



Produced by Christopher Wright, Carlo Traverso and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)







[Illustration: _CONGRESS OF FRANCE._]




        A <DW52> MAN

      ROUND THE WORLD.


       BY A QUADROON.


   PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
            1858.


      Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
                            DAVID F. DORR,
     in the Clerk's office of the District Court, for the Northern
                           District of Ohio.




TO MY SLAVE MOTHER.


Mother! wherever thou art, whether in Heaven or a lesser world; or
whether around the freedom Base of a Bunker Hill, or only at the
lowest savannah of American Slavery, thou art the same to me, and I
dedicate this token of my knowledge to thee mother, Oh, my own
mother!

      YOUR DAVID.




INDEX.


                                                                PAGE.

  DEBUT IN A FOREIGN LAND,                                         13

  LONDON,                                                          19

  THE QUEEN IN HYDE PARK,                                          22

  I AM GOING TO PARIS,                                             25

  FIRST DAY IN PARIS,                                              29

  FIRST NIGHT IN PARIS,                                            33

  I MUST ROVE AWAY FROM PARIS,                                     43

  SPICY TOWNS OF GERMANY,                                          49

  DOWN AMONG THE DUTCH,                                            57

  COL. FELLOWES LEARNING DUTCH,                                    61

  ON! ON! TO WATERLOO,                                             71

  THE BIAS OF MY TOUR,                                             77

  COUP D'ETAT OF NAPOLEON III,                                     81

  THE SECRETS OF A PARIS LIFE AND WHO KNOWS THEM,                  87

  ROME AND ST. PETER'S CHURCH,                                     97

  NAPLES AND ITS CRAFT,                                           102

  ST. JANUARIUS AND HIS BLOOD,                                    108

  CONSTANTINOPLE,                                                 114

  THE DOGS PROVOKE ME, AND THE WOMEN ARE VEILED,                  121

  A <DW52> MAN FROM TENNESSEE SHAKING HANDS WITH THE
  SULTAN, AND MEN PUTTING WOMEN IN THE BATH AND
  TAKING THEM OUT,                                                125

  GOING TO ATHENS WITH A PRIMA DONNA,                             130

  ATHENS A SEPULCHRE,                                             134

  BEAUTIFUL VENICE,                                               143

  VERONA AND BOLOGNA,                                             149

  FRIENZA DE BELLA CITA,                                          153

  BACK TO PARIS,                                                  159

  EGYPT AND THE NILE,                                             163

  EGYPTIAN KINGS OF OLDEN TIME,                                   167

  TRAVELING ON THE NILE 800 MILES,                                171

  THEBES AND BACK TO CAIRO,                                       175

  CAMELS--THROUGH THE DESERT,                                     179

  JERUSALEM, JERICHO AND DAMASCUS,                                183

  CONCLUSION,                                                     189




PREFACE.


The Author of this book, though a quadroon, is pleased to announce
himself the "<DW52> man around the world." Not because he may look
at a <DW52> man's position as an honorable one at this age of the
world, he is too smart for that, but because he has the satisfaction
of looking with his own eyes and reason at the ruins of the ancestors
of which he is the posterity. If the ruins of the Author's ancestors
were not a living language of their scientific majesty, this book
could receive no such appellation with pride. Luxor, Carnack, the
Memnonian and the Pyramids make us exclaim, "What monuments of pride
can surpass these? what genius must have reflected on their
foundations! what an ambition these people must have given to the
rest of the world when found the glory of the world in their
hieroglyphic stronghold of learning," whose stronghold, to-day, is
not to be battered down, because we cannot reach their hidden
alphabet. Who is as one, we might suppose, "learned in all the
learning of the Egyptians." Have we as learned a man as Moses, and if
yes, who can prove it? How did he come to do what no man can do now?
You answer, God aided him; that is not the question! No, all you know
about it is he was "learned in all the learning of the Egyptians,"
that is the answer; and thereby knew how to facilitate a glorious
cause at heart, because had he been less learned, who could conceive
how he could have proved to us to be a man full of successful logic.
Well, who were the Egyptians? Ask Homer if their lips were not thick,
their hair curly, their feet flat and their skin black.

But the Author of this book, though a <DW52> man, hopes to die
believing that this federated government is destined to be the
noblest fabric ever germinated in the brain of men or the tides of
Time. Though a <DW52> man, he believes that he has the right to say
that, in his opinion, _the American people are to be the Medes and
Persians of the 19th century_. He believes, from what he has seen in
the four quarters of the globe, that the federal tribunal of this
mighty people and territory, are to weigh other nations' portion of
power by its own scale, and equipoise them on its own pivot, "_the
will of the whole people_," the federal people. And as he believes
that the rights of ignorant people, whether white or black, ought to
be respected by those who have seen more, he offers this book of
travels to that class who craves to know what those know who have
respect for them. In offering this book to the public, I will say, by
the way, I wrote it under the disadvantage of having access to no
library save Walker's school dictionary. In traveling through Europe,
Asia and Africa, I am indebted to Mr. Cornelius Fellowes, of the
highly respectable firm of Messrs. Fellowes & Co., 149 Common St.,
New Orleans, La. This gentleman treated me as his own son, and could
look on me as as free a man as walks the earth. But if local law has
power over man, instead of man's effects, I was legally a slave, and
would be to-day, like my mother, were I on Louisiana's soil instead
of Ohio's.

When we returned to America, after a three years' tour, I called on
this original man to consummate a two-fold promise he made me, in
different parts of the world, because I wanted to make a connection,
that I considered myself more than equaled in dignity and means, but
as he refused me on old bachelor principles, I fled from him and his
princely promises, westward, where the "star of empire takes its
way," reflecting on the moral liberties of the legal freedom of
England, France and our New England States, with the determination to
write this book of "overlooked things" in the four quarters of the
globe, seen by "a <DW52> man round the world."

  THE AUTHOR.




DEBUT IN A FOREIGN LAND.


This day, June 15th, 1851, I commence my writings of a promiscuous
voyage. This day is Sunday. I am going from the Custom house, where I
have deposited my baggage to be searched for contraband goods, and
making my way along a street that might be termed, from its
appearance, "The street of cemeteries." This street is in Liverpool,
and is a mercantile street in every sense of the word, and the reason
why it looked so lonesome and a business street at that, is wanting.
I must now explain why so great a street looked dismal. The English
people are, indeed, a moral people. This was the Sabbath, and the
"bells were chiming," discoursing the sweetest sacred music I had
ever heard. The streets were very narrow and good. Their material was
solid square stones closely packed together. The houses were very
high, some being six stories. Not one house for half a mile had a
door or window ajar. It was raining; consequently not a person was to
be seen. All of a sudden the coachman drew up to the side walk, and,
opening the coach, said, "Adelphi, sir." I was looking with
considerable interest to see the hotel of so much celebrity on board
the ship. Captain Riley had informed me that it was a house not to be
surpassed in the "hotel line," and I had put an estimated interest on
this important item to travelers that Southerners are too much
addicted to. I mean to say, that I, a Southerner, judge too much by
appearance, instead of experience. I had been taught at Orleans that
the "English could whip all the world, and we could whip the
English," and that England was always in great danger of being
starved by us, and all her manufactories stopped in double quick time
by Southern cotton-planters. But, the greatest absurdity of all was,
that England was very much afraid that we would declare war against
her, and thereby ruin what little independence she still retains. I,
under this dispensation of knowledge, looked around to see the
towering of a "St. Charles or Verandah," but when I saw a house
looking like all the rest, I came to the conclusion that the English
were trying to get along without making any improvement, as it was
not certain how long we would permit her to remain a "monarchial
independent nation." Just then a well-dressed gentleman opened the
door and descended the steps with an umbrella to escort me in. "Come
right in here, sir," said he, leading me into a large room, with an
organ and hat-stands as its furniture. The organ was as large as an
ordinary sized church organ. The gentleman took my overcoat and hung
it up. He then asked me some questions concerning the voyage, after
which he asked me to walk to the Bureau and register my name. This
done we ascend one flight of stairs and enter my room. He asked me if
I wished fire. I answered in the affirmative. He left me.

Having seated myself _a la American_, I listened very attentively to
"those chiming bells." Tap, tap on my door called forth another
American expression, "come in." The door opened and a beautiful girl
of fifteen summers came in with a scuttle of coal and kindling. She
wore on her head a small frilled cap, and it was very small. A snow
white apron adorned her short, neat dress. A man is a good deal like
a dog in some particulars. He may be uncommonly savage in his nature,
and as soon as he sees his sexual mate, his attention is manifested
in the twinkling of an eye. She looked so neat, I thought it good
policy to be polite, and become acquainted. Having finished making a
lively little fire, she rose up from her half-bending posture to
follow up her duty through the hotel. "What is your name, Miss," said
I; "Mary," said she, at the same time moving away. "I shall be here a
week said I, and want you to take care of me." Mary's pretty little
feet could stay no longer with propriety the first time.

In fifteen minutes the gong rang for dinner. I locked my door, and
made my way through the narrow passages to hunt head quarters.
Passing one of the inferior passage ways, I saw Mary half whispering
to one of her companions about the American, and laughing jocularly.
Her eyes fell upon me just as mine did on her. In the twinkling of
an eye she conveyed an idea to her comrade that the topic must be
something else, which seemed to have been understood before conveyed.
"Mary," said I, "I want some washing done," as polite as a piled
basket of chips. She stepped up to me and said, "Are they ready,
sir?" "No," said I, "I will be up in a few minutes," (we always do
things by minutes.) "I will call for them," said she. I descended and
found a good dinner, after which I walked into the newsroom, where I
found several of the merchants of Liverpool assembled to read and
discuss the prevailing topics of interest. Seated close to a table on
which was the London Times, New York Tribune and Herald, the French
Journal, called the Moniteur, besides several other Journals of
lesser note, was a noble looking gentleman. On the other side of this
feast of news was another noble and intellectual looking gentleman.
These were noblemen from different parts of England. They were
quietly discussing the weak points in American policy. One held that
if the <DW64>s of the Southern States were fit for freedom, it would
be an easy matter for four million of slaves to raise the standard of
liberty, and maintain it against 250,000 slaveholders. The other
gentleman held that it was very true, but they needed some white man,
well posted in the South, with courage enough to plot the _entree_.
He continued, at great length, to show the feasibility under a French
plotter. He closed with this expression, "One intelligent Frenchman
like Ledru Rollin could do the whole thing before it could be
known." I came to the conclusion that they were not so careful in the
expression of their views as I thought they ought to be. I was quite
sure that they would not be allowed to use such treasonable language
at Orleans or Charleston as that they had just indulged in.

Sitting in my room about an hour after hearing this nauseous
language, Mary came for the clothes, for that is what she asked for.
I requested Mary to wait until Monday morning, for the fact was, I
had no clothes--they were in the Custom House. Here Mary began to
show more familiarity than I had ever shown, but she only expressed
enough to show me that she only wished to return for my clothes when
they were ready. I gave her to understand that nothing would give me
more pleasure than to have her return again for them.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two weeks have gone by. I am now packing my trunk for London. In half
an hour, the evening express train leaves here for a five hours'
cruise over farms of rich and poor, like a streak of lightning. I
find on the day of departure that the servants are like the servants
of all parts of my own country. It is impossible for me to do
anything for myself. I have offers from nearly all parts of the
Hotel, volunteering to do all that is to be done and more
too.--Before I commenced packing my trunk, I went down to the Bureau
(office) to have my bill made out. As I passed along the passage I
saw a large man with slippers on, with a cap denoting Cookery, bowing
and scraping. I instantly perceived that my fame, as an American, had
reached the culinary sanctum. I requested the Clerk to have my bill
ready, but found that I was too late in the information to be given.
My bill was already made out.

A quarter to 5 o'clock, I showed to Mary, my sincere wishes for her
welfare, and left my apartment. Her cap was neater than when I
located there; her apron was whiter, and her hair was neater. I done
my duty to the advice given by Murray, who is the author of the Guide
Book of all Europe, Asia, and even Africa. He says that it is best to
give a small bonus to the menials in public or private houses. The
landlord, saw me in the coach and wished me a happy voyage to London.
When the coach moved gradually away from that small Hotel, it carried
lingering thoughts of friendship and comfort. I thought of the kind
attention, and obedient but commanding language of all I had seen,
and the moral came home to my heart, saying "you have value
received." I reflected on Mary's cap and snow white apron; the old
porter's hopeful countenance; the dining room servants; and how well
they seemed to be pleased, when the driver stopped my coach and
landed me at the London station in a good humor. All aboard! The
Cars, (express train in a hurry) dashed on with fury, and I found
myself a happy man on my way to London.




LONDON.


Last night I arrived here, making the time from Liverpool in five
hours and a half. My location is between Buckingham Palace and
Trafalgar Square. I am on the second floor, in the Trafalgar Hotel,
on Trafalgar Square. The Queen, when in London, resides at this
celebrated palace. It is in St. James' Park. This July 28th, London
is the world's Bazaar. The Crystal Palace is the acquafortis of
curiosity that gives the arcadial polish to London's greatness. This
is the place where every country is trying to make a pigmy of some
other. In this great feast of genius no country is fairly
represented. The United States has many articles of arts in the
palace that are not what she has ever prided herself on as her arts.
One of our ordinary Steam Boats would have astonished the natives
beyond the admiration of all the trumpery that we ever contemplate
carrying to a World's Fair. I was, indeed, ashamed to see the piles
of India Rubber Shoes, Coats and Pants, and Clocks that stood out in
bas relief in that part of the palace appropriated to the American
Arts and Sciences.--Pegged Shoes and Boots were without number.
Martingales and Side Saddles, Horse Shoes, Ploughs, Threshing
Machines, Irrigators, and all the most worthless trash to be found in
the States. I saw everything that was a prevailing disgrace to our
country except slaves. I understood that a South Carolinian proposed
taking half a dozen haughty and sinewy <DW64>s to the Fair, but was
only deterred from that proposition by the want of courage to risk
six fat, strong healthy <DW64>s to the chances of escape from slavery
to freedom. In the centre of this beautiful and most splendid palace,
was a Band of Music not to be surpassed by any Band for discoursing
sweet melody. Close to this music was a beautiful fountain, throwing
sprays upward like the heaves of a shark; and round about this
fountain were seats for ladies and gentlemen to take refreshments
together. This palace resembles, in a great degree, "Paradise found;"
there is also some sparrows inside yet, that the Falcons did not run
out when those twenty thousand took possession some months ago. These
little birds light about among this gay crowd as if they were on one
of our wild prairies, lighting among the still gayer tribe of flora.
Two or three tried to light on a spray of water, but could not make
it go. I see two sitting on a piano, whilst one is trying to get an
equilibrium on the strings of a harp. The piano now opens and a
noblemen is seating one of the most handsome women there I have seen
in England. I said to a young Englishman, that is indeed a handsome
woman. He said yes, she is generally pronounced the handsomest woman
in London. I enquired her pedigree and found that it was the
benevolent Duchess of Sutherland; like a humming bird, from one
"sweet flower" to another her alabaster-like fingers darted from the
bassiest note to the flutiest. The pianos were generally enclosed
like a separate tomb with railings a yard from the pianos. After her
highness had played out "God Save the Queen" and brought an audience
round the railing, as if they really came to protect the "queen of
beauty," she played a thrilling retreat as if her intention was to
convey the idea that she must retreat or be captured. The piece
played, she rose straight up and gazed around upon the recruits she
had drummed up with the air of a successful adventurer throughout the
world; she moved along this immense crowd of various classes like a
swan in a showery storm. Whilst all was in commotion, she seemed more
herself. The noble gallant seemed to be quite conscious that the lady
he was gallanting was the _Duchess of Sutherland_.

On the outside of the Crystal Palace is a small, fairy-like house,
erected for Prince Albert and her majesty the Queen of England to
lunch in when they visit the Fair. It is said that the Prince planned
it himself. In this pretty little house is enough furniture of
various beauties to make an ordinary Fair itself.

The Police regulations about this Fair are admirable. There is no
question that can be asked about this affair but will be properly and
intellectually answered by any policeman. They are intelligent men
and seem to take an interest as well as pride in this great Fair.




THE QUEEN IN HYDE PARK.


It is now 4 o'clock. All the streets within a mile of the Crystal
Palace are crowded with people, instead of drays, carts, wagons and
other impeding obstacles to the World's Fair. For a quarter of a mile
down the street that leads to St. James' Square, where the Queen
resides, at Buckingham Palace, I presume I can see 50,000 people
bareheaded, that is to say, they have their hats off. But, at the
further end of this quarter of a mile, I see a uniform commotion, and
this commotion of heads are coming towards Hyde Park. I mean only the
commotion but not the heads. These heads are being responded to from
an open plain Calashe, that is coming as rapid as a Post Chaise from
the battle field when bringing good tidings to a King.--The object of
this exciting moment is the Queen of England. One minute and she is
gone by, as she passed me, bowing on all sides to the crowd greeting
her. I felt a sort of religious thrill pass over me, and I said to
myself "this is civilization." Her Majesty was evidently proud of
her people's homage; and her people were not ashamed to show their
loyalty to their "gracious Queen." She was looking remarkably healthy
for one living on the delicacies of a Queen. In fact she was too
healthy in appearance for a Queen. Her color was too red and
masculine for a lady. She was considerable stouter than I thought she
was, and quite as handsome as I expected to find the great Queen.
Seated opposite her, face to face, was her Maid of Honor; and seated
by her side vis-a-vis to the Queen, was a couple of the "little
bloods" of her Majesty and Prince Coburgh. I thought it strange that
his highness, Prince Albert, was not accompanying the Queen. I
learned afterwards that it was usual for the Queen to go in Hyde Park
alone. I also found that the Prince and his courtiers were gone out
deer stalking.

In the Queen's calashe was four greys. The driver rode the hindmost
left horse. In his right hand he carried a light whip which was
altogether useless. About 50 yards ahead of this moving importance, a
liveried outrider sped on at a rapid speed, that the populace might
know that he was soliciting their attention to making way for the
Queen. He wore long, white-legged boots, and held his Arab steed as
artful as a Bedouin sporting over a rocky desert. His other
habiliments were red, save his hat, which was a latest style silk.
The driver keeps him in view, and has nothing to do but mount and
drive off after this courier or out-rider, who gets his orders at the
Palace where to lead.

It is said that the Queen is not celebrated for a good temper. Like
her symbol, the lion, she is not to be bearded by any one, no matter
how important. She is a natural monarch and feels her royalty. Prince
Albert is one of the handsomest men I ever saw. The like of the
Prince's popularity among the ladies of the Court cannot be equaled
by any nobleman in England; but that popularity must be general, it
cannot be in spots, for the Queen is not unlike other women under the
influence of the "green-eyed monster." Although Prince Albert's
virtue has never been dishonored by even a hint, still the Queen is
not to be too trusty. Prince Albert is a model of a "true gentleman."
He could not suspect half as quick as the most virtuous Queen the
world has ever been ornamented with.

The English people are alone in all things pertaining to domestic
life. It would puzzle the double-width intellect of a hermit to tell
what one was thinking about; and this nonchalence of air to
surrounding circumstances is every moment blowing upon the object in
their heart. France sets the fashion for the world, but what the
morning paper say about the dress worn by the empress on the champs
d'elysee yesterday, is not what the poorest maid servant is trying to
find out to cut her calico by, but what her Majesty wore at Windsor
or Buckingham. These people were wearing the skins of the beasts of
their forests in the days of the Cæsars' invasion, and barbarous as
our Indians, but now they are the most civilized and christian power
on this earth.

A German now sitting by my side tells me this is a gross subject for
me to be writing upon. I asked what subject? He said Konigon (Queen).
On reflection I find it true, and now retire from the beading of this
chapter.




I AM GOING TO PARIS.


I am now all cap a pie for Paris. Ho! for Boston, is nothing to ah!
Paris. I have been this morning to get my last view of the great
Palace of the World's Fair. I have since been to Greenwich to eat
white bait, and I am now hurrying on to the station. Whoever wishes
to see a good deal of the country, and a broken down route, had
better take what is called the Brighton Route. If you leave London at
6 o'clock in the evening, you will stop at 8 o'clock at New Haven, a
place with a name on the map, but in fact no place at all, save the
destination of the train of this route. There you will, in all
probability, have to wait about an old building an hour or two for
the arrival of a boat to take you across the channel. Next morning,
if you are lucky, you arrive at 8 o'clock at a little old French town
called Dieppe, just in time to be too late to take the morning train
for Paris. It is said that these little old half dead towns live off
these tricks. I got a pretty breakfast _a la carte_; I say pretty,
because I had boiled eggs, red wine and white, radishes, lettuce, and
three boquets on my breakfast table. Having been disappointed in
taking the morning's train for Paris, I vented my wrath on both
bottles of wine, thereby getting an equilibrium between
disappointment and contentment. This done I went down to a little old
shed which they called the Custom House, to get my trunks which they
had been searching. I then took a ride in the country to see the
ruins of an ancient castle, captured by the first reigning king of
the present great Bourbon family, Henry Quatre, King of Navarre. This
was the first ruined castle I had ever seen, and it interested me so
much that in spite of the boat last night with no berths, sea
sickness, custom-house troubles, disappointment in getting to Paris
that day instead of 11 o'clock at night, I was in quite a good humor,
and in fact, considered myself well paid for the ride, though in an
old chaise and two poor horses.

At the ruins of this enormous pile of brick and mortar, was an old,
broken down French officer. His companion was a lonely raven. We
could go in and out of no part of this dilapidated mass of downfallen
power, without meeting the raven. He seemed to be a lonely spirit. I
caught at him once when he came within two feet of me; he jumped
about a foot further off and stopped right still, and turned his head
so that one eye was up and the other down, and kept looking up at me
as long as I looked at him, as if he would fain say _laissi moi_
(let me be). The cool treatment of the raven about these old ruins
lowered my spirits. I gave the old soldier a franc for his trouble
and information, and got in my old turn-out, and turned around to say
adieu to the old soldier when I found him too much engaged paying
Jocko with crumbs, his portion of the bonus, for services rendered.

At 4 o'clock I found myself well seated in a French car, for the
first time, direct for Paris. Here we go in a tunnel, and it is dark
as ebony; here we come out; away go the cattle as if Indians were
after them.

It would be impossible to conjecture that French farmers were lazy,
for this is the Sabbath and down in the meadows I see farmers
reaping. I can see towns in such quick succession, it would be
useless to attempt to describe them. It is now 11 o'clock, and I am
at my destination and being searched. Nothing found and I am
pronounced an honest man. But my honesty, if there be any, is like
Falstaff's, hid. I have two hundred cigars in my over and under coat,
and they are, indeed, contraband and was one of the greatest objects
of search; but, reader, if you pronounce this French stupidity you
deceive yourself. It was French politeness that allowed me to pass
unnoticed by this scrutinizing assemblage of Savans. If a man move
among these lynx-eyed prefectures as a gentleman ought to, he is,
once out of three times, likely to pass the barrier of their polite
inclinations, whilst at the same time it would give them great
satisfaction to believe that it would pay to examine you, were there
a justifiable excuse for such rudeness, overbalancing the politeness
which is characteristic of their whole national dignity. The French
are proud of their national characteristics, and least of all nations
inclined to trample them under foot.

It is now eleven o'clock, as I have before said, and I am in Paris,
trying to get across the Boulevard des Italian. What I mean by trying
is, picking my chance. I am no dancing master, and in this crowded
street might not do the dodging right the first time.

I am now across and ringing the bell at 179 Rue Richelieu. This is
the Hotel des Prince (Hotel of the Princes). Mr. Privat is the
proprietor. In this Hotel all have gone to bed except a beautiful
little woman at the concierge. She was sewing whilst stillness
reigned around her, like a deep, dark forest, just before a storm.
She received me with a smile. I, not knowing that this was her usual
behavior to all patronage of this or any other house in Paris, took
for granted I had made an extra impression right off. She took me to
an apartment which she said was merely temporary. To-morrow, she
said, I could get another to my taste. I gazed around at all the
different doors and comforts with numerous conveniencies of neatness,
and said to her, "Miss, this, in my opinion, is good enough for the
oldest inhabitant." She smiled and went away and brought me a bottle
of water with a piece of ice inside just the shape of the bottle.
"How did you put that piece of ice inside without breaking the
bottle?" said I. "It was water, sir, and it froze inside," said she,
"will you have something to eat?" I said I would like a small bit of
chicken and red wine; she rang the bell and an English and French
waiter was summoned; she went away and left me pretty certain that I
was in Paris.




FIRST DAY IN PARIS.


Next morning I felt pretty sure I was in Paris, or I "wasn't anywhere
else." Every five minutes would assure me that I was there. Before
the grey of the morn departed from Paris I had two lady visitors. One
was a beautiful girl, like "Mary of Adelphi." She was evidently
mistaken in finding a tenant in this one of her rooms, unless that
was her way. She moved up to the washstand, which was near my bed, or
rather couch, and slyly looked in the drawer and drew back. I,
wishing to let her know that if her business or adventure was
connected with me, she need not fear waking me, rose my left arm and
said, "good morning!" She, not understanding what I did say, muttered
out something like "_reste vous tranquilles_," which, I afterwards
learned, meant, don't be disturbed. She hurried out the half opened
door pulling her little starched dress, that seemed to pull back,
after her. Five minutes after this, she returned and placed on my
stand close to my bed, a bottle of ice water and a glass. I asked her
name, she said, Elverata, and winded away.

Five minutes after this another female opened my door about a foot
and leaned gracefully in. She asked me some question two or three
times, all that I could understand was Blanche, with some other
points to it like _E sirs_. Consulting my guide of the French
translated into the four following languages, French, Italian, German
and English, I discovered she was talking about washing. I got this
book in London and studied all the way to Paris, but found that I had
made no improvement; all I knew of the book was, that the words
translated were only some useful words that the solicitors would most
likely know themselves when it would be necessary to use such
expressions. She ran to me, for she was acquainted with the book
better than I was, and helped to find what she wished to say. "_Ie
trouver, Ie trouver_," she said. I gave her the book, at the same
time asking her in English what was _trouver_. She looked up at the
wall, like a Madonna, and seemed to be lost in inward study, at last
she looked me full in the face and said, "fyend." "Ah!" said I,
"find." "Yis!" said she, "what you call _cela_?" "Washerwoman," said
I. "_Ie suis washe-women_." This woman was certainly very bewitching
whilst speaking this broken English. I gave her to understand that
some other time would be more agreeable. She said she "stand" and
went out; but as she did not stand, but went out, I presume she meant
to say "I understand."

At eight o'clock I descended to the _salle a manger_ for breakfast.
Persons were coming in to breakfast, two and three a minute, and
others were going out as fast. This continued till eleven o'clock.
Thirty and forty were frequently at the table at the same time.
Mostly all were Europeans; and had everything not gone on so
regularly, an American "greenhorn" would have taken them to be the
confusion of tongues convening for a reconciliation. On the table was
more wine than coffee. The coffee was usually taken in the smoking
room, where all gentlemen assemble to discuss politics. Among this
assemblage that I am so flippantly speaking of, was three noblemen of
England, one Duke of Italy, three barons of the Rhine, and a broken
down princess. From merely gossip authority, I learned that she was
the wife of a great man in one of the Russio Turko principalities.
She was generally dressed in black, and had two servants and a
_lacquey de place_. She was handsome and that had ruined her. She was
getting from her husband 100,000 per annum to stay away from him and
his court, which seemed to meet her approbation. She roomed on the
same floor I did, and I frequently met her smiling in these narrow
and dark passage ways. She seldom dined at the "_table de hote_,"
(dinner table) but either at the _trois frere_, (three brothers) or
the _maison d'or Doree_, corner of the Boulevard and rue Lafitte. She
most always had her Cabinet, good dinners and various wines,
consequently was always full of agreeability. She would walk home
herself, and, like the rest of ladies in Paris, she was always sure
that her dress in front should not drag the ground, by a process she
had in her nature, to show her intention of keeping her dress high
enough to prevent all accidents of the kind. By this habit of hers,
she got many admirers, for what a man would then see instead of her
dress would be no disadvantage to her or her intention. Her
reputation was such that had she been once gazed upon by the Virgin
Mary, the fiery censure of her pure eyes would have been basilisks to
her poor heart; the poor Princess would have dropped dead from the
mere spark of censure which the Virgin could not, though fain would,
hold back.

The day has gone by. I stood about, looking! looking! looking! Seeing
what is novel enough to an American in Paris, in the court of the
_Hotel des Princes_. Night came on and I went to my room to prepare
to see a "Night in Paris." I shall write of a Night in Paris, and
then shall say no more of Paris until I have been to Germany and
return, where I expect to spend three or four months. After this
voyage I calculate to spend the winter here, and write something of
Paris and its manners.

My first day ends by meeting the Princess on the steps, and having
the pleasure of answering some inquiries of hers about sea-sickness,
and pleasant ships of the Cunard Line.




FIRST NIGHT IN PARIS.


My "first day in Paris" commenced at night. If sauce for the goose is
sauce for the gander, I will commence this chapter in the day by
saying, "where now! valet de place?" "Notre dame," he replied, and
the coachman drove away towards the Boulevards. In half an hour's
time, he reined before the door of that "Venerable old monument of
reality and romance." I approached it like a timid child being baited
with a shining sixpence. As my feet touched the sill, a peal came
from the belfry, one of those sonorous twangs, that have made so many
hearts flinch for hundreds of years in the "Bloody Bastile," and it
vibrated from my timid heart to all parts of my frame. At this moment
a reverend father offered me his hand, who had all the time been
concealed beneath what one might well take to be a dark black coffin
standing on end. I accepted his hand, and he led me quietly in that
vast "sepulchre of kings."

In all directions I saw magnificent aisles, and altars with burning
incense. Magnificent pictures representing all reverend worth, from
the "Son of Man," to saints of France. Golden knobs with inscriptions
thereon, adorned the footsteps of every visitor thereof, denoting the
downwardness of kings who had once ruled nations. Whilst standing
there awestruck with departed worth, I gazed downward with a
submissive heart, when lo! I stood upon the coffin of a king! I
quickly changed my position, but stepped upon a queen. The valet was
relating to me the many different opinions the people had about
stepping on noted personages, and how unnecessary it was to take
notice of such things as they were dead, when I got disgusted at his
ignorance, and stepped from a Queen to a Princess.

To describe this gorgeously furnished sanctum, it is enough to say,
that all the brilliant artists of this scientific people have been
engaged for hundreds of years in its decoration. Not only employed by
the coffers of the Church of France, but by the throne that upheld
numerous kings, as well as the wish of the whole populace of France,
and the spoils of other nations. Hundreds of people from different
parts of the world visit it every day, and all leave a franc or two.
Thousands of Parisians visit it every day, and they make no mark of
decay. It stands a living monument of Church and State.

Drive me to the national assembly, I said to the coachman. In ten
minutes I was going up the gallery. Before I went in, the valet went
to a member's coachman, and gave him a franc, and he gave in return a
ticket to the gallery. Each member is allowed so many gallery
tickets, and if he fails in giving them out, he makes his servants
presents of them, and they sell them.

They were debating republican principles. Louis Napoleon was then
President of the Republic, and on the door of every building and gate
of France were these words in legible letters, "Liberte Eqalite
Fraternite." Louis Napoleon was not there that day, and they seemed
to have a good time, like mice when the cat is away. The most
incomprehensible part of their proceeding was, sometimes two would be
speaking at once, regardless of the chair. The speaker hammered away
furiously, but it was hard to tell, unless you knew, whether he was
beating up a revival or a retreat from destruction; as they cooled
off their debative heat, there was always twenty or thirty ready to
throw agitating fuel in the furnace. As they would cool down a whiff,
mushroom-like risings, would be perceptible in four or five different
parts of the spacious hall. I could make nothing out of what was
going on, save willingness to talk instead of listening, and I left.
One handsome and intelligent looking gentleman descended at the same
time, which I learned to be the correspondent of the New York
Tribune. I then took a curve like tour back, across the Seine, by the
Tuillieries, Luxomburg, and back to the same part of the Boulevards,
which was more crowded with fashion, than when I passed along in the
forenoon, and went home. Night came on, and with it, the gayest time
of Paris. The valet said I must go to _Jardin mabeille_, (a ball), I
rode there. This is a nightly ball, but there was no less than fifty
vehicles of different comforts, which showed that a great many
foreigners were there, because Parisians generally prefer promenading
when going to such a feast of pleasure. I paid two francs and went
in.

It was a garden about a square block in size. In all parts of it was
shrubbery of the most fragrant odors. There was an immense number of
little walks, with neat rustic seats for lovers to caress in, from
the disinterested eye; and on my first preambulation, I got lost, and
intruded more than was polite, but I did not know the importance of
this discretion, until I perilously saw the danger. Had I gone on
without stopping, I would have led myself to the orchestra, where and
when I could have taken part in the amusement to the approbation of
all present. When I discovered that I did not know what I was about,
I stopped quickly and looked scrutinizingly around those snug little
bowers. All in a minute out came a "bower lover," as furious as a
cat. I asked him "where the ball was;" he discovered that I was no
Frenchman, and could not have meant intrusion; he directed me to go
straight ahead, and I left him in his bliss.

Like a round pigeon house on the end of pole, I pronounce the
orchestra. A stair ran up to the pigeon house from the platform
round the great pole, or post that supported it. A small enclosure
was under the orchestra and occasionally the band would descend to
the platform to play. Round this orchestra they danced. The
spectators seemed to be exclusively foreigners; they made a ring
around the gay lotharios as unbroken as the one they made around the
orchestra. The bassy and fluty melodious Band, discoursed the
sweetest waltz that ever tickled my admiration. Off they glided like
a scared serpent, winding their curvy way as natural as if they were
taking their chances. There they come! But there is some still going
in the ranks, and there is still a vacancy. Twice they have made the
circuit, and the hoop is complete. Now to me it is all dizziness, and
it all looked to me as a moving body of muses from times of yore.
Occasionally my eye would cling to a couple for an instant, but this
was occasioned by the contrast between a large, fat, and heavy
gentleman, that had become a troublesome neighbor to all that chose
to get in his way. Whenever any of the lighter footed would discover
their close proximity to his Appollo pedestals, like a shooting star
they would flit away, and leave him monarch of all he surveyed.

I wish to describe a few of the most conspicuous, but I will wait for
a quadrille, where I can get them to take their places in
description.

The name of my valet de place is Oscar.

"Oscar, what nation does that puny looking, red-skinned man belong
to?" "A _Maltese_," said he, as if he never would stop sounding the
ese, but he added the "I believe." I afterwards found out that he was
some of the Canary Island's stock; but the best of the stock. A
beautiful French girl held him by the hind part of his coat with her
left hand, whilst she held with her right his hand, lest he might go
off in his glee, "half shot." She was also afraid that some
interested lady might take better care of him than herself. He was
fashionably dressed, and in Paris, as a nabob, His actions
represented some rich man's foolish son.

I swear by my father's head, I see a live Turk! Turban! sack hanging
between his legs, more empty than Falstaff's! one of the genuine
breed that followed Saladin to the plains of Palestine and stood
before Richard's battle-axe with his scimitar! one of the head
choppers of Christians! Perhaps the next will be the amiable
countenance of "Blue Beard." The old Turk and his beard is trying to
dance, but his bag won't let him. He is let down, and goes off the
track. He is now mixing some oakum with tobacco. Now he is looking
on, like a poor boy at a frolic--yes! he would if he could. I am sure
his first duty to-morrow will be to hunt a mosque and give up
dancing. He is leaving and trying to get his money back.

I walked round on the opposite side, and saw several other
incomprehensibles. "What tall, fine looking, yellow skinned man is
that, Oscar, with that tall lady standing looking on?" "That, sir,"
said he, "is a very rich quadroon from Louisiana, I believe New
Orleans. He lives at No. 4, _Boulevard Possoniere_, when he is in
town, but he has his country residence nine miles in the country. He
has a very handsome French lady for a wife, and it is said he left
New Orleans on account of their prejudice to color. He is a very
popular man here, and is said to be worth $150,000." Just then I saw
Mr. Holbrook, of the New Orleans Picayune, and Mr. Fellowes of the
firm of Fellowes & Co., step up to this man and shake him warmly by
the hand, and said, "Mr. Cordevoille, don't you know me? I patronized
your tailor's shop five or six years." Cordevoille had been the
largest tailorizer in the South, and accumulated a large fortune, and
sold out to his partner, Mr. Lacroix, who still is carrying on the
firm under the name and style of Cordevoille & Lacroix. Mr.
Cordevoille was looking the very picture of a gentleman; he seemed to
be a great object of respect to those that spoke to the lady he was
conversing with in the French tongue. He reminded me more of Prince
Albert in his manners than any other person around. Had his face not
been pock marked, he would have conveyed a conception of an inferior
Appollo; his _tout ensemble_ had as many brilliant cuts of a true
gentleman's conduct, as the single diamond he wore. After some
enquiry about New Orleans, he invited some American gentlemen to his
country seat; it was to be on the following day, and they being high
toned gentlemen of sense, they accepted, not so much for pleasure
and information, as for giving Mr. Cordevoille to understand that
they understood the duty of gentlemen; no doubt they felt that if
they refused, Mr. Cordevoille might feel the weight of such a
refusal. They agreed also to stay all night, which invitation had
been extended by Mr. Cordevoille. Lest it be a censure on these
gentlemen, I refrain from going any further with a subject so
delicate.

I now walked under the roof of a very extensive hall; in it was all
kinds of refreshments. All one side of the hall was a door, so that
when the crowd in the garden was likely to be overtaken by a shower,
dancing went on in there. Immense crowds were seated about at tables
smoking, and discussing politics, but not one gentleman had his foot
on the table, except an American quietly seated in one corner in a
profound soliloquy. He was chewing tobacco. I did'nt stop to see
where he spit, for fear he might claim nationality. I learned that
several of the quietly seated, were members of the National Assembly.
It was now getting late, and gentlemen that had pretty mates were
going through the gates in compact succession. Why gentlemen with
pretty mates could not stay to the last was a mystery to me. But to
solve that mystery I followed the crowd, and discovered that the
nearer they got home, the more affectionate they got.

The most of these couples would stop at the first _cafe_ and call for
their _tass du coffee_ and _vere d'eau de vie_ (cup of coffee and
glass of brandy). They would set the brandy on fire and burn the
spirits out, and then pour it into the coffee. As soon as they began
to feel the effects of this pleasant nourishment, they would move
again for home.

At 11 o'clock at night carriages were running in all directions from
Balls, Theatres, Operas, Museums, Concerts, Soirees, Dancing Schools,
and more amusements than could be named in one article.

I went to the hotel, seeking my own amusement. I could not conjecture
a more comfortable place than the house I roomed at, after seeing all
this night's bustle. Even if I could not find my own room, I was in
the house of acquaintances.

I went to the room of an acquaintance, and talked and lingered in
agreeable conversation and amusement until near day. I approached my
own chamber, and found that whilst I was out helping to make a city
of dissipators, Elvereta had been to my room and arranged my wardrobe
_comme foi_. This ends my "first night in Paris."




I MUST ROVE AWAY FROM PARIS.


Here is the middle of August, nearly a month of uninterrupted sight
seeing has passed away, and my curiosity is surfeited. I am now on
the eve of roving away to "the hilly Oberland," where I will tire my
limbs on the rocky Alps, and crave the comfort I here have enjoyed. I
know I am but leaving Paris to enjoy the anxiety to get back.

Four days are gone by, and I have spent half a day at Chalon, and one
at Lyons, the "silk city." In this last half a day, I saw more
manufactories than I ever saw in one town. It is said that machines
to the enormous power of two hundred horse, are in some of these
factories. From 50 to 60,000 hands are engaged in manufacturing silk
daily. This is a very rich looking city, and must indeed, be very
rich. It is no doubt an older city than Paris. If a man was brought
here blindfolded, after beholding its magnificence and wealth, he
might easily be led to believe he was at the Capitol of France.

Another day is gone, and finds me not less fleeting. I am away up the
Rhone, at "_Aix le Bain_." This romantic little town of a few
thousand inhabitants, has the celebrity of chronology of 700 years
before the Christian era. It points to some warm baths, which it is
named after, as its grey hairs; and of which was its phoenix. The
Romans built it up on account of its feasibility of becoming a
"national bath tub" of Gaul. Under the ground, as far as the ambition
of a Roman chooses to go, these baths could be made profitable. There
are now from eight to ten stone walled rooms, where all a man has to
do to put the bath in readiness, is to open the door.

Some 200 or 300 Frenchmen were here passing away the summer, enjoying
themselves fishing, dancing and gaming, for there is a very rich bank
in a splendid Casino, to draw that class of France that live on
excitement, I saw one American here who was broke. He wanted to
relate his misfortunes to me, but I did not wish to hear them, as I
was well posted before he tried to post me.

I am intercepted on all sides, as I step off the steps of the hotel,
by donkey boys, who are indeed anxious to have me take a ride to a
little old city not far away, but in Savoy. It is impossible to tell
a good donkey from a bad one by his looks, and each boy assures me
that his donkey is the best in Aix. By way of proving it to me, he
gives me the word of an American that rode him the summer before; but
were I an Englishman instead of what he took me to be, he would have
had other testimonials more influential. But what these little good
natured plagues say is true, so far as the words of their patrons are
to be trusted; it would be very indecorous to ride his little donkey
three or four miles and have the little owner to run along behind all
the time and whip and beat the poor donkey, and then get off and walk
in without saying he was a "good donkey," "the best you ever saw."
That pleases the little fellows. His donkey is worth 5 or $6, and to
run down his little stock, would be no part of a gentleman.

August is not yet gone, but I am a long way from Paris. Here I am, at
the "City of Watches," Geneva, and lake Leman. Never did a better
opportunity present itself to man, to make a good impression, than
this beautiful day presents Geneva to me, her visitor. Not a cloud
intervenes to Mount Blanc's snow clad peak, fifty odd miles away, and
it looks as if it was merely over yonder hill, to the right of
Byron's house, which is not two miles away. It reminds me of a still
cloud, over a sun-set that indicates fair weather to-morrow. As Mount
Blanc is covered with snow here in August, it makes another mountain
of a lesser height that lies between here and Mount Blanc, appear as
if its top was painted red. Mount Blanc, standing beyond, with her
white capped peak, through the intervening heat of this hot day, the
small one may well resemble a fiery painted mountain. This is the
edge of Switzerland, and still the French is the prevalent language,
which language seems destined to be universal throughout Europe.

After looking over some of the watch factories, I went to Mount Blanc
on horses, and stayed two days at the a city at its base, and went
across the country to Vevey, a small town on lake Leman. To my
astonishment I saw two Americans here. One was Dr. Elliot, of
Louisville, Ky., and the other Mr. N., of New Orleans. The old Dr.
was very glad to see me. He and I had been sick companions together
on the steamship Africa, where and when we both wished that we had
never heard of Europe, but now that we were out of the slough, and
traveling over the Republican land of Wm. Tell in the very best
health and spirits, and like the roe and buck, we were happy in these
Highlands.

Vevey is a very handsomely situated village, one would not forget it
after seeing its picturesque groups of vineyards and rustic huts,
interspersed with fairy-like palaces. It is a lively little place,
and a great many English and rich Switzers come here in the dog days
of summer.

After staying at Vevey a couple of days, I hired a carriage and
plodded on over this hilly land to Switzerland's Capital, Bern. Bern
is a very dull looking place, and most especially so for a Capitol.
The second story of the houses hang over the pavement, so you can
walk the town without getting wet. The language generally is German,
so you see the close alliance of languages in Switzerland.

Five days more; I am in the Great Oberland, among the towering Alps.
I traversed the whole of the valley of Interlaken, to the almost
hidden village of Interlaken. The hotels are all small, generally not
more than ten rooms, and are called pensions; queer name to create
an appetite with.

English come here in summer for cheap living; there is also some
Americans with patience enough to stay a short time and strengthen
their means, that are most too frequently consumed at Paris,
Brussels, or Vienna. As you leave the village to take a tour in a
carriage up the great valley, you pass the ruins of an ancient
castle, which once was the court of an ancient and noble race, whose
ancestors are not to be traced, whose names was Unspunnin. A young
knight belonging to another court scaled the walls and stole away
Ida, the last male descendant's daughter, and made her his bride.
Many years of bloody strife followed, after which the young knight
came forth to Burkard, the lord of this castle and father of Ida,
with his infant son in his arms and offered himself up, when the old
man went into tears and made Rudolph's infant son heir of his
numerous estates.

Farther up the valley a place is pointed out where a great murder was
committed, and a noble young knight was the doer of the deed. He
could never rest afterwards, so he fled from the sight of man, and
has never been heard of since. In the immense vallies of perpetual
glaciers, the snow has lain for thousands of years, and where the
mountains drip upon the glaciers below, crevasses are made through
and under. It is supposed that this knight crept into one of these
and there froze up his heart, unseen by father, mother, sister,
brother, friend or acquaintance.

This part of Switzerland is unlike any other part. It is nothing but
mountains and small lakes. The lakes are as apt to be found on the
tops of mountains as in vallies. From these large basins of water on
top of mountains, are crevasses running through side rocks, and
falling off makes the crevasses through and under the glaciers as I
have described.

But here is a specimen of the intelligence of the Switzers of olden
time. It is a little old town with a wall round it, and a hill close
up to the wall all round. The walls could have done no more good than
the hill if there was any spunk in the builders. The lake of Lucern
comes up to this bigoted little spot. Its appelation is in honor of
this important lake of catfish and suckers. It has a piece of art,
too, a lion sculptured in the side of a rock outside the walls. It is
the most natural artificial lion I ever saw. Here is Zurich, the
prettiest city in Switzerland, notwithstanding Byron's praise of
Geneva. Here is the famed "Zurich waters." The people here have not
that staring stupidity so characteristic of the Swiss in other towns.
They are all going along about their business as if they had lived
among strangers all their lives. It is a thriving town, and they
manufacture silks here on quite an extensive scale. In conclusion,
Switzerland is a Republic, and all parts, except the ruggedest
mountains, is in the highest state of cultivation. Wine and wheat
are among their chief studies. They are devout christians. Every mile
of their highways there is an image of the Son of Mary hung high up
by the roadside, denoting his suffering, patience and forbearance.
The Swiss are not a homely people. Their country is too mountainous
for railroads.




SPICY TOWNS IN GERMANY.


Having passed over the borders of Switzerland and Germany, and
through the first German town, called Friedsburg, I will linger a
while at Strasborg. It was once the Capitol of many provinces. In
times gone by, many centuries ago, it was called the Roman's
"Argentoratum," and experienced more than a few of the miseries of
war. The tallest piece of monumental art the world ever had recorded
on the pages of its Chronology, not even the Tower of Babel excepted,
is here in this city of over two thousand years old. Its name is the
Munster, and ought to have been Monster. It is a Church, and was
three hundred years in process of erection. It is 474 feet from the
earth, and to give a clearer perception of its height, it is 24 feet
higher than the Pyramids of Egypt. In it is that famous clock, made
three hundred years ago, which runs yet. This clock might justly have
an other half added to its name, _clock_. Many people flock there
every day to see its manoeuvres. At 12 o'clock, or a few minutes
before twelve, wooden men, representing the Apostles or Priests, come
out of the clock, and some inferior personages also, and march a
short distance and waits a few minutes to be warned of the hour,
then this waited for moment is signalized by a brass cock coming out
of the clock on the other side, which flaps its wings three times and
crows, after which this group of old men returns to their vestry of
study or seclusion, and the clock clicks on as it has done for three
hundred years, and the crowd disperses.

The streets are crowded with soldiers, as in Paris, and the ladies go
about the streets holding up their dresses just the right height to
attract attention.

The rain is over, and there is no more attraction in the spicy town
of Strasborg, so I am going to Baden Baden, the spiciest gambling
place in Europe. In the Park is a great large building in the shape
of a country stable, but full of splendor, called a Casino or
conversation room, and this conspicuous appellation is conspicuously
written on the front of the building. In this open hall--open to
all--is gambling hours between each meal. The great gambling table is
in the centre with numerous stools, such as are to be found in
Stuarts, or any other fashionable Dry Goods store in America. On
these stools are all classes of society that like excitement--dukes,
earls, marquises, barons, knights, valets, and even liveried
coachmen, betting from 5 francs to 10,000 francs. While I was in the
Casino the Prince of Prussia broke the bank. Only thirty thousand
francs is allowed in the Bank at once, and if broken no more business
or amusement goes on that day in that Cassino; but there are others
dealing on the same platform.

It is quite amusing to see the anxiety written on the brow of
players, and to see the expression of disinterested persons, which we
in America term "stuck on the game." I have seen more excruciating
pain come from an outsider by the loss of some pile of gold, than I
ever saw come from the expression of the loser. Here comes a Count
who has been betting and losing on another bank, and he came to
change his luck. He threw down his last thousand and it won; he let
it all stand on the red, and this time it all goes into the bank. He
exclaims, "that's my luck." Then the outsiders would cast an eye of
pity on him, and say, he might have known that he would lose it, when
the very reason they were not betting, was, they were broke on the
same bank perhaps a week ago. I see six beautiful noble ladies
betting, with their money snugly piled up before them. Their bets
generally range from twenty to one hundred francs. But the most
amusing part of this crowd's entertainment is, the airs that the
money scampers put on. If a lady or gentleman should win, he pays it
with an air of nonchalence and great pleasure; but if he wins, which
he is sure to do in the end, he looks very melancholy, as if it were
the result of accident, and in his opinion it was very vulgar for the
bank to win. I put down a five franc piece, it won; I let the ten
stand, it won; I let the twenty stand, it won; I moved it, and it
lost, and I quit. He attempted to console me by saying I ought to
have let it stand where it was, "what do you bet on now sir," said
he; I don't bet any more said I, I have already lost five francs. He
took me to be a green Yankee and said no more to me. Another amusing
sight was there; it was two more broken American youths, who said
they were waiting for Mr. Peabody to forward them money, and was
"sound on the borry." I did'nt pride myself much here on my
nationality, lest I would have some unprofitable fame. One of them
owed two weeks' board in the British Hotel. He was mighty polite when
he met me in company, and placed me under the truly painful necessity
of being introduced to some person of note whom he had himself been a
bore upon. He asked me if I was acquainted with the Grand Duke, at
the same time looking over the heads of the players, as if he would
call him if he could only get his eye on him. Then he insisted on my
going down to the other Bank, where the chances were better, and
where the Grand Duke of Baden would most likely be. I declined all
invitations, and got a carriage and went out of town to see the ruins
of the Erhreinstein Castle.

Having returned and paid my bill, I left this little German town to
go to Heidelburg, where once dwelled a good Castilian, Frederick the
1st, of the Palatinate.

James lived between Baden Baden and Heidelberg two or three years,
and wrote the two following novels, which gives a better history of
these, the Castles of Heidelberg and Erhreinstein, than any other
history gives or can be obtained at present. He lived at Carlsruth.
The Grand Duke lives at Baden Baden, and Carlsruth, and Heidelberg,
and he is here now at Heidelberg, and was here when my American
friend was hunting him in the Casino.

Tilly, the great French general, blew up the front side of this
castle in 1620, since which all its magnificence has been known but
as tradition. The picture gallery still remains perfect, that is to
say, some wings of it. There is many talented artists now grouped
about in its rural halls, for the grass has grown up in them, taking
copies of these splendid pictures. The city of Heidelberg which this
castle overlooks, is quite a large city for a German interior town. I
was told by my landlord that its population was upwards of 60,000.
The cellar of the old ruins still contains its wine casks. I saw one
cask or vat said to hold 60,000 bottles of wine. Ten men can dine
round a King Arthur's round table on its head. In the cellar is the
statue of one of King Frederick's fools, with one side of his face
painted green and one half of his hair red, whilst the other is not.
He drank eighteen bottles of wine each day and lived one hundred
years. Father Matthew never heard of that juice of such admirable
longevity, or it would have clapped the cap on his spouting
eloquence. German towns are spicy towns. Outside of the city, just
across the Necker, is to be two duels to-day with short swords, and
they fight duels on that duelling ground every day, either students
or other citizens. It is considered a small gladiatorial arena. The
Grand Duke is about to leave for Carlsruth, and the people are
parading with great glee. Children women and men are crowding the
gates in solid batallions; you would think old Zack had come to town.

I am dizzy with reflections of these fast little towns of Germany. As
I whirl along now towards the cradle of the Rothschild's my brain is
rocking its reflective matter from the canton of the quiet and
religious Swiss here to the burghers of this profane people. But here
I am, in the independent little territory of the Duchess of
Darmstadt. Each mile-post is painted barber-pole style. This Duchess
is better known as the Duchess of Nassau. The cars stopped at
Darmstadt, and if a good big southern barber's shop had been here the
people all would have gone in it instead of Darmstadt by mistake. The
gates are barberified in its style of designation.

I saw an American looking out of the cars at these posts until he
felt his beard. All at once he threw himself back in his seat, as if
he thought the country was too dull to look at, and of course
impossible to produce anything sharp enough to take off beards.

Frankfort may be strictly termed the capitol of Germany; because all
the German Princes meet here once a year and hold a conference on the
great topics of interest to the whole German people. This gathering
is called the Diet. This Diet enacts for the German principalities,
some of the most wholesome and sound logical laws that comes from the
parliament of any nation of these modern times. Frankfort has
produced the most sagacious merchants the world ever knew. I have
just been to look at Goethe's house. It has stood the scathing
weather of the main for five hundred years, but none of the
calamities of time have laid their fingers upon it, save a slight
decay.

"Frankfort on the Oder" must not be misconstrued so as to convey an
idea of this Frankfort. This is generally designated as Frankfort on
the Main. It is a town full of high spirited people, and lively as
crickets, but less sedate. Business is always good here. Each man is
in some degree possessed with the ambition of a Rothschild. I am
going to see the house of the primitive Rothschild, and then off to
the Rhine.

Here I am at Mainz, on the banks of the Rhine. Looking at my ticket
down the Rhine, I see this is the 17th of September, but the weather
indicates summer time. This old, dead, but vast town, has the
distinction allotted to it of producing the first book printer.

I will not attempt, as most chroniclers, to describe the impression
the legend river of Europe made on me; suffice it to say that, on
every peak, and that is saying a good deal, is the ruins of tyrants,
and every hole that is made through these turrets, sends out a woeful
wisp of a "Blue Beard's wrath," that quickens the pulse of a modern
civilian.

I am now in town, at a great hotel, called Disch. Here is a very old
city, and in old times Roman emperors were proclaimed here. The wife
of Germanicus, Aggrippa, the mother of the tyrant that "fiddled"
whilst Rome was burning, was born here. In this city is a church
which has already cost four millions of florins, and is not finished
yet. In this church is one of the most imposing pieces of splendor
the eye of man ever gazed on. Inside of this case of jewels is three
skulls filled with jewels. They glitter about in the nose and eyes
and ears like moving maggots, and causes man to gaze with amazement
upon the peculiarities of the people of German towns. Its name is
Cologne. Its modern merit is its production of Colognes, not little
towns, but the fluid possessing requisite qualifications of
admittance to the private apartment of the sweetest virgin.

I must now bring this chapter to a close and go down among the
Dutch.




DOWN AMONG THE DUTCH.


Having been disappointed in seeing a magnificent city, and smelling
one, I am rapidly running down the Rhine to the Netherlands--Holland
among the Dutch. These boats are hardly worth mentioning, more than
to say they have steam and a crew. The crew are very stupid looking;
mind you I say stupid looking, but I don't mean to say they are
stupid. They have nothing to say or do with the passengers. They
don't leave their watch and come to the cabin to sit a minute and
talk with passengers, and occasionally "take a hand" at a game, as
they do on our inferior boats running the Yazoo, Arkansas, Red and
Black River, until the boiler hisses, or the boat snags. They are
slow but sure.

In the cabin, which is below, is a sufficient number of small tables
in restaurant style, and whoever eats does it _a la carte_. If you
eat what is worth only fifteen grochens, you only pay fifteen
grochens; but, if you eat one hundred grochens' worth, you will pay
one hundred grochens; not one cent over or under is required, for the
Dutch, as a class, are a reasonable, just and inoffensive people,
therefore wish nothing but fair understanding and dealing. They
always keep an interpreter on a cheap scale, to enable them to get
along without difficulty. He was either a waiter, dish washer or
potato-peeler, but on a no more expensive scale. They are the last
people I am acquainted with to count unhatched chickens.

Captain Husenhork, I understand, is a gentleman and a good humored
man, but the eye of a lynx would have a task to catch a smile upon
his hickory countenance. He brought an old Dutch musket on deck for
me to amuse myself with, shooting at snipe along the <DW18>s. I shot
into their midst several times, but they all flew up, circled around
and lit at the same place. I never before saw so many of this style
or genera of bird. Their bills was the most conspicuous part of them.

The boat is now turning to land at a pretty large town called
Arnheim; but Holland is so low that a man cannot see the spires of a
city until he enters its walls.

Holland is one vast marsh. It is dyked so as to drain each acre, but
it is the richest soil in Europe, and its productiveness is so
profitable that its owners would not swop it for the land of Goshen.
It has nourished a people that seem to be well adapted to its nature;
the forbearance of the Dutch people is not to be equalled by any. The
labor required to till such soil as Holland's, has been the best
friend to the Hollanders, for no people on the earth enjoys the labor
as does a Holland farmer, and no people could make it so profitable.
In taking a hack ride a few miles in the country around Arnheim, I
can say the nurseries are unsurpassed by Switzerland, the Hanse
States, or France.

Having gossiped in Arnheim two days, I called for my bill, paid it,
packed my trunk for Amsterdam. Wine being such an extravagant item I
thought I would enquire into it, as I might get some information why
it was so much more in Holland than the other parts of the Rhine. I
found that wine was an imported liquor, consequently, the duty made
the difference between wine on that side of the Rhine and the other.
A swilly beer is most universally the beverage of the Netherlands.
The clerk supposing that I was not satisfied with the length of my
bill, took it in his inspection and examined it carefully, and said,
"Sir, you eat snipe." "Well is that any reason you should make my
bill like a snipes?" "Yes sir," said he, "it is extra." "All right,
sir, I did not ask you about any part of the bill except wine." Next
day I was in Amsterdam, the wealthiest city of Holland. It is a city
of canals; they run through all the main parts of the town, leaving a
large side-walk on each side. Some pretty large ships are in the
heart of the town. Bridges run across the canals, but they revolve on
hinges and are easily turned.

The gayest time of Amsterdam is dead winter. Then the Zuyder Zee and
all its canals are frozen over, when ladies and gentlemen are skating
night and day. Vessels sail charmingly on the ice, but their bottoms
are made for the ice instead of water. Balls and pic-nic parties are
numerous in winter. The Amsterdam ladies are all healthy looking. I
saw half a dozen ladies yesterday shooting snipe, when I rode out to
Saandam. They had on nice little boots and moved among the high grass
like skilful hunters. At Saandam I registered my name in the little
"book of names," in the house of Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia.
He ran away from Russia and came here and rented this little house
with only two rooms, and lived in poverty here, to learn to build
ships. Hollandaise builders worked with him a year at a time, but
knew not that it was Peter the Great, of the Russias. The little
frame hut is three hundred years old, but has been preserved on
account of its strange and novel history.

26th of September, and I am at the capitol of Holland, The Hague. The
King lives here, about a quarter of a mile from my hotel, the
"Bellevue." But I just dined with a King. The father of the Queen is
the old King of Wurtemburg, and he is putting up here, and we have a
guard of honor at our door. He is going out--he bows to me.




COL. FELLOWES LEARNING DUTCH.


I must now introduce the reader to an American "merchant Prince,"
better known by his associates as the "Prince of Good Fellows." This
is Cornelius Fellowes, of the respectable firm of Messrs. Fellowes &
Co., of New Orleans, La. He is rather more than a medium size man,
and straight as an exclamation point, with handsome limbs. He cannot
be justly termed handsome, without adding _man_. His face was the
color of a last year's red apple all free from decay; his hair is
light for black, and not very thick on top, and he is aged 48 years.
He is no politician, statesman, or orator, but as a business man, he
is "sound on the goose." I know of no man that could settle business
disagreements to the entire satisfaction of both, better than Mr.
Fellowes. He would have made a profound judge, his heart and talent
alike is so justly qualified. He is a very liberal and extravagant
man, more so than any man I am acquainted with, but he is by no means
a benevolent man; I don't mean to say that he is stingy, for he is
not, but I mean to indicate that he always has some original idea of
his own to make him give; for example, if a group of little ragged
girls come around him begging, he will instantly feel his pockets,
and take out all the change, but the most of it would go into the
hands of the prettiest or cleanest, at the same time saying, "this is
a pretty little girl," and if there is any left they will be sure to
get the remainder. Or if a group of little boys are the beggars, he
will give the most to the smartest, and exclaim, "he is a smart
little fellow." And sometimes he is conscious of this partiality, and
tries to evade it by throwing the coin among the boys to see them
scuffle for it, but this trait of his is so marked, that he will be
sure to throw it on his favorite's head, and if he fails to catch it,
it is a sure sign of another chance for the boys. He laughs heartily
when his boy catches it, as if it done his soul good. He is so proud,
or haughty, or perhaps I had better say, naturally aristocratic, that
he can descend from his sphere to vulgar without knowing it, and
joke, laugh, and even offer some of his drink, but if you forget
yourself, he will recollect himself. He can treat a free <DW52> man
as polite as he can a poor white one, and a class that are below them
must be in his estimation what they are.

He is a man with no enemies; I don't believe he has one, and he
himself hates no man, and in fact is always happy, jovial, and
scarcely ever disappointed with his calculations of things and
people. Whatever the Col. does, he does well, but he always puts it
off until it can be delayed no longer. If he makes up his mind that
he must go up the river, and look in the affairs of his agents or
debters, he will appoint next week, but four or five weeks will
follow in succession, but as next week must eventually come, he
battles with that until the last day. Saturday he leaves on the last
boat, and, is his most interested partner abler than another man to
tell when he will ever turn his face home, or whether he will stop at
Natchez, or Memphis, for what convinced him at 2 o'clock Saturday
that he had better get off that evening, was as much the departure of
his friends on that boat, as the conviction that these affairs of his
must be looked into. When he wants a partner in any of his various
traffics, he never looks for a man with capital, but one that
understands what his views are, and would feel an aspiring interest,
so much so as to devote all his time and talent and scrutiny to its
development of prosperity in the end, if not at first. His object
seems more the perfection of the business than its profits; but at
the end of the year of business, which is the first day of September,
if there is no profit, and he is not very deeply in, he will not be
inclined to risk much, but he sticks like a leech, and this year must
pay the loss of last. He will bleed some branch of this business
before he lets go. The balance sheet of the firm of Messrs. Fellowes
and Co., foots per annum about $140,000 to $170,000 profit; but if he
lost by giving up some of his planters that have made a good crop,
$10,000, he thinks that he managed badly, and goes about finding who
they are connected with, and whether they wish to come back again. He
will now furnish them with more means than he refused them when they
left him. No man can get along with a planter better than Cornelius
Fellowes; for he considers a planter, or slave holder, his equal in
every particular; consequently feels himself at home with them. A
planter looks at a merchant as his agent until they become the
leading houses in their community, then they are honored in having
the great merchant to stay a few days and hunt. But when they go to
New Orleans they expect to be waited on by the merchant, when to
their great disgust, the merchant sends his clerk to look after their
wants; and the merchant, instead of persuading them to come and put
up at his house, or dine with him, has other friends more congenial
to his taste and dignity, than the planter with his Sunday suit of
store made clothes. But as Mr. Fellowes never cares much for looks or
position, and as he is an old bachelor and never had a house, and a
slave holder is his equal, he hesitates not to go to the ladies
ordinary and order his seat at table, and call on the rustic
gentleman and family to dine with him, where they drink such wine as
they would most likely take at home for stump water and cider. But
this familiarity will tell upon the nerves of Mr. Fellowes, for he
does not like to feel himself obliged to do any thing, and they will,
in this good mood, invite him to the opera, theatre, or most likely
the circus. Now this stumps his benevolent feelings to those who
need no benevolence; he has his club mates, or the gaieties of
Orleans to meet, where are to be found the very men he must touch
glasses or whif a cigar with. He is now puzzled. He will let them
know before dark, but will have their tickets for them already. He
surely will be found missing; he says to himself "it will not do to
refuse them without a good and plausable excuse," therefore he plans
in his mind. He calls on one of his numerous clerks, and requests him
to take an amount of money and go and buy so many tickets, and
requests him further to call on Mr. Brown, and make an excuse, and
offer to accompany him and the ladies to the amusement in view. These
rich, bustle-dressed, young girls are diamonds in the eyes of young
clerks; and young clerks in the best houses are Adonises to what
these girls are used to. They soon become agreeable, and when they
return home, Sam Smith, their next neighbor, is treated as he
deserves to be by civilized beings. Soon after a letter comes to Mr.
Clerk from this plantation, with a lady's scrawl, care Fellowes &
Co., and Mr Fellowes delights to find that his suggestion of this
young man met the entire approbation of the favorite of the old
farmer. The fact is Mr. Fellowes can kill more birds with one stroke
of his policy, than any other man that studies so little. Mr.
Fellowes is never in so bad a humour as when he treats one kindly,
and it is unkindly returned, to illustrate this, I must drop this
epitome of his history, and carry the reader to the Capitol of
Holland, where Mr. Fellowes is trying to learn something of this
slow and easy people. He was smoking his segar when the King of
Wurtimburg went out, but took no notice of him, because he was
engaged with a group of beggar boys, throwing stivers at them. An
English gentleman that had lived in the Indies, was by us, and we had
travelled on the Rhine together. "Let us go down to the sea, five
miles off, and see the Dutch fisheries. I understand they are
extensively engaged in fishing, Mr. Grant," said Col. Fellowes. "I
have been there, Mr. Fellowes," said the Englishman, "but will go
again with you, though I know you will be annoyed with these plagued
beggars." "O," said Mr. Fellowes, "I like to see them, with their
large wooden shoes, jumping after the grochens, and further, they are
a great people, and I wish to find out a great deal about their
habits and manners; I think I shall stay here a week." The fame of
the Col. had reached the remotest corner of the Hague, and squads of
two and three were seen in all directions coming to the Bellevue
House. Here our lacquey brought before the door a fine turnout, and
he jumped in and drove away like a prince, whilst they followed on
all sides, some hundreds of yards, like Fallstaff's soldiers, ready
to run from any one they found they were close to that knew them
except their abject leader. In a few moments we were down on the
North sea. It was very cold down on the beach, but fishermen were
walking in the sea from their smacks, with hamper baskets full of all
kinds of fish. Their vessels that had been two days seining, was
full of fish, but as these vessels could get no nearer than a quarter
of a mile to land, they always fill their bushel basket, and shoulder
it, and walk through the surging waves on the beach, on whose sand
was pyramids of fish piled up, to be sold at a zwanzich bushels
(about 25 cents). Sometimes they would disappear in the waves with
the fish, but would appear soon again nearer shore, plodding on
patiently.

Whilst Col. Fellowes was reading a description of this fish point,
the lacquey explained a conversation he had with six or seven beggars
off a rod from us. He said they were anxious to know who we three
fellows were, and had dubbed Mr. Fellowes "Count of New York." I was
son of the Count, and would eventually become Count of the Amsterdam,
of the Empire state. Mr. Grant was dignified with the royal
appellation of "Duke of Brunswick." They certainly found more curious
matter in the polish of our glazed boots, than we did at their large
wooden trotters, that at every step rattled against the others, who
stood so close together as to form a bouquet of dirty Dutch heads of
various colors.

Having informed Mr. Fellowes of his new made honor, he laughed
heartily, and called them nearer to corroborate the information that
they had been so lucky to find out, by throwing among them some of
his revenue of the city named after their great Amsterdam. The Col.
threw stavers and grochens until he astonished the natives. Some
jumped clear over other's heads. Now the Col. was in his glory. This
was Friday, and they had'nt eaten anything, but from their movements
and agility, you would swear "they would make hay while the sun
shines." Their strange movements was not only a signal for miles up
the beach, but the fishermen had abandoned their smacks, and were
coming through the surf, and under it. The Col. here run out of
money, and called on my money bag, which was hanging under my arm
like a bird bag, and was full of various coins, from Louis d' Or's of
twenty franc pieces, to the smallest denominations. I gave small coin
until I thought he had thrown away enough, and then cried broke. Mr.
Grant and myself drew back from the Col., and he was beseiged. He
told them he was broke, at the same time feeling all his pockets,
whilst they was looking all around him for pockets he might overlook.
About sixty or seventy had circled him, and we were laughing to
ourselves because we saw he was vexed and felt himself in a dilemma.
The little Dutch had almost fell down in the sand by his feet, and
was feeling up his pantaloons leg to see if some was not dropping.
One old honest Dutchman that had been carefully examining Mr.
Fellowes coat tail, had come across his white handkerchief, and took
it round in front and returned it. Here Mr. Fellowes showed tokens of
fear, and he hallowed out, "Lacquey, why don't you take a stick and
beat them off, don't you see they are robbing me?" "No sir, that
handkerchief he thought was something that you had overlooked
sticking to your clothes, and he brought it to your notice," said the
lacquey. "Then tell them I am broke and drive them off." "Yes, sir,
if I can." Here he went to work in earnest, explaining that the Count
had run out of money but he had a plenty in the Bank, and they could
get no more to-day. Then they went away about a rod and seemed buried
in reflection. They started to come again, but the Col. backed, while
the lacquey appealed to their reason by informing them that were it
the king himself, he could not carry all his money with him. Mr.
Fellowes shook himself and tried to put on a pleasing countenance,
but we could not for our lives maintain our gravity at his lesson of
familiarity while learning Dutch.

We walked up the beach, and conversed on the subject of the North Sea
and Sir John Franklin, when all of a sudden Mr. Fellowes called to
the coachman to drive up. I looked around and saw the beggars coming.
We lost no time in retreating. While passing through the gates of the
city, I noticed a bronze lion placed in the position of a guardian
over it. I said, what an awful condition Daniel must have been in
when in the lion's den. "No worse," said the Col. "than I was in with
the Dutch!" Here a boy opened a door on the Col.'s side, that he
might descend. As the Col. stepped out, he alighted on the Dutchman's
wooden shoe, and tripped himself up. As he picked himself up and
moved towards the hotel door, he exclaimed in an under tone, d----n
the Dutch.

It must not be supposed that Mr. Fellowes meant any harm to the
Dutch, but, they were not in his opinion, as agreeable as they might
be. He left next day, although he intended staying a week "learning
Dutch."




ON! ON! TO WATERLOO.


Without noting Rotterdam, Holland's lowest town, and Antwerp, an old
Flemish town, I am at the carpet city of Belgium, Brussels, on my way
to Waterloo. I have a little old lacquey I just hired and he is as
cute as a mink. "All ready, sir," said he, "shall I drive you to the
Palace or the Museum?" "No sir, on to Waterloo!" Here the hackman
remonstrated--he was not engaged for twelve miles and only engaged
inside the city walls, and would not go to Waterloo this cold wet day
for less than twenty francs. "Go on, sir," said I, and he traversed
the whole of the Brussels Boulevard before he passed the gates. Here
we are at the battle-field where Wellington rose and Napoleon fell.
Wellington conquered the master of the world. Byron says, in his Ode
on Napoleon,--

    "'Tis done! but yesterday a king,
      And armed with kings to strive;
    And now thou art a nameless thing--
      So abject, yet alive"

He continues:--

    "Is this the man with thousand thrones
      Who strewed our earth with hostile bones,
    And can he yet survive?
      Since he miscalled the morning star,
    Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far."

My guide was an old revolutionary soldier who was opposed to the
Bourbons before the days of Charles the 10th. He fought in this
bloody fray, and pleads up fool play on the part of Grouchy.

Mr. Cotton's clerk sold me a copy of a book giving the details of
this battle, which it took ten years to accumulate the matter for.
Mr. Cotton was in the battle or close to it. In the centre of this
field is now an immense mound, made with the bones of slain warriors.
Small steps run up to its top, and Wellington is a monumental emblem
seated on a horse moving over the field, apparently as natural as
life, pinnacling this mound.

Having rested my body by leaning on the leg of the horse, I listened
to the harangue of this old man, whose jaws had crept into his mouth,
which was void of teeth. He first pointed out the position of
Grouchy, who was not in the battle, but was Napoleon's climaxing
reserve, off miles in the distance. He now evidently felt some of the
animating spirit of that great day, as, pointing in the same
direction, he showed me the hill over which Blucher came, and made
Napoleon believe that it was his own Grouchy. The old man quieted
his feelings before proceeding farther. He assured me that Napoleon's
heartstrings must have burst at this perfidious conduct of Grouchy.
He believed that Grouchy was so angry with Napoleon for refusing to
let him lead on the battle in the morning instead of French Generals
and Marshals, that he sold himself to the allies. Grouchy was one of
Napoleon's German Generals, and wanted the glory of a battle which,
if lost, would bankrupt the French nation, as they had drained their
coffers to support the ambition of its chief, which, no doubt, was
the greatest general of modern times. The old soldier pointed off to
the right of Blucher's march over the hill, to the French position of
Belle Alliance, and referred to those hours of anxiety from the first
evening Napoleon arrived there and saw the English in the distance,
when he craved the power of Joshua to stop the sun that he might
attack them that day, to the close of the battle, when he mounted his
white steed and started to the carnage, that he might fall among the
slain, and how he was checked by Marshal Soult, which Marshal is yet
living, who said to Napoleon, "They will not slay you but take you
prisoner," upon which he fled from the scene of desolation and
mourning.

The old soldier now turned languidly round to Hougomont, and there
depicted some of the most daring fighting that ever a juvenile ear
listened to. He said that Napoleon ordered Hougomont to be taken, and
gave so many soldiers for that purpose. Hougomont is a long brick
building, like an old fashioned barracks. It has a hedge of tall
shrubbery in front, looking towards the battle plain. Thousands of
English were stationed there with loop holes only a foot apart, so as
to shoot down all attacks. When the French soldiers went towards the
house to take it, they were shot down one upon another so fast that
the few thousands sent against it were slain before they reached the
hedge, where the French thought the fire came from. Word was sent to
Napoleon that Hougomont could not be taken, and asking for an answer
to the leader. Napoleon glanced once round the field, and said, "Tell
him to take Hougomont," but he reinforced the leader, who said to his
true soldiers, "Let us march up to die, the emperor says, take
Hougomont." When these soldiers heard the orders of their emperor,
they scuffled over the hedge to find the fire of their enemy, but to
their great disappointment it came from the loopholes! but these
daring veterans were not inclined to disobey the great emperor, who
was no more a "little corporal." "They," says history, "marched up to
the muzzles of the English muskets, and grappled with them till they
sank beneath their wrath." Afterwards they took it, but could not
keep it. They took it again and kept it some time, but finally left
it in the hands of the enemy.

The old man says there were all sorts of reports on the field the
night after the battle concerning the emperor. One was, that he rode
into the fight and fell with the old guard, who made a pyramid over
his body trying to screen him from the blows which fell on him;
others were, that Wellington had him in close confinement, and when
this was told, thousands of mangled men that seemed to be living only
to hear his fate, fell back and died the death that none can die but
a soldier. Next day the news came to the living wounded, that
Napoleon was on his way, if not at Fontainbleau, and the old soldiers
sprang up on their broken limbs, and filled the air with _vive
l'empereur, vive toujours_.

Blucher and Wellington then commenced preparing to march on Paris and
did. Blucher wanted to burn it but Wellington knew the revengeful
spirit of the nation. He might have burned Paris as his allies
wished, and, like Nero, fiddled while it burned, but all France would
have been annihilated, or London razed to the earth.

Napoleon sent to Paris to know the Cabinet's opinion of this awful
disaster to her Treasury and dignity. Tallyrand who was at the head
of affairs, advised him to stay away from Paris, for he bankrupted
France, and therefore, must abdicate. Napoleon sent a faithful man to
plead in favor of his son, but Tallyrand said he had cost France
millions of souls, besides bankrupting her, and must leave
unconditionally.

Next morning this king of a hundred thrones rode out of Fontainbleau
towards Dieppe. He went aboard an English vessel and said, "I am
Napoleon." The old captain trembled as he saw the resemblance of
that cold countenance, whose pictures filled even the hamlets of
England. Struck with this importance, he untied his vessel, drew up
his sail and steered to the admiral. Thus ends this Chapter as it did
Napoleon, whose orders some days ago were, "On to Waterloo."




THE BIAS OF MY TOUR.


Here is Ghent. It is a large city, and a great many of the Brussells
carpets are made here. There is no doubt it is as old a city as
London. It is here the famous "Treaty of Ghent" was made by Henry
Clay and John Adams. I have just been in their old residence, which,
from appearances, must have been one of the best houses in Ghent. A
good deal of silk is manufactured here even now. A great many Flemish
families live here. The city supports an Opera, besides Theatres and
other places of amusement. They are inclined to be Frenchy on the
Sabbath. I went on the Sabbath to see a horse go up in a balloon.
Three men, who paid a certain sum, took passage with the beast, and
as he hung below the balloon, well strapped so he could not kick or
agitate himself, these passengers were seated above; I hated it much,
as the beast looked so melancholy and innocent. I had seen the same
performance at Paris. It was not such a novelty to the horse as to
me, for this was the same horse I had seen at Paris some time before.
Away they went, upward like a cloud, in a hurry toward the sea, and
were soon lost to our sight.

Another day is gone and leaves me in Bruges; an old quiet city that
figured much in the romantic affairs of Flanders. Bad hotels are
plentiful here, with wise men to keep them, for if a man was to keep
them better, he would soon have to keep none. We were the only
occupants, or even strangers in town. And as we walked out to see its
wonders, we found that our arrival had excited the curiosity of a
hundred beggars. It is a characteristic trait of beggars, to keep
quiet when they see a stranger in town, like a dog with his bone he
wishes the picking of alone. But always betray themselves by waiting
too long about the hotel where their victim resides. They generally
watch the movement of the shrewdest beggar, and keep in his track.
They most always keep themselves concealed from view, until they get
their victim fairly launched; then with the sails of poverty, like
boreas, they will follow him up till they drive his temper straight
into the channel of charity, where we can only find safety in our
acts of humanity. Here I was right for once, because I had procured
an immense quantity of the smallest coin. I called them all up, and
told the lacquey de place to tell them I would give them all I had,
if they would cease to follow us, it was agreed, and I give him about
half a pint of small coin to divide among them; he give it to a
responsible one and they all followed him in counsel.

I said in August on my departure from Paris, that I was leaving it to
"enjoy the anxiety to get back." Now I am biasing my tour in
verification of that expression. I am now close to Paris, and can go
there to night. It is eleven o'clock at night, and I am at Paris. I
am going to stay this winter, as I am getting used to the life here.
Last night I arrived at the Hotel des Princes; the pretty little
portress was glad to see me, and I felt at home. She asked me if I
wanted a bottle of water with ice inside; she gave me all the news,
and showed me a list of her American occupants, and said the Russian
Princess was gone, not from Paris, but to private rooms. I put a five
franc piece in her hand to convince her I was the same man in all
particulars, and went to my room and looked around for Elverata, who
used to arrange my wardrobe so nice and say, with neatness on her
brow, "How do you like that, Mr. Dorr?" I did not see her and rang
the bell, when a strange waiter came quickly and I enquired for
Elverata; he satisfied the enquiry by saying he was only a few days
there and could not say. I went to bed. Next morning I saw the shadow
of a woman moving towards my drawer, I raised my weary head on my
elbow and said, "Good morning, Elverata." The woman quietly passed
out; I rose and dressed and went to enquire for unpretending
Elverata, but like a plant under the cloud of night, I was seeking a
tear, she was dead! and dead only one month, and everybody had
forgotten her. I had difficulty in that vast hotel to make them
understand who I was seeking. I asked what graveyard she was buried
in, but that, like Elverata, was forgotten. I shall never see her
again! she a good, honest, and religious girl; though nothing here
below, in heaven she will be more than a _femme de chambre_. Some may
well say,

    "Happy those who linger yet
      The steep ascent to climb,
    For jewels lie like treasures set
      Upon the breast of Time."




COUP D'ETAT OF NAPOLEON III.


On the morning of the 3d and 4th of Dec., the fate of Paris, like a
stormy sea, was rocking to and fro in the minds of this versatile and
fickle people.

On the 2d of December, the morning after the ascent of the members of
the National Assembly, I went to the Boulevards to see how the
populace took this daring of the Presidents. The place was crowded
with groups discussing the importance of this blow to their
liberties. Old, white-headed men were making speeches in different
places within sight. But while they were making speeches Louis
Napoleon was at the Palace decreeing laws for this particular
occasion, and he was not only in the Palace quelling the populace,
but the very same day he rode through the Boulevards at the head of
soldiers, and people shouted _vive l'empereur_. How and why they said
this, when as yet they had none, remains to be seen. That night fifty
or sixty thousand soldiers slept in the streets of Paris, and cavalry
stood close to the side walk for miles without one single break of
ranks. The soldiers had their rations carried to them. Next morning,
the 3d, the rebels commenced their work of destruction in spite of
the soldiers. The news came into Paris from all parts of France that
a hundred thousand soldiers were rapidly marching to the assistance
of the army and sustainance of the republic. But this did not
intimidate the factions. The soldiers though now one hundred thousand
strong, right in the city, they had to keep on the march, up one
street and down another, to keep down the barricade builders. I saw a
strong wall built across a street in a quarter of an hour. They go
about peaceable in droves until they pass the soldiers and then with
pickaxes and crowbars and all manner of iron implements dig up the
flag-stones, door-sills and stone steps, and place them one upon
another until they get them head high. They leave small apertures to
poke their pistols and guns through, and therefrom they fight the
soldiers who cannot, except by accident, shoot through the apertures.
If the soldiers come down behind them to hem them in, they jump over
the barricade and they are as well there as on the other side. But
the soldiers are in a critical condition fighting barricaders,
because they have their friends on the top of the houses and in each
story, throwing down all manner of heavy things, such as pots,
skillets, pans, chairs, beds, plates, dishes, tumblers and bottles on
the heads of the soldiers until they are intimidated enough to stand
from under. I saw one old orator leading the rebels up by the side
of the soldiers and trying to persuade some of them to say they would
not fire on the citizens if they were ordered. The captain of these
troops told him if he did not leave off talking with the soldiers
that he would have him shot. He would not, and was placed back
against the wall and shot through.

On the 4th, precisely at two o'clock, the firing of muskets and
cannon were heard from all parts of the city of Paris. The cannon
balls ran through whole blocks of buildings, but the destruction was
not, as one might suppose, bustling but made clear, rounded holes of
its own size, and passed on so rapid it left no bustling confusion.
Where it touched, it done its work. When the firing commenced I was
in the crowd on the _Boulevard des Italian_ with the crowd that was
being shot at. Some fell, and I, with hundreds, ran over them. I
fell, and a dozen or so leaped over me. Like a tangled rabbit I rose
and went faster than ever. I ran down the _rue Lafitte_, trying to
get into some of those large palace doorways, but all was firmly
barred. Having run clear past my own house, No. 43, _rue Lafitte_, I
only discovered my mistake by observing a squad of soldiers behind
_l'eglise l'orette_, loading and firing over some dead bodies that
had already fallen beneath their fire. Like a rabbit again, I took
the back track, and my good old porter saw me from the third story,
and descended and opened one foot of his _porte firme_, and said with
a cheek flushed with fear, "_Entree vite_." I was about to kiss the
old man, but he was not inclined to enjoy such a luxury, most
especially as I had failed to take the advice he gave me the morning
before, "_pas allez dans la rue_."

About an hour after this the streets of Paris were as empty as a ball
room after the festal scene. It is a wonderful sight to see the
streets of Paris void of its moving mass of humanity. Like the
streets of Pompeii, it reminds one of the victory of destruction.
Paris looked as if it was mourning for those thousands that were
fleetly moving on to eternity. Next day hundreds of ladies and
gentlemen who were innocently killed, lay under a shed in Paris, to
be recognized by their friends, and buried. You could not get close
to them, not closer than ten feet, and then look along through the
glass that kept you and the scent in your own places. There lay some
of the gayest of Paris, with their fine kids on as they had fallen;
their watches and diamonds denoted their bearing, while their
countenances said in their expression, "in the midst of life we are
in death."

There can be no mistake but that these were people that were trying
to get out of danger, but were overtaken ere they reached the barrier
of safety.

The poor horses in the streets of Paris looked round on the crowded
and thronged streets with considerable amazement at man's
convulsions. People, horses, birds, shops, and even the weather
resembled the picture of discontent. The graceful hanging trees of
the Champs Elysees, and Tuilleries, are disturbed by the bayonet, as
the soldiers stand under them, for a sort of shield from the
drizzling weather, while they keep the populace back from the
National Assembly. The night after this awful contention of the
people against the army, was as still and lonesome a one as ever the
gay spirit of France was awed with. This night was as interesting to
Frenchmen, as the 20th of January, 1793, the night before the
execution of Louis the sixteenth, and which history describes thus:
"Paris was, by the direction of the government, illuminated on the
night of the 20th, and no person was permitted to go at large in the
streets. Strong bodies of armed troops patroled in every district of
that immense metropolis, the sounds of carriages ceased, the streets
appeared deserted, except by the patrols, and the whole city was
buried in an awful silence. About two o'clock on the morning of the
fatal 21st, voices were heard, throughout the gloom, of lamentation
and distress, but whence they came, or what they were, no one has
ever discovered. On Monday morning, as the clock struck 8, he was
summoned to his fate. He was conducted to a coach belonging to the
Mayor of Paris, in which were two soldiers of the _gendarmerie_; the
most profound silence prevailed while the carriage advanced slowly to
the scaffold; Louis mounted the platform with a firm step and
unaltered countenance, and was preparing to address them, when the
ruffian _Sauterre_, who commanded the guard, cried out, no speeches,
no speeches, and suddenly the drums beat and the trumpets sounded.
The unfortunate monarch, then, with apparent serenity, placed his
head upon the block, the axe fell, and in an instant he ceased to
live in this world. So perished Louis the XVI, a prince whose heart
nature had formed of the best materials, and who, from the first
accession to power, appeared to make his first object, his peoples'
happiness. He was an excellent husband and a good father."

Though the laws on both occasions were executed with great faith and
promptness, they were by no means pacific to the nation. There is
still too much royal blood in France to allow the seed of
republicanism to prosper spontaneously heedless of their interests.
Though they readily admit that Louis the fifteenth was a better
sultan than a king of France, and that Louis Phillippe dissipated the
throne by being an illegitimate heir, still they cannot look upon
that as sufficient reason to rid them of their vested ancestral
rights.

The French are full of that ambition that came from Orleans in female
attire, to give back to royalty some hope of yet governing a
versatile people. But if Louis Napoleon, the President of France,
wants to rise higher, he must consult the legitimists of France, or
he will never find bone and sinew for his cruel _coup de etat_.




THE SECRETS OF A PARIS LIFE, AND WHO KNOWS THEM.


Reader, can a man dream with his eyes open? or can a man see with
them shut? Before you say no, bear in mind that man is the shadow of
his maker; and life, a dream. As to the latter part of the query, the
answer may be emphatically no! Then let me dream of what I saw.

One night my faculties fell asleep upon all the world's eider down,
but these things, my faculties, could not sleep on, I saw myself
going along by the quietest looking, but gayest palace of every day
resort of noblemen and monied men, that decorates the Boulevard. It
is not the magic No. from the corner of the _Rue la Fitte_. On the
first floor is all the pleasure a monied man could momentarily crave;
but the second floor looked gayer, and the third gayer still. I could
see ladies and gentlemen coming in groups of two, four, and six,
every quarter of a minute.

It was six o'clock, as near as I can recollect the dream. They
commenced sitting down at different tables, while some were hanging
up hats, and others looking around as if they were hunting something
like what other people had; some of the tables were larger than
others; according to their number was the measure thereof. The
gentlemen looked as dignified as giraffes, whilst the ladies looked
the picture of birds of Paradise more especially where fine feathers
contributed. Some were placing their chairs in as agreeable a
position as their inward idea could allow them to do with propriety.
Towards the end of this Palace, in the direction of the Boulevards,
now sprang up a volley of small, or not very loud, musket-like
reports, but as nobody was afraid, no harm could be done. Then I
could see the waiters pouring into some glasses like Dutch churns,
upside down, some hot, smoking stuff that boiled over; it was so hot,
that a man might well fear for the ladies mouths being burnt when
they took hold of it as if they did not see it, but merely wished to
comply with the desire of their beaux. I expected every moment to
hear them scream, but they were not afraid of it. The waiters were
running to and fro with bottles of all colors. Here one turned up
some smaller glasses and poured in something like blood. If it was
blood it was pure as Abel's sacrifice; I never before saw redder from
veins. The next occupation of the waiter, was bringing different
kinds of soups. I looked on the _carte_ and saw a dozen different
kinds; some I never read of before. I looked out of the window on the
_Rue la Fitte_, and saw as many as twenty carriages standing before
one another, and from them descending ladies and gentlemen in pairs,
running up stairs with perfect gusto.

It is six o'clock as I have said, and I will leave those scenes and
tell what more I dreamt, but will return again. I thought I pushed my
way through crowds of people, and moved along the Boulevards about
four squares, until I came to an extraordinary fine and fashionable
street called Vivienne, and I followed it about two squares until my
attention was attracted by an immense stone building, taking up one
whole square. It looked like the temples I had read of, and I asked a
man what it meant, who said it is a place where all the rich people
go every day at 1 o'clock to make money, and some loose; they call it
"Bourse." He assured me that its financiering had made "countless
thousands mourn." I next walked into a Caffee filled with ladies and
gentlemen and found a seat. A few minutes afterwards a ballet girl
entered and seated herself for _la creme_. I then called for some
cream and we eat on the same side of the same table. I asked her if
it was good? she said she liked it, and asked me if mine was the
same. As the color was different I could not say, without tasting
hers, and we put our glasses together and satisfied ourselves on the
difference, after which we took a _vere du vin_ at the expense of one
of us.

It is now 11 o'clock, and I said I would return to the "Maison
Doree." Having reached this all-hour sought place, I saw the very
same people I saw seat themselves at 6 o'clock. They were somewhat
changed in color; they all looked rosier and better enabled to take
hold of anything they had to do. The gentlemen looked more sociable,
and the ladies--I won't say more bold, but less timid. When a
gentleman had anything to communicate, he was not obliged to exert
himself in reaching, because the ladies would meet him half way.
Everything was so harmonious that one could not go through the
laborious task of telling his wish, without assistance from his
hearer. Every few minutes something like a rallying remnant of a weak
soldier's gun would go off, and the glasses would smoke as though
each one was a volcano. Every minute or two a couple would rise, and
before the gentleman could give his arm the lady would reach for it.
Even their tempers seemed to fit, as the ocean does the earth, all
around and through. Whilst I was thus dreaming, the pillow became
insufferable, and I must say it awoke me. I thought I looked out of
the window on the moving surface of the Seine. The moon was shining
down on its ripples with a most admirable light of solemn grandeur.
Stillness reigned such as I had never seen in Paris, and all the time
I stood gazing upon that famous stream, not once did that queer dream
enter my mind. I jumped into bed and soon fell asleep, and soon got
into the old habit, so I dreamt. How particular a man ought to be,
when about to do anything for the first time, for, let it be good or
bad, the mind will be tempered with the same sterile or fertile
nature, as that of the preceding act. I thought I was again at the
agreeable Maison Doree, and I looked upon the walled clock, and the
hour hand stood at 2. The hall below stairs was as empty as the
marble hall, where the true lover dreamed he dwelt among vassals and
serfs. But I also dreamed, _which pleased me most_, that I saw very
many beautiful women walking up and down the sidewalk with an
apparent air of hunting for something; not that they had lost
anything they ever possessed, but something to be found. I thought
one came up to me with her dress fully two feet shorter in front than
behind, I mean to say it looked so from what I could see, and said to
me "_quelle heure it el?_" I told her 2 o'clock; she then looked
puzzled, as if she was sure I did not know what she meant by speaking
to me at that late hour. Then she started one way and turned and went
the other. As she passed me she gave her dress a jerk in front that
raised it so high that I almost saw the whole of a pair of the
whitest stockings I had seen since I left the Dutch, who don't wear
stockings at all. My curiosity was that of children on a Christmas
morning, and I started after her in the same earnestness to see if
there was anything good inside the stockings. I found that the
supposed stocking, like Santa Claus, was all imagination. Thus ends
the dream with open eyes.

Said the fast Countess of Blessington, "Oh commend me to the comforts
of a French bed; its soft and even mattress, its light curtains, and
genial _couvre pied_ of eider down; commend me, also, to a French
_cuisine_, with its soup _sans_ pepper, its cutlet _a la minute_, and
its _poulet au jus_, its _cafe a la creme_, and its desserts. But
defend me from its slamming of French doors, and the shaking of
French windows, &c." I like not the noise like the one in Paris; it
is an amalgamated one, such as never was heard in another city on
earth. The noise of Paris is a variegated one, like humming of bees,
or a serpent's hiss when they cannot be seen. Sometimes its cabs
alone, at another carts filled with groups of theatre actors, from
the _Opera Comique_, _Theatre Francois_, _Ambique_, _Grand Opera_,
_or Hippodrome_. Or if it is early in the morning, it is sure to be
some gay crowds returning from some wild and exciting amusement, such
as only French can enjoy without remorse. When you hear a noise in
Paris, you can no more tell its cause, than you can tell the
composition of a fricassee. It may be a good rabbit, or a better cat,
the skin of the former lying on the table to prove its identity. When
you see woodcocks in the window of a second rate _restaurateur_, you
must not be sure that the cook is putting his herbs among the joints
of the woodcock you have ordered, instead of a diseased owl that was
caught in the barn, for French cooks are not to be scared by an owl.
The more he can dress a rat like a squirrel, the greater his
celebrity as an epicure of the most refined taste. If you go to
market in Paris, you will see under a butcher's stall, whole herds of
rabbits, for rabbits are domestic animals in France. This butcher
lives at the upper end of the market, and has nothing to do with
_Mons. Ledeau_, who lives at the other end, and who sells little cats
under the disguise of amusing _les enfants de Paris_. But _Mons.
Feteau_, the restaurateur, knows both, and takes particular care to
invite _Mons. Ledeau chez Lui_ to take dinner with him, when they
have a good deal of unknown talk. After this interview, the trade in
rabbits gets dull, and the vender wonders who can sell them on more
advantageous terms than he can. He looks all around the market, and
finds that his price is the usual price. It never enters his head
that cats are substituted for rabbits.

Now reader, don't accuse me of trying to become conspicuous by
asserting more than others, for you know nothing about it, and I do.
I have seen a landlord stand behind a post in his own restaurant,
watching some of his patrons trying to cut what he called _poulet_
(chicken), but no mortal man could tell what it was but a French
_cuisineur_. I have dined at the _Maison Doree_, _Trois Freres_,
_Cafe Anglaise_, and _Vachettes_, and then gradually down to the
lowest grade, the socialists, and I ought to know something about it.

Oh, how delightful it is to walk on the Champ Elysee and take a seat
among the French girls, _au fait_, and order your _caffee au lait_.
Then take from your pocket a _sou_, sit cross legged and toss it up
and down, and turn it over and, look at it, and while waiting for the
light guitar, to fend off those nimble fingers, that are taking from
it its sweetest notes, you can think what an immense deal of pleasure
you are getting for the mere anticipation of a _sou_. Then look
around, not slyly, but boldly, and you see some unassuming French
_demoiselle_ gazing upon you with such riveted force of interest,
that the lashes of her eye moveth not. After this you walk into some
_valentino cassino, or jardin_, and you will see some 80 or 100 modes
of cupids and Psyches, keeping time to a Parisian band, and there
will appear to your mind a perfect agreeing correspondence between
the music and the figures that dance around it. Never will you see
the right foot of one couple up while the left foot of another is
down, such perfection of dancing is to be found in all classes in
Paris.

Very candid, frank and free is a Frenchman. If one admires a lady,
she knows it almost before an opportunity presents itself. If he is
encouraging a useless desire, he always manages it before it can do a
serious injury. Little trouble dwells within the mind of a Frenchman;
he makes much of to-day, to-morrow's trouble must dawn or die with
itself. He finds more pleasure in going to the opera, with his five
francs, than he does by sitting in the house, waiting for the morrow
that never comes, or if it does come, bringing with it a greater
anxiety and love for another morrow.

There is an amusement in Paris, which language is inadequate to
express the vulgarity of. It is called the "_industrious fleas_." The
name does not indicate the performance. It changes its location every
night in fear of the police. Its supporters are merely curious young
men, who wish to see as strange a sight as the mind of woman can
picture. Their performance commences with a dozen beautiful women
habited like Eve before she devised the fig leaf covering. They first
appear in the form of a wreath, with each one's head between
another's legs; the rest must be imagined. _Au revoir._




ROME AND ST. PETER'S CHURCH.


By the gate on the southern side, on the 28th of March, 1852, I
entered the "Holy City," just as day was turning to night. I moved
slowly along by the venerable walls of the great St. Peter's church,
in a shackling old _viturino_. A celebrated writer says it is built
on the site of the palace of Julius Cæsar. He also says the extent of
ground covered by the ruined and inhabited parts of Rome amounts to
four and twenty miles. You there find eighty halls of the eighty
eminent kings; from king Tarquin, to king Pepin, the father of
Charlemagne, who first conquered Spain, and wrested it from the
Mahomedans. In the outskirts of Rome, he said, there is the palace of
Titus, who was rejected by the 300 senators, in consequence of having
wasted three years in the conquest of Jerusalem, which, according to
their will, he ought to have accomplished in two years. There is
likewise the hall of Vespasian, a very large and strong building,
also the hall of king Galba, containing 360 windows, the
circumference of this palace is nearly three miles, and on this very
three miles of earth, a battle was fought in times of yore, and more
than one hundred thousand fell, whose bones are hung up there even to
the present day. Now Rome is the leader of all Christendom, and St.
Peters' yearly carnivals are the glory of Rome, instead of the
gladiatorial festivals in the Colisseum. Some writers assert that it
is only the forum upon the site of the palace of the Cæsars. Cooper
says in his excursions in Italy, that the first palace of Nero must
have occupied the whole of the Palatine hill, with perhaps the
exception of a temple or two. The ground round the Colisseum, and all
the land as far as the Esquiline, and even to the verge of the
Quirinal, a distance exceeding a mile; this was occupying, moreover,
the heart of the town, although a portion of the space was occupied
by gardens, and other embellishments. When this building was burned,
he returned to the Palatine, repaired the residence of Augustus, and
rebuilt his residence with so much magnificence, that the new palace
was called the "golden house;" this building also extended to the
Esquiline, though it was never finished. Vespasian and Titus, more
moderate than the descendants of the Cæsars, demolished all the new
parts of the palace, and caused the Colisseum and the baths that bear
the name of the latter, to be constructed on the spot; the emperors
were all elected, and they found it necessary to consult the public
taste and good. Thus we find the remains of two of the largest
structures of the world, now standing within the ground once occupied
by the palace of the Cæsars, on which they appear as little more than
points. From this time, the emperors confined themselves to the
palatine, the glory of which gradually departed. It is said that the
palace, as it was subsequently reduced, remained standing in a great
measure, as recently as the 8th century, and that it was even
inhabited in the 7th, so says Cooper.

Having been anxious to see the Pope of Rome, Pius IX, I was a
frequent visitor of the Carnival, and at last got a good look at the
great man. He was seated on a divan, which rested on the shoulders of
twelve cardinals, or senators of Rome; he was crowned with a
gorgeously jewelled crown, as the eye of man need wish to gaze on.
Ten thousand people were in the church at the time, and they would
carry the Pope from one aisle to another. The people all would fall
on their knees, and the great man would bless them in the name of
God, and the organ would peal its bassy notes of Te Deum, from east
to west, and north to south, whilst the alarum from the belfry jarred
my heart strings.

Rome, said a great traveler, is well known; authors of veracity
assure us that for seven hundred years, she was mistress of the
world, but although their writings should not affirm this, would
there not be sufficient evidence in all the grand edifices now
existing, in those columns of marble, those statues. Add to the
quantity of relics that are there, so many things that our Lord has
touched with his own fleshy fingers, such numbers of holy bodies of
Apostles, Martyrs, Confessors, and Virgins; in short, so many
churches, where the Holy Pontiffs, have granted full Indulgences for
sin.

This writer that spoke of these true merits of the city of Rome, was
among these great and magnificient ruins of Rome, in the 14th
century. His name was Bertrand de la Bracquiere, a Lord of Vieux
Chateau, counseller and first Esquire carver, to Phillip, Duke of
Burgundy, living at that age in Ghent.

One day when it was very warm, I went down to the Tiber to waste a
little time reflectively, where the golden candlestick that was
brought from Jerusalem fell off the bridge and never was afterwards
found. Whilst I laid there on its banks, listening to its most
inaudible murmur a Jew came and stretched himself close to my feet. I
asked him if he recollected who it was that Plutarch says was
condemned to the hideous punishment of being nailed up in a barrel
with serpents and thrown in the Tiber to float on to the sea? He had
never heard of such a thing. I then asked him if he was aware that
the golden candlestick out of the temple of Solomon lay at the bottom
of that muddy stream? he said yes, and added that the Pope had been
offered millions of piastres by the Jews to let them turn the current
of the Tiber twenty miles above Rome, that they might recover all the
lost and hidden treasure of nearly three thousand years' standing,
but the Pope had refused because he was too superstitious to allow
the Tiber's current to be changed.

My attention was just at this time drawn to a large old building that
had the bearing of royalty deeply marked on its furrowed decay. I
asked its use, and was informed that it was a maccaroni manufactory.
I drew nigh, and stood, in company with dozens of girls, looking
through its decayed apertures. I saw hundreds of men walking about in
a perfect state of nudity, and also as many more moving round at
quicker step. I would discover every few moments a couple of these
that seemed to be mantled with small reeds of a bending nature, step
on a platform and commence turning round, like crazy men imitating
the spinning of a top, but I could discover nothing of their
intention until they walked off the platform, when I could plainly
see that they had divested themselves of something I knew not what.

The way they make maccaroni in Rome, is thus: when it is hot or warm,
the men stand by the aperture that squeezes it into a reed-like
shape, and wind it round their bodies until they are totally covered
or mantled, and then they walk in great haste in a circle until it is
nearly cool, after which they walk on the aforesaid platform and
unwind themselves from its cooling grasp, and there it stays until it
becomes totally dry, after which they box it for export. That which
is made for home consumption is not made on so extensive a scale, and
different ideas of neatness is needed lest it affect the home
consumption.

Three days it took me to pass through the "Vatican." It is the great
gallery of fine arts, and the Pope lives in one part of this Palace.
The Carnival being over, I took one day to go to Tivoli to see an old
temple and olive orchard and the vast ruins of the emperor Adrian's
brick palace, after which I returned to Rome, and bought some mosaiac
work in breast pin jewelry, hired a viturino and four, went to St.
Peters and took a last farewell glance at St. Peter, who stands in
his statue dignity over an altar with his keys of Heaven, and left
Rome in its decay of tyrannical monuments for Naples, its bay and
Vesuvius.




NAPLES AND ITS CRAFT.


After twenty days sight-seeing in Rome, observe me seated in the
front of a viturino on my way to Naples. E. G. Squires, the author of
a book of discoveries, is seated in one of the back seats. He is a
little man full of humor, and a man to judge him by his looks and
manners would have a hard task to steer from error. He is well versed
in Roman lore. We were now an hour and half out from Rome, and he
said "look there ahead, those old walls we are going under is the
walls of old Rome, and that high archway, with those splendid pillars
of carved stone, is the gate leading into Rome via the Appian road
from Naples." We passed through these walls and Rome was forgotten,
in the matters of interest to which he directed our attention. As we
came up to the pretty little ruined city Albano, he said, "there,
gentlemen, is the tomb of Pompey the Great." It was a tall monumental
tomb of white marble, but fallen on all sides by the wreck of the
weather. We entered Albano and dined, and paid a visit to the Veil of
Diana, whose temple was here at Albano. This city occupies the site
of the palace of Pompey the Great and Domitian. The Veil of Diana is
a lake of a few hundred yards round, and hemmed in on all sides by
cliffs of fertility. Two days and a half brought me to the back part
of the city of Naples. In coming to Naples by this route you are some
hours going down hill, but as the lombard poplar trees are so
numerous, it is impossible to get a look at Naples; occasionally I
could hear the roar of Vesuvius and the hum of business, coming by
the force of the breeze from the bay on the other side. All at once I
came out on an open descending <DW72>, but, a quarter of a mile ahead,
the lombardy poplars intercepted our view, still over their tops, off
to the left of Naples, I could see Vesuvius like a sleeping giant
with his flag of wrath ascending on high. The flag of smoke was as
still as a standing cloud, and it stood like God on the earth, but
spreading above in the Heavens.

Napoli is the city's name, and its meaning is New City, and we call
it Naples.

I don't think that one contented man can be found in the whole city
of Naples, with its 450,000 souls. Every time this growling, burning
mountain roars it jars the whole city; organ grinders give themselves
as little trouble about Vesuvius as any other class, and the streets
are full of them. They stand all day playing away in the streets as
if they had no where to run to, whilst all house tenants, citizens,
king and priests, run in the streets for fear Vesuvius will spit fire
and brimstone on them, for she has once or twice proved that she,
like God, had no respect of persons. Naples is at least five miles
off, but they looked to me as if they were only a quarter of a mile
apart. It is believed by philosophical men that Vesuvius has burnt
out her bowels for miles under the shallow bay, and also under
Naples.

I went to Pompeii and Herculanium, two great cities that Vesuvius, in
her tipsy spree, belched all over, destroying population, temples,
theatres, and gladiatorial arenas. Expeditions from different parts
of the world were here, excavating crowns of diamonds; and hundreds
of thousands of scuddies worth of the rarest jemmed jewelry has been
found, even upon the parched bones of notorious victims to this
hideous spree.

Naples was founded one thousand and three hundred years before the
Christian era, and still escapes this awful calamity. Generation
after generation has lived and died in this fear, and still Naples is
yet the most wicked city on the face of the globe. It shows that
hell-fire preaching will never advance man in this world, or better
prepare him for another. Nothing but an educated mind can ever
understand the mission of christianity. If tyranny can ever do
anything with the mind of man, it had full scope here. The
Neapolitans, reared under such fearful influences of wrath, must
naturally be tempered with surrounding influences. To see a club
slain man in Naples is no object of pity; their mind is forever
placed on wholesale calamities, and nothing short of that can excite
sympathy in such a people. They can fight well because they are
always well prepared to fight, or be annihilated. When the great
Carthagenian, who was so victorious over the Romans, at the well
known battle of Thrasimene, came here to take Naples, he was so much
frightened at the walls, that he would not undertake to besiege the
city. Cumae was the first name of this city, but its inhabitants
being a very jealous people, fell out, and destroyed it; but it was
soon rebuilt, and then it was renamed New City, Napoli, when its
walls obtained the strength that scared the son of Hamilcar, who had
come away from Carthage, leaving behind him a people who could never
believe that the Italians could be whipped, not even by Hannibal,
until he sent three bushels of gold rings back, that was taken from
the fingers of conquered Italians, to prove it.

There is three hundred churches in Naples, but the vestry of
priesthood is no sign of the true temple of wisdom. The lower classes
are craft ridden from the faggest end of an intelligent class, to the
uttermost peak of sublime ignorance. The moral authority has great
power over those who profess to be the followers of the Church; even
the king himself, is afraid of the priest. In illustration of this I
must relate an anecdote on the present king of Naples, whose title
is better known as the king of the two Sicilies. A good, and honest
intentioned priest one day called on the king to obtain a certain
small sum of money from his honor, as a starting point of collection
to build a church at a certain place. The king, who loves money much,
refused to start the ball rolling by contributing the first
subscription. The good father, somewhat astonished, stood sometime,
thinking over the chances of getting anything after the king's
refusal, put his hand under his ground  gown to lay hold of
his handkerchief to wipe his nose and eyes of their weeping. The king
took fright, and ran to the bell and rang furiously, the guard came
running in and arrested the priest, but to their great pleasure they
discovered that the king was frightened at the priest's motion for
his handkerchief, instead of a stilleto. The people got wind of it,
and laughed at the scary old king so that he dare not go out.

This old ugly king has been trying to make some improvements in the
way of morality. He has appropriated a small portion of the city to
the safe keeping of lewd women. It is about three squares of this
city being walled in, and all women found and proven in adultery are
to be condemned to the inside of these walls until the city
authorities become satisfied that they are sufficiently punished.
Police are stationed at the gate and no one but spectators are
allowed to go in and out, except an old woman who acts as their
steward. All foreigners are allowed to go in once, but I don't
suppose foreigners ever wished to go in more than once. When I was
in, the Lazaroni asked me if I would allow him to spend a quarter of
my bag of change to see the women perform. I, not knowing what he
meant, said "Yes." He gave a 25c. piece to one woman, and there was a
hundred in that group, and said something in Italian, when, as many
as wished to claim stock in the 25 cents commenced showing their
nakedness, to the horror of man's sensual curiosity. I saw fifty
women show what I had never legally seen before. I must end this
chapter and commence another of more superstition, of St. Janarius
and his Blood.




ST. JANARIUS AND HIS BLOOD.


In the centre of Naples, on a very high hill, is a splendid old
castle or fort. Myself and two American ladies winded round its base
upwards, till we reached its gates. Our guide beat there some time
before its old lord would hear; we handed him our permit from below
to enter, and he said "walk in," in the French tongue. These two
American ladies and their father seemed to make quite an agreeable
impression on the commander of the castle or fort. He invited us into
his parlor where he asked us many disguised questions, such as; "how
do you like Naples?" "when are you going to leave and what directions
will you take from here?" was some of his questions. Having "pumped"
us as dry as he could, he called a guard and put us under escort to
see the wonders of this old tyrant mound. Cannons were pointed from
the loopholes of this fort to all parts of the city. The people are
afraid to rebel against the laws of Ferdinand II, because orders from
the palace to this castle can come under ground. The king has a
private path miles under ground to get to this castle when besieged
in his palace. It is said that this fort can destroy the city in a
few hours; can batter it all down and set it on fire with its shells,
and burn it up, and as the property belongs to the citizens they keep
quiet. The old man now invited us back to his saloon and asked us our
opinions of this, his castle; of course it was all we anticipated and
more too. Whilst he was delighted with the ladies' answers to his
questions, I walked out in the court, and the lazaroni or guide
called my attention to the open register, where all visitors' names
are recorded, and glanced at the following record of that morning:
"_Mons. Millenberger et deau dame; Compte Fello de Amerique et une
jeune homme._" This was indeed laughable, but to make it more absurd,
my old guide informed me that he was aware of our nobility some days
ago. I inquired of him how it was possible for him to find out such a
mystery. He smiled very knowingly and assured me that he was
possessed of peculiar tact for finding out such things. Then in his
confirmation of his skill in fathoming this hidden secret, he told me
of a Mr. Rice, a powerful lord of South Carolina, who would be an
heir to an immense estate if he lived long enough, and of his noble
bearing, and how Mr. R. tried to conceal it from him, but it couldn't
be done, and which Mr. Rice had to acknowledge. Then he went on to
show me why Americans ought not to try and conceal such things as
they eventually lost the best accomodation the hotels could afford,
by not letting it be known who it was wanted them. He also suggested
that American noblemen ought to wear some peculiar mark or sign that
they may be distinguished from those of an inferior dignity. I for
once felt like driving the good-natured old fool away, but as he was
so bigoted with his own errors I told him that all noblemen of
American peculiarities did have signs about them unmistakeable. Here
his curiosity rose to such a pitch he asked me to make it known to
him so that he might hereafter know how to treat such worth. I told
him that if ever he came across an American of Arkansas or Texas, to
get behind him when seated and look over his left shoulder, in his
bosom, and he will most likely see something like an elephant's tusk,
but it was nothing more nor less than what was called a toothpick,
and when he saw that, it would be to his advantage to be mighty
polite. The old man believes now he has the insignia of an American
prince, and intends treating him with due respect to his high
position.

From this Fort I took a ride to Baie, and after two hours' ride I
reached it. Two thousand years ago it was a great city where Cæsar
and Cicero dwelt a great part of their time. The site of their
palaces are yet discernable. The hot baths out of the earth are here
yet, and I took one. No doubt but they are heated, running under the
bay from Vesuvius on the other side. A few hundred yards out in the
bay is the smallest island I ever saw to have a town of thousands of
souls on it. It is about a mile in circumference. The town takes up
almost all of the island of Procida. The inhabitants are nearly all
Greek descendants, and are celebrated for keeping up the Greek
fashions. The old guide insisted on us going into the heart of
Procida, where he would show us the curious costumes. Having waited
in an old dirty room some time for the scene, a rough working girl
came into the room and stood some time. The old man asked me how I
liked it? but I couldn't see anything different from other women
about the town. He told her to turn around, when he called my
attention to some plaiting around the waist of the woman's dress. She
now whispered something to our guide, which, when translated, meant
that she had her soap to make, and would like to discontinue the
performance as the show was out. He said we must give her a couple of
pauls for her trouble of dressing and undressing. This old man kept
us laughing all the way back to Naples. When leaving Baie, passing
some old magnificent ruins, he said, "Gentlemen, that is the ruins of
the palace of Lucullus, the greatest eater that ever was in Italy."
Then he commenced relating Plutarch's history of Lucullus' style of
living. He told us of the single dish that was expensive to the tune
of 1,200 francs. Here the old man licked out his tongue, in token of
his approbation of its being good. This old man has a country seat
and town residence. He showed us, on our way out, his country seat;
it consists of an old brick building, that in times of yore must have
been used by somebody, who had a house, as a stable, and being an
enterprising man, his mouth watered for it as a filthy retreat from
Naples, when he can get no labor, such as he is now occupied with. We
give him about forty cents a day, and he finds himself.

In Napoli is a church of fearful renown. It is built upon the site of
the temple of Apollo; it was commenced by Charles the first, and
finished by Charles the second, in the twelfth century. It is built
of stone, and pillars of stone, from all parts of Africa, brought
here in conquest. In it is buried the aforesaid Charles. This is the
church of St. Janarius; a large statue of St. Janarius is represented
seated, and always ready to bless the people. In a small tabernacle,
with silver doors, is preserved the head and two vials of the Saint's
blood, said to have been collected by a Neapolitan lady during his
martyrdom. This blood becomes miraculously liquid, whenever it is
placed before the head of St. Janarius. The ceremony of this miracle
is repeated three times a year, that is, during eight days in the
month of May, eight days during the month of September, and on the
day of protection, on the 16th of December. This miracle is to the
Neapolitans a constant object of devotion and astonishment, of which
no one that has not been present, can form a just idea. When the
liquifaction of the blood takes place immediately, the joy of the
people knows no bounds; but if the operation of the miracle is
retarded one moment, the cries and groaning of the people rend the
air; for at Naples the procrastination of this miracle is considered
the prestage of some great misfortune; the grief, particularly of
the women, is so great, that the blood never fails to become liquid,
and resume its consistency, on each of the eight days; so that every
one may see and kiss the blood of St. Janarius, in as liquid a state
as when it first issued from his veins. The city of Naples has been
in danger of being destroyed by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, by
earthquakes, and other calamities, such as war, pestilence, &c., &c.,
but it has always been delivered by the blood of this mighty Saint. A
lady writer says: "At one time the blood was rather slow about doing
its duty, when their hypocritical priest says to the people, that the
blood would never liquidate so long as they allowed the French to
keep possession of the town. As soon as the French general heard
this, he sent notice to the people that if the priest did not make
the blood liquidate in ten minutes, off went his head. There was
great lamentation for the priest, and the whole city was sympathizing
with him, as his time was short; but at the expiration of nine
minutes and three quarters the blood liquidated."




CONSTANTINOPLE.


On the second day of May I glided out on the beautiful bay of Naples,
and steered towards the east, where the wise men lived, and the light
rose up. The first piece of terra firma next discovered was Etna, in
Sicily. Sicily, before the crusade of king Siguard, was governed by
Dukes and Earls. Mussinna is the only town of any particular note, on
this fertile island. Mt. Etna, while at Musina, hides half of the
firmament from your view, but when seen at eventide from the deck of
a receding vessel, it seems to have sunk in a mole hole. It takes two
days carriage ride around its base, to reach its top. Six days out
from Naples brought our good vessel to Syria, a city in Greece, with
14,000 inhabitants. It is a charming sight to look at from your
vessel, on account of its resemblance to _wall hung pigeon houses_.
From the sea, you look at a mountain, with hundreds of systematical
white spots clinging to its sides, and which proves to be Syria.

The ship stopped here a day, and all the passengers, and the rest of
mankind, went ashore. The men were quite handsome for such a rough
country; four or five young men and myself, were determined to see
some of the Syrian ladies, if possible. On we went to the top of the
city, through very narrow streets, and few ran over fifty yards
without ending, and taking some unknown direction. After great
exertion we reached the highest house, but, like Moses from his
Pisgah, we saw the land but not its fruits. We were still inclined to
prosecute our search, until our minds came to some definite
conclusion. An exclamation of joy burst forth from one of our
company, indicating success. We all moved closer to our guide, who,
most wonderful to behold, had discovered the figure of a woman with
her back towards us. We passed respectfully by her, trying to conceal
our emotion of success. The first that passed her, quickly turned
round as if he would speak to our companions, just as you have seen a
young lady walk a little ahead of her companion, to have an excuse to
look back at some young gent who seemed to have admired her when
passing, and lo! this woman's face was bound in the fashion of death,
her motion was as still as the grave, and well it might be, as it was
nothing but a marble figure of some Grecian maid, long dead. We had
one good laugh to reward the artist of so exquisite a piece of his
skill. The young men went skipping down the hill towards our vessel.
I, taking more interest in this monumental piece of affection, did
not discover that my friends were gone until I found myself a "last
Mohican." I started to descend the theatrical looking town, by
winding in and out of small passage ways, until I found myself up an
alley with no outlet, and when I turned to go out, the gate was fast
and barred. A gate running in another direction was opened, and, old
as a man could well be, was an old priest, seated on a stone
beckoning to me to come in. I did not seem to comprehend, but he was
determined I should, and came out with an extraordinary long string
of beads nearly counted. He spoke several languages, and informed me
that if my business was what all persons' business is that enter that
alley, that he was ready to give me absolution. I informed him in
French that I was there through a mistake; and he then told me that
it was usual in Syria for those wishing immediate absolution, to come
to the priest's residence at all times, when there was no services in
church, and on payment of a small fee, get value received in full. He
was a kind old man. He offered to give me absolution right off, for
any mistake, or bad intention that I allowed to occupy my attention,
whilst in Syria.

Whilst I was explaining to the priest, I heard a suppressed laugh at
the gate. The priest opened the gate and let me out. My friends were
close by; they had seen me go in the passage way with no outlet and
fastened the gate on me, as they say "to have a lark," but they
little knew that they were then placing me in wisdom's way; I had
learned more with the priest than I could from them all day long.

Our sail is up, and on ahead of us is Smyrna, the birthplace of
Homer, one of the seven churches of Asia Minor, and it has 150,000
inhabitants, and it is close to the Isle of Patmos, where St. John
wrote the Revelations and saw four angels standing on the four
quarters of the globe holding up the four winds of Heaven, that they
might not blow upon the sea nor the earth.

Smyrna has been destroyed ten or twelve times and still has a large
population. Like Syra, Smyrna is on the side of a hill. None of its
ancient buildings remain except a corner wall of an old church that
resounded back the voice of St. John to the minds of his hearers,
when he preached those very Epistles we hear every Sabbath, in all
Christian lands. The streets and bazaars are densely crowded with
business men from all smaller towns for hundreds of miles around, and
the houses, which are only one story, seem to be as densely filled
with pretty women. I see no window of a respectable looking house
without a lady. I cannot describe the ladies dress as I was not
fortunate enough to get inside, and as they are very seldom on the
street. The dresses of the men were of so many styles it would not
pay to describe them, it is enough to say that it consisted of a many
colors as Joseph's coat, of some cotton or silk woof of all
qualities.

There being no accommodation here for travelers, we did not ask the
captain to lay by all night. Next morning we were sailing through the
rapid Hellespont, at the Dardenelles. About ten o'clock, A. M. we
reached the part of the Hellespont where Lord Byron swam across from
Europe to Asia--from Sestos to Abydos.

    "If in the month of dark December,
    Leander, who was nightly wont
    (What maid will not the tale remember?)
    To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!"

Here we stopped some minutes, and two or three yawls came from the
Asia side in quest of something to do. At the hind part of one of
these yawls was a large, fat and shiney black African, doing the lazy
part of the work--steering. His heavy self weighed down the other
end, containing two men and oars. It was a beautiful day and the sun
came down with a quivering heat in the distance, so, as it is said,
that the natives in the interior of Africa cook their meat on sun
heated rocks, he looked as if he was about to broil. He attracted the
attention and caused amusement for the passengers; and some one threw
some orange peelings on his naked rotundity as he was half lying on
his back with no clothes on above his loins. He pretended to take no
notice of it until they came in such regular succession he could not
but show signs of acknowledgement or cowardice. After his patience
gave out, he turned lazily around and looked up, like a duck at
thunder, and shook his head; they followed up this amusement until
he got agoing on the gibberish dialect, and that was more amusement
yet; at last our boat left him, and one of our passengers translated
his resentment. It was merely, "according to his ideas of decorum, he
had not been treated gentlemanly, and that he would remember it if
ever we came to his country, and that he would not consider us worth
taking notice of."

On the morning of the 11th of May, the captain said to the sailors,
"Bosphorus! down the hatch and bring the mail on deck." I looked
ahead and saw an immense number of steeples, towers and minarets; to
the eye no city on earth need look prettier. It was, indeed, the
fairest sight I ever beheld. I asked an old Turkish tar what it was,
he said, "Stamboul, stamboul." The captain said to the pilot, "right
towards the Harem." Gondoliers from all directions of the "golden
horn" were racing to us; in one of them a couple of officers, in
their gay colors came. All our baggage was gondoliered, and we, all
afloat, approached the Custom House. I slipped a five franc piece, as
I had been told, in an officers hand, to get rid of the trouble of
unlocking trunks, and he went blind, and I passed unmolested with my
contraband, if I had any, into the great Mahommedan city,
Constantinople.




THE DOGS PROVOKE ME, AND THE WOMEN ARE VEILED.


The first visible annoyance in Constantinople is dogs, which Murray's
guide says is nobody's property. In a space of a rod I counted
seventy-four dogs, and not one respectable dog in the seventy-four!
fifteen or twenty of them were marked on different parts of the body
with scalds, some with only one ear, some blind, the streets were
lined with them, lying down, standing up, fighting, breeding, and
making love. The Turks are as particular about getting around and
through them, as a good man would be in a crowd of children; in fact,
I saw a Turk tread upon a child in an effort to pass around dogs.
They take no notice of persons passing to and fro, but if you touch
one, he jumps at you and lays hold.

During the night we have a long dog-note howl, from dark to daylight,
and there is no way to stop it; they have systematical skirmishes of
parties from different sections. Murray holds that they have
fundamental laws of infringement, and woe be to him that don't
acknowledge their legality. The puppies, as soon as they open their
eyes, he observes, join in the first fight, and off goes his ear,
tail, or leg, and he grows up used to hardships, and the customs and
responsibilities of war; he is also taught the responsibility of
invasion. Before he learns the landmarks, he goes on another's
territory, where he is picked up by some old sentinel and shook a
little, and thrown across the border, where he stands and barks a
little, in defiance of the old dog's pluck and courage to come on
this "spot and do the like. In their hymenial adventures" they
frequently cross the borders, in pursuit of their object of
affection, when there is a free fight, that lasts until some devoted
amour falls a martyr to his sincerity, whilst the object of his
affection escapes, heedless of his fidelity, and his great care for
her and his posterity.

The virtue of keeping so many dogs in Constantinople, is to cleanse
the streets of offal, that is piled there by the citizens, who are
not blessed with sink holes under the streets, they empty their
swill, bad vegetables, and scraps of all corruption in the middle of
the streets, and the dogs act the buzzard's part, or the cholera
would reign supreme all the year round. When the citizens are fearful
of hydrophobia, the Sultan orders the dogs to be driven in herds to a
lake a few miles from the city, and there to stay during the dog
days; but when they are brought back, the city is generally raging
with what they call in the east, the plague. If the city was blessed
with sink holes, they could then dispense with the nuisance of dogs
in such narrow streets, and the provocation of their efforts of
progeny. They are frequently so close together that a man hardly ever
takes notice of their condition to one another. I, trying to pass
through a group, got entangled between two and fell over them, as it
was impossible to get through, as one tried to go one way, and the
other another; I was so provoked when I got up, I did'nt look back to
see whether it was their legs or tails was tied together; I am sure
it was one or the other, from their magnanimous struggles to take one
another their own way.

Another source of low spirits to a man from off the waters, is to see
women moving about like spirits or shadows, and cannot be seen. The
promenades in Constantinople are the graveyards or any other sacred
site. The graveyards are like rustic parks with immense numbers of
tombstones denoting the head of the grave, and all are inclined to a
fall. The ladies go there and lean against them and talk with their
maids, and you can hear their sweet laugh, but see no smile. They sit
like a tailor, on the inside of their heels or ankles. You will see
five or six stand talking in their beautiful silk wrappers, and quick
as a fall they will sink down upon those little feet, like a blossom
sinking from its majesty of beauty to its downward decay. They seem
to get closer to the earth than any other people could. One
nymph-like lady was so wiry in her manner of talking to her black
maid, and so full of good humor, that I knew she must have been
pretty. I looked at her one hour, and she at me, through her eyelits.
I would have given five pds to lift her veil; I know she was pretty,
her voice was so fluty, and her hands so delicate, and her feet so
small, and her dress so gauzy; she was like an eel. I do not believe
she had any bones in her. I asked the guide if there was no way in
the world to get acquainted with her, and he said, none under heaven.
The guide and myself moved along to see some others, and something
new presented itself at every step. Vanity is reigning monarch in all
females. I had stopped in another part of the graveyard pleasure
ground, and whilst leaning against a tombstone, this Mohammedan maid
came up and seated herself as near to me as she was before. Her maid
had changed her veil, and was still fixing it on her mistress. This
veil was thin enough to make me believe I could see her figure of
countenance, and I swear she was pretty. The guide said that she was
for sale, I told him to go and buy her for me, and asked him who
owned her, he said, her mother, but I could not buy her because I was
no Mohammedan. I asked him what did he think she was worth, he said,
about a thousand Turkish piastres, a sum of about twenty-five
dollars. I told him if he could buy her for that I would give
twenty-five dollars for himself. This was a powerful engine on his
reflective powers. He said he did not know how it could be done. I
asked him if he thought the girl would admire me; he had no doubt
about that, and added, I need not have any uneasiness about that, as
I could make her love me after she was mine, she was obliged to obey
me according to the Turkish laws, and no man could change the laws
but Abdul Medjid, the Sultan.




A <DW52> MAN FROM TENNESSEE SHAKING HANDS WITH THE SULTAN; AND MEN
PUTTING WOMEN IN THE BATH AND TAKING THEM OUT.


Friday is a festive day with the citizens of Stamboul. It is
celebrated by gondolar rides along the canal called "sweet water."
Males and females go up this canal, in all degrees of magnificence,
and it is nothing but the elite of the city. From thirty to forty
thousand assemble by eleven o'clock, the hour for the Sultan and his
seven Sultanas, to arrive. Just about this hour it is very gay. The
gentlemen are in groups of from two to ten, exercising on flageolets,
or wooden or iron musical instruments of some kind. The ladies come
some in Palanquins with strong Turks at each end, and others in a
golden gilt carriage, drawn by either oxen, camels, or men; if oxen,
their horns are decorated with ribbons and flowers, if camels no
decoration of beauty is needed as they are appreciated for their
capability of standing hardships and sufferings; if men, for their
masculine limbs and jocular songs, whilst pulling the beauties to the
festal scene.

Where I discovered the crowd thickest there I repaired, and the
Mohammedans, were standing around a very large man, from Nashville,
Tennessee, United States of America. His name was Frank Parish. He
had in his hand as large a hickory stick as ever a man carried to be
a stick; he wore Turkish costume from head to foot, and his Tarbouche
was of the best red, and he stood up with a Narghehly in his hand and
mouth, all cap a pie, _ala Turkoise_. Here the people began to give
way for the Sultan and his seven legitimate wives. Frank didn't give
way an inch of territory for the Sultan. Two or three Pachas rode a
head of the Sultan seated on camels in their golden saddles. The
Sultan stopped every fifty yards and listened to the music. When he
stopped close to Frank, he cast his eyes on his great form, and
seemed to be interested; and Frank had brass enough to look at the
Sultan as he did at other people. Frank took his pipe from his mouth
and walked up to the Sultan's carriage and offered his hand which the
Sultan took, to the approbation of all present. The seven Sultanas
were looking at Frank all the time through their eyelits as if they
liked the looks of him. Frank is a man about 45 or 50 years of age,
and looks like a man in every sense of the word. He is not a yellow,
or black man, but what we call ginger-bread color. He had come to
Constantinople, with a Mr. Ewing from Nashville, and was staying at
Constantinople to recover from wounds he had received from Arabs
that shot him through the shoulder with his own gun, whilst standing
over the body of Mr. Ewing, who the Arabs were trying to kill, and
thereby saved the life of Mr. Ewing. He was a free man and owned
property in Nashville. The Sultan could plainly see that his loyal
subjects were but as infants, by the giant-like man that stood over
them. Being surrounded by such dwarf-like men, he showed off to great
advantage. The Sultan is a weak looking man, and has the marks of
fatigue well written on his forehead and limbs; he also looks like a
man surfeiting on the fat of the world. He is a slow walking man, and
seems as if he experienced some weakness coming from a hidden source
which allowed its approach so gradually and agreeable that he is not
conscious of its fatality. He knows nothing of the rest of the world
nor cares for it, but believes that himself and Constantinople are
the wonders and powers of it.

He is only twenty-two years old, but never once has been out of his
Paradise, Shamboul. According to his opinion, he has no equals,
consequently he has no associates. He is uneducated, because no one
dare to instruct him. Such a man lives a Monarch and will die like a
fool. If the Czar of Russia were to pay him a visit, he might smile
with acknowledgement, but if Queen Victoria's virtuous head would
call, she could not stop in his seraglio as quick as Madame Rachel or
Lolla Montez; and if General Zack Taylor called, his Pacha's would
receive him, and a General Jackson would scare him to death, as he is
the most nervous man on a Throne.

As he is the descendant of Mahommed, it is admitted here that his
authority to govern the people is received on all emergencies from
God. He is incapable of fearing any nation on the earth, as he thinks
that his is head of all. If some day, the news went to his palace
that the Bosphorus was covered with a fleet, and that one ball had
already struck the dome of the mosque St. Sophia, he would, through
all his resolutions, break his haughty heart, and no doubt tremble
off his divan. They are talking about a war with Russia, and I can
find no man here that thinks Russia can begin to fight them.

The Sultan's harems are numerous. While the occupants of the large
are removed to two small ones, we have permission to pass through it,
to see its magnificence, by paying the sum of five dollars a piece.
It is a government of itself. It has a large bath room of water, and
one of vapor. The girls are as pure as silvan nymphs, and some have
remained in this harem until they become old, on account of the
Sultan's fancy to certain ones. They are carried to the baths by
black men, called eunuchs. They take their baths in all attitudes of
pleasure, while these eunuchs lean over the large, stationary stone
basins, and gaze at them in their Eve like costumes. But before these
men are placed in this important position of servitude, they are
privately handled to the disadvantage of displaying any
demonstrations of manly pride, towards these vexed reflections that
must naturally spring up in the reflective minds of virgins deprived
of the luxuries of a life, built upon the confines of clandestine
border thoughts of _sexes_.




GOING TO ATHENS WITH A PRIMA DONNA.


Having seen the Sultan's great City, mosques, ambers, sponges,
perfumeries and beads, I am now passing the Custom House, on my way
back to Greece.

In the front part of this vessel the cabin is all one, and whoever
gets any kind of a berth is lucky, as the passengers are numerous.
The beds or berths are one over the other, like our lake boats'
second class cabin. One berth is a little higher than the other, they
are three stories, and one person has to climb over another to get in
bed, and even then you are too close together. The second class
passengers find their own bedding, and sleep upon deck, and we have
some very rich Greecian families aboard, with their bedding and food,
who sleep on deck. Yesterday we passed by Smyrna, and stopped and
took aboard three beautiful Albanian girls. When you see a pile of
old rubbish lying about on these Dardanelle boats, there is always
some owner lying under it.

These Albanian girls were dressed very different from the Turkish
girls, and the pretty ones are not veiled. They had on a very pretty
costume, but over it they wore a very large and coarse cloak,
composed of either camel's hair, or wool of some ugly animal. They
have a bonnet attached to it, that they can either throw back, or
wear on their heads, and this cloak drags the ground. On board of our
vessel was two young gentlemen from New York, trying to attract the
attention of these Albanian girls, though they had their beaux with
them. These young gents are very rich, their wholesale oil
establishment, in New York, is said to do a business of millions of
dollars per annum, and their names were Bridgers. They were seen to
follow these beauties wherever they promenaded the deck, still they
received no encouragement. Sometimes these girls would hide
themselves in their winding sheet, and throw the bonnet part over
their heads, and fall down upon the deck as singular and as natural
as an apple from a tree, and then they would appear as a pile of
rubbish of old sacks. At last the gay Messrs. Bridgers lost them, and
they hunted in all directions, but could not find these fairies. They
got tired hunting, and seated themselves to talk on some old piles of
blankets and quilts, but before he got seated. I mean only one, he
was thrown flat on his face by one of these pretty girls. In choosing
a comfortable seat, he picked the covered head of the prettiest girl.
He felt very bad about the mistake he had made, and I felt ashamed
for him, but worst of all, he could make no amends, as she spoke
nothing but Greek. He said "I wish I could apologize," but he
could'nt. She did not seem to like it at all.

The first night out we had a good deal of contention about berths. We
had more passengers than the law of this company allows; they are not
allowed to take one passenger more than they can accommodate.

Among the passengers on board was the first dancer of Constantinople.
Those who had spoken for berths went to bed soon for fear disputes
would arise about the right of them. I made sure of mine by sitting
by it and watching it. After all the berthers had taken possession of
their respective places, I discovered many persons taking berths on
the sofas around the cabin; there were some curtains hanging about to
make screens, to dress and undress behind, and the lights always
burned dimly. These sofas were on a level with the lower berths,
consequently, whoever took a sofa berth, was almost sleeping with the
occupant of the lower berth.

There was some choice about them, inasmuch as some were wider than
others. I could see through my thin curtain that some one had picked
out X 31, my own doorway. I lay like a rock to find out who it was,
until I saw that everybody was in a resting attitude, after which I
quietly drew back my curtain, to see what my neighbor was like. I
knew it was some respectable person from the sweet smell of roses and
other eastern scents which I inhaled. I could dimly see a Madonna
figure of considerable size, and the figure was nearly touching me.
I did not get scared but lay as quiet as possible. I saw plainly that
sleep had sent in a regret for that night, the lamp flickered up and
went down, leaving a dark twilight perceptible around the cabin, and
I put my hand slowly out to see what my neighbor felt like, and I
felt the veritable prima donna of Constantinople, "_qu est ce que
vous voulez_," said she, "_rien_," said I, and shut my eyes and went
to sleep in a hurry, and slept as sound as any man could, by the side
of a live Prima Donna.




ATHENS, A SEPULCHRE.


When Rome had a Cæsar and a Cicero, and a Cassius with a Brutus,
Athens dictated the arts and sciences for her. Though she cannot
claim the originality of them, she can the perfection of beautifying.
The conquest of Alexander the Great, in Egypt, among the Africans,
was considered the greatest triumph of conquest ever made by man,
because it enabled the warlike people of Greece, to adorn their
triumphs with the spoils of the vanquished. Egypt was a higher sphere
of artistical science than any other nation on the earth. This will
naturally convey an idea to the world that the black man was the
first skillful animal on the earth, because Homer describes the
Egyptians as men with wooly hair, thick lips, flat feet, and black,
and we have no better authority than Homer. We know not the exact
epoch of his time, but we know it was before any other authentic
chronicler, save the sacred book of Moses, by the fact that he
voyaged on the Nile before the pyramids were built, which we can
trace three thousand years.

On the 29th of May, 1852, as the sun was going down the blue arch of
the western sky, I reached the top of Mars Hill, in Athens, and
seated myself in the seat where St. Paul rested from his display of
power over a bigoted people, when he said, "I perceive that in all
things you are too superstitious."

When St. Paul stood on Mars Hill, Athens was a voluptuous city to
look at. There was the white marble temple of Apollo, Jupiter,
Minerva, Juno and Mars, besides temples to the sun and moon, and one
to the "unknown god," all of which were reared up in the most
conspicuous reigns of those gods over the minds of all the
inhabitants of Athens in a limited degree. As I descended Mars Hill,
I turned to the right and entered the temple of Bacchus, who is
described in the classical dictionary thus: "son of Jupiter and
Semele, and god of wine and drunkards, nourished till a proper time
of birth in his fathers thigh, after the death of his mother, whom
Jupiter, at her request, visited in all his majesty. Semele, who was
a mortal and unable to bear the presence of a god, was consumed to
ashes." An old man was in the temple to keep people from breaking
pieces off from the beautiful temple's treasure, which was the tomb
of Bacchus, with the god carved on the sides, drinking his delight. I
did not know what god's temple this was, and enquired of the old man,
he could not speak any European language, but was quite successful
in conveying the information I wanted; he took an old gourd and
scooped some water up from the bottom of a bucket, and drank it with
great hilarity, at the same time pointing to Bacchus, as if he would
say, "he drank!" I said, "You mean to say this is the temple of
Bacchus, the god of wine and drunkards, do you?" he bowed towards his
toes and then stood erect, and tried to make me understand that the
rest of the tombs there were gods and goddesses, of which Apollo
loved either sexually or valorously. There were no windows to the
temple, the only inlet was the door, but though the door was shut, it
was as light inside as one would wish. The marble was transparent,
and when the sun shone upon its roof or walls, it forced its light
through in a determined way.

As I left this veritable tomb and sepulchre of the great god of wine
and drunkards, my guide pointed to an aperture from the heart of a
hill, and said, that entrance goes to the cave where Socrates was
poisoned. We then went up the most imposing ruins of Athens, the
Acropolis. The temples there looked down upon the rest of the temples
of Athens, like Jupiter would at the feast of gods, it was higher and
more stupendous than all. There was the seats of solid blocks of
white marble of the twelve judges. They were all in a row, and only
one broke. They were solid blocks with scooping apertures, for a man
to place his rotundity in comfortable quarters. Round about the
ruins were balls and cannon, grape, and several bursted shells, but
one half of this tremendous mass of splendid ruins stood upright, as
when it first took its stand among the wonders of the world, as a
temple of wisdom. This temple makes it impossible for us to pronounce
ourselves the "light of all ages."

The great god of this temple was the Ammon of the Africans, the Belus
of the Babylonians and the Ossiris of the Egyptians; from him,
mankind receives his blessings, and their blessings of miseries, and
he is looked upon as one acquainted with everything, past, present
and future. Saturn was Jupiter's father, and conspired against his
son and in consequence was banished from his kingdom. Now Jupiter
became ruler of the universe and sole master of the Empire of the
world, and divided with his brothers, reserving for himself the
kingdom of heaven, and giving the Empires of the sea to Neptune, and
that of the infernal regions to Pluto. The sea moved at his wrath,
and hell burned his opposers, and he looked down from heaven at the
commotion of his wrath till the men on earth considered their welfare
only secured by worshipping his smile. Athens and all her
superstition is gone now, and the godly man now laughs at the folly
of the wisdom that all talent of old times craved for. On Mars hill
where St. Paul thundered the decrees of God against gods, though
nothing to designate the spot, there the Christian of to-day would
rather stake his salvation than from the most sacred abode of Jupiter
and Juno. But there is still weak minds in Athens, for as I descend I
see on the side of a hill that celebrated stone where females used to
come from all parts of Italy as well as Greece to slide down on it,
as a true avoidance of barrenness. This stone is as slick as a piece
of soap, so slick a lizzard could not run down it. For nearly three
thousand years two and three thousand women per day have slid down it
in a sitting posture. The guide books call it the "substitute rock
for female barrenness." Many a bruise has this rock given in
receiving its polish. Hundreds of boys and young men are here at
present, sliding down it for fun.

I see, seated about fifty feet away from it, the Tennessee <DW64> I
described at Constantinople, Frank Parish. A Scotchwoman is seated
beside him, and seems to be proud of him as a beaux. She is a lady's
maid that came here yesterday from the Sublime Porte with her
mistress and Frank. The Scotch lady insisted on Frank taking a slide
with the young men, but for Frank it was no joke, as he was an
extraordinary large man. But Frank, being as full of conspicuousness
as any other man, it only required a little coaxing to get him
started; at last he seated himself for a slide, but he did not much
like to let go lest there would be a crash up. He anchored himself
to the top and hesitated some, paused and looked like a fool. An
Irish servant that was with the same family as the Scotchwoman,
encouraged Frank, by saying, "be a marn," Frank said, "if I am not a
man there is none about here," just to fill up the pause of suspense;
but while Frank was looking and studying, the Irishman loosened his
hands, and he went down like a colossus; seeing that he had broke no
bones, he got up with a smile and felt himself all over to see if he
was safe and sound. The Irishman said, "how did it feel my marn?"
Frank pronounced it the most pleasant sensation he ever experienced.
"Then ye never dreamed that ye were married," said the Irishman.
Frank said he had, but had forgot it. The Scotchwoman wished to know
if that was a pleasant dream; the Irishman said, "it was the most
pleasant dream a marn could have, and the most unpleasant was to find
it a lie."

Starting from the "female substitute for barrenness," we met a man
with a telescope, and we all wanted to take a fair view of Athens.
The Irishman borrowed it from the man and took the first squint. He
pointed to a fine house towards the Kings palace, and there he looked
alone. When I obtained it I looked there too, and saw a beautiful
Grecian maid combing her long black hair; gazing at her until she
finished, I got a most ungentlemanly view of a lady, from which, in
all due respect to her, I had to refrain, and took another direction
in search of fair views. We went down the hill, and as we moved
along the Grecian ladies' and gentlemen's walks, I, though mixed up
in a crowd of different people, was determined to hear Frank talk to
this Scotchwoman. He was telling her of his business, which was still
going on in Nashville, Tennessee, and of how many improvements he
intended to make in his bath house and barber shop, when he returned,
with things that he had already bought in Paris. She believed it all,
and Frank was in his glory. I noticed their actions particularly, and
was upon the eve of hearing their loveliest words, when she stopped
as if it was a great sacrifice to her to give up his company. They
lingered some time, as they would fain go on, but as she was going to
her mistress' hotel, and Frank to his, they must part. Frank was well
versed for the occasion, in Byron. He took her by the hand and looked
her in the face affectionately, and said with emotion,

    "Maid of Athens, ere we part,
    Give, oh give me back my heart."

As Frank was going to my hotel I thought it well to make his
acquaintance; he said he saw me at Constantinople, but as I was an
American, he did not deem it necessary to make my acquaintance, as I
knew that he was a mere barber from Tennessee. He also told me he had
been married several times, and was now engaged at home. The day
after this, I was outside of Athens at what is called "the amusement
grounds" of Athens, for the people repair there every evening to
hear the national band play. This band comes from Bavaria, where
Greece got her present king. King Otho is the son of the King of
Bavaria. Here the king rides out every evening, and here Frank took
another liberty with royalty. As the King and his wife rode up to the
band, his horses stopped just at Frank's elbow, and Frank walked to
the carriage and offered his red hand to the king, and it was,
through courtesy, accepted. Athens is to-day a small town, and the
King lives here. The whole population of Greece is not quite a
million. Our slaves would make four kingdoms as powerful in
population as Greece. Oh, when will we be the "Freest government in
the world?" We looked from the Acropolis down upon a village, but in
old times we looked upon a town. "Ah! Greece, they love thee least
who owe thee most." The women are still pretty, and what is like a
Grecian nose? Come, pilgrim, and see Athens in the days when it is
not even a shadow of its former greatness, and ask yourself if power
constitutes stability. Yes, go upon the Acropolis and gaze downward
to the top of Mars' hill, and look at the council stand of St. Paul;
raise your eyes and turn them eastward, and if your imagination is as
good as your sight, you will see the sea that in old times was
covered over with the fleet of Alexander the Great. Further off from
the shore, in the year of our Lord 1191, Richard I. of England, the
lion-hearted, crusaded along with men, women, children, cattle and
dogs, to put down infidelity on the sacred plains of Palestine, where
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob walked as types of moral light for the
salvation of mankind. Now, as you stand there on the Acropolis, as
Cecrops himself has stood, be not disgusted at what you see below, of
the so much written of towns, for though now you see Athens, it is
true you do not see herself, but "Athens a sepulchre."




BEAUTIFUL VENICE.


On a little slip of land between the gulf of Lepante and Athens, we
come to Corinthe; we know it not, save a few immense pillars of
marble pinnacling the site of Corinthe. Artists from all parts of the
world come here and sit down at their base to sketch their
dimensions; then away they go, with no regretful feelings for the
great founders of arts stupendous, who, perhaps, three thousand years
ago, were known far and near as men of the best faculties. The
greatest gem that Rome ever put in its crown, was the one that was
made by imagination of the Greecian dictator when listening to
Cicero, he said, "Rome has robbed us of all we possess, but our
eloquence, and it seems as if that is going towards Rome." But Rome
has since fallen as low as Athens!

In the Ionian sea, between Sicily and Greece, are the Ionian islands,
seven in number, and Corfu is the principal one; they now all belong
to the English. Out further the East Indias, where the queen of
England has 150,000,000 subjects; on the coast of Africa, at the cape
of Good Hope, the West Indias, and the Canadas, is her sceptral wand
waving its ambrosial food of civilization. "The sun never sets on the
Queen's domain."

Between Asia, Macedonia, and Greece is the most celebrated
archipelago in the world. Six days along the Adriatic have brought me
to Trieste, in Northern Italy. It now belongs to Austria. The
Austrian sceptre is waving over nearly half of Italy. It is generally
believed she cannot much longer hold her Italian possessions. The
army of Austria, like its eagle's wings, is stretched to its utmost
extremity of space. She could not sustain 50,000 more troops, without
breaking some of her internal machinery. Like an overflowing river,
she is most too high to rise any higher without damaging her Union.
She seems to have taken the last drop of the Italian's patience and
forbearance, while Leghorn, Lucca, Trieste, Venice, and other Italian
cities, and other foreign powers, are trying to overflow her channels
of power; they are perfectly willing that these troubled waters
should spread across the plain of the Hapsburg policy, and turn the
institution of tyranny from Hungary, Bohemia, and Italy; but the
beardless, blue-eyed Emperor seems to be as undisturbed as a god of
liberty, and heedless of the consequences of a rebellion of these
warlike people. Five hours' ride from Trieste is Venice, a city in
the sea. More lovely cities, perhaps, have been built, but I have
never seen them. As our steamer threw out her anchor about fifty
yards from the city, I could see on the other side of the city, a
railroad in the sea, and cars running along as the sea spray washed
their sides. On all sides gondolas were racing toward us, which we
went ashore in. This magnificent city is built in the sea, and it
costs more to drive down piles, in Venice, to build a house, than it
costs in London or Paris to build the whole house.

There is one building in this city of the sea, more beautiful inside,
in its old age, than most of the best buildings of its kind, in any
kingdom in the world, are in when they are new. It is the church of
St. Mark. The body of St. Mark is in its cloisters, resting in his
magnificent tomb, like a sleeping giant that dare not be aroused. The
floor of this old gothic building is precious stones; the pillars
near the alters are alabaster. The Pope, in the Doge days of Venice,
put his foot upon the Emperor Alexander's head. All the magnificent
displays of state, even in these times, cannot be worthy of the
notice of the people of this part of the world, unless it be the will
of the Pope; he is much feared by the monarch's of to day. It has
been proven that the Napoleon of to day has been seeking the smile of
Pius IX. It seems very strange to some people, but not to me, that
the kings of England and France, in the eleventh century, should hold
the Pope's horse for him to alight. While walking around the church
of St. Mark, I saw a beautiful figure of a woman leaning gracefully
from a stool downward. I watched her to see if any miracle was about
to be performed. I saw the beautiful creature move with a blush upon
her cheek. She was confessing to an old father, of whom, I saw, was
more partial than moral worth sanctions, for as soon as she left the
box, another made application, but the priest took no notice of it,
but walked into his vestry. The applicant was an old woman, and
homely as a bone, which, I have no doubt, was qualifications for
religion not comporting with his reverence's sensitive taste of moral
obligation, to receive confessions from so ugly a source to fill up
the ranks of his beautiful herds. This poor old woman waited some
time for his return, but like gifts from lips that frequent promise,
he never came.

This church is attached to the palace of the great Doge of Venice,
and across a canal that runs between this palace and the prison, is a
bridge. When a culprit was judged and sent across this bridge, he
never saw again his 25th hour. All the instruments the ingenuity of
man could invent, is here found to destroy the human body. I saw one
machine to put a man in, and gradually break his bones; at the crush
of each bone, he would be asked "if he would confess the crime?"
Another was a steel covering for a man's head, with seven holes in
it; the culprit's head would be firmly placed in this iron case,
whilst he would be seated on an iron block, one nail would gradually
be driven in at a time, until all the seven holes would be filled
with long nails, meeting in the centre of the head, unless he
confessed his guilt when some of the nails were hammered down.
Another machine was something like a brace for the loins, and each
end came curve like together and left it in the shape of a hoop; it
had a lock and key, and old tyrannical lords used it when they left
home, to protect their wives' virtue. He would put it around below
the loins, lock it, put the key in his pocket, and go out hunting. No
man could unlock it, and in those times false keys were not so easily
obtained as now. When he returned he would unlock it, as he could
then keep guard over her to his own satisfaction.

From this horrid place, reader, come with me down the great canal
that traverses the whole town, with its branches, to where, at from
ten to one o'clock every day, would meet together the "merchants of
Venice." Here their financiering would daily rock thrones, but now
you see a long row of decaying old walls whose bases are wrapt in
sea-weed, like climbing serpents, that now dwell in those damp, old
commercial halls, now rotting away. I asked the guide for the site of
Desdemona's father's house, but that was forgotten.

Here we find no horses, carriages, or cars, but myriads of gondolas
intercept the traveler at every turn of an alley or canal. On a
beautiful moonlight night, I went through the city in my gondola, and
as my oar struck the salty brine fiercely, I could see myriads of
lights reflected from the various built palaces, and the sea looked
like a diamond lawn.




VERONA AND BOLOGNA.


One morning, at sunrise, I was rapidly roaring towards the depot that
was to carry me to Verona. All was lone and still, for the Venicians
are no early risers. As still as the zephyr wind gondolas passed by
me, and away the ripples flew. I left this city in the sea, and about
ten o'clock arrived at Verona; a city so handsome in appearance--so
magnificent in its ruins--so picturesquely situated in a plain, I
felt as if I could dwell an age with it. Having obtained a cicerone
we repaired to the old ruined walls of Julliete's fathers' house;
afterwards the old man insisted on us going to see the half of her
tomb, which is still preserved. No traces can be found of Romeo or
his father's house or tomb.

In Verona is many beautiful churches, the principal of which is San
Zenone. San Zenone was a black man, and was the patron of Verona. He
is represented as seated in a chair, with costly robes around him;
his face is the picture of gloom, whilst his brow is stern and
commanding. Preparations were going on for the reception of one of
the oldest Bishops of Italy. The church was thrown wide open and
workmen were employed in all parts of the inside of this edifice.
Behind the altar, was preserved some holy water, brought from Rome
for the occasion. The priest poured some out of the jug into a tin
bucket and gave it to one of his boy aids to pour in the basin found
at the entrance to all Catholic churches. This little priest boy
returned to the vestry for more, received it, but when he returned to
the basin where he had deposited the first bucket full, he discovered
that the basin was minus the first bucket of water. His great
amazement scared even the workmen. He returned to the priest and
informed him that some unforeseen cause had deprived the church of
the precious libation. The priest soon discovered the phenomenon, and
pronounced it an omen unfavorable to the reception of the great
bishop on his way here. It was talked about town that day, that the
great bishop could not be received in the aisles of San Zenone. But I
saw a thirsty boy looking in at the door, go up to the basin and
drink his fill of the holy water, brought from Rome in a jug, and
pronounced it not so good as he thought it was, by a jug full. I told
the proprietor of the hotel that a boy drank the water, and he said,
"I must be mistaken, as no one in Verona was so ignorant as to quench
thirst on holy water." Some said it was the devil thirsting for the
protection of San Zenone, for no admirer that hoped for salvation by
the intercession of this holy saint, would be guilty of such a rash
act, as they could not expect him to intercede in behalf of the
spoilers of his festivals, unless their admiration of him was so
great that they felt it their duty to partake of his blessings beyond
the power of their resistance, even of stealing them.

On my way to the railroad station, I passed the amphitheatre, that,
in the gladiatorial days of Verona, held one hundred thousand persons
in its arena, and where they saw the lion tear the man, and again
where the man slew the lion. That same night I slept at Mantua, one
of the most strongly fortified towns of Italy, and from here I went
to Bologna and bought a sausage. This is a beautiful town so far as
churches and graveyards add to the beauty of towns, and the latter is
more extensive than the former. I informed the landlord of the hotel
Europe that I needed a guide for at least a day. He went in search of
one and returned with a schoolmaster, who had closed his school of
fifty scholars, to wait on us at the enormous sum of one ducat per
day. This was a little pert man with a body twice as long as his
legs. "Gentlemen," said he, "let us be moving, there is a great deal
to be seen before nightfall in Bologna." I informed him that I wanted
to see one of the sausage manufactories, but he seemed to be
ignorant that Bologna was celebrated in the sausage line. He asked
some wayfaring man through those old lonesome streets to tell him
where sausage was made. After seeing the manufactory and the lean
donkeys, he took me to see a gymnasium, and here I saw the insignia
of every organized people on the earth except my own, and looking for
our eagle, stars and stripes, without finding them, I asked him how
it was they could not be found. He said this institution was ten
years old, to his certain knowledge, and as we were a new people and
country, he supposed this was the reason. Bologna, like a candle,
must soon be extinguished for want of fuel of such combustibles as
will burn up the dark ignorant pile now hid from the bright light
that ought to shine supreme from the temple of wisdom of the times.

Venice, with her sea bathed palaces, may survive it, as she is still
in beauty the "pride of the sea," more so than Bologna is the pride
of graveyards, churches and sausage. The "Two Young Men of Verona" is
better known to the world to-day than Verona or Bologna.




FIRENZA DE BELLA CITA.


When we were within two hours drive of Florence, the Capitol of
Tuscany and as it is also called the "Italian Capitol of fine arts,"
we stopped at a hotel to dine and feed horses. The landlord having
ascertained that we might probably feel like paying something for
what he called dinner, came into the sitting room with a live chicken
by the neck and wished to know if I would order something to eat; I
answered in the affirmative, when he gave his arm a twist and off
went the chicken from his head, fluttering into nonentity. I informed
mine host that the stage would hardly wait so long as was necessary
to prepare the fowl, and he said he knew more about that than I did.
A few moments after this he returned with the crawling flesh of the
chicken, some wine and bread, as if he had done something really
worth mentioning, and said, "now sir, here is some as fresh chicken
as you ever eat, I am not like those town hotels that allow every
thing to rot and stink before they sell it." A beautiful Italian girl
that was a passenger in the dilligence with me, was waiting to get
something, and she said to me "you sir, seem to be the lucky one." I
thought it proper to give some one a small piece of the fresh
chicken, but if she had not been so pretty she might have been the
"unlucky one." Up over the door of this man's house was written,
these German words, _Gasthof Zum New York_. It not taking as much
time to dine in the Gosthof as in the stable, we took a walk to see
the extraordinary phenomena of a muddy place that one can set a
blazing with a match. Having arrived at Florence and hoteled myself I
ascertained where the races were, and was told they would commence in
thirty minutes and that my hotel window was as good a seat at the
races as I could get. I looked out of the window and saw the streets
clean as a floor of a log cabin, and written upon the corner
"Course." That was the name of the street. A few minutes after the
heralds proclaimed "that this course must be cleared" as round at the
stand the horses were on the track. This street is circular, and the
horses run round, till they come to where they start from, when the
race is awarded to the first that comes. No riders are allowed, but
the people which makes a paling round the track, hurry each horse on.
The horses don't seem to know they are running a race, because the
shouts of the populace at every window, corner and alley is so
frightening they are trying all the time to get out of the track.

Before the races commence, a carriage with four greys is conveying an
old man and wife up a street that comes to the course and branches
off, and after the race, himself and lady is the first to ride on the
street called "_la course_;" and after his carriage every other
person has a right to enter the promenade of this man and wife, the
Grand Duke, of Tuscany. In the next carriage to his was a tall lady
with a beaux by her side, who, I learned, was the Princess, his
daughter. Next to her carriage, was a Mr. Bullion from California,
trying to pass himself off for a real American gentleman. These are
the times when men who make money in the Eldorado, come home to the
States to show off. He certainly had more money than brains. He had a
liveried carriage. The smoke curled up in little clouds behind him,
his feet were on the fore cushion of the open Calashe, and a
profusion of beard adorned all the lower extremity of his face. His
beard reminded me of Col. May's the captor of La Vega. The Duke
halted a moment causing all in the train to halt also, when Mr. B.
rose up in his carriage and looked round the Dukes carriage and told
his driver to drive on. He was informed that he could not, and he
looked up very wise as if he would like to know why. A few minutes
after the train moved, and he said to his driver "wait a little, I
don't want them to think I want to follow them." The driver stopped
and got himself in trouble, for the vehicle behind him told him to
drive on or get out of their way. Here the Police interfeared and
ordered Mr. consequence Bullion Esq., of the El Dorado to get out of
the way of gentlemen and ladies. He tried to pursuade the officers to
bear in mind he was talking to an American citizen; but there was as
much difference as space between the Torrid and Frigid Zone. The
officer gave him to understand that he might be a Florentine, but he
must get out of the way of other people. Mr. B. spit a mouthful of
juice in the carriage, threw his feet on the front cushion and told
the driver to go on. At first my national pride was somewhat lowered,
but on second thought, I gloried in knowing that Americans are not
responsible for every upstart that goes abroad and violates the rules
and regulations of other communities because they were not made to
suit his taste, for which no body ever cared but himself. The good
people of Europe know full well that there is always thistles among
roses and not all good among themselves.

American people are not as selfish as Italians. Italians will hate a
man for ever for a Paul or Bioca. I got acquainted with an Italian at
the work shop of Hiram Powers, and this young man volunteered to show
me Florence, which would of course save me the expense of a lacquey;
and my old lacquey told me he wished this man was dead, as he had
deprived him of a Ducat. An English writer, tells a tale on
Fontenelle thus: "He once ordered some asparagus cooked in oil for
his dinner, for he was passionately fond of it; in five minutes
afterwards, an abbey came to see him on some church politics, and as
it is usual in France to ask ones friend how he wishes his dinner
cooked and name what you have, Fontenelles told the old man what he
had, and the old man said he would have half of the asparagus cooked
in butter. Fontenelles thought it a great sacrafice, but said
nothing. Thirty minutes afterward the abbey's valet came down in the
parlor and exclaimed in great sorrow that while the abbey was washing
he was taken with an apilepic fit and was dead. Fontenelles struck
the youth on the shoulders and said, "run to the kitchen and tell the
cook, to cook all the asparagus in oil."" Now this was indeed a
selfish man. Sam Slick asked a country beaux "why it was that such a
fine looking gentleman as himself was not married where so many
pretty ladies were?" His answer was "when I offer my hand to a lady,
she will be a lady!" This is another selfish man. An Irishman once
drinking his neighbors wine was too selfish to testify his
approbation of its merrits, by drinking a toast of such good wine to
his neighbor. At last he was compelled to drink one, and he said,
"here is to my wifes husband." The French is celebrated for eating,
the Yankee for his pride, and Irishmen for their toddies.

    "The lads and lasses blightly bent,
    To mind both soul and body,
    Set round the table weel content
    And steer about the toddy."

But I have never found even wit, to justify an Italian's selfishness,
only sublimity of meanness is an Italian's selfishness.




BACK TO PARIS


On my departure from Florence, I luxuriated at Lucca, the bathing
resort of the Tuscans. The city is old with stout walls around it.
Three hours ride in a viturino will bring you to the baths. They are
beautifully located, down in a valley with craggy and fertile
mountains hanging over. It was quite a place in old times, and
Counts, and Dukes and other nobles used to flock here to gamble,
until so much murder was committed, Lucca broke up the resort of
these monied men, and until very recently it was thought to be
destroyed and dead, but the Austrians, who occupy all the important
places in the government of this part of Italy, wishing to resurrect
something that has already been in the Italians' mind as a pleasant
dream, hotels have been built, and livery stables erected, for the
accommodation of the gay portion of Florence, Pisa, Genoa, Leghorn,
and even Milan. On my way from Florence to Lucca I stopped at Pisa.
Pisa is well known to the world as holding up one of the seven
wonders of the world, to the world's travelers and sight seers. I
have reference to the "leaning tower." In describing the "leaning
tower," I will merely say, that the first vast and solid layer of
stone is heavy enough to hold all the others laid upon it. Each layer
is fastened to the one under, and though it might protrude several
feet on the layers protruding side, this few feet of reaching out
stone can have no power over all the rest of that same layer around
this immense tower. The next layer protrudes on the same perched side
of the tower, and straight over the reaching edge of its under layer;
as each layer is fastened with iron spikes to its under layer, there
can be no chance of even the very top falling down on the side of the
tower. It leans so much on each layer as to make the top of the tower
reach away over the base on the leaning side, so much so that, were
it to break loose, it would fall over to the earth without touching
the base or foundation of the leaning side of the tower.

The City of Pisa is well known in Italian history, by the awful
contentions that used to exist among next door neighbors. Men used to
fight on the top of their own houses, and go on conquering, from
house to house, until they would slay as many as twenty lords, whose
property would be theirs as spoils of war. One hour and a quarter's
ride from Pisa is Leghorn, a city full of hats and bonnets. The bay
is dotted over with little white houses, and some miles out in the
sea; and I see hundreds of small boats rowing towards bath houses.
The strongest merchants here are English, who ship Leghorn hats and
bonnets to foreign ports, as well as their own, but the city belongs
to the Hapsburg sceptre, and thousands of Austrian soldiers stand in
the by ways of public places.

Twelve hours travel through the sea from here, brought me to the
"City of Palaces," Genoa. It is a city on the side of a hill, with
eight story palaces looking down on the sea. Before the fifteenth
century it had the inducement for traders that Lyons to-day has. Silk
was manufactured here in a way that astonished that age of pride; but
since the invention of steam, all those scientific arts that this
trade called for is but as nothing, and Italians look at our steam
power machines, and then at all their scientific arts, and like the
proud fowl that gazed downward, their feathers fall.

I must now pass over many places and their accomplishments, and
hasten back to France, to prepare myself for the roughest voyage
yet--Egypt, Arabia and Palestine. Here is the Pyramids, Memphis, (now
Cairo) Thebes, the Nile, the Red sea, the desert of Sahara, Mount
Sinai, the tomb of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Joseph, at Hebron, the
city of David; and to Jerusalem, down to Jericho where the Jordan's
muddy waters slip under the briny and sulphurous liquid of the grave
God dug for Sodom and Gomorrah; and to Olives, Carmel, Tabor and
Calvary; and to Damascus, the Cedars of Lebanon, Nazareth, Bethel,
and the temple of Balbec or Baal.

Prussia, Bavaria, Sardinia and Saxony I will pass through without
comment, more than to say that I found them separate nations of one
people, save in language. However, I will say, that of all the German
kingdoms the most despotic is Austria; but she hates slavery more
than the "freest government in the world." Austria tyrannizes over
man, but she cannot tyrannize, chattelize, and prostrate their rights
with impunity, any more than Washington, Jefferson, or Henry could.




EGYPT AND THE NILE.


Five months of Paris life is again spent, and with it winter has gone
by. Winter takes away and deadens the energies of a gay man, but the
spring time comes, and with it the awakening of man from his
lethargy, and like old Sol from the bed of the sea, in his majesty he
shakes himself in all his rising glory, and puts a fiery garb between
himself and all the rest of creation, to scorch the temptation that
would impede his bright and manly career. Did you ever stand by the
shore of a bed of water, reader, and see old Sol, like a mighty
giant, rise up from his wet pillow, and seem to shake his shaggy
locks, as they loosened from the abode of Neptune for more etherial
spheres, and when at his journey's end, fall again on his pillow of
the watery down? If you have, see me alike pulling away from the
festal abode of Paris' comfort, and loosening the tie of familiar
smiles, for a hard journey over a rough sea, dead lands, and a
treacherous people. Will I not be willing, as old Sol when he fell on
the western sea, to rest my mortal part on the flinty base of great
Pompey's pillar, ere the work be "did and done?" I think I will! I
have passed Marseilles, Malta in the sea, and here I am in sight of
land. Well, Mr. Captain, what are you looking after in the distance
with as much anxiety as the passengers, have you not been here
before? "Yes sir, but every body wants to see Pompey's pillar."
"That's a fact, Captain, is that his pillar?" At this stage of the
enquiry, the Captain of the great steamer Ripon, laid his telescope
down, and took hold of the ladies and gentlemen by the arm and
shoulders, and requested that they would not be so partial to only
one side of the boat, as it might dry one side of her boiler,
endangering his life, as well as theirs. "Now," said the Captain, "do
you all see that tall, monumental pillar, reaching upwards to the
right of those barracks," when answered in the affirmative, he said,
"That is Pompey's Pillar, to the left is the Pacha's palace." This
was indeed the great city of Alexandria. Here it was Diogenes built
the great temple of Diana; and over it suspended her in the air, by
attractive and non-attractive metals, such as loadstone and others.
We are coming near, and the camel boys and donkey drivers are more
numerous than any other class. Having gone a quarter of a mile
through mud, I am at the hotel, but I would as soon be any where
else, for the accommodation is sickening. A man and camel is
standing at the door, with a bullock skin full of butter for the
landlord. The landlord requested him to uncamel it, and bring it in,
after which he plated some of it for dinner. I enquired where this
butter was made, and the Bedouin told me it was made in the desert,
and in recommending it, he said it was good because he made it
himself. But the most disgusting information I got of the origin of
this butter, was, that it was made from camel's milk, and this very
camel was one of the milch camels. The landlord came to know how we
liked our dinner, and the Rev. Levi Tucker, of Boston, Mass.,
enquired about this butter, and mine host stuck his finger in the
butter, and tasted thereof. I was eating a piece of roast beef at the
time, but I could not refrain from turning it over to ask myself,
"might it not be camel's meat," though I could get no answer. After
dinner, four of us Americans, headed by the Rev. Levi Tucker, called
to see his most serene highness, the Pacha of Egypt. We stood before
his palace in the court, about an hour, after which the dragoman
returned from the interior of the palace and inquired of us if we
were the President, I told him not quite. He then told us that his
serene highness had no complaint to make of us for calling on him,
and furthermore, that he had no objection to our looking over the
gardens, and at the walls of the palace, and the stable doors. Mr.
Fellowes, of New Orleans, lit a cigar, Mr. Elliot, of South
Carolina, threw a quid of tobacco among the flowers, and I plucked a
rose, and the Rev. Levi Tucker, so far descended from his gravity, to
joke by saying, "you will all be fined, look sharp!"

This city was built by Alexander the Great, more than three hundred
years before Christ. It is on the Nile where it flows into the
Mediterranean sea, but hardly any of its ancient splendor remains to
point its site, save Pompey's Pillar, which is an immense stone column.
Some parts of its walls are traced, and a few gates of granite marble
are left to mark its spaciousness. Here used to pass the treasures of
the Indies, but since the discovery of the route, via the Cape of Good
Hope, only the mails traverse the Red sea, the Desert, and the Nile.
Alexandria is the sea-port of Egypt, and Egypt is a province of Turkey.
The Pacha pays the Sultan millions of treasure to rule this land
himself, and also binds himself to furnish so many men in time of war,
and is bound to lead them on the field if required. The present Pacha is
said to be a foreign Prince, who fought his way to the throne. He lives
here one part of the year, and the other at Cairo, the Capitol of Egypt.
Cairo is about 275 miles from Alexandria, and as the English mail from
the Indies comes there from towards the Red Sea to this place, they are
now building railroads here, to facilitate conveying it to and from
England and India.




EGYPTIAN KINGS OF OLDEN TIMES.


Alexander the Great, after having extended his conquest to the
Indies, returned to Babylon and there died in the thirty-third year
of his age. Byron, who died at this age, pronounces it fatal to
genius. We will not class our Savior with men of genius, as it would
not be a just comparison to his superior talent or grace, but, if
what Byron says about the turn of genius be true, there can be little
argument against him when these specimens can be taken into
consideration. After this great man's death at Babylon, his empire
was divided among the next great men of the earth, and the Egyptian
division fell to the Ptolemies. They were a great family of the upper
part of the Nile, perhaps the Thebiad, and are known to us as Ptolemy
1st, 2d and 3d, &c. These kings were very learned, for they possessed
the library of Alexandria, and which Caliph Omar burned containing
700,000 volumes of manuscript. For six months they burnt books
instead of wood to heat the water they bathed in. The word Ptolemy
means a class of kings. The emperors of Rome were known successively
as Cæsars. The Persians as Darius, just as the Louises of France
were under the designation of one, two, and three. These titles of
the throne originated with the great and kingly family of Pharaohs.
Pharaoh Hophra is the famous Pharaoh that we are acquainted with in
the scriptures. Pharaoh Necko is another celebrated Pharaoh. The
present Cairo of Egypt, was then the Capitol of the greatest kings of
the the earth, the Pharaohs. It is still a magnificent city for its
age. Its population is variously estimated to be from 175 to 300,000.
Some as fine edifices are found here as in any part of the East. It
was the Memphis of old. Here it was that Pharaoh dwelt when he
marched in pursuit of Moses, when the cloud stood between them; here
it is he is, to day, a mummy, if he was not embalmed in the Red Sea,
but distinguished not; here it is the famine raged furiously and men
sold themselves for food to Joseph; here it was that Moses had the
power to turn ashes into dust, that flew over the land with the
rapidity of a lightning flash, and infested the body of man with
boils, and still the king loved the spot too well to give up one
single foot of his powerful sway. Here it was that Greece and Italy
were schooled in all that they excelled; here it was that Moses
obtained his fundamental rules of governing nations of people, for he
was "learned in all the learning of the Egyptians," and where was
more? and here it is some one thing is found that all the Savans'
talent cannot conjecture the design of its structure, I mean the
Pyramids. I was there to day, and gazed upward 470 odd feet in the
air at its top. I say it because it is only necessary to see one to
be confounded and awe struck. It is a spacious mass of solid layers
of stone, one upon the other, and each from 25 to 32 feet in length.

What the great kings of Egypt had such a tremendous mass of stone so
systematically put together for, is a mystery to all the learning of
our time, and still we know it must have been for no ordinary freak
of talent, intelligence and power, such a structure was reared. The
old historians tell us it took twenty years to build one, with a
force of 100,000 hands. These one hundred thousand men were relieved
every three months by another hundred thousand. These stones were
hewn from the mountains in the desert. It took ten years to make a
causeway on which to bring these immense stones to the building. Each
stone was originally adorned with engravings of animals, but now
there is no vestige of them. The two largest in Egypt, and perhaps in
the world, are these two here before Cairo. My dragoman insisted on
my crawling in and seeing the wonders, but I could make nothing out
of its hollow. It was lined with leather winged bats. If they were
the sepulchre of kings, their bodies are long gone, though secure
they might have been. In going to these Pyramids, one walks over a
pavement of dead bodies. I sunk in the sand, one hundred yards from
the pyramid of Cheops, and my foot caught in the ribs of a buried
man, which I afterwards learned to be a mummy. Oh, mummy! when the
side of the mountains was filled with the dead in old times, it was
usual to take out the oldest corpse and put them beneath the earth,
and in consequence, the whole plain, from the pyramids to Cairo, some
six or seven miles, is macadamized with dead Egyptians, perhaps some
kings and queens. I find that Pachas are reverenced here according to
their wealth. If you ask an Egyptian whether said Pacha is a great
man or not, he compares him to Pachas of a like means. The Pacha has
all the learned men of the land around him. They now, as of old,
carry their inkhorn tied to their waistband. No king, perhaps, of the
earth is so absolute in will over his people as the present Pacha of
the Turkisk empire. The kings of old time, no doubt, were more
powerful in their absolute sway. When Thebes had one hundred gates
undecayed, she could send to war, two millions of men. Such were
Egyptian kings of olden time, though black.




TRAVELING ON THE NILE EIGHT HUNDRED MILES.


The boat I obtained at Alexandria, was made like a keel boat. The
cabin consisted of four bed rooms with a saloon in the centre. This
cabin occupied the centre of the hull of the keel, but it left space
outside all around, and more at each end than at the sides. The
fourteen Arabs and one captain, called Reice, would either be pulling
the boat all day, or managing the sail to advantage. When the breeze
blew up the Nile, they would hoist the sail and take advantage of the
wind. We paid them for the boat, men, and their own food, 250 pounds
for the trip, but if the trip was not made in seventy days, and it is
800 miles, we then had to pay them so much for each day over, besides
this, every few days the Reice would come into the cabin for
bucksheesh; we were annoyed at every stopping place for bucksheesh.
The Indian of North America would translate bucksheesh "gim E
money."

Our cookery was at the bow of the boat, a small space of four feet
square, and our cook was an Italian of Rome. We paid him two dollars
a day, because he was a European, and could not work for less, and by
the way, Arabs cannot cook, and will not, for any price, cook such
food as we had. Our best meat was smoked pork, and they detest this
meat. Nearly every man on our boat was named Achmit, or Mahommed; but
the Reice's name was Marmound. The Reice was a good old man, I have
often felt as if it would afford me great pleasure to sketch his
profile, when, along about noonday, he would stop our boat without
consulting us, to have his head shaved. The head shavers at all the
little dirt villages, would keep a look out for boats, and be ready
on the bank, to shave the captain's head, and make one cent.

The speculators of the Nile could always be found on the banks at the
villages, waiting to sell a goat, a chicken, or an egg. When we would
stop a minute or two at a village, every few seconds, women or men
would come in great haste to sell, each one trying to beat the other,
some dates, cloves, or chickens. Some places, when the boat was
shoving out, some great, fat and lazy Arab would come blowing and
panting to the edge of the Nile with one single egg, that he had been
waiting for the hen to lay. One man, to make up a dozen, squeezed an
old hen until her egg bag emitted a yelk, which I refused to take as
an egg. One Arab brought us some young crocodiles he had dug out of
their nest, even while the old one was chasing him. To believe what
an Arab says when trying to sell anything, would be a sublime display
of the most profound ignorance a man could be guilty of. I have seen
Arabs, however, professing an artful talent that I have no reason to
believe can be found in the whole United States. I have reference to
what is called snake charming.

Yesterday an Arab came aboard with a basket on his arm, and he was
literally covered or clothed with live snakes. They were crawling
over his shoulders, arms, breast, and whole body in general, and his
head was an emblem of Discord. Serpents looked in all directions,
while their forked tongues signaled their wrath, like little flashes
of lightning. This was a "snake charmer," and we concluded we would
test his skill, and gave him a quarter to go to the mountains and
call out of the rocks some of his prey. Having arrived, he sang a
melancholy strain like that of a dove in spring time, occasionally
raising his voice like a lonely crane, and after ten or fifteen
minutes of this proceeding, brought some three serpents from the
crevices of the rock, and quietly walked to them and they crawled on
his arm. He offered to guarantee one crawling on me without biting,
but I was not willing to make any contract to that effect. He
returned to the boat with us, and one of our Arabs, who was a very
incredulous man, told us that the "rascal" was possessed of no power
at all over the wild serpents, but had placed these serpents there
before, and that they were taught to come when called. But this Arab
of ours was jealous of the interesting entertainment we enjoyed. The
charmer knew not where we were taking him until we told him to call
the snakes. The Reice of our boat was afraid the charmer would get
too much bucksheesh, and called on us in our cabin to inform us, that
some months before he had seen this man with the same serpents, and I
asked him how he distinguished the serpents, and he said, "by their
color." He gave me to understand, that though we were very learned
this rascal could fool us, but with him it was very different. He
said that "old Marmoud's beard was white, but few men knew more than
he did." He appealed to our generosity, to keep some of the
bucksheesh, "don't want the rascal to get all the bucksheesh."

At night the jackalls are quite noisy. Two came within fifty yards of
our boat, and played their howling notes some time. No Arab takes
notice of jackalls, foxes, or crocodiles. I went into six sugar
houses on the Nile, and all owned by the Pacha. No man can show his
money here without getting it borrowed. The man who refuses to loan
it to the Pacha when asked, cannot live. A wise man and his money
must part.




THEBES AND BACK TO CAIRO.


Two great streams rises in the Mountain of the Moon, in Abyssinia,
and unites in Nubia, and flows through Egypt, and makes what we call
"The Nile." This splendid old stream flows on gradually as in the
days of Pharaoh, and Jupiter Hammon; splendid, because in those days
its banks were walled with rich cities. The remains of Thebes stand
like Catskill mountains, unshocked. I mean the remains, the renowned
Memnonian, Luxor and Carnack. The tall columns of the Memnonian is
here like untold riddles to be explained. The paintings are as bright
to-day as any modern picture I have seen in the Louvre, at Paris. The
carved chariots on the walls convey the idea, "I see Remesees and
Pharaoh's on the battlefield." These chariots seem to have carried
only two or three warriors with their spears in the battle. On the
outside wall of this temple is carved, the exact likeness of a "man's
individual part," varying from 6 to 13 inches in length, and hanging
beneath each is two balls, seeming to be connected like the two big
parts of a heart, and both gradually sloping down together. It is
supposed, that cutting off these parts of man was the punishment or
qualification required to degrade those gents of the Remesee court,
who were too polite to the ladies. But why gallant gentlemen should
be treated so I shall leave for the conjecture of the learned reader.
Some light may be thrown on this subject by reference to the
preceeding page, on Constantinople's manner of preparing gentlemen's
nature for taking ladies to the baths.

These great temples are situated so that it takes a man many days to
see them. They are on different sides of the Nile. Carnack is a
tremendous mass of splendid ruins. Owls and foxes dwell within; and I
saw a pretty bird, half asleep, that a man told me was a
whip-poor-will. It is no pleasant thing to stop in these ruins a few
hours alone, unless a man was possessed of no imagination at all. On
one of the splendid painted broken columns that ran up through the
hall or court of the unapproachable Pharaoh, Ptolemy, or Remese, a
fox or hawk had been breakfasting on a rabbit, and martins had their
nests perched on the side of the spreading columns that supported the
beams of solid stone, of 12 feet wide and 20 long, over head. These
ruins were sights of wonder to behold. Thebes could send to war
20,000 men from each of her hundred gates, making in all two millions
of men. But to-day her walls cannot be found; we know her but by
Carnack, and the rest of her temples, and the stadium of the Nile.

England and America has a consul here. He is a <DW52> man named
Mustapha. He insisted on us taking dinner with him before we left,
and so we did. He had what is called a fashionable Egyptian dinner of
to-day. The goat was cooked whole, and in a standing posture, and
when placed on the table, uncarved, the strongest fingered man gets
the best part with more ease and facility than the weaker. Whoever
has seen a skinned calf's head hanging by a butcher's stall, can
imagine how melancholy this cooked goat's head looked.

Mr. Mustapha had no chairs or tables, but he had ample room round the
tray in the middle of the floor, where this goat is placed. We all
squatted as well as possible and dined at nine o'clock at night; each
one of us had hold of Mustapha's goat at the same time. The Consul
was indeed skilled in obtaining long pieces of tenderloin. If he is
as well posted in diplomatic affairs as in finding tender parts of a
goat, he will do honor to England and America, or Memphis of old.
About 12 o'clock Mustapha said, "all the dinner was eaten up, and now
we would have some dancing." The girls were called in, and they
stocked their bodies, and made a general preparation with their bells
tied to their waist. This was called tuning up. They went off in
their different strains, as you have heard three or four sleigh
turnouts, one after the other, and all getting together. Such a
jingling; such screwing in and out of bodies; such a gesturing; and
such a quivering of the bodies from their necks to their knees, is
only to be imagined. One girl stuck her head between her legs in
front, whilst another done the same over backwards. A few minutes
afterwards, we eat some dates, smoked some pipes, and drank some
arrack, a liquid used here as we use whisky, brandy, and gin, to
raise the spirits. The feast over, Mustapha informed us that it was
usual to pay his cook and waiter for their services. The next day he
also informed us that it was usual to pay him for being our consul,
as he performed this service for our government gratis. This is his
short cut to the meeting house of distinction and gain. We paid,
hoisted our sails, rowed away, and arrived in three weeks afterwards,
back to Cairo.




CAMELS, THROUGH THE DESERT.


For three of us, eighteen camels were procured, to convey us,
provisions and tents, through the desert. To every camel was a
master, who loads and unloads food and water.

The remainder of my travels will only be described as objects are
found: no comments on their past or future.

Having at ten o'clock, the first time in my life, mounted a camel, I
found it hard work to hold to the old riggings on his back. We went
out on the commons to the east of Cairo, and turned the head of the
camels towards Suez, on the Desert, and awaited their own movements.
The youngest went out in all directions, as far as a quarter of a
mile off; they would follow one another a few minutes, until they
would lose confidence in the ability of the leader to perform his
duty, and take the direction of another. After half an hour spent in
this way, some of the young leaders would wait and look at the old
camels and dromedaries until they would come along side, and wait
quietly until the older would take the lead, and in five minutes the
whole caravan from all directions would pull for his course, like the
different branches of a flock of wild geese that had been disturbed
by some unnatural disturbance; in twenty minutes all would be in a
straight line for Palestine. At five o'clock in the evening we camped
for the night, and while supping before our tent doors, the English
mail caravan came along from Suez with the India mail, some 400
camels; they had left the red sea the day before, and were getting
along very well. The English are great people to meet in a strange
place, as they take pleasure in imparting all the news likely to add
to ones comfort. They asked us about Her Majesty's government, and
also about French feelings. We offered them something to drink, which
they refused, and bade us good day and went a couple of hundred yards
farther and camped. Next morning they were off before we waked up.
The next day we arrived at the red sea, crossed over, and wended our
way to Mount Sinai. We found, at the base of Mount Sinai, two
Bedouins, like lost men from their tribe, looking about as if they
were hunting something in their lonesome vallies. They rode Arab
steeds instead of camels, as we did in the Desert. I had always
believed that the desert was an arid sandy plain, but I found it more
hill than plain. Occasionally we would see a couple of gazelles on
the mountain crag, but always ready to run.

We stayed at the convent of St. Catherine some days with the old
monks, and bought some treasures of them in the way of manna, put up
here for pilgrims in a little tin box, like mustard boxes, and also
some canes of different kinds of shrubs growing round about here. It
takes about an hour to wake the monks up from their studies,
breakfast or sleep. They lowered a sort of a hamper basket for us to
seat ourselves in, one at a time, and they pulled us up. Next morning
we prepared our luncheon for an ascent; about twelve o'clock we
reached the top where Moses held the stones. The guide showed us many
little altars and curious places, said to be sacred places, to
different ages of which he named. I could plainly see that his
information was merely traditionary, without the least shadow of
history for support. As we ascended, he showed a hole in the ground
where the sons of Levi buried their dead. I asked him how he knew
this was the history of this hole, and he said that a powerful Sheik
told him this. He meant the chief of a tribe of Bedouins. They are
called Sheiks. The Sheik who gave this important information was a
very powerful Sheik, and consequently, his opinion carried great
weight, though he could not read. He often settles questions more
important than this to the Arabs. The next day, while branching out
from Sinai and the Red Sea, we encountered a desperate tribe of
Bedouins, who demanded of us a bonus, in genuine coin, for permission
to travel through this territory. We refused to pay, and the Sheik
declared that we should. Our guide, whose name was Como, said many
years ago he traveled along the range with one Dr. Robinson who
wrote a book, and was attacked by this rascally Sheik before, and
refused to pay then, and would refuse now. He bullied up to the
Sheik, and told him he would report him to the authorities of Hebron,
who would send his complaint to Constantinople, to the Sublime Porte.
The Sheik was intimidated, and rode off in the Desert towards Petra.
After thirty-five days in the Desert, we came to Hebron, the burial
ground of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Here we quarantined for three
days. After traveling all these thousands of miles, the Arabs would
not let us enter the mosque built over these distinguished men's
bodies. Our camel drivers could enter, they were Arabs, and would not
defile the mosque.




JERUSALEM, JERICHO, AND DAMASCUS.


Passing by the mosque whose treasure is the Patriarch's bodies
covered with golden robes, the boys and women threw stones at us,
that we might know we were approaching too near their sacred dead.
They pride themselves on these sacred relics, and allow no man to
pass by without seeing their fidelity displayed. Our drivers
explained to us all they knew of the magnificence inside, but that
was poor explanation and satisfaction, as it had also to be
translated. As we left the city on our way to Jerusalem, we were
shown some two or three olive trees nearly three thousand years old.
About an hour after emerging from the city of Hebron, we met an Arab,
and inquired the distance to the Holy City, and he said, "about half
a day's camel ride." All miles are counted here by some animal's
hour's travel. At one o'clock we were passing over rolling mounds
adorned with olive trees. One was higher than the rest, and from its
summit I saw Jerusalem only half a mile ahead. Its towers were few
and scarce, and its walls were parched and charred. The mosque of
Omar's dome glittered in the sun beam, and this Mahommedan sanctum
towered above all the other buildings in this city, that was once the
"glory of the world," because of its godliness. Yes, the mosque of
the Turk looked down upon our glorious sepulchre, as it were with
contempt. I made my way straight to our humble edifice, and fell upon
the marble slabs that once entombed the flesh and blood of the
greatest man ever tabernacled in a body of flesh. In the middle of
the Latin Church, which means the church we christians of the world
built over Calvary, is another small house like a large sepulchre,
such as I have seen in New Orleans, or _Pere la Chaise_, at Paris,
and in this little house are the sides, bottom, and cover, of the
tomb of our Savior, just as it was taken from the earth and placed on
this stone floor, before this little house and the large church were
built around it. Two men were inside of the little house, one at each
end of our Savior's tomb, giving wild flowers to the visitors. These
flowers are fresh, and placed daily on the tomb beside the burning
candles, that burn night and day on this consecrated marble tomb. An
English lady, who came in before me, was prostrated on the floor,
kissing the tomb with great devotion. She was a lady of rank who had
pilgrimed here, and now had given way to her devoted feelings towards
the dull, cold marble that once, in the midst of thousands of
enemies, our Savior had lain in, uncorrupted, though bleeding and
mangled.

The monks were passing to and fro in all directions. The best place
to locate for a short time, is in the convent attached to the church;
they make no charges against a pilgrim, but no pilgrim can come here
unless rich, and no rich man will go away without giving something to
so sacred a place as the tomb of our Savior.

These monks are strict in all their rules, and allow none to be
treated with indifference; they allow no chickens, ducks, cats, or
dogs in the convent; as by their courting habits they might lead the
mind of man from spiritual reflections, to groveling desires. These
are undisputed facts, and I got them from the lips of a monk's aid. I
walked round the walls of this celebrated city in one hour and a
quarter, though when Titus took it, it contained about 2,000,000
souls. But as Jerusalem was considered by the Jews impregnable, the
people from all the villages round about came here for safety. This
accounts for its having so many people when taken. I am mounting a
small Arab steed to go to Bethlehem. I can see it from here. In an
hour after leaving Jerusalem, I passed by the tomb of Lazarus, and
rode up to the walls of the convent at Bethel. It was closely shut on
all sides. Our guide demanded in an authorative tone and air for
entrance. A bare footed monk unlatched the door, and we walked in,
and were carried direct to the altar built over the manger. We saw
burning candles and flowers strewn around. We came out and wended
our way towards Jericho, it could be seen in the distance. We came to
a spring whose water was running freely, and the guide had the
impudence to tell me that the cause of this water running so freely,
was because the jawbone that Sampson fought so bravely with was
buried here. He had told me another absurd story about Jeremiah's
cave, but I was not inclined to believe anything I heard from the
people about here, because I knew as much as they did about it. I
came to Jerusalem with a submissive heart, but when I heard all the
absurdities of these ignorant people, I was more inclined to ridicule
right over these sacred dead bodies, and spots, than pay homage.

The same evening I camped at Jericho, about a hundred yards from
where the Jordan empties into the Dead Sea. We took a bath in the
Jordan, and tried some of its water with _eau de vie_, and found it
in quality like Mississippi water. Then before we dressed, we took
another in the Dead Sea. I cannot swim, but I could not sink in this
sea; it is a strong brine of sulphur and salt, and stronger in
holding up substances than the Mediterranean or the Atlantic. No
living creature can live in it; the Jordan washes an immense quantity
of small perch-like fish into it, but they instantly die, and are
thrown out on the banks of the sea within twenty feet of the Jordan.
The Jordan is frightfully rapid, but so narrow that a child could
throw a stone across any part of it within a mile of the sea.
Rabbits and birds are plentiful here; in the shrubbery in the valley
of the Jordan I killed doves and quails enough for supper. Jericho is
not worth mentioning, as there is not even a temple here left by
time. The ground is covered with broken bricks and stones.

Having stayed in the city of Jerusalem seventeen days, I leave it,
never wishing to return again, and am now leaving the wall, Calvary,
Moriah, and Olivet, to see Gallilee, Tabor, Nazareth, and Damascus. I
saw the sea, as no doubt it was when the whale vomited; I saw the
little house where water was turned into wine, I saw Tabor, ascended
and took my chances with the wild boar; I returned from Tabor to
Nazareth, where I had left my baggage and provisions; eat some
camel's meat. The soldiers were preparing for army stores, and I
hurried on to Damascus to hear something about the decrees of St.
Petersburg against the sublime Porte. The Turks all through Palestine
were preparing for war; they said this year, 1853, was going to be a
memorable one; the crescent and the cross were to shine gloomily, for
the hungry Russian bear was seeking food beyond his lair. About the
1st of July I arrived at the Paradise-plain City of Damascus, and
bought a blade. I bought some silks, and old swords, celebrated as
Damascus blades were, with one I cut a half a dollar into two pieces.
The ambassadors of different nations were informing their country's
subjects that it was best to be among the missing, and said that some
Russians were here yesterday, but were now gone to parts unknown.
These ambassadors were more frightened than their subjects; one said
to Col. Fellowes and myself, "as soon as the Sultan declares war, no
christian will be allowed to pass the barrier of his boundary," and
as this is said to be a quarrel on religion, every christian head
might fall "that is found where waves the little Turkish flag of the
crescent and the cross." I packed my trunk, paid my bill, and left
Damascus and its sights, and traveled towards the Mediterranean. I
looked at my old Damascus blade, and thought of those sharp
scymaters, like reap hooks, and as I could see one in my imagination,
I felt all over, and spurred towards Joppa.




CONCLUSION.


I am now letting loose the thread of my knowledge; the broach is
turning from me to pull away the end, and with it the satisfaction
that though its a hard broach to tie to, I have spun _no yarn_. The
reader that only believes what he can see, through a limited source
of facts, is always losing time and money, to read another man's
knowledge; but the one who is always seeking to add to the stock of
knowledge which he already has, is sure to gain time and knowledge in
the stride of life.

On my way to Joppa I passed through Lebanon, took a glance at the old
cedars, which I can pronounce nothing but spruce pine. I brought some
of the burrows home to New Orleans, and they received from my friends
the appellation above. An old man close to the little group of
cedars, offered me his virgin daughter for the sum of twenty-five
dollars; he seemed to be in great want of money. I hurried to Acre,
and looked at its strong walls, and heard its foolish citizens talk
of the impossibility of any nation being strong enough to take it.

Jaffa is the present name of Joppa. It was formerly the sea port town
of Palestine; it has suffered much from being the gate city of Syria.
Here, at Jaffa, I took passage to Marseilles, France, and arrived
there just as the emperor of Morocco, who had been visiting France,
was departing, himself and retinue, for Morocco, the Capitol of his
Empire. I arrived back to Paris before the last of July. On the
second day of September, the Franklin backed out from the wharf at
Havre, France, with a splendid trip of passengers for New York city.
Among these were Charles W. March, private secretary of Mr. Webster,
and Geo. W. Kendall, the traveling editor of the New Orleans
Picayune. They seemed to me the happiest men aboard; they eat their
good dinners, drank their good wines, and came on deck and inquired
of me my opinion of thousands of little things that I thought hardly
worth noticing. I am passing by England and Wales for home, my
journey must be considered done. Youth is ever ready to be where it
seems no advantage to him; and it is a long time before he can
surfeit on curiosity, enough to say, "alack, and well-a-day!" The
aged are rough and ready implements of the world, they are too
tightly riveted to their designs to let loose when they are
absolutely in danger; yes, Old Fogy goes on like a saw on a nail,
determined to go through because he had the power, heedless of the
consequences, and determined to make the nail suffer for attempting
to impede his progress; he soon finds his sawing propensities
broken, and much the worse for wear. But not so with youth. I feel in
taking leave of this work, as if I was parting with an old and
familiar friend that I could stay much longer with, but I am afraid
to stay much longer lest I enhance its value as a friend. _A friend?_
Yes, a friend!

James says that men of talent are often seen with many books before
them, extracting their contents and substances. Were such men
authors? No! but imitators; they wrote few impressions because few
were made; they merely confirmed what others proved.

Like an anxious boy, in the ardor of anxiety to describe, I may fail,
but I tell the thing as I saw it.

Should the reader think strange that I could find pleasure in these
curious and strange places for a young man to be in, wherein they may
occasionally find me, he must bear in mind that those are the only
places and streams where flows the tide of curiosity from the mind of
a youthful channel. There is no sameness about youth; like the clock
when down, he must be wound up, or there can be shown no fine work in
the machinery of a career of glory. Henry kindled his own fire,
Washington paddled his own canoe, and for a bright manhood, youth
must find his own crag on the mountain, rivet his eye of determined
prosperity up the cliffy wiles of life, kick assunder impediments and
obstacles, and climb on! When you hear _can't_, laugh at it; when
they tell you _not in your time_, pity them; and when they tell you
_surrounding circumstances alter cases_, in manliness scorn them as
sleeping sluggards, unworthy of a social brotherhood.

All are obliged to unite when a question of _might_ against _right_
comes up, as it is now before the world. Dickens says, "no doubt that
all the ingenuity of men gifted with genius for finding differences,
has never been able to impugn the doctrine of the unity of man." He
further says, "The European, Ethiopean, Mongolian, and American, are
but different varieties of one species." He then quotes Buffon, "Man,
white in Europe, black in Africa, yellow in Asia, and red in America,
is nothing but the same man differently dyed by climate." Then away
with your _can't_; when backed to the wall by the debator, you had
better say _nothing_ than _can't_. You had better say, as I say while
taking leave of you, _au revoir_.


       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

Obvious printer's errors corrected.

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including obsolete and variant spellings, inconsistent
hyphenation, unclear grammatical usage, and other inconsistencies.





End of Project Gutenberg's A <DW52> Man Round the World, by David F. Dorr

*** 