blessing of it. Quart mugs would seem to imply that he 
 lives up to his privileges ; but there seemed to be no intoxica- 
 tion going forward — indeed, I would say one might get over- 
 loaded and oppressed with the bulk of this beverage, but not 
 drunken ; as the frequenters of English and American bars do 
 on spirits. I noticed one or two vaguely hilarious tables, as 
 if, after several hours of potation, a low grade of fuddle had 
 ensued, but the beer of Munich does not send its consumer 
 home to brain his wife or beat his children. But my observa- 
 tion is that the average German is too much made up of beer 
 and is the worse for it ; still, it is not easy to say, for this is a 
 nation of mighty people in brain and brawn. I also visited what 
 passes for a more fashionable Trinkhalle, handsome enough 
 in itself, with its gaudy frescoes ; but stuck full of little dingy 
 tables and crowded with drinkers of all degrees in the social 
 scale, except the few uppermost rounds, and stifling with 
 heated tobacco-smoke. 
 
Training of the Young Men of the German Empire. 231 
 
 As in all German cities, soldiers are met everywhere, in the 
 handsome blue uniform of Bavaria. It seems to an American, 
 whose country is so fortunately placed by nature that its bor- 
 ders are peaceful and safe from menace or danger from for- 
 eign foes, a great burden and strain upon these continental 
 nations to keep themselves constantly on a war-footing and to 
 be compelled to maintain enormous armies simply to overawe 
 hostile neighbors who would strike if they dared. It is a 
 heavy burden, no doubt ; but if one may credit what intelligent 
 Germans tell him, and what the superficial observations of one 
 visiting a good many important points seem to confirm, there 
 are some redeeming features and some offsetting advantages 
 in putting the population, as it were, under arms. In the first 
 place, it is a necessity calling for sacrifice and self-denial, and 
 out of these grow naturally, fortitude, independence and an 
 heroic, manly and high spirit. All the young men of the 
 German Empire are under obligation to go into the army 
 at the age of twenty for a term of three years, and after- 
 ward are variously enrolled in the reserves ; so that all 
 males between the ages of twenty and sixty are drilled 
 soldiers, and liable to serve in some capacity in the armies 
 of the Empire in case of war, although their actual service 
 in time of peace is limited to certain reviews, somewhat 
 like the exercises ,of our State militia, occupying about 
 two weeks of each year. The young men who serve for 
 three years undergo an admirable system of physical training, 
 and as they are sent away from their native districts and 
 moved about from time to time into the different states of the 
 Empire, and as the sons of the rich and educated and the 
 better sort of the middle classes mingle with those of the poor 
 and ignorant, the latter obtain an education of the mind not 
 of the worst sort, and at the comparatively early age of 
 twenty-three are at liberty to go about their own pursuits, 
 none the worse fitted for them from having been so exercised 
 and drilled and disciplined as to begin life with a sound body, 
 erect carriage, and a manly self-respect, united with regular 
 habits and orderly obedience to rule. Then, too, the spirit of 
 the whole nation is stirred, active and resolute, and kept in 
 that mood where great things are always possible. Certain it 
 is that this German land is full of life and energy in all direc- 
 tions of activity, and steadily prospering. I like the Germans ; 
 
233 Vienna. 
 
 they are a sincere, hearty, kindly people, of deep natures and 
 a trusty, firm strength of character. Their race is not yet 
 run either, and they will certainly continue to play an increas- 
 ing part in the world's affairs. 
 
 October 12. — Took the train from Paris for Vienna at twelve 
 noon and made the distance of about three hundred miles in 
 eight and one-quarter hours. This astonishing rate of speed for 
 a Continental train is due to ours being a special one, called the 
 Orient-Express, made up of sleeping-cars and running, with 
 very few stops, from Paris to Constantinople, doing the whole 
 distance in little more than seventy hours. There is a 
 dining-car attached, where we had table d'hote, at one dollar 
 and twenty cents each, but the meal in quality or abundance 
 or service does not compare with those on the Pullman cars at 
 home. But the train is an excellent one, well-appointed cars, 
 with an easy motion over an admirable road-bed. 
 
 The road from Munich to Vienna is over an agreeable, level 
 country watered by the Danube, and spreading away in a 
 verdure of turf rich as that of England in June, with all the 
 marks of prosperity in its fields, villages and towns. Linz, 
 one hundred and seventeen miles from Vienna, is an impor- 
 tant city on the Danube, of 40,000 population, and here we get 
 a view of the Salzburg and Styrian Alps, stretching southward 
 in a lofty, broken line of blue, and a little farther on, of the 
 quaint town of Enns, whose walls were built with the ransom 
 paid by the English to redeem King Richard Coeur de Lion 
 from the dungeons of Leopold, Duke of Austria — a sum, as the 
 historians say, equal to one-quarter the income of all the peo- 
 ple of England ; which would show that the combined incomes 
 of the English people in the latter part of the twelfth century 
 were ridiculously small, or that the walls of Enns were pro- 
 digiously costly, or that most of the money raised was stolen 
 somewhere along the line, the last supposition being exceed- 
 ingly probable. The sun set in rosy glory, and we finished 
 our ride in darkness, arriving at the extensive and luxurious 
 Grand Hotel in Vienna at 8.15 p.m. 
 
 The first thing that struck me when I looked out of the 
 window Sunday morning, the 13th inst., was the grandeur 
 of the buildings within view, both public and private. This 
 impression increases as I become acquainted with this mag- 
 nificent modern city of some 800,000 souls. I have driven 
 
A Description of the City. 233 
 
 and walked very considerably about it, and have as yet seen 
 very few ancient buildings, although it dates almost from 
 the Christian era, when it bore the Roman name of Vin- 
 dobona. The Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius died here 
 in i8o. Its fortunes rose and fell through the centuries, being 
 high during the Crusades by reason of the trade flowing 
 through it, and falling into the hands of Rudolph of Hapsburg 
 in 1276, it was made the seat of the dynasty of that house. It 
 was twice besieged by the Turks, first under Soliman II. in 
 1529, and again under Mohammed IV. in 1683, when they 
 were defeated under its walls by John Sobieski, King of 
 Poland, with an allied army of Poles, Austrians, Saxons, 
 Bavarians and Franks. After the battles of Austerlitz, 1805, 
 and Wagram, 1809, the city was occupied for a time by the 
 French. Until 1809 it was surrounded by a double girdle of 
 fortifications, of which scarcely any traces remain. In 1858 
 the inner line was levelled to give place to the Ringstrasse, a 
 wide street running round the city, with sub-names for differ- 
 ent sections of it, and to this broad avenue streets radiate 
 from the centre. On this wide, circular avenue and on others, 
 as well as on the numerous public squares, are a vast number 
 of grand and beautiful public buildings, palaces and private 
 residences, revealing the wealth and public and private spirit 
 of this modern city, which looks as new and fresh as Chicago 
 and grander than London or Berlin. The fashionable streets 
 are lined with cafes, so filled with well-dressed and bright- 
 looking people that one would think the citizens lived in 
 them, and the footways are thronged with elegant, vivacious 
 passengers, the women especially showing more beauty than 
 I have noticed elsewhere, and now and then a face flashes 
 out such as painters love to copy, but more often imagine 
 than meet in real life. I have never seen finer horses, better 
 formed or of better action, than swiftly draw the private 
 carriages ; even the hackney-coaches go at a great pace 
 behind horses fit for any use. In brief, this is a beautiful 
 and splendid city. 
 
 There is a large, airy vault, reached by descending a dozen 
 steps, under the old church of the Capuchins, where in huge 
 sarcophagi of copper, heavily embossed with funereal shapes, 
 repose the remains of Maria Theresa and her husband Fran- 
 cis, Joseph II., Francis II., Marie Louise Napoleon's second 
 
.234 The Imperial Ho/burg. 
 
 wife ; and their son the Duke of Reichstadt, who died here 
 in 1832. Here, too, rests ill-starred Maximilian, for so brief 
 a time Emperor of Mexico (whose place of execution at 
 Queretaro in Mexico we visited, now more than two years 
 ago), with a vacant place at his side for poor, distraught 
 Carlotta, wearing her life away in Brussels. We were shown 
 about by a gentle-voiced monk, who reverently rehearsed the 
 titles of his sleeping charge, and showed us out into the 
 welcome sunlight with a look of such peace that it seemed a 
 benediction. 
 
 The Imperial Hofburg, or Old Palace, usually called the 
 Burg, the residence of the Austrian princes since the thirteenth 
 century, is a huge, irregular pile of buildings surrounding a 
 court. We visited the rich Imperial Treasury in one of the 
 wings and saw a great number of exceeding rich and exquisite 
 articles ; among them the celebrated salt-cellar made by Ben- 
 venuto Cellini for Francis I. of France, of which the artist 
 says in his autobiography, after minutely describing it, "When 
 I showed the king this piece of work he burst into an excla- 
 mation of surprise and could never sufficiently admire it." 
 Also a great oval dish of silver-gilt by the delightful metal- 
 worker, Jannitzer of Nuremberg, in the sixteenth century. 
 There are two hundred and seventy-six articles in the cases, and 
 the catalogue, with particular descriptions, is interesting read- 
 ing. The jewels, the private property of the Imperial Family, 
 are also shown ; including the imperial crown of Austria, the 
 imperial orb and sceptre, the diamond crown of the reigning 
 Empress, whose value exceeds seven hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand dollars, with diamonds once forming a part of the jewels 
 of the Empress Maria Theresa ; a set of rubies forming a com- 
 plete parure, including a tiara, girdle, necklace, pair of ear- 
 rings and watch. The greater part of these articles formed a 
 part of the bridal jewels of poor Marie Antoinette, Queen of 
 France, and having been hid during the Revolution, were 
 bought from her daughter, the Princess Maria Theresa, by 
 Francis II., Emperor of Germany. Also a set of emeralds, the 
 principal of which were taken from a stomacher belonging to 
 the Empress Maria Theresa. Also the brilliant diadem with 
 the Frankfort solitaire in the centre, a stone of purest water, 
 weighing forty-two and one-half carats, bought by the German 
 Emperor Francis I. in Frankfort-on-the-Main for twenty- 
 
The Imperial Treasury s Exquisite Jewels. 235 
 
 eight thousand golden Louis in 1 764, and worn by him as a hat- 
 button. Also a diamond necklace, called the rose-necklace, con- 
 sisting of thirteen rows of brilliants, which formed part of 
 the bridal set called "the Esclarage," received by the Empress 
 Maria Theresa at her marriage from her mother-in-law, the 
 Duchess Elizabeth Caroline of Lorraine, who had them 
 from her mother-in-law, Eleanor, Queen Dowager of Poland, 
 daughter of the Emperor Leopold I., who afterward married 
 Charles v., Duke of Lorraine. Also the " Florentine," a great 
 diamond of a yellowish cast, forming part of a hat-button, 
 and weighing one hundred and thirty-three and one-third 
 carats, making it one of the largest in the world. It was once 
 the property of Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, who 
 always carried it with him on the battle-field to have the benefit 
 of the mysterious power then attributed to precious stones. 
 He lost it at the battle of Granson in 1476. A Swiss soldier 
 picked it up on the road, and thinking it a piece of glass sold 
 it to the parish priest of Montigny for a florin ; from whom a 
 Bernese got it for three francs. Some years after, a Bernese 
 merchant, one Bartholomew May, bought it for five thousand 
 florins, and sold it for seven thousand florins to a Genoese, 
 who in turn sold it to Duke Ludovico Moro Sforga, of Milan. 
 Through the mediation of the great bankers, the Fuggers, it 
 was bought for twenty thousand ducats for Pope Julius II., of 
 the house of Medici, and remained in that family until its 
 extinction in 1737, and later, by a series of marriages, came 
 into possession of Francis of Lorraine, the husband of Maria 
 Theresa, and through her into the Treasury. 
 
 It pleases me to dwell for a little on the strange history and 
 romantic adventures of these precious things, so interwoven 
 with the lives and shifting fortunes of mighty personages ; 
 and in their flashing radiance one seems to see the great 
 scenes of royal olden pomp in which they bore their part, 
 flaming on the heads of proud kings and adding lustre to the 
 white necks of fair young queens, to be laid aside by some of 
 their unhappy wearers after a life of sorrow, tragically end- 
 ing. There are fifty-six of these rare articles in this most in- 
 teresting collection. There are also the regalia of the Em- 
 peror Napoleon I. as King of Italy, the regalia and sacred 
 relics of the holy Roman Empire ; but I cannot dwell on them 
 at further length. It is with an odd feeling of incongruity 
 
236 Chateau of Belvidere. — Temple of Theseus. 
 
 that one finds among these secular treasures, and equally- 
 guarded and honored with equal precision of date and authen- 
 tic history, "a piece of the holy table-cloth which covered the 
 table at the Last Supper of our Lord," ''a piece of the holy 
 cross," "a chip of the manger of Christ," "a bone of the arm 
 of St. Anne," " three links of the iron chains by which the 
 Apostles Peter, Paul and John were fettered," "a piece of the 
 garment of St. John the Evangelist," and " a tooth of St. John 
 the Baptist." 
 
 There is an excellent gallery of pictures, not well accommo- 
 dated, in the Chateau of Belvidere, once the residence of 
 Prince Eugene of Savoy, but to have place soon in the mag- 
 nificent halls of one of the two museums now completing. In 
 this gallery is choice store of Rubens' best works in great 
 numbers, of Diirer, Titian, Rembrandt, Van Dyck, and a long 
 line of fine examples in all the continental schools. I passed 
 two days in this most interesting collection of some eighteen 
 hundred pictures, pretty nearly all good and many notably 
 fine. We saw many interesting incunabula, or books'printed 
 before the year 1500, among them a Psalter of 1457, printed 
 by Schoffer and Faust, in the Imperial Library, occupying a 
 grand half-monkish hall, erected in 1722, with fine ceiling 
 paintings by Daniel Gran, and in the palace of the Archduke 
 Albert a notable collection of drawings by the old masters, 
 Raphael, Diirer, Rembrandt, and so on, to the number of 
 more than one hundred thousand, many of which I saw with 
 curious interest. 
 
 In the pleasant grounds of the Volksgarten is a Temple of 
 Theseus, containing Canova's group of the " Victory of 
 Theseus over the Centaurs," in white marble ; as grand as his 
 monument to the Archduchess Maria Christina, daughter of 
 Maria Theresa, in the nave of the Augustan Church, is tender 
 and beautiful. Such delicacy of carvmg in the figures of the 
 mourning group on their way to the tomb, such anguish and 
 sorrow expressed in the cold, mute marble, which seems to 
 have melted in grief under this master's hand ! 
 
 At the corner of the Graben and Kartner streets is an odd 
 relic in what is said to be the stump of a pine-tree ; so entirely 
 overlaid with the heads of iron nails driven into it since 1575 
 by believers in its sanctity, who sought by this customary act to 
 obtain some spiritual benefit, as to present the appearance of a 
 
The Prater. — Stock Exchange. — Imperial Stables. 237 
 
 column of solid iron roughened on the surface. This memento 
 is protected by standing in a hollowed space in the corner of 
 a massive building with a padlocked grate in front. 
 
 The Prater is a park and forest of over four thousand acres 
 in extent, belonging from 1570 to 1766 to the Imperial 
 Family, who used it as a hunting park, but the Emperor 
 Joseph II. opened it as a public resort. The principal avenue 
 through this fine wood has a double row of handsome chestnut- 
 trees on each side and runs in a straight line three miles, 
 much like the Coney Island Boulevard ; where the fine world 
 disports itself in the afternoons. 
 
 Passed an hour in the Stock Exchange ; a handsome build- 
 ing, with about the same number of brokers in the Pit as in 
 the New York Exchange, fully as much Bedlamite vociferation 
 and a vast deal more grimacing and fiery gesticulation. 
 
 I am informed that this stately city does not fulfil its busi- 
 ness promise of twenty years ago, and that from various 
 causes, some of them political, its prosperity is becoming 
 divided with Buda-Pesth and Prague. One would not suspect 
 any eclipse, however, when visiting the imperial stables, 
 where four hundred picked horses, for the different uses of 
 His Majesty's self and household, stand in stall in a vast cir- 
 cuit of stables covering more than a full Brooklyn block. On 
 one of the upper floors is His Majesty's gun-room, where more 
 than a thousand pieces, I should say, chiefly for hunting, are 
 kept in perfect order and readiness ; also the gorgeous car- 
 riages of state, new and old, the panels of one of the latter 
 painted by Rubens, it is said. There are stately coaches and 
 catafalques for funeral occasions and black caparisons of 
 woe for the horses drawing them ; significant of a sorrow 
 deeper than ordinary mortals can be supposed to feel or be 
 able to manifest. 
 
 We attended a performance of Verdi's opera of " Un Ballo in 
 Maschera " in the gorgeous Imperial Opera House, the part of 
 Amelia taken by Materna, now obese and showing marks of 
 age in person and voice. The auditorium seats twenty-five 
 hundred luxuriously, with its five tiers of gilded boxes. 
 The great stage was richly and fittingly set for the various 
 scenes, the orchestra excellent, the individual parts and the 
 choruses well sung by thoroughly trained voices; as it seemed 
 to me, an incapable judge of matters musical ; the effort being, 
 
238 Take Train for Constantinople. 
 
 it would seem, to produce an artistic ensemble rather than par- 
 ticularly striking effects. From what I had heard of the ballet 
 here, I looked for something better than was shown in the in- 
 cidental dancing in the ball-room scene, but very likely this 
 was kept subordinated to the general effect. The audience 
 would certainly be considered a refined, bright and handsome 
 one anywhere, with many fine faces and toilets in the boxes, 
 and no display at all of shoulders, busts and arms, so lav- 
 ishly made in the boxes and stalls of Her Majesty's Opera 
 House, Covent Garden, London. 
 
 October 21. — Took Oriental Express-train of " Wagon-Lits " 
 — sleeping-cars — for Constantinople at 9 p.m. Each single 
 compartment makes up into two berths at right angles to the 
 side of the car; and quite good they are too. The lavatories 
 and other accommodations are not at all equal to the Pullman 
 sleepers, but answer very well. This train left Paris at 
 5 P.M. yesterday, and is due at Constantinople the day after 
 to-morrow at 4 p.m. My married daughter, Mrs. Van Deusen, 
 joined us yesterday for a month's travel in company, thus 
 increasing my party to five. 
 
 October 22. — Woke on avast plain in Eastern Hungary, with 
 great fields of Indian corn on either hand and the general ap- 
 pearance of our large Western prairies. At 1 1 a.m. reached 
 Belgrade, on a height overlooking the Danube, the capital of 
 Servia, with 35,000 population, and appearing fully modern. 
 The railway from here is said to coincide with the old Roman 
 road built by Trajan and used in the first Crusade by the 
 hordes pouring into Asia to recover Jerusalem from the 
 Mohammedans. We pass through Palanka, follow the valley 
 of the Morava — the ancient Margus — cross a mountain-spur to 
 Ratcha, on a branch of the Morava, along a mountain-slope to 
 ancient Oromago in a defile on a small stream; through sev- 
 eral towns with unpronounceable names, over a ridge with 
 good scenery, to Alexinatz- -ancient Rappiana — to Nisch or 
 Nissa — ancient Naissos, founded by Philip of Macedon, the 
 birthplace of Constantine the Great, a.d. 272. We enter 
 upon Bulgaria, pass through Sofia, its capital, with scarcely a 
 glimpse of its low yellow buildings, traverse the Balkan 
 Mountains — ancient Hsemus — through an ancient pass with 
 rocky sides like a Colorado canon. The Balkan range is some 
 
Constantinople. 239 
 
 4500 feet high, and the peak of Mount Scarpus, in our sight 
 for many hours, nearly 10,000 feet. 
 
 The country we have been traversing now since leaving 
 Hungary is flat for the most part, treeless, poorly watered, not 
 unlike the broad alkaline plains of the West, if we think of 
 these as somewhat more fertile and capable of crops. The 
 brown monotonous expanse of dusty plain is enlivened rarely 
 with petticoated peasants ploughing in the cheerless fields, with 
 great white oxen yoked four to five feet apart — but more 
 sensibly than in Germany and elsewhere on the Continent, 
 because the draught is from the shoulder — flocks of large, 
 coarse-wooled sheep, white and black ; squalid villages of low 
 clay houses or huts, thatched with straw loosely laid--why 
 they do not burn up daily is a marvel. At the stations gather 
 groups of natives, barbaric in form, feature and costume ; 
 among them fierce, wild, handsome horsemen on magnificent 
 horses, with long guns strapped to their shoulders and belts 
 stuck full of pistols and daggers ; each one a walking armory. 
 
 Early in the afternoon of Monday a narrow line of blue 
 water gleams between low brown shores, extending south- 
 ward, where the sky, clear and warm, shows more soft than 
 elsewhere over the Sea of Marmora ; whose waters, except 
 in this bright bay, are as yet invisible, but continue to re- 
 appear in its many little indentations on our right. Villages 
 of strange aspect grow more frequent on the dusty plain, the 
 blue sea itself appears, the misty hills of Princes' Island rising 
 between us and the Asiatic shore — a long line of lofty gray 
 walls with battlemented towers of Roman construction rises 
 on our left ; we are whirled through a breach in them, skirt the 
 shore of the Sea of Marmora, whose transparent wavelets 
 almost wash the base of the railway, roll with scarcely 
 diminished speed through a confusion of flowing robes, bare 
 brown legs, swarthy faces capped with red fezzes swarming in 
 the narrow streets ; and all at once are in the depot of Con- 
 stantinople and take carriage among a Babel of crowding, 
 hoarse-throated Oriental cabbies, to be driven over a long 
 bridge across the Golden Horn, up a steep, narrow street to 
 the Royal Hotel, where we have spacious rooms on the first 
 floor and on the sunny side. From our balcony the config- 
 uration of the city is apparent. 
 
340 A NigJit of Discordant Sounds. 
 
 Except for the carpets and rugs and some few articles of 
 furniture and ornament in our rooms and elsewhere about the 
 house, one might suppose one's self in any one of a score of 
 the hotels we have had entertainment in since coming to the 
 Continent, and we went to a table d'hote at 7 p.m., of the 
 usual French menu. The guests at table bore a cosmopolitan 
 character. A quiet-looking gentleman whom I had noticed 
 on the train proved to be the president of the Imperial Bank 
 in London and a director ot the Imperial Ottoman Bank 
 here ; come to look into its affairs as he told me, and seeming 
 quite able to do so, with his strong Scotch face. Beside him 
 were seated two young English gentlemen, also our fellow- 
 passengers, in full dress, as if they felt it incumbent on them 
 to maintain the English table fashions under whatever sky ; 
 the pleasant family of a New York gentleman whose acquaint- 
 ance we had made on the train ; a German gentleman, in busi- 
 ness here ; a Frenchman ditto ; a solitary lady of undisclosed 
 nationality, and one or two others — all, ourselves included, 
 feeling more than usually curious perhaps, and drawn toward 
 one another from the fact of our remoteness from familiar 
 conditions. 
 
 We had noticed a great number of ill-conditioned, mongrel 
 curs all along our way from the depot, and Betty had mourned 
 over the sudden demise of one in the street before our bal- 
 cony, occasioned by its Oriental indifference to fate in allow- 
 ing a carriage to be driven over itself without the slightest 
 movement on its own part to prevent it. As night came on 
 after a glorious sunset, in whose glow the tranquil waters of 
 the Golden Horn shone in roseate light, such maddening, in- 
 cessant and discordant din of barks, howls, yelps and canine 
 cries of rage and anguish came in at our windows and were 
 continued with scarcely an interval of cessation all the night 
 long, that I heartily wished that all the rickety vehicles 
 of the entire city could be set in fatal motion over their 
 vile carcasses. To add to the horrors of the night, a re- 
 sounding clang began under our windows early in the even- 
 ing, stroke upon stroke, lasting a full half minute, and renewed 
 at regular intervals of a quarter of an hour, all night long. At 
 first I took it to be the noise of a paver's rammer pounding 
 the flagging into place, but came to understand that it was 
 the customary signal of the watchman to make it known to all 
 
Scutari : Its Golgotha. 241 
 
 whom it might concern that he had completed his round 
 without shirking. 
 
 October 24. — A warm, bright day. Crossed the Bosphorus in 
 a small steamer to Scutari, a quarter of Constantinople on the 
 Asiatic side, taking the boat from the middle of one of the 
 two wooden drawbridges connecting Pera and Galata with 
 Stamboul. We landed at the foot of a dirty, narrow street 
 broadening into a little square near the quay, and then rising 
 steeply along a causeway of rough stones whose irregularities 
 reminded me of Brooklyn's side-streets, -lined with shabby 
 little wooden houses and swarming all about with clamorous 
 vagabond human and animal life. It required all the efforts 
 of our dragoman, Joseph Jacob, and the use of the eleven lan- 
 guages he claimed to be master of when I engaged him last 
 evening, to prevent our being thrust bodily into the many 
 rickety, dirty landaus lying in wait for fares. At length, after 
 a deal of shrill hubbub of voices and wild gesticulation and 
 swaying backward and forward of a river of red fezzes, we got 
 deposited in two of these vehicles, and with Joseph on the box 
 beside the driver on one and Frattini on the other, forced our 
 way through the mob with loud cries of warning ; our raw- 
 boned and worn horses warmed to their work under the whip 
 and constant jerks at the bits, and we pounded along up the 
 rocky ascent with an expectation which possessed me all day, 
 that the rattling carriages would break in pieces the next 
 moment. But they did not, and we rolled on, jolting and sway- 
 ing from side to side in a cloud of hot dust, and entered upon 
 a lonesome avenue, passing through the vast burying-ground 
 of Scutari, used as such, Joseph said, for a thousand years. 
 
 It would not be easy to imagine anything more desolate and 
 mournful than this dusty city of the dead, where no objects 
 meet the eye but plain, narrow stone slabs, not less than 
 seven feet high, set as thickly as they can be planted on their 
 narrow bases in the dismal shade of tall cypresses. Not a 
 patch of green earth anywhere, scarcely a glimpse of the sky, 
 only a wilderness of dusty gray stones standing ghost-like in 
 the gloomy silence. Passing through this Golgotha and over 
 a stretch of dull country we reached the well-planted and kept 
 English cemetery, where on a promontory, laved on one side by 
 the blue waters of the Sea of Marmora, sleep some ten thou- 
 sand soldiers of the English armies, slain in the battles of the 
 16 
 
343 The Howling Dervishes. 
 
 Crimea and wasted in the hospitals of Scutari ; the yellow walls 
 of that one where noble Florence Nightingale toiled in 
 deeds of mercy standing in plain sight a little lower down on the 
 gradually sloping Asiatic shore. On the horizontal grave- 
 stones are many titled names, and Inkerman and Balaklava 
 are often repeated. The loving care of their far-distant 
 friends and countrymen has made a beautiful spot of this one 
 piece of sacred earth. To the south the blue and tranquil 
 Sea of Marmora stretches away beyond the sight, broken 
 only by the high, undulating profile of Princes' Island, to-day 
 half veiled in violet mist ; to the westward, on its many hills, 
 domed and minareted Stamboul, gleaming in the abound- 
 ing light ; and running northward the shining line of the 
 Bosphorus dividing Asia from Europe, the Orient from the 
 Occident. 
 
 From the cemetery we drove to an eminence on the north 
 of Scutari, Mount Boulgourlou, whence, after a short climb on 
 foot, we beheld a wide panorama extending twelve miles 
 around and including a glimpse of the Black Sea. On the 
 way we met, walking along a suburban road, three ladies of 
 the harem of a court dignitary having a country palace here, 
 not so closely veiled that we might not easily see that two 
 were old and ugly and one young and pretty. But the 
 striking figure of the little party was a tall, robust, handsome 
 Nubian, with a proud step, swarthy, but not to the point of 
 blackness, whom Joseph informed me in a whisper belonged 
 to that mutilated class fitted to be the custodian of an 
 Oriental harem. 
 
 Our main purpose in Scutari to-day is to witness the exer- 
 cises of the howling dervishes, these occurring only on Thurs- 
 day ofeach week and in this quarter of the city. We were 
 shown into a hall some 30 by 50 feet, overhung by a latticed 
 gallery, under which and behind a railing running round an 
 area some 20 by 30 feet a row of turbaned devotees squatted 
 on carpets, and within the railing, likewise in sitting groups 
 and rows, a score of dervishes praying in a low. monotonous, 
 not unpleasing sing-song. Their ages are all along from 
 twenty to seventy years, the last being about that of the 
 chief, who, sitting at the upper isnd, looking toward the 
 sacred city of Mecca, led rather than directed the exercises. 
 There was one full-blooded negro in the number. 
 
Pious Gymnastics. 243 
 
 Their flowing robes of many pleasing shades of color, their 
 swarthy faces surmounted with white turbans, their pictu- 
 resque groupings, so that these colors harmonized, the after- 
 noon light cautiously admitted through small windows and 
 directed so as to fall most effectively, the grave dignity and 
 introspection evident on all the faces, formed a scene strange 
 and impressive. The salutations and obeisances they used 
 were graceful and reverential movements. When the droning 
 chants had continued so long as to begin to grow weari- 
 some, by an easy change of positions, during which several 
 recruits entered the enclosed space, all except the old men, 
 who continued to sit cross-legged on their carpets,- rose, 
 and forming a compact line across the lower end of the arena, 
 began gradually to sing in a higher tone and increasing 
 volume of voice, accompanied with rapid and violent move- 
 ments of the head and body, carried to an amazing pitch. 
 The prayerful ejaculation of ^^ A/lah hour seemed to explode 
 from their throats like bullets, in deafening puffs ; and the 
 principal participants rolled their heads with prodigious 
 velocity, as if gaining impetus to throw them into each other's 
 faces. The young Ethiopian worshipper was especially 
 remarkable, and with incredible swiftness and without a 
 second's intermission for more than an hour threw his body 
 forward, as did the others, until his face nearly touched his 
 knees, and erected it again as if it were flung into place by a 
 powerful steel spring running along his spine. Rivulets of 
 perspiration glistened in their channels down his dark hide, 
 until, when- human nature would seem to find it impossible to 
 endure longer, his movements were checked by some order 
 secretly conveyed, and he was apparently advanced in rank 
 by removal from the end of the line, where he had performed 
 his meritorious gymnastics, to a position midway between two 
 older athletes of maturer sanctity, where he stood quiescent 
 during the remaining exercises. 
 
 While this extraordinary worship was at its height, a pretty 
 boy not more than six years old, habited in a green turban 
 and brown robe descending to his naked feet, whom Joseph, 
 when we drove up, had pointed out, playing outside among 
 other lads, as a young dervish, entered the enclosed space and, 
 extending his arms, began whirling on the spot where he 
 stood, and without moving six inches from it, with such 
 
244 A Strange Form of Blessing Children. 
 
 rapidity that his features became almost indistinguishable, 
 making, as nearly as I could count, more than oTie hundred 
 revolutions per minute ; and this dizzy spinning he main- 
 tained for twenty-six minutes by my watch, and then walked 
 away and out of the hall quite as fresh-looking as when he 
 entered, having attracted no notice at any time from his older 
 brethren. A little later a number of children of both sexes 
 came in singly and in groups and ranged themselves in a row 
 near the chief, who had risen and sought to take into his arms 
 from its father a mere babe, who screamed in such terror that 
 il was borne out, while the older children — the oldest might 
 ^have been eight years — laid themselves down on their faces side 
 iby side closely in a row. The chief, a tall, spare man, then 
 ^walked across the children, stepping somewhat carefully, but 
 iresting his whole weight on the one nearest him, then on the 
 -next, and so on, until he had literally stepped on each one ; 
 placing his foot on the upper part of their thighs, and return- 
 ing to his place in the same manner. They did not seem at 
 all hurt by the pressure of his weight, and when the ceremony 
 was over jumiped up, gathered about him, kissed his hands 
 'and ran out. As near as I could learn — it seems quite impossi- 
 ble to ascertain the significance of this ancient worship — this 
 treading upon the children is a form of blessing, and is sup- 
 posed to ward off and cure diseases. 
 
 We drove down to the landing and dismissed the carriages 
 in the same hubbub in which we took them, and returned 
 across the smiling Bosphorus, amid a shoal of the long, slen- 
 der, canoe-like boats called caiques, and the shorter, broader 
 and safer row-boats known under the general name of 
 barques. The westering sun flooded with glorious light the 
 close ranks of low white walls rising from the water rank above 
 rank to the high crest of the promontory, to whose sides the old 
 city of Stamboul clings on the extreme point of the ridge, 
 its gray walls washed by the sea and strait ; the imposing build- 
 ings of the old Seraglio, now unoccupied, stately and myste- 
 rious in their spacious enclosure, above which tall trees 
 whispering no secrets, and gilded domes and pinnacles rise as 
 they have done through many dark centuries ; and although 
 some of the inland parts were destroyed by the fire of 1865, 
 to me the most fascinating spot in the city. 
 
 October 25. — Drove northward through Pera to Yildiz, the 
 
The Saleftili':. 245 
 
 palace of the present Sultan Abdul Hamed II., to see him go 
 to mosque. This takes place at noon of Friday, the Moham- 
 medan Sabbath, when he, as Caliph of the Mussulman world, 
 attends official religious service. This ceremony called the 
 salemlik, has been regularly observed since 1361, and is a 
 pompous, theatrical scene. By the courtesy of our charge 
 d'affaires here, Pendleton King, Esq., we received a permit 
 from the Grand Marshal of the palace to occupy with others 
 an apartment in a building appertaining to the palace, but 
 outside its walls, looking upon the wide avenue leading down 
 from the gate in the lower side of the palace-walls, through 
 which the cortege descends to the beautiful modern white 
 marble Mosque of Hamidiea, diagonally opposite. From 
 the windows we had a full view up to the palace, across to the 
 mosque and down upon the picturesque masses of troops 
 guarding the lower end of the street, behind whom the peo- 
 ple, in variegated and picturesque crowds, pressed for a view. 
 The palace stands on the brow of a considerable hill in the- 
 northern suburb of Pera, its isolated position and extensive 
 pleasure-grounds enclosed in lofty walls, making of it really a 
 country residence. The Sultan is said not to leave his palace 
 here except to make this weekly ofificial ceremonial. The whole 
 distance from the gate to the mosque is not more than forty 
 rods ; the way is lined with soldiers and all avenues of ap- 
 proach are strongly guarded. Ordinarily some four to five 
 thousand troops are in attendance ; but as the German Em- 
 peror is to make a visit here next week, arriving in his steam- 
 yacht, the " Hohenzollern," from Athens, there is to-day a 
 sort of preliminary display, and some twenty thousand various 
 troops are present. 
 
 The side of the street toward the mosque is open, and only 
 an iron railing separates it from the small square in which the 
 mosque stands. At noon the muezzin from one of the min- 
 arets calls to prayer, and in a hush of expectation, signs of 
 the coming of the " Commander of two continents and Ruler 
 of two seas " began to appear along the freshly sprinkled road- 
 way. First came a close coach drawn by four led horses richly 
 caparisoned, containing the Sultan's mother, followed by an- 
 other bearing the Sultana, these ladies looking, through the 
 open coach-windows, to be heaps of Oriental silks and other 
 rich stuffs, so closely were they wrapped and veiled. In a 
 
246 The Cortege of the Sultan. 
 
 third rode a princess some sixteen years old, and in a fourth 
 another princess, a child of perhaps eight years. These 
 daughters- of the Sultan had uncovered faces, pretty and pale 
 and childish, and looked like those beautiful great dolls 
 luxuriously arrayed by the lavish taste of the Parisian 
 manufacturers. Then came the young prince, also in a coach, 
 wearing a military suit of dark blue, his regular, smooth, 
 waxen features relieved by a slight black mustache and large, 
 soft black eyes. He looked to be a youth of twenty years, 
 and quite harmless. Then followed two led horses of the 
 Sultan, one black, the other an Arabian, both of beautiful 
 form and handsome action, bearing rich saddles ; then alight, 
 empty phaeton drawn by a pair of gentle, cream-colored 
 horses, and lastly an open landau with the Sultan by himself 
 on the back seat and two high officers, one military and one 
 civil, facing him on the front seat. He wore a black frock- 
 coat buttoned in front, with several orders on his breast, and 
 a red fez on his head. This he always wears, and it is a rule 
 that all Turks shall do the same, while his other subjects may 
 exercise a choice of headgear. Before he had reached the 
 entrance to the mosque, the preceding carriages had been 
 stationed on either hand and the horses detached ; their occu- 
 pants remaining inside them, as the Sultan enters and wor- 
 ships alone. So he rode along slowly, amid the blare of many 
 bands playing wild, martial music, and plentiful cries of wel- 
 come, to the marble steps of the mosque, descended and 
 walked alone on the carpet spread for the purpose, up into 
 the interior ; where he remained for nearly an hour, during 
 which all waited patiently, the troops being served with water 
 from long, conical leathern cans strapped to the backs of car- 
 riers. When he reappeared and had descended the steps, still 
 unaccompanied, he got into the phaeton and by himself drove 
 the cream-colored horses slowly back to the palace-gate, his 
 cortege following in the order it used before. 
 
 The Sultan is forty-nine years old, and fully looks it. He has 
 a mild, thoughtful face, an erect bearing, and firm step — not 
 a greatly remarkable man to look at. From some point of 
 observation, either on or within the palace-walls, out of sight 
 of our station, he now reviewed the troops, who occupied 
 nearly two hours in marching past. These were from various 
 parts of his vast dominions in Europe, Asia and Africa, and 
 
The Sultan Reviews His Troops. 247 
 
 in their striking national garbs formed a strange and magnifi- 
 cent spectacle in the midst of these Oriental surroundings : 
 regiments of Albanians in the dress now become the national 
 costume of the Greeks, their belts stuck full of pistols, dag- 
 gers and yataghans ; Egyptians, tall, bronzed, sad-faced men 
 in white turbans wound round with coils of dull green cloth 
 like serpents, mingled with regiments of the Turks proper, 
 wearing the fez. The cavalry were mounted on fine horses, 
 two regiments of lancers especially so. These soldiers seemed 
 to me capital material, but not altogether well drilled. 
 Some companies marched with the German step exaggerated 
 almost to burlesque, evidently under the training of officers 
 who carried it much further than the model they had adopted. 
 Some of these, in addition to a great backward bend of the 
 spine and a dancing-master pace, sought to heighten their 
 warlike appearance by a scowling visage and a martial fierce- 
 ness of the eye, and glared along the lines as if they would 
 make nothing of charging a battery single-handed. If the 
 young German Emperor has a sense of humor it must cer- 
 tainly be tickled at the review next week to see the neat, clean, 
 firm step of his German officers at home so travestied. 
 
 By immemorial custom nothing must hinder the Sultan from 
 performing this weekly ceremony of the salei/ilik, if he be 
 alive. Not hail, rain, or any tempest ; pestilence, earthquake or 
 his own sickness must keep the Caliph of the Faith from these 
 official prayers, which cannot be made for him by any one 
 else. 
 
 On the 26th we made an excursion, in company with our 
 New York acquaintances, extending the whole length of the 
 Bosphorus, from Seraglio Point to the Black Sea, twenty miles, 
 or rather to a point where the view extends into the opening 
 of that sea, following the European shore as far as Roumeli- 
 Kavak. We pass on the water's edge or on the hill-side the 
 handsome and substantial palaces or summer residences of 
 the ambassadors of Sweden, Russia, Holland, France, Ger- 
 many, and, farther up, England and that of the United States 
 Minister. These European powers are a watchful and fatal 
 presence here, gathered like eagles to the prey, waiting, and 
 perhaps willing, to aggravate the disorders of the sick man, 
 impatiently looking for his demise and ready enough to seize 
 upon his effects before the breath leaves his body, if not re- 
 
248 Classical Gj'oicnd. 
 
 strained by mutual jealousy, wherein lies the safety of the 
 Turk in Europe. 
 
 The shore is gently undulating, sloping upward to a con- 
 siderable ridge, the scanty herbage dead and brown, as it is 
 ten months in the year, for lack of rain. The villages are 
 single streets along the water, where small, mean and dirty 
 houses show now and then the variety of long, beautiful palace 
 fronts of white marble, with rarely the dull walls of an old 
 mosque lifting its slender minaret in air, and often terraced 
 gardens climbing the slope with graceful trees and an attempt 
 at verdure. Four miles up from the city is a little village 
 where Medea is said to have joined Jason on his return from 
 Colchis, and a mile farther on is Bebek village and bay, the 
 ancient Chefae, where the Greeks built a temple to Diana, and 
 near by on a prominence the college founded in 1863 by Mr, 
 Robert, of New York, and spoken of by all as an institution 
 doing much good in the cause of education. 
 
 In the almost continuous line of villages beyond the upper 
 arm of the bay are some cemeteries greatly venerated by the 
 Turks, because here lie buried the Ottomans who first crossed 
 over from Asia with Mohammed II., and just beyond stand the 
 grand ruins of the Roumeli-Hissar — the Chateau of Europe — 
 a prodigious series of stone towers with massive connecting 
 walls, built by that Sultan in 1452 to command the Bosphorus 
 before his capture of Constantinople. Here is the narrowest 
 part of the strait — about one-quarter of a mile wide — where 
 Darius built a bridge, over which he passed an army from Asia 
 of seven hundred thousand men, where the Crusaders crossed, 
 and lastly the Turks, who still remain. On the Asiatic shore 
 opposite, at Anatoli-Hissar, are the ruins of less extensive but 
 greatly impressive towers. A mile above opens a deep bay 
 whose shores are prettily studded with good houses amid con- 
 siderable verdure at the upper end, where a small stream comes 
 in ; with Therapia on the northern arm, where we had a fairly 
 good dinner on shore at the Hotel d'Angleterre on the quay. 
 This spot is the old Pharmakia — poisons — taking its name 
 from some one of the many legends of Medea and her necro- 
 mancy, what time she 
 
 " Gathered the enchanted herbs 
 That did renew old .^son," 
 
The Exagij^eratwn of Travellers. 249 
 
 and these shores are the scenes of the exploits, perils and de- 
 liverances of Jason and his Argonauts in search of the Golden 
 Fleece ; told fully and with wonderfully strange and poetical 
 beauty by William Morris in his poem of " Jason." 
 
 At Roumeli-Kavak the seventeenth and final landing on the 
 European side is reached, and the boat crosses to the Asiatic 
 shore of the Bosphorus and follows it down on its return, with 
 frequent landings at Turkish villages not dissimilar to those 
 on the opposite shore, and presenting the same sharp contrasts 
 of opulence and squalor. 
 
 To read the heated accounts of travellers, especially of 
 the French nation, who seem to have adopted the Oriental 
 habit of exaggeration as soon as they set foot on these histori- 
 cal shores flushed with the romance of so many centuries, one 
 would suppose the whole scene to be of enchanting beauty ; 
 but I take the liberty of assuring those of more temperate and 
 sober minds that the descriptions of Theophile Gautier and all 
 his class are as rose-tinted as those of Moore's " Lalla Rookh." 
 
 We pass in sight of a dome-like hill rising from the tawny 
 ridge of the monotonous Asiatic coast, called Giant's Moun- 
 tain, or Mount of Joshua, of classic interest, where, according 
 to an old legend, Amycus, King of the Bebryces, was killed by 
 Pollux in a boxing-match and buried on its top. The coast 
 lower down is indented by frequent shallow bays, and on the 
 little promontory of Hieron once stood a temple to the " Twelve 
 Gods," endowed by Jason on his return from Colchis ; and 
 near by a temple to Jupiter Favoring, built by the Chalce- 
 donians, changed afterward by Justinian into a church dedi- 
 cated to the Archangel St. Michael. This promontory is the 
 termination of the Bithynian range of mountains and con- 
 fronts the limit of the range of the Balkans — the ancient 
 Haemus — on the European side. 
 
 Our dragoman, Joseph, is of himself an interesting study. 
 His pretence is that he is a German. One cannot question 
 this, perhaps, but one would not suspect it, so fully has the 
 stoical fatalism of the Orient subdued the original Teutonic 
 features of his nature. Whether he is arranging the terms of 
 the contract by which he serves us during the brief sojourn 
 we propose in the city of his adoption, or guiding us, in car- 
 riage or by boat or on foot, among the objects of interest in 
 this marvellous agglomeration of polyglot humanity, stolidly 
 
250 The Dancing Dervishes. 
 
 awaiting our movements, humoring our wishes, indulging our 
 whims, he is the same always, imperturbable, unruffled, inscru- 
 table, all commands and desires of ours being to him alike 
 important, or rather alike indifferent, and fulfilled on his part 
 with the same tranquil and heavy complaisance, not without 
 intelligence showing in his dull face, and prompt and easy 
 acquiescence, as if he were born under Moslem rule and in 
 the Moslem faith, with Kismet as the ruling fact of his life. 
 He has lived here for forty years, is married — how much he 
 did not state, nor did I venture to inquire — and declares 
 himself the father of eleven young children depending on 
 his earnings as dragoman ; perhaps stating the number of 
 the pledges of his multitudinous affection high enough and 
 not too high to interest the more susceptible members of 
 our little party in the pecuniary success of his services while 
 in our employ. 
 
 He guided me on Sunday — the only possible day — down 
 an ancient, jagged, stony street, leading from our hotel so 
 precipitously as to make foothold difficult, to the balconied 
 hall where the dancing dervishes hold their weekly religious 
 exercises. These were not of the wild, grotesque and resilient 
 nature I had been led to expect from the accounts I have 
 read in the books of excited travellers. At least they were 
 not so on this day, but were rhythmic, graceful and dreamy ; 
 almost languorous. Some twenty or thirty slender, gentle- 
 featured youngish men in dark robes and cylindrical head- 
 dresses, after prescrioed prayers, such as we observe the 
 imams or priests to make in the mosques, rose in a large circle, 
 with much courtly and refined salutation of each other, some- 
 what as partners make to each other in the opening of a 
 cotillon, only more prolonged and continued into an inter- 
 change of places ; with frequent kissing of hands and grace- 
 ful gestures of significant acts of prayer not understood by 
 me. All this was long continued and repeated over and 
 over, to the low and melodious notes of an orchestra of flutes 
 and long, softly-breathing horns ; and finally several, laying 
 aside their robes and space being made for them, extended 
 their arms and spun rapidly about, but neither so rapidly 
 nor so long as the little boy whose wonderful movements I 
 have tried to describe in our visit to the so-called howling 
 dervishes. Altogether a most graceful, almost tender cere- 
 
The Grand Bazar. 251 
 
 mony in that plain and not unpicturesque hall with its lat- 
 ticed galleries and sedate, calm-eyed, many-colored Moham- 
 medans squatting in rows all about ; the light falling from the 
 high, narrow windows in varying distinctness here and there 
 on the clean floor, relieved all about with richly hued rugs. 
 On our toilsome way back, at the corner of a very narrow 
 lane intersecting the street we were climbing, stands one of 
 the houses common here ; a small two-story structure of un- 
 painted wood with the invariable projecting latticed window. 
 As we approached it I noticed a masculine Turk standing under 
 the window in an attitude expressive of the most abject hu- 
 mility and contrition, while through the lattice from an un- 
 seen female issued the unmistakable sounds of high and 
 termagant scolding, falling in a scalding torrent on the abject 
 son of Islam, who made no reply, save a deprecatory gesture 
 expressing much, and intended to excuse and conciliate. 
 Joseph could not or would not explain why this evident 
 householder should stand at his own door unable or unwill- 
 ing to enter, so lashed by the unseen voice from his ill-regu- 
 lated harem. Plainly trials of a domestic sort are not con- 
 fined to the Western world. 
 
 Of wonderful interest are the bazars or markets of Stamboul. 
 The Grand Bazar is an enormous covered space vaulted and 
 lighted by little domes rising from the vast flat roofs, a city 
 within a city, an inextricable labyrinth of winding avenues, 
 streets and lanes, lined with countless little shops stuck close 
 together on either hand, open spaces at the crossings, small 
 squares here and there enlivened with fountains, thronged 
 with an innumerable multitude of buyers, crowding, pushing, 
 chattering, bargaining — confusing beyond conception. The 
 little shops, or rather booths, have their fronts quite open, the 
 interior being reached by two or three steps up from the 
 rough stone-paved passage-way, and on a sort of low counter 
 running along the front sits the imperturbable merchant 
 cross-legged, dignified, taciturn, picturesque in his red fez, 
 blue jacket, broad parti-colored girdle, baggy trousers, and red 
 morocco slippers. His more showy goods, whatever he may 
 deal in, are ostentatiously scattered about the entrance, and 
 hang suspended to the supporting posts and along the walls 
 of the flimsy structure. Usually there is behind this a closed 
 and dusky room whence can be produced for serious buyers 
 
253 The Mosques of Stamboiil. 
 
 out of presses and chests and other hiding-places, much richer 
 goods than are in sight. Although our mercantile friend 
 appears so unconcerned, he has really not neglected to take 
 measures to obtain his fair share of custom, for as we advance 
 along the crowded ways we are constantly importuned by eager 
 salesmen or drummers, who in quite sufficient English seek to 
 draw attention to the shops they represent, often lying in wait 
 for a considerable distance in advance ; and near at hand in 
 the front shop is always a smiling, handy and shrewd clerk, 
 acting under the eye of the proprietor as he sits calmly smok- 
 ing, who will exhibit the stock with tireless patience, putting 
 to the various articles not less than ten times the price he will 
 finally accept. The goods exposed for sale are of Eastern 
 form and fabric, silks of rich colors, cloth of gold, beautiful 
 embroideries, all novel and pleasing, but of no great variety, 
 as it seems to me. 
 
 The mosques of this city are reckoned at four hundred and 
 eighty, of which ninety were made such from the ancient 
 Byzantine churches. Most interesting structures they are, 
 lifting their tall, slender, graceful, balconied minarets into the 
 intense blue of the sky, like admonishing fingers. Only 
 within a comparatively short time have unbelievers been 
 allowed to visit them, but now, under strict guidance, one 
 may freely do so, all save the peculiarly sacred one of Eyoub, 
 into which no one, not even ambassadors of foreign nations, 
 is permitted to penetrate. It was erected by Mohammed, the 
 conqueror of Constantinople, in 1460, in honor of Eyoub, the 
 standard-bearer of the Prophet, slain in the siege of Constan- 
 tinople A.D. 668. In its court is the tomb of the companion 
 of the prophet, whose sword, the highest and most sacred sym- 
 bol of Mohammedan power, and the green banner of the 
 Prophet are preserved here. The mosque with its two minarets 
 stands in a grove of stately trees, and about the tomb of 
 Eyoub burn unceasingly a great number of lamps. 
 
 Specially interesting is the Ahmedie or Mosque of Ahmet, 
 situated in a vast enclosure, amid lofty trees, on the great 
 open space called At-Meidan, the ancient Byzantine Hippo- 
 drome, existing as such before the time of Constantine. Six 
 lofty minarets rise from it, a greater number than any mosque 
 possessed when Ahmet I. built it in 1610, except the Kaaba of 
 Mecca, to which, in consequence, was added a seventh. After 
 
The Mosques of Ahmet and Solyman the Magnificent. 253 
 
 the Mosque of St. Sophia this is the principal one in Constan- 
 tinople, and the richest in revenues. The great commemorative 
 festivals are celebrated here. The sun was near its setting as 
 we emerged from it and took places in our carriage in the 
 great space of the Hippodrome ; a roseate glory suffused the 
 motionless air, when there rose, clear, high and vibrant, the 
 voice of the white-robed muezzin standing on one of the upper 
 balconies of a minaret; his bronze features strongly contrast- 
 ing with his white turban, as in the magical light pouring full 
 upon him he issued the call to prayer, which is thus translated : 
 "Most High! There is no God but the one God ! Mohammed 
 is the Prophet of God. Come to prayer ! Come to the 
 Temple of Life !" I wish I might complete the picture with 
 pious devotees suspending all avocations to prostrate them- 
 selves at the call in the direction of Mecca, for then I should 
 be in agreement with the accounts I have read, but am con- 
 strained to say that I saw no notice taken of the summons by 
 the scattered groups upon the amphitheatre or by the rows 
 of dusty idlers squatting in the shadow of the walls. This 
 charming mosque rises from the third of the ridges on which 
 Stamboul is situated, counting from the Bosphorus ; and 
 looking from the paved space on the summit to the east of 
 the mosque, I saw a great smoke lighted up with broad sheets 
 of flame in Scutari, on the Asiatic side. This spread rapidly, 
 and while we watched seemed to involve a great space. 
 
 Most sumptuous and fairest of situation of the mosques in 
 Stamboul is that of Solyman the Magnificent, called Sulei- 
 manie, constructed in 1550 by Sinan, of the highest fame as 
 an architect. Like all original mosques — by which I mean 
 those not converted from early Christian churches — its interior 
 is nearly a square, with sides 290 feet in extent, surmounted 
 by a lofty, hemispherical dome. Four minarets rise above it. 
 Behind stands the tomb of Sultan Solyman the Magnificent, 
 exquisitely wrought of white marble, into which one passes 
 through a vestibule where four pillars of verd anticuie support 
 a cupola, while the inner one rests upon four columns of white 
 marble and as many of red porphyry. Under this dome, en- 
 closed by a balustrade of costly wood incrusted with mother- 
 of-pearl, rests the coffin of the great Sultan, covered with 
 magnificent shawls, each worth a king's ransom. Splendid 
 arabesques adorn the walls, also beautiful plaques of white 
 
254 Mosque of St. Sophia. 
 
 and blue pottery of Persian manufacture. The dome is beset 
 with huge lumps of unpolished crystal, and from it hang 
 lamps thickly adorned with precious stones. Near by and 
 only less magnificent is the tomb of his wife, the beautiful 
 Sultana Roxolana, the seductive, accomplished and cruel Rus- 
 sian slave whom the infatuated Sultan raised to the throne 
 and allowed to lead him by her evil inspiration. 
 
 Memorable is our visit to the great Mosque of St. Sophia, 
 converted from the Christian church of the same name built 
 on the site of an earlier one by the Emperor Constantine the 
 Great in 326, and destroyed by fire in 531. As it now stands 
 it is the work of the Emperor Justinian, who laid the corner- 
 stone in 532 and gathered from all parts of his vast empire an 
 amazing richness of material in costly marbles, works of art 
 and treasures of all sorts. In its vast and majestic interior, 
 rising in arch above arch of beautiful and impressive propor- 
 tions, twenty-five thousand worshippers may gather, and the 
 cost is computed at seventy million dollars of our money. 
 Of course the altar and all insignia of Christian worship have 
 been removed, as Mohammedanism permits no shrines or 
 images of saints in its mosques ; and as all worship is in the 
 direction of Mecca, the matting covering the floor is so laid 
 that the seams run in that direction, so as to indicate to the 
 faithful their true position in the act of prayer. 
 
 Until somewhat recently, as 'I have said, unbelievers were 
 not admitted to the mosques, but this is now freely permitted 
 under certain easy restrictions ; one being that all must enter 
 with uncovered feet. Even this has been so far modified, in 
 deference to the stubborn foot-gear of Western infidels, as to 
 permit of putting on over one's shoes a sort of loose slipper, in 
 which the visitor shambles awkwardly along the matted floor. 
 I had the misfortune to don an uncommonly ill-fitting and per- 
 verse pair, of which one or the other would now and then be- 
 come detached ; and whenever this occurred a half dozen 
 white-turbaned Kaims, a lower order of clergy having in 
 charge the order and regulation of the mosque, gathered about 
 to see that the delinquent foot did not touch the ground until 
 the awkward slipper was restored to its place. Here and there 
 in the majestic and solemn space, their forms dwarfed by dis- 
 tance, crouched robed and turbaned figures reading in a sing- 
 song tone from volumes of the Koran lying open on cushions 
 
Expounders of. the Koran. 255 
 
 before them, rocking their bodies to and fro in regular, un- 
 ceasing motion ; and cuddled together under the great dome, 
 all prostrate, a group of some thirty about one in priestly 
 garb with full beard, who, sitting cross-legged, seemed to be 
 expounding with an air of authority the contents of an open 
 book, and listened to with eager and reverential attention by 
 the younger, bright faces upturned to his. I asked Joseph 
 what might be the nature of this absorbing discourse, and 
 he, cautiously moving within earshot, returned to say that the 
 grave and learned teacher was enforcing from the Koran the 
 steps in due order of the ablution required before attending 
 religious services in the mosque, and that many days would 
 be given to instruction on that point of ceremonial. One can 
 hardly conceive a more grandly impressive interior than this 
 noble mosque, beautiful in its sublimity. 
 
 Before leaving Stamboul to day, it occurred to me to count 
 as many of the dogs as possible, seen on the way to our hotel, 
 a distance of perhaps two miles, I do not understand it to 
 have been a particularly good day for dogs, but was able to 
 reckon very nearly four hundred in sight from our carriage. 
 These dogs, the scavengers of the city, are mongrel curs, 
 mostly of smallish size and a dirty brown color, rather intel- 
 ligent-looking and not bad-tempered. I incline to think, 
 from what I saw and heard, that there is truth in what is said 
 of their having their own quarters of the city, from which 
 they are not allowed to stray, being set upon and driven back 
 by their canine neighbors whenever they attempt to change 
 domicile. 
 
 After dinner walked out into the gathering night to a point 
 looking across to Scutari, where the conflagration is still 
 raging and seeming to be an ocean of flame, lighting up the 
 sky and gleaming luridly on the blue Bosphorus. Next 
 morning we learned that two hundred and fifty houses, two 
 mosques and one Greek church had been fully consumed and 
 many hundreds of poor people made houseless and beggared. 
 Such a conflagration is not at all uncommon, as the small, 
 unpainted wooden houses set close together are in the long 
 dry season like tinder-boxes, and the only apparatus for 
 extinguishing fires ridiculous portable squirt-guns, carried to 
 the scene on the shoulders of brawny, bare-legged firemen in 
 a disorderly rush, with loud outcries and frantic and well-nigh 
 
256 The Old Seraglio. 
 
 imbecile efforts, so that a fire ceases only when there is a lack 
 of combustibles to feed on. 
 
 Fair, too, are the white marble palace-walls gleaming from 
 plantations of stately trees and the ornate fountains in the 
 little squares. Of the former, no one has for me the interest of 
 the old Seraglio in its air of seclusion and mystery, standing 
 conspicuously on the point of the promontory overlooking at 
 once the Sea of Marmora, the Bosphorus and the Golden 
 Horn ; now tenantless and silent, but thronged with sinister 
 memories of intrigues, poisonings, assassinations, through 
 many dark and bloody centuries. Whenever in sight of it, by 
 an irresistible fascination my mind calls up its history and 
 the romances associated with it : Sultanas shining on perfumed 
 divans, their blazing gems not brighter than the lustrous eyes 
 of the wearers, laughing odalisques whose fair necks shall 
 come to the bowstring on the least suspicion, truculent 
 eunuchs with scimitars ready in their golden belts, hushed 
 mutes gliding along dim corridors bearing fatal messages ; 
 the scenes of Oriental voluptuousness, distrust, faithlessness 
 and revenge, all ceased now ; the dumb walls standing silent 
 in the purple atmosphere, the blue water smiling below, 
 the solemn cypresses murmurous only of the sounds of modern 
 life. 
 
 The really beautiful structures in this city, the palaces, 
 mosques, tombs and fountains, are painfully in contrast v.dth 
 the generally mean aspect of the city, and the pleasing 
 impression derived from a distant view is changed to one of 
 disgust as the visitor finds himself involved in the vile, narrow 
 streets, swarming with dirty life, squalid and reeking with 
 nauseating stenches. The anticipated visit of the German 
 Emperor and Empress next week is made the occasion of 
 scraping off the upper layer of filth from the streets along 
 which the procession of honor is to pass, and these are still 
 further distinguished by daubs of red and green on an occa- 
 sional shop-front. Among the many fruits exposed for sale 
 are delicious melons of a flavor combining the best tastes of 
 the watermelon and cantaloupe. 
 
 We passed some hours in the extensive warehouse and show- 
 rooms of the firm of Souhamie Sadullah & Co., and were 
 shown innumerable Eastern carpets and rugs and rare and 
 costly embroidered and woven stuffs, a good deal of which 
 
A Turkish Ware/wuse and ^'Holy Moses." 257 
 
 comes to our country through private purchasers. The ven- 
 erable Turk who met us at the entrance and conducted us to 
 a member of the firm came to us later with a copy of Mark 
 Twain's " Innocents Abroad, " and stating himself to be the 
 Holy Moses therein described, stood by while we gravely 
 read the page devoted to him, beaming with satisfaction at 
 the facetiously extravagant portrait drawn of him by that re- 
 nowned humorist, and plainly taking pride in it as a sincere and 
 cordial recommendation. The partner who showed us about 
 with much civility, although of full Turkish blood, had mar- 
 ried a wife from Connecticut, and— she coming in to call upon 
 him — politely introduced us to her and two pretty little girls, 
 their children, both dark of skin, with black hair and eyes 
 fully Oriental ; and to complete the picture, her gray-haired, 
 slouchy father lounged about in baggy trousers, jacket and 
 fez, a transmogrified Yankee, quite at home in his Turkish 
 garb and well illustrating the cosmopolitan nature of that 
 ubiquitous race. We were shown a ladies' sleeping apart- 
 ment completely fitted up in the Turkish manner, with a beau- 
 tiful carpet, charming hangings, divan, and articles of Oriental 
 ornament and bric-a-brac, including a rare tea service. The 
 German Empress will visit this establishment and be shown 
 into this room, and if — as surely she will — she express 
 admiration of it, will be informed that its contents are hers, 
 and all will be sent to Berlin — and the bill to the Sultan. We 
 were served in a cool apartment of the establishment with 
 little cups of coffee made in the Turkish way ; this being a 
 refreshment to its customers in which the house prides itself 
 as being superior to what can be had almost anywhere else 
 in the city. The coarsely ground berries of the coffee are put 
 in the cup, boiling water poured on, and when seasoned to 
 taste drank off directly. 
 
 The evening spectacle from the balcony of our apartments 
 in the Royal Hotel — the same as were occupied by the Hon. 
 Samuel S. Cox when Minister here — is strangely enchanting. 
 The eye follows the declining street running down sharply 
 past our hotel to the Golden Horn, its lights throwing into 
 relief the motley and fantastic passengers ; the slim, tall 
 cypresses of the ancient cemetery below us on the right rising 
 solemnly against the deep blue sky, whose constellations glow 
 and sparkle with a lustre I have never seen before ; beyond the 
 17 
 
258 On the Bridge. — De Amicis. 
 
 gleaming line of the Golden Horn, Stamboul rising steep 
 above steep, its domes and minarets faintly showing in the 
 faint lights ; and beyond the Bosphorus, the dim outlines of the 
 undulating Asiatic hills and the twinkling lamps of Scutari ; 
 and coming to the ear from all directions, a confusion of sounds 
 •alien and barbaric, not unsuited to the unfamiliar surroundings. 
 
 Nowhere is the outdoor life of this cosmopolitan city to be 
 seen to such advantage as on the long wooden bridge connect- 
 ing Pera with Stamboul. In the hurrying processions which 
 pass and repass all through the day are mingled all nationali- 
 ties, types and costumes of the Eastern world. The Italian 
 traveller De Amicis has sketched this with so attractive a pen- 
 cil, albeit in heightened colors, such as all tourists seem to 
 use freely in the Orient, that I will transcribe it bodily ; and 
 allow my reason, whenever I turn to these imperfect notes 
 that I may refresh my imperfect memory, to make the proper 
 allowance for the ardor of the Italian's vivid nature : 
 
 " The crowd passes in great waves, each one of which is 
 of a hundred colors, and every group of persons represents 
 a new type of people. Whatever can be imagined that is 
 most extravagant in type, costume and social class may there 
 be seen within the space of twenty paces and ten minutes 
 •of time. Behind a throng of Turkish porters who pass, run- 
 ning and bending under enormous burdens, advances a sedan- 
 chair inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, and bearing an 
 Armenian lady ; and at either side of it a Bedouin wrapped 
 in a white mantle and a Turk in muslin turban and sky-blue 
 caftan, beside whom canters a young Greek gentleman fol- 
 lowed by his dragoman in embroidered vest, and a dervish 
 with his tall, conical hat and tunic of camel's-hair, who makes 
 way for the carriage of a European ambassador, preceded by 
 his running footman in gorgeous livery. All this is only seen 
 in a glimpse, and the next moment you find yourself in the 
 midst of a crowd of Persians in pyramidal bonnets of Astrak- 
 han fur, who are followed by a Hebrew in a long yellow coat 
 open at the sides ; a frowzy-headed gypsy woman with her 
 child in a bag at her back ; a Catholic priest with breviary and 
 staff ; while in the midst of a confused throng of Greeks, 
 Turks and Armenians comes a big eunuch on horseback, cry- 
 ing out " Larya !" (" Make way!"), and preceding a Turkish, 
 carriage painted with flowers and birds, and filled with the 
 
Odd Costumes and Foot-Covering. 259 
 
 ladies of a harem, dressed in green and violet, and wrapped 
 in large white veils ; behind, a Sister of Charity from the hos- 
 pital at Pera, an African slave carrying a monkey, and a pro- 
 fessional storj'-teller in a necromancer's habit ; and what is 
 quite natural, but appears strange to the new-comer, all these 
 diverse people pass one another without a look, like a crowd 
 in London, and not one single countenance wears a smile. 
 The Albanian, in his white petticoat and with pistols in his 
 sash, beside the Tartar dressed in sheepskins ; the Turk, astride 
 his caparisoned ass, threads pompously two long strings of 
 camels ; behind the adjutant of an imperial prince, mount- 
 ed upon his Arab steed, clatters a cart filled with all the odd 
 domestic rubbish of a Turkish household ; the Mohammedan 
 woman afoot, the veiled slave woman, the Greek with her red 
 cap and her hair on her shoulders, the Maltese hooded in her 
 h\-^iQ.V faldetta., the Hebrew woman dressed in the antique cos- 
 tume of India, the negress wrapped in a many-colored shawl 
 from Cairo, the Armenian from Trebizond, all veiled in black 
 like a funeral apparition, are seen in single file, as if placed 
 there on purpose to be contrasted. 
 
 " It is a changing mosaic of races and religions, that is com- 
 posed and scattered continually with a rapidity that the eye 
 can scarcely follow. It is amusing only to look at the pass- 
 ing feet and see all the foot-coverings in the world go by, from 
 that of Adam up to the last fashion in Parisian boots — yellow 
 Turkish babouches, red Armenian, blue Greek, and black Jew- 
 ish shoes ; sandals, great boots from Turkestan, Albanian 
 gaiters, low-cut slippers, leg-pieces of many colors, belonging 
 to horsemen from Asia Minor, gold-embroidered shoes, Span- 
 ish alporgatos, shoes of satin, of twine, of rags, of wood — to 
 many that while you look at one you catch a glimpse of a 
 hundred more. One must be on the alert not to be jostled 
 and overthrown at every step. Now it is a water-carrier with 
 a colored jar upon his back ; now a Russian lady on horse- 
 back ; now a squad of imperial soldiers in Zouave dress, and 
 stepping as if to an assault ; now a crew of Armenian porters, 
 two and two, carrying on their shoulders immense bars, from 
 which are suspended great bales of merchandise ; and now a 
 throng of Turks, who dart from left to right of the bridge to 
 embark in the steamers that lie there. There is a tread of 
 many feet, a murmuring, a sound of voices, guttural notes, 
 
260 A Variety of Religions. 
 
 aspirations interjectional, incomprehensible and strange, 
 among which the few French or Italian words that reach the 
 ear seem like luminous points upon a black darkness. 
 
 " The figures that most attract the eye in all this crowd are 
 the Circassians, who go in groups of three and five together, 
 with slow steps ; big-bearded men of a terrible countenance, 
 wearing bear-skin caps like the old Napoleonic guard, long 
 black caftans, daggers at their girdles, and silver cartridge- 
 boxes on their breasts ; real figures of banditti, who look as 
 if they had come to Constantinople to sell a daughter or a 
 sister, with their hands imbrued in Russian blood. Then 
 the Syrians, with robes in the form of Byzantine dalmatic and 
 iheir heads enveloped in gold-striped handkerchiefs ; Bulga- 
 rians dressed in coarse serge, and caps encircled with fur ; 
 'Georgians in hats of varnished leather, their tunics bound 
 round the waist with metal girdles ; Greeks from the Archi- 
 pelago, covered from head to foot with embroidery, tassels and 
 .shining buttons. 
 
 " From time to time the crowd slackens a little, but instantly 
 other groups advance, waving with red caps and white tur- 
 bans, amid which the cylindrical hats, umbrellas, and pyramidal 
 head-dresses of Europeans, male and female, seem to float, 
 borne onward by that Mussulman torrent. 
 
 " It is amazing even to note the variety of religions. The 
 shining bald head of the Capuchin friar, the towering Jani- 
 zary turban of an Ulema, alternate with the black veil of an 
 Armenian priest ; im.aums with white tunics ; veiled nuns ; 
 chaplains of the Turkish army, dressed in green, with sabres 
 at their sides ; Dominican friars ; pilgrims returned from 
 Mecca with a talisman hanging at their necks ; Jesuits ; 
 dervishes— and this is very strange — dervishes that tear their 
 own flesh in expiation of their sins, and cross the bridge under 
 a sun-umbrella — all pass by. 
 
 '* If you are attentive, you may notice in the throng a thou- 
 sand amusing incidents. Here is a eunuch showing the white 
 of his eye at a Christian exquisite who has glanced too 
 curiously into the carriage of his mistress ; there is a French 
 cocotte, dressed after the last fashion-plate, leading by the hand 
 the beloved and bejewelled son of a pasha ; or a lady of Stam- 
 boul feigning to adjust her veil that she may peer more easily 
 at the train of a lady of Pera ; or a sergeant of cavalry, in 
 
Extraordinary Contrasts. 2G1 
 
 full uniform, stopping in the middle of the bridge to blow his 
 nose with his fingers in a way to give one a cold chill ; or a 
 quack taking his last sous from some poor devil, and making 
 a cabalistic gesture over his face to cure him of sore eyes ; or 
 a family of travellers arrived that day and lost in the midst of 
 a throng of Asiatic ruffians, while the mother searches for her 
 crying children, and the men make way for them by dint of 
 squaring their shoulders. Camels, horses, sedan-chairs, oxen, 
 carts, casks on wheels, bleeding donkeys, mangy dogs, form a 
 long file that divides the crowd in half. 
 
 " Sometimes there passes a mighty pasha with three tails, 
 lounging in a splendid carriage, followed by his pipe-bearer on 
 foot, his guard and one black slave, and then all the Turks 
 salute, touching the forehead and breast, and the mendicant 
 women, horrible witches, with muffled faces and naked breasts, 
 run after the carriage, crying for charity. Eunuchs not on 
 service pass in twos and threes and fives together, cigarette in 
 mouth, and are recognized by their corpulence, their long 
 arms and their black habits. Little Turkish girls dressed like 
 boys, in green full trousers and rose or yellow vests, run and 
 jump with feline agility, making way for themselves with their 
 henna-tinted hands. Bootblacks with gilded boxes, barbers 
 with bench and basin in hand, sellers of water and sweet- 
 meats, cleave the press in every direction, screaming in Greek 
 and Turkish. At every step comes glittering a military division, 
 officers in fez and scarlet trousers, their breasts constellated 
 with medals ; grooms from the seraglio, looking like generals 
 of the army ; gendarmes with a whole arsenal at their belts ; 
 zebecks, or free soldiers, with those enormous baggy trousers 
 that make them resemble in profile the Hottentot Venus ; im- 
 perial guards with long white plumes upon their casques and 
 gold-bedizened breasts ; city guards of Constantinople, as one 
 might say required to keep back the waves of the Atlantic 
 Ocean. The contrasts between all this gold and all those rags, 
 between people loaded down with garments, looking like 
 walking bazars, and people almost naked, are most extraor- 
 dinary. The spectacle of so much nudity is alone a wonder. 
 Here are to be seen all shades of skin-colors, from the milky 
 whiteness of Albania to the crow blackness of Central Afiica 
 and the bluish blackness of Darfur ; chests that if you struck 
 upon them would resound like a huge bass or rattle like pot- 
 
262 The Mingling of the Beautiful and the Horrible. 
 
 tery ; backs, oily, stony, full of wrinkles, and hairy like the 
 back of a wild boar ; arms embossed with red and blue and 
 decorated with designs of flowers and inscriptions from the 
 Koran. 
 
 " But it is not possible to observe all this in one's first pas- 
 sage over the bridge. While you are examining the tattoo on 
 an arm, your guide warns you that a Wallachian, a Servian, a 
 Montenegrin, a Cossack of the Don, a Cossack of Ukraine, an 
 Egyptian, a native of Tunis, a prince of Imerezia, is passing 
 by. It seems that Constantinople is the same as it always was 
 — the capital of three continents and the queen of twenty vice- 
 realms. But even this idea is insufficient to account for the 
 spectacle, and one fancies a tide of emigration produced by 
 some enormous cataclysm that has overturned the antique 
 continent. An experienced eye discerns still among the waves 
 of that great sea the faces and costumes of Caramania and 
 Anatolia, of Cyprus and Candia, of Damascus and Jerusalem, 
 the Druse, the Kurd, the Maronite, the Croat, and others — 
 innumerable varieties of all the anarchical confederations 
 w^hich extend from the Nile to the Danube and from the 
 Euphrates to the Adriatic. Seekers after the beautiful or the 
 horrible will here find their most audacious' desires fulfilled ; 
 Raphael would be in ecstasies and Rembrandt would tear his 
 hair. The purest types of Greek and Caucasian beauty are 
 mingled with flat noses and woolly heads ; queens and fairies 
 pass beside you ; lovely faces and faces deformed by disease 
 and wounds ; monstrous feet and tiny Circassian feet no 
 longer than your hand ; gigantic porters, enormously cor- 
 pulent Turks, and black sticks of skeleton shadows of men 
 that fill you with pity and disgust — every strangest aspect in 
 which can be presented the ascetic life, the abuse of pleasure, 
 extreme fatigue, the excess of opulence and the misery that 
 kills. 
 
 " Who loves colors may here have his fill. No two figures 
 are dressed alike. Here are shawls twisted around the heads, 
 savage fillets, coronets of rags, skirts and undervests in stripes 
 and squares like harlequins, girdles stuck full of knives that 
 reach to the arm-pits, Mameluke trousers, short drawers, 
 skirts, togas, trailing sheets, coats trimmed with ermine, vests 
 like golden cuirasses, sleeves puffed and slashed, habits monk- 
 ish and habits covered with gold lace, men dressed like women 
 
A Confusion of Tongues. 263 
 
 and women that look like men, beggars with the port of 
 princes — a ragged elegance, a profusion of colors, of fringes, 
 tags, and fluttering ends of childish and theatrical decorations, 
 that remind one of a masquerade in a madhouse, for which all 
 the old-clothes dealers in the universe have emptied their 
 stores. 
 
 "Above the hollow murmur that comes from this multitude 
 are heard the shrill cries of the sellers of newspapers in every 
 tongue, the stentorian shout of the porters, the giggling 
 laugh of Turkish women, the squeaking voices of eunuchs, the 
 falsetto trill of blind men chanting verses of the Koran, the 
 noise of the bridge as it moves upon the water, the whistles 
 and bells of a hundred steamers, whose dense smoke is often 
 beaten down by the wind, so that you can see nothing at all. 
 All this masquerade of people embarks in the small steam- 
 boats that leave every moment for Scutari, for the villages of 
 the Bosphorus and the suburbs of the Golden Horn ; they 
 spread through Stamboul, in the bazars, in the mosques, in 
 the suburbs of Fanar and Galata, to the most distant quarters 
 on the Sea of Marmora ; they swarm upon the Frankish shore, 
 to the right toward the Sultan's palace, to the left toward the 
 higher quarters of Pera, whence they fall again upon the bridge 
 by the innumerable lanes that wind about the sides of the hills ; 
 and thus they bind together Asia and Europe, ten cities and a 
 hundred suburbs, in one mighty net of labor, intrigue and 
 mystery, before which the mind becomes bewildered." 
 
 I am sorry to be obliged to add a prosaic note to the effect 
 that I have never seen a more ungraceful gait than the female 
 pedestrians practice as they waddle awkwardly along, " hen- 
 toed," their ankles encased in slouchy stockings, their feet 
 thrust into loose yellow or red slippers without heels, and only 
 kept in place by a world of practice. Nor are handsome faces 
 at all frequent. The Turkish women go abroad apparently 
 with perfect freedom, the wealthy in close carriages, the poorer 
 sort with their forms covered with the feridjie, or long loose 
 robe or mantle of white cloth or silk, their faces covered with 
 XS\^ yashfuak, or light, thin veil, which leaves only the eyes ex- 
 posed, but, as managed almost universally by its wearers, quite 
 plainly revealing all the features, unless one seeks for some 
 special reason to conceal the face, and I should say this is far 
 from common. 
 
264 On Our Way Back to the Western World. 
 
 There is prevailing here and in other Eastern cities, as we 
 are informed, an epidemic of the dangue, a short-lived fever, 
 with great pains in the limbs, not often fatal, and, as the 
 charge d'affaires here, Mr. King, who is from North Carolina, 
 informs me, is very like what is known in our Southern States 
 as break-bone fever. Fortunately none of our little party are 
 affected by it. We have prolonged our visit sufficiently, for 
 although very much has of course been imperfectly seen, we 
 carry away a tolerably fair impression of this strange and 
 wonderful city founded by Constantine the Great in the fourth 
 century of our era on the older Greek city of Byzantium, itself 
 dating from the seventh century before Christ, and now num- 
 bering nearly a million of the most heterogeneous population 
 of any city in the world. 
 
 We take our last dinner at the good table of the comfort- 
 able Royal Hotel, but may not finish until Betty, whose heart 
 is pitiful to all, the least of the creatures God has made, has 
 abundantly supplied with her own hands an exhausted canine 
 mother lying exposed under the window in the midst of her 
 numerous blind litter ; and under the charge of the constant 
 dragoman, Joseph, and the agile Frattini, reach the station of 
 the Oriental Express in the early evening, where we have a 
 long wait, while 'mid infinite hubbub the train is got ready. I 
 passed a half hour walking with Betty in a little dusty garden 
 connected with the station, and sought to answer her eager 
 questions about the stars shining overhead in marvellous 
 splendor. The whistle screams, the rush and hubbub redouble, 
 we take our compartment, and with effusive salaams and hand- 
 kissings on the part of Joseph Jacob, slowly roil out into the 
 night under the shadow of the mighty walls which have borne 
 bravely the sieges and assaults of nigh twenty centuries, and 
 are on our way back to the better civilizations of the Western 
 World. 
 
 October 31. — Left Constantinople at 7.30 p.m. in a sleeper 
 of the Oriental Express-train, and woke next morning on the 
 boundless plain which, watered by the Danube, stretches from 
 western Hungary to the Black Sea, broken only by the Balkan 
 chain of mountains, and in its western portion, so far as one 
 can judge, of great fertility, but for want of rain becoming in 
 its eastern expanse an arid, undulating desert. Almost the 
 whole of Servia and all of Hungary we traversed are like an 
 
Buda-Pesth. 2G5 
 
 Iowa prairie, and would seem capable of yielding enormous 
 crops of cereals and fruits. While along the line of the road 
 a good deal of the soil is under cultivation, one sees very few 
 farmsteads, so that the land must be in the hands of large 
 proprietors, or its owners live in the villages at inconvenient 
 distances away. Certainly the soil is capable of sustaining a 
 great population under favorable circumstances. On the 
 morning of November 2d we left the train at Buda-Pesth, the 
 capital of Hungary, after two most uncomfortable nights in 
 a close, ill-ventilated and ill-accommodated sleeping-car, bad 
 to a degree unknown on any road I have travelled over at home 
 in the last twenty years. 
 
 Buda-Pesth is a quite modern city in all its aspects, beauti- 
 fully situated on the Danube, here a broad, noble river, with 
 Buda on its right bank and Pesth on its left, the two cities 
 being connected by a handsome suspension-bridge. Their 
 united population is something over 400,000, and I should say 
 that, with the exception of Vienna, we have not visited on the 
 Continent a more handsome, well-built, bright and fine city. 
 One might fancy himself in New York or Chicago when 
 driving along its wide streets, thronged with well-dressed 
 people and lined with fine shops all in modern guise, until one 
 would recall that neither American city is as well-paved nor 
 can show so fine public buildings. Here again my ignorant 
 prepossessions got another rude correction. I had thought of 
 the Hungarians as a half-wild, intractable nation, full of fire 
 and a noble spirit, but unpractical and half Oriental in costume, 
 manners and way of life, and here I am in their principal city, 
 to find it more modern than London, with all the marks and as- 
 pects of high civilization and refinement. Quite likely there 
 are not many so poorly informed as I have been in this matter. 
 
 We called on a niece of Louis Kossuth, who was educated 
 at the same school with my wife in New York, and is now 
 married to a Hungarian gentleman here. It was pleasant to 
 learn from her that her uncle, now eighty-nine years old, is 
 living in Turin, Italy, in good health and activity of mind, 
 passing his time among his books and the flowers he loves to 
 cultivate, and able to speak last summer for more than an 
 hour in the open air to a great company of students who 
 called upon him. I referred to the surprising skill he showed 
 in the use of the English language in the eloquent speeches 
 
266 Venice. 
 
 he made in America on the occasion of his visit to the United 
 States in 1852. She said he learned English in the prison 
 where he was confined for two years, and had as his only books 
 the Bible, Shakespeare and an English dictionary. She said 
 of the brilliant painter Munkacsy that he was the son of an 
 upholsterer in a little village near Buda-Pesth, and attracted 
 attention to himself by the wonderful way in which, when a 
 lad, he painted pictures on the trunks or chests his father 
 made for the country people. 
 
 Came on to Vienna and took night train for Venice, three 
 hundred and ninety-eight miles, arriving at our rooms in the 
 Royal Hotel Danieli at 3 p.m. on November 5th. Awoke this 
 morning, after a poor night in a hot, cramped sleeper, to find 
 ourselves near Villach on the Drave, two hundred and thirty 
 miles from Vienna, and still among the Tyrolean Alps, in a 
 cold rain. We had fine mountain scenery to Pontebba and 
 a hasty cup of coffee there, after a slight examination of 
 our luggage by the Italian Custom-House. Passed through 
 Udine, the capital of the Venetian province of Friuli, a town 
 of importance, with 28,000 inhabitants. The country along 
 the way grew more level and then marshy, like parts of the 
 New Jersey coast near Long Branch, with oozy channels 
 among the coarse grass worn by the tides of the Adriatic, the 
 shallow bays of which deeply indent and overspread the land. 
 We crossed a solid bridge more than a mile long, resting on 
 handsome brick arches, and rolled into a railway station with 
 solid earth all about and nowise differing in the character of its 
 location, so far as one would notice, from any other on good, 
 solid earth, and Frattini, opening the door of our compart- 
 ment, called out " Venice !" 
 
 I was not at all satisfied with this humdrum introduction 
 to the Bride of the Adriatic. I might as well have been in 
 the depot at Rochester and have heard the magic name of 
 Venice spoken under its smoky vault. Nor was the case im- 
 proved when, after walking under cover of the prosaic roof, we 
 emerged on a platform to be solicited by a crowd of dirty 
 fellows in ready-made clothing of material and fashion like 
 unto that which greets the eye of the stunned traveller when 
 he steps outside the Grand Central Depot in our well-regu- 
 lated metropolis and is invited to have a cab — solicited, I say, 
 and vehemently urged to come without loss of time into a 
 
The Grand Canal.— Piazza of St. Mark. 3G7 
 
 long, narrow, black and dirty boat floating among twenty- 
 others alongside the platform in water of a dirty sage-green, 
 stretching away to right and left between rows of grim 
 old houses rising from it on either side. " What is this ?" I 
 asked Frattini as soon as we floated from the wharf, and being 
 answered, " The Grand Canal," sank back on my seat, the 
 most disenchanted of men. The sky was leaden, the air cold, 
 we had had little sleep and no breakfast, and in a resigned 
 and apathetic state of chilled enthusiasm hardly knew or 
 cared by what devious watery ways we came to the hotel on 
 the Riva degli Schiavoni, out on which and the broad lagoon 
 to the south our cheerful rooms look from the second floor. 
 A bright sitting-room, made more so by the blaze of a hand- 
 ful of fagots laid on the tiniest of andirons, a bath, a change 
 of dress, an excellent dinner, disposed me to look kindlier on 
 the external world. Vainly does any man imagine that he is 
 the same being before and after dinner. If, as we are taught, 
 the soul is a spiritual entity capable of an independent exist- 
 ence in other and higher states of being, it is certainly true 
 that in its present sojourn it is fast-bound to a material associ- 
 ate, and until the clamorous and vulgar wants of its partner 
 are satisfied, it is nowise at liberty to find comfort in exercising 
 its own functions, but is obstructed and fretted and unfit for 
 enjoyment. This by way of preface to saying that, cheered and 
 fortified as indicated above, I went forth from the portal of 
 the Hotel Danieli, built by the blind old Doge Dandolo more 
 than four hundred years ago wherein to entertain the ambassa- 
 dors to the Republic, and turning to the right, a few steps took 
 me to the bridge connecting the Riva with the Molo across 
 the Canal Paglia, and stopping on the arch of it, looked up to 
 the Bridge of Sighs and along the frowning wall of the old 
 prison to my right and the bright fa9ade of the Palace of the 
 Doges on my left, and then passing along the southern front 
 of it, stood before the superb columns of polished granite with 
 their exquisite capitals on one of which rests the winged lion of 
 St. Mark and on the other St. Theodore atop of his crocodile. 
 These front the water at the opening of the Piazzetta, or broad 
 paved space leading into the Piazza of St. Mark, to the centre of 
 which I at once betook me, and looked with strained and de- 
 lighted attention on the marvels of architecture all around, ob- 
 jects familiar to my mind through pictures and books, seen a 
 
268 Search for the American Consul. 
 
 thousand times in fancy and longed for from boyhood. Here 
 they all are more grand, more beautiful, " more moving-deli- 
 cate and full of life " than my imagination had painted them : 
 the Church of St. Mark with the four bronze horses over its 
 glorious portal, the clock-tower, the imposing Campanile with 
 its sculptured vestibule, the long line of massive marble palaces 
 on three sides of the square, the red flag-staffs rising from 
 their exquisite bronze pedestals — all are here ; and this indeed 
 is Venice the wonderful. 
 
 The following day was cool enough to make a blaze on our 
 hearth desirable ; leaden clouds kept their places sullenly, with 
 fits of rain ; but hiring a gondola, I set out to find our consul 
 here, taking his address from the directory, and gliding along 
 the Grand Canal amid old palaces, reached it to fi.nd him 
 removed elsewhere. Getting another address after much 
 inquiry, the porter at the old one being ignorant of his where- 
 abouts, we came in sight of the American flag-staff rearing 
 itself obliquely from the third story of a lonely house on the 
 Grand Canal. We found he had again removed, no one whom 
 we found within knowing where, and only after much inquiry 
 among watermen and market people, up and down, did we 
 come upon his modest rooms on a little square on a side canal. 
 The young gentleman who upholds the honor of our nation 
 here is holding over from Mr. Cleveland's term, this being his 
 fifth year, and his frequent change of residence would seem to 
 be explained by the statement he made when dining with me at 
 our hotel the next day, that his salary, no fees or other perqui- 
 sites attaching, is one thousand dollars per annum, from 
 which he pays all expenses, including the rent of his premises. 
 This would seem to be a rather shabby stipend, and one 
 would think him not likely to be disturbed, though why an 
 able-bodied and energetic enough young man, to look at him, 
 should continue in it I did not learn. 
 
 In the afternoon again admired the glorious structures 
 surrounding the Piazza and passed an hour in the church, or, 
 as it is now in fact, the Cathedral of St. Mark. This consum- 
 mate flower of architecture is not imposing by reason of its size, 
 and more resembles one of the mosques of Constantinople in 
 its outward form than a Christian church, having, indeed, 
 been remodelled in the Byzantine style from an earlier Roman- 
 esque form in the twelfth century. Some Gothic features, too, 
 
Cathedral of St. Mark. 26 Q 
 
 were added, but such is the richness and beauty of its adorn- 
 ments, or rather of its intrinsic structure, that the mind 
 refuses to see any incongruity in its parts, and dwells with 
 satisfied delight on the endless variety and completeness, the 
 marvellous tints and the softened harmonies which everywhere 
 meet the eye in bewildering and sumptuous profusion. The 
 mosaics cover an area of 46,000 square feet, and date all the 
 way from the tenth to the sixteenth century ; without and 
 within are five hundred columns of marble, mostly from the 
 Orient, with capitals of exquisite carving in all styles conceiv- 
 able, and everywhere is profusion of gilding, bronze and the 
 richest marbles ; so that the whole interior, and, for the mat- 
 ter of that, the exterior of the walls as well, might be cut into 
 small parts, framed and hung on the walls of a room one 
 wished to beautify with choice ornaments. I am quite incapa- 
 ble of describing this gem of the earth, this pride of Italy, 
 whose builders and decorators fairly revelled in the construc- 
 tion of it, and as if, in an ecstasy of the imagination, they had 
 quite forgotten or abandoned the formal rules of art, and, with 
 a strange and profuse freshness of creative power poured the 
 prodigal richness of the East upon this shrine of the Occi- 
 dent. Time has softened the hues of the costly marbles and 
 blent all into a more perfect harmony of color. The rich floor 
 has become so uneven by the irregular giving way of the 
 foundation that in nave and transept and under the great 
 central dome it fluctuates like the swell of the ocean arrested 
 and frozen into stone, but by a careful process of restoration 
 all is fixed and continuous, so tliat the effect is even heightened 
 by this peculiarity. 
 
 The gondola grows in favor as one becomes more familiar 
 with it. The commonest sort are no more pleasing objects 
 than any other black, weather-worn boats, but the better ones, 
 with their bright steel prows, carved sides and tops, brass 
 decorations, stuffed leathern seats and fringed cloth canopies 
 or felzes, are graceful, convenient and picturesque. They 
 carry six persons, besides two gondoliers, one in the body of 
 the boat forward, the other perched on the high stern, where 
 he presents a pleasing figure as he guides his long, narrow 
 craft with singular dexterity, using only one oar against a 
 rowing-post set some four feet from the bow on the left side. 
 AH gondolas are painted black, and the cloth covering of the 
 
270 The Gondolas : on the Grand Canal. 
 
 little cabin, which is easily removable and left ashore in fair 
 weather, is of the same sombre color. This fashion continues 
 as the result of a sumptuary law enacted in the fifteenth 
 century to check the extravagant outlay practised by the 
 citizens in the ornament of these indispensable vehicles, which 
 here take the place of carriages, there being not a horse nor 
 anything on wheels in the city, I believe. As the gondolier 
 has so far given way to the spirit of the age as to rig himself 
 out generally in nondescript ready-made garments, which are 
 as fatal to romance as a steam-engine, I engaged a handsome 
 gondola by the day for our use, with the condition that the 
 gondoliers should put on the uniform the better sort of them 
 have for occasions. 
 
 The next morning the sun rose in a sky of soft blue, warm- 
 ing the pare sea air with a feel of September ; our gondola 
 floated in the narrow canal at the side entrance to the hotel, 
 with two brawny, bronze rowers in dark blue suits faced 
 with white and girt round the waist with colored sashes, and 
 we set forth on the Grand Canal, gliding by time-stained, 
 silent palaces of various and massive architecture, beautiful in 
 their decay, the fair vestiges of noble and wealthy families 
 whose names shine in the annals of the last five centuries. 
 From the Grand Canal, frequent narrow ones open on either 
 side, no streets being visible ; the houses everywhere rise 
 from the water, as if a well-built and populous city should be 
 inundated and its streets flooded up to the very thresholds of 
 the houses. The tide rises something above two feet in the 
 city, and at its full the gondolas set their passengers down on 
 the very topmost steps of the landings. Families who maintain 
 private gondolas indicate their residences by tall posts planted 
 in the water in front, bearing their coats-of-arms in colors. 
 
 Very many of these palaces which line the Grand Canal along 
 its length of two miles are not less than one hundred feet in 
 front, with four lofty stories, of elaborately carved stone, some- 
 times faced with richly colored marbles. Not many of them 
 are fully occupied, and very few by descendants of the old 
 families' who built them. Many are let out in flats, many are 
 closed altogether, quite a number are used for business pur- 
 poses and a few are owned or rented by foreigners, and the5:e 
 -have an appearance of being really human homes. One of 
 the finest is now being renovated by Mr. Browning, son of 
 
The Rialto Bridge.— The Ghetto. 271 
 
 the poet Browning, who married Miss Coddington, of New- 
 York. This rich stone pile, of enormous size and cost, cer- 
 tainly could not be built or purchased on Manhattan Island 
 for less than a quarter of a million dollars ; and as an illustra- 
 tion of the condition of the real-estate market here, I might 
 mention that I was informed that this cost Mr. Browning forty- 
 five thousand dollars. Fine and grand as these old houses 
 are, one would think it a dreary thing, after the novelty had 
 worn off, to live on the water and have no way of leaving 
 one's house except by boat. We pass the pretty balconied 
 house said, by I know not what fantastic tradition, to be that 
 of Desdemona what time she was wooed by the Moor, the 
 Contarini Palace, the Cavalli, the Foscari, and a plain house 
 built on a grand foundation, begun by Francisco Sforza, the 
 traitor, but ordered by the Republic to be left unfinished, 
 the Palace Balbi, Pisani, Dandolo, Bembo, Ca d'Oro, Pesaro, 
 Vendramin, Calergi, and many another one famous in old- 
 time annals. 
 
 Half way up the Grand Canal is the famous Rialto Bridge, 
 "where merchants most do congregate," and until the iron 
 bridge was built some distance below the only one span- 
 ning the Grand Canal and connecting the eastern and west- 
 ern quarters of the city. This noble structure consists of a 
 single marble arch of 74 feet span and is 158 feet long, 46 
 wide and 32 high, resting upon twelve thousand piles. It was 
 built in 1588 by Antonio da Ponte, and has a row of shops 
 along each side. One would not think it ever a likely 
 place for a meeting of the merchants, but conditions have 
 changed since this was the rich mart of Eastern commerce, and 
 very likely precious wares were then stored in the huge decay- 
 ing warehouses near the Rialto, and merchants from both sides 
 of the canal met on its broad and spacious arch to effect their 
 sales and exchanges. We passed into many narrow side 
 canals overhung by lofty mouldering houses, penetrated the 
 old Jewish quarter — the Ghetto — where these people, once 
 proscribed, still dwell, not exclusivel)^, but did not recognize 
 the " gentle Jessica" among the frowzy maidens leaning over 
 the decrepit balconies, half screened by the picturesque tatters 
 of probable underclothing waving from the walls. 
 
 The tide was ebbing as we glided among these sinuous 
 channels and the receding water left unromantic stenches 
 
273 Scenes Along the Grand Canal. 
 
 behind, not noticeable at high tide, and we were glad to issue 
 forth upon the blue lagoon to the northward, viewing with 
 pleasure the long, graceful yellow line of the cemetery-wall ; 
 stopping to see the Church of San Michele, built in 1466, with 
 some good sculptures on its fagade. Here and at every land- 
 ing we encountered the most adhesive of the beggar tribe in 
 the form — always — of a tatterdemalion, shaky, watery-eyed 
 old man who is lying in wait with a hooked pole to hold one's 
 boat to the landing-steps. He and his function are useless, 
 but he fastens upon the boat as if he were a government 
 official with full powers, and no extent of prohibition or vol- 
 ume of objurgation has the least effect upon him ; he takes all 
 as a matter of course and never relaxes his hold until, yielding 
 to his imperturbable impudence, you slip a small gratuity into 
 his relaxing palm. 
 
 As we returned homeward the declining sun flooded the 
 intervening tract of tranquil water with a flow of opalescent 
 light far to the eastward, and in the unreal radiance of it, floated 
 or seemed to float, rising and falling in the slight pulsations 
 radiating from the gondola's noiseless prow, the low lines of 
 islands white with churches, to the left of us the blue Alps 
 veiled in mist, and on the right, more silent and weird than 
 any other thing, the strange, unreal city, in whose streets no 
 sound of wheels is heard, hoary with centuries, beautiful in 
 decaying grandeur, lifting, as if in mournful supplication, its 
 graceful domes and campaniles to the pitiful heavens, their 
 sad bells sobbing over the friendly sea. 
 
 We were early afloat next morning under the sky of a per- 
 fect day, again gliding along the Grand Canal as in a dream, 
 finding new beauties of form and color everywhere, the com- 
 monest things so altered by the " sea change " that nothing 
 seemed " common or unclean," the comfortless, crumbling 
 palaces shining like the work of enchantment ; and the imagi- 
 nation in the easiest and most natural way restored them to 
 their pristine beauty and filled the pillared galleries with 
 jewelled ladies whose dark eyes outshine the sun, waving 
 white hands of welcome to gleaming knights below, sweeping 
 with swift oars to greet them, fresh home from brave wars and 
 rich with the spoils of the East ; precious jewels, costly silks, 
 cloth of gold, spices and perfumes. What feasting followed ! 
 what revelry ! These empty halls blazing with light shining out 
 
Frattini in Proud Attitude. 273 
 
 from these pointed windows, now dead to light, across the 
 gleaming water ; these mournful walls flaunting with many 
 colored streamers and hung with embroidered cloths of velvet 
 fringed with gold ! I count him less than man whose blood 
 does not stir in this scene of antique glory. 
 
 All day long we floated and glided about, threading pas- 
 sages so narrow that two boats could scarcely meet, between 
 ranks of houses so tall and near together that only a long strip 
 of azure sky showed above. At each of the frequent turns 
 the gondolier utters a peculiar cry of warning to any boat 
 likely to emerge from the hidden turn of the channel. From the 
 wider canals, indeed from the narrowest, rise frequently the 
 worn fronts of dilapidated palaces rich with patches of glo- 
 rious colors, their sculptured water-gates still surmounted 
 with grave, bearded heads of well-wrought stone, empty, for- 
 lorn and desolate beyond words. 
 
 The young people of my party desired to be photographed 
 in our gondola, and so after lunch we had the felze or canopy 
 put on, and were rowed across to the little island of San 
 Giorgio Maggiore, where, on the landing in front of the wall 
 of the old Benedictine Monastery, we found the camera of 
 Signor Salviati awaiting us, and making fast the boat to a 
 post, with a background of the Ducal Palace and the Piaz- 
 zetta, we got what proved to be a good picture, the chief 
 features in it being Frattini in proud attitude on the prow and 
 the graceful gondolier poising his idle oar astern. Afterward 
 we were rowed past the Giardini Pubblici — the principal, in- 
 deed the only public garden, made by Napoleon in 1807, who 
 demolished several old monasteries at the southern end of the 
 long crescent of the Riva degli Schiavoni — to the Lido, the 
 largest of the islands of the lagoons, with summer cottages 
 among trees fronting the Adriatic, bluest and tranquillest of 
 seas, as we looked on it from the sands much frequented by 
 bathers in the season. A tramway with positively live horses 
 crosses the island to the sea, and we regard these sorry hacks 
 with something of curiosity born of abstinence. Thence to 
 the yellow walls of the Armenian Monastery on the island of 
 San Lazzaro, the peaceful home of a body of learned Armenian 
 scholars engaged in printing and diffusing literature, sectarian 
 and other, among the Eastern peoples of their faith. 
 
 Nothing more tranquil and winning to the mind tired of the 
 18 
 
274 The Armeftian Monastery. — The Brotherhood. 
 
 world and seeking pious solitude can be imagined than these 
 dim cloisters and arched halls, full of silence, rising from the 
 blue water, where no breath of heated outer life with its jars 
 and turmoils can penetrate. I said to the kindly, placid father 
 who had shown us the library where Lord Byron, in one of his 
 many moods, had studied Armenian, residing here some weeks 
 among the fathers, the dim, silent chapel where they worship, 
 the great stone refectory where they sit at table on stone 
 benches against the walls, and the many retired apartments, 
 severely simple, yet elegant from their fine proportions and 
 utter cleanliness, that I almost envied him this learned seclu- 
 sion. His smile was touched with sadness, I thought, as he 
 only said in his pleasant voice and in the English he spoke 
 brokenly well, " You would find it monotonous, I fear." He 
 took us through the little garden in the court, looked out upon 
 by the cloisters, well planted with many choice varieties of ex- 
 otic plants, and sending for a gardener, had him cut from a 
 prosperous catalpa-tree in the centre, a huge green cone burst- 
 ing with rich red seeds and handed it to us with an unworldly 
 ■kindliness graceful beyond art. 
 
 The brothers have a large plat of land outside the walls 
 where they grow fruits and vegetables for their simple table, 
 and also have possessions on the mainland near Padua, and are 
 altogether a prosperous brotherhood, for which I for one am 
 ■thankful. We visited their printing-office, an orderly, well-ar- 
 ranged establishment, where all the various work is done by 
 hand in a slow, restful way, indicating no anxious waiting on the 
 part of the reading world outside. We bought a copy of " Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin" in Armenian and a volume of prayers in thirty- 
 seven languages, and, infected with the silence, glided home- 
 ward through oozy channels among hundreds of little black 
 islets of mud exposed by the receding tide. 
 
 We passed the entire evening in our boat rowing under the 
 golden radiance of a full moon. The air breathed soft, and 
 a barge laden with a company of singers and hung with colored 
 lanterns floated down the Grand Canal, where a great number 
 of boats flocked to it and surrounded it. There were two or 
 •three good voices in the company, and with these for solos and 
 duets and the rest for chorus, we had very satisfactory music, 
 since " soft stillness and the night become the touches of sweet 
 harmony." One song by the best voice, a clear baritone, had 
 
The Interior of the Church of St. Mark. 275 
 
 much dramatic variety in it and was supposed, as Frattini ex- 
 plained, to express the varying emotions of a crew of fisher- 
 men at Chioggia, a fishing village at the mouth of the lagoons, 
 who, having landed with empty nets, go to a drinking-shop 
 much cast down, lamenting their ill-luck, but soon recovering, 
 bid each other cheer up and seek the comfort there is in a cup 
 of wine. Extricating our boat from the floating mass, we 
 stole into the small canals and roved about their dim, myste- 
 rious channels ; all the stories I had ever read of stealthy bravos 
 and dark intrigues coming back as we darted among the 
 shadows. We emerged at last, by way of the Canal Paglia under 
 the Bridge of Sighs — the soft wash of the gondola murmuring 
 along the wails of the Ducal Palace and the gloomy founda- 
 tion of the old prison — into the shimmering blue of the broad 
 water in front of the Riva degli Schiavoni. 
 
 I pass all my spare half hours either in the Church of St. 
 Mark or on the Piazza among the incomparable works sur- 
 rounding it. The interior of St. Mark grows in beauty as one 
 becomes more familiar with it and able to separate one charm 
 from the rest and consider it singly. Such extravagance of 
 beauty, such opulence of charms, such accumulations of wealth 
 and lavish adornments ! At the grand mass on Sunday I 
 noticed how well fitted the church is for worship, receiving its 
 thronging devotees in a royal way, rich and poor alike wel- 
 comed to such a temple as is not on earth for costliness. 
 Among the objects of especial richness, where all is rich and 
 rare, I will note the high altar canopied with verd-antique, 
 with an altar-piece of enamels on gold and silver thickly set 
 with precious stones and of inestimable value, wrought in 
 Constantinople early in the twelfth century. This is securely 
 hidden behind thick sliding doors, and only shown to the gen- 
 eral public on high festivals. Also the altar behind the high 
 altar, with its four spiral pillars of alabaster, reputed to have 
 belonged to the Temple of Solomon ; two of them so trans- 
 parent that, although some eight inches in diameter, the light 
 from an ignited match held behind them is seen as a spot of 
 creamy light. 
 
 But why begin to catalogue the marvels of beauty and 
 grace on every hand in this church ? In the Treasury, among 
 many precious things, are two candelabra by Cellini exceed- 
 ing in grace and delicacy anything I have seen in bronze. I 
 
376 Several Fine Churches and their Works of Art. 
 
 asked the significance of a huge, coarse, rusty knife carefully- 
 placed on a rest within a glass case, and was informed that St. 
 Mark, whose remains, brought from. Alexandria by Venetian 
 citizens in 828 repose beneath the high altar, was done to 
 death with it. It is not conceivable that so notable a church 
 should be without the relics of an evangelist at least. In the 
 Baptistery is a fine bronze font of the middle of the fifteenth 
 century. There, too, is the fair-carven monument to the Doge 
 Dandolo, and here we are shown a broad granite stone from 
 Mount Tabor, on whose level face the Transfiguration occurred ! 
 Nor does the wonder stop here, for below the head of John the 
 Baptist on the wall is the stone on which his decapitation took 
 place. 
 
 We visited several other churches in Venice : the Gli Scalzi, 
 scarcely less rich in its variety of costly marbles than San 
 Marco itself ; San Giorgio Maggiore, with its beautifully car- 
 ven choir-stalls; San Maria della Salute, erected in 1631 by 
 Longhena, a successor of Palladio, in commemoration of the 
 plague of 1630, with its ceiling-pieces of "Cain and Abel," 
 "Abraham and Isaac," "David and Goliath," by Titian ; the 
 Frari, where many eminent men repose. Here is Titian's 
 monument, completed in 1852, elaborate and rich, from a design 
 by Longhena in the seventeenth century — a noble tomb. A 
 statue of St. Jerome there, by Alessandro Vittoria, is said to 
 delineate the features and face of Titian in his ninety-eighth 
 year. There is in this church a sweet Madonna by Giovanni 
 Bellini, and another, strong and grand, by Bernardino Licinio 
 da Pordenone. The Doges Francisco Foscari and Niccolo 
 Tron and Giovanni Pesaro have mausoleums here, and very 
 grand they are, as well as Canova's mausoleum, erected in 
 1827, from his own design for that of Titian, done by his 
 pupils, Martini, Ferrari, Fabris and others. But the crown of 
 all is Titian's altar-piece, " The Madonna of the Pesaro Fam- 
 ily ; " or, as it is called here, " The Madonna di Casa Pesaro," 
 reputed almost the finest of his works. I should not rank it so 
 high, but my opinion of a picture I constantly feel is of no 
 consequence to any one but myself. This is a painting of 
 ' great majesty and beauty. 
 
 The Church of San Giovanni e Paolo has an imposing inte- 
 rior, and even more than the Frari contains the monuments of 
 famous men, especially the burial-vaults of the doges whose 
 
Academy of Fine Arts. 277 
 
 funeral services were always held here. We note the imposing 
 tombs of Doges Pietro Mocenigo, who died in 1476 ; Michele 
 Morosini, died 1382; Antonio Venier, died 1400; Pasquale 
 Malipiero, died 1462 ; Michael Steno, died 1413 ; Tommaso 
 Mocenigo, died 1423 ; Niccolo Marcello, died 1474 ; Giovanni 
 Mocenigo, died 1485 '; Giovanni Bembo, died 1618, and many 
 another of less distinguished title but great in Venetian annals, 
 notably that of Marc Antonio Bragadino, died in 157 1, flayed 
 alive by the barbarous Turks, as shown in a painting above 
 his tomb. He it was who so stoutly defended "famed Fama- 
 gosta" in Cyprus against the Turks, who, after his surrender, 
 put him to so cruel a death. Beautiful exceedingly is the one to 
 Andrea Vendramin, who died in 1478, by Alessandro Leopardo. 
 A chapel of this fine church- — Cappella del Rosario — founded 
 in 1 57 1 to commemorate the battle of Lepanto, was as clean 
 burned out by a fire in 1867 as if it were only pine-wood. I 
 have been surprised where we have been, both in Great Britain 
 and on the Continent, at the number of castles, churches and 
 palaces of massive stone whose records show them to have 
 been destroyed and ruined by fire, sometimes over and over 
 again. In this chapel remain only some beautiful marble 
 reliefs on a portion of one wall, mutilated and blackened. 
 
 Visited the little church of Maria Formosa on purpose to 
 see the queenly St. Barbara of Palma Vecchio, and found 
 there besides that worshipful creation, a " Madonna and 
 Child " by Sassoferrato, and I am not sure if it does not please 
 me almost beyond any of the endless Madonnas after those of 
 Raphael. 
 
 The Academy of Fine Arts is poorly located in the halls of a 
 suppressed monastery, where the light is difficult and trying, 
 and the gallery contains pictures of Venetian painters almost 
 altogether. There are fine works of Bellini, Tintoretto, Paul 
 Veronese, Palma Vecchio, and among many of note and fame, 
 two whose pictures I felt much interest in, Bonifacio and Car- 
 paccio. I should say I had not seen anything by Paul Veronese 
 to compare with his "Jesus in the House of Levi." Titian is 
 here numerously, of course, and his "John the Baptist" and 
 his " Assumption" — in a bad light by the way — are creations 
 of wonderful sublimity and beauty. What abounding and 
 redundant life was in the blood and brain of many of these 
 great old painters ! Here is the great canvas of " The En- 
 
278 The Arsenal. — A Model of the Bucentaur. 
 
 tombment," on which Titian was working when death not 
 unkindly took the brush from his hand at the age of ninety- 
 nine years, leaving the unfinished picture to be finished by 
 Palma the Younger. 
 
 I was much interested in the Arsenal, where, within handsome 
 old brick walls, the Republic during the centuries of its power 
 built the redoubtable galleys and forged the warlike imple- 
 ments which spread its triumphs into distant lands and over 
 many seas. This is the " Sagittary" mentioned in Shake- 
 spere's " Othello." There is a magnificent gateway of 1460 at 
 the outer entrance, in front of which crouch four huge lions 
 brought from Greece in 1687. It is said that in the height of 
 her power the Republic employed sixteen thousand workmen 
 here, but now only a small force is used. We found an ad- 
 mirable museum here, especially rich in Oriental arms and 
 costly spoils of the Turk. There are exact models of the 
 Venetian galleys and a rich one of the Bucentaur, the great, 
 many oared boat from whose deck the Doge annually, on 
 Ascension Day, threw a ring into the Adriatic, in symbol of 
 the marriage of Venice with the sea. The Bucentaur, which 
 was so utterly destroyed by the French Vandals in 1796 that 
 only a small portion of the richly decorated sides remains 
 in the museum here, is thus described : " It was in the form 
 of a galley and two hundred feet long, with two decks. 
 The first of these was occupied by one hundred and sixty 
 rowers, the handsomest and strongest of the fleet, who sat 
 four men to each oar and there awaited orders ; forty other 
 sailors completed the crew. The upper deck was divided 
 lengthwise by a partition pierced with arched doorways, 
 ornamented with gilded figures and covered with a roof sup- 
 ported by caryatides, the whole surmounted by a canopy of 
 crimson velvet embroidered with gold. Under this were 
 ninety seats, and at the stern a still richer chamber for the 
 Doge's throne, over which drooped the banner of St. Mark. 
 The prow was double-beaked and the sides of the vessel were 
 enriched with figures of Justice, Peace, Sea, Lan^, and other 
 allegories and ornaments." 
 
 It must not be supposed that because Venice is permeated 
 with water-ways that it has no streets. It is honeycombed, as it 
 were, with an intricate network of them, all the way from 
 three to ten feet wide ; and as one might think, when on the 
 
Visit a Number of Palaces on the Grand Canal. 279 
 
 water, there are no streets, from anything he can see, so, when 
 losing himself in these noiseless alle3's, he might well believe 
 them to be the only channels of communication between the 
 different sections of the city, except for the frequent stone 
 bridges by which these streets cross the many canals. As 
 there are no wheeled vehicles of any sort, these narrow alleys 
 — for the widest of the streets are scarcely more — quite suffice 
 for the domestic traffic, and at frequent intervals all over the 
 city these open into little courts or squares, called canipos, in 
 the centre of which stands always the handsome stone curb 
 of a well, from which the neighborhood gets its supply of fresh 
 water — even now when there is a supply brought in by pipes 
 from the main-land. These courts are the centres of the many 
 parishes into which the city is divided, and besides the church 
 there will be found in each the trades and shops needed for 
 the regular supply of the wants of the poorer families crowded 
 into the stories of the lofty old houses elbowing each other on 
 every hand. 
 
 We visited several of the large palaces on the Grand Canal 
 and saw how dreary and unhomelike they are, with great 
 rooms of stone, chilly, cheerless, dismal. When renovated, 
 divided into smaller apartments, wainscoted, floored, and 
 made comfortable by modern appliances for heating and light- 
 ing, they will do very well for summer, but, I should say, 
 dreary enough in the main, and I cannot well imagine a more 
 cheerless city for a steady residence than Venice, with water 
 and stone below, above and around. Baron Franchetti is now 
 thoroughly making over the grand Palace Cavalli, and we were 
 permitted to see his new staircase of white marble, rich with 
 statues and frescoes, said to have cost two hundred thousand 
 dollars of our money. He has a pretty garden with good trees 
 at the side and rear and access to one of the narrow streets, 
 so that he will have a homelike residence after an enormous 
 outlay ; but there are not many Baron Franchettis, and Ven- 
 ice is a poverty-stricken city. While its material prosperity 
 seems to have sunk to its lowest point after its dissolution as 
 an independent state by Napoleon in 1797, when its population 
 dwindled from 200,000 to 96,000, it continued to languish under 
 the hated Austrian rule. Since 1866 it has been reunited with 
 Italy, and in a languidly improving way is feeling the quick- 
 ened current of the new Italian life. The population in 1881 
 
280 The Pigeons of St Mark. 
 
 is reported at 129,000, but with the sad comment that one- 
 quarter are paupers. The Italian government has interested 
 itself in the revival of several of the arts and crafts for which 
 Venice was once famous, and beautiful articles are made in 
 carved woods, lace and glass. We visited a manufactory of 
 laces where in the factory itself and the training-school con- 
 nected with it, the latter being aided by the government, some 
 four thousand persons, mostly women, are employed. 
 
 We climbed the inclined plane, mounting easily up the inside 
 of the Campanile of St. Mark, some 300 feet, to " assist" at the 
 sunset of an afternoon not less perfect — and I cannot give it 
 higher praise — than some I recall of the Indian-summer time 
 on Prairie Ronde in the early years of the State of Michigan. 
 But there the opulent and gorgeous Western sky shed its glory 
 of crimson and purple, gold and blue upon scenes of unsophis- 
 ticated nature sadly attendant upon the dying year ; here it 
 flooded, through the soft autumnal mist, the most enchanting 
 works of time-worn art, and dome and tower and gilded pinna- 
 cle, many a one, flashed and shone above the dull-red roofs of 
 the silent city far below, in heavenly dyes, richer than Vene- 
 tian galley ever fetched from the Orient. A memorable scene, 
 this city rising from the broad lagoon, flashing all around it in 
 the sunset. A numerous flock of pigeons has its " procreant 
 cradle," likewise its roosting-places, on every "coign of van- 
 tage" of the fagades of St. Mark and the Procuratie. There 
 are at least two accounts of how they come to be here, where 
 they have remained immemorial years. One is that Admiral 
 Dandolo, while laying siege to Candia, early in the thirteenth 
 century, received intelligence of value through carrier-pigeons. 
 He sent them home with the news of his conquest, and the 
 race of them has been tended with reverent care by the citi- 
 zens ever since. Another is that as far back as the erection of 
 St. Mark, in the tenth century, the sacristans of the church 
 used to let loose pigeons on Palm Sunday for the people to 
 scramble for in the Piazza. Some escaped and took refuge 
 in the roof of the church, and gradually taking on a sort of 
 sacred character, increased and multiplied, and became the 
 pets we now behold them. Whichever account of their origin 
 may be true or not true, here the pigeons are in great force, 
 crop-full, tame, plump and impudent burghers, living on the 
 plentiful grain and polenta fed them daily by visitors like our- 
 
The Ducal Palace. 281 
 
 selves and also from a fund left by a pious lady for their 
 maintenance. The oily rascals are like the world in general : 
 they fawn and cluster around and on you until your bag is 
 empty, and then all flutter and waddle away to the fresh sup- 
 plies. 
 
 In the evenings an excellent band plays in the well-lighted 
 Piazza with sweetness and vivacity, and a numerous concourse 
 of citizens of all degrees throngs the arcades of the Procuratie, 
 promenading slowly and in silent decorum in the glare of the 
 bright shop-windows or in the freer spaces of the Piazza, or 
 standing in mildly chatting groups, or seated before little tables 
 in front of the Cafe Florian over little cups of coffee. The 
 only color and picturesqueness is furnished by the lively uni- 
 forms of the handsome officers here and there, all others, men 
 and women, old and young, being clothed in dull, ill-fitting 
 garments of styles originated in Paris or London, and getting 
 a well-defined but scarcely describable derangement and un- 
 shapeliness in the translation from the art centres to the backs 
 of people who in the article of dress are in the transition state. 
 The movement of the beaux and dandies would seem to be of 
 the most aimless and vapid nature, and milder or more in- 
 offensive young men to look at I have never seen than these 
 gilded youths of Venice, with their pointed shoes, little canes 
 and ill-fitting trousers, as they stroll aimlessly up and down 
 in couples or sit at coffee with a far-away look of gentle imbe- 
 cility. I see few handsome or even pretty faces among the 
 women. Once in a while a maid or young matron moves by, 
 of free, graceful step, and olive features lighted by glorious 
 dark eyes of dangerous sparkle, with hair raven in darkness 
 or of that peculiar rich auburn once an attribute of the best 
 Venetian beauty ; but these visions are rare, and certainly on 
 the streets and watery ways of Venice, by daylight or gaslight, 
 one sees very few attractive women. 
 
 The Ducal Palace, so beautifully conspicuous at the corner 
 of the Riva and Piazzetta, still preserves within its lofty and 
 imposing walls the magnificent apartments where the affairs 
 of the government were transacted during those centuries of 
 the Republic's highest pride and power. The Senate Cham- 
 ber, with its dull-red raised seats on two sides and the Doge's 
 gilded chair at one end, its lofty ceilings heavy with gold and 
 alive with the frescoes of Tintoretto, is a most noble chamber. 
 
283 Chamber of the Council of Ten. 
 
 and realizes one's conception of a hall fit for such an assem- 
 blage. So of the other famous rooms related to this — that of 
 the Council of Ten, the Great Council Hall, the room of the 
 three inquisitors of the Republic, into the antechamber of 
 which is an opening from the hall at the head of the staircase 
 where in the old time a bronze lion's head was set, into whose 
 open jaws any one might thrust anonymous charges against 
 whomsoever he saw fit ; such secret accusation being received 
 and acted on in the same mysterious manner, the victim never 
 knowing his accuser. The chamber of the Council of Ten is 
 connected with some cells by way of a narrow passage ; these 
 cells or dungeons, as they are called, being large, dry cham- 
 bers — well enough as dungeons, except for an almost total 
 lack of light. Apart from this — and certainly it is a drawback 
 to lie and sit and stand in darkness — these cells are more 
 roomy and comfortable than those of our prisons, and vast- 
 ly more so than the dens shown us as used for a like purpose 
 in Ireland, Scotland, England, and elsewhere on the Continent, 
 in the strongholds of four hundred years ago. This narrow 
 passage is continued to the Bridge of Sighs, where it is divided 
 into two passages crossing this bridge to the prison on the 
 other side of the Canal Paglia. This covered stone way from 
 the palace to the prison is some 15 feet long, and connects the 
 upper stories of these structures about 30 feet above the water. 
 It was built much later than these, for the convenience, no 
 doubt, of bringing prisoners before the judicial tribunals in the 
 Doge's Palace for trial, whence they were returned by the same 
 way ; and there is no doubt that the pitiful and tragical no- 
 tions connected with it are largely the sentimental creations 
 of poetical romancers. 
 
 One morning the thunder of a salute from an Italian man- 
 of-war lying just off the Riva, to the left of our hotel, shook 
 the windows, advising us that the Emperor and Empress of 
 Germany, who were in Constantinople the week after we left 
 that city, were approaching Venice, where the Emperor is to 
 land and proceed by rail to Mensa, to hunt with the King of 
 Italy for a day ; and shortly before noon the royal yacht 
 " Hohenzollern" steamed grandly up the tortuous channel and 
 cast anchor just in front of our balcony, some thirty rods 
 away. We took to our gondola, and in a minute were in the 
 midst of a swarm of like craft lying in wait for a glimpse of 
 
Arrival of the German Einperor and Empress. 283 
 
 the royal couple. Our desires were soon gratified, as they 
 appeared in company on the promenade-deck in full view, and 
 bringing to bear on their august features the excellent field- 
 glass purchased in Edinburgh, I surveyed them long and 
 well with the unconstraint of a proud native of a land 
 where all are born to the purple. The Empress is shown 
 handsome and fair in the photographs one sees of her every- 
 where, and so she may have been in girlhood and in the earlier 
 years of her wedded life, but now the lines of face and form 
 have coarsened, and she has the heavy German countenance, 
 and can no longer be called more than a comfortable, pleasant- 
 looking matron without distinction in look or bearing. The 
 Emperor was in a jovial mood, and frequently taking his cigar 
 from his lips, laughed heartily at remarks addressed to him by 
 the little group of officers near by, or haply at his own wit, 
 as great kings are said to do. He has strong, cold features, 
 bold, clear, earnest eyes, and a bearing of mingled dignity and 
 haughtiness which he does not find it easy to repress — alto- 
 gether a young man of power and clear intelligence and a 
 strong will, a young man of mark and consequence, likely to 
 be heard from in this world's business. After their majesties 
 had dined and recreated themselves down below out of the 
 sight of men for a good hour or more, with tall, fine 
 veterans and young officers pacing the decks in watchful 
 attendance, and the world of us below paddling round and 
 round the steamer, fearful something would transpire without 
 our knowledge, the State gondolas under direction of the city 
 authorities appeared, and a procession was arranged for the 
 Grand Canal, down which the Emperor was to pass to the 
 railway-station. The largest of these is a long, gilded barge, 
 built to succeed the Bucentaur, with high prow and a plat- 
 form astern enclosed in curtains of colored silks, forming a 
 pavilion carpeted with red cloth, where two gilded chairs are 
 placed, and manned by twenty rowers. The three other State 
 boats are large gondolas covered with gilding, and, like the 
 barge, richly carved, all manned b}^ gondoliers in the costumes 
 of four centuries ago, each crew in different colors of blue and 
 red and gold, charmingly picturesque. 
 
 We moved out of the wilderness of boats and rowed down 
 the Grand Canal in advance of the cortege, and taking a posi- 
 tion by one of the posts at the side of the Palace Foscari, 
 
384 An Imposing Pageaiit. 
 
 waited for the procession, which swept by us in a torrent of 
 swift confusion, the great barge towed by a steam-launch, so 
 that the long white oars of the idle rowers of it were held 
 upright, ten on each side, and under the canopy the Emperor 
 and Empress sat side by side, the splendid gondolas of State, 
 urged by the utmost graceful exertions of picked rowers, 
 close following in its wake, all shining like burnished gold in 
 the westering sun, the oars dripping silver, the swaying forms 
 of the rowers gleaming in their liveries of antique fashion and 
 gorgeous dyes, contrasting richly with the low, black gondolas 
 of the people pressing onward beside and behind them ; the 
 hurrying pageant of a dream. We took a narrow canal 
 cutting off a bend in the Grand Canal, emerging again to 
 see the procession sweep by once more and land the Emperor at 
 the steps of the railway-station. The Rialto and the banks of 
 the canal, wherever a human foot could be set, were crowded 
 with spectators, and it seemed to me, as I looked upon the 
 sea of faces turned to the spectacle, that nowhere had I ever 
 seen countenances wearing in the mass an expression so 
 squalid, worn and despairing. 
 
 In the evening the Piazza was illuminated by increasing the 
 number of gas-jets on the handsome branching lamp-posts in 
 and around the Piazza, and to the music of two excellent 
 bands, playing alternately, the people moved up and down as 
 on other evenings, but more numerously, and in the same 
 politely gentle, quiet way. They seem to have gone to decay 
 and mournful hopelessness, like the crumbling, tattered, 
 beautiful city wherein they survive like reminiscences of the 
 past, ghosts of ancient reality. Repairs have been going on 
 for a quarter of a century about the Palace of the Doges, 
 chiefly in its substructure, which had given tokens of weaken- 
 ing, and during that time a high board fence had concealed a 
 very considerable portion of the south facade. The restora- 
 tion being well-nigh complete, the Emperor's visit was made 
 the occasion of removing this barrier, so that we had the satis- 
 faction of seeing this unrivalled building in its full beauty of 
 outline. 
 
 The Empress returned to the steamer after setting her 
 imperial consort down at the railway-station, and on the 
 second night of her sta}^ here the long crescent line of the water- 
 front from the entrance of the Grand Canal to the Public 
 
On the Way to Florence. 285 
 
 Gardens was illuminated at intervals with Bengal lights of 
 red, green and white — the national colors — flashing weirdly 
 upon the fastastic architecture of the shore and dying away 
 into darkness far out upon the lagoon ; the tall campanile of 
 San Giorgio on the island opposite glowing redly from its 
 bell-tower, as if a conflagration raged within its massive walls. 
 But the finest effect of the illumination was furnished by the 
 royal yacht of the imperial guests, which blazed with a line of 
 close-set electric lights from stem to stern and from these 
 upward to the top of the mainmast, flooding all the distance 
 between itself and the shore with liquid gold, across which 
 the dark gondolas glided silently, like pleasing phantoms. 
 Near midnight the Empress was rowed to the station with the 
 blare of a military band and a sea of flaring torches, and next 
 day the " Hohenzollern" quietly put to sea, Venice resumed 
 its customary ways, and on the following day, November 15th, 
 at 2 P.M., we regretfully left this strange and beautiful city 
 for Florence, two hundred miles distant, where we arrived 
 at 10 P.M. to find spacious and comfortable rooms, cheerful 
 with open fires, in the Hotel New York. 
 
 Our way from Venice lay over a pleasant country, level and 
 fertile, but much of it subject to destructive overflow from 
 several very considerable mountain-streams, which bring 
 down a vast quantity of sand and spread it over large tracts 
 of plain, to the great loss of the farmers between Venice and 
 Ferrara. We pass through Padua, Rovigo, Bologna and many 
 villages with picturesque remains of many centuries, all show- 
 ing fair in such autumnal sunshine as used to fill the air and 
 tinge with the vague and undefinable tints of romance the 
 silent aspect of Prairie Ronde and its grandly solemn sur- 
 rounding forests. 
 
 We dmed at Bologna, where Frattini urged us to try the 
 celebrated sausages which take their name from this city, 
 where they have for a long period borne a high reputation. 
 We found them excellent, and of fine and delicate flavor. We 
 were sorry to cross the Apennines after dark and miss the 
 scenery of them. The highest point attained by the road is 
 at Molina del Pallone, a little more than 2000 feet above the 
 sea-level. Five miles on, a little this side of the village of 
 Pracchia, the train crosses the water-shed of the Adriatic and 
 that broad indentatio.i of the Mediterranean called by the 
 
286 Florence. 
 
 ancient Romans the Tyrrhenium Mare, through a tunnel 
 nearly two miles long, and entering the valley of the Ombrone, 
 crosses that streanfi by a lofty viaduct and passes through no 
 less than twenty tunnels before reaching Pistoja, a distance of 
 only ten miles. This little village is said to have given its 
 name to the pistol. Near Prato, ten miles from Florence, is the 
 quarry of serpentine known as " Marmo verde di Prato." 
 
 I had intended to pass not less than three weeks on the 
 lakes and among the old towns in the north of Italy before 
 coming to Florence, but the season is so far advanced that 
 the nights are cold, and we did not care to expose ourselves 
 to the chances of frequent changes of hotels, which are in 
 Italy of massive stone, and unless one's apartments are well 
 warmed beforehand — something the Italian in the towns off 
 the regular lines of travel very poorly comprehends — are chilly 
 and cheerless to a degree that not only affects one's pleasure 
 and comfort, but even subjects the health to risk ; so, as we 
 wish to see the lakes, of which we had a charming bit of expe- 
 rience last summer when we came over from Switzerland to 
 Lugano and Maggiore, at their best, and to walk the solemn 
 streets of dozing old cities like Mantua and Ravenna when 
 they shall have all the advantage they may derive from blue 
 skies flooded with sunshine and the flowery earth smiling 
 under them, we must pass them by, trusting a more convenient 
 season may occur to us before we leave for home, and for the 
 winter limit ourselves to the larger cities, journeying south- 
 ward and along the Riviera as the winter grows more rigor- 
 ous. 
 
 November 6. — We have now been three weeks in Florence, 
 during which time I have not made an entry in my note-book, 
 having given myself over to the luxury of idleness and indo- 
 lent sight-seeing, and enjoying careless rest after more than 
 half a year of constant travel and observation, until the very 
 vision became benumbed and unreceptive. Indeed, it seemed 
 to me clear that I would at least ease myself to the extent of 
 discontinuing these fragmentary and thoroughly unsatisfac- 
 tory memoranda of travel, necessarily made in snatches of 
 time when weariness demanded rest or agreeable distractions 
 invited attention. But as this is my first and likely to be my 
 only visit to foreign lands, and my memory, never greatly to 
 be depended on, is not likely to improve with age, as I begin 
 
A Brief History of the City. 287 
 
 to be aware already, I would like to record so much of my 
 impressions as in such years as may remain to me will help 
 recall in part the scenes and objects which I have enjoyed 
 with such relish when among them. Therefore I will keep on, 
 after my poor fashion, and set down in a hasty, desultory 
 and ill-informed way what I can of the novel abundance on 
 every hand in these lands of the old world — nowhere of higher 
 interest to a citizen of the new than in this fair city of Tus- 
 cany. 
 
 Florence has a population of some 150,000. This was never 
 greater, and during those centuries when its splendor was 
 brightest the number of its inhabitants probably did not 
 reach 100,000, and in 1864, when it supplanted Turin as the 
 capital of Italy — an honor it held for four years, when the seat 
 of government was removed to Rome — its population was 
 nearly 120,000, so that the prodigious debt it incurred for im- 
 provements consequent on the brief honor of being the capital 
 has not hindered its proper growth, and it is prosperous even 
 in the modern sense. Although it was founded in the century 
 before Christ and became a place of importance under Roman 
 rule, since it lay in the track of the barbarian hordes from 
 the north it was often laid waste by them in their incursions 
 into Italy during the dark ages, so that only very scanty 
 traces remain of its early existence, and the Florence known 
 in history really dates from the early years of the eleventh 
 century, when the city began to emerge from obscurity and 
 directly entered upon that renowed career which raised it to 
 the foremost position in political affairs, in the sciences and 
 arts, a position it kept more continuously and with more brill- 
 iant results than any city with whose history I am at all 
 acquainted. No other city can show a list of so distinguished 
 names in the provinces of art, and by a singular good fortune the 
 works they wrought have been largely spared by the changes 
 of time and the spoliations of conquest and are still here to be 
 seen and admired. I shall not try to follow its history during 
 those turbulent ages when war was the business of nations 
 and the powerful preyed on the weak, nor speak of those 
 internal factions of Guelph and Ghibelline, White and Black, 
 led by powerful rival houses and stained by dark and bloody 
 deeds of brawls and intrigues and poisonings and banish- 
 ments, as either party gained the upper hand. All these be- 
 
288 The Architecture of Florence. 
 
 long to the history of every city in Europe during many cen- 
 turies after the decay of the Roman Empire. But the peculiar 
 good fortune of Florence was that its rulers, conspicuously 
 those of the family of the Medici, fostered learning and art 
 and preserved their fruits, so that it is now a vast storehouse 
 of the most beautiful and precious things. 
 
 The city lies pleasantly on both sides of the Arno, ordinarily 
 flowing languidly between high walls of solid masonry, and 
 here some 300 feet wide. F'our old stone bridges cross it at 
 short intervals, the most important and picturesque being the 
 Ponte Vecchio, or Jeweller's Bridge, lined on both sides by 
 little shops, chiefly of jewelry, clinging to its sides like irregu- 
 lar rows of marten-houses built by some kindly proprietor 
 and stuck under the eaves of an old barn in New England. 
 The Arno is easily swollen by sudden and heavy rains, and 
 after a day during which considerable had fallen I heard at 
 midnight, in our apartment fronting the Lungarno, close by 
 the entrance to the Ponte alia Carraja — the bridge lowest 
 down the stream — a heavy, sullen roar of water, and in the 
 morning looked out on a full, swift current yellow with earthy 
 matter. It soon spent its force and resumed its languid shal- 
 lowness, even exposing patches of its sandy bed in places, its 
 surface of a dull blue or green in the varying light. 
 
 The level valley of the Arno is not of great width, and on 
 the southern side a long, broken continuation of a lesser 
 range of the Apennines runs almost parallel to it near at 
 hand, furnishing, in its intersecting valleys and gentle slopes 
 and sharp projections, most charming suburbs studded with 
 old villas enclosed in high yellow walls, above which rise 
 ancient trees, long ranges of monastic enclosures, and high up 
 little clustering villages, with many an old tower and gray 
 campanile contrasting with the green of many a tall cypress 
 grove and harmonizing with the olive and the vine. 
 
 Architecturally Florence presents a more uniform appear- 
 ance in its ancient and modern houses than the cities we have 
 visited elsewhere, because the buildings erected for a century 
 back and those now building are in the same simple, massive 
 style as those of the early Renaissance, when the Roman style 
 of palaces and private dwellings began to be modified by the 
 native architects and forms introduced which still continue, 
 so that the old and new blend harmoniously and the city 
 
The New Palaces Along the Lungarno. 2S9 
 
 seems built after one plan. The new palaces, as all the great 
 houses of the wealthy are called along the Lungarno, are pretty 
 much the same in external form as those built four hundred 
 years ago. The ordinary houses are lofty, with heavy walls 
 of granite or painted stucco on brick, mostly in dull yellow or 
 gray, and with fronts so plain as to present an almost gloomy 
 aspect under skies less bright, in air less transparent than 
 exist here. 
 
 The city is thoroughly well built, and would be thoroughly 
 cheerful except for the very narrow streets of the old and 
 principal portions. These, as in all ancient towns, seem to 
 have been planned with a view to defence from invasions, as 
 before the' invention of artiller}^ they could be held by a small 
 force opposing and by hurling missiles from the lofty upper 
 stories. There are no sideways in most of these old streets, 
 a stone pavement extends from wall to wall, with little more 
 than room for two carriages to meet, foot-passengers being 
 obliged to save themselves as they can by standing against 
 the walls or dodging into doorways. The houses on such 
 streets — and a good part of the city is occupied by them — do 
 not satisfy modern notions of comfortable dwellings with the 
 light so greatly shut out. 
 
 The number of palaces built by the ruling and influential 
 families during the middle ages is something prodigious. These 
 are really castles, although built in the form of a square and 
 mostly without towers. A famous one among many is the 
 Pitti, designed and begun in 1440 by Brunelleschi, the famous 
 architect who built the dome of the Cathedral. Luca Pitti, 
 who ordered this work, was the powerful rival of the Medici 
 family, whom he proposed to surpass by erecting the grandest 
 palace yet built by a private citizen. He conspired against 
 Piero de' Medici in 1466, lost his power and influence, and the 
 palace stood unfinished until the middle of the next century, 
 when it came into the possession of the Medici family through 
 Eleanora, wife of Duke Cosimo I., who completed it. It is of 
 extraordinary size, massiveness and interior magnificence. 
 The huge unfinished blocks of stone in the lower story give it 
 a grim aspect, but its just proportions and noble simplicity 
 are very striking. The central part is 350 feet long, the whole 
 fa9ade 660 feet long, and the height 121 feet. The lofty wings 
 enclose a grand court. It is connected with the charming 
 19 
 
290 The Pitti Palace. 
 
 Boboli Gardens extending up the hill-side in terraces, at the 
 entrance a singular grotto designed by Michael Angelo, and 
 in the middle an open space surrounded by stone seats, where 
 the gay Medician Court was wont to hold its festivities. There 
 is a handsome fountain, an Egyptian obelisk brought from 
 Rome, an ancient basin of gray granite 21 by 15 feet, and at 
 the top of the ascent a Basin of Neptune with a statue of that 
 god by Lorenzi, and a statue of Abundance by John of 
 Bologna. There are well planted and kept walks and points 
 where charming views are seen of the city below, and the 
 whole spot is exceedingly lovely. 
 
 The Pitti Palace has been the residence of the reigning 
 sovereign since the sixteenth century, and is that of King 
 Humbert when in Florence, and the royal apartments are 
 filled with exquisite furniture and works of art. We have not 
 found so stately and magnificent apartments in any palace in 
 any country as in this, not only those used by the sovereign, 
 but also those which constitute the great and far-famed Picture 
 Gallery of the Pitti, where the works of the great masters are 
 shown on walls and under ceilings vying with themselves in 
 sumptuousness of form and color. In the Silver Chamber of 
 the palace among the royal plate are a dozen gold platters 
 with exquisite designs in relief by Benvenuto Cellini, and 
 a bronze crucifix by John of Bologna, whereon the face 
 of the dying Christ is inexpressibly tender. Another adver- 
 sary of the Medici, Filippo Strozzi, built a little later another 
 of these enormous palatial strongholds near the Piazza San 
 Trinita, an imposing structure of stone in the perfected Flor- 
 entine style, 105 feet high. It has on the corners wrought-iron 
 lanterns finely chased, and around the sides are rings for sup- 
 porting banners and torch-holders similarly wrought b}^ 
 Caparra, and a fine court. I mention these out of a vast 
 number not much less imposing, whose founders, long since 
 in dust and their families extinct, ranged in opposing factions 
 as Guelph and Ghibelline, filled these narrow streets with brawl 
 and revel. I must note the imposing Palazzo Vecchio, built 
 in 1300 by the great architect Arnolfo, with its battlements 
 and tower 308 feet high, originally the seat of the Signoria 
 or Government of Florence, later the residence of Cosimo I., 
 and now used as a town hall. It has a fine court, in the centre 
 
The Statuary in the Tribuna of the Uffizi. 291 
 
 of which is a basin of porphyry with an exquisite figure of a 
 boy with a fish by Verrochio. 
 
 We have passed all the hours of daylight for a week in the two 
 great picture galleries of the Uffizi and Pitti, which are really 
 one, as they are connected by a covered passage crossing the 
 Arno above the Ponte Vecchio. I cannot undertake a descrip- 
 tion of the treasures of art gathered here, begun by the Medici 
 and augmented by subsequent rulers and magnates of the city 
 until the collection in rank and value stands as one of the first 
 in the world. In one beautiful room of the Uffizi known as 
 the Tribuna, for instance, are to be seen with ever-growing 
 admiration these objects in sculpture : 
 
 "The Venus of Medici," by the Athenian Cleomenes, found 
 in Hadrian's villa at Tivoli, called the most perfect specimen 
 of the sculptor's art in existence, and lauded to the skies by a 
 long line of poets and novelists and admiring critics. Haw- 
 thorne says of it, " A being that lives to gladden the world, in- 
 capable of decay or death ;" the poet Rogers styles it, " Venus 
 herself, who when she left the skies came hither ;" and the all 
 too susceptible Byron wrote, 
 
 "The goddess loves in stone, and fills 
 The air around with beauty ; we inhale 
 The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils 
 ^ Part of its immortality ; the veil 
 
 Of heaven is half undrawn ; . . . 
 
 We gaze and turn away, and know not where, 
 Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart 
 Reels with its fulness. ..." 
 
 While I cannot feel swayed to any such extent, I am sufficiently 
 susceptible and appreciative to recognize the charming pres- 
 ence of a form of perfect womanhood, and nothing more. Its 
 height is four feet and seven inches. The right arm and lower 
 half of the left are modern and inferior to the rest. 
 
 "The Wrestlers." A group of two athletes, one of whom 
 has thrown the other, and in the struggle to keep him down 
 the muscles of both are in such wonderful representation of 
 activity and strain as to cause this to be ranked as one of the 
 best specimens of ancient Greek sculpture. 
 
 " The Dancing Faun," with head and arms renewed by 
 Michael Angelo, the nude figure showing such perfection of 
 
292 Some of the Paintings. 
 
 anatomy as to place it in the best epoch of ancient sculpture, 
 and cause it to be attributed to Praxiteles. 
 
 '' The Little Apollo," so called to distinguish it from the 
 Apollo Belvedere in Rome, exceedingly fine and graceful, and 
 so analogous in style to the Venus as to cause it to be thought 
 the work of Cleomenes. 
 
 " The Arrotino" (" The Whetter"), found at Rome in the 
 fourteenth century and brought to Florence in 1677, It is the 
 nude figure of a man bent over a stone on which he is whet- 
 ting a hooked knife, with his strong face looking up in earnest 
 attention. There are several conjectures as to who is intended 
 by this statue, one of which is that it is the slave who dis- 
 covered the plot of Brutus' sons in respect to Tarquin ; an- 
 other that he revealed the conspiracy of Catiline against the 
 Roman Republic ; but the best opinion is said by the curator 
 of the gallery to be that it is the Scythian to whom Apollo 
 gave the order to flay Marsyas for his temerity in boasting 
 that he rivalled that god in music. Whoever he may be, this 
 statue is to me the most remarkable and perfect in form and 
 expression of the famous marbles in the Tribuna. 
 
 In painting, omitting several which do not appeal to my 
 feelings, there are in this one room these : 
 
 Titian's "Venus," the world-known figure of that goddess 
 lying naked on a bed. There is certainly nothing of the 
 celestial about her, and I fail to recognize in this quite earthly 
 form the perfection of female beauty, but the coloring is such 
 as few but Titian can give to the human flesh. 
 
 " Madonna," by Andrea del Sarto, whose pictures I always 
 admire, and this one of his best. 
 
 " The Holy Virgin," by Guido Reni. 
 
 "The Samian Sibyl," by Guercino, called Barbieri. 
 
 " Jean de Monfort," by Van Dyck. 
 
 Another " Venus" by Titian, much like the other more 
 famous one in position and execution. 
 
 " After the Flight into Egypt," by Correggio, not a great 
 picture as it seems to me, and so inferior to his famous 
 and beautiful one, also here, of the " Holy Virgin Ador- 
 ing her Child," that I do not wonder its authenticity is ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 " Portrait of a Young Woman," by Raphael, a sweet pic- 
 ture. 
 
Fatuous Masters. 293 
 
 " The Holy Virgin and Two Saints," by Perugino, a noble 
 picture. 
 
 The well-known " Fornarina" of Raphael. I return to this 
 wonderful face over and over again. I have never seen or 
 expect to see again such an expression of deep, subtle, glowing, 
 tempting, consuming sensuality as glows far within those dark 
 eyes, whose steadfast gaze burns into the soul. And beside 
 her, attributed to the same unrivalled master, the sweet and 
 pure " Virgin of the Well," who is depicted sitting and holding 
 her Divine Child, while the young St. John, standing at her 
 right side, is holding before them a paper on which are the 
 words " Ecce Agnus," etc. Near by also is the same painter's 
 "The Virgin of the Goldfinch," so named from the bird which 
 the young St. John is offering Jesus to caress ; and his great 
 picture of "St. John in the Desert," a full figure, and said to 
 be the only painting by Raphael on canvas, all the others being 
 on wood. The bold, enthusiastic prophet is here shown as a 
 fiery youth of say fourteen years, vigorous and glowing with 
 health, standing in a desert country, pointing with his right 
 hand to a slender cross fastened to a tree close by. Full-length 
 figures of the prophets Isaiah and Job, noble and impressive. 
 
 Raphael's portrait of Pope Julius II., most vigorous, clear 
 and rich in color. 
 
 " Holy Family and St. Catharine," by Paul Veronese. 
 
 "The Holy Family," by Michael Angelo. This painting 
 is held most precious, but it does not please me either in com- 
 position or color. This is heresy, and will at once dispose of 
 me in the opinion of all true lovers of art. 
 
 "Hercules between Virtue and Vice," by Rubens. 
 
 " The Adoration of the Kings," by Albrecht Diirer. 
 
 "The Holy Virgin and Child," by Giulio Romano — sweet 
 and graceful. 
 
 " Eleazar and Rebecca," by Caracci. 
 
 To what good end do I catalogue the treasures in this one 
 room with feeble comment when seven miles of stately apart- 
 ments with their connecting passages are opulent with can- 
 vases almost equally famous with those I mention ? There are 
 many of wonderful beauty signed with such names as Al- 
 brecht Diirer, Salvator Rosa, Tintoretto, Titian, Fra Barto- 
 lommeo, Frans Porbus, Rubens, Rembrandt, Cigoli, Del 
 Sarto, Van Dyck, Palma Vecchio, Bronzino, Perugino, Guido 
 
294 Rare Objects of Antiquity. 
 
 Reni, Pordenone, Carlo Dolci, Murillo, Raphael, whose Holy 
 Family, styled " Impannata," lights up the Salle de Mars in 
 the Pitti with an expression composed of that of the Virgin in 
 the Tribuna and that of the Virgin seated in the Salle de 
 Saturne, known to all the world by its reproduction in all 
 known forms of copying. The Virgin wears the same aspect 
 as in the " Madonna del Sisto" in the Dresden Gallery. Let me 
 add the names of Michael Angelo, represented by his " Fates," 
 a strange and powerful picture showing the three Parcae spin- 
 ning and clipping the thread of human life ; Ribera, Leonardo 
 da Vinci, Giorgione, Dossi, Domenichino, Bassano del Piombo, 
 Pontormo, Velasquez, Baroccio, Holbein, Filippo Lippi, Sir 
 Peter Lely, who is represented by a portrait of Oliver Crom- 
 well. This portrait, the story is, was sent to the then Grand 
 Duke of Tuscany with a protest against the persecution of the 
 Protestants in his dominions, and an intimation that he whose 
 portrait went with the protest was alive and able and of a dis- 
 position to avenge the wrongs of his co-religionists. I must 
 note that other beautiful and sweet Virgin of Raphael known 
 as the " Madonna del Gran-Duca," and the so sweet "Virgin 
 in Sorrow" by Sassoferrato, one of the most exquisite concep- 
 tions of the Mater Dolorosa ever given to canvas. 
 
 In the great corridors of the Uflfizi, whose ceilings are 
 enriched with arabesques by Poccetti in 1581, of so exquisite 
 patterns that artists come to take bits of it for precious studies, 
 are rare objects of antiquity, busts and statues, sarcophagi and 
 beautiful Roman urns and altars. Among these are authentic 
 busts of Julius and Augustus Caesar, Livia, Marcus Agrippa, 
 Julia, daughter of Augustus ; Tiberius, Antonia, mother of 
 Claudius and daughter of Marc Antony, and Octavia, sister of 
 Augustus ; Agrippina, wife of Germanicus and mother of 
 Caligula ; Caligula himself, bearing all the marks of the beast 
 he was ; Messalina, Claudius, Nero and his wife Poppaea, of 
 much beauty ; another of Nero in his innocent and fair child- 
 hood ; Galba, Otho, Vitellius, Vespasianus, Titus — a noble 
 marble showing the greatness of his soul ; Domitian, Nerva, 
 Trajan — three of him, all fine — Plotina, his wife ; Adrian — 
 Sabina, his wife ; Antoninus Pius — Faustina, his mother, 
 Galerius, his young son ; Marcus Aurelius, his wife Faustina 
 and their young son, Annius Verus, who died at seven years, 
 and equally beautiful with that of the young Nero, Commodus, 
 
The Marble Sarcophagi. 295 
 
 whose busts are said to be rare, because the Senate ordered 
 them all to be destroyed that his memory might be effaced ; 
 Crispena, his wife ; Severus ; Caracalla — Plautilla, his wife ; 
 Heliogabalus, Maximinus, the giant emperor whom the histo- 
 rians state to have been 8 feet 2 inches in height ; Gallienus, 
 Constantine the Great. These are vouched for as authentic 
 by'the directors of the Uffizi, and I am careful to enumerate 
 them, as they afforded me a pleasure I have craved from my 
 school-days— that of seeing contemporaneous portrait busts of 
 the long line of Roman emperors. I had not supposed so 
 many of these to be in existence as I find here. 
 
 Deeply interesting are the marble sarcophagi carved all over 
 into pictures in relief of scenes from the Greek and Roman 
 mythology and fable. There is one of the " Rape of Proser- 
 pine," full of figures incident to the scene ; another of Hippo- 
 lytus hunting a wild boar ; and divided from this by the pillar 
 of a gate a scene delineating his temptation, with Phaedra, 
 and her attendant maidens and young Cupid before her with 
 torch and quiver. Still another shows the labors of Hercules, 
 crowded with eight stirring scenes of them, the killing of the 
 Nemean lion, the fight with the hydra of Leona. In the third 
 he bears the wild boar of Erymanthus on his shoulder ; in the 
 fourth the naked hero grasps the horns of the Arcadian hind ; 
 in the fifth he darts his arrows against the Stymphalides ; in 
 the sixth, naked and with his club, he is in the act of taking 
 away her girdle from the waist of Hippolyte, the queen of the 
 Amazons. Next he is seen clad in his lion-skin, his right hand 
 raised and his left grasping his club. Above his left shoulder 
 a spring of water is falling from a rock. This represents the 
 cleansing of the Augean stables. The last group represents 
 the hero vanquishing the Marathonean bull. Another repre- 
 sents the triumphs of Bacchus, a throng of chained slaves, 
 Ariadne's chariot drawn by tigers, that of Bacchus by cen- 
 taurs, Victory preceding, and cupids, fauns and maenades 
 following. Still another depicts the fall of Phaeton from the 
 chariot of the Sun headlong into the Eridanus, with his sisters, 
 the Heliades, changed into poplars. On the back of this 
 sarcophagus in shallow bas-relief is shown a race in a circus, 
 with the names of the charioteers taking part in it : Liber, 
 Polyphemus, Trofimion, Entyones, and the names of their 
 chariots, Libyo, Jubilatore, Dicatesyne, Engranmo. The mar- 
 
296 The Boccaccio Villa. — Galileo. 
 
 ble altars too, of exquisite forms, and sides sculptured in 
 scenes from the old mythology, interested me greatly. 
 
 On fine afternoons we drive in the Cascine, a handsome park 
 below the city lying along the Arno, well laid out in avenues 
 planted with large trees, agreeable but not remarkable, nor 
 equal in picturesqueness to many other drives in the neighbor- 
 hood. Far more interesting is the drive up to Fiesole on a 
 road winding among fair villa grounds enclosed in high yel- 
 lowish walls, on whose tops flourish grass and violets and 
 roses, to the Cathedral on the height, with its campanile domi- 
 nating the spacious Piazza, with a fragment of the ancient 
 Etruscan wall near by, and an ancient theatre with its sixteen 
 tiers of semicircular stone seats and marks of the old stage 
 facing them. A little below the Franciscan Monastery, which 
 occupies the site of the old Acropolis of Faesulae from a plateau 
 in front of a venerable church on the spot where a heathen 
 temple once stood, is an extensive view of the valley of the 
 Arno, with distant mountains and many white villages far and 
 near and Florence itself below, its dull red roofs and domes 
 and belfries and towers showing fair in the slant afternoon 
 sunshine. Descending, we pass the attractive pile of Badia di 
 Fiesole, a monastic structure by Brunelleschi, and lower down 
 still another, that of the Monastery St. Salvi, of the order of 
 Vallombrosa, dating back to 1080. Among the charming 
 villas is to be noted that of Palmieri, where Boccaccio laid the 
 scene of the "Decameron," and that company of gallants and 
 fair ladies passed the time, when the plague raged in the 
 city below, in telling merr)^ tales "good against infection" — 
 high-bosomed dames with kindling eyes of lustrous fire, whose 
 descendants still walk the streets of Florence with more mod- 
 est mien, but with free, elastic step and dignity of manner, so 
 that watching them on the promenades, matrons and maids, 
 one finds beauty of person the rule and ugliness so much the 
 exception that in no city, unless possibly in Vienna, have I 
 noticed so many handsome women. The grounds of the old 
 Boccaccio Villa are still extremely beautiful — terrace above 
 terrace, where fountains play, and a green enamelled meadow 
 beset with pleasant trees sloping softly down to a pretty bab- 
 bling brook. 
 
 One afternoon we crossed the Arno and drove up to the old 
 square tower, in excellent preservation, where Galileo first 
 
Piazza della Signoria. 297 
 
 observed the heavens with his so-called telescope, still pre- 
 served among other interesting mementos of him in an upper 
 room of the tower. The instrument he found suflficient to 
 enable him to demonstrate that the earth moves about the sun 
 is no more than we call a spy-glass, and with its four lengths 
 shut together is about a foot long. On the wall is hung a copy 
 of an " Index Expurgatorius" issued by the Inquisition, for- 
 bidding his little book announcing his discovery to be printed 
 or read under heavy pains and penalties. Did not Joshua 
 command the sun to stand still ? Then it must be the sun 
 which moves, and the prison stands open to the blasphemer 
 who shall gainsay it. 
 
 I often walk from my hotel up the Lungarno to the Ponte 
 Vecchio, admiring along the way the singular irregularity of 
 the houses on the opposite bank of the river. Nowhere, not 
 even in Nuremberg, does one see such a picturesque variety 
 of front and roof in faded parti-colors, especially between the 
 bridges of Trinita and Vecchio. Turning sharply to the left 
 there one strolls along a noble colonnade set on each side 
 with statues of men who have made Florence famous, and 
 through it to the Piazza della Signoria, the old Forum of the 
 Republic, the centre of its eager activity, and still one of the 
 busiest and most interesting spots in the city. Here the 
 excitable populace used to run tumultuously together when the 
 " cow lowed," as the tolling of the bell La Vacca, or " the cow," 
 was called ; and from a stone platform on the north side of the 
 Palazzo Vecchio della Signoria, now removed, the prior and 
 judges sat to witness the burning of Savonarola, May 23d, 
 1498. At one angle of this platform stands the famous " Mar- 
 zocco" of Donatello, a marble lion with a name of unknown 
 origin, and near by is the great fountain of Neptune by Bar- 
 tolommeo Ammanati (1571), whose design was preferred to 
 that of John of Bologna, who made the equestrian statue of 
 Cosimo I., close by, in 1594. On the south side of the Piazza 
 is the beautiful Loggia di Lanzi, consisting of three open 
 arches with three pillars enclosing a platform reached by six 
 steps. In this open loggia, begun in 1336, are placed many 
 noble statues in marble and bronze, and among the latter the 
 " Perseus" of Benvenuto Cellini, cast in 1545, and I think the 
 most beautiful and impressive of all the statues I have seen. 
 I admire all the work in various kinds I have seen of this won- 
 
298 The Cathedral Santa Maj-ia del Fiore. 
 
 derful artist, and this ranks as his masterpiece. Such radiance 
 in the face of Perseus, such calm beauty in that of the Medusa, 
 whose head, freshly dissevered, he holds extended in his left 
 hand. The pedestal on which the statue stands, whereon this 
 great sculptor has told the story of Andromeda in lifelike and 
 touching pictures, is exquisite and fully worthy of the statue 
 itself. 
 
 Many times by different routes, coming on objects of delight- 
 ful interest whichever way one takes — for in this fascinat- 
 ing city one is among marvels of art so soon as one sets foot 
 out of doors — we betake ourselves to the square of the Cathe- 
 dral, where the glories of Florentine art culminate in the Bap- 
 tistery with its bronze gates, the Campanile and fairy dome of 
 the Cathedral conspicuous objects from whatever point the 
 city is viewed and full of grandeur and grace seen from afar 
 or near at hand. The Cathedral, Santa Maria del Fiore, was 
 begun in 1298 by Arnolfo del Cambio, who was instructed to 
 build '■ the loftiest, most sumptuous edifice that human inven- 
 tion could devise or human labor execute." In 1331 the work 
 begun by Arnolfo was entrusted to Giotto, who erected the 
 tower and continued to work on the original design. Soon 
 after his death a beautiful fagade was built by the most famous 
 sculptors of the time, but this was destroyed in 1575, and has 
 been recently replaced after the church had stood without a 
 fagade for three hundred years, when in i860 Victor Emman- 
 uel laid the foundation of the new one, selecting from the com- 
 petitive designs that by De Fabris. This new front seems to 
 me well worthy of the church and to harmonize in richness of 
 its colored marbles and exquisite workmanship with the other 
 portions and with the Campanile close by. 
 
 I was informed by a gentleman who resides here a good part 
 of the time, as illustrating the keen interest felt by the entire 
 Florentine population in matters of art, that when a question 
 arose among the authorities as to the better of two methods of 
 finishing the upper surface of the new front, books were opened 
 for signatures of the partisans of either method, and that 
 boys ranged themselves and fought in the square in behalf of 
 one and the other. In 1418 occurred the public competition of 
 models for the dome ; gained by Brunelleschi, who was fourteen 
 years in building it, the lantern after his design being added 
 in 1462. This airy structure rises to the height of 300 feet, 
 
The Bell Toiuer. — The Baptistery. 299 
 
 with the lantern 352 feet, and is of such grace that it is report- 
 ed that when Michael Angelo, a century later, was summoned 
 to Rome to surpass this work of Brunelleschi in building St. 
 Peter's, he replied, " I will make its sister larger, but not more 
 beautiful." The Cathedral, of the style known as Italian 
 Gothic, is 556 feet long, 342 feet wide across the transepts, is 
 encrusted with precious marbles, and altogether, inside and 
 out, rich to a degree, but not so imposing to my mind as the 
 great Gothic cathedrals I have seen elsewhere, nor so impres- 
 sive as the vast interior of the Mosque of St. Sophia in Con- 
 stantinople. The Campanile or Bell-Tower close beside the 
 facade of the Cathedral is a square structure rising in four 
 stories to the height of 292 feet, and is regarded as one of the 
 finest existing works of the kind. Certainly a more pleasing 
 object cannot be imagined rising grandly in colored marbles, 
 with graceful windows enriched with exquisite tracery, and 
 set with row upon row of statues by famous masters. It was 
 designed and begun by Giotto in 1334 in the style of the 
 Cathedral, and after his death completed by Taddeo Gaddi in 
 1387. In its adornment assisted such renowned workers as 
 Donatello, Bartolo, Rosso, Niccolo d'Arezzo, Andrea Pisano, 
 and that most charming master Luca della Robbia, whose 
 colored terra- cotta reliefs are to be seen here in many places, 
 and always with pleasure. It was the original intention, I 
 believe, to place some terminal structure at top of this square 
 tower ; but in all the centuries no one has had the audacity to 
 venture to think himself capable, or the well-instructed city 
 has refused to sanction any attempt. 
 
 The Baptistery stands in the square in front of the Cathe- 
 dral, and its modest proportions are at first, or rather to me at 
 first, were disappointing, and only after several visits did I 
 realize the charm of its octagonal exterior, the low tones of its 
 harmonious parts, its well-proportioned stories, marble orna- 
 mentation and fine cornices. It was once the Cathedral, its 
 date is uncertain, it was encrusted with marble by Arnolfo, 
 but thought to have been once a temple to Mars. The inte- 
 rior is so dark at any time of day that it is with difficulty one 
 can see the not numerous works of interest under its dome 
 90 feet high, the circular space below being set round with pillars 
 of Oriental marble. In its marble font all children born in 
 Florence are baptized, and whenever I visited the interior the 
 
300 The Bronze Doors of the Baptistery. 
 
 rite was going on, robed priests, with faces dull and often 
 sensual, gathered round little mewling atomies not four hours 
 old, the lamp-light showing their tiny heads protruding redly 
 from the costliest wrappings the family means can furnish, and 
 drenched with holy water to such extent as made its sur- 
 vival a miracle. But oftener I got no farther than the glori- 
 ous bronze doors, whose storied reliefs would stand forth 
 clearly in the abundant light but for the dirt accumulated on 
 them and never removed for fear of wearing away the sharp 
 features of the countless figures wrought on them. There 
 are three of these precious doors, or gates as they are styled, 
 each with double valves and deep bronze borders. That on 
 the south is the oldest, and was completed in 1330 by Andrea 
 Pisano, after twenty-two years' labor, and its reliefs comprise 
 scenes from the life of John the Baptist. The door on the 
 north side is by Lorenzo Ghiberti, done between the years 
 1403 and 1424, and the reliefs show forth, in twenty-eight sec- 
 tions, the history of Christ, the Apostles and Fathers down to 
 St. Augustine. The third, facing the Cathedral, is by Ghiberti 
 also, and executed between the years 1425 and 1452, and rep- 
 resents ten scenes from Scripture history of the Old Testament. 
 This is the gate Michael Angelo pronounced worthy to form 
 the entrance to Paradise. These noble doors were originally 
 gilded with gold, now worn away except in some deep por- 
 tions, and even in their dusty coverings show such figures of 
 dignity and grace, such life and beauty, as one could not be- 
 lieve possible. Nor less exquisite are the frames of these doors, 
 with their deep, faithful portraiture of flowers and foliage 
 sheltering various birds, the whole with the scenes they enclose 
 needing only to be awakened from the sleep of ages by the 
 touch of some gentle enchantment to glow before us with per- 
 fect life. Well may these doors, to which I go over and over 
 again, be reckoned among the marvels of art. 
 
 Gathering from the scrappy information which filters 
 through various irregular channels from beyond the sea, that 
 the 28th of November has been set apart for a day of Thanks- 
 giving by the ruler of 65,000,000 of people flourishing and 
 free on a continent undreamed of by patient Ghiberti in all 
 those years he was working on the gates of the Baptistery ; 
 we resolve, in company of some agreeable friends we have 
 made here, also from the States, to celebrate our most home- 
 
llianksgiving-Day. — Search for Pumpkin-Pie. 301 
 
 like festival as nearly in the orthodox Yankee fashion as the 
 circumstances of our voluntary banishment will allow. Our 
 large private parlor, in the New York Hotel, once rejoicing in 
 the title of palace, the last forgotten owner of which for some 
 reason failed to marry an American heiress, and so retain 
 the vast rooms frescoed with chilly cupids wearing no rai- 
 ment in this cold season but scanty wings and little bows and 
 arrows, was chosen as the scene of our memorial festivities, 
 and our combined faculties proved competent to a menu sat- 
 isfactory under any sky ; but at once, on attempting to real- 
 ize it, we came on obstacles which threatened to be insur- 
 mountable. The intelligent and obliging head-waiter, who, 
 from his intimate knowledge of " English as she is spoke," 
 was our medium of communication with the Italian chef, was 
 painfully obliged to report, after a prolonged conference with 
 that awful functionary, that the accomplishment of cranberry- 
 sauce and a pumpkin-pie were impossible, for the excellent 
 reason that he had no knowledge whatever of those indispen- 
 sable elements of a Thanksgiving dinner — indeed, could not 
 imagine what these esculents might be. We strove to 
 enlighten the mind of our interpreter, and with such success 
 that, for his part, he felt quite sure of the pumpkin, having, 
 he remembered, seen it growing once on a sort of a tree in 
 Sicily. As to the cranberry, he would advise himself, and later 
 in the day brought a thin volume, opened to a page whereon 
 stood a list of various vegetables, fruits and berries in the 
 English tongue, and placing his finger triumphantly on '' cornel- 
 berry," declared the problem solved. Not content with this, 
 we sent out foraging parties, myself being detailed to address 
 me with all diligence to the "English Bakery," no great dis- 
 tance away. Going forth under an umbrella, I came upon that 
 manufactory of Anglican bread and pastry, and found behind 
 the counter of it a plump and merry Italian lady ; and inquiring 
 if I were quite correct in supposing this to be the establishment 
 known to the citizens of Florence as the " English Bakery," 
 was told, in very much broken English, that it was indeed that 
 same, but that the English lady who formerly inhabited here 
 had returned to Ireland, and when, with drooping expectation, 
 I ventured to inquire if pumpkin-pie constituted one of the 
 delicacies of her stock, she showed her white teeth and broke 
 into great mirth at the uncouth name ; and I left her, hands 
 
302 Success at Last, ajid a Bounteous Dinner. 
 
 on sides, enjoying a repetition of the sound as she 'tried to 
 pronounce, with halting and difficult effort, struggling long 
 with the first syllable, " pump-kin pie, pump-kin pie." But 
 the inspiration of the chef was not yet exhausted. He sent us 
 word that on the morrow he would send in with our luncheon 
 his realized conception of the national pie, which duly ap- 
 peared, smoking hot, between two crusts, and opening with all 
 the outward signs and inward tokens of a mince-pie without 
 meat. Endeavoring to fathom on what ground the r/;^/ rested 
 his claim that his production should be recognized as pumpkin, 
 we found among the ingredients some scanty slices of citron, 
 and were no longer hopeful of anything but the turkey, that 
 " tame villatic fowl" being well domesticated in all the lands 
 we have yet found. But on the eve of the eventful day 
 Frattini, revealing a new depth in his resourceful nature, paid 
 us a visit, and in a calm and confident manner which carried 
 conviction assured us that all would be well on the morrow ; 
 that he had now taken the matter seriously in hand himself ; 
 that at the proper time not only would the turkey have its 
 garnish of cranberries, but the pie should present itself of 
 due form and elements. And of a truth when we were set 
 down to a table handsomely spread, flowers blooming about 
 our cheerful parlor, converted for the occasion into a bit of 
 Uncle Sam's domain by the protective folds of two American 
 flags, Frattini hovering about in the capacity of major-domo 
 wrapped in an air of mystery, there appeared among the well- 
 cooked dishes of an abounding dinner excellent cranberry- 
 sauce and a better pumpkin-pie than many a New England 
 home could boast. We sat long at table, with many thoughts 
 of home, and over the wine and walnuts, when the mind is 
 most disposed to make allowance, I ventured to read these 
 lines, made for " this occasion only," to the eight uncritical 
 partakers of the feast : 
 
 THANKSGIVING-DAY IN FLORENCE, 1889. 
 
 We changed our sky but not our hearts, 
 
 Crossing the wide Atlantic Sea, 
 From the far land we proudly claim, 
 
 To this sweet town of Tuscany ; 
 
 Through which the classic Arno glides 
 
 Past Brunelleschi's airy dome, 
 Grand palaces and hoary towers 
 
 And snowy walls of many a home. 
 
^^For this Occasion Only.'' 303 
 
 Soft-gliding, as it fain would pause, 
 
 And feel its watery pulses glow 
 In light divine from David's face 
 
 Kindled by Michael Angelo. 
 
 Fair are the scenes of this fair spot : 
 
 Gray olive-trees festooned with vines. 
 Gleams of time-mellowed convent-walls, 
 
 And sad slopes of the Apennines. 
 
 We love this peopled world of art. 
 
 Trophies august of antique times ; 
 Ghiberti's gates, whose conscious saints 
 
 Listen the Campanile's chimes. 
 
 Marbles that breathe and burn to tell 
 
 Of the dead hands which gave them birth, 
 
 Paintings that stir and raise the soul 
 Till heaven is nearer us than earth. 
 
 So rest we here in full content ; 
 
 And yet upon this festal day 
 Our hearts return o'er land and wave 
 
 To homes of kindred far away, 
 
 Where shine the hospitable fires 
 
 On forms beloved, gathered near 
 The feastful tables crowned with thanks 
 
 For blessings of the ripened year. 
 
 And though our softening eyes must miss 
 
 Dear faces that once smiled and shone 
 Above the feast in other years, 
 
 And we are left still more alone ; 
 
 Let us be thankful, nor forget 
 
 What loving mercies crown our way, 
 And bow our heads with grateful hearts 
 
 Upon this glad Thanksgiving-day. 
 
 We drove, on a bright morning, across the Arno and through 
 groves of olives with vines running from tree to tree and well- 
 tilled fields studded with noble trees, past villas and old gray 
 walls of palaces to the famed monastery of Certosa di Val 
 d'Ema, two and one-half miles from the city. The huge walls 
 rise from a commanding height like those of a fortress and 
 overlook a beautiful expanse of varied hill, valley and plain, 
 once the possessions of the monks here and tilled by them 
 for five hundred years. Within the walls are a rich church 
 and handsome chapels with fine pictures and tombs ; a veri- 
 
304 Monastery of Certosa di Val d'Ema. — Powers the Sculptor. 
 
 tably impressive place, with its ample cloisters and dim, silent 
 corridors. The numerous fraternity of Benedictines who 
 lived here, each one in a small cell, the door furnished with 
 an opening for handing in the meals, have all been turned 
 out by the government, which has appropriated this and all 
 similar property in the most high-handed manner, leaving 
 some score of them to be " care-takers," as the pleasant monk 
 who showed us about said with a natural touch of bitterness, 
 "of our own property." The good fathers make a chartreuse 
 and perfumes, which one can buy in their quaint old pharmacy, 
 from whose clean and well-ordered shelves the poor are sup- 
 plied with remedies free of charge. A spot well worth visit- 
 ing. Returning we meet, as always in our drives, little two- 
 wheeled carts laden with vegetables and wicker bottles of wine, 
 the smaller kinds of pretty shape with long, slender necks, 
 said to be a graceful form peculiar to Tuscany, the same as 
 are served at the table-d' hote of our hotel, holding a red wine 
 called " Chienti," a sort I prefer, and resembling a fair claret. 
 These little carts are drawn by mules or donkeys, the long 
 shafts fastened high above their sides to cumbersome harness 
 ornamented with heavy brasses and parti-colored tassels, 
 until the little creatures are almost hidden and pverladen 
 with their needless equipments. The larger carts employ two 
 and sometimes three animals, and I have seen a horse, a mule 
 and a donkey working together abreast. 
 
 There are several American painters and sculptors with 
 studios here, among them Mr. Longworth Powers, son of 
 Hiram Powers, quite a number of whose best statues and all 
 his models are on exhibition in the atelier of the son. To my 
 untaught eye the " Eve Tempted" of the elder Powers is a 
 marble figure as pure and beautiful in its naked innocence as 
 the " Venus de' Medici," but this I must not say, I suppose. 
 Mr. Powers was engaged, on the occasion of one of my visits, 
 in modelling a striking portrait bust — a form of art in 
 which he excels — from the same clay his father used in 
 modelling the " Greek Slave" forty years ago. He uses it 
 over and over, and says it still improves with using. At a 
 reception at Mrs. Powers' villa we met the widow of Hiram 
 Powers, a well-preserved and agreeable old lady. I was shown 
 there a literary bit which so interested me that I begged a 
 copy and give it place here. Who ever knew of Charles Fran- 
 
A Tale of a Nose. 305 
 
 cis Adams " dropping into poetry," or, if that were possible, 
 that the "Iceberg," as his grateful countrymen called him 
 when, after his noble work for the nation during the civil war, 
 he stood for their suffrage, ever melted into such a bit of fun 
 as this ? We don't know our fellow-men very well, and often 
 better knowledge would give kindlier judgment, I fancy. 
 
 A TALE OF A NOSE. 
 
 BY CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. 
 
 'Tvvas a hard rase that which happened in Lynn ! 
 Haven't heard of it, eh ? Well, then, to begin. 
 There's a Jew down there whom they call " Old Mose," 
 Who travels about and buys old clothes. 
 
 Now Mose — which the same is short for Moses — 
 
 Had one of the biggest kind of noses ; 
 
 It had a sort of an instep in it, 
 
 And he fed it with snufT about once a minute. 
 
 One day he got in a bit of a row 
 
 With a German chap who had kissed his frau, 
 
 And, trying to punch him, k la Mace, 
 
 Had his nose cut off close up to his face. 
 
 He picked it up from off the ground 
 And quickly back in its place 'twas bound. 
 Keeping the bandage upon his face 
 Until it had fairly healed in place. 
 
 Alas for Mose ! 'Twas a sad mistake 
 Which he in his haste that day did make ; 
 For, to add still more to his bitter cup. 
 He found he had placed it wrong side up. 
 
 " There's no great loss without some gain," 
 And Moses says in a jocular vein. 
 He arranged it so for taking snuff, 
 As he never before could get enough. 
 
 One thing, by the way, he forgets to add, 
 Which makes the arrangement rather bad : 
 Although he can take his snuff with ease, 
 He has to stand on his head to sneeze. 
 
 The sculptor Mead has in progress a colossal work sym- 
 bolizing the Mississippi River, intended for a public park in 
 Chicago, and next door to him Mr. Turner is doing a colossal 
 female figure, nine feet high, for the front of the building of an 
 insurance company in St. Paul. This is to be in bronze, and 
 20 
 
306 Church of Santa Croce. 
 
 Mr. Turner tried to explain to me that it would be cast in 
 Florence by a method revived from that of Benvenuto Cellini, 
 who filled the mould with wax, which, keeping the form in 
 place, melted and was displaced by the molten bronze. 
 
 I see no way of dealing with the great number of interest- 
 ing churches here. Were I capable, a whole volume would be 
 needed to describe them. They are full of treasures, and so 
 is all Florence for that matter. But I must call to mind and 
 help my future recollection with meagre mention of a few of 
 those we saw wuth so much pleasure. After the Cathedral and 
 Baptistery, the Church of Santa Croce, on the spacious Piazza 
 of that name, naturally attracts attention as the Pantheon of 
 modern Italy, where are many fine monuments to celebrated 
 men, and interesting frescoes brought to light under a coating 
 of whitewash said to have been spread over them by the envi- 
 ous dislike of Visari in 1566. These were by Giotto and his 
 successors, Taddeo Gaddi, Maso di Banco, Giovanni da Milano, 
 Agnolo Gaddi and other masters of note, with bas-reliefs 
 by the Robbias, whose work in terra-cotta one always sees 
 with increasing pleasure. Especially beautiful are the paint- 
 ings of Giotto discovered not many years ago in the chapels of 
 Peruzzi and the Bardi. The church is cruciform, and begun 
 in 1294 from a design by Arnolfo di Bambio, with a modern 
 fagade from the old design by Cronaca. The interior is im- 
 pressive from its size, and the nave has no side chapels. There 
 is a charming rose-window over the west door by Ghiberti, 
 Ranged round the interior walls of the nave are the monu- 
 ments, among them one to Daniel Manin, the Venetian pa- 
 triot, and the tomb of Michael Angelo, who died in Rome in 
 1563, but is buried here. This tomb was erected after Vasa- 
 ri's design, with a bust above it by Battista Lorenzi. Here, 
 also, is the monument to Dante, who is buried at Ravenna, 
 where he died on September 14th, 1321, at the age of fifty-six. 
 This fine monument, by Stefano Ricci, was erected in 1829, 
 and bears the proud inscription, " Onorate raltissit?io poeta r 
 which those who only read him in translations and do read 
 Shakespere in the original may very well question. There is 
 an exquisite monument to the poet Alfieri, who died 1810, by 
 Canova, ordered by the Countess of Albany ; the tombs of 
 Macchiavelli, died 1527 ; Prince Neri Corsini ; the Countess of 
 Albany, widow of the young Pretender, died in 1824 ; Galileo, 
 
Church of Or San Michele. 307 
 
 died 1642 ; the engraver, Raphael Morghen, died 1833; the com- 
 poser, L. Cherubini, died 1842 ; a chapel belonging to the Bo- 
 naparte family, with monuments, by Bartolini, to Carlotta and 
 Julia Clary Bonaparte, who died respectively in 1839 and 1845.. 
 
 One of the most beautiful tombs I have seen — and there are 
 many of these — is that of Carlo Marsuppini, Chancellor of 
 Florence, Secretary to Pope Eugenius IV., who died in 1455, 
 by Desiderio da Settignano, and there are many others which 
 I must pass without even a mention. One realizes, in looking 
 at the names on these grand and costly monuments, what an 
 illustrious roll of men Florence possessed, and how their 
 power and genius exerted here through many centuries have 
 made her the famous city she has been and must continue to 
 be so long as the arts and sciences are honored among men. 
 At the end of the corridor leading to the sacristy is the Medici 
 chapel, where is a sweet and tender picture of the " Corona- 
 tion of the Virgin," by Giotto. The sacristy is a charming 
 room, of admirable proportions, with old inlaid cabinets around 
 the walls for keeping the priestly robes, an exquisite font, 
 interesting frescoes by Niccolo, and, most beautiful of all, five 
 great missals with miniatures, some of them from the hand of 
 Fra Angelico. There are noble cloisters by Arnolfo and Bru- 
 nelleschi, and in the old refectory opening from them a fresco 
 of a " Last Supper," fast fading from damp, but beautiful to a 
 degree, by Giotto. In this portion of the old convent, now- 
 suppressed, are the rooms in which the Inquisition held its 
 tribunals from 1284 to 1782. Church and cloisters and tombs 
 and monasteries and frescoes and all else here, are of exceed- 
 ing interest. 
 
 I allude to the Church of Or San Michele to indicate how 
 the love of art in the middle ages had penetrated all ranks of 
 the citizens here. When this church was completed in 1412, 
 the twelve guilds of the city undertook to decorate the outside 
 walls with statues, and here they stand in handsome niches. 
 The judges and notaries placed one of St. Luke, by John of 
 Bologna ; the merchants, one of Christ and St. Thomas, by 
 Andrea del Verrocchio, in a niche designed for them by Dona- 
 tello ; the cloth-dealers, John the Baptist — perhaps to indicate 
 the need of more clothing than that prophet was used to 
 wear — by Ghiberti ; the silk- weavers, one of St. John, by Mon- 
 telupo ; the physicians and apothecaries a Madonna — possibly 
 
308 Church of San Lorenzo. 
 
 with a consciousness that none needed pity and celestial succor 
 so much as their patients — by Mino da Fiesole. This has been 
 removed to the interior of the church and its place filled by a 
 noble figure by Donatello made originally for the armorers. 
 The furriers set up a statue of St. James, by Nanni di Banco ; 
 the joiners, one of St. Mark, by Donatello — a grand, simple, 
 honest face ; the farriers, one of St. Eligius, also by Nanni di 
 Banco ; the woollen-weavers, one of St. Stephen, by Ghiberti ; 
 the money-changers, one of St. Matthew, by Ghiberti and 
 Michelozzo ; the bricklayers, carpenters, smiths and masons 
 set up in their niches four saints also by Nanni di Banco ; the 
 shoemakers, one of St. Philip by the same, and the butchers, 
 one of St. Peter, by Donatello. What a pleasant and instruc- 
 tive light gleams from those remote times here, when the very 
 humblest craftsrnen united to set up these fair works of art, 
 and cast about them for the greatest masters money or influ- 
 ence could command to honor their trades and adorn the city 
 wherein they practised them ! Think of the butchers of New 
 York, to say nothing of the merchants, and Wall Street "money- 
 changers," seeking for some best sculptor — where would they 
 look ? — to make some noble work for their own satisfaction and 
 that of their fellow-citizens ! In the interior is an exquisite high 
 altar, by Andrea Orcagna, in marble and precious stones, with 
 beautiful reliefs, completed, as the inscription states, in 1359, 
 and set up over the miracle-working image of the Virgin. In 
 the Piazza before the church stands an imposing statue of 
 Dante, in white marble, 19 feet high, on a pedestal 23 feet, 
 erected May 14th, 1865, on the six hundredth anniversary of 
 the poet's birth. 
 
 San Lorenzo is one of the oldest churches in Italy, having 
 been consecrated by St. Ambrose in 393, burned down in 
 1423, and rebuilt in 1425, from designs by Brunelleschi. Be- 
 fore the high altar is a slab in the pavement marking the 
 simple grave of Cosimo de' Medici, with the inscription 
 " Fater Patricz." He died August, 1464, the founder of the 
 illustrious house of Medici, several of whom sleep here. Dona- 
 tello is buried in the same vault. This noble artist has much 
 good work here, a marble monument to the parents of Cosimo, 
 a bust of St. Lawrence, bronze doors and a reading-desk or 
 ambo being among them. Cosimo founded the Laurentian 
 Library adjacent to the church, subsequently enlarged by the 
 
The Laurentian Library. — Chapel of the Prmces. 309 
 
 succeeding Medici, where are a great many rare and valuable 
 manuscripts, of which I examined with pleasure one of Virgil 
 of the fifth century, one of Tacitus of the tenth, brought 
 from Germany, and said to be the only copy containing the 
 first five books of the "Annals," a copy of Petrarch's Sonnets, 
 with exquisite miniature portraits of himself and Laura, Boc- 
 caccio's " Decameron," etc. The library building, with the 
 portico and staircase, were designed by Michael Angelo, and 
 to me are crude and sombre. He also built the new Sacristy 
 as a tomb for the Medici, containing the mausoleum of Giu- 
 liano de' Medici, surmounted with a statue of him as the 
 General of the Church. The sarcophagus below is adorned 
 by the statues of "Day" and "Night," and opposite is the 
 statue of Lorenzo de' Medici above his tomb, on which re- 
 cline the statues of "Evening" and "Dawn." This is the 
 famous tomb of the Medici, and these are the statues, all by 
 Michael Angelo, of which I had read and heard so much, and 
 on which writers of fame have gushed in bathos as they have 
 done over the "Venus de' Medici." The effigies of the Medici 
 are indeed strikingly life-like figures, but the other marbles 
 convey little meaning to me, and I might stand before the 
 bepraised figures of " Evening" and " Dawn," " Night " and 
 " Day" till Doomsday and see no more than huge sprawling 
 forms in stone, with the meaning intended so obscure as to be 
 confusingly undiscoverable to me. The room itself with its 
 dome is suitably majestic, as it could not well fail to be, hav- 
 ing been copied, as to its form, from the old one designed by 
 Brunelleschi. The Chapel of the Princes, connected with the 
 tomb by a passage, was built as a burial-chapel of the Grand- 
 Dukes of the Medici family, and, begun in 1604, is not yet 
 completed. This octagonal room, rising into a lofty dome, 
 and I should think 50 feet in diameter, has walls encrusted 
 with precious marbles and mosaics, whose richness may be 
 inferred from the fact that the Medici expended from their own 
 private fortunes about four and one-half million dollars in 
 our money in its construction and ornament. Think, too, 
 how much greater than now the purchasing power of money 
 was during the two hundred and fifty years the work has been 
 going on ! 
 
 In the Piazza di Santa Maria Novella stand two obelisks of 
 marble resting on brazen tortoises. These served as the goals 
 
310 Churches of Santa Maria Novella, San Spirito, and Carmine. 
 
 of chariot-races instituted in the reign of Cosimo I. in 1563. The 
 Church of Santa Maria Novella is in a style uniting the Gothic 
 with the Tuscan, with pleasing effect. It is mentioned in the 
 '' Decameron." The fayade of red and white marble and the 
 portal strike me very agreeably, and the spacious interior is 
 helped by the pointed Gothic arches to be more impressive 
 than I find the Romanesque churches are as a rule. The most 
 notable of the frescoes with which this church abounds are 
 those which cover great spaces in the choir by Domenico 
 Ghirlandajo, done in 1490, and called the finest specimens of 
 Florentine art before Leonardo, Michael Angelo and Raphael. 
 They contain a great many portraits, but I care little for them, 
 nor for the much-bepraised " Madonna" by Cimabue. There 
 is exquisite stained glass in some windows as old as these 
 frescoes after designs by Filippino Lippi, and in the sacristy 
 such a delightful fountain by Giovanni della Robbia, and the 
 ancient cloisters are rich in frescoes, some of them by Or- 
 cagna. A little way off one enters through a handsome 
 gateway the laboratory of the old monastery, where a liqueur 
 special to Florence, "Alkermes," and perfumes are distilled, 
 and a suite of the charming old arched rooms are kept up 
 in a simple and befitting style, ornamented with old faience 
 of great value. 
 
 The Church of San Spirito, on the left bank of the Arno, 
 has a noble interior, and is attractive with its thirty-eight 
 altars designed by Filippo Brunelleschi in 1433. This church 
 was built for the Augustinians, and Martin Luther, who was 
 a monk of that order, preached in it on his way to Rome. 
 Very stately is the sacristy, to which a beautiful covered pas- 
 sage leads. On the left bank, too, are the church and con- 
 vent of Carmine, where, in the Cappella Brancacci, are the 
 famous frescoes of Masaccio done in 1423, mingled with 
 others by Masolino and Filippino Lippi. The adjoining 
 cloisters of the Carmelite Monastery are very attractive, and 
 in the old refectory is a fresco of a " Last Supper," by Allori, 
 in which the face of Christ is of exceeding sweetness. 
 
 These churches, as well as the galleries, museums and all 
 public buildings, are very cold, the massive stone walls and 
 floors emitting a peculiarly penetrating chilliness hard to bear. 
 The only apparatus for heating, where anything at all is used, 
 as in the galleries, is an upright cylinder of brass forming a 
 
Legend of San Miniato. — Monastery of San Marco. 311 
 
 brazier, in which smoulder a quantity of live coals and hot 
 ashes, giving out just enough heat to make one more sensible 
 of the cold. Priests and monks go shivering about with red 
 hands and sandalled feet blotchy with chilblains, and poor 
 women come in to pray hugging a little earthen dish of coals 
 called scaldino, as if it were a precious baby. As elsewhere, 
 these churches are dedicated to saints whose lives and deeds 
 and miracles they respectively commemorate, and although 
 among the enlightened Florentines the body of relics and pious 
 legends does not seem to have grown to such bulk as one 
 finds in many other great cities, still it is respectable in quan- 
 tity and quality. Take as a specimen the Florentine legend 
 of St. Minias or Miniato, in whose honor the beautiful church 
 of San Miniato was built, as related by Mrs. Jameson. The 
 same grotesque puerility is found in most of the legends of 
 the church. " San Miniato was an Armenian prince serving 
 in the Roman army under Decius. Being denounced as a 
 Christian, he was brought before the emperor, who was then 
 encamped upon a hill outside the gates of Florence, and who 
 ordered him to be thrown to the beasts in the amphitheatre. 
 A panther was let loose upon him, but when he called upon 
 our Lord he was delivered ; he then suffered the usual tor- 
 ments, being cast into a boiling caldron and afterward sus- 
 pended to a gallows, stoned, and shot with javelins, but in his 
 agony an angel descended to comfort him and clothed him in 
 a garment of light ; finally he was beheaded." He held out 
 well, and to him stands the church bearing his name, with 
 a fa(;ade exquisitely wrought in colored marbles, subdued and 
 softened by time. 
 
 From church to monastery is an easy step. That of San 
 Marco, on the Piazza of that name, is not only interesting as a 
 complete and well-preserved monastic pile, but famous from 
 its associations with the Dominican monk Savonarola, its prior. 
 Fra Angelico came here from his convent at Fiesole and pro- 
 fusely adorned the walls of the cloister and cells with the most 
 beautiful of his works. Here he lived and wrought through 
 many gentle and peaceful years, never taking up his brush 
 without a prayer nor altering anything once expressed of his 
 tender fancies on canvas, because it was the will of God they 
 should appear as first painted. He died here in 1455. at the ripe 
 age of sixty-eight. The long range of monastic cells opening 
 
313 '■'■Brothers of Mercy.'' 
 
 into a corridor ceiled with wood dates from 1436, as do almost 
 all parts of the present pile. The cells are as large as the hall 
 bedrooms of our Brooklyn twenty-five-feet houses, well lighted 
 by pleasant windows, floored with dull red brick, and now 
 untenanted, as the monastery has been suppressed by the gov- 
 ernment, save by Fra Angelico's glorious saints and angels 
 shining in gold from the walls. At the upper end of the cor- 
 ridor are the two small cells of the prior Savonarola, burned 
 at the stake on the Piazza della Signoria in 1498. Here are 
 shown among other relics of him his crucifix, hair-shirt, an 
 old picture representing his execution, and a bust showing the 
 coarse, strong features of an ecstatic bigot, as I fancy him to 
 have been. Fra Bartolommeo was also a brother here, and 
 has left fine frescoes ; so was the beneficent San Antonio, 
 founder and promoter of many charities here. A cell adjoin- 
 ing the church has a plain inner room reached by steps built, 
 as an inscription shows, by Cosimo de' Medici, that he might 
 have a quiet place for converse with Fra Angelico and other 
 brothers. In the pleasant old library are shown as many as 
 eighty great choral-books of parchment-leaves exquisitely 
 illuminated, some done by Fra Benedetto, a brother of Fra 
 Angelico, and the rest by celebrated artists of the fifteenth 
 century, gems of patient, loving labor, the miniatures set in 
 broad margins of gold. This library is the old Scriptorium 
 too, and one fancies the gentle monks, in the soft light of the 
 high narrow windows, bending devoutly over this pious work. 
 In the monastery are the rooms of the Della Cruscan Academy, 
 founded in the latter part of the sixteenth century to preserve 
 the purity of the Italian language. The Academy is putting 
 through the press a large dictionary of the language. 
 
 We often meet bands of the " Brothers of Mercy" from the 
 Hospital of the Misericordia, founded here in 1240, and since 
 maintained to afford succor to sick or wounded people. At a 
 summons from the Campanile — their hospital is on the Cathe- 
 dral square and connected with the Bigallo, a lovely little 
 Gothic loggia, by Orcagna, for the exhibition of foundlings to 
 the charitable public — those on duty for the day come forth in 
 long black robes with hoods so enveloping face and form as 
 to leave only the eyes visible, making recognition impossible. 
 Four of the party bear a litter on their shoulders covered with 
 a black pall, and they hasten to any scene of accident or sick- 
 ness to which they may be summoned, their services being 
 
National Museum. 313 
 
 quite gratuitous. All ranks of society are represented in the 
 brotherhood, and when Dickens was here forty years ago he 
 writes that the Grand-Duke was a member and did duty with 
 the rest. 
 
 The old palace of the Bargello, built in 1255 from designs 
 of Arnolfo di Lapo, and for several centuries the residence of 
 the Podesta or chief magistrate, then and to 1859 serving as 
 prison and seat of the head of police, is now occupied by the 
 National Museum. There is a fine but not numerous collec- 
 tion of weapons here, once owned by the Medici, and a 
 beautiful great bronze cannon cast in 1638 by Cosimo Cenni. 
 The great court, with its grand staircase by Agnolo Gaddi 
 and charming upper loggia by Orcagna, most quaint and 
 rich in color everywhere, make a most impressive picture of 
 the circumstances of lordly life in the middle ages. There is 
 a series of reliefs carven upon white marble slabs by Luca 
 della Robbia representing the execution of various forms of 
 music, vocal and instrumental, intended for the organ gallery 
 of the Cathedral, so simply quaint in their naturalness that I 
 declare I fell in love with them at sight and think them almost 
 the charmingest objects I have seen. These reliefs are so fit- 
 tingly described by a writer in the Church Quarterly Review, 
 quoted by Hare, that I repeat it here : 
 
 " These happy children standing or sitting in careless ease 
 with their varied instruments in their hands, these fair-faced 
 boys and maidens blowing long trumpets, sounding their harp 
 and lyre, and clashing their symbols as they go, singing all 
 the while for gladness of heart, breathe the very spirit of 
 music. Not a detail is left out, not a touch forgotten. We 
 see the motion of their hands beating time as they bend over 
 each other's shoulders to read the notes, the rhythmic measure 
 of their feet as they circle hand in hand to the tune of their 
 own music, the very swelling of their throats, as, with heads 
 thrown back and parted lips, they pour forth their whole soul 
 in song. Never was the innocent beauty, the unconscious 
 grace of childhood more perfectly rendered than in these 
 lovely bands of curly-headed children thrilled through and 
 through with the power and the joy of their melody." 
 
 There are others intended for the same purpose by Dona- 
 tello, but one cannot see even the work of so great a master 
 in the presence of those others by della Robbia. But this 
 comparison, unfavorable in this instance to Donatello, will not 
 
314 Academy of Fine Arts. — The Protestant Cemetery. 
 
 prevent one's pleasure at sight of his bronze statue of David 
 with the head of Goliath at his feet, a figure and face and 
 attitude realizing the idea of the young shepherd victorious, 
 more naturally and fully, by far than Michael Angelo's " David," 
 whose face is noble and full of the triumphant ardor of a hero 
 of classical antiquity. There is a rich collection of Majolica 
 and Urbino ware and some good tapestries, and many other 
 fair and pleasing objects in many kinds, and notable among 
 them to me the walls of a room where are hung many glazed 
 terra-cotta reliefs by Luca and Andrea della Robbia. 
 
 More of these beautiful works greet our entrance into the 
 Academy of Fine Arts, where are many pictures of interest and 
 a "Tribune," where in 1882 the "David" of Michael Angelo 
 was brought from its old position, chosen by him at the gate 
 of the Palazzo Vecchio, and placed along with casts from a 
 number of his other most famous works. The "David" is a 
 noble figure truly, vital with power, but it is the form of a 
 giant and not a shepherd-boy. Among the pictures I most 
 liked some by Fra Bartolommeo, Fillipino Lippi, Ghirlandajo 
 and Perugino, Raphael's master, his " Mount of Olives" and 
 " Assumption" being more admirable than any work of his 
 we have met elsewhere. 
 
 The Protestant Cemetery is a pleasant spot, grassy and well 
 shaded with old trees, and now no longer permitted to be used 
 as a burial-place. Once it stood in the fields outside the 
 town, which has overtaken and enveloped it in dusty streets. 
 Here I went one pleasant Sunday afternoon and looked on the 
 graves of Elizabeth Barrett-Browning, Arthur Clough, Walter 
 Savage Landor and Theodore Parker. I was surprised to 
 see the flat stone above the grave of the last named quite cov- 
 ered with bunches of flowers, separate offerings in various 
 stages of decay, showing that his grave is frequently visited 
 by affectionate admirers, of whom I have always been one. 
 As I stood by his grave in this foreign clime, I recalled some 
 lines I wrote on hearing of his death in i860, and I insert 
 them here as my poor offering on his grave : 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 Striving at longest life for noblest ends, 
 He fled from Death to meet him under skies 
 Stellar and grand with old-world memories, 
 To which his name an added lustre gives. 
 
Lines on the Death of Theodore Parker. 315 
 
 The True, the Beautiful, the Good were met 
 
 And full inspher6d in his ample soul ; 
 
 His scornful eye withered Tradition's scroll 
 
 Where cunning lies and hoary shams are set. 
 
 Grasping the sword of Truth in mailed hand. 
 
 He lopped the Time's abuses as they rose. 
 
 And smote steadfastly with his dreadful blows 
 
 Full on the Giant curse of this fair land. 
 
 Yet was he meek and gentle, loved all, but the best 
 
 Earth's suffering ones, despised of the rest. 
 
 Amerigo Vespucci, whose name, to the neglect of Columbus, 
 was undeservedly bestowed on the Western continent, was a 
 Florentine, and a large handsome palace bears a tablet to the 
 effect that he was the owner and occupant. 
 
 I took a box at the opera, filling it with friends, to witness a 
 performance of " Roberto el Diabolo." The popular tenor, 
 Spagno, has a good voice and fine presence, and the well- 
 filled house lavished on his singing abundant and, it seemed 
 to me, discriminating applause. The boxes rise impressively 
 above each other in six tiers, and were filled with handsome 
 ladies and fine-looking men. The ladies were well, even 
 elegantly dressed, but in quiet taste, and I did not see one 
 instance of that style of " full-dress" — more correctly named 
 undress — which was universal in the boxes of Her Majesty's 
 Opera House in London. The incidental ballet was well 
 danced by graceful and pretty girls, but, as with us, seems to 
 be less and less regarded. 
 
 Florence is, of course, largely supplied with churches, and 
 the churches are well supplied with bells, and as these are 
 well-attended upon, the city is musical with them, striking the 
 hours in clocks, or rung in peals, or tolled on occasions fre- 
 quent throughout the twenty-four hours. They are bells of 
 refined characters, too, and exchange soft Tuscan responses 
 with their near and remote neighbors from Arno side to the 
 far-away declivities on which gray chapels or low-walled con- 
 vents cling. The bells of the Campanile especially, utter rich, 
 dripping tones, as if half smothered in honey, and are 
 singularly sweet, whether heard as one lies dreamily awake 
 in the advancing dawn or in the crowded street at midday. 
 But whether at dawn or midday or eventide, their tones will 
 cease to vibrate in my ears, for we must leave this charming 
 city, full storehouse of delightful art, growing each day more 
 delightful to us. Adieu, fair Florence ! 
 
316 Leave Florence for Rome. 
 
 December 14. — We left Florence for Rome by rail at 7 a.m., 
 just as the dawn had fully overspread the sky with a roseate 
 light changing to purple, the mist lying like a veil carelessly 
 flung along the valley of the Arno, but violet on the long, 
 broken spurs of the Apennines, their crests powdered with 
 snow. The valley narrows rapidly and grows more pictu- 
 resque, and thirteen miles down is intersected by the Sieve, of 
 whose beautiful valley we have a glimpse. Twenty-five miles 
 from Florence, near Figline, is a region made widely known by 
 the fossil remains found there of the elephant, rhinoceros, 
 mastodon, hippopotamus, hyena, tiger, bear, etc. At the dis- 
 tance of fifty-four miles lies the pleasant town of Arezzo, the 
 ancient Arretium, one of the twelve confederate cities of 
 Etruria, and more distinguished as the birthplace of many 
 noted men, among them Maecenas, patron of Horace and Vir- 
 gil and friend of Augustus Caesar, who died at Rome a.d. 9 ; 
 the Benedictine monk, Guido Monaco, who invented the pres- 
 ent system of musical notation, dying in 1050 ; Petrarch, the 
 poet, born here of Florentine parents in 1304 ; and many others 
 less noted, among them Vasari, the painter, architect and 
 biographer of artists. 
 
 We leave the valley of the Arno for that of the Chiana. 
 High up above its fertile plains rises the walled city of Cor- 
 tona, one of the oldest cities in Italy and the principal strong- 
 hold of the Etruscans. It clings to the side of the steep rim 
 of the valley like a heap of enormous rocks worn by time and 
 storm into fantastic resemblances to human habitations, gray 
 and sombre as the rocky hills themselves. How a population 
 of say 10,000 manage to live up there can only be known to 
 themselves. Near by is Lago Trasimeno, the ancient Lacus 
 Trasimenus, where 217 B.C. Carthaginian Hannibal defeated 
 with great slaughter the Romans under the Consul Flaminius, 
 who perished there. It is a handsome sheet of blue water, 
 some thirty miles in diameter, rimmed round with a deep 
 setting of oak and olive woods. At ninety-three miles is 
 Chiusi, the ancient Clusium, one of the twelve Etruscan 
 capitals, and the seat of Lars Porsena, 
 
 " Lars Porsena of Clusium, 
 By the nine gods he swore 
 That the great house of Tarquin 
 Should suffer wrong no more," 
 
Mount Soracte. 317 
 
 as Macaulay hath said in his ballad of Horatius. At one hun- 
 dred and eighteen miles lies Orvieto on an isolated tufa rock 
 — for we are now in a volcanic district, the centre of which is 
 the Lake of Bolsena, or Lacus Vulsiniensis, occupying the huge 
 crater of an extinct volcano — at an elevation of 700 feet, with pre- 
 cipitous natural walls, making it a place of such strength that 
 in the middle ages it afforded a refuge to the popes. Our way 
 is now along the valley of the Tiber, here a stream where we 
 first meet it some 50 feet wide, but with a broad, sandy margin, 
 indicating that it is liable to wide overflows. It winds its way 
 with many folds and convolutions along a widening valley of 
 much fertility, like a huge tawny serpent, augmented in vol- 
 ume all along by frequent tributaries, yellow as itself and 
 charged with earthy material brought from the mountains 
 where they take their rise. 
 
 We should have made a stop at Orvieto to see the fine Cathe- 
 dral there, said to be one of the most interesting structures in 
 Italy, a noble example of the Italian-Gothic, and unusually 
 rich in precious marbles, sculptures and mosaics ; but the 
 peculiar chill of the weather, to which we feel unaccountably 
 susceptible, makes me desirous of the comfort to be had only 
 in the large cities, and we reluctantly pass it by. There is 
 something inexplicable in the effects of this winter climate upon 
 all the members of my party. Although roses are in bloom 
 out of doors, we are chilled to the bone, in spite of wraps and 
 extra precautions, and have symptoms of influenzas and aches 
 — observable, too, everywhere among the Americans we meet. 
 
 A little below Orvieto lie two as picturesque villages as one 
 may expect to see, Baschi and Bomargo. We soon have in 
 full view the strikingly picturesque Mount Soracte, sung by 
 Horace in the ninth ode of the First Book, " Vides ut alta stet 
 nive candidiun Soracte,''' one of his most charming poems, and I 
 could have wished to see Soracte '''' candid um nive.'' It rises 
 precipitously about 2500 feet, its summit cleft into three 
 peaks, on the highest of which stands the Church of San 
 Silvestro, with a monastery of the same name lower down. 
 In Horace's time a famous temple to Apollo stood on the 
 site of this church, and the peaks of the mountain rising 
 abruptly from the plain would lie on the very northern 
 horizon of the poet's view from the Sabine hills. A translation 
 I made of this ode runs in my mind all the way along in sight 
 
318 '' Ad Thaliarchtim." 
 
 of this classic mountain, and I give myself quiet by inserting 
 it here : 
 
 Horace, Ode IX., Book I. 
 
 AD THALIARCHUM. 
 
 See how the wintry snow is piled 
 
 High on Soracte's brow, 
 And whitens wide the forest-tops, 
 
 Low bending every bough ; 
 And frozen to their inmost depths 
 
 The streams are silent now. 
 
 Drive out the cold with logs high-piled 
 
 Upon the blazing hearth ; 
 And, Thaliarchus, freely draw 
 
 From jar of Sabine earth, 
 The mellow wine, whose ripened cheer 
 
 Four autumns since had birth. 
 
 Leave to the gods all things beside ; 
 
 Lo ! at their high command. 
 The winds late battling with the waves 
 
 Breathe soft o'er sea and land ; 
 The cypress and the aged ash 
 
 In unvexed quiet stand. 
 
 Enjoy each fleeting hour, dear boy, 
 
 Free from foreboding care ; 
 Mix with the dance, and, warm of blood. 
 
 In love's fond transports share ; 
 For crabbed age comes on apace. 
 
 Age with his silver hair. 
 
 Freely perform in camp and field 
 ' All deeds of skill and might ; 
 But fail not the appointed tryst, 
 
 When, midst the silent night, 
 Faint whispers stealing through the dark 
 
 Confess the maid's delight. 
 
 And when at length a merry laugh 
 
 Her hiding-place betrays. 
 And to surrender she is fain, 
 
 With many coy delays, 
 A ring or bracelet fondly snatched 
 
 The long chase well repays. 
 
 We run along the left bank of the Tiber through the high 
 
Ro7ne. 319 
 
 region of the Sabina, and twenty-three miles from Rome are 
 at the village of Passo di Correse, derived from the ancient 
 Curos, the old Sabine town where Numa Pompilius was born, 
 and within five miles of the city, on a hill to the right, note 
 the site of ancient Fidenae, cross the Anio near its confluence 
 with the Tiber, two miles above the city, and making a wide 
 circuit in the broad and desolate Campagna, with picturesque 
 ruins everywhere, roll into a large, handsome depot, having 
 made the distance of one hundred and ninety-six miles from 
 Florence in just seven hours. The lofty dome of St. Peter's 
 had been in view a half hour before, almost the only visible 
 object from the car-windows to remind one of the near pres- 
 ence of the Eternal City ; and now, entering one of a long line 
 of omnibuses drawn up before the station, we are driven 
 through broad modern streets, whose aspect chased away the 
 sentiments natural to one whose thoughts of Rome are of her 
 as she was nigh two thousand years ago, in that period when 
 " the mightiest Julius fell." We have a pleasant suite of rooms 
 in the Quirinale Hotel, looking south and west, on the Quirinal 
 Hill, a thoroughly modern quarter. This hotel, kept by a 
 Swiss landlord, is fully modern, and there are a large number 
 of Americans here, among whom we find several friends and 
 acquaintances. 
 
 The first sound to greet my ears on coming out of a pro- 
 longed sleep at ten o'clock on our first morning in Rome was 
 *' There is a Happy Land," rung out from a chime of pleasant 
 bells in the belfry of the American Church. In the afternoon, 
 with that profound and imaginative antiquarian, Signor Frat- 
 tini, at this present, and for some months heretofore, consent- 
 ing, for a quite unworthy stipend, to sweep me along with 
 him, as it were, through the civilizations of the old world, in 
 the character of guide, philosopher and friend, I strolled forth 
 to see if, perchance, I might happen on anything dating back 
 beyond the time of Victor Emmanuel. At the distance of a 
 few steps from the hotel I was rewarded, for in a crossway 
 below the wall of the Villa Aldobrandini lies, quite apart from 
 any other structure, a few short courses of a wall of huge 
 blocks of black stone, a fragment of the ancient walls, dating 
 from the time of the kings and put in place centuries before 
 Christ. 
 
 A few minutes' walk brings one to the Piazza of the Monte 
 
320 Piazza of the Monte Cavallo. — The Pincian Hill. 
 
 Cavallo, on which fronts the huge, ugly Palace of the Quirinal, 
 the residence of the popes, until Pius IX. made his escape 
 from it in 1S48, after which it remained unoccupied until 
 Victor Emmanuel took possession in 187 1, since which time it 
 has been the Royal Palace. In the centre of the Piazza stands 
 a red granite obelisk, with its base 95 feet high, brought from 
 Egypt by Claudius, a.d. 57, and placed before the mausoleum 
 of Augustus, and removed to its present site in 1781. At its 
 base and close by a fountain playing into a handsome basin of 
 Egyptian granite brought here from the Forum, where it had 
 long been used as a watering-trough, tower the majestic 
 statues of Castor and Pollux reining in their horses. They 
 once stood in front of the baths of Constantine, and Hare 
 states that by an old tradition they are said to have been a 
 present from Tiridates to Nero. On their bases are the names 
 of those greatest of the Greek sculptors, Phidias and Prax- 
 iteles. I do not know the grounds of imputing these works to 
 such hands, and from what little I know of the matter, the 
 presumption would be that they are from the hand of a pupil 
 of the former. They have certainly come down from a remote 
 time as the work of these greatest sculptors of the best age of 
 Greece, and by whomsoever wrought, they greatly impress 
 me, the heroic forms of the twins rising in godlike proportions, 
 the clear profiles of their beautiful faces serene in resistless 
 power, in glorious relief on the stainless blue of the western 
 sky. 
 
 A walk of a few minutes took us to the summit of the Pin- 
 cian Hill, the northernmost of the seven hills of Rome, the 
 ancient " Collis hortorum," or "hill of gardens," so named 
 because the rich and luxurious LucuUus had his famous 
 grounds and villa here, where he gave those feasts which have 
 made his name the symbol of costly living. Later, the infa- 
 mous Messalina, the fifth wife of the Emperor Claudius, com- 
 passed the death of Valerius Asiaticus, the owner in her 
 time, in order to possess them, and held high revel here until 
 her debaucheries so enraged her husband that she was mur- 
 dered in the gardens, which had a bad name afterward and 
 fell into decay, being during the middle ages no more than 
 desolate fields, where the ghost of Nero was believed to walk, 
 and later a vineyard belonging to the monastery of Santa 
 Maria at the foot of the hill. During the French occupation 
 
A View of the Surrouiidi/igs of Rome. 321 
 
 under the third Napoleon it was laid out in a public drive and 
 pleasure-ground approached by a broad, fine, winding avenue, 
 with statues and basins and fountains bordering it. The 
 whole summit is not more than ten acres, I should say, but is 
 laid out with such art, and its scanty proportions are so 
 screened by rows and clumps of handsome trees, cypresses, 
 sycamores, live-oaks and a variety of flowering shrubs, and 
 the drives and walks are so artfully prolonged and doubled 
 on each other, that one feels himself in a spacious park. Here 
 all the world of Rome comes in carriages and on foot, and a 
 sprinkling of the gilded youth on horseback, every afternoon 
 between four and six, to listen to a good band playing spark- 
 ling music, to see and be seen. The crowd is picturesquely 
 made up of all sorts of people, princes and fine ladies, friars 
 of many an order, priests, and strong, brown nurses in the 
 only national costumes visible, giving a bright air to the 
 moving panorama, as they thread the throng in blue and gold 
 and red, carrying, as if they did not feel the weight, their 
 young charges swathed in long, trailing white robes. These 
 nurses, so full-throated, striking and even noble of feature and 
 expression and carriage, come nearer to realizing my previous 
 idea of the ancient Roman type of form and face than do any 
 other of the people, high or low. They are from the country 
 round about. The approaches and walks all about are set 
 thickly with ancient statues and fountains and busts of emi- 
 nent Italians to the number of several hundred, giving the 
 grounds a noble and inhabited look. A terrace on the west 
 side 150 feet above the valley of the Tiber affords a magnifi- 
 cent view in all directions, including the lofty dome of St. 
 Peter's and the Vatican buildings, the long, low line of the 
 Janiculan hills on the opposite side of the Tiber, with the huge 
 bulk of St. Angelo, the Pantheon, and a world of domes, 
 belfries and towers, rising above the close, narrow streets 
 on the hither side, and beyond all, stretching away to the blue 
 line of the sea, the vast and solemn Campagna. 
 
 Returning, I stopped for half an hour in the chapel of 
 S. Trinita de' Monti, to hear the sweet-voiced nuns sing the 
 Benediction. They are invisible behind a screen in the gal- 
 lery, and one would like to think them as fair and pure as the 
 notes which float down into the silence of the hushed nave 
 like the tones of silver bells. An organ accompanied them, 
 21 
 
322 The Seven Hills of Rottie. 
 
 and before the altar a handsome priest sang the responses in 
 a rich baritone voice. 
 
 For ten days now I have made no further entry, and have 
 done little more than endeavor to get some partially clear idea 
 of the topography of the Eternal City. The city of Rome 
 lies in a vast plain beginning among the recesses of the Apen- 
 nines and stretching away southwest nearly to the Mediter- 
 ranean, some eighty-five miles long by twenty-five wide. 
 This plain, called by the general name of the Campagna, was 
 once the bed of the sea, raised into broken undulations by 
 volcanic forces, remains of which exist in numerous extinct 
 craters all about, in the lava and peperino often met with and 
 the red tufa found everywhere. On the east lie the Sabine 
 Mountains, a chain of the Apennines, and to the south of 
 these, and separated from them by a level interval of four 
 -miles, the short, detached range of the Alban Hills, also of 
 volcanic origin. Through this vast plain flows the Tiber, some 
 two hundred miles in length, having its rise far up among the 
 Apennines, and joining the Mediterranean some fourteen miles 
 below the city, through which it flows, having been increased 
 by the Anio just above the walls. The famous seven hills of 
 Rome are a detached range of volcanic hills on the eastern or 
 left bank of the river, between which and the bases of the 
 range lies a considerable plain, broadened at one point by a 
 curve of the river into the classical Campus Martius. These 
 seven hills are now not very clearly distinguishable from one 
 another, as their elevation above the range is slight, having 
 been diminished through the centuries by cutting down and 
 filling up. Looked at from the low range of the Janiculan on 
 the opposite bank, these hills seem no more than a low, even 
 range, some 200 feet high, sloping up from the river and cov- 
 ered with buildings. But sufficient differences still exist to 
 mark the designations by which the inequalities have long 
 been known, although these are not the names in all cases 
 used by the Romans in the earliest times, when some sub- 
 divisions of the principal heights had special names now no 
 longer used and counted to make up the " Septimontium," or 
 seven hills. But after the earliest times, stated roughly, the 
 designations were made as they now stand ; and leaving the 
 archaeologists and antiquaries to contend over minor particu- 
 lars, I will name the hills in order from north to south, and 
 
Their Names, 333 
 
 speak particularly of each later on as I visit them. The seven 
 hills of Rome, then, are the Quirinal, Viminal, Capitoline, 
 Esquiline, Palatine, Coeline, Aventine, of which the Capitoline, 
 Palatine and Quirinal are historically the most important. 
 On a portion of these hills and on the plains on both sides the 
 Tiber, in the palmy days of the imperial rule, dwelt a popula- 
 tion of from one and a half to two million people, where now 
 is less than one-fifth of that number. In the fourteenth cen- 
 tury it had fallen as low as 20,000. The vast and melancholy 
 Campagna, marshy, malarial, deserted, with not a tenth of its 
 surface under cultivation, was then densely populated and 
 covered with prosperous towns. This sad change began when 
 the small farmers who owned and tilled the soil were gradually 
 displaced by large landed proprietors and the great plain con- 
 verted into vast estates and pastures. As cultivation dimin- 
 ished the malaria increased and has reduced the inhabitants 
 to a scanty race of herdsmen, who with their cattle go to the 
 mountains during the summer months, so plague-stricken is 
 all this surroundmg country. It is estimated that only one- 
 sixth of the land of the Campagna belongs to the working 
 owners, one-third to the nobility and about one-half to ecclesi- 
 astical corporations. These large properties are let out to 
 wholesale contractors, of whom there are only some fifty 
 altogether ; and although the government is taking some 
 feeble steps to reform and improve this inadequate cultivation, 
 but little progress has been made, so that this capital of Italy, 
 well situated of itself, with an excellent water supply, has 
 surroundings more unhealthy than an old-time Indiana marsh. 
 I shall say nothing of the history of this marvellous city, 
 " mother of nations," mistress of the world through so many 
 ages, first by the power of arms and after by that of religion, 
 so that the heart beats faster at the very mention of the name 
 of Rome. Every school boy and girl knows the wonderful 
 story from the legends of the mythical time of Romulus and 
 Remus and their foster-mother, the tameless but nourishing 
 wolf, which 
 
 " Gave them of her own fierce milk, 
 Rich with raw flesh and gore," 
 
 perhaps more than a thousand years before our era, all along 
 down through the periods of the kings, the Republic and the 
 
324 The Past of the Eternal City. 
 
 Empire, followed by the long sway of the Papal See. What 
 wealth of conquest, what magnificence of art, what glories of 
 all time were gathered here to be despoiled by barbarian nor 
 less by Christian hands, consumed by fire and the tooth of 
 time and the wasteful passions of man through eighteen cen- 
 turies, yet presenting enough still of glorious remains and 
 tokens of her former greatness to enchain the affection and 
 rouse the admiration and sensibility of cultivated souls over 
 all the earth ! No one knows how many times the city has 
 been rebuilt since the time of Christ. The remains of that 
 time and the two or three centuries following — and these, 
 although pitiably few, are yet more than I had supposed — are 
 mostly from fifteen to twenty-five feet below the present surface, 
 .and have been largely revealed by excavations chiefly made in 
 the last twenty-five years. Just what treasures of architec- 
 ture and art have perished in all the ages is not known, but a 
 record published by Cardinal Mai even so late as 540, when 
 the destruction had been going on for two centuries, mentions 
 as existing at that time 324 streets, two Capitols — the Tarpeian 
 and that on the Quirinal — 80 gilt statues of the gods— only 
 that of Hercules remains — 66 ivory statues of the gods, 46,608 
 houses, 17,097 palaces, 13,052 fountains, 3785 statues of em- 
 perors and generals in bronze, 22 great equestrian statues of 
 bronze — only Marcus Aurelius remains — 9026 baths, 3 1 theatres, 
 and 8 amphitheatres. That even so many relics now remain is 
 in good part due, it is said, to Raphael, who in the early part of 
 the sixteenth century implored Pope Julius II. to " protect the 
 few relics left to testify to the power and greatness of that 
 divine love of antiquity whose memory was inspiration to all 
 who were capable of higher things." 
 
 Very much of the Rome of to-day is quite modern, wide 
 streets lined with huge lofty buildings of stone, mostly stuccoed 
 and painted yellow, the principal parts of the older portion 
 lying along the low line of the Tiber and including that large 
 level tract known in classical times as the Campus Martins. 
 Only the ancient remains and the great and rich churches of 
 the middle and later centuries and the galleries of ancient 
 and more modern art are of interest to me, and these have 
 been made so familiar to all the world by such a great number 
 of scholars and most capable writers in all styles and repro- 
 duced by famous engravers that I need not dwell upon them 
 
St Peter s. 325 
 
 even to effect the purpose of these notes — that of aiding my 
 imperfect memory and seeking to fix the fleeting impressions 
 made upon my mind in its state of lively exaltation when find- 
 ing myself after so many years of longing in the midst of these 
 glorious objects. Here is the seat and heart of that venerable 
 church whose wide arms embrace the world, and although its 
 aged head, Pope Leo XIII., now eighty years old, no longer 
 wields any temporal power and is a voluntary prisoner in his 
 huge palace of the Vatican, still his spiritual sway over 200,- 
 000,000 souls is, when allowance is made for the altered con- 
 dition of the time, almost as complete as that enjoyed by the 
 most absolute of his predecessors ; and, as a consequence, here 
 in the sacred city the influence of the Catholic Church is every- 
 where apparent, and religion in its prescribed and ancient 
 forms seems in this Christmas week to be predominant in all 
 the life of the city. Ecclesiastics of all degrees, from the well- 
 kept cardinal of high and serious face down to the barefoot 
 monk, are met everywhere on the streets, and the great churches, 
 hung in the Christmas-time with red draperies, are thronged 
 with worshippers. 
 
 St. Peter's, where we attended services on Christmas day, 
 surpasses in grandeur and magnificence all my anticipations, 
 high as these had been raised. One experiences a momentary 
 feeling of disappointment when, crossing the great court 
 between high gleaming fountains and the noble curved colon- 
 nades, the eye notices that the not altogether pleasing front 
 hides the majestic dome ; but once the heavy double leathern 
 curtain is pushed aside and one stands upon the marble floor 
 of the interior, all is one vast and overwhelming scene of light 
 and splendor, and the soul is only conscious of admiring awe. 
 I had an impression, from some reading or other, that the 
 interior was dusky and in parts gloomy with shade ; on the 
 contrary, everywhere is a flood of mellow light from the great 
 dome, so vast, so lofty that it seems a part of the sky itself. 
 The floor, the walls, the massy and countless pillars are of costly 
 and many-colored marbles ; the roof is vaulted and gilded ; 
 not an inch of space but is adorned with gold and precious 
 marbles. Colossal statues and winged angels, their size les- 
 sened by the greatness of the space, shine everywhere above 
 and around, gloriously bewildering, but harmonious, symmet- 
 rical and beautiful. On both sides of nave and transept open 
 
32(3 The Size of St. Peter s. — Its Shrines. 
 
 broad chapels, themselves as large as most modern churches, 
 rich with gilding, pictures, mosaics, costly altars and the tombs 
 and monuments of popes, kings, princes and many noble and 
 distinguished dead, with confessionals, it is said, for every 
 language spoken among Christian men. Naked figures give 
 but a cold impression of this the most imposing church reared 
 by the hand of man, but they may assist the mind by furnish- 
 ing some data for comparison with structures within our 
 knowledge. The length of St. Peter's is 613^ feet ; St. Paul's 
 in London, 520^ feet ; Milan Cathedral, 443 feet ; St. Sophia, 
 Constantinople, 360^ feet. These comparative sizes are 
 marked on a line in the pavement of St. Peter's, whose dome 
 rises on the interior 405 and on the exterior to the height of 
 448 feet. The size is more effectively shown by contrasting its 
 area as follows : St. Peter's, 18,000 square yards ; Milan Cathe- 
 dral, 10,000 ; St. Paul's, 9350 ; St. Sophia, 8150 ; Cologne 
 Cathedral, 7400. The four enormous piers supporting the 
 dome enclose the shrines of the four great relics of the church — 
 the lance of St. Longinus, the soldier who pierced the side of 
 our Saviour, presented to Innocent VIII. by Pierre d'Aubus- 
 son, Grand-Master of the Knights of Rhodes, who had it from 
 Sultan Bajazet ; the head of St. Andrew, said to have been 
 brought from Achaia in 1460 ; a portion of the true cross brought 
 by St. Helena ; the napkin of St. Veronica or her handkerchief 
 which wiped the brow of our Saviour on his way to Calvary 
 and bears the impress of his countenance. These renowned 
 relics are exhibited from a balcony above the statue of St. 
 Veronica on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday, 
 but at such a great height surely nothing can be distinguished 
 with any clearness. Beneath the dome rises the imposing 
 gilded canopy nearly a hundred feet above the high altar, at 
 which only the Pope may officiate. This altar stands over the 
 tomb of St. Peter, one half of whose body is believed to lie 
 enshrined here in a sarcophagus brought from the Catacomb 
 near St. Sebastian, the other portion being at the Lateran. 
 Also one portion of the body of St. Paul is supposed to be 
 enshrined here with Peter, the rest being preserved in the 
 Church of S. Paolo fuori le Mura. The descent to this con- 
 fessio or shrine, one of the most sacred spots on earth to the 
 Catholic mind, is by a short flight of broad marble steps, 
 and on the heavy balustrade surrounding these, eighty-nine 
 
Statue of St. Peter. 35i7 
 
 lamps burn perpetually, day and night. Not far away against 
 the last pier on the right of the nave is seated in a chair, some 
 four feet from the pavement, a rude, life-like bronze statue of 
 St. Peter, its naked right foot extended within easy reach of 
 the lips of the throng of worshippers, chiefly of the lower sort, 
 including low-browed and debased-looking herdsmen and 
 peasants from the Campagna, who kiss the big toe reverently, 
 press it to their foreheads and prostrate themselves with a 
 passionate fervor I have seen nowhere, save in the great Ca- 
 thedral of the City of Mexico. This statue is said to have 
 been cast from the old one of Jupiter Capitolinus. 
 
 In one of the great chapels to-day is wondrous music, and 
 among the voices one known as the " angel voice of Rome," that 
 of an old man, high, pure and sweet. The means used to secure 
 tenor voices some time ago are no longer used, I am informed, 
 and this one is a survival of a cruel practice. After mass a 
 procession of cardinals, prelates, canons and minor dignitaries 
 shining in vestments of white and red, gold and purple and 
 violet, paced along the aisles, the clouds of perfumed incense 
 from the swinging censers slowly dissolving in the vast upper 
 spaces in faint fragrance ; a pageant of picturesque beauty. 
 
 St. Peter's and the adjoining palace of the Vatican stand in 
 a hollow of the low range of the Janiculan Hills on the right 
 bank of the Tiber, where Agrippina, the mother of Caligula, 
 possessed gardens, and he, a circus in whose arena in the reign 
 of Nero, when it took his name, many martyrdoms of Christians 
 occurred from a.d. 54 to 68, watched by him from the adjoin- 
 ing grounds, and where, according to Tacitus, he used their 
 living bodies wrapped in pitch and set on fire as torches in the 
 night. St. Peter, according to the traditions of the church, 
 was buried in the circus of Nero, and to mark the spot and 
 perpetuate the memory of the early martyrs who suffered here, 
 an oratory was founded on the site of the present edifice in 
 A.D. 90 by Anacletus, Bishop of Rome, who is believed to have 
 been ordained by St. Peter himself, whose crucifixion is said to 
 have taken place on the hill-side near by, a.d. 67. In 306 Con- 
 stantine the Great began a church on the site of the old oratory, 
 which, although only half the size of St. Peter's, was larger, 
 says Hare, than any mediaeval cathedral except the equally 
 large ones of Milan and Seville. It was 395 feet long by 212 
 feet wide and was extremelv rich in relics and works of art. 
 
328 The Vatican Palace. 
 
 nearly all of which were lost or wilfully destroyed when it was 
 pulled down by Pope Julius II., who in 1506 began the present 
 St. Peter's from designs by the great architect Bramante, 
 although several changes were made by different hands during 
 the one hundred and seventy-six years it was completing in its 
 present form. The squatty, low and heavy dome designed by 
 Michael Angelo was not built, but instead the present wonder- 
 ful one planned and built by Giacomo della Porta. The cost 
 of the main building of the church alone has been estimated 
 at fifty million dollars, and to raise this enormous sum Julius 
 II. and Leo X. resorted to the sale of indulgences, the imme- 
 diate cause of the Reformation. The annual expense for 
 repairs exceeds thirty thousand dollars. The temperature of 
 the vast interior scarcely varies the year round from that of 
 a pleasant spring day. 
 
 Directly beside St. Peter's and connected with it is the 
 Vatican Palace, the largest in the world, built in the fifth 
 century for a dwelling-house for the popes, but enlarged from 
 time to time, until now it embraces an area of some twenty 
 acres and comprises twenty courts, eleven thousand halls, 
 chapels, saloons and private apartments. Here the Pope 
 resides with a household in various sorts, numbering in the time 
 of Pius IX. more than two thousand persons, probably now 
 reduced. The Pope no longer exercises temporal authority 
 even in the city of Rome, but by a law passed by the Italian 
 Parliament in 1871 this palace of the Vatican, that of the 
 Lateran and the papal villa at Castel Gandolfo are secured 
 the "privilege of exterritoriality/' so that they are under 
 exclusive papal control. Only a few apartments here are made 
 use of by the Pope, who is said to live in a very simple 
 manner, the greater number being occupied by the priceless 
 collections of works of art, and open to the public with slight 
 restrictions. We first enter the Sistine Chapel, a beautiful 
 hall 133 feet long by 45 wide, the upper portion of the walls 
 decorated with frescoes by Florentine masters, Perugino, Bot- 
 ticelli, Ghirlandajo, etc. The lower portions of the wall are left 
 naked, it being usual on festival occasions to cover these with 
 Raphael's tapestry. The entire ceiling is covered with frescoes 
 by Michael Angelo representing in nine sections the creation 
 of the world and man, the Temptation and Fall, the Deluge 
 and the story of Noah. So far as one can see by bending the 
 
The Galhry of Arras. 329 
 
 head backward to a right angle with the spine and staring 
 upward in a state of half strangulation, these frescoes, with 
 the prophets and sibyls at their base, are grand and nobly- 
 executed compositions. Thirty years later, in 1541, the same 
 master, the three pictures by Perugino which then occupied 
 the space, having been erased, painted on the altar-wall the 
 vast fresco of "The Last Judgment," of which I will only say 
 and take the consequences, that to me it is a confused and 
 horrible nightmare. Lady Eastlake writes in her " History of 
 Our Lord'' that the art of Michael Angelo is " not always 
 sympathetic nor comprehensible to the average mind." I am 
 well enough content with this explanation of my want of en- 
 joyment in almost everything in architecture, sculpture and 
 painting from his hand. 
 
 On the floor above — the second floor of the palace — are 
 three apartments or stanze, whose ceilings and walls are 
 adorned with the famous and delightful frescoes of Raphael, 
 the king of painters, of which I most enjoyed the "Parnassus" 
 on one of the walls of the Stanza della Segnatura, in which 
 grouped about Apollo are the Nine Muses and on either hand 
 Dante, Virgil, Petrarch, Sappho, Pindar and Horace. Be- 
 sides these the third loggia or corridor of this floor is deco- 
 rated with the still more famous frescoes of Raphael and his 
 pupils, fifty-two in number, from the Old and New Testa- 
 ments. Also in the Gallery of Arras we see with admiration 
 the wonderful tapestry executed early in the fifteenth cen- 
 tury in the looms of Brussels from cartoons drawn by 
 Raphael. They are beautifully wrought in wool, silk and 
 gold ; the scenes are from the New Testament and have been 
 made familiar everywhere by countless reproductions. Many 
 pieces are sadly faded, but the eye rests on them in their 
 rich borders with ever-increasing pleasure. Seven of the 
 original number were purchased by Charles I. of England, 
 and are now shown in the South Kensington Museum. The 
 following have been copied many times in tapestry in famous 
 looms, and we saw them in Dresden and Vienna and else- 
 where : "Paul Preaching," "Death of Ananias," "Conversion 
 of St. Paul," " St Peter Healing the Lame Man in the 
 Temple," " Miraculous Draught of Fishes," " Stoning of 
 Stephen." Eleven great halls contain the collection of antiq- 
 uities, said to be the richest in the world, where among the 
 
330 The Pinacoteca. 
 
 noblest trophies of all time we see admiringly the busts of 
 Zeus from Otricoli ; of Hadrian, found in his mausoleum ; of 
 Antinous ; the sitting statue of Nerva ; bust of Pericles ; of 
 Aspasia — the only known representation of her ; statue of Corn- 
 modus on horseback ; statue called " The Genius of the Vat- 
 ican," supposed to be a copy from a cupid by Praxiteles ; 
 Apollo Sauroctonos, also a copy of a work of this master ; a 
 fine bust of Augustus ; the Laocoon ; the Apollo Belvedere ; 
 Daughter of Niobe ; Venus Anadyomene ; Sleeping Ariadne ; 
 the Antinous (now called Mercury), and esteemed by many the 
 most beautiful statue in the world ; the Torso Belvedere ; statue 
 of Demosthenes ; Apoxyomenos, a replica of the celebrated 
 bronze of Lysippus. The latter represents an athlete after ex- 
 ercise scraping his arm with a strigil to remove the oil. Pliny 
 describes it and states that it was brought from Greece by 
 Agrippa to adorn the baths he had built for the people, and 
 that Tiberius so admired it that he carried it off to his palace, 
 but was forced to restore it by the loud outcries of the popu- 
 lace the next time he appeared in public. So says Hare. 
 We note, too, the curious colossal group of the Nile, and the 
 Minerva Medica, and do not visit the Etruscan Museum or the 
 library. 
 
 On the third floor is the Pinacoteca or Gallery of Pictures, 
 a not large collection, but exceedingly fine and almost all 
 worthy of notice, but I can only mention in bare terms as we 
 come upon them, the "Annunciation," "Adoration of the 
 Magi" and " Presentation in the Temple" by Raphael, Mu- 
 rillo's "Marriage of St. Catherine," Domenichino's "Com- 
 munion of St. Jerome," reckoned the greatest work of this 
 master, Raphael's "Transfiguration," esteemed by many good 
 judges the grandest picture in the world. It was scarcely 
 finished when the painter died at the untimely age of thirty- 
 seven years ; it hung over his death-bed as he lay in state and 
 was carried in his funeral procession. Here is his beautiful 
 "Madonna di Foligno," not so impressive, perhaps, as many 
 of his numerous Madonnas, but a work of such charm as no 
 other painter, it seems to me, could execute. 
 
 In the third room is Titian's " Madonna and Saints ;" 
 Perugino's " Resurrection" and " Virgin and Child ;" and in 
 the fourth room Andrea Sacchi's " St. Roraualdo." I must not 
 omit to mention the little Cappella de Niccolo V. near the 
 
Church of St. John Lateran. 331 
 
 Stanze of Raphael, whose walls are decorated with frescoes from 
 the lives of Sts. Lawrence and Stephen by Fra Angelico, 
 tender, pure and holy, as are all emanations of that beautiful 
 soul ; nor the marvellous Barberini candelabra with reliefs on 
 one of Jupiter, Juno and Mercury ; on the other Mars, Minerva 
 and Venus. Curious is it, too, that the striking portrait 
 statues of the Greek comic dramatists Posidippus and Me- 
 nander, said to have been wrought by Cephisodotus, son of 
 Praxiteles, found here in Rome under Sixtus V., had long 
 been revered as saints. 
 
 Even more venerable and historically more interesting than 
 St. Peter's is the great church of St. John Lateran, facing the 
 Piazza di San Giovanni on the Coelian Hill, which bears on 
 its west front the proud inscription, " Omniiiin urbis ct orhis 
 Ecclesiariim Mater et Caput," whose Chapter takes precedence 
 even over that of St. Peter's, and where every newly elected 
 pope comes for his coronation. It is a vast edifice crowded 
 beyond my describing with tombs, monuments, relics, rich with 
 sculpture and gilding — oppressively so — and containing many 
 objects of exceeding interest. Here is the pontifical throne, 
 bearing the words, '■'' Hcec est papalis sedes et pontificalis,'" and 
 among the many relics enshrined under the canopy in the 
 centre of the transept are said to be the skulls of Sts. Peter 
 and Paul, while enclosed in the altar is the famous wooden 
 table supposed to be that on which St. Peter celebrated mass 
 in the house of Pudens, with whom St. Paul lodged a.d. 41 
 to 50, whose family were that saint's first converts, and who 
 is said to have himself suffered martyrdom under Nero. Sts. 
 Peter and Paul are found constantly in intimate association 
 everywhere in Rome. Above the arch of the Tribune is a 
 noble head of the Saviour in mosaic of the fourth century, 
 commemorating the vision of the Redeemer, who is said 
 to have appeared here on the day of the consecration of 
 the earlier church on this spot by Pope Sylvester and the 
 Emperor Constantine, a.d. 324, looking down upon the people 
 and hallowing the work with his visible presence — a face grand 
 and sad in expression. From one of the chapels a door opens 
 into the beautiful twelfth-century cloister of the monastery, 
 whose surrounding arcades are supported by exquisite inlaid 
 and twisted pillars with a fine frieze of colored marbles. The 
 court thus enclosed is a garden of roses, and in the centre is a 
 
332 The Lateran Palace. 
 
 rich well of the tenth century, called the ''Well of the Woman 
 of Samaria." 
 
 There are many curious traditional relics preserved in 
 this delightful cloister, among them a porphyry slab upon 
 which the Roman soldiers are said to have cast lots for the 
 Saviour's seamless robe, columns rent by the earthquake of the 
 Crucifixion, and a slab resting on pillars, shown as a measure 
 of our Saviour's height, which I made to be 5 feet 11 inches. 
 
 Fair and grand and wide-sweeping is the view from the 
 broad and noble portico of St. John Lateran, including the 
 Alban Hills, blue in the morning, purple in the evening 
 light, sprinkled with white villages of old-time fame, the 
 Sabine Mountains to the north tipped with snow, the long 
 lines of the aqueducts lost in the hazy distance, and in the 
 nearer view picturesque ruins and rugged fragments dotting 
 the melancholy Campagna ; and under our feet the glorious 
 old walls of the city and the white road of the Via Appia 
 Nuova stretching interminably away in the direction of Naples. 
 
 Adjoining the Church of St. John Lateran is the Lateran 
 Palace, the residence of the popes for nearly a thousand years 
 from the time of Constantine until their migration to Avignon. 
 The old palace was considerably larger than the present one 
 built on its site by Pope Sixtus V., 1585, and only the ancient 
 Triclinium remains, while the newer erection was converted 
 into a museum by Pope Gregory XVL in 1843. In a build- 
 ing behind the old Triclinium, attached to a convent of Pas- 
 sionist monks and erected by Sixtus V., is preserved the Scala 
 Santa, a marble staircase of twenty-eight steps, supposed to 
 be that of the house of Pilate, which the Saviour mounted and 
 descended at the time of his trial. It is said to have been 
 brought from Jerusalem by Helena, the mother of Constantine 
 the Great, a.d. 326, and for fifteen hundred years has been 
 the object of peculiar reverence in the Roman Church. So 
 sacred is it that it can only be traversed kneeling ; no foot- 
 step is permitted to profane it. Pope Clement XII. in 1730 
 caused the steps to be covered with a wooden casing, repeat- 
 edly renewed since, because worn out by the knees of pilgrims. 
 There are openings through the wood permitting the marble 
 steps to be seen ; two of them are said to be stained with the 
 Saviour's blood. Pilgrims and devotees only ascend on the 
 knees ; all return by a corresponding stairway on the left, 
 
The Scala Santa. — A Portrait of the Saviour. 333 
 
 and visitors go up by a similar one on the right of the Scala 
 Santa. We were present on a festival day, and when in the 
 atrium or entrance-room, I heard a pounding noise, such as 
 might be made by a drove of cattle crossing a wooden bridge, 
 and found it to come from the thuds of the knees of a crowd 
 of devotees swarming upward on the stairway, only halting 
 now and then to kiss with effusion the wooden covering. 
 Having reached the top they clattered down the lateral stair- 
 way and departed to make room for still other throngs in 
 uninterrupted succession. It was when toiling painfully up 
 these steps that the monk, Martin Luther, seemed to hear a 
 voice from heaven saying, " The just shall live by faith," and 
 returning home began that divergence from the doctrines of 
 the Mother Church which resulted in the Reformation and 
 the great variety of Protestant sects. 
 
 At the top of the Scala Santa is an exceedingly old chapel 
 rebuilt by Nicholas III. in 1216 from one whose origin is lost 
 in the night of time and certainly existing in a.d. 578, and so 
 sacred that none but the Pope can officiate at its altar, and 
 never open to others save on the morning before Palm Sun- 
 day, when the canons of the Lateran come in solemn pro- 
 cession to worship, with torches and a veiled crucifix, and 
 even then none but the clergy are allowed to cross its thresh- 
 old. Above the altar is the inscription, " JVon est in tota 
 sanctior urbe locus." We look through gratings into the relic 
 chamber, containing the reputed sandals of our Saviour, 
 fragments of the true cross, and above the altar a beautiful 
 silver tabernacle made to contain the surpassing relic whence 
 comes the peculiar sanctity of this chapel. This is a portrait 
 of our Saviour placed here by Pope Innocent III. in the year 
 1200, held by the Roman Church to be authentic, the painting 
 of which, begun by St. Luke, was finished by an angel, whence 
 comes its name, " Acheiropoeton," or the "picture made with- 
 out hands." In the dusky light within nothing is visible with 
 any distinctness, and we can only stare through the gratings 
 into a gloom where these objects are suggested rather than 
 seen. In the centre of the square before St. John Lateran 
 stands an obelisk, the oldest object in the city, erected 1740 
 B.C. in the Temple of the Sun at Heliopolis in Egypt and 
 brought by Constantine the Great to Alexandria, and thence 
 by his son Constantius to Rome to ornament the Circus 
 
334 The Servian and Aurelian Walls of Rome. 
 
 Maximus, and afterward in 1588 moved to its present position. 
 At this time it was broken, so that a portion had to be cut off, 
 but it is still 150 feet high. The old Romans seem to have 
 made nothing of transporting these huge monoliths from 
 Egypt to ornament the city, more than half a score being $till 
 erect in the different squares. 
 
 Each of the seven hills of Rome was surrounded by a wall 
 from a time antecedent to history, but more than five hundred 
 years before Christ, in the reign of Servius TuUius, as the 
 tradition is, that king included the whole within one massive 
 wall which bears his name and is known as the Servian Wall, 
 only a few portions of which remain. As the power of the city 
 grew and its empire extended, since it had no enemies at hand 
 to fear, it less and less needed the protection of walls, and they 
 were pulled down ; but toward the close of the second century 
 after Christ its decline had well begun, its foes grew threaten- 
 ing, and so for more complete protection from the invasion of 
 the Germans and other northern races, the Emperor Aureli- 
 anus, A.D. 270, began, and his successor, Probus, a. d. 280, com- 
 pleted, the wonderfully massive circuit of gigantic masonry, 
 twelve miles in length, the greater part of which now exists, a 
 striking monument of Roman power and architectural skill, 
 enclosing the city on both sides the Tiber. The Aurelian 
 wall is some 12 feet thick and from 20 to 40 feet high, built 
 of tufa concrete mixed with broken brick and faced with 
 triangular bricks one and one-half inches thick. A sentinel's 
 passage runs all around formed in the thickness of the wall, 
 and at regular intervals of about 45 feet tall square towers 
 containing three stories of chambers rose, lighted by windows 
 on the city side, and on the outer side pierced with small slits 
 for shooting through. This wall suffered much injury from 
 the repeated attacks of the Goths and was several times 
 restored, especially by Theodoric, about a.d. 500, and by 
 Belisarius, a.d. 560, and throughout the middle ages by the 
 popes. A writer in the ninth century reckons fourteen gates 
 in all and three hundred and eighty-three towers ; the fourteen 
 gates still exist, but a great many of the towers have disap- 
 peared. For ages, until the completion of the railway from 
 the North, the greater number of travellers and pilgrims to 
 Rome entered the city at the northern gate, called Porta del 
 Popolo, leading into the square of that name, looked down 
 
Piazza del Popolo. — The Corso. 335 
 
 upon from the Pincian Hill, of which I have spoken above. 
 This Piazza del Popolo is itself a spot of exceeding interest, 
 surrounded as it is by buildings of historic and sacred fame ; 
 among them the Augustine Convent adjoining the fine church 
 of St. Maria del Popolo, where Luther resided when in Rome, 
 celebrating mass here on his arrival after he had prostrated 
 himself on the earth, saying, " Hail, sacred Rome ! thrice 
 sacred for the blood of the martyrs shed here," and where he 
 also celebrated mass for the last time before departing for 
 Wittenberg. 
 
 In the centre of the Piazza stands an obelisk brought to 
 Rome and set up in honor of Apollo, of which Merivale says : 
 " Apollo was the patron of the spot which had given a name 
 to the great victory of Actium ; Apollo himself, it was pro- 
 claimed, had fought for Rome and for Octavius on that 
 auspicious day : the same Apollo, the Sun-god, had shuddered 
 in his bright career at the murder of the Dictator, and terrified 
 the nations by the eclipse of his divine countenance." There- 
 fore, "besides building a temple to Apollo on the Palatine 
 Hill, the Emperor Augustus sought to honor him by trans- 
 planting to the Circus Maximus an obelisk from Heliopolis in 
 Egypt. This flame-shaped column was a symbol of the sun, 
 and originally bore a blazing orb upon its summit. It is 
 interesting to trace an intelligible motive for the first introduc- 
 tion into Europe of these grotesque and unsightly monuments 
 of Eastern superstition." 
 
 The Corso, upward of a mile in length, and the handsomest 
 street in Rome, begins at the Piazza del Popolo and ends at 
 the steps of the Capitol ; it is narrow, but lined with the best 
 shops, palaces, and private houses, and sometimes opens into a 
 broad piazza. It lies in the neighborhood of the Tiber, fol- 
 lowing the ancient Via Flaminia, with the Campus Martins 
 on the right, now occupied thickly with mean mediaeval 
 houses. The tall houses lining the Corso are crowded with 
 balconies, story above story, for watching the sports of the 
 Carnival which occur here, including the races, now discon- 
 tinued, whence its name is derived. Horses without riders 
 dashed along its full length, stimulated by spurs fastened to 
 their shoulders by loose thongs, and were brought to a stand 
 at the lower end by large curtains of heavy drapery let down 
 across the street. 
 
336 Palazzo Borghese. — Church of St. Maria m Via Lata. 
 
 A little way out of the Piazza del Popolo, a cross-street to 
 the right leads to the imposing Palazzo Borghese, where we 
 visited its picture gallery, said to be the finest private gallery 
 in Rome, and saw among other delightful pictures Raphael's 
 " Entombrhent," Dosso Dossi's " The Sorceress Circe," 
 Correggio's " Danae," Sebastian del Piombo's " The Flagella- 
 tion," the beautiful and joyous "Four Seasons" by Fr. 
 Albani, and, chief of all, the glorious " Sacred and Profane 
 Love" of Titian. Still further on the right, on the small 
 piazza of that name, is the little church of St. Lorenzo in 
 Lucina, made memorable by the noble painting of the " Cruci- 
 fixion," by Guido Reni, over its high altar, of which Browning 
 
 says : 
 
 "... beneath the piece 
 Of Master Guido Reni, Christ on cross, 
 Second to naught observable in Rome." 
 
 A little farther on a narrow street soon leads, on the left 
 of the Corso to the wonderful Fountain of Trevi, occupying 
 one end of the gigantic Palazzo Poll, from which it seems 
 to pour its enormous volume of water, called Aqua Virgo, 
 brought from a source fourteen miles distant, by Agrippa 
 to supply his baths at the Pantheon 27 B.C. The subterra- 
 nean channel supplying this gigantic fountain also supplies 
 the great fountains of the Piazzas di Spagna, Navona and 
 Farnese, and the spring yields daily upward of thirteen mill- 
 ion cubic feet of clear sparkling water said to be the best in 
 Rome. Here, too, is the shop of the famous jeweller Castellani, 
 where we saw a fine collection of ancient Etruscan works of 
 art on which he models his own beautiful work. I purchased 
 of him a pin of Etruscan design as a Christmas present to 
 Betty. Well along the Corso on the right is the interesting 
 Church of St. Maria in Via Lata, where a little chapel is shown, 
 in which, says Mrs. Jameson, the tradition has been handed 
 down from the first ages, St. Luke the Evangelist wrote, and 
 painted the effigy of the Virgin Mother of God. The base- 
 ment of this church is shown as the actual house in which St. 
 Paul lodged when in Rome. It belonged, says Hare, " to 
 Martialis, whom a beautiful tradition indentifies with the 
 child who was especially blessed by the Divine Master when 
 he said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' and who, ever 
 after a faithful follower of Christ, bore the basket of bread and 
 
Palazza Doria — Palazzo Bonaparte. — Church of II Gesii. 337 
 
 fishes in the wilderness, and served at table during the Last 
 Supper." A fountain is shown in the crypt as having miracu- 
 lously sprung up in answer to St. Paul's prayers that he 
 might have water to baptize his disciples. There extends 
 along on the right the vast Palazza Doria, where in handsome 
 rooms, ornamented with many valuable and deeply interesting 
 relics, we see among a great many poorish pictures the fine 
 ones of an "Annunciation" by Filippo Lippi, " Holy Family" 
 by Sassoferrato, " Madonna" by Guido Reni, " Landscape with 
 Temple of Apollo," by Claude Lorraine, and " The Misers," 
 by Quentin Matsys. Near by is the huge palace of the famous 
 old Roman family of the Colonna, built near the site of the 
 ancient fortress so celebrated in the middle ages, in the warfare 
 the Colonnas carried on with the stout race of the Orsini. 
 One tower of the old structure still remains. Farther on to 
 the right is the Palazzo Bonaparte, where Laetitia Bonaparte, 
 the mother of Napoleon I., died in 1836 ; then the castellated 
 palace of the Republic of Venice, now the residence of the 
 Austrian ambassador ; and opposite, the palace of Torlonia, 
 the ennobled Roman banker. Behind the palace of the 
 Republic of Venice is the large and sumptuous church of II 
 Gesu, its magnificent altar of St. Ignatius, with a group 
 of the Trinity ; the Almighty holding in his hand a globe of 
 lapis-lazuli, said to be the largest piece in existence. A " Te 
 Deum" is sung in this church on December 31st for the mercies 
 of the closing year, which I attended, and was greatly 
 impressed, not only with the music, but with the gradual 
 lighting of the three thousand wax candles ; those high above 
 the lofty altar and under the roof, reached by men crawling 
 far out on ladders and by long poles supporting torches. 
 This is the Church of the Jesuits, as its name implies, and 
 adjoining is the Convent of the Gesu, the residence of the 
 General of their order and the centre of its religious life. 
 The four rooms in which St. Ignatius Loyola lived and died 
 are here, and his body lies beneath the altar in the church 
 bearing his name, in an urn of gilt bronze adorned with pre- 
 cious stones ; and a great ceremony takes place here on the 
 day of his feast, July 31st. In one of the rooms he occupied 
 in the convent, now a chapel, is the autograph engagement to 
 live under the same laws of obedience, poverty and chastity 
 signed Laynez Francis Xavier and Ignatius Loyola. 
 22 
 
338 Piazza del Campidoglio. — Church of Ai-a-Cceli. 
 
 We are now near the southern end of the Corso, and turning 
 into a narrow street on the right, soon find ourselves in a 
 bright, open space whence a broad flight of one hundred and 
 twenty-four steps leads up to the Piazza del Campidoglio, or 
 Square of the Capitol, which occupies the very sunnmit of the 
 Capitoline Hill, where stood the great temple of Jupiter Capi- 
 tolinus, to which the long triumphal processions were wont to 
 climb from the Forum below. Here stood in the early ages 
 of Rome many another temple to the several gods, superb in 
 richest adornments ; indeed, all this summit was crowded with 
 the noblest buildings man could raise in honor of the supernal 
 powers. This hill was known in very early times as the Mons 
 Tarpeius, from the familiar legend of the treachery of Tarpeia, 
 but later the name Rupe Tarpeia was only applied to a cliff 
 on the western slope. In the hollow between the two low 
 peaks of which the Capitol consists, now raised and levelled to 
 make the Square of the Capitol, Brutus addressed the people 
 after the murder of Julius Caesar, and on the site of the ex- 
 ceedingly interesting Church of Ara-Coeli on the side of this 
 Square, Romulus in the beginning of Rome reared the Temple 
 of Jupiter Feretrius, the goal of the triumphal procession and 
 the depository of the spolia opima^ and up the steps now leading 
 to this church, nigh two thousand years ago, great Julius 
 Caesar climbed on his knees after his first triumph. 
 
 This is Christmas week, and so we are able to witness in the 
 Church of Ara-Coeli the exercises connected with the exhi- 
 bition of the Bambino or holy infant, " Santissimo Bambino 
 d' Ara-Coeli," during this season shown in the " Presepio," a word 
 meaning simply, manger, but used by the Church to signify 
 the birth of Christ. In one of the chapels a scene is shown as 
 on the stage of a little theatre, and on it, in life size and due 
 perspective, as if in a grotto with a skilful pastoral landscape 
 behind it, "we see in the foreground the Virgin Mary seated 
 with Joseph at her side and the miraculous Bambino — a fresh- 
 colored doll, crowned, wrapt closely in cloth of gold and 
 silver and sparkling with jewels ; behind, an ox and an ass. 
 At one side kneel the shepherds and Eastern kings in worship, 
 and far in the background are seen shepherds guarding their 
 flocks lying under palm-trees or feeding on green hillocks 
 bright in the sunlight. Midway in the scene is a crystal foun- 
 tain wrought of glass, with figures of sheep made of real wool, 
 
Exhibition of the BamMno. 33!J 
 
 and women carrying baskets of real oranges and other fruits 
 on their heads. Overhead looks down God the Father, well- 
 pleased, with cherubs and angels playing on instruments" — 
 altogether a most pleasing scene and witnessed by great 
 throngs of people. To-day a platform is erected, some feet 
 from the entrance to this chapel, from which children declaim 
 short pieces in verse and prose addressed to the Bambino or 
 in explanation of the scene, these having been written for them 
 by the priests or some friend, and I saw many kind-faced 
 priests wrought into mild excitement and smilingly approving 
 when tone and gesture were apt, tender and graceful, as they 
 often were. A pretty sight altogether. When not thus pub- 
 licly exhibited on festival days the Bambino is shut up in the 
 sacristy, where it is attended by servants of its own, who accom- 
 pany it when it goes out in its own carriage to visit the sick, 
 with whom it used to be left for a while that it might work a 
 miracle of healing. This is no longer permitted, because it is 
 said a bold, bad woman made another doll of the size of the 
 Santissimo, and feigning sickness, got permission to have it 
 left with her, put its clothes on the false image and sent it 
 back to Ara-Coeli. But see how the devices of naughty people, 
 including women, are brought to naught ! That very night, 
 in a howling storm, the good monks were awakened by a 
 tremendous ringing and knocking at the west door, and has- 
 tening found the naked, cold figure of the true baby, who is 
 not allowed out alone any more. 
 
 On a wall of the church are hung hundreds of small votive 
 tablets bearing pictures of persons rescued from imminent 
 dangers by the intercession of some saint or other to whom 
 prayer for succor had been made. Those in the most fright- 
 ful circumstances of danger are shown in the attitude of 
 rescue. For instance, a gentleman of a red face, staring eyes 
 and wildly sprawling limbs is shown arrested in mid-air on 
 his way down from the top of a lofty building, from a window 
 of which the Virgin Mary, whose help he had implored, looks 
 calmly and modestly, as if she regarded arresting the power 
 of gravitation a very small matter indeed. Noticing a fine, 
 handsome Italian boy looking earnestly on the picture of an 
 unfortunate under the wheel of a prodigious cart, with St. 
 Paul looking on, I bade Frattini ask him if this exceedingly 
 imperilled individual was saved alive. "Si, Signor," he an- 
 
340 Statues in the Square of the Capitol, 
 
 swered, with a beautiful trust shining in his dark eyes. The 
 remains of St. Helena are said to repose in the chapel in the 
 east transept called from her name, and enclosed within the 
 present altar is one with the inscription ^'- Ara Frimoge7iiti Dei," 
 said to have been erected by Augustus in the twelfth century. 
 The legend is, that the Sibyl of Tibur here appeared to that 
 emperor, whom the senate proposed to raise to the rank of a 
 god, and revealed to him a vision of the Virgin and her Son. 
 Hence the name of the church, " Church of the Altar of 
 Heaven." 
 
 To-day on the broad flight of steps leading up to the Square 
 is a multitude of vendors of all sorts of little articles of a 
 religious kind, especially such as relate to the Madonna ; the 
 cheapest quality of colored prints, crosses and medals of 
 pewter, little wax dolls and sheep, etc., all sold at the uniform 
 price of one baiocco, equal to three-fourths of an English penny. 
 At the left of the stairway, half way up in a sort of little gar- 
 den, is a cage in which two wolves are kept in memory of the 
 foster-nurse of Romulus and Remus, and at the top the colos- 
 sal statues of Castor and Pollux, ordered to be wrought to 
 commemorate the battle of Lake Regillus, where they fought 
 for Rome, and after riding to the city to give tidings of the 
 victory and watering their horses at the spring of Aqua Argen- 
 tina by the Temple of Vesta in the Forum, spurred their horses 
 heavenward and disappeared from the sight of man. At either 
 end of the parapet is an ancient milliarium, or milestone, 
 being the first and seventh on the Appian Way, and since the 
 first was found in position it showed that the distance on the 
 various roads was reckoned from the gates and not from the 
 centre of the city, as had been supposed. 
 
 In the centre of the Square stands in noble majesty the 
 famous equestrian statue of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, 
 preserved from destruction at the hands of the Church during 
 the middle ages, it is said, because it was thought to be that 
 of Constantine. He sits his warlike charger with a warrior's 
 ease and confidence, clad in the antique Roman garb, his 
 right hand extended in command, his countenance grand, 
 high and serene, like the noble soul within. Interesting, too, 
 is the porphyry statue of Rome in the form of Minerva wear- 
 ing the Phrygian cap of liberty, and the Tower of the Capitol 
 with its great bell of Viterbo, rung only to announce the death 
 
 Fifth line on this page should read : 
 said, since the twelfth century, to have been erected by 
 Augustus. 
 
Museum of the Capitol. — The Alamertine Prisons. 341 
 
 of a sovereign or the opening of the Carnival, events appar- 
 ently of equal importance in the Roman mind. 
 
 On the east side of the Square of the Capitol stands the 
 Museum of the Capitol, where we saw many famous objects 
 of ancient art, dwelling with admiration on the Greek statues 
 of the Venus of the Capitol, Cupid and Psyche, the Antinous 
 of the Capitol, the Faun of Praxiteles — the marble faun of 
 Hawthorne's story — the Amazon, the Apollo, the Juno, the 
 bust of M. Junius Brutus, the assassin of Julius Caesar, the 
 Dying Gladiator, now called the Wounded Gaul, who, pre- 
 ferring death to slavery, has fatally wounded himself in the 
 breast, the two life-like Centaurs, and in one of the Halls of 
 the Conservators the bronze Wolf of the Capitol, dedicated 
 B.C. 299, bearing the marks of a stroke of lightning inflicted 
 in the time of Cicero. 
 
 Let us now descend to the Forum by the stairway at the 
 northeast of the Square of the Capitol, stopping at the foot of 
 the stairs and entering the low church of St. Pietro in Carcere 
 on the left, to see the old Mamertine Prisons, excavated cen- 
 turies before Christ in the solid rock. They consist of two 
 dungeons, one above the other ; and anciently prisoners were 
 let down through a hole into the upper one, a villainous 
 chamber 16 feet high, 30 long and 22 wide, and from it through 
 a similar opening, into the still viler den below. This prison 
 plays an important part in Roman history far back into the 
 years of the Republic, and is thought to be the oldest structure 
 in the city. A modern staircase and door now admit visitors 
 to both chambers, and there are remains of a still earlier flight 
 of steps, called the Scalce Gevwnice — named so from the groans 
 of prisoners — up which the bodies were dragged to be exposed 
 to the insults of the populace or thrown into the Tiber. By 
 these steps Cicero came forth to announce to the throng in 
 the Forum the execution of the Catiline conspirators in the 
 one word vixerunt. The lower dungeon where these executions 
 occurred was called robur, and in it the decemvirs Appius 
 Claudius and Oppius committed suicide B.C. 449, and here 
 Jugurtha was starved to death by Marius. It was customary 
 for the victorious general, to whom a triumph had been 
 decreed, as he moved up the slope to the Temple of Jupiter on 
 the Capitol, to pause in the portico of the Temple before 
 entering, until word should be brought to him that such of his 
 
342 The Forum. 
 
 captives as he had selected had been executed in the Mamer- 
 tine Prison. Thus the brave Vercingetorix was executed by 
 Julius Caesar in his triumph for the conquest of Gaul, and 
 Simon Bar Gioras, the last brave defender of Jerusalem, dur- 
 ing the triumph of Titus. The further interest attaches to 
 this prison of being the one in which Sts. Peter and Paul are 
 believed to have been confined for nine months to a pillar still 
 shown. The fountain of pure water beneath the floor is 
 attributed to the prayers of St. Peter for water in which to 
 baptize his jailers, but Plutarch speaks of it as existing in 
 the time of Jugurtha, nearly two hundred years before. The 
 Roman Catholic Church believes that Peter and Paul addressed 
 their farewell letters to the Christian world from this prison, 
 that of the former being 2d St. Peter and that of Paul 2d Tim- 
 othy. A few steps to the right and we are standing in the 
 Roman Forum on the Via Sacra in front of the Arch of 
 Septimius Severus, and all about are the more or less dis- 
 tinguishable ruins of the successive religions and civilizations 
 of nearly three thousand years. 
 
 !):* H: * * * * * 
 
 My pen here falls from my hand ; I can write no more. 
 
 Died at the Hotel Quirinale, Rome, January 5th, 1890, of 
 typhoid fever, Elizabeth Graham, only remaining child of 
 James Hale and Mary Field Bates, aged sixteen years. 
 
 Although after this bereavement we travelled far in many 
 lands — not returning home until the following September — 
 so thick a cloud of sorrow darkened the way that I had no 
 courage for anything, not even these poor notes. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abbotsford, the Home of Scott, 68. 
 
 Aix-la-Chapelle, 210 — its Cathedral, 210 ; the Cathedral Treasury, 211 — its 
 Relics, 212 ; Relics in the Churches of St. Adalbert and St. John the Bap- 
 tist and in the Free Abbey of Cornelimuenster, 213. 
 
 Amsterdam, 130 ; Royal Palace, 132 ; Ryks Museum, 132 — the Rembrandt 
 Room, 133. 
 
 Andermatt, 167 ; St. Gothard Pass, 168. 
 
 Antwerp, 121 ; Cathedral of Notre Dame, 121 ; Museum of Paintings, 122 ; 
 the Bourse, 122 ; Church of St. Jacques, 123 ; Rubens' House, 123 ; Na- 
 tional Bank Building, 123 ; Musee Plantin-Moretus, 123 ; the Steen, 124 ; 
 Churches of St. Andrew and St. Paul— their Works of Art, 125. 
 
 Ayr, 30 ; Burns' Cottage, 30 ; Alloway Kirk, 31 ; Burns' Monument, 32 ; 
 Tam o' Shanter Inn, 33. 
 
 Belfast, 21 ; Attend a Presbyterian Church, 24 ; the Museum, 25. • 
 
 Berlin, 137; " Unter den Linden," 138; Royal Palace, 138; the Old 
 
 Museum, 139. 
 Berne, 1S9 ; the Ogre Fountain, 190 ; the Cathedral, 190 ; a Curious Old 
 
 Clock, 191. 
 Bingen, 215 ; the Famous Vineyards of the Rhine, 215 ; German National 
 
 Monument, 216. 
 Black Forest, 156. 
 
 Brieg, 174 ; a Funeral Procession, 174. 
 Bruges, 119 ; Cathedral of St. Sauveur. 119 ; Hospital of St. John, 120 ; 
 
 Church. of St. Basile, 120. 
 Brussels, ill ; Palais de Justice, iii ; Hotel de Ville. 112; Palais des 
 
 Beaux Arts, 112 ; Place Royale, 114 ; Church of St. Jacques sur Cauden- 
 
 berg, 114; the Manikin Fountain, 114 ; Battle-Field of Waterloo. 114; 
 
 Mound of the Belgian Lion, 115. 
 Buda-Pesth, 265 ; Call on a Niece of Louis Kossuth, 265. 
 
 Carrickfergus Castle, 25. 
 
 Chamonix, 176; Mont Blanc, 177;, Fran9ois Devouasoud, the Famous 
 
 Mountain Guide, 178 ; Jacques Balmat, 179. 
 Charlottenburg, 139 ; Royal Palace, 139 ; Hohenzollern Museum, 140. 
 Cheviot Hills, 73. 
 
 Chillon Castle, 1S4 — Bonnivard's Dungeon, 184. 
 Clachan of Aberfoyle, 38. 
 Coblentz, 203 ; Castle of Ehrenbreitstein, 204. 
 
344 Index. 
 
 Cologne, 204 — its Cathedral, 205 ; Bones of the Magi, 207 ; the Cathedral's 
 Relics, 208 — its Peal of Bells, 208 ; the Gurzenich, 208 ; Churches of St. 
 Gereon, St. Maria im Capitol, and St. Ursula, 209. 
 
 Constance, 159 — its Cathedral, 159. 
 
 Constantinople, 239 ; a Night of Discordant Sounds, 240 ; Scutari — its 
 Golgotha, 241 ; the Howling Dervishes, 242; Sultan Abdul Hamed II., 
 245 ; the Sakmlik, 245 ; Cortege of the Sultan, 246 ; the Sultan Reviews 
 his Troops, 247 ; Classical Ground, 248 ; Exaggeration of Travellers, 249 ; 
 the Dancing Dervishes, 250; Grand Bazar, 251; Mosques of Ahmet, 
 Solyman the Magnificent and St. Sophia, 252-254 ; Expounders of the 
 Koran, 255 ; the Dogs of the City, 255 ; the Old Seraglio, 256 ; a Turkish 
 Warehouse and " Holy Moses," 257 ; DeAmicis' Description of the Pass- 
 ing Crowd of People on the Bridge, 258-263. 
 
 Cork, 8 ; "The Shandon Bells," 9 ; Blarney Castle, 9 ; the Blarney-Stone, 
 ID ; " The Groves of Blarney," 11 ; a Drive to St. Ann's, 12. 
 
 Coventry, go ; the Three Tall Spires of Coventry, gi ; St. Mary's Guildhall, 
 gi ; a Drive to Rosehill, 92, 
 
 Darmstadt, 152 ; the Bergstrasse, 152. 
 
 Delft, 129 ; Monuments to William of Orange and Admirals Tromp and 
 
 Piet Hein, 129. 
 Derby, 88 ; All Saints' Church, 88. 
 
 Doune Castle, 43 — " Keek into the Draw-well, Janet," 43. 
 Drachenfels, 214. 
 Dresden, 143— its Palace, 144 ; the Roman Catholic Court Church, 144 ; 
 
 Picture Gallery, 145 ; Dresden Porcelains, 146. 
 Dryburgh Abbey, 70. 
 Dublin, 16 ; Phoenix Park, 16 ; Nelson Monument, 17 ; Bank of Ireland, 
 
 17 ; House of Lords, 17; Trinity College, 17; Brewery of Guinness & 
 
 Co., 18 ; the Castle, ig ; St. Patrick's Cathedral, ig ; Christ Church 
 
 Cathedral, 20. 
 Dumbarton Castle, 34. 
 Dumfries, 28 ; Statue of Burns, 28 — House where he Died, 28 — his Tomb, 
 
 2g ; Globe Hotel, 2g ; Some Objects of Interest in the Town, 30. 
 Dunblane Cathedral, 43. 
 Dunluce Castle, 23. 
 Durham Cathedral, 75. 
 
 Ecclefechan, 26 ; Carlyle Cottage, 26 ; the Carlyles, 27 ; Carlyle's Grave, 27. 
 
 Edinburgh, 44 ; General View of the City, 45 ; John Knox's House, 46 ; 
 Holyrood Palace, 47 — Picture Gallery and Queen Mary's Rooms, 48 — the 
 Murder of Rizzio, 4g ; the Chapel Royal, 4g ; Funeral of the Earl of 
 Caithness, 50 ; National Museum of Antiquities, 51; Visit the Castle, 51 — 
 Crown Room and Queen Mary's Room, 52 ; " Mons Meg," 53 ; a Drive 
 to Calton Hill, 53 ; Arthur's Seat, 53 ; the "Queen's Drive," 53 ; Mus- 
 chett's Cairn, 53 ; Craigmillar Castle, 54 ; an Article on the Late Earl 
 of Caithness, 54-5g ; Attend Morning Session of the General Assembly 
 of the Church of Scotland, 59 ; National Picture Gallery, 60 ; Rosslyn 
 
Index. 345 
 
 Chapel, 6i ; Rosslyn Castle, 6i ; a Ramble Over the Grounds of Sir 
 James Drummond, 62 ; Dalkeith House, 62 ; Morning Service at St. 
 Giles' Church, 63 ; a Walk through th2 Old Parts of the City, 64 ; Advo- 
 cates' Library, 66. 
 
 Florence, 286 ; a Brief History of the City, 287 — its Architecture, 288 ; the 
 New Palaces Along the Lungarno, 289 ; Pitti Palace, 289 — its Silver 
 Chamber, 290 ; Palazzo Vecchio, 290 ; Statuary in the Tribuna of the 
 Uffizi, 291 — Some of the Paintings, 292 — Famous Masters, 293 — Rare 
 Objects of Antiquity, 294 — the Marble Sarcophagi, 295 ; the Cascine, 296 ; 
 the Drive to Fiesole, 296 ; Boccaccio Villa, 296 ; Galileo, 296 ; Piazza 
 della Signoria, 297 ; Loggia di Lanzi, 297 ; the Cathedral Santa Maria del 
 Fiore, 298 ; the Bell Tower, 299 ; the Baptistery, 299 — its Bronze Doors, 
 300 ; a Reminder of Thanksgiving-Day, 300 — Preparations, 301 — Diffi- 
 culties in Obtaining Cranberry Sauce and Pumpkin-Pie, 301 — Success at 
 Last, and a Bounteous Dinner, 302 — " For this Occasion Only," 303 ; 
 Monastery of Certosa di Val d'Ema, 303 ; Son of Hiram Powers the 
 Sculptor, 304 — Reception at Mrs. Powers' Villa, 304 — "A Tale of a Nose," 
 305 ; Church of Santa Croce, 306 — its Frescoes and Monuments, 306 ; 
 Church of Or San Michele, 307 — its Statues, 307 ; Church of San Lorenzo, 
 308 — the Laurentian Library, 309 — Chapel of the Princes, 309 ; Churches 
 of Santa Maria Novella, San Spirito and Carmine, 310 ; Legend of San 
 Miniato, 311 ; Monastery of San Marco, 311 — the " Brothers of Mercy," 
 312; National Museum, 313; Academy of Fine Arts, 314; Protestant 
 Cemetery, 314 ; Lines on the Death of Theodore Parker, 314 ; a Perform- 
 ance of " Roberto el Diabolo" at the Opera House, 315. 
 
 Frankfort-on-the-Main, 149 ; Gutenberg Monument, 149 ; Visit the House 
 of Goethe's Father, 149 ; Romerberg Market-Place, 149 ; Jews' Street, 
 150. 
 
 Fiibourg, 192 ; the Organ in the Church of St. Nicholas, 192— an Organ 
 Recital, 193. 
 
 Geneva, 180— its Watch-making Industry, iSi ; House of John Calvin, 182 
 —a Vain Search for his Grave, 182 ; Villa Diodati, 182 ; Voltaire's 
 Chateau, 182 ; Musee Ariana, 183 ; Monument to Duke Charles H. of 
 Brunswick, 183. 
 
 Ghent, 116; the Bell Roland, 116 ; Cathedralof St. Bavon, 116— its Paintings, 
 117 ; Hotel de Ville, 118 ; Statue of Jacques van Artevelde, 118 ; " Mad 
 Meg," 118; the " Beguinages," 118. 
 
 Giant's Causeway, 22. 
 
 Glasgow, 34 — its Cathedral, 34. 
 
 Hague, The, 127 ; the Mauritshuis and its Picture Gallery, 128 ; Baron 
 Steengracht's Collection of Paintings, 12S ; a Noble Park, 129— the 
 " House in the Wood," 130. 
 
 Heidelberg, 216— its Castle, 217 ; the Great Tun, 217 ; Wines, 218 ; the 
 University, 218. 
 
 Homburg, 150— its Springs. 150; the Cursaal, 151 ; the Saalburg, 152. 
 
346 Index. 
 
 Interlaken, 194 ; Amateur Tourists, 194. 
 
 Jedburgh, 71 — its Abbey, 72. 
 
 Kenilworth Castle, 92. 
 
 Killarney, 13 ; Muckross Abbey, 14 ; Lakes of Killarney, 15 ; Innisfallen, 
 15 ; Ross Island, 15. 
 
 Lausanne, 186 — its Cathedral, 186. 
 
 Lauterbrunnen, 195 ; the Ranz des Vaches, 195 ; the Jungfrau, 196 ; Staub- 
 
 bach Falls, 196 ; Giessbach Falls, 196 ; a Wonderful Canon, 196. 
 Leeds, 85. 
 Lichfield, 88 — its Cathedral, 89 ; House of Dr. Johnson, 89 ; Three Crowns 
 
 Inn, 90. 
 Loch Katrine, 37. 
 
 Loch Leven, 64— its Castle, 65 ; Priory of Port St. Mary, 65. 
 Loch Lomond, 35. 
 London, loi ; "Macbeth" at the Lyceum Theatre, loi ; House in which 
 
 Carlyle Died, loi ; Westminster Abbey, 102 ; "Lohengrin" at the Royal 
 
 Italian Opera House, 103 ; Hear Mr. Spurgeon Preach, 103 — Description 
 
 of the Great Preacher, 104 ; National Gallery, 105 ; Hyde Park, 105 ; 
 
 Henley Regattas, 105 ; Tower of London, loS. 
 Lucerne, 162 ; the Lion of Lucerne, 163 ; Chapel to William Tell, 163 ; View 
 
 from the Summit of the Rigi, 164. 
 Lugano, 168 ; the Church of the Old Monastery of Santa Maria degli Angioli, 
 
 168 — its Frescoes, 168. 
 
 Marburg, 148 — its Castle, 148. 
 
 Marken, 133 ; Quaint Customs and Costumes, 135. 
 
 Melrose Abbey, 67. 
 
 Metz, 198 — its Cathedral, igg ; the Public Cemetery, 199. 
 
 Mont Blanc, 175. 
 
 Mount Pilatus — Scene from its Summit, 197. 
 
 Mount Soracte, 317 — " Ad Thaliarchum," 318. 
 
 Munich, 226 ; the Old Pinakothek, 226 ; the New Pinakothek, 228 ; the 
 
 Old Palace, 229 ; the Brauhaus, 229 ; Training of the Young Men of the 
 
 German Empire, 231. 
 
 Napoleon's Great Road, 171. 
 
 Neuchatel, 187 ; Legislation in a Chateau, 187 ; Municipal Museum and Pic- 
 ture Gallery, 188 ; Ancestors of Count Louis, 188. 
 
 Neuhausen — Falls of the Rhine, 157. 
 
 Newcastle-on-the-Tyne, 74 ; Church of St. Nicholas, 74. 
 
 Nuremberg, 220 ; the Castle, 222— its Instruments of Torture, 222 ; an An- 
 cient Guillotine, 224. 
 
 Old Coach Roads, 86. 
 On a Coach-Top, 78. 
 
Index. 347 
 
 Potsdam, 140 — its Palace, 140— Rooms of Frederick the Great, 140 — his 
 Tomb, 141 ; Park and Palace of San Souci, 141 ; the Orangery, 142. 
 
 Queenstown, 7. 
 
 Ratisbon, 224 ; the Walhalla, 224. 
 
 Ravine of Gondo, 172. 
 
 Rome, 319 ; Piazza of the Monte Cavallo, 320 ; Pincian Hill. 320 ; View of 
 the Surroundings of Rome, 321 ; Seven Hills of Rome, 322 — their Names, 
 323 ; the Past of the Eternal City, 324 ; St. Peter's, 325 — its Size, 326 — 
 its Shrines, 326 ; Statue of St. Peter, 327 ; Vatican Palace, 328 — Sistine 
 Chapel, 32S — Gallery of Arras, 329 — the Pinacoteca, 330 ; Church of St. 
 John Lateran, 331 ; Lateran Palace, 332 ; the Scala Santa, 332 ; Portrait 
 of the Saviour, 333 ; the Servian and Aurelian Walls of Rome, 334 ; 
 Piazza del Popolo, 335 ; the Corso, 335 ; Palazzo Borghese, 336 ; Church 
 of St. Lorenzo in Lucina, 336 ; Fountain of Trevi, 336 ; Church of St. 
 Maria in Via Lata, 336 ; Palazza Doria, 337 ; Palazzo Bonaparte, 337 ; 
 Church of II Gesu, 337 ; Piazza del Campidoglio, 338 ; Church of Ara- 
 Coeli, 33S — Exhibition of the Bambino, 339 ; Statues in the Square of the 
 Capitol, 340 ; Museum of the Capitol, 341 ; the Mamertine Prisons, 341 ; 
 the Forum, 342. 
 
 Schaffhausen, 15S— its Cathedral's Big Bell, 15S ; Castle of Munot, 158. 
 
 Scheveningen, 129. 
 
 Sheffield, 86. 
 
 Simplon Pass, 173 ; the Hospice, 173. 
 
 Stirling, 38 — its Castle, 39 ; Argyle's Lodging, 41 ; " Mar's Work," 41 ; 
 Statue of Robert Bruce, 41 ; the Bore Stone, 41 ; Gillies Hill, 42 ; Ruins 
 of Cambus-Kenneth Abbey, 42 ; Monument to William Wallace, 42. 
 
 Strassburg, 153 ; the Cathedral, 153— its Famous Clock, 154 ; Monument 
 to Marshal Saxe, 154 ; Pdic de foie gras, 155. 
 
 Stratford-on-Avon, 95 ; Attend Morning Service at the Church of the Holy 
 Trinity, 96 ; Site of New Place, the House of Shakespere, 96 — his Statue, 
 98 — Grave, 98 — Bust, 98— Birthplace, 99 — the Stratford Portrait, 99 ; 
 Anne Hathaway's Cottage, 100. 
 
 Stresa, 169 ; Our Eccentiic Coachman, 170. 
 
 Treves, 199 ; Remains of the Porta Nigra, Roman Palace and Public Baths. 
 200 ; a Library of Rare and Valuable Books, 201 ; Cathedral of St. Peter 
 and St. Helen, 202 ; the Holy Coat, 202 ; Porcelain Stoves, 203 ; a Bed- 
 Poultice, 203. 
 
 Trossachs, The, 37. 
 
 Venice, 266 ; the Grand Canal, 267 ; Piazza of St. Mark, 267 ; Search for the 
 American Consul, 26S ; Cathedral of St. Mark, 268 ; the Gondolas, 270 ; 
 Riallo Bridge, 271 ; the Ghetto, 271 ; Scenes Along the Grand Canal, 272 ; 
 Frattini in Proud Attitude, 273 ; the Armenian Monastery, 273— the,, 
 Brotherhod, 274 ; Interior of St. Mark, 275 ; Churches of Gli Scalzi, San 
 Giorgio Maggiore, and San Maria della Salute, 276— their Works of Art, 
 
348 Index. 
 
 276 ; Church of San Giovanni e Paolo, 276 — its Monuments of Famous 
 Men, 277 ; Academy of Fine Arts, 277 ; the Arsenal, 278 — a Model of the 
 Rucentaur, 278 ; Visit Several Palaces on the Grand Canal, 279 ; the 
 Pigeons of St. Mark, 28c ; the Piazza at Night, 281 ; the Ducal Palace, 
 281 — its Senate Chamber, 281 — Great Council Hall, 282 — Chamber of the 
 Council of Ten, 282 ; Arrival of the German Emperor and Empress, 283 ; 
 an Imposing Pageant, 284. 
 
 Vevay, 185 ; Church of St. Martin, 185 ; Chateau of Hauteville, 185 ; Castle 
 of Blonay, 185. 
 
 Vienna, 232 ; Description of the City, 233 ; the Imperial Hofburg, 234 ; 
 the Jewels in the Imperial Treasury, 235 ; Chateau of Belvidere, 236 ; 
 Temple of Theseus, 236 ; the Prater, 237 ; Stock Exchange, 237 ; Impe- 
 rial Stables, 237 ; a Performance of " Un Ballo in Maschera" at the Im- 
 perial Opera House, 237. 
 
 Warwick, 93 ; Hospital of Robert Dudley, 93 ; the " Twelve Poor Brothers," 
 
 93 ; the Castle and its Treasures, 94 ; Church of St. Mary, 95. 
 Wiirzburg, 218 ; the Royal Palace, 219 ; Walther von der Vogelweide, 219. 
 
 York, 78 — its History, 79 ; Yorkshire Philosophical Society's Museum, of 
 Antiquities, 80 ; The Cathedral, 80 — a Pompous Verger, 81 — the Chapter- 
 House. 82 — the Choir, 83 : its Stained-Glass Windows, 84 ; the Curfew- 
 bell, 85. 
 
 Zurich, 160 ; a Trip up the Lake, 161 ; View from the Top of the Uetliberg, 
 161. 
 
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