LETTER X.

A fine city is this, a large one too, with broad, handsome streets. Our first visit was, as usual, to the cathedral. Service was going on, and this being some anniversary day, the church was profusely decorated with fresh plants and flowers. The entire chancel was filled with ferns and white blossoms. I sat a while listening to the service, but the only portion of it I was capable of appreciating was the fine tone of the organ as it sent out its waves of sweetness over me. When I arose to go I could not find F., nor could I find the way out. A handsome old German immediately comprehended my situation, and gallantly escorted me to the door, and upon leaving me bowed nearly to the ground. The German gentlemen are very polite; and when we were at Strassburg, at our first table d’hôte dinner there, we were the only ladies at the table, and there were ten gentlemen. We were the first to rise to leave, when, to our surprise and embarrassment, every gentleman arose and bowed. We of course recognized the courtesy by bowing also. In this Mayence cathedral we saw the monument to Gen. Lahmberg, who was killed at the siege of Mainz, and wondered at the ridiculousness of this costly piece of marble, which is like this: a figure representing Death is pushing the much-bewigged general into a sarcophagus, which appears altogether too small for him. Some of the statues and monuments, however, were very beautiful and appropriate; one of Frauenlob, the ‘champion of women,’ exceptionally so. His bier was carried to the grave by eight beautiful and noble women.

Like the rest of the German cities, this one seems full of soldiers. At the barracks we saw crowds of them, and in the streets saw several regiments marching, fine-looking specimens of mankind, and moving as if one man. I am told that in this one town there are more soldiers than in our whole army. That may be so, but I am thankful that our men devote their lives to better uses than the everlasting preparing for war! Think of the progress of our comparatively new country. Think of the condition of our working people! Think of the multitude of invaluable inventions American brains have given to the world! And when war has to come, that good may come from it, American men are not far behind, but they do not spend much time in ‘playing soldier.’ True it is that the military spirit pervades, fills, the whole of Germany in all ways and in all directions. At all of the railway stations it greets and surrounds us. Every man in Germany has served a number of years in the army. They all stand in a military attitude, and walk with a military step. The railroad officials and employees have all been soldiers. The rank of their present positions is indicated by their special uniforms. The captain of the station wears a showy costume of blue trousers with a red side-stripe, a frock coat, double-breasted, a gilt belt, and plenty of large gilt buttons, and a red cap always, with gilt trimmings. The guards are also dressed in uniform, but wear blue caps. When the passengers alight, these guards bow and salute, whether to do honor to the arrivals, or whether the salutes were for each other only, I cannot say, but will say it is a pretty custom, and much superior to the hurry-scurry, jostle-about manner of the depot employees in our own cities.

The railroad stations in Germany are very much finer than our own. The interiors of the buildings are neat, with comfortable furnishings, fine restaurants, and dress-coated waiters quick and ready to serve. The station-houses are surrounded with well-cared-for grounds, containing flowers, fountains often, gravelled walks, and comfortable seats, so that waiting for trains never becomes tedious. Think of all this, you who wait at some of our country stations! And, better than all, every man is courteous and polite, never in too much of a hurry to answer questions and give information. To the captain at the station here we are particularly indebted for kindness and grateful to him for his assistance, and especially for rendering all as if it were his greatest pleasure. In a drive about the city we visited the museum. Saw many quaint old buildings, watch-towers, statues, the Elector’s palace, and a variety of other fine buildings.

Grand Hotel du Rhin, Wiesbaden, Germany, July 30th, 1888.—I believe Wiesbaden is more attractive than Baden. At any rate, nothing could have charmed me more than the appearance of this town—the name of which means ‘Meadow bath’—in the lovely drive we have just had through its pretty streets, bordered with fine trees and magnificent residences. Hotels are crowded, as we are here in the season for fashionable recreation and rest, and perhaps I may add, fashionable dissipation. People bathe in and drink the unsavory waters, and think they are made as good as new. The springs are a curiosity, and as the water bubbles up to the surface it emits clouds of vapor, and sends out an odor suggestive of having washed out Hades. We were fortunate in meeting, in our drive, Louise, Princess of Nassau, in a very ordinary-looking turnout, and not prepossessing-looking herself, but our driver informed us that she is charitable and well-beloved by all. We, later, visited the palace of the Duke of Nassau. There is a pretty English church here, and a very beautiful Greek chapel, built by one of the Nassau dukes in memory of his Russian wife. A figure of the sleeping Duchess, in white marble, is lovely. These Greek chapels have always a gilded dome. The natural beauties of Wiesbaden are numerous and unusual. It is said Kaiser William loved the place.

This evening we went to the Cursaal, a handsome edifice, in which are ball-rooms, concert rooms, and so forth. There are beautiful grounds, beautifully laid out, around the building, with parterres of flowers, miniature lakes, fountains, rustic arbors and seats, and everything to make the place attractive. The Cursaal, the gardens, and the colonnades were all brilliantly illuminated, and a fine band playing in front of the piazza on which we sat. The seats and gardens were thronged with people,—sitting or walking about, chatting, drinking wine or beer, listening to the fine music, and having a good time generally. Before the suppression of gambling in 1872, it was here carried on to about as great an extent as at Baden. While sitting taking in the brilliant scene, a lady sitting next me, who could speak a little English, addressed me. It was quite evident that her tongue must move constantly in some language. She was ‘cute’ and discerning, and after looking us well over, ventured to ask, as if know she must, ‘American or English?’ ‘American,’ I replied. ‘I thought so; and you never saw a sight like this before, did you?’ Many of the intelligent people over here seem to think that there is nothing ornamental or beautiful in America, and it gives me great pleasure to undeceive and surprise them. Many seem to have an idea that we are as crude as savages.

These watering-places have some advantages over our own Saratoga and the Springs of Virginia, in the way of natural scenery, drives, and foliage, but the hotels at this place do not equal our own, the equipages are far less elegant, and one can see more handsome women and more tasteful costumes in one day at Newport than in a whole season here. This hotel we have not liked as well as the one in which we stayed at Baden. Our meals have been served in a sort of rustic arbor on a large scale, gorgeously gotten up, with vines, evergreens, running water, and flowers; but I must say I had rather eat in the house, where there are no suggestions of bugs or worms; but the Germans love to eat and drink out of doors. My candle is growing short, therefore I must make this letter so, with loving thoughts of you all. Good-night.

Tuesday, July 31st, 1888.—The sun shone brightly in answer to our prayers this morning, and we are thankful, for we did want a clear sky for our canopy while on the Rhine. At seven A.M. we left our hotel, and were driven a distance of three miles, over a fine road, to the river, where we found a boat ready for us. The steamers that ply on the Rhine look very different from our own craft. They are long, narrow, and low. We made our way on board, with hands full of maps and descriptive books, with the rest of the crowd, picked up our stools as we went along, and seated ourselves for a day’s trip on the Rhine, filled with ‘unspeakable emotions’ and a poor breakfast.

At first we see but little of interest,—small villages, gardens, vineyards, and inns, near the water, and excursionists sitting on their porticos eating and drinking. Occasionally a cross or a statue on the hillside varies the scene. We are disappointed in the vineyards: the vines run up on sticks, and look like stunted pole-bean vines growing, and our expectations of graceful green-clothed arches and arbors vanish. ‘How muddy the water looks, too!’ said I, ‘and when or where do we get to the delightful part of the Rhine?’ A young German gentleman sat near us, who evidently did not like that question, as if it could be for once thought that any part of the romantic river could be anything but beautiful. I will tell you more of this gentleman later. At Bingen we made our first stop, and thought, as everybody does, of Mrs. Norton’s poem. And I thought of the little boy I so earnestly once trained to recite her touching lines:—

From childhood we have read of the Rhine and its romantic legends, and now to us it seems as if every spot must be inhabited by princes and princesses, dragons, warriors, knights and syrens. The tower, called the Mouse Tower, which is in the middle of the river, was built in order to collect taxes from every boat that passed. The legend runs that an archbishop, at the time of a famine, took what grain there was from the poor, for his own wants. The starving throng begged him for bread, and he said to them, ‘You shall have it; go into that empty barn and I will give you warm bread!’ The people rushed into the barn, when he closed the doors, and set it on fire, and when they all cried out in terror he coolly said, ‘Listen to the pipings of the mice.’ From the ashes of the people armies of mice came to devour him; he rushed to the tower for safety; but the mice, undaunted, followed him, and ate his flesh to the bone, and his skeleton was found in the Rhine. You will recall now these words of the poem—

Fragments of poetry come to one’s mind constantly here, for nearly every spot has been sung of by some one.

Near by is the great ruin of the Castle Ehrenfels, where the Archbishop of Mayence, or Mainz, as the Germans say, used to flee for safety in times of agitation. Opposite is the Castle of Rheinstein (Rhine Stone), which has been restored, and is owned and often occupied by the royal family of Germany, and looks indeed very inviting. The legend connected with this castle is a pretty tale, because the end gives Gerda, the lovely daughter of Count Siegfried, to Kuno, the man she loved, notwithstanding the treachery of his bachelor cousin Kurt, who endeavored to win her for himself, but as a meet punishment fell from his horse while following her and was killed. Kuno inherited his estates, and he, with Gerda, ever after ‘lived in peace.’

We saw the Siebenjungfrauen, ‘Seven Virgins,’ now seven cold rocks, once beautiful maidens. The Lurlei, a river nymph, turned them into stone for flirting too much with the susceptible youth of the Rhine. Near by are the huge rocks of the Lurlei, where dwelt the syren, whose sweet voice lured all who heard it, and whose greatest delight was to charm these admirers on to their own destruction. It is said that even now, at the uncanny hour of midnight, the phantom of a boat can be seen, with the shadowy figure of a man with outstretched arms standing in the centre, gazing toward the cliff, where he had once seen and been entranced by the lovely maid and her sweet voice.

I become so absorbed in all these old traditions, that I feel like telling you the stories as if they were new, but you know them all, and I must stop or weary you, for you are in practical Boston, and I on this historic, romantic stream. Near us, on the boat, sat a distinguished-looking party of Germans, one of whom was the young gentleman I previously alluded to, and who had watched us, we felt, with considerable interest, for the citizens of one nation are always interested in travellers from far-off lands, taking notes of their own. Hearing me ask of F. a question in regard to one of the old ruins, which information she was unable to give me, he kindly volunteered the desired explanation, apologizing at the same time for addressing us. He was every inch a gentleman, and spoke English a little. His knowledge of everything in the vicinity, his kind attentions, and the use of his superior glasses, added greatly to the pleasure of our trip. I think he looked at my companion, but he talked with me, and was charming. ‘Have you reached “the delightful part of the Rhine”?’ he asked, and I felt that I had. The only really beautiful portion is from Bingen to Bonn. It is between these cities that the river turns and winds from one mountain side to the other, on whose heights stand the picturesque old ruins—castles, convents, and crags. Of course the Drachenfels, or Dragon’s Rock, with the castle ruins, brought to us many memories of the ‘Niebelungen Lay,’ for it was here, on this romantic ground, that young Siegfried showed his wonderful strength, which has been told and sung of ever since. If only he had dipped his entire body in the dragon’s blood, and not left the one spot exposed! But, ah me! I fear we all have the one vulnerable spot somewhere, for we are all human! In and near this vicinity the finest grapes grow, and the vineyards are extensive and receive constant care.

We made a short stop at Bonn, long enough to see the fine statue of Beethoven, who was born here, and who was descended from a family of wonderful musicians. Saw the university buildings also, where a young gallant, once ours, studied, and then we pushed on down the river, the banks now flat and of little interest, until Cologne came in sight.

Yes, we have greatly enjoyed the Rhine, but taking it entire, I am a little disappointed, and as these are honest letters, telling you of sights just as I am impressed by them, I must say, that with the exception of that portion of the river I have spoken of to you, which is bordered by the mountains, castle-tipped, I think our own Hudson, with its lovely banks and its shadowy Catskills, the more beautiful. I am thinking now of the time, one year ago, when I sat on the deck of the Mary Powell running up past the grand palisades and dear, lovely, old West Point. Well, I shall be homesick if I dwell upon that trip. Our attentive German escort, whose card has told us that he is the son of Baron von H., and a student at Bonn, now taking his vacation, requested my consent to accompany us to our hotel, as he was to stop at the same one, hoping to be able to be of service to us, which very kind offer we declined, and stepped into a droschky, which soon safely landed us at the Hotel Disch.

LETTER XI.

A rap at the door! A note handed me! What is this? Credentials, and a letter formally introducing our young fellow-traveller of our trip down the Rhine. He was well known by our hotel proprietor. Well, he has worked rapidly since landing to try to assure us more earnestly that he is the gentleman he seemed, and of which I was perfectly positive without his having taken all this trouble. He sends us some fresh, sweet roses, and asks if he may sit with us at table d’hôte. A little resting in our room, a little lingering at the window, from which we have a fine view, and our first, of the great cathedral, and down to dinner we go, Miss F. not forgetting to wear her share of the lovely jacqueminots. Our friend was waiting for us, and looked handsomer than ever in his fine dress-suit. We were all hungry, and did wish a little more speed could be used in serving table d’hôte dinners. If one is sight-seeing, and desires the time for something besides waiting, these long-drawn-out affairs require the patience of a Job to sit to the end of them.

After dining we walked out into one of the parks and heard excellent music, looked about the old town, guided by our German, who was familiar with every spot and who quite educated us upon Cologne and its history. Upon bidding him good-night, he said he should be happy to escort us about the next day, but previous arrangements compelled us to decline with the heartiest of thanks. He was disappointed, and the big, dreamy blue eyes rested upon the sun-browned girl with me, who looks thoroughly the tramp she is. They two converse in German, and so rapidly! I must practise German more; I can hardly follow them. Why will people talk all languages but our own as if tongues were propelled by steam?

Hotel Disch, Cologne, August 1st, 1888.—Thanks we offer for a good night’s rest and for this lovely morning. Our bell rings, and I find at our door a maid with a basket of exquisite flowers tied with blue ribbon, colored, I am sure, with the reflection of a certain pair of eyes. A card, with the donor’s name, hoping the ladies are well. A pretty morning welcome, surely! We receive a call later, and bid God-speed to our German friend, who seems as reluctant to leave us as we are to have him go. But such is travelling: we meet as ships at sea, salute each other and then pass on. Moral of this little episode: If you wish in journeying about to have plenty of attention, take a young lady with you.

Cologne, or Köln, is a large city, and in some of the streets where much of the perfume is made the odor is very evident and much more welcome than the cheese scent of Berne or the garlic-impregnated air of some of the German towns. This is a fascinating old place, and the streets of shops, gay, bright, and progressive looking, and the old, narrow, crooked thoroughfares very odd, with their queer old buildings. The garrison here contains seven thousand soldiers: think of their seven thousand ‘ribs’ at home digging potatoes. There are many churches here, old towers and fountains, an archbishop’s palace, and statues of the different German emperors, one fine one of Gen. Moltke and one of Bismarck, all good specimens of careful work. Cologne water is for sale everywhere, stores of it, in bottles and flasks of every shape, on the street corners, in the corridors of hotels, and children rush up to you and take it out of their pockets, urging you to buy. Throughout Germany I have seen the beautiful face of Queen Louise carved, chiselled, painted and photographed, but here, in an art store, I saw an engraving of the same sweet face, the loveliest of all. No wonder old Emperor William cherished her memory so sacredly, and forgot not the insults of Napoleon heaped upon his beloved, noble mother. We went, for a short time in each, to the Zoological and the Botanical gardens. We thought we would see some of the sights of the town before going into the cathedral, but the huge pile was before us at every turn and we could wait no longer to see the crowning glory of the place.

Cologne Cathedral! Dear, of this great piece of Gothic architecture, with its majestic arches, columns, pillars, windows, and all else that helps make up its wonderful beauty, I have no words to tell you. It is perfect: nothing has equalled it. We wandered about, then seated ourselves, with never before in our lives so beautiful a perspective before us, and I was so overpowered with it all that I am not sure but I should still be sitting there if F. had not said, ‘Come, we must see the chapels.’ There are seven of them, all filled with costly pictures and relics. In the treasury of the church there are gold and silver, diamonds, pearls, emeralds, and rubies enough to buy bread for all Germany. The beautiful churches of this country, the wonderful telling of sacred stories in their paintings, the speaking statues, which bring to us the ‘good tidings’ anew, the soothing, restful colors, are all great lessons and we can get much good from them. But the sacristies, filled with gold and silver in meaningless shapes, precious, costly gems imbedded in old skulls repulsive to look upon, are indeed abominations. If all these riches were turned into money to help the Saviour’s poor, would it not be a better way of doing ‘His bidding’? For the poor and the hungry are not far from the masses of wealth, wherever or in whatever form it may be. I appreciate æsthetically this dazzling display of artistic splendor and riches, but my heart goes out in pity and sympathy toward the multitude who are taxed to support it. And are not these terrible differences, whether in church or in society, the seed which may some time grow into anarchy and revolution? Even in dear, good Boston, not long ago, I heard a delicate woman, who toiled daily for her invalid husband and three little ones, say, ‘I am so discouraged to-day in my struggle for the necessities of life that it is almost maddening to take up the paper and see that Mrs. A. had a thousand dollars worth of flowers at her ball last night, that Mrs. B. wore a ten thousand dollar necklace, and so on.’

This town is well supplied with churches, there being twenty noted ones here. I did not feel much inclined to see anything less impressive than the cathedral, but submissively followed F. to St. Ursula, for, she said, nowhere else could I see the bones of eleven thousand virgins. And sure enough, there they were! many of them placed in position, like rails in a Virginia fence. Three thousand skulls are also ranged along on shelves together, grinning silently at each other. If Hamlet runs out of skulls, there are plenty in Cologne. The decorations, however, would probably not be thrown in, as they are worth a good deal more than the skulls. Some wear embroidered and jewelled hoods, others wear caps of silver and gold. There is a painting of St. Ursula here,’ and the shrine of St. Ursula, set with precious stones. ‘And this is the arm-bone of St. Ursula,’ said our solemn guide. ‘Is it really?’ said I. ‘And this is her foot,’ ‘My! just think of it, F.! St. Ursula’s foot!’ And with renewed solemnity our guide continued, ‘And this is her hair net,’ ‘Her hair net! do let me see it closer. Are her false crimps here also?’ ‘And here are the teeth of the virgins,’ ‘Blessed virgins! they will never have the toothache any more from these teeth!’ ‘And here is the vase in which the water was turned to wine at the marriage-feast at Cana, in Galilee!’ ‘Is it possible? do you really believe it?’ said I. The man—a handsome priest—bowed low and crossed himself. Much of the story of St. Ursula and her pilgrimage is illustrated in paintings on the walls of the church. We surely had our money’s worth, and our fill of churches for one day.

Our German friend does not forget us, although now miles away! Flowers, and a letter to F., which we find upon returning to our hotel, prove this. The letter is so ‘cute,’ and so original, also, in its attempts to express its writer’s feelings in English, that I will copy it for you, word for word, for you will appreciate it, and I am sure he would not object, for you do not even know his name:—

I doubt if we could answer in German, on paper, and make ourselves as clearly understood. We hope sometime to see our devoted and much-valued friend again.

Hotel Disch, August 2d, 1888.—We have had a long drive about the city to-day. We saw the bridge of boats and went into the cathedral for the third time, and each time its beauty impresses us more and more. If the tradition connected with the architecture of the cathedral is true, that his Satanic majesty designed it, he certainly did that better than any of the rest of his works. The exterior is also most pleasing to the eye, look at it in any way you will, and the spires, the towers, and the buttresses, with their elaborately carved pinnacles, are ‘things of beauty,’ never to be forgotten.

In our ramble later in the day through the streets, which seem to be laid out something like half circles, a little ragamuffin pulled my dress and asked in German, ‘Can I show you the horses.’ The child’s dirty face was wan and haggard, so we could not begrudge a few pennies given him, and I took his hand, which seemed to please him immensely and on we walked together. ‘There they are,’ said he. And sure enough, looking from a second story window of an old house are two gray horses, stuffed, I presume, but their appearance is very life-like. The story explaining their being there runs like this. The beautiful wife of a rich man apparently died. The grief of the husband was so intense that he would allow no one to come near her, and placed her in the tomb himself, with her rich garments and jewelry on. Thieves went at night to steal these articles, when at their touch she arose and asked, ‘Where am I?’ The men, alarmed, ran away at full speed, leaving the doors open, and the woman, who had only been in a trance, walked out into the street, and to her husband’s house. She knocked at the door until her husband was aroused and asked who knocked. She replied, ‘It is I, thy own Richmodis, thy wife,’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘my wife is dead, and the dead rise no more; sooner would my two grays trot up the staircase into my room and look out of the window.’ He immediately heard a noise, and his two horses came into his room, placed their fore feet on the window sill and looked out, and there they have been looking ever since. And the poor wife, let us hope, was received as flesh and blood. Old traditions and history repeat themselves constantly in these ancient foreign cities.

A party of young girls, with their teacher, arrived at our hotel to-day from Massachusetts, and it was a delight to see their faces and to hear our own tongue. E. reached us this evening from Bayreuth, filled to the brim with Wagner, and greatly regretting that we were not there to see and to hear. Of the latter pleasure we know something from the exquisitely rendered Parsifal selections given at our own Symphony Concerts, but to see Parsifal in the home of its composer is a delight yet to come.

August 3d, 1888.—Leaving Cologne, and carrying much cologne with us, we started at nine o’clock A.M. for Utrecht, turning our faces toward the cathedral’s spire as long as we could catch a glimpse of it, and soon we are out of Germany and in Holland. For all the Germans drink so much beer, we have never seen in the country one intoxicated person, and who could go far in our own land and say that? ’Tis true, and pity ’tis ’tis true,’ that the poor whiskey deluded Americans drink is many times more deadly and destructive than beer. Although we have had few opportunities of seeing the better class of Germans in their homes, we know that home-life is sweet and sacred to them, and the Germans are everywhere proverbially honest and their word to be depended upon. Their country is not only a military one, but it is the nation of music, of the sciences, and people of all other nations flock here for instruction.

LETTER XII.

At Utrecht, our first Holland city, at the station, we had our first glimpse of a Holland lady in her national costume. She stepped from her carriage and stood near us for several moments, and in that time, I fear, we proved to be as good ‘starers’ as the French are. I wish I could make you see her just as I did. She was a large-framed, good-looking woman. Her dress skirt was of stiff black satin, in length considerably above her ankles. She wore a full white waist, over which she had a jacket, cut the shape of a zouave garment, of black cloth, upon the front of which seemed to be gilt or gold ornaments, that looked like military decorations; but her head rigging was the oddest of all. First she had on a cap-like covering, that looked as if made of white tarleton, with a full front, into which were stuck numerous gold pins, from the heads of several of which diamonds flashed; a broad gold band ran from side to side across her forehead, and from each end hung a gold ornament; over this she wore a flaring straw bonnet. She had on white kid gloves, and looked and moved every inch a lady.

We were a good while delayed before being able to get a two-seated carriage, for everybody in the sleepy old town moved slowly, but after a while we were furnished with an open barouche and a handsome pair of slow-moving black horses, and were driven about the city. Utrecht means ‘Old Ford,’ and the place looks quiet and dull, although it has a beautiful park and many fine, large residences, but they all seemed shut up; and we came to the conclusion, after a disgusting incident a little later, of which I will tell you, that the older people were off travelling.

On one of the best streets of Utrecht stood a group of well-dressed children, intelligent and attractive looking. Just as I had finished a remark complimentary to them, we were covered, deluged, blinded with mud and manure thrown at us by these remarkably innocent looking children, who had grouped there for this very purpose with the dirt in their hands, coolly awaiting and watching our approach. A second time, in another part of the city, we were attacked in the same manner by children, and this time E. rushed from the carriage, so indignant was he at the coarse outrage; and although both times the children took fast to their heels, they would have been severely and justly punished if I had not begged our defender to let them go, and not take up the little time we had in having them overtaken. Our driver said it was a very common occurrence for the youth of the town to thus attack strangers. I just longed to give them a good Yankee chastisement. We visited the cathedral, and my companions went up into the tower, from which they had a good view, but I had seen all of Utrecht that I desired, but was destined to see one more disturbing scene.

A canal runs through the town, and the boats are mostly managed and towed along by women,—old white-haired women lifting and tugging away at bags and barrels, pulling at the ropes of the boats; and at the rope of one huge canal boat a woman and a cow were pulling together. The water in the canal was low and the mosquitoes were high, for they also attacked us in our carriage, the very first ones we have met with on the continent. So, after a really good dinner—the only acceptable attention received by us in Utrecht,—we were glad to push on to Amsterdam.

Holland is largely a grazing country, very level, with vast pastures filled with cattle, horses, and sheep, all fine-looking specimens of their race. At one little station where we waited I stepped close to a dike, on the other side of which were hundreds of sheep; as if by one consent they all raised their heads and looked at me in such a human way that I felt like an intruder, bowed respectfully to them, and retreated. The Holstein cattle are noble-looking creatures, and the horses of Holland handsome animals,—dignified steppers, but heavy and slow. Cattle and horses are all black, or black and white, and all the cats I have yet seen here are black. I saw four big black tabbies at Utrecht. We pass through several little Dutch villages, see farmhouses in the distance, glints of blue water far away, dikes all about us, and, as we near Amsterdam, big windmills without number. And here we are!

Amsterdam, August 4th, 1888.—Do you remember our old Dutch nurse, who used to tell me stories, in Pittsburg, Penn., of her home in Amsterdam? And now here I am to tell you a little about the same place as I see it. Our first stroll revealed to us one of the queerest, quaintest cities we had anywhere visited. Directly after breakfast we went to the markets, where the peasantry were selling fruit, vegetables, fowl, crocheted articles, plants and flowers, cheese, butter, and much else; the venders themselves, in their queer dress, being the most attractive of all to us. The women nearly all wore the queer-looking head-dresses of their country, although not made up as richly as the one we saw at Utrecht, and all had on heavy, woollen stockings and wooden shoes, and when not busy otherwise were vigorously knitting.

From the market we went to the quarters of the poorer class of Jews, where the streets were narrow, the homes squalid, and the little rooms fairly crowded with human beings, packed closer than were ever sardines. In one small, dirty front entry we counted sixteen children. Our carriage was surrounded, every time we stopped, by crowds of lookers-on, young and old, tattered and torn, but all behaved well. ‘How true it is that one half of the world knows not how the other half lives’, There are about thirty thousand Jews in this city,—many richer than kings, and many who know not ‘where to lay their heads.’

Acquaintances who have visited this city have given me different ideas of it, more disparaging it than praising, but I find it delightful, and filled with interest.

Amsterdam, now the capital of Holland, you know, and by far its richest city, was in the twelfth century only a small village. When the Spaniards persecuted the so-called Reformers of other Dutch and Flemish towns, they fled to Amsterdam, taking with them their riches and their industries, and to them the place owes the beginning of prosperity. The River Amstel divides the place, the one side being called the Oude Zijde (old side), and the other Nieuwe Zijde (new side). It is said that ninety canals intersect the city, and I know there is one in about every street, and drawbridges are built over them. In the prettier parts of the city these canals have avenues of handsome residences, and lines of shade trees on one or both sides. On these houses, nailed close to the side of the upper windows, we observed the so-called ‘Spiegless’ mirrors—on hinges, which could be turned so as to allow a person sitting within to see all that was going on in the street below, up or down. They answer the purposes of our bay-windows. In some of the older parts of the city the queer Dutch houses are painted black, with white trimmings, and were apparently ‘dropped down’ together, and remain wherever they happened to light, Marblehead-like; and in many of them the upper story pitches forward, as if to greet the opposite roof, in a most neighborly and social manner, and altogether they are exceedingly picturesque.

We visited one of the large diamond factories, and saw every process used on the stone in its rough condition, to cause it to become the glittering, costly gem, ready for the adornment of ‘my lady.’ The different work upon the stones was to me intensely interesting. We saw little mounds of diamonds, cut and polished, ready for the diamond market, that were radiantly brilliant. The gentleman who escorted us through the building was very polite, and exerted himself to give us clear explanations of everything we wished to understand. Two officials kept pretty close to us, however; they may have thought that ‘piles’ of diamonds might prove too seductive for even American honesty. These mills give employment to about ten thousand workmen, mostly Jews, and many of the establishments are owned by wealthy Jews. Most of the best cut stones of the present age have been cut here. Well, we cannot always live amongst diamonds, so out into the air we go, for if but one can be ours, the latter is better,—oxygen rather than carbon.

The commerce of the place is extensive, as a visit to the docks proved. Ships from nearly every part of the world bring merchandise here, and take back the products of Holland. Amsterdam cheese, gin, and chocolate we well know, but we did not suppose so many other valuable articles were manufactured here. We see not merely one woman at work here on the boats, but hundreds of women. Many of them know no other home; whole families live on boats, children are born on them, and on them many human beings close their eyes on this life. Everything about these boats is scrupulously clean; pretty Dutch girls, with their short dresses and wooden shoes, peep from behind the fresh, white muslin curtains to look at us; and women who are not doing harder work sit around with the inevitable queer head-dress on, and the blue kerchiefs pinned across their breasts, knitting away as if lives depended upon stockings being finished. These Amsterdam canal boats have sails, and look very odd to us.

We took a three-mile sail for a rest, then landed, and lunched in a rose-embowered arbor in a pretty garden. Refreshed, we took a barge back, thus getting good views of the river banks; and next went to the Zoological Gardens, the best we have seen anywhere. How the beautiful, bright-plumaged birds, walking and flying in the open air, seemingly free from the almost invisible chains that held them, welcomed us in their gorgeous costumes; how the tall flamingo showed us his best ballet steps,—I have not time to give you details. The extensive aquarium connected with the gardens contained a wealth of wonders. Why do we not have places of such interest in Boston? As we stepped out of the garden we observed, on a neat-looking house, a singular sign, ‘Hot Popjies.’ With our usual curiosity we entered, and found that ‘popjies’ were nothing more or less than genuine Yankee griddle cakes, and very good ones too, served with butter and sugar.

The best picture gallery in Amsterdam, the Rijks Museum, is the best in Holland. Here we saw Rembrandt’s ‘Night Watch,’ of which we have often seen engravings, but were not prepared for such beautiful effects of colors as we found in the original. Near this painting is a still larger one, representing a celebrated banquet of the City Guard of Amsterdam, in 1684, by Vander Heist, and here too is Jan Steen’s ‘Lady and the Parrot,’ and other beautiful paintings by this pleasing artist. One picture here, by Gerard Duow, called the ‘Evening School,’ cost forty thousand dollars, although not over a half-yard long, and not measuring as much across. This painting has five or six different effects of light produced on it from the burning candles represented. A girl is pointing to her lesson with her finger, and a boy is writing on a slate; a candle, held by another girl standing back of them, throws a light on their backs, and another candle, lighted, which is on a table, throws light upon their faces, but it would be impossible for you to imagine the peculiar glow and loveliness of it all. All of the works from this man’s easel are charming. There are here several of Paul Potter’s paintings, wonderful in execution, and particularly to be considered so when we think how young he must have been when he painted them. Here are hens, chickens, geese, and ducks, all so natural that we almost hear their cackle. Here are landscapes, interiors of Dutch homes, and portraits without number, works of Tenier, Van Mieris, Van Dyck, Peter Schilder, Dolens, Frans Hals, and the many other Dutch artists. It is one of the most enjoyable collections of pictures we have anywhere seen. It is a marvel to me how the old masters and the noted artists ever did so much work; they must have gone right ahead, and not even laid down their brushes long enough to have had pleasant little disputes over the hanging of their pictures. But thanks to them for having left to us such great sources of pleasure!

Amsterdam abounds in excellent charitable institutions. I think I could name over as many as there are in Boston; and there are schools and societies for educating the poor, and for their advancement, that do great credit to the citizens. I am told that the rich here of every sect spend freely their money for the benefit of the poor. There is a palace on a square called the Dam, in the middle of the city, containing large rooms, but without much elegance excepting the ball-room. The churches of the city are numerous, and some fine ones, but as we have not time to see everything in this remarkable place, we have decided to omit the churches this time.

We were told of a ‘swell’ restaurant, and for a change dined there to-day. It was a ‘swell’ place, we had a ‘swell’ dinner, and paid ‘swell’ prices. They certainly know how to tempt one’s appetite, but the submitting to the temptation must be generously paid for. We have seen a fine statue of Rembrandt; and we have observed objects very new to us, which are queer, ludicrous-looking faces, over the doors of drug stores, with mouths wide open, and tongues protruding, as if to show that they were coated, or feverish, and needed doctoring. I was so amused at these that I asked the meaning of them, if they had any, but no one seemed to know, only that they were called ‘Gappers.’

After seeing pretty thoroughly the business part of the city, we were more surprised than ever upon being driven to the aristocratic end, where the wealthier people live, to find so much beauty. The streets were broad and finely cared for; the residences palatial, large, and varied in architecture, with beautiful grounds about them. Fine carriages abounded, filled with well-dressed people, in whom we supposed we saw the descendants of the Van Dycks, Van de Werffs, and all of the other Vans; and these families maintain much elegance and regal style in living. In this drive we had many glimpses of it; and ended the day by being entertained right royally in one of these beautiful homes by a gentleman and his charming family, to whom we had letters of introduction, and who had previously called upon us, and engaged us for the evening. If we could have spared time to accept, these people would have extended many courtesies to us, and their cordial hospitality we shall never forget. The whole of Amsterdam is indeed delightful, and far exceeds my expectations. We leave it with regret. We made hasty excursions to Haarlem, to see the wonderful hyacinths and tulips; and to the over-clean town of Broek, where notices are put on doors ‘to take off your shoes before entering;’ and to the Island of Marken, in the Zuider Zee, to see the queer dress of the peasants who live there, and never leave their homes, nor ever intermarry with the inhabitants of the mainland. Their costume is the same as that worn by their ancestors of a hundred years ago.

LETTER XIII.

In coming from Amsterdam here we saw water-lilies—sheets of them—on rivers and dikes! Yes, just like our own New England blossoms. How I did want the cars to stop, so that I could get a breath of their fragrance—a breath of Cape Cod—a breath of Plymouth ponds—a breath of East Taunton’s sweetest offerings! We saw storks too, tall and stately, carrying with them good luck, and bearing good omens. Our hotel here is a noted one; it is several centuries old, and has been always the stopping place for members of noble families, travelling from all over the world. It has been several times restored, and is very comfortable. Peter the Great and his suite, King Don Ferdinand of Portugal, and a list, as long as your arm, of kings, princes, and dukes, have been registered as guests in this historic old mansion. On our arrival the house was crowded, and to F. and myself was given the state guest chamber, in which these crowned heads have rested. The furniture of the large room, which is on the first floor, is massive, made of mahogany, ebony and gilt, with light-blue silk coverings, and puffs of light-blue silk to throw over our tired bodies. So much elegance for us, while E. is tucked up under the roof somewhere, so full is the house.

After arranging our luggage in our room, and resting a wee bit, off we started for Scheveningen. It took but a short time to reach this celebrated watering-place by steam-cars, which we took to save time. As we stepped out of our car at the station a strange picture greeted us. There before us was the North Sea, throwing its big waves toward the beach—the first glimpse of sea that we had had for many a day, and its roar was music to us. The broad beach was smooth, hard, and white, and at this point was covered, as were also the dunes in back of it, with the peasantry, Dutch women and children, old grandmothers, and mothers with their little ones of all ages, playing in the beautiful white sand. We spread our wraps on the beach, and sat down amongst them and we are evidently as strange a sight to them, as they are to us. The wee urchins gradually approach us in a shy manner, but E. coaxes them nearer by distributing bits of coin amongst them, and speaking words which they understand; and a close look at their sweet, fresh faces is worth the price. These little ones are fair, rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed tots, with long, flaxen tresses, surmounted by little, close, white caps. They are dressed alike, in dark-blue dresses, with little handkerchiefs crossed on their chests, and all wear wooden shoes. The costumes of old and young vary but little, and all look fresh and clean. The women were knitting, and chatting with each other, and occasionally one would go toward the water, hold her hands over her eyes, and peer far out to sea. They were straining their sight to catch glimpses of the boats that carried the men most dear to them. These wives and mothers come mornings with their fishermen, push them out on the water in their boats with a ‘God speed you,’ and then stay on the beach, with their children and their knitting, until the men sail in again. They then help drag the boats on shore, unload, and carry the freshly caught fish to market. The lucky fellow who has caught the greatest number of fish as his day’s work is entitled to kiss the maid he thinks the prettiest in the crowd, and the rest look on and clap their hands, and there seems to be no jealousy amongst them. The Dutch fishing boats, with their brown sails, are queer-looking craft, and have been painted by many of our own artists. The beach from here extends for about forty miles, I am told, in a straight line, washed by the cold North Sea waves—without rocks or inlets.

We next proceeded to the fashionable end of the beach; a division rope separates the portion allotted to the fisherwomen from this. What will divide the poor from the rich in heaven, I wonder? Will it not be Father Abraham’s voice only, when he says the words, ‘Remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things’? How different this scene! Here is a fashionable watering-place, with huge hotels, restaurants, stores, and crowds of stylish people. This is more like Old Point, Narragansett, or Newport than anything we have before seen. But the beach is superior to any of these, and the bathing-wagons on wheels, in which the bathers are carried to the water, and back to the hotels after their baths, were quite new to us. They contain all toilet utensils, an abundance of towels, and are most certainly a great improvement over the way bathers at our own sea-side resorts come out of the water, with dripping costumes clinging to the skin, to face a crowd of lookers-on. Here, too, a space for those who bathe is roped off, and others are not allowed to go within that enclosure. The bath-chairs were also a great delight to me. Here were hundreds of them, basket-work, with covers and without, and footstools added, in which we could sit and look upon the sea, protected from the sun and the wind. Some were for one, and in others two or three could sit together. The sense of rest was most delightful in these chairs, with the broad, blue expanse of water and sky before us. Gay, merry children were riding about on ponies and donkeys, and the road between the hotels and the beach was filled with carriages and people on horseback.

But the hours flew rapidly amidst such scenes as these, and the sun was going to rest; so, reluctantly, we turned our steps toward the big hotel on the crest. The piazzas were crowded with people in full dress, but, with our travelling gowns on, we mixed in, and went to dinner. In the house was a beautiful hall or concert room, and after dinner the Philharmonic Orchestra of Berlin gave a choice concert there. The music was superb, and nowhere in Europe had we seen so fine-looking an assemblage; many of the ladies were remarkably handsome, and all were dressed in excellent taste.

Hotel Vieux Doelen, The Hague, August 7th.—You would have laughed had you been with us in our fine room this morning. Our commode looks like a sideboard, and is so high that I had to stand on a chair to take my morning splash; and as I began to fill my bowl with water, something jumped, and so did I. ‘The shade of Peter the Great!’ said F., but it was only a little, harmless toad, which had probably come in at the window, which I had left open. The arrangements for bathing and washing in houses in this land are very meagre and inconvenient.

The Hague seems a very elegant, sleepy, quiet city. The streets are broad, many of them bordered with handsome limes, and the residences are large and square. Canals are here, also, but do not seem to be used much, if any, and the water looks stagnant. In one street, the odor from the canal was very offensive, although the streets on its borders were beautiful ones, and this is the residence of the Court; in fact, the place has really the appearance of an exclusive little royal city dropped in the centre of a grand old forest. It has pretty parks and gardens, and a pleasant promenade around a lake, called the Vijver, or fish pond, from the water of which the old palace seems to be rising. In the square is the statue of William the Silent, who did so much to effect the liberty of Holland, and who was a father to its people. This brave man’s faith never failed him, nor did he ever swerve from what seemed to him his duty, through political storms or discouraging defeats; freedom for all, and the right to worship God in accordance with the dictates of one’s own conscience he fought for as long as he lived. In Delft, a little town near by, he was struck down by an assassin.

The best stores here have very little appearance, from the outside, of being stores at all. Perhaps, as a sign, there is one elegant vase, or a choice piece of drapery in the window; but upon stepping within, room after room filled with exquisite goods surprises you—rare laces, china, furniture, antiques, and everything else beautiful to tempt one to buy.

I very much wished to go into the palace where the King of Holland and his family live. We have seen many palaces where royalty has resided, but few occupied by kings and queens at the present time. We succeeded in gaining permission to do so, not expecting to see more than the state apartments. As we neared the palace entrance we saw the royal carriage stop at the door and the King and Queen and their little daughter the Princess Wilhelmine, with a maid, enter it. The carriage was a heavy, lumbering-looking affair with two horses only. We might have been much nearer them, but our escort said no, as an introduction might then be necessary, and it was no compliment to American ladies to be presented to the present King of Holland, but I looked with all my eyes and this is what I saw: A man, over seventy years old surely, feeble-appearing in his gait, and, although not bad looking, with a certain tell-tale appearance of having led a somewhat profligate life. The young Queen Emma looks about twenty-eight, has a full face, bright complexion, and pleasant expression, and was dressed in a gray costume. She is, you know, his second wife, and a daughter of the Prince of Waldeck-Pyrmont, one of the poor, insignificant sovereigns of Germany, and she is sister to the Duchess of Albany, the daughter-in-law of Queen Victoria. It is said there was much feeling on the part of the Dutch against this young woman at first, for it was thought her great ambition was to be Queen of the Netherlands; but she has made her way into the hearts of the people, and has proved also a good wife and mother. The King’s first wife was the Princess Sophia of Wurtemburg, and was a remarkably talented, gracious woman, a fine linguist, musical, a charming conversationalist, unaffected, affable in manner, and dearly beloved by her people. She died about ten years ago. She had two sons, both now dead. So the little Wilhelmine, whom we saw, will be, after her father’s death, which cannot be far off, the Queen of Holland. She is a pretty child, and looked in dress and movements no different from hundreds of our own little eight-year-old girls. The people here seem to be much attached to their king, and say he has been a benefactor to them, and that his public life has been beyond reproach, whatever his faults in private life may have been.

As they drove away we entered the palace through the same door at which they came out, and were most kindly shown through it. Their breakfast-table remained just as the family had left it after taking their morning meal. Probably servants do not hurry ‘to clear off the table’ in royal households, any more than they do in our own homes when we go out for a morning jaunt. Everything in the dining-room was rich and elegant, and the gold breakfast-service worth looking at. The drawing-rooms, reception-rooms, libraries, and other apartments were in truth palatial, and altogether it was by far the finest palace we have seen.

They have another palace about three miles away, called ‘Huis-ten-Bosch,’ or House in the Wood, to which a little later we were driven; and it was a drive, the memory of which will always seem restful. The day was lovely, and as we rolled along over the splendid road in the woods, which is really an immense, woody park, retaining all its natural beauties, it was so quiet that we could hear a leaf fall. The birds only broke the stillness with their occasional trills, and we met no life on our way excepting a party of ladies on horseback with their groom. After so much bustle the restful, shadowy stillness was delightful to us. This summer palace is a plain building surrounded by beech trees, is very richly furnished, and contains valuable pictures and rare, costly ornaments, superb draperies, and curiosities. Queen Sophia dearly loved this ‘Huis-ten-Bosch,’ and spent much of her time within it. Here she cordially welcomed her friends, without ceremony, forgetful of station and self, ever keenly alive to the happiness and needs of all who came into her presence. She once remarked ‘that God seemed nearer to her here than elsewhere.’ The present Queen seldom comes here.

We next went into the Holland Exposition, now open. O dear! the days are not half long enough to see all we wish to. You will be glad, I know, when I tell you that we do not get very tired. We ride instead of walking much, so as to save our strength for interiors where we must walk and stand; and we eat often, for E. says ‘machinery so constantly run must be often oiled.’ How I wish I could run in to ‘144’ to-day and have one of their delicious home dinners,—roast chickens, all kind of vegetables, prepared just right, jellies and pickles, and all at hand when wanted, and, not the least of the sweets, the always sweet welcome, thrown in! We do get so tired of these table d’hôte dinners,—every dish served without any seasoning, and only one at a time, and the waits between courses long enough for one’s hair to grow gray. And yet what creatures of habit we are. E. likes it, because he has lived over here so much of his life that he has become accustomed to it. It is a perverted taste, and most surely a great waste of precious time. Our bill of fare for dinner has been just about the same every day since we left the Schweizerhoff at Schaffhausen, where it was most acceptably varied.

To show that we can be wrongly educated in our appreciation of food and in the way we eat it, I will venture to tell you a true story of a little boy we know, who had lived in France and Germany the greater part of his life of ten years. He was taken to New York a year or so ago, and there studied English with his governess. One fine day his aunt took him to her home in the country to spend the day. When he returned at night he said he was hungry. ‘Why, did you not have any dinner?’ he was asked. ‘I did not eat any.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I did not want it.’ ‘Why not?’ was again asked, curiosity becoming excited. At last the little fellow, so closely questioned, cried out in despair, in his broken English, ‘Because Auntie had “swill” for dinner.’ Upon investigation it was ascertained that the dinner was the old-fashioned, substantial one of corned beef and its satellites of various vegetables served at the same time. The boy, the day before, had been reading a story about pigs, in which the word ‘swill’ was used. He asked his teacher what that word meant,—an inelegant one at best,—and she told him, a little hastily perhaps, that it meant bits of meat, potato, turnip, or other particles of food all thrown together; and he thought, in his day’s visit, that he had an ocular and tangible demonstration of the definition.

The Hague, Wednesday, August 8th.—The memorables of to-day: First, the Royal Picture Gallery, where are many costly and valuable treasures. I have anticipated much pleasure in seeing the collection here, knowing well of many of the paintings, and I have not been disappointed. Rembrandt’s ‘Lecture on Anatomy,’ known of the world over, is a wonderful study, and a grand representation of death and life on canvas. The old learned doctor Nicholas Tulp, with a dead body before him, is explaining to seven other surgeons the dissecting of the subject. These faces are all real portraits of physicians, and the expressions of interest and attention given in them to the lecturer’s words and movements are grandly and wonderfully portrayed. Nor is there the slightest thing repulsive in the picture; on the contrary, it has the effect of making one desirous of sitting down to listen to the lesson also. Here too is Rembrandt’s ‘Presentation,’ a perfect gem: Joseph and Mary are presenting the ‘Holy Child’ for a blessing. Paul Potter’s famous ‘Bull’ is here, which Napoleon once stole and took to Paris, and it was then rated as the fourth picture in the Louvre, but after Napoleon’s star of power had set the Dutch reclaimed it. This picture represents a bull, looking as if really alive, standing under the branches of a tree; a cow, and a lamb with its parents, are also near by resting, and a pleasant-faced old farmer, standing with his arm on the trunk of the tree, is looking on well satisfied. These figures are life size, and are full of vigor. Although the collection here does not please me as much as the one in Amsterdam, it contains many gems of the Dutch and Flemish schools. Here are Berghems, Van Der Helsts, and Ruysdaels—mellow landscapes and restful pastoral scenes, helpful to look upon. But oh, I wish you could see all the grand paintings that are in this country! It pains me, dear mother, to enjoy so much and you not with me; but we shall not forget all we see, and will tell you more about it sometime.

Storks are kept in the city at the public expense, as they are the arms of The Hague, the same as bears are of the city of Berne. And now, good-by to this aristocratic town, and on to Rotterdam, our last Holland city.

Rotterdam is something like Amsterdam, although not nearly as attractive, nor anywhere nearly as clean. It is a large place, and its shipping interests considerable; its canals and wharves are crowded. Here, as in Amsterdam, the houses are, many of them, built on piles, and the land is kept land by keeping the water in the canals, locks, and basins. It requires much money, good systems, and much energy to do this, but the Dutch have proved themselves equal to it. We hear here such names as the ‘Hoogstraat’ (one of the streets), the ‘Schiedamsche dyke,’ etc., regular jaw-breakers. In fact, I think if Americans can understand or be understood in Holland, they need have no fears of not being able to travel in other parts of the globe, so far as ‘language’ is concerned.

We took a drive through the new portion of the city, where are many elegant residences. We went into two churches; saw a fine statue of Erasmus the scholar, also one of Spinoza. We then went into many of the old, crooked, narrow streets of the older part of the city, called Binnenstad, and here everything looked very ‘Dutch’ like; and it is the queer aspect of these foreign cities that I particularly enjoy,—the markets on market-day especially. The peasants at their stalls, in the funny gowns and funnier head-dresses, are perfectly fascinating. We bought delicious cherries and strawberries of them to-day. Some of the women had caps on that had long capes, others with caps close to the head, and others with inside frills, but one and all had the gold, gilt, or silver band across the forehead, and the wire rosettes and pendants at the temples.

We talked up our little stock of Dutch history here, remembering that it was in this town that the Puritans of England, when persecuted, fled for refuge; and here ‘John Robinson [one of our own ancestors] fired them with longings for liberty, and they set sail to go across two seas to find a new home where they would have freedom to worship God.’ What an amount of studying we will do next winter, and Motley’s ‘Rise of the Dutch Republic’ we are looking forward to reading with much pleasure.

Our admiration of the Dutch, always great, is much increased by this trip through their country. When one sees the obstacles they had to contend against in making their land habitable—old ocean itself for one,—and the victory they have achieved, it seems more wonderful even than their conquering the tyranny of Spain. They are an industrious, persevering, and honest people.