_POMONA'S TRAVELS_ _A Series of Letters to the Mistress of Rudder Grange from her formerHandmaiden_ [Illustration] POMONA'S TRAVELS [Illustration] BY FRANK R. STOCKTON ILLUSTRATEDBYA. B. FROST 1894 [Illustration] _In Uniform Binding_ _RUDDER GRANGE__Illustrated by A. B. Frost. _ _POMONA'S TRAVELS__Illustrated by A. B. Frost. _ [Illustration: CONTENTS] LETTER ONE. _Wanted, --a Vicarage_ LETTER TWO. _On the Four-in-hand_ LETTER THREE. _Jone overshadows the Waiter_ LETTER FOUR. _The Cottage at Chedcombe_ LETTER FIVE. _Pomona takes a Lodger_ LETTER SIX. _Pomona expounds Americanisms_ LETTER SEVEN. _The Hayfield_ LETTER EIGHT. _Jone teaches Young Ladies how to Rake_ LETTER NINE. _A Runaway Tricycle_ LETTER TEN. _Pomona slides Backward down the Slope of the Centuries_ LETTER ELEVEN. _On the Moors_ LETTER TWELVE. _Stag-hunting on a Tricycle_ LETTER THIRTEEN. _The Green Placard_ LETTER FOURTEEN. _Pomona and her David Llewellyn_ LETTER FIFTEEN. _Hogs and the Fine Arts_ LETTER SIXTEEN. _With Dickens in London_ LETTER SEVENTEEN. _Buxton and the Bath Chairs_ LETTER EIGHTEEN. _Mr. Poplington as Guide_ LETTER NINETEEN. _Angelica and Pomeroy_ LETTER TWENTY. _The Countess of Mussleby_ LETTER TWENTY-ONE. _Edinboro' Town_ LETTER TWENTY-TWO. _Pomona and her Gilly_ LETTER TWENTY-THREE. _They follow the Lady of the Lake_ LETTER TWENTY-FOUR. _Comparisons become Odious to Pomona_ LETTER TWENTY-FIVE. _The Family-Tree-Man_ LETTER TWENTY-SIX. _Searching for Dorkminsters_ LETTER TWENTY-SEVEN. _Their Country and their Custom House_ [Illustration] [Illustration: List of Illustrations] _Title Page_ _Vignette Heading to Table of Contents_ _Tail piece to Table of Contents_ _Vignette Heading to List of Illustrations_ _Tail-piece to List of Illustrations_ _Heading and Initial Letter_ _"Boy, go order me a four-in-hand"_ _The Landlady with an "underdone visage"_ _"I looked at the ladder and at the top front seat"_ _"Down came a shower of rain"_ _"Ask the waiter what the French words mean"_ _Vignette Heading and Initial Letter_ _Jone giving an order_ _The Carver_ _"You Americans are the speediest people"_ _"That was our house"_ _Vignette Heading and Initial Letter_ _"The young lady who keeps the bar"_ _"I see signs of weakening in the social boom"_ _At the Abbey_ _Vignette Heading and Initial Letter_ _"There, with the bar lady and the Marie Antoinette chambermaid, wasJone"_ _"At last I did get on my feet"_ _"Rise, Sir Jane Puddle"_ _Vignette Heading and initial Letter_ _"In an instant I was free"_ _"If you was a man I'd break your head"_ _"I'm a Home Ruler"_ _Vignette Heading and Initial Letter_ _"And with a screech I dashed at those hogs like a steam engine"_ _"In the winter, when the water is frozen, they can't get over"_ _"Who do you suppose we met? Mr. Poplington!"_ _Mr. Poplington looking for luggage_ _Vignette Heading and Initial Letter_ _Pomona encourages Jonas_ _"Stop, lady, and I'll get out"_ _Vignette Heading and Initial Letter_ _"Your brother is over there"_ _To the Cat and Fiddle_ _"And did you like Chedcombe?"_ _"Jone looked at him and said that was the Highland costume"_ _Vignette Heading and Initial Letter_ _"I didn't say anything, and taking the pole in both hands I gave it awild twirl over my head"_ _Pomona drinking it in_ _Vignette Heading and Initial Letter_ _"A person who was a family-tree-man"_ _"This might be a Dorkminster"_ _Jone didn't carry any hand-bag, and I had only a little one_ [Illustration] * * * * * POMONA'S TRAVELS This series of letters, written by Pomona of "Rudder Grange" to herformer mistress, Euphemia, may require a few words of introduction. Those who have not read the adventures and experiences of Pomona in"Rudder Grange" should be told that she first appeared in that story asa very young and illiterate girl, fond of sensational romances, andwith some out-of-the-way ideas in regard to domestic economy and theconventions of society. This romantic orphan took service in the"Rudder Grange" family, and as the story progressed she grew up into avery estimable young woman, and finally married Jonas, the son of awell-to-do farmer. Even after she came into possession of a husband anda daughter Pomona did not lose her affection for her former employers. About a year before the beginning of the travels described in theseletters Jonas's father died and left a comfortable little property, which placed Pomona and her husband in independent circumstances. Theideas and ambitions of this eccentric but sensible young womanenlarged with her fortune. As her daughter was now going to school, Pomona was seized with the spirit of emulation, and determined as faras was possible to make the child's education an advantage to herself. Some of the books used by the little girl at school were carefully andearnestly studied by her mother, and as Jonas joined with heartygood-will in the labors and pleasures of this system of domestic study, the family standard of education was considerably raised. In thequick-witted and observant Pomona the improvement showed itselfprincipally in her methods of expression, and although she could not becalled at the time of these travels an educated woman, she was by nomeans an ignorant one. When the daughter was old enough she was allowed to accept aninvitation from her grandmother to spend the summer in the country, andPomona determined that it was the duty of herself and husband to availthemselves of this opportunity for foreign travel. Accordingly, one fine spring morning, Pomona, still a young woman, andJonas, not many years older, but imbued with a semi-patheticcomplaisance beyond his years, embarked for England and Scotland, towhich countries it was determined to limit their travels. The letterswhich follow were written in consequence of the earnest desire ofEuphemia to have a full account of the travels and foreign impressionsof her former handmaiden. Pruned of dates, addresses, signatures, andof many personal and friendly allusions, these letters are herepresented as Pomona wrote them to Euphemia. _Letter Number One_ [Illustration] LONDON The first thing Jone said to me when I told him I was going to writeabout what I saw and heard was that I must be careful of two things. Inthe first place, I must not write a lot of stuff that everybody oughtto be expected to know, especially people who have travelledthemselves; and in the second place, I must not send you my greenopinions, but must wait until they were seasoned, so that I can seewhat they are good for before I send them. "But if I do that, " said I, "I will get tired of them long before theyare seasoned, and they will be like a bundle of old sticks that Iwouldn't offer to anybody. " Jone laughed at that, and said I might aswell send them along green, for, after all, I wasn't the kind of aperson to keep things until they were seasoned, to see if I liked them. "That's true, " said I, "there's a great many things, such as husbandsand apples, that I like a good deal better fresh than dry. Is that allthe advice you've got to give?" "For the present, " said he; "but I dare say I shall have a good dealmore as we go along. " "All right, " said I, "but be careful you don't give me any of it green. Advice is like gooseberries, that's got to be soft and ripe, or elsewell cooked and sugared, before they're fit to take into anybody'sstomach. " Jone was standing at the window of our sitting-room when I said this, looking out into the street. As soon as we got to London we tooklodgings in a little street running out of the Strand, for we both wantto be in the middle of things as long as we are in this conglomeratetown, as Jone calls it. He says, and I think he is about right, that itis made up of half a dozen large cities, ten or twelve towns, at leastfifty villages, more than a hundred little settlements, or hamlets, asthey call them here, and about a thousand country houses scatteredalong around the edges; and over and above all these are theinhabitants of a large province, which, there being no province to putthem into, are crammed into all the cracks and crevices so as to fillup the town and pack it solid. When we was in London before, with you and your husband, madam, and welost my baby in Kensington Gardens, we lived, you know, in a peaceful, quiet street by a square or crescent, where about half the inhabitantswere pervaded with the solemnities of the past and the other half boweddown by the dolefulness of the present, and no way of getting anywhereexcept by descending into a movable tomb, which is what I always thinkof when we go anywhere in the underground railway. But here we can walkto lots of things we want to see, and if there was nothing else to keepus lively the fear of being run over would do it, you may be sure. But, after all, Jone and me didn't come here to London just to see thetown. We have ideas far ahead of that. When we was in London before Isaw pretty nearly all the sights, for when I've got work like that todo I don't let the grass grow under my feet, and what we want to do onthis trip is to see the country part of England and Scotland. And inorder to see English country life just as it is, we both agreed thatthe best thing to do was to take a little house in the country and livethere a while; and I'll say here that this is the only plan of thewhole journey that Jone gets real enthusiastic about, for he is adomestic man, as you well know, and if anything swells his veins withfervent rapture it is the idea of living in some one place continuous, even if it is only for a month. As we wanted a house in the country we came to London to get it, forLondon is the place to get everything. Our landlady advised us, when wetold her what we wanted, to try and get a vicarage in some littlevillage, because, she said, there are always lots of vicars who want togo away for a month in the summer, and they can't do it unless theyrent their houses while they are gone. And in fact, some of them, shesaid, got so little salary for the whole year, and so much rent fortheir vicarages while they are gone, that they often can't afford tostay in places unless they go away. So we answered some advertisements, and there was no lack of them inthe papers, and three agents came to see us, but we did not seem tohave any luck. Each of them had a house to let which ought to havesuited us, according to their descriptions, and although we found theprices a good deal higher than we expected, Jone said he wasn't goingto be stopped by that, because it was only for a little while and forthe sake of experience--and experience, as all the poets, and a goodmany of the prose writers besides, tell us, is always dear. But afterthe agents went away, saying they would communicate with us in themorning, we never heard anything more from them, and we had to beginall over again. There was something the matter, Jone and I both agreedon that, but we didn't know what it was. But I waked up in the nightand thought about this thing for a whole hour, and in the morning I hadan idea. "Jone, " said I, when we was eating breakfast, "it's as plain as A B Cthat those agents don't want us for tenants, and it isn't because theythink we are not to be trusted, for we'd have to pay in advance, and sotheir money's safe; it is something else, and I think I know what itis. These London men are very sharp, and used to sizing and sorting allkinds of people as if they was potatoes being got ready for market, andthey have seen that we are not what they call over here gentlefolks. " "No lordly airs, eh?" said Jone. "Oh, I don't mean that, " I answered him back; "lordly airs don't gointo parsonages, and I don't mean either that they see from our looksor manners that you used to drive horses and milk cows and work in thegarden, and that I used to cook and scrub and was maid-of-all-work on acanal-boat; but they do see that we are not the kind of people who arein the habit, in this country, at least, of spending their evenings inthe best parlors of vicarages. " "Do you suppose, " said Jone, "that they think a vicar's kitchen wouldsuit us better?" "No, " said I, "they wouldn't put us in a vicarage at all; therewouldn't be no place there that would not be either too high or too lowfor us. It's my opinion that what they think we belong in is a lordlyhouse, where you'd shine most as head butler or a steward, while I'd bethe housekeeper or a leading lady's maid. " "By George!" said Jone, getting up from the table, "if any of thosefellows would favor me with an opinion like that I'd break his head. " "You'd have a lot of heads to break, " said I, "if you went through thiscountry asking for opinions on the subject. It's all very well for usto remember that we've got a house of our own as good as most rectorshave over here, and money enough to hire a minor canon, if we neededone in the house; but the people over here don't know that, and itwouldn't make much difference if they did, for it wouldn't matter hownice we lived or what we had so long as they knew we was retiredservants. " At this Jone just blazed up and rammed his hands into his pockets andspread his feet wide upon the floor. "Pomona, " said he, "I don't mindit in you, but if anybody else was to call me a retired servant I'd--" "Hold up, Jone, " said I, "don't waste good, wholesome anger. " Now, Itell you, madam, it really did me good to see Jone blaze up and get redin the face, and I am sure that if he'd get his blood boiling oftenerit would be a good thing for his dyspeptic tendencies and what littlemalaria may be left in his system. "It won't do any good to flare uphere, " I went on to say to him; "fact's fact, and we was servants, andgood ones, too, though I say it myself, and the trouble is we haven'tgot into the way of altogether forgetting it, or, at least, acting asif we had forgotten it. " Jone sat down on a chair. "It might help matters a little, " he said, "if I knew what you was driving at. " "I mean just this, " said I, "as long as we are as anxious not to givetrouble, or as careful of people's feelings, as good-mannered toservants, and as polite and good-natured to everybody we have anythingto do with, as we both have been since we came here, and as it is ournature to be, I am proud to say, we're bound to be set down, at leastby the general run of people over here, as belonging to the pick of thenobility and gentry, or as well-bred servants. It's only those twoclasses that act as we do, and anybody can see we are not specialnobles and gents. Now, if we want to be reckoned anywhere in betweenthese two we've got to change our manners. " "Will you kindly mention just how?" said Jone. "Yes, " said I, "I will. In the first place, we've got to act as if wehad always been waited on and had never been satisfied with the way itwas done; we've got to let people think that we think we are a gooddeal better than they are, and what they think about it doesn't makethe least difference; and then again we've got to live in betterquarters than these, and whatever they may be we must make peoplethink that we don't think they are quite good enough for us. If we doall that, agents may be willing to let us vicarages. " "It strikes me, " said Jone, "that these quarters are good enough forus. I'm comfortable. " And then he went on to say, madam, that when youand your husband was in London you was well satisfied with just suchlodgings. "That's all very well, " I said, "for they never moved in the lowerpaths of society, and so they didn't have to make any change, but justwent along as they had been used to go. But if we want to make peoplebelieve we belong to that class I should choose, if I had my pick outof English social varieties, we've got to bounce about as much above itas we were born below it, so that we can strike somewhere near theproper average. " "And what variety would you pick out, I'd like to know?" said Jone, just a little red in the face, and looking as if I had told him hedidn't know timothy hay from oat straw. "Well, " said I, "it is not easy to put it to you exactly, but it's asort of a cross between a prosperous farmer without children and a poorcountry gentleman with two sons at college and one in the British army, and no money to pay their debts with. " "That last is not to my liking, " said Jone. "But the farmer part of the cross would make it all right, " I said tohim, "and it strikes me that a mixture like that would just suit uswhile we are staying over here. Now, if you will try to think ofyourself as part rich farmer and part poor gentleman, I'll considermyself the wife of the combination, and I am sure we will get alongbetter. We didn't come over here to be looked upon as if we was thebottom of a pie dish and charged as if we was the upper crust. I'm infavor of paying a little more money and getting a lot morerespectfulness, and the way to begin is to give up these lodgings andgo to a hotel such as the upper middlers stop at. From what I've heard, the Babylon Hotel is the one for us while we are in London. Nobody willsuspect that any of the people at that hotel are retired servants. " [Illustration: "Boy, go order me a four-in-hand"] This hit Jone hard, as I knew it would, and he jumped up, made threesteps across the room, and rang the bell so that the people across thestreet must have heard it, and up came the boy in green jacket andbuttons, with about every other button missing, and I never knew him tocome up so quick before. "Boy, " said Jone to him, as if he was hollering to a stubborn ox, "goorder me a four-in-hand. " But this letter is so long I must stop for the present. _Letter Number Two_ LONDON When Jone gave the remarkable order mentioned in my last letter I didnot correct him, for I wouldn't do that before servants without givinghim a chance to do it himself; but before either of us could sayanother word the boy was gone. "Mercy on us, " I said, "what a stupid blunder! You meant four-wheeler. " [Illustration: The Landlady with an "underdone visage"] "Of course I did, " he said; "I was a little mad and got things mixed, but I expect the fellow understood what I meant. " "You ought to have called a hansom any way, " I said, "for they are alot more stylish to go to a hotel in than in a four-wheeler. " "If there was six-wheelers I would have ordered one, " said he. "I don'twant anybody to have more wheels than we have. " At this moment the landlady came into the room with a sarcastic glimmeron her underdone visage, and, says she, "I suppose you don'tunderstand about the vehicles we have in London. The four-in-hand iswhat the quality and coach people use when--" As I looked at Jone I sawhis legs tremble, and I know what that means. If I was a wanderin' dogand saw Jone's legs tremble, the only thoughts that would fill my soulwould be such as cluster around "Home, Sweet Home. " Jone was too muchriled by the woman's manner to be willing to let her think he had madea mistake, and he stopped her short. "Look here, " he said to her, "Idon't ask you to come here to tell me anything about vehicles. When Iorder any sort of a trap I want it. " When I heard Jone say trap my soullifted itself and I knew there was hope for us. The stiffness meltedright out of the landlady, and she began to look soft and gummy. "If you want to take a drive in a four-in-hand coach, sir, " she said, "there's two or three of them starts every morning from TrafalgarSquare, and it's not too late now, sir, if you go over thereimmediate. " "Go?" said Jone, throwing himself into a chair, "I said, order one tocome. Where I live that sort of vehicle comes to the door for itspassengers. " The woman looked at Jone with a venerative uplifting of her eyebrows. "I can't say, sir, that a coach will come, but I'll send the boy. Theygo to Dorking, and Seven Oaks, and Virginia Water--" "I want to go to Virginia Water, " said Jone, as quick as lightning. "Now, then, " said I, when the woman had gone, "what are you going to doif the coach comes?" "Go to Virginia Water in it, " said Jone, "and when we come back we cango to the hotel. I made a mistake, but I've got to stand by it or becalled a greenhorn. " I was in hopes the four-in-hand wouldn't come, but in less than tenminutes there drove up to our door a four-horse coach which, not havinghalf enough passengers, was glad to come such a little ways to get somemore. There was a man in a high hat and red coat, who was blowing ahorn as the thing came around the corner, and just as I was lookinginto the coach and thinking we'd have it all to ourselves, for therewas nobody in it, he put a ladder up against the top, and says he, touching his hat, "There's a seat for you, madam, right next thecoachman, and one just behind for the gentleman. 'Tain't often that, ona fine morning like this, such seats as them is left vacant on accountof a sudden case of croup in a baronet's family. " I looked at the ladder and I looked at that top front seat, and I tellyou, madam, I trembled in every pore, but I remembered then that allthe respectable seats was on top, and the farther front the nobbier, and as there was a young woman sitting already on the box-seat, I madeup my mind that if she could sit there I could, and that I wasn'tgoing to let Jone or anybody else see that I was frightened by styleand fashion, though confronted by it so sudden and unexpected. So upthat ladder I went quick enough, having had practice in hay-mows, andsat myself down between the young woman and the coachman, and when Jonehad tucked himself in behind me the horner blew his horn and away wewent. [Illustration: "I looked at the ladder and at the top front seat"] I tell you, madam, that box-seat was a queer box for me. I felt asthough I was sitting on the eaves of a roof with a herd of horsescavoorting under my feet. I never had a bird's-eye view of horsesbefore. Looking down on their squirming bodies, with the coachmanalmost standing on his tiptoes driving them, was so different fromJone's buggy and our tall gray horse, which in general we look up to, that for a good while I paid no attention to anything but the danger offalling out on top of them. But having made sure that Jone was holdingon to my dress from behind, I began to take an interest in the thingsaround me. Knowing as much as I thought I did about the bigness of London, I foundthat morning that I never had any idea of what an everlasting town itis. It is like a skein of tangled yarn--there doesn't seem to be anyend to it. Going in this way from Nelson's Monument out into thecountry, it was amazing to see how long it took to get there. We wouldgo out of the busy streets into a quiet rural neighborhood, or whatlooked like it, and the next thing we knew we'd be in another whirl ofomnibuses and cabs, with people and shops everywhere; and we'd go onand through this and then come to another handsome village with countryhouses, and the street would end in another busy town; and so on untilI began to think there was no real country, at least, in the directionwe was going. It is my opinion that if London was put on a pivot andspun round in the State of Texas until it all flew apart, it wouldspread all over the State and settle up the whole country. At last we did get away from the houses and began to roll along on thebest made road I ever saw, with a hedge on each side and the greenestgrass in the fields, and the most beautiful trees, with the very trunkscovered with green leaves, and with white sheep and handsome cattle andpretty thatched cottages, and everything in perfect order, looking asif it had just been sprinkled and swept. We had seen English countrybefore, but that was from the windows of a train, and it was verydifferent from this sort of thing, where we went meandering alonglanes, for that is what the roads look like, being so narrow. Just as I was getting my whole soul full of this lovely ruralness, downcame a shower of rain without giving the least notice. I gave a jump inmy seat as I felt it on me, and began to get ready to get down as soonas the coachman should stop for us all to get inside; but he didn'tstop, but just drove along as if the sun was shining and the balmybreezes blowing, and then I looked around and not a soul of the eightpeople on the top of that coach showed the least sign of expecting toget down and go inside. They all sat there just as if nothing washappening, and not one of them even mentioned the rain. But I noticedthat each of them had on a mackintosh or some kind of cape, whereasJone and I never thought of taking anything in the way of waterproof orumbrellas, as it was perfectly clear when we started. [Illustration: "DOWN CAME A SHOWER OF RAIN"] I looked around at Jone, but he sat there with his face as placid as apiece of cheese, looking as if he had no more knowledge it was rainingthan the two Englishmen on the seat next him. Seeing he wasn't going tolet those men think he minded the rain any more than they did, Idetermined that I wouldn't let the young woman who was sitting by mehave any notion that I minded it, and so I sat still, with as cheerfula look as I could screw up, gazing at the trees with as gladsome acountenance as anybody could have with water trickling down her nose, her cheeks dripping, and dewdrops on her very eyelashes, while thedampness of her back was getting more and more perceptible as eachsecond dragged itself along. Jone turned up the hood of my coat, and solet down into the back of my neck what water had collected in it; but Ididn't say anything, but set my teeth hard together and fixed my mindon Columbia, happy land, and determined never to say anything aboutrain until some English person first mentioned it. But when one of the flowers on my hat leaned over the brim and exudedbloody drops on the front of my coat I began to weaken, and to thinkthat if there was nothing better to do I might get under one of theseats; but just then the rain stopped and the sun shone. It was sosudden that it startled me; but not one of those English peoplementioned that the rain had stopped and the sun was shining, and soneither did Jone or I. We was feeling mighty moist and unhappy, but wetried to smile as if we was plants in a greenhouse, accustomed to beingwatered and feeling all the better for it. I can't write you all about the coach drive, which was very delightful, nor of that beautiful lake they call Virginia Water, and which I knowyou have a picture of in your house. They tell me it is artificial, butas it was made more than a hundred years ago, it might now beconsidered natural. We dined at an inn, and when we got back to town, with two more showers on the way, I said to Jone that I thought we'dbetter go straight to the Babylon Hotel, which we intended to start outfor, although it was a long way round to go by Virginia Water, and seeabout engaging a room; and as Jone agreed I asked the coachman if hewould put us down there, knowing that he'd pass near it. He agreed tothis, would be an advertisement for his coach. When we got on the street where the Babylon Hotel was he whipped up hishorses so that they went almost on a run, and the horner blew his hornuntil his eyes seemed bursting, and with a grand sweep and a clank anda jingle we pulled up at the front of the big hotel. Out marched thehead porter in a blue uniform, and out ran two under-porters with redcoats, and down jumped the horner and put up his ladder, and Jone and Igot down, after giving the coachman half-a-crown, and receiving fromthe passengers a combined gaze of differentialism which had been whollywanting before. The men in the red coats looked disappointed when theysaw we had no baggage, but the great doors was flung open and we wentstraight up to the clerk's desk. When we was taken to look at rooms I remembered that there was alwaysdanger of Jone's tendency to thankful contentment getting the better ofhim, and I took the matter in hand myself. Two rooms good enough foranybody was shown us, but I was not going to take the first thing thatwas offered, no matter what it was. We settled the matter by getting afirst-class room, with sofas and writing-desks and everythingconvenient, for only a little more than we was charged for the otherrooms, and the next morning we went there. When we went back to our lodgings to pack up, and I looked in the glassand saw what a smeary, bedraggled state my hat and head was in, frombeing rained on, I said to Jone, "I don't see how those people everlet such a person as me have a room at their hotel. " "It doesn't surprise me a bit, " said Jone; "nobody but a very high andmighty person would have dared to go lording it about that hotel withher hat feathers and flowers all plastered down over her head. Mostpeople can be uppish in good clothes, but to look like a scare-crow andbe uppish can't be expected except from the truly lofty. " "I hope you are right, " I said, and I think he was. We hadn't been at the Babylon Hotel, where we are now, for more thantwo days when I said to Jone that this sort of thing wasn't going todo. He looked at me amazed. "What on earth is the matter now?" he said. "Here is a room fit for a royal duke, in a house with marble corridorsand palace stairs, and gorgeous smoking-rooms, and a post-office, and adining-room pretty nigh big enough for a hall of Congress, with waitersenough to make two military companies, and the bills of fare all inFrench. If there is anything more you want, Pomona--" "Stop there" said I; "the last thing you mention is the rub. It's thedining-room; it's in that resplendent hall that we've got to giveourselves a social boom or be content to fold our hands and fade awayforever. " "Which I don't want to do yet, " said Jone, "so speak out your trouble. " [Illustration: "Ask the waiter what the French words mean"] "The trouble this time is you, " said I, "and your awful meekness. Inever did see anybody anywhere as meek as you are in that dining-room. A half-drowned fly put into the sun to dry would be overbearing andsupercilious compared to you. When you sit down at one of those tablesyou look as if you was afraid of hurting the chair, and when the waitergives you the bill of fare you ask him what the French words mean, andthen he looks down on you as if he was a superior Jove contemplating ahop-toad, and he tells you that this one means beef and the othermeans potatoes, and brings you the things that are easiest to get. Andyou look as if you was thankful from the bottom of your heart that heis good enough to give you anything at all. All the airs I put on areno good while you are so extra humble. I tell him I don't want thisFrench thing--when I don't know what it is--and he must bring me someof the other--which I never heard of--and when it comes I eat it, nomatter what it turns out to be, and try to look as if I was used to it, but generally had it better cooked. But, as I said before, it is of nouse--your humbleness is too much for me. In a few days they will bebringing us cold victuals, and recommending that we go outsidesomewhere and eat them, as all the seats in the dining-room are wantedfor other people. " "Well, " said Jone, "I must say I do feel a little overshadowed when Igo into that dining-room and see those proud and haughty waiters, someof them with silver chains and keys around their necks, showing thatthey are lords of the wine-cellar, and all of them with an air of loftyscorn for the poor beings who have to sit still and be waited on; butI'll try what I can do. As far as I am able, I'll hold up my end of thesocial boom. " You may think I break off my letters sudden, madam, like theinstalments in a sensation weekly, which stops short in the mostharrowing parts, so as to make certain the reader will buy the nextnumber; but when I've written as much as I think two foreign stampswill carry--for more than fivepence seems extravagant for a letter--Igenerally stop. _Letter Number Three_ [Illustration] LONDON At dinner-time the day when I had the conversation with Jone mentionedin my last letter, we was sitting in the dining-room at a little tablein a far corner, where we'd never been before. Not being considered ofany importance they put us sometimes in one place and sometimes inanother, instead of giving us regular seats, as I noticed most of theother people had, and I was looking around to see if anybody was evercoming to wait on us, when suddenly I heard an awful noise. I have read about the rumblings of earthquakes, and although I neverheard any of them, I have felt a shock, and I can imagine the awfulnessof the rumbling, and I had a feeling as if the building was about tosway and swing as they do in earthquakes. It wasn't all my imagining, for I saw the people at the other tables near us jump, and two waiterswho was hurrying past stopped short as if they had been jerked up by acurb bit. I turned to look at Jone, but he was sitting up straight inhis chair, as solemn and as steadfast as a gate-post, and I thought tomyself that if he hadn't heard anything he must have been struck deaf, and I was just on the point of jumping up and shouting to him, "Fly, before the walls and roof come down upon us!" when that awful noiseoccurred again. My blood stood frigid in my veins, and as I startedback I saw before me a waiter, his face ashy pale, and his kneesbending beneath him. Some people near us were half getting up fromtheir chairs, and I pushed back and looked at Jone again, who had notmoved except that his mouth was open. Then I knew what it was that Ithought was an earthquake--it was Jone giving an order to the waiter. [Illustration: Jone giving an order] I bit my lips and sat silent; the people around kept on looking at us, and the poor man who was receiving the shock stood trembling like aleaf. When the volcanic disturbance, so to speak, was over, the waiterbowed himself, as if he had been a heathen in a temple, and gasping, "Yes, sir, immediate, " glided unevenly away. He hadn't waited on usbefore, and little thought, when he was going to stride proudly passour table, what a double-loaded Vesuvius was sitting in Jone's chair. Ileaned over the table and said to Jone that if he would stick to thatwe could rent a bishopric if we wanted to, and I was so proud I couldhave patted him on the back. Well, after that we had no more troubleabout being waited on, for that waiter of ours went about as if he hadhis neck bared for the fatal stroke and Jone was holding the cimeter. The head waiter came to us before we was done dinner and asked if wehad everything we wanted and if that table suited us, because if it didwe could always have it. To which Jone distantly thundered that if hewould see that it always had a clean tablecloth it would do wellenough. [Illustration: The Carver] Even the man who stood at the big table in the middle of the room andcarved the cold meats, with his hair parted in the middle, and wholooked as if he were saying to himself, as with a bland dexterity andtastefulness he laid each slice upon its plate, "Now, then, thesocialistic movement in Paris is arrested for the time being, and hereagain I put an end to the hopes of Russia getting to the sea throughAfghanistan, and now I carefully spread contentment over the minds ofall them riotous Welsh miners, " even he turned around and bowed to usas we passed him, and once sent a waiter to ask if we'd like a littlebit of potted beef, which was particularly good that day. Jone kept up his rumblings, though they sounded more distant and moredeep under ground, and one day at luncheon an elderly woman, who wassitting alone at a table near us, turned to me and spoke. She was avery plain person, with her face all seamed and rough with exposure tothe weather, like as if she had been captain to a pilot boat, and witha general appearance of being a cook with good recommendations, but atpresent out of a place. I might have wondered at such a person being atsuch a hotel, but remembering what I had been myself I couldn't saywhat mightn't happen to other people. "I'm glad to see, " said she, "that you sent away that mutton, for ifmore persons would object to things that are not properly cooked we'dall be better served. I suppose that in your country most people are sorich that they can afford to have the best of everything and have italways. I fancy the great wealth of American citizens must make theirhousekeeping very different from ours. " Now I must say I began to bristle at being spoken to like that. I'm asproud of being an American as anybody can be, but I don't like the homeof the free thrown into my teeth every time I open my mouth. There's noknowing what money Jone and I have lost through giving orders to Londoncabmen in what is called our American accent. The minute we tell thedriver of a hansom where we want to go, that place doubles its distancefrom the spot we start from. Now I think the great reason Jone'srumbling worked so well was that it had in it a sort of Great Britishchest-sound, as if his lungs was rusty. The waiter had heard thatbefore and knew what it meant. If he had spoken out in the clearAmerican fashion I expect his voice would have gone clear through thewaiter without his knowing it, like the person in the story, whose neckwas sliced through and who didn't know it until he sneezed and his headfell off. "Yes, ma'am, " said I, answering her with as much of a wearied feelingas I could put on, "our wealth is all very well in some ways, but it isdreadful wearing on us. However, we try to bear up under it and becontent. " "Well, " said she, "contentment is a great blessing in every station, though I have never tried it in yours. Do you expect to make a longstay in London?" As she seemed like a civil and well-meaning woman, and was the firstperson who had spoken to us in a social way, I didn't mind talking toher, and I told her we was only stopping in London until we could findthe kind of country house we wanted, and when she asked what kind thatwas, I described what we wanted and how we was still answeringadvertisements and going to see agents, who was always recommendingexactly the kind of house we did not care for. "Vicarages are all very well, " said she, "but it sometimes happens, andhas happened to friends of mine, that when a vicar has let his house hemakes up his mind not to waste his money in travelling, and he takeslodgings near by and keeps an eternal eye upon his tenants. I don'tbelieve any independent American would fancy that. " "No, indeed, " said I; and then she went on to say that if we wanted asmall country house for a month or two she knew of one which shebelieved would suit us, and it wasn't a vicarage either. When I askedher to tell me about it she brought her chair up to our table, togetherwith her mug of beer, her bread and cheese, and she went intoparticulars about the house she knew of. "It is situated, " said she, "in the west of England, in the mostbeautiful part of our country. It is near one of the quaintest littlevillages that the past ages have left us, and not far away are thebeautiful waters of the Bristol Channel, with the mountains of Walesrising against the sky on the horizon, and all about are hills andvalleys, and woods and beautiful moors and babbling streams, with allthe loveliness of cultivated rurality merging into the wild beauties ofunadorned nature. " If these was not exactly her words, they express theideas she roused in my mind. She said the place was far enough awayfrom railways and the stream of travel, and among the simple peasantry, and that in the society of the resident gentry we would see Englishcountry life as it is, uncontaminated by the tourist or the commercialtraveller. I can't remember all the things she said about this charming cottage inthis most supremely beautiful spot, but I sat and listened, and thedescription held me spell-bound, as a snake fascinates a frog; withthis difference, instead of being swallowed by the description, Iswallowed it. When the old woman had given us the address of the person who had theletting of the cottage, and Jone and me had gone to our room, I said tohim, before we had time to sit down: "What do you think?" "I think, " said he, "that we ought to follow that old woman's adviceand go and look at this house. " "Go and look at it?" I exclaimed. "Not a bit of it. If we do that, weare bound to see something or hear something that will make us hesitateand consider, and if we do that, away goes our enthusiasm and ourrapture. I say, telegraph this minute and say we'll take the house, andsend a letter by the next mail with a postal order in it, to secure theplace. " Jone looked at me hard, and said he'd feel easier in his mind if heunderstood what I was talking about. "Never mind understanding, " I said. "Go down and telegraph we'll takethe house. There isn't a minute to lose!" "But, " said Jone, "if we find out when we get there--" "Never mind that, " said I. "If we find out when we get there it isn'tall we thought it was, and we're bound to do that, we'll make the bestof what doesn't suit us because it can't be helped; but if we go andlook at it it's ten to one we won't take it. " "How long are we to take it for?" said Jone. "A month anyway, and perhaps longer, " I told him, giving him a pushtoward the door. "All right, " said he, and he went and telegraphed. I believe if Jonewas told he could go anywhere and stay for a month he'd choose thatplace from among all the most enchanting spots on the earth where hecouldn't stay so long. As for me, the one thing that held me was theromanticness of the place. From what the old woman said I knew therecouldn't be any mistake about that, and if I could find myself themistress of a romantic cottage near an ancient village of the oldentime I would put up with most everything except dirt, and as dirt andme seldom keeps company very long, even that can't frighten me. When I saw the old woman at luncheon the next day and told her what wehad done she was fairly dumfounded. "Really! really!" she said, "you Americans are the speediest people Iever did see. Why, an English person would have taken a week toconsider that place before taking it. " "And lost it, ten to one, " said I. She shook her head. "Well, " said she, "I suppose it's on account of your habits, and youcan't help it, but it's a poor way of doing business. " [Illustration: "You Americans are the speediest people"] Now I began to think from this that her conscience was beginning totrouble her for having given so fairy-like a picture of the house, andas I was afraid that she might think it her duty to bring up somedisadvantages, I changed the conversation and got away as soon as Icould. When we once get seated at our humble board in our rural cot Iwon't be afraid of any bugaboos, but I didn't want them brought upthen. I can generally depend upon Jone, but sometimes he gets a littlestubborn. We didn't see this old person any more, and when I asked the waiterabout her the next day he said he was sure she had left the hotel, bywhich I suppose he must have meant he'd got his half-crown. Her fadingaway in this fashion made it all seem like a myth or a phantasm, butwhen, the next morning, we got a receipt for the money Jone sent, and anote saying the house was ready for our reception, I felt myself onsolid ground again, and to-morrow we start, bag and baggage, forChedcombe, which is the name of the village where the house is that wehave taken. I'll write to you, madam, as soon as we get there, and Ihope with all my heart and soul that when we see what's wrong withit--and there's bound to be something--that it may not be anything badenough to make us give it up and go floating off in voidness, like aspider-web blown before a summer breeze, without knowing what it'sgoing to run against and stick to, and, what is more, probably lose themoney we paid in advance. _Letter Number Four_ CHEDCOMBE, SOMERSETSHIRE Last winter Jone and I read all the books we could get about the ruralparts of England, and we knew that the country must be very beautiful, but we had no proper idea of it until we came to Chedcombe. I am notgoing to write much about the scenery in this part of the country, because, perhaps, you have been here and seen it, and anyway my writingwould not be half so good as what you could read in books, which don'tamount to anything. All I'll say is that if you was to go over the whole of England, andcollect a lot of smooth green hills, with sheep and deer wanderingabout on them; brooks, with great trees hanging over them, and vinesand flowers fairly crowding themselves into the water; lanes and roadshedged in with hawthorn, wild roses, and tall purple foxgloves; littlewoods and copses; hills covered with heather; thatched cottages likethe pictures in drawing-books, with roses against their walls, and thinblue smoke curling up from the chimneys; distant views of the sparklingsea; villages which are nearly covered up by greenness, except theirsteeples; rocky cliffs all green with vines, and flowers spreading andthriving with the fervor and earnestness you might expect to find inthe tropics, but not here--and then, if you was to put all these pointsof scenery into one place not too big for your eye to sweep over andtake it all in, you would have a country like that around Chedcombe. I am sure the old lady was right when she said it was the mostbeautiful part of England. The first day we was here we carried anumbrella as we walked through all this verdant loveliness, butyesterday morning we went to the village and bought a couple of thinmackintoshes, which will save us a lot of trouble opening and shuttingumbrellas. When we got out at the Chedcombe station we found a man there with alittle carriage he called a fly, who said he had been sent to take usto our house. There was also a van to carry our baggage. We droveentirely through the village, which looked to me as if a bit of theMiddle Ages had been turned up by the plough, and on the other edge ofit there was our house, and on the doorstep stood a lady, with asmiling eye and an umbrella, and who turned out to be our landlady. Back of her was two other females, one of them looking like aminister's wife, while the other one I knew to be a servant-maid, byher cap. [Illustration: "THAT WAS OUR HOUSE"] The lady, whose name was Mrs. Shutterfield, shook hands with us andseemed very glad to see us, and the minister's wife took our handbags from us and told the men where to carry our trunks. Mrs. Shutterfield took us into a little parlor on one side of the hall, andthen we three sat down, and I must say I was so busy looking at thequeer, delightful room, with everything in it--chairs, tables, carpets, walls, pictures, and flower-vases--all belonging to a bygone epoch, though perfectly fresh, as if just made, that I could scarcely payattention to what the lady said. But I listened enough to know thatMrs. Shutterfield told us that she had taken the liberty of engagingfor us two most excellent servants, who had lived in the house beforeit had been let to lodgers, and who, she was quite sure, would suit usvery well, though, of course, we were at liberty to do what we pleasedabout engaging them. The one that I took for the minister's wife was acombination of cook and housekeeper, by the name of Miss Pondar, andthe other was a maid in general, named Hannah. When the lady mentionedtwo servants it took me a little aback, for we had not expected to havemore than one, but when she mentioned the wages, and I found that bothput together did not cost as much as a very poor cook would expect inAmerica, and when I remembered we as now at work socially boomingourselves, and that it wouldn't do to let this lady think that we hadnot been accustomed to varieties of servants, I spoke up and said wewould engage the two estimable women she recommended, and was muchobliged to her for getting them. Then we went over that house, down stairs and up, and of all thelavender-smelling old-fashionedness anybody ever dreamed of, thislittle house has as much as it can hold. It is fitted up all throughlike one of your mother's bonnets, which she bought before she wasmarried and never wore on account of a funeral in the family, but keptshut up in a box, which she only opens now and then to show to herdescendants. In every room and on the stairs there was a general air ofantiquated freshness, mingled with the odors of English breakfast teaand recollections of the story of Cranford, which, if Jone and me hadbeen alone, would have made me dance from the garret of that house tothe cellar. Every sentiment of romance that I had in my soul bubbled tothe surface, and I felt as if I was one of my ancestors before sheemigrated to the colonies. I could not say what I thought, but Ipinched Jone's arm whenever I could get a chance, which relieved me alittle; and when Miss Pondar had come to me with a little courtesy, andasked me what time I would like to have dinner, and told me what shehad taken the liberty of ordering, so as to have everything ready bythe time I came, and Mrs. Shutterfield had gone, after begging to knowwhat more she could do for us, and we had gone to our own room, I letout my feelings in one wild scream of delirious gladness that wouldhave been heard all the way to the railroad station if I had notcovered my head with two pillows and the corner of a blanket. After we had dinner, which was as English as the British lion, and muchmore to our taste than anything we had had in London, Jone went out tosmoke a pipe, and I had a talk with Miss Pondar about fish, meat, andgroceries, and about housekeeping matters in general. Miss Pondar, whose general aspect of minister's wife began to wear off when I talkedto her, mingles respectfulness and respectability in a manner I haven'tbeen in the habit of seeing. Generally those two things run againsteach other, but they don't in her. When she asked what kind of wine we preferred I must say I was struckall in a heap, for wines to Jone and me is like a trackless wildernesswithout compass or binnacle light, and we seldom drink them except madehot, with nutmeg grated in, for colic; but as I wanted her tounderstand that if there was any luxuries we didn't order it wasbecause we didn't approve of them, I told her that we was totalabstainers, and at that she smiled very pleasant and said that was herpersuasion also, and that she was glad not to be obliged to handleintoxicating drinks, though, of course, she always did it withoutobjection when the family used them. When I told Jone this he looked alittle blank, for foreign water generally doesn't agree with him. Imentioned this afterwards to Miss Pondar, and she said it was verycommon in total abstaining families, when water didn't agree with anyone of them, especially if it happened to be the gentleman, to take alittle good Scotch whiskey with it; but when I told this to Jone hesaid he would try to bear up under the shackles of abstinence. This morning, when I was talking with Miss Pondar about fish, andtrying to show her that I knew something about the names of Englishfishes, I said that we was very fond of whitebait. At this she lookedastonished for the first time. "Whitebait?" said she. "We always looked upon that as belongingentirely to the nobility and gentry. " At this my back began to bristle, but I didn't let her know it, and I said, in a tone of emphaticmildness, that we would have whitebait twice a week, on Tuesday andFriday. At this Miss Pondar gave a little courtesy and thanked me verymuch, and said she would attend to it. When Jone and me came back after taking a long walk that morning I sawa pair of Church of England prayer-books, looking as if they had justbeen neatly dusted, lying on the parlor table, where they hadn't beenbefore, for I had carefully looked over every book. I think that whenit was borne in upon Miss Pondar's soul that we was accustomed tohaving whitebait as a regular thing she made up her mind we was allright, and that nothing but the Established Church would do for us. Before, she might have thought we was Wesleyans. Our maid Hannah is very nice to look at, and does her work as well asanybody could do it, and, like most other English servants, she's in astate of never-ending thankfulness, but as I can never understand aword she says except "Thank you very much, " I asked Jone if he didn'tthink it would be a good thing for me to try to teach her a littleEnglish. "Now then, " said he, "that's the opening of a big subject. Wait until Ifill my pipe and we'll discourse upon it. " It was just after luncheon, and we was sitting in the summer-house at the end of the garden, looking out over the roses and pinks and all sorts of old-timey flowersgrowing as thick as clover heads, with an air as if it wasn't the leasttrouble in the world to them to flourish and blossom. Beyond theflowers was a little brook with the ducks swimming in it, and beyondthat was a field, and on the other side of that field was a parkbelonging to the lord of the manor, and scattered about the side of agreen hill in the park was a herd of his lordship's deer. Most of themwas so light-colored that I fancied I could almost see through them, asif they was the little transparent bugs that crawl about on leaves. That isn't a romantic idea to have about deers, but I can't get rid ofthe notion whenever I see those little creatures walking about on thehills. At that time it was hardly raining at all, just a little mist, with thesun coming into the summer-house every now and then, making us feelvery comfortable and contented. "Now, " said Jone, when he had got his pipe well started, "what I wantto talk about is the amount of reformation we expect to do while we'resojourning in the kingdom of Great Britain. " "Reformation!" said I; "we didn't come here to reform anything. " "Well, " said Jone, "if we're going to busy our minds with thesepeople's shortcomings and long-goings, and don't try to reform them, we're just worrying ourselves and doing them no good, and I don't thinkit will pay. Now, for instance, there's that rosy-cheeked Hannah. She'ssatisfied with her way of speaking English, and Miss Pondar understandsit and is satisfied with it, and all the people around here aresatisfied with it. As for us, we know, when she comes and stands in thedoorway and dimples up her cheeks, and then makes those sounds that aremore like drops of molasses falling on a gong than anything else I knowof, we know that she is telling us in her own way that the next meal, whatever it is, is ready, and we go to it. " "Yes, " said I, "and as I do most of my talking with Miss Pondar, and aswe shall be here for such a short time anyway, it may be as well--" "What I say about Hannah, " said Jone, interrupting me as soon as Ibegan to speak about a short stay, "I have to say about everything elsein England that doesn't suit us. As long as Hannah doesn't try to makeus speak in her fashion I say let her alone. Of course, we shall find alot of things over here that we shall not approve of--we knew thatbefore we came--and when we find we can't stand their ways and mannersany longer we can pack up and go home, but so far as I'm concerned I'mgetting along very comfortable so far. " "Oh, so am I, " I said to him, "and as to interfering with otherpeople's fashions, I don't want to do it. If I was to meet the mostpaganish of heathens entering his temple with suitable humbleness Iwouldn't hurt his feelings on the subject of his religion, unless I wasa missionary and went about it systematic; but if that heathen turnedon me and jeered at me for attending our church at home, and told me Iought to go down on my marrow-bones before his brazen idols, I'd whanghim over the head with a frying-pan or anything else that came handy. That's the sort of thing I can't stand. As long as the people heredon't snort and sniff at my ways I won't snort and sniff at theirs. " "Well, " said Jone, "that is a good rule, but I don't know that it'sgoing to work altogether. You see, there are a good many people in thiscountry and only two of us, and it will be a lot harder for them tokeep from sniffing and snorting than for us to do it. So it's myopinion that if we expect to get along in a good-humored and friendlyway, which is the only decent way of living, we've got to hold up ourend of the business a little higher than we expect other people to holdup theirs. " I couldn't agree altogether with Jone about our trying to do betterthan other people, but I said that as the British had been kind enoughto make their country free to us, we wouldn't look a gift horse in themouth unless it kicked. To which Jone said I sometimes got my figuresof speech hind part foremost, but he knew what I meant. We've lived in our cottage two weeks, and every morning when I get upand open our windows, which has little panes set in strips of lead, andhinges on one side so that it works like a door, and look out over thebrook and the meadows and the thatched roofs, and see the peasant menwith their short jackets and woollen caps, and the lower part of theirtrousers tied round with twine, if they don't happen to have leatherleggings, trudging to their work, my soul is filled with wellingemotions as I think that if Queen Elizabeth ever travelled along thisway she must have seen these great old trees and, perhaps, some ofthese very houses; and as to the people, they must have been prettymuch the same, though differing a little in clothes, I dare say; but, judging from Hannah, perhaps not very much in the kind of English theyspoke. I declare that when Jone and me walk about through the village, andover the fields, for there is a right of way--meaning a littlepath--through most all of them, and when we go into the old church, with its yew-trees, and its gravestones, and its marble effigies of twoof the old manor lords, both stretched flat on their backs, as large aslife, the gentleman with the end of his nose knocked off and with hisfeet crossed to show he was a crusader, and the lady with her handsclasped in front of her, as if she expected the generations who came togaze on her tomb to guess what she had inside of them, I feel like acharacter in a novel. I have kept a great many of my joyful sentiments to myself, becauseJone is too well contented as it is, and there is a great deal yet tobe seen in England. Sometimes we hire a dogcart and a black horse namedPunch, from the inn in the village, and we take long drives over roadsthat are almost as smooth as bowling alleys. The country is very hilly, and every time we get to the top of a hill we can see, spread about usfor miles and miles, the beautiful hills and vales, and lordlyresidences and cottages, and steeple tops, looking as though they hadbeen stuck down here and there, to show where villages had beenplanted. _Letter Number Five_ [Illustration] CHEDCOMBE This morning, when Jone was out taking a walk and I was talking to MissPondar, and getting her to teach me how to make Devonshire clottedcream, which we have for every meal, putting it on everything it willgo on, into everything it will go into, and eating it by itself whenthere is nothing it will go on or into; and trying to find out why itis that whitings are always brought on the table with their tails stuckthrough their throats, as if they had committed suicide by cuttingtheir jugular veins in this fashion, I saw, coming along the road toour cottage, a pretty little dogcart with two ladies in it. The horsethey drove was a pony, and the prettiest creature I ever saw, beingformed like a full-sized horse, only very small, and with as much fireand spirit and gracefulness as could be got into an animal sixteenhands high. I heard afterward that he came from Exmoor, which is abouttwelve miles from here, and produces ponies and deers of similar sizeand swiftness. They stopped at the door, and one of them got out andcame in. Miss Pondar told me she wished to see me, and that she wasMrs. Locky, of the "Bordley Arms" in the village. "The innkeeper's wife?" said I; to which Miss Pondar said it was, and Iwent into the parlor. Mrs. Locky was a handsome-looking lady, andwearing as stylish clothes as if she was a duchess, and extremelypolite and respectful. She said she would have asked Mrs. Shutterfield to come with her andintroduce her, but that lady was away from home, and so she had come byherself to ask me a very great favor. When I begged her to sit down and name it she went on to say there hadcome that morning to the inn a very large party in a coach-and-four, that was making a trip through the country, and as they didn't travelon Sunday they wanted to stay at the "Bordley Arms" until Mondaymorning. "Now, " said she, "that puts me to a dreadful lot of trouble, because Ihaven't room to accommodate them all, and even if I could get rooms forthem somewhere else they don't want to be separated. But there is oneof the best rooms at the inn which is occupied by an elderly gentleman, and if I could get that room I could put two double beds in it and soaccommodate the whole party. Now, knowing that you had a pleasantchamber here that you don't use, I thought I would make bold to comeand ask you if you would lodge Mr. Poplington until Monday?" "What sort of a person is this Mr. Poplington, and is he willing tocome here?" "Oh, I haven't asked him yet, " said she, "but he is so extremelygood-natured that I know he will be glad to come here. He has oftenasked me who lived in this extremely picturesque cottage. " "You must have an answer now?" said I. "Oh, yes, " said she, "for if you cannot do me this favor I must gosomewhere else, and where to go I don't know. " Now I had begun to think that the one thing we wanted in this littlehome of ours was company, and that it was a great pity to have thatnice bedroom on the second floor entirely wasted, with nobody ever init. So, as far as I was concerned, I would be very glad to have somepleasant person in the house, at least for a day or two, and I didn'tbelieve Jone would object. At any rate it would put a stop, at leastfor a little while, to his eternally saying how Corinne, our daughter, would enjoy that room, and how nice it would be if we was to take thishouse for the rest of the season and send for her. Now, Corinne's ashappy as she can be at her grand-mother's farm, and her school willbegin before we're ready to come home, and, what is more, we didn'tcome here to spend all our time in one place. [Illustration: "The young lady who keeps the bar"] While I was thinking of these things I was looking out of the window atthe lady in the dogcart who was holding the reins. She was as pretty asa picture, and wore a great straw hat with lovely flowers in it. As Ihad to give an answer without waiting for Jone to come home, and Ididn't expect him until luncheon time, I concluded to be neighborly, and said we would take the gentleman to oblige her. Even if thearrangement didn't suit him or us, it wouldn't matter much for thatlittle time. At which Mrs. Locky was very grateful indeed, and said shewould have Mr. Poplington's luggage sent around that afternoon, andthat he would come later. As she got up to go I said to her, "Is that young lady out there one ofthe party who came with the coach and four?" "Oh, no, " said Mrs. Locky, "she lives with me. She is the young ladywho keeps the bar. " I expect I opened my mouth and eyes pretty wide, for I was never soastonished. A young lady like that keeping the bar! But I didn't wantMrs. Locky to know how much I was surprised, and so I said nothingabout it. When they had gone and I had stood looking after them for about aminute, I remembered I hadn't asked whether Mr. Poplington would wantto take his meals here, or whether he would go to the inn for them. Tobe sure, she only asked me to lodge him, but as the inn is more thanhalf a mile from here, he may want to be boarded. But this will have tobe found out when he comes, and when Jone comes home it will have to befound out what he thinks about my taking a lodger while he's out takinga walk. _Letter Number Six_ CHEDCOMBE, SOMERSETSHIRE When Jone came home and I told him a gentleman was coming to live withus, he thought at first I was joking; and when he found out that Imeant what I said he looked very blue, and stood with his hands in hispockets and his eyes on the ground, considering. "He's not going to take his meals here, is he?" "I don't think he expects that, " I said, "for Mrs. Locky only spoke oflodging. " "Oh, well, " said Jone, looking as if his clouds was clearing off alittle, "I don't suppose it will matter to us if that room is occupiedover Sunday, but I think the next time I go out for a stroll I'll takeyou with me. " I didn't go out that afternoon, and sat on pins and needles untilhalf-past five o'clock. Jone wanted me to walk with him, but I wouldn'tdo it, because I didn't want our lodger to come here and be received byMiss Pondar. At half-past five there came a cart with the gentleman'sluggage, as they call it here, and I was glad Jone wasn't at home. There was an enormous leather portmanteau which looked as if it hadbeen dragged by a boy too short to lift it from the ground, half overthe world; a hat-box, also of leather, but not so draggy looking; abundle of canes and umbrellas, a leather dressing-case, and a flat, round bathing-tub. I had the things taken up to the room as quickly asI could, for if Jone had seen them he'd think the gentleman was goingto bring his family with him. It was nine o'clock and still broad daylight when Mr. Poplingtonhimself came, carrying a fishing-rod put up in parts in a canvas bag, afish-basket, and a small valise. He wore leather leggings and was aboutsixty years old, but a wonderful good walker. I thought, when I saw himcoming, that he had no rheumatism whatever, but I found out afterwardthat he had a little in one of his arms. He had white hair and whiteside-whiskers and a fine red face, which made me think of a strawberrypartly covered with Devonshire clotted cream. Jone and I was sitting inthe summer-house, he smoking his pipe, and we both went to meet thegentleman. He had a bluff way of speaking, and said he was much obligedto us for taking him in; and after saying that it was a warm evening, athing which I hadn't noticed, he asked to be shown to his room. I sentHannah with him, and then Jone and I went back to the summer-house. I didn't know exactly why, but I wasn't in as good spirits as I hadbeen, and when Jone spoke he didn't make me feel any better. [Illustration: "I see signs of weakening in the social boom"] "It seems to me, " said he, "that I see signs of weakening in the socialboom. That man considers us exactly as we considered our lodging-housekeeper in London. Now, it doesn't strike me that that sample person youwas talking about, who is a cross between a rich farmer and a poorgentleman, would go into the lodging-house business. " I couldn't helpagreeing with Jone, and I didn't like it a bit. The gentleman hadn'tsaid anything or done anything that was out of the way, but there was abenignant loftiness about him which grated on the inmost fibres of mysoul. "I'll tell you what we'll do, " said I, turning sharp on Jone, "we won'tcharge him a cent. That'll take him down, and show him what we are. We'll give him the room as a favor to Mrs. Locky, considering her inthe light of a neighbor and one who sent us a cucumber. " "All right, " said Jone, "I like that way of arranging the business. Upgoes the social boom again!" Just as we was going up to bed Miss Pondar came to me and said that thegentleman had called down to her and asked if he could have a new-laidegg for his breakfast, and she asked if she should send Hannah early inthe morning to see if she could get a perfectly fresh egg from one ofthe cottages. "I thought, ma'am, that perhaps you might object tobuying things on Sunday. " "I do, " I said. "Does that Mr. Poplington expect to have his breakfasthere? I only took him to lodge. " "Oh, ma'am, " said Miss Pondar, "they always takes their breakfastswhere they has their rooms. Dinner and luncheon is different, and hemay expect to go to the inn for them. " "Indeed!" said I. "I think he may, and if he breakfasts here he cantake what we've got. If the eggs are not fresh enough for him he cantry to get along with some bacon. He can't expect that to be fresh. " Knowing that English people take their breakfast late, Jone and I gotup early, so as to get through before our lodger came down. But, blessme, when we went to the front door to see what sort of a day it was wesaw him coming in from a walk. "Fine morning, " said he, and in factthere was only a little drizzle of rain, which might stop when the sungot higher; and he stood near us and began to talk about the trout inthe stream, which, to my utter amazement, he called a river. "Do you take your license by the day or week?" he said to Jone. "License!" said Jone, "I don't fish. " "Really!" exclaimed Mr. Poplington. "Oh, I see, you are a cycler. " "No, " said Jone, "I'm not that, either, I'm a pervader. " "Really!" said the old gentleman; "what do you mean by that?" "I mean that I pervade the scenery, sometimes on foot and sometimes ina trap. That's my style of rural pleasuring. " "But you do fish at home, " I said to Jone, not wishing the Englishgentleman to think my husband was a city man, who didn't know anythingabout sport. "Oh, yes, " said Jone, "I used to fish for perch and sunfish. " "Sunfish?" said Mr. Poplington. "I don't know that fish at all. Whatsort of a fly do you use?" "I don't fish with any flies at all, " said Jone; "I bait my hook withworms. " Mr. Poplington's face looked as if he had poured liquid shoe-blackingon his meat, thinking it was Worcestershire sauce. "Fancy! Worms! I'dnever take a rod in my hands if I had to use worms. Never used a wormin my life. There's no sort of science in worm fishing. " "There's double sport, " said Jone, "for first you've got to catch yourworm. Then again, I hate shams; if you have to catch fish there's nouse cheating them into the bargain. " "Cheat!" cried Mr. Poplington. "If I had to catch a whale I'd fish forhim with a fly. But you Americans are strange people. Worms, indeed!" "We don't all use worms, " said Jone; "there's lots of fly fishers inAmerica, and they use all sorts of flies. If we are to believe all theCalifornians tell us some of the artificial flies out there must be asbig as crows. " "Really?" said Mr. Poplington, looking hard at Jone, with a littletwinkling in his eyes. "And when gentlemen fish who don't like to cheatthe fishes, what size of worms do they use?" "Well, " said Jone, "in the far West I've heard that the common blacksnake is the favorite bait. He's six or seven feet long, and fishermenthat use him don't have to have any line. He's bait and line all inone. " Mr. Poplington laughed. "I see you are fond of a joke, " said he, "andso am I, but I'm also fond of my breakfast. " "I'm with you there, " said Jone, and we all went in. Mr. Poplington was very pleasant and chatty, and of course asked agreat many questions about America. Nearly all English people I've metwant to talk about our country, and it seems to me that what they doknow about it isn't any better, considered as useful information, thanwhat they don't know. But Mr. Poplington has never been to America, andso he knows more about us than those Englishmen who come over to writebooks, and only have time to run around the outside of things, and getthemselves tripped up on our ragged edges. He said he had met a good many Americans, and liked them, but hecouldn't see for the life of him why they do some things English peopledon't do, and don't do things English people do do. For instance, hewondered why we don't drink tea for breakfast. Miss Pondar had made itfor him, knowing he'd want it, and he wonders why Americans drinkcoffee when such good tea as that was comes in their reach. Now, if I had considered Mr. Poplington as a lodger it might havenettled me to have him tell me I didn't know what was good, butremembering that we was giving him hospitality, and not board, anddidn't intend to charge him a cent, but was just taking care of him outof neighborly kindness, I was rather glad to have him find a littlefault, because that would make me feel as if I was soaring still higherabove him the next morning, when I should tell him there was nothing topay. So I took it all good-natured, and said to him, "Well, Americans liketo have the very best things that can be got out of every country. We're like bees flying over the whole world, looking into every blossomto see what sweetness there is to be got out of it. From the lily ofFrance we sip their coffee, from the national flower of India, whateverit is, we take their chutney sauce, and as to those big apple tarts, baked in a deep dish, with a cup in the middle to hold up the uppercrust, and so full of apples, and so delicious with Devonshire clottedcream on them that if there was any one place in the world they couldbe had I believe my husband would want to go and live there forever, _they_ are what we extract from the rose of England. " Mr. Poplington laughed like anything at this, but said there was agreat many other things that he could show us and tell us about whichwould be very well worth while sipping from the rose of England. After breakfast he went to church with us, and as we was cominghome--for he didn't seem to have the least idea of going to the inn forhis luncheon--he asked if we didn't find the services very differentfrom those in America. "Yes, " said I, "they are about as different from Quaker services as asquirting fountain is from a corked bottle. The Methodists andUnitarians and Reformed Dutch and Campbellites and Hard-shell Baptistshave different services too, but in the Episcopal churches things areall pretty much the same as they did this morning. You forget, sir, that in our country there are religions to suit all sizes of minds. Wehaven't any national religion any more than we have a national flower. " "But you ought to have, " said he; "you ought to have an establishedchurch. " "You may be sure we'll have it, " said Jone, "as soon as we agree as towhich one it ought to be. " _Letter Number Seven_ CHEDCOMBE, SOMERSETSHIRE Last Sunday afternoon Mr. Poplington asked us if we would not like towalk over to a ruined abbey about four miles away, which he said wasvery interesting. It seemed to me that four miles there and four milesback was a pretty long walk, but I wanted to see the abbey, and Iwasn't going to let him think that a young American woman couldn't walkas far as an elderly English gentleman; so I agreed and so did Jone. The abbey is a wonderful place, and I never thought of being tiredwhile wandering in the rooms and in the garden, where the old monksused to live and preach, and give food to the poor, and keep housewithout women--which was pious enough, but must have been untidy. Butthe thing that surprised me the most was what Mr. Poplington told usabout the age of the place. It was not built all at once, and it's partancient and part modern, and you needn't wonder, madam, that I wasastonished when he said that the part called modern was finished justthree years before America was discovered. When I heard that I seemedto shrivel up as if my country was a new-born babe alongside of abearded patriarch; but I didn't stay shrivelled long, for it can't bedenied that a new-born babe has a good deal more to look forward tothan a patriarch has. [Illustration: AT THE ABBEY] It is amazing how many things in this part of the country we'd neverhave thought of if it hadn't been for Mr. Poplington. At dinner he toldus about Exmoor and the Lorna Doone country, and the wild deer huntingthat can be had nowhere else in England, and lots of other things thatmade me feel we must be up and doing if we wanted to see all we oughtto see before we left Chedcombe. When I went upstairs I said to Jonethat Mr. Poplington was a very different man from what I thought hewas. "He's just as nice as he can be, and I'm going to charge him for hisroom and his meals and for everything he's had. " Jone laughed, and asked me if that was the way I showed people I likedthem. "We intended to humble him by not charging him anything, " I said, "andmake him feel he had been depending on our bounty; but now I wouldn'thurt his feelings for the world, and I'll make out his bill in themorning myself. Women always do that sort of thing in England. " As you asked me, madam, to tell you everything that happened on ourtravels, I'll go on about Mr. Poplington. After breakfast on Mondaymorning he went over to the inn, and said he would come back and packup his things; but when he did come back he told us that thosecoach-and-four people had determined not to leave Chedcombe that day, but was going to stay and look at the sights in the neighborhood, andthat they would want the room for that night. He said this had made himvery angry, because they had no right to change their minds that wayafter having made definite arrangements in which other people besidesthemselves was concerned; and he had said so very plainly to thegentleman who seemed to be at the head of the party. "I hope it will be no inconvenience to you, madam, " he said, "to keepme another night. " "Oh, dear, no, " said I; "and my husband was saying this morning that hewished you was going to stay with us the rest of our time here. " "Really!" exclaimed Mr. Poplington. "Then I'll do it. I'll go to theinn this minute and have the rest of my luggage brought over here. Ifthis is any punishment to Mrs. Locky she deserves it, for she shouldn'thave told those people they could stay longer without consulting me. " In less than an hour there came a van to our cottage with the rest ofhis luggage. There must have been over a dozen boxes and packages, besides things tied up and strapped; and as I saw them being carried upone at a time, I said to Miss Pondar that in our country we'd have twoor three big trunks, which we could take about without any trouble. "Yes, ma'am, " said she; but I could see by her face that she didn'tbelieve luggage would be luggage unless you could lug it, but was toorespectful to say so. When Mr. Poplington got settled down in our spare room he blossomed outlike a full-blown friend of the family, and accordingly began to giveus advice. He said we should go as soon as we could and see Exmoor andall that region of country, and that if we didn't mind he'd like to gowith us; to which we answered, of course, we should like that verymuch, and asked him what he thought would be the best way to go. So wehad ever so much talk about that, and although we all agreed it wouldbe nicer not to take a public coach, but travel private, we didn't findit easy to decide as to the manner of travel. We all agreed that acarriage and horses would be too expensive, and Jone was rather infavor of a dogcart for us if Mr. Poplington would like to go onhorseback; but the old gentleman said it would be too much riding forhim, and if we took a dogcart he'd have to take another one. But thiswouldn't be a very sociable way of travelling, and none of us liked it. "Now, " exclaimed Mr. Poplington, striking his hand on the table, "I'lltell you exactly how we ought to go through that country--we ought togo on cycles. " "Bicycles?" said I. "Tricycles, if you like, " he answered, "but that's the way to do it. It'll be cheap, and we can go as we like and stop when we like. We'llbe as free and independent as the Stars and Stripes, and more so, forthey can't always flap when they like and stop flapping when theychoose. Have you ever tried it, madam?" I replied that I had, a little, because my daughter had a tricycle, andI had ridden on it for a short distance and after sundown, but as forregular travel in the daytime I couldn't think of it. At this Jone nearly took my breath away by saying that he thought thatthe bicycle idea was a capital one, and that for his part he'd like itbetter than any other way of travelling through a pretty country. Healso said he believed I could work a tricycle just as well as not, andthat if I got used to it I would think it fine. I stood out against those two men for about a half an hour, and then Ibegan to give in a little, and think that it might be nice to rollalong on my own little wheels over their beautiful smooth roads, andstop and smell the hedges and pick flowers whenever I felt like it; andso it ended in my agreeing to do the Exmoor country on a tricycle whileMr. Poplington and Jone went on bicycles. As to getting the machines, Mr. Poplington said he would attend to that. There was people in Londonwho hired them to excursionists, and all he had to do was to send anorder and they would be on hand in a day or two; and so that matterwas settled and he wrote to London. I thought Mr. Poplington was alittle old for that sort of exercise, but I found he had been used todoing a great deal of cycling in the part of the country where helives; and besides, he isn't as old as I thought he was, being not muchover fifty. The kind of air that keeps a country always green iswonderful in bringing out early red and white in a person. "Everything happens wonderfully well, madam, " said he, coming in afterhe had been to post his letter in a red iron box let into the side ofthe Wesleyan chapel, "doesn't it? Now here we're not able to start onour journey for two or three days, and I have just been told that thegreat hay-making in the big meadow to the south of the village is tobegin to-morrow. They make the hay there only every other year, andthey have a grand time of it. We must be there, and you shall see someof our English country customs. " We said we'd be sure to be in for that sort of thing. I wish, madam, you could have seen that great hayfield. It belongs tothe lord of the manor, and must have twenty or thirty acres in it. They've been three or four days cutting the grass on it with a machine, and now there's been nearly two days with hardly any rain, only now andthen some drizzling, and a good, strong wind, which they think here isbetter for the hay-making than sunshine, though they don't object to alittle sun. All the people in the village who had legs good enough tocarry them to that field went to help make hay. It was a regularholiday, and as hay is clean, nearly everybody was dressed in goodclothes. Early in the morning some twenty regular farm laborers beganraking the hay at one end of the field, stretching themselves nearlythe whole way across it, and as the day went on more and more peoplecame, men and women, high and low. All the young women and some of theolder ones had rakes, and the way they worked them was amazing to see, but they turned over the hay enough to dry it. As to schoolgirls andboys, there was no end of them in the afternoon, for school let outearly. Some of them worked, but most of them played and cut upmonkey-shines on the hay. Even the little babies was brought on thefield, and nice, soft beds made for them under the trees at one side. When Jone saw the real farm-work going on, with a chance for everybodyto turn in to help, his farmer blood boiled within him, as if he was awar-horse and sniffed the smoke of battle, and he got himself a rakeand went to work like a good-fellow. I never saw so many men at work ina hayfield at home, but when I looked at Jone raking I could see why itwas it didn't take so many men to get in our hay. As for me, I raked alittle, but looked about a great deal more. Near the middle of the field was two women working together, raking assteadily as if they had been brought up to it. One of these was young, and even handsomer than Miss Dick, which was the name of the bar lady. To look at her made me think of what I had read of Queen MarieAntoinette and her court ladies playing the part of milkmaids. Herstraw hat was trimmed with delicate flowers, and her white muslin dressand pale blue ribbons made her the prettiest picture I ever sawout-of-doors. I could not help asking Mrs. Locky who she was, and shetold me that she was the chambermaid at the inn, and the other was thecook. When I heard this I didn't make any answer, but just walked off alittle way and began raking and thinking. I have often wondered why itis that English servants are so different from those we have, or, toput it in a strictly confidential way between you and me, madam, whythe chambermaid at the "Bordley Arms, " as she is, is so different fromme, as I used to be when I first lived with you. Now that youngchambermaid with the pretty hat is, as far as appearances go, as good awoman as I am, and if Jone was a bachelor and intended to marry her Iwould think it was as good a match as if he married me. But thedifference between us two is that when I got to be the kind of woman Iam I wasn't willing to be a servant, and if I had always been the kindof young woman that chambermaid is I never would have been a servant. I've kept a sharp eye on the young women in domestic service over here, having a fellow-feeling for them, as you can well understand, madam, and since I have been in the country I've watched the poor folks andseen how they live, and it's just as plain to me as can be that theyoung women who are maids and waitresses over here are the kind whowould have tried to be shop-girls and dressmakers and evenschool-teachers in America, and many of the servants we have would beworking in the fields if they lived over here. The fact is, the Englishpeople don't go to other countries to get their servants. Their way islike a factory consuming its own smoke. The surplus young women, andthere must always be a lot of them, are used up in domestic service. Now, if an American poor girl is good enough to be a first-classservant, she wants to be something else. Sooner than go out to serviceshe will work twice as hard in a shop, or even go into a factory. I have talked a good deal about this to Jone, and he says I'm gettingto be a philosopher; but I don't think it takes much philosophizing tofind out how this case stands. If house service could be looked upon inthe proper way, it wouldn't take long for American girls who have towork for their living to find out that it's a lot better to live withnice people, and cook and wait on the table, and do all those thingswhich come natural to women the world over, than to stand all daybehind a counter under the thumb of a floor-walker, or grind theirlives out like slaves among a lot of steam-engines and machinery. Theonly reason the English have better house servants than we have is thathere any girl who has to work is willing to be a house servant, andvery good house servants they are, too. _Letter Number Eight_ [Illustration] CHEDCOMBE I will now finish telling you about the great hay-making day. Towardthe end of the afternoon a lot of boys and girls began playing a gamewhich seemed to belong to the hayfield. Each one of the bigger boyswould twist up a rope of hay and run after a girl, and when he hadthrown it over her neck he could kiss her. Girls are girls the wholeworld over, and it was funny to see how some of them would run like madto get away from the boys, and how dreadfully troubled they would bewhen they was caught, and yet, after they had been kissed and the boyshad left them, they would walk innocently back to the players as ifthey never dreamed that anybody would think of disturbing them. At five o'clock everybody--farm hands, ladies, gentlemen, school-children, and all--took tea together. Some were seated at longtables made of planks, with benches at the sides, and others scatteredall over the grass. Miss Pondar and our maid Hannah helped to serve thetea and sandwiches, and I was glad to see that Hannah wore her pointedwhite cap and her black dress, for I had on my woollen travelling suit, and I didn't want too much cart-before-the-horseness in my domesticestablishment. After tea the work and the games began again, and as I think it isalways better for people to do what they can do best, I turned in andhelped clear away the tea-things, and after that I sat down by a femaleperson in black silk--and I am sure I didn't know whether she was thelady of the manor or somebody else until I heard some h-words come outin her talk, and then I knew she was the latter--and she told me everso much about the people in the village, and why the rector wasn'tthere, on account of a dispute about the altar-cloths, and she was justbeginning to tell me about the doctor's wife sending her daughters to aschool that was much too high-priced for his practice, when I happenedto look across the field, and there, with the bar lady at the inn, withher hat trimmed with pink, and the Marie Antoinette chambermaid, withher hat trimmed with blue, was Jone, and they was all three rakingtogether, as comfortable and confiding as if they had been singinghymns out of the same book. Now, I thought I had been sitting still long enough, and so I snippedoff the rest of the doctor story and got myself across that field withpretty long steps. When I reached the happy three I didn't sayanything, but went round in front of them and stood there, throwing asarcastic and disdainful glance upon their farming. Jone stoppedworking, and wiped his face with his handkerchief, as if he was hot andtired, but hadn't thought of it until just then, and the two girls theystopped too. "He's teaching us to rake, ma'am, " said Miss Dick, revolving hergreen-gage eyes in my direction, "and really, ma'am, it's wonderful tosee how good he does it. You Americans are so awful clever!" As for the one with the blue trimmings, she said nothing, but stoodwith her hands folded on her rake, and her chiselled features steepedin a meek resignedness, though much too high colored, as though it hadjust been borne in upon her that this world is all a fleeting show, forman's illusion given, and such felicity as culling fragrant hay by theside of that manly form must e'en be foregone by her, that I couldhave taken a handle of a rake and given her such a punch among her blueribbons that her classic features would have frantically twinedthemselves around one resounding howl--but I didn't. I simply remarkedto Jone, with a statuesque rigidity, that it was six o'clock and I wasgoing home; to which he said he was going too, and we went. [Illustration: "THERE, WITH THE BAR LADY AND THE MARIE ANTOINETTECHAMBERMAID, WAS JONE"] "I thought, " said I, as we proceeded with rapid steps across the field, "that you didn't come to England for the purpose of teaching theinhabitants. " Jone laughed a little. "That young lady put it rather strong, " he said. "She and her friend was merely trying to rake as I did. I think theygot on very well. " "Indeed!" said I--I expect with flashing eye--"but the next time you gointo the disciple business I recommend that you take boys who reallyneed to know something about farming, and not fine-as-fiddle youngwomen that you might as well be ballet-dancing with as raking with, forall the hankering after knowledge they have. " "Oh!" said Jone, and that was all he did say, which was very wise inhim, for, considering my state of feelings, his case was like afish-hook in your finger--the more you pull and worry at it the harderit is to get out. That evening, when I was quite cooled down, and we was talking to Mr. Poplington about the hay-making and the free-and-easy way in whicheverybody came together, he was a good deal surprised that we shouldthink that there was anything uncommon in that, coming from a countrywhere everybody was free and equal. Jone was smoking his pipe, and whenit draws well and he's had a good dinner and I haven't anythingparticular to say, he often likes to talk slow and preach littlesermons. "Yes, sir, " said he, after considering the matter a little while, "according to the Constitution of the United States we are all free andequal, but there's a good many things the Constitution doesn't touchon, and one of them is the sorting out and sizing up of the population. Now, you people over here are like the metal types that the printersuse. You've all got your letters on one end of you, and you know justwhere you belong, and if you happen to be knocked into 'pi' and mixedall up in a pile it is easy enough to pick you out and put you all inyour proper cases; but it's different with us. According to theConstitution we're like a lot of carpet-tacks, one just the same asanother, though in fact we're not alike, and it would not be easy if wegot mixed up, say in a hayfield, to get ourselves all sorted out againaccording to the breadth of our heads and the sharpness of our points, so we don't like to do too much mixing, don't you see?" To which Mr. Poplington said he didn't see, and then I explained to him that whatJone meant was that though in our country we was all equally free, itdidn't do for us to be as freely equal as the people are sometimes overhere, to which Mr. Poplington said, "Really!" but he didn't seem to bestanding in the glaring sunlight of convincement. But the shade isoften pleasant to be in, and he wound up by saying, as he bid usgood-night, that he thought it would be a great deal better for us, ifwe had classes at all, to have them marked out plain, and stamped sothat there could be no mistake; to which I said that if we did that themost of the mistakes would come in the sorting, which, according to myreading of books and newspapers, had happened to most countries thatkeep up aristocracies. I don't know that he heard all that I said, for he was going up-stairswith his candle at the time, but when Jone and me got up-stairs in ourown room I said to him, and he always hears everything I say, that insome ways the girls that we have for servants at home have someadvantages over those we find here; to which Jone said, "Yes, " andseemed to be sleepy. _Letter Number Nine_ CHEDCOMBE There was still another day of hay-making, but we couldn't wait forthat, because our cycles had come from London and we was all anxious tobe off, and you would have laughed, madam, if you could have seen usstart. Mr. Poplington went off well enough, but Jone's bicycle seemed alittle gay and hard to manage, and he frisked about a good deal atstarting; but Jone had bought a bicycle long ago, when the things firstcame out, and on days when the roads was good he used to go to thepost-office on it, and he said that if a man had ever ridden on top ofa wheel about six feet high he ought to be able to balance himself onthe pair of small wheels which they use nowadays. So, after getting hislong legs into working order, he went very well, though with a snakymovement at first, and then I started. Each one of us had a little hand-bag hung on our machine, and Mr. Poplington said we needn't take anything to eat, for there was inns tobe found everywhere in England. Hannah started me off nicely by pushingmy tricycle until I got it going, and Miss Pondar waved herhandkerchief from the cottage door. When Hannah left me I went alongrather slow at first, but when I got used to the proper motion I beganto do better, and was very sure it wouldn't take me long to catch upwith Jone, who was still worm-fencing his way along the road. When Igot entirely away from the houses, and began to smell the hedges andgrassy banks so close to my nose, and feel myself gliding along overthe smooth white road, my spirits began to soar like a bird, and Ialmost felt like singing. The few people I met didn't seem to think it was anything wonderful fora woman to ride on a tricycle, and I soon began to feel as proper as ifI was walking on a sidewalk. Once I came very near tangling myself upwith the legs of a horse who was pulling a cart. I forgot that it wasthe proper thing in this country to turn to the left, and not to theright, but I gave a quick twist to my helm and just missed thecart-wheel, but it was a close scratch. This turning to the right, instead of to the left, was a mistake Jone made two or three times whenhe began to drive me in England, but he got over it, and since mygrazing the cart it's not likely I shall forget it. As I breathed asigh of relief after escaping this danger I took in a breath full ofthe scent of wild roses that nearly covered a bit of hedge, and myspirits rose again. I had asked Jone and Mr. Poplington to go ahead, because I knew I coulddo a great deal better if I worked along by myself for a while, withoutbeing told what I ought to do and what I oughtn't to do. There isnothing that bothers me so much as to have people try to teach methings when I am puzzling them out for myself. But now I found thatalthough they could not be far ahead, I couldn't see them, on accountof the twists in the road and the high hedges, and so I put on steamand went along at a fine rate, sniffing the breeze like a charger ofthe battlefield. Before very long I came to a place where the roadforked, but the road to the left seemed like a lane leading tosomebody's house, so I kept on in what was plainly the main road, whichmade a little turn where it forked. Looking out ahead of me, to see ifI could catch sight of the two men, I could not see a sign of them, butI did see that I was on the top of a long hill that seemed to lead onand down and on and down, with no end to it. I had hardly started down this hill when my tricycle became frisky andshowed signs of wanting to run, and I got a little nervous, for Ididn't fancy going fast down a slope like that. I put on the brake, butI don't believe I managed it right, for I seemed to go faster andfaster; and then, as the machine didn't need any working, I took myfeet off the pedals, with an idea, I think, though I can't nowremember, that I would get off and walk down the hill. In an instantthat thing took the bit in its teeth and away it went wildly tearingdown hill. I never was so much frightened in all my life. I tried toget my feet back on the pedals, but I couldn't do it, and all I coulddo was to keep that flying tricycle in the middle of the road. As faras I could see ahead there was not anything in the way of a wagon or acarriage that I could run into, but there was such a stretch of slopethat it made me fairly dizzy. Just as I was having a little bit ofcomfort from thinking there was nothing in the way, a black woolly dogjumped out into the road some distance ahead of me and stood therebarking. My heart fell, like a bucket into a well with the rope broken. If I steered the least bit to the right or the left I believe I wouldhave bounded over the hedge like a glass bottle from a railroad train, and come down on the other side in shivers and splinters. If I didn'tturn I was making a bee-line for the dog; but I had no time to thinkwhat to do, and in an instant that black woolly dog faded away like areminiscence among the buzzing wheels of my tricycle. I felt a littlebump, but was ignorant of further particulars. I was now going at what seemed like a speed of ninety or a hundredmiles an hour, with the wind rushing in between my teeth like waterover a mill-dam, and I felt sure that if I kept on going down that hillI should soon be whirling through space like a comet. The only way Icould think of to save myself was to turn into some level place wherethe thing would stop, but not a crossroad did I pass; but presently Isaw a little house standing back from the road, which seemed to humpitself a little at that place so as to be nearly level, and over theedge of the hump it dipped so suddenly that I could not see the rest ofthe road at all. "Now, " thought I to myself, "if the gate of that house is open I'llturn into it, and no matter what I run into, it would be better thangoing over the edge of that rise beyond and down the awful hill thatmust be on the other side of it. " As I swooped down to the little houseand reached the level ground I felt I was going a little slower, butnot much. However, I steered my tricycle round at just the rightinstant, and through the front gate I went like a flash. I was going so fast, and my mind was so wound up on account of thenecessity of steering straight, that I could not pay much attention tothings I passed. But the scene that showed itself in front of me as Iwent through that little garden gate I could not help seeing andremembering. From the gate to the door of the house was a path pavedwith flagstones; the door was open, and there must have been a low stepbefore it; back of the door was a hall which ran through the house, andthis was paved with flagstones; the back door of the hall was open, andoutside of it was a sort of arbor with vines, and on one side of thisarbor was a bench, with a young man and a young woman sitting on it, holding each other by the hand, and looking into each other's eyes;the arbor opened out on to a piece of green grass, with flowers ofmixed colors on the edges of it, and at the back of this bit of lawnwas a lot of clothes hung out on clothes-lines. Of course, I could nothave seen all those things at once, but they came upon me like a singlepicture, for in one tick of a watch I went over that flagstone path andinto that front door and through that house and out of that back door, and past that young man and that young woman, and head and heels bothforemost at once, dashed slam-bang into the midst of all that linenhanging out on the lines. [Illustration: "AT LAST I DID GET ON MY FEET"] I heard the minglement of a groan and a scream, and in an instant I wasenveloped in a white, wet cloud of sheets, pillowcases, tablecloths, and underwear. Some of the things stuck so close to me, and others Igrabbed with such a wild clutch, that nearly all the week's wash, linesand all, came down on me, wrapping me up like an apple in adumpling--but I stopped. There was not anything in this world thatwould have been better for me to run into than those lines full of wetclothes. Where the tricycle went to I didn't know, but I was lying on the grasskicking, and trying to get up and to get my head free, so that I couldsee and breathe. At last I did get on my feet, and throwing out my armsso as to shake off the sheets and pillowcases that were clinging allover me I shook some of the things partly off my face, and with oneeye I saw that couple on the bench, but only for a second. With a yellof horror, and with a face whiter than the linen I was wrapped in, thatyoung man bounced from the bench, dashed past the house, made one cleanjump over the hedge into the road, and disappeared. As for the youngwoman, she just flopped over and went down in a faint on the floor. As soon as I could do it I got myself free from the clothes-line andstaggered out on the grass. I was trembling so much I could scarcelywalk, but when I saw that young woman looking as if she was dead on theground I felt I must do something, and seeing a pail of water standingnear by, I held it over her face and poured it down on her a little ata time, and it wasn't long before she began to squirm, and then sheopened her eyes and her mouth just at the same time, so that she musthave swallowed about as much water as she would have taken at a meal. This brought her to, and she began to cough and splutter and lookaround wildly, and then I took her by the arm and helped her up on thebench. "Don't you want a little something to drink?" I said. "Tell me where Ican get you something. " She didn't answer, but began looking from one side to the other. "Is heswallowed?" said she in a whisper, with her eyes starting out of herhead. "Swallowed?" said I. "Who?" "Davy, " said she. "Oh, your young man, " said I. "He is all right, unless he hurt himselfjumping over the hedge. I saw him run away just as fast as he could. " "And the spirit?" said she. I looked hard at her. "What has happened to you?" said I. "How did you come to faint?" She was getting quieter, but she still looked wildly out of her eyes, and kept her back turned toward the bit of grass, as if she was afraidto look in that direction. "What happened to you?" said I again, for I wanted to know what shethought about my sudden appearance. It took some little time for her toget ready to answer, and then she said: "Was you frightened, lady? Did you have to come in here? I'm sorry youfound me swooned. I don't know how long I was swooned. Davy and me wassitting here talking about having the banns called, and it was a sorrytalk, lady, for the vicar, he's told me four times I should not marryDavy, because he says he is a Radical; but for all that Davy and mewants the banns called all the same, but not knowing how we was to haveit done, for the vicar, he's so set against Davy, and Davy, he had justgot done saying to me that he was going to marry me, vicar or no vicar, banns or no banns, come what might, when that very minute, with anawful hiss, something flashed in front of us, dazzling my eyes so thatI shut them and screamed, and then when I opened them again, there, inthe yard back of us, was a great white spirit twice as high as the cowstable, with one eye in the middle of its forehead, turning around likea firework. I don't remember anything after that, and I don't know howlong I was lying here when you came and found me, lady, but I know whatit means. There is a curse on our marriage, and Davy and me will neverbe man and wife. " And then she fell to groaning and moaning. I felt like laughing when I thought how much like a church ghost I musthave looked, standing there in solid white with my arms stretched out;but the poor girl was in such a dreadful state of mind that I sat downbeside her and began to comfort her by telling her just what hadhappened, and that she ought to be very glad that I had found a placeto turn into, and had not gone on down the hill and dashed myself intolittle pieces at the bottom. But it wasn't easy to cheer her up. "Oh, Davy's gone, " said she. "He'll never come back for fear of thecurse. He'll be off with his uncle to sea. I'll never lay eyes on Davyagain. " Just at that moment I heard somebody calling my name, and lookingthrough the house I saw Jone at the front door and two men behind him. As I ran through the hall I saw that the two men with Jone was Mr. Poplington and a young fellow with a pale face and trembling legs. "Is this Davy?" said I. "Yes, " said he. "Then go back to your young woman and comfort her, " I said, which hedid, and when he had gone, not madly rushing into his loved one's arms, but shuffling along in a timid way, as if he was afraid the ghosthadn't gone yet, I asked Jone how he happened to think I was here, andhe told me that he and Mr. Poplington had taken the road to the leftwhen they reached the fork, because that was the proper one, but theyhad not gone far before he thought I might not know which way to turn, so they came back to the fork to wait for me. But I had been closerbehind them than they thought, and I must have come to the fork beforethey turned back, so, after waiting a while and going back along theroad without seeing me, they thought that I must have taken theright-hand road, and they came that way, going down the hill verycarefully. After a while Jone found my hat in the road, which up tothat moment I had not missed, and then he began to be frightened andthey went on faster. They passed the little house, and as they was going down the hill theysaw ahead of them a man running as if something had happened, so theylet out their bicycles and soon caught up to him. This was Davy; andwhen they stopped him and asked if anything was the matter he toldthem that a dreadful thing had come to pass. He had been working in thegarden of a house about half a mile back when suddenly there came anawful crash, and a white animal sprang out of the house with a bit of acotton mill fastened to its tail, and then, with a great peal ofthunder, it vanished, and a white ghost rose up out of the ground withits arms stretching out longer and longer, reaching to clutch him bythe hair. He was not afraid of anything living, but he couldn't abidespirits, so he laid down his spade and left the garden, thinking hewould go and see the sexton and have him come and lay the ghost. Then Jone went on to say that of course he could not make head or tailout of such a story as that, but when he heard that an awful row hadbeen kicked up in a garden he immediately thought that as like as not Iwas in it, and so he and Mr. Poplington ran back, leaving theirbicycles against the hedge, and bringing the young man with them. Then I told my story, and Mr. Poplington said it was a mercy I was notkilled, and Jone didn't say much, but I could see that his teeth wasgrinding. We all went into the back yard, and there, on the other side of theclothes, which was scattered all over the ground, we found my tricycle, jammed into a lot of gooseberry bushes, and when it was dragged out wefound it was not hurt a bit. Davy and his young woman was standing inthe arbor looking very sheepish, especially Davy, for she had told himwhat it was that had scared him. As we was going through the house, Jone taking my tricycle, I stopped to say good-by to the girl. "Now that you see there has been no curse and no ghost, " said I, "Ihope that you will soon have your banns called, and that you and youryoung man will be married all right. " "Thank you very much, ma'am, " said she, "but I'm awful fearful aboutit. Davy may say what he pleases, but my mother never will let me marryhim if the vicar's agen it; and Davy wouldn't have been here to-day ifshe hadn't gone to town; and the vicar's a hard man and a strong Tory, and he'll always be agen it, I fear. " When I went out into the front yard I found Mr. Poplington and Jonesitting on a little stone bench, for they was tired, and I told themabout that young woman and Davy. "Humph, " said Mr. Poplington, "I know the vicar of the parish. He isthe Rev. Osmun Green. He's a good Conservative, and is perfectly rightin trying to keep that poor girl from marrying a wretched Radical. " I looked straight at him and said: "Do you mean, sir, to put politics before matrimonial happiness?" "No, I don't, " said he, "but a girl can't expect matrimonial happinesswith a Radical. " I saw that Jone was about to say something here, but I got in ahead ofhim. "I will tell you what it is, sir, " said I, "if you think it is wrong tobe a Radical the best thing you can do is to write to your friend, thatvicar, and advise him to get those two young people married as soon aspossible, for it is easy to see that she is going to rule the roost, and if anybody can get his Radicalistics out of him she will be the oneto do it. " Mr. Poplington laughed, and said that as the man looked as if he was afit subject to be henpecked it might be a good way of getting anotherTory vote. "But, " said he, "I should think it would go against your conscience, being naturally opposed to the Conservatives, to help even by onevote. " "Oh, my conscience is all right, " said I. "When politics runs againstthe matrimonial altar I stand up for the altar. " "Well, " said he, "I'll think of it. " And we started off, walking downthe hill, Jone holding on to my tricycle. When we got to level ground, with about two miles to go before we wouldstop for luncheon, Jone took a piece of thin rope out of his pocket--healways carries some sort of cord in case of accidents--and he tied itto the back part of my machine. "Now, " said he, "I'm going to keep hold of the other end of this, andperhaps your tricycle won't run away with you. " I didn't much like going along this way, as if I was a cow being takento market, but I could see that Jone had been so troubled andfrightened about me that I didn't make any objection, and, in fact, after I got started it was a comfort to think there was a tie betweenJone and me that was stronger, when hilly roads came into the question, than even the matrimonial tie. _Letter Number Ten_ CHEDCOMBE, SOMERSETSHIRE The place we stopped at on the first night of our cycle trip is namedPorlock, and after the walking and the pushing, and the strain on mymind when going down even the smallest hill for fear Jone's rope wouldgive way, I was glad to get there. The road into Porlock goes down a hill, the steepest I have seen yet, and we all walked down, holding our machines as if they had been fierycoursers. This hill road twists and winds so you can only see part ofit at a time, and when we was about half-way down we heard a hornblowing behind us, and looking around there came the mail-coach at fullspeed, with four horses, with a lot of people on top. As this ragingcoach passed by it nearly took my breath away, and as soon as I couldspeak I said to Jone: "Don't you ever say anything in America abouthaving the roads made narrower so that it won't cost so much to keepthem in order, for in my opinion it's often the narrow road thatleadeth to destruction. " When we got into the town, and my mind really began to grapple with oldPorlock, I felt as if I was sliding backward down the slope of thecenturies, and liked it. As we went along Mr. Poplington told us abouteverything, and said that this queer little town was a fishing villageand seaport in the days of the Saxons, and that King Harold was onceobliged to stop there for a while, and that he passed his time makingwar on the neighbors. Mr. Poplington took us to a tavern called the Ship Inn, and I simplywent wild over it. It is two hundred years old and two stories high, and everything I ever read about the hostelries of the past I sawthere. The queer little door led into a queer little passage paved withstone. A pair of little stairs led out of this into another littleroom, higher up, and on the other side of the passage was a long, mysterious hallway. We had our dinner in a tiny parlor, which remindedme of a chapter in one of those old books where they use f instead ofs, and where the first word of the next page is at the bottom of theone you are reading. There was a fireplace in the room with a window one side of it, throughwhich you could look into the street. It was not cold, but it had begunto rain hard, and so I made the dampness an excuse for a fire. "This is antique, indeed, " I said, when we were at the table. "You are right there, " said Mr. Poplington, who was doing his best tocarve a duck, and was a little cross about it. When I sat before the fire that evening, and Jone was asleep on asettee of the days of yore, and Mr. Poplington had gone to bed, beingtired, my soul went back to the olden time, and, looking out throughthe little window in the fireplace, I fancied I could see William theConqueror and the King of the Danes sneaking along the little streetunder the eaves of the thatched roofs, until I was so worked up that Iwas on the point of shouting, "Fly! oh, Saxon!" when the door openedand the maid who waited on us at the table put her head in. I took thisfor a sign that the curfew bell was going to ring, and so I woke upJone and we went to bed. But all night long the heroes of the past flocked about me. I had beenreading a lot of history, and I knew them all the minute my eyes fellupon them. Charlemagne and Canute sat on the end of the bed, whileAlfred the Great climbed up one of the posts until he was stopped byHannibal's legs, who had them twisted about the post to keep himselfsteady. When I got up in the morning I went down-stairs into the littleparlor, and there was the maid down on her knees cleaning the hearth. "What is your name?" I said to her. "Jane, please, " said she. "Jane what?" said I. "Jane Puddle, please, " said she. I took a carving-knife from off the table, and standing over her Ibrought it down gently on top of her head. "Rise, Sir Jane Puddle, "said I, to which the maid gave a smothered gasp, and--would you believeit, madam?--she crept out of the room on her hands and knees. The cookwaited on us at breakfast, and I truly believe that the landlord andhis wife breathed a sigh of relief when we left the Ship Inn, for theirsordid souls had never heard of knighthood, but knew all aboutassassination. [Illustration: "Rise, Sir Jane Puddle"] That morning we left Porlock by a hill which compared with the one wecame into it by, was like the biggest Pyramid of Egypt by the side of ahaycock. I don't suppose in the whole civilized world there is a worsehill with a road on it than the one we went up by. I was glad we had togo up it instead of down it, though it was very hard to walk, pushingthe tricycle, even when helped. I believe it would have taken away mybreath and turned me dizzy even to take one step face forward down sucha hill, and gaze into the dreadful depths below me; and yet they drivecoaches and fours down that hill. At the top of the hill is thisnotice: "To cyclers--this hill is dangerous. " If I had thought of it Ishould have looked for the cyclers' graves at the bottom of it. The reason I thought about this was that I had been reading about oneof the mountains in Switzerland, which is one of the highest and mostdangerous, and with the poorest view, where so many Alpine climbershave been killed that there is a little graveyard nearly full of theirgraves at the foot of the mountain. How they could walk through thatgraveyard and read the inscriptions on the tombstones and then go andclimb that mountain is more than I can imagine. In walking up this hill, and thinking that it might have been in frontof me when my tricycle ran away, I could not keep my mind away from thelittle graveyard at the foot of the Swiss mountain. _Letter Number Eleven_ [Illustration] CHEDCOMBE, SOMERSETSHIRE On the third day of our cycle trip we journeyed along a lofty road, with the wild moor on one side and the tossing sea on the other, and atnight reached Lynton. It is a little town on a jutting crag, and fardown below it on the edge of the sea was another town named Lynmouth, and there is a car with a wire rope to it, like an elevator, which theycall The Lift, which takes people up and down from one town to another. Here we stopped at a house very different from the Ship Inn, for itlooked as if it had been built the day before yesterday. Everything wasnew and shiny, and we had our supper at a long table with about twentyother people, just like a boardinghouse. Some of their ways remindedme of the backwoods, and I suppose there is nothing more modern thanbackwoodsism, which naturally hasn't the least alloy of the past. Whenthe people got through with their cups of coffee or tea, mostly thelast, two women went around the table, one with a big bowl for us tolean back and empty our slops into, and the other with the tea orcoffee to fill up the cups. A gentleman with a baldish head, who wassitting opposite us, began to be sociable as soon as he heard us speakto the waiters, and asked questions about America. After he got throughwith about a dozen of them he said: "Is it true, as I have heard, that what you call native-born Americansdeteriorate in the third generation?" I had been answering most of the questions, but now Jone spoke upquick. "That depends, " says he, "on their original blood. WhenAmericans are descended from Englishmen they steadily improve, generation after generation. " The baldish man smiled at this, and saidthere was nothing like having good blood for a foundation. But Mr. Poplington laughed, and said to me that Jone had served him right. The country about Lynton is wonderfully beautiful, with rocks andvalleys, and velvet lawns running into the sea, and woods and ancestralmansions, and we spent the day seeing all this, and also going down toLynmouth, where the little ships lie high and dry on the sand when thetide goes out, and the carts drive up to them and put goods on board, and when the tide rises the ships sail away, which is very convenient. I wanted to keep on along the coast, but the others didn't, and thenext morning we started back to Chedcombe by a roundabout way, so thatwe might see Exmoor and the country where Lorna Doone and John Ridd cutup their didoes. I must say I liked the story a good deal better beforeI saw the country where the things happened. The mind of man is capableof soarings which Nature weakens at when she sees what she is calledupon to do. If you want a real, first-class, tooth-on-edge Doonevalley, the place to look for it is in the book. We went rolling alongon the smooth, hard roads, which are just as good here as if they wasin London, and all around us was stretched out the wild and desolatemoors, with the wind screaming and whistling over the heather, nearlytearing the clothes off our backs, while the rain beat down on us witha steady pelting, and the ragged sheep stopped to look at us, as if wewas three witches and they was Macbeths. The very thought that I was out in a wild storm on a desolate moorfilled my soul with a sort of triumph, and I worked my tricycle as if Iwas spurring my steed to battle. The only thing that troubled me wasthe thought that if the water that poured off my mackintosh that daycould have run into our cistern at home, it would have been a gloriousgood thing. Jone did not like the fierce blast and the inspiritingrain, but I knew he'd stand it as long as Mr. Poplington did, and so Iwas content, although, if we had been overtaken by a covered wagon, Ishould have trembled for the result. That night we stopped in the little village of Simonsbath at Somebody'sArms. After dinner Mr. Poplington, who knew some people in the place, went out, but Jone and me went to bed as quick as we could, for we wastired. The next morning we was wakened by a tremendous pounding at thedoor. I didn't know what to make of it, for it was too early and tooloud for hot water, but we heard Mr. Poplington calling to us, and Jonejumped up to see what he wanted. "Get up, " said he, "if you want to see a sight that you never sawbefore. We'll start off immediately and breakfast at Exford. " The hopeof seeing a sight was enough to make me bounce at any time, and I neverdressed or packed a bag quicker than I did that morning, and Jonewasn't far behind me. When we got down-stairs we found our cycles waiting ready at the door, together with the stable man and the stable boy and the boy's helperand the cook and the chambermaid and the waiters and the otherservants, waiting for their tips. Mr. Poplington seemed in a finehumor, and he told us he had heard the night before that there was tobe a stag hunt that day, the first of the season. In fact, it was notone of the regular meets, but what they called a by-meet, and not knownto everybody. "We will go on to Exford, " said he, straddling his bicycle, "for thoughthe meet isn't to be there, there's where they keep the hounds andhorses, and if we make good speed we shall get there before they startout. " The three of us travelled abreast, Mr. Poplington in the middle, and onthe way he told us a good deal about stag hunts. What I remember best, having to go so fast and having to mind my steering, was that after thehunting season began they hunted stags until a certain day--I forgetwhat it was--and then they let them alone and began to hunt the does;and that after that particular day of the month, when the stags heardthe hounds coming they paid no attention to them, knowing very well itwas the does' turn to be chased, and that they would not be bothered;and so they let the female members of their families take care ofthemselves; which shows that ungentlemanliness extends itself even intoNature. When we got to Exford we left our cycles at the inn and followed Mr. Poplington to the hunting stables, which are near by. I had not gone adozen steps from the door before I heard a great barking, and the nextminute there came around the corner a pack of hounds. They crossed thebridge over the little river, and then they stopped. We went up tothem, and while Mr. Poplington talked to the men the whole of that packof hounds gathered about us as gentle as lambs. They were good bigdogs, white and brown. The head huntsman who had them in charge told methere was thirty couple of them, and I thought that sixty dogs waspretty heavy odds against one deer. Then they moved off as orderly asif they had been children in a kindergarten, and we went to the stablesand saw the horses; and then the master of the hounds and a good manyother gentlemen in red coats, in all sorts of traps, rode up, and theirhunters were saddled, and the dogs barked and the men cracked theirwhips to keep them together, and there was a bustle and liveliness to adegree I can't write about, and Jone and I never thought about going into breakfast until all those horses, some led and some ridden, and themen and the hounds, and even the dust from their feet, had disappeared. I wanted to go see the hunt start off, but Mr. Poplington said it wastwo or three miles distant, and out of our way, and that we'd bettermove on as soon as possible so as to reach Chedcombe that night; buthe was glad, he said, that we had had a chance to see the hounds andthe horses. As for himself, I could see he was a little down in the mouth, for hesaid he was very fond of hunting, and that if he had known of this meethe would have been there with a horse and his hunting clothes. I thinkhe hoped somebody would lend him a horse, but nobody did, and not beingable to hunt himself he disliked seeing other people doing what hecould not. Of course, Jone and me could not go to the hunt byourselves, so after we'd had our tea and toast and bacon we startedoff. I will say here that when I was at the Ship Inn I had tea for mybreakfast, for I couldn't bring my mind to order coffee--a drink theSaxons must never have heard of--in such a place; and since that wehave been drinking it because Jone said there was no use fightingagainst established drinks, and that anyway he thought good tea wasbetter than bad coffee. _Letter Number Twelve_ CHEDCOMBE As I said in my last letter, we started out for Chedcombe, not abreast, as we had been before, but strung along the road, and me and Mr. Poplington pretty doleful, being disappointed and not wanting to talk. But as for Jone, he seemed livelier than ever, and whistled a lot oftunes he didn't know. I think it always makes him lively to get rid ofseeing sights. The sun was shining brightly, and there was no reason toexpect rain for two or three hours anyway, and the country we passedthrough was so fine, with hardly any houses, and with great hills andwoods, and sometimes valleys far below the road, with streams rushingand bubbling, that after a while I began to feel better, and I prickedup my tricycle, and, of course, being followed by Jone, we left Mr. Poplington, whose melancholy seemed to have gotten into his legs, agood way behind. We must have travelled two or three hours when all of a sudden I hearda noise afar, and I drew up and listened. The noise was the barking ofdogs, and it seemed to come from a piece of woods on the other side ofthe field which lay to the right of the road. The next instantsomething shot out from under the trees and began going over the fieldin ten-foot hops. I sat staring without understanding, but when I saw alot of brown and white spots bounce out of the wood, and saw, a longway back in the open field, two red-coated men on horseback, the truthflashed upon me that this was the hunt. The creature in front was thestag, who had chosen to come this way, and the dogs and the horses wasafter him, and I was here to see it all. Almost before I got this all straight in my mind the deer was nearlyopposite me on the other side of the field, going the same way that wewere. In a second I clapped spurs into my tricycle and was off. Infront of me was a long stretch of down grade, and over this I went asfast as I could work my pedals; no brakes or holding back for me. Myblood was up, for I was actually in a deer hunt, and to my amazementand wild delight I found I was keeping up with the deer. I was goingfaster than the men on horseback. "Hi! Hi!" I shouted, and down I went with one eye on the deer and theother on the road, every atom of my body tingling with fieryexcitement. When I began to go up the little slope ahead I heard Jonepuffing behind me. "You will break your neck, " he shouted, "if you go down hill that way, "and getting close up to me he fastened his cord to my tricycle. But Ipaid no attention to him or his advice. "The stag! The stag!" I cried. "As long as he keeps near the road wecan follow him! Hi!" And having got up to the top of the next hill Imade ready to go down as fast as I had gone before, for we had fallenback a little, and the stag was now getting ahead of us; but it made megnash my teeth to find that I could not go fast, for Jone held backwith all his force (and both feet on the ground, I expect), and I couldnot get on at all. "Let go of me, " I cried, "we shall lose the stag. Stop holding back. "But it wasn't any use; Jone's heels must have been nearly rubbed off, but he held back like a good fellow, and I seemed to be moving along nofaster than a worm. I could not stand this; my blood boiled andbubbled; the deer was getting away from me; and if it had been PorlockHill in front of me I would have dashed on, not caring whether the roadwas steep or level. A thought flashed across my mind, and I clapped my hand into my pocketand jerked out a pair of scissors. In an instant I was free. The worldand the stag was before me, and I was flying along with a tornado-likeswiftness that soon brought me abreast of the deer. This perfectlysplendid, bounding creature was not far away from me on the other sideof the hedge, and as the field was higher than the road I could see himperfectly. His legs worked so regular and springy, except when he cameto a cross hedge, which he went over with a single clip, and came downlike India rubber on the other side, that one might have thought he wasmeasuring the grass, and keeping an account of his jumps in his head. [Illustration: "In an instant I was free. "] For one instant I looked around for the hounds, and I saw there was notmore than half a dozen following him, and I could only see the twohunters I had seen before, and these was still a good way back. As forJone, I couldn't hear him at all, and he must have been left farbehind. There was still the woods on the other side, and the deerseemed to run to keep away from that and to cross the road, and hecame nearer and nearer until I fancied he kept an eye on me as if hewas wondering if I was of any consequence, and if I could hinder himfrom crossing the road and getting away into the valley below wherethere was a regular wilderness of woods and underbrush. If he does that, I thought, he will be gone in a minute and I shalllose him, and the hunt will be over. And for fear he would make for thehedge and jump over it, not minding me, I jerked out my handkerchiefand shook it at him. You can't imagine how this frightened him. Heturned sharp to the right, dashed up the hill, cleared a hedge and wasgone. I gave a gasp and a scream as I saw him disappear. I believe Icried, but I didn't stop, and glad I was that I didn't; for in lessthan a minute I had come to a cross lane which led in the verydirection the deer had taken. I turned into this lane and went on asfast as I could, and I soon found that it led through a thick wood. Down in the hollow, which I could not see into, I heard a barking andshouting, and I kept on just as fast as I could make that tricycle go. Where the lane led to, or what I should ever come to, I didn't thinkabout. I was hunting a stag, and all I cared for was to feel mytricycle bounding beneath me. I may have gone a half a mile or two miles--I have not an idea how farit was--when suddenly I came to a place where there was green grass androcks in an opening in the woods, and what a sight I saw! There wasthat beautiful, grand, red deer half down on his knees and perfectlyquiet, and there was one of the men in red coats coming toward him witha great knife in his hand, and a little farther back was three or fourdogs with another man, still on horseback, whipping them to keep themback, though they seemed willing enough to lie there with their tonguesout, panting. As the man with the knife came up to the deer, the poorcreature raised its eyes to him, and didn't seem to mind whether hecame or not. It was trembling all over and fairly tired to death. Whenthe man got near enough he took hold of one of the deer's horns andlifted up the hand with the knife in it, but he didn't bring it down onthat deer's throat, I can tell you, madam, for I was there and had himby the arm. He turned on me as if he had been struck by lightning. "What do you mean?" he shouted. "Let go my arm. " "Don't you touch that deer, " said I--my voice was so husky I couldhardly speak--"don't you see it's surrendered? Can you have the heartto cut that beautiful throat when he is pleading for mercy?" The man'seyes looked as if they would burst out of his head. He gave me a pulland a push as if he would stick the knife into me, and he actuallyswore at me, but I didn't mind that. [Illustration: "IF YOU WAS A MAN I'D BREAK YOUR HEAD"] "You have got that poor creature now, " said I, "and that's enough. Keepit and tame it and bring it up with your children. " I didn't have timeto say anything more, and he didn't have time to answer, for two of thedogs who had got a little of their wind back sprang up and made a jumpat the stag; and he, having got a little of his wind back, jerked hishorn out of the hand of the man, and giving a sort of side springbackward among the bushes and rocks, away he went, the dogs after him. The man with the knife rushed out into the lane, and so did I, and sodid the man on horseback, almost on top of me. On the other side of thelane was a little gorge with rocks and trees and water at the bottom ofit, and I was just in time to see the stag spring over the lane anddrop out of sight among the rocks and the moss and the vines. The man stood and swore at me regardless of my sex, so violent was hisrage. "If you was a man I'd break your head, " he yelled. "I'm glad I'm not, " said I, "for I wouldn't want my head broken. Butwhat troubles me is, that I'm afraid that deer has broken his legs orhurt himself some way, for I never saw anything drop on rocks in such areckless manner, and the poor thing so tired. " The man swore again, and said something about wishing somebody else'slegs had been broken; and then he shouted to the man on horseback tocall off the dogs, which was of no use, for he was doing it already. Then he turned on me again. "You are an American, " he shouted. "I might have known that. No Englishwoman would ever have done such a beastly thing as that. " "You're mistaken there, " I said; "there isn't a true English woman thatlives who would not have done the same thing. Your mother--" "Confound my mother!" yelled the man. "All right, " said I; "that's all in your family and none of mybusiness. " Then he went off raging to where he had left his horse by agatepost. The other man, who was a good deal younger and more friendly, came upto me and said he wouldn't like to be in my boots, for I had spoiled apretty piece of sport; and then he went on and told me that it had beena bad hunt, for instead of starting only one stag, three or four ofthem had been started, and they had had a bad time, for the hounds andthe hunters had been mixed up in a nasty way. And at last, when themaster of the hounds and most every one else had gone off over DunkeryHill, and he didn't know whether they was after two stags or one, heand his mate, who was both whippers-in, had gone to turn part of thepack that had broken away, and had found that these dogs was afteranother stag, and so before they knew it they was in a hunt of theirown, and they would have killed that stag if it had not been for me;and he said it was hard on his mate, for he knew he had it in mind thathe was going to kill the only stag of the day. He went on to say, that as for himself he wasn't so sorry, for this wasSir Skiddery Henchball's land, and when a stag was killed it belongedto the man whose land it died on. He told me that the master of thehunt gets the head and the antlers, and the huntsman some other part, which I forget, but the owner of the land, no matter whether he's inthe hunt or not, gets the body of the stag. "There's a cottage not amile down this lane, " said he, "with its thatch torn off, and my sisterand her children live there, and Sir Skiddery turned them out onaccount of the rent, and so I'm glad the old skinflint didn't get thevenison. " And then he went off, being called by the other man. I didn't know what time it was, but it seemed as if it must be gettingon into the afternoon; and feeling that my deer hunt was over, Ithought I had better lose no time in hunting up Jone, so I followed onafter the men and the dogs, who was going to the main road, but keepinga little back of them, though, for I didn't know what the older onemight do if he happened to turn and see me. I was sure that Jone had passed the little lane without seeing it, so Ikept on the way we had been going, and got up all the speed I could, though I must say I was dreadfully tired, and even trembling a little, for while I had been stag hunting I was so excited I didn't know howmuch work I was doing. There was sign-posts enough to tell me the wayto Chedcombe, and so I kept straight on, up hill and down hill, untilat last I saw a man ahead on a bicycle, which I soon knew to be Mr. Poplington. He was surprised enough at seeing me, and told me myhusband had gone ahead. I didn't explain anything, and it wasn't untilwe got nearly to Chedcombe that we met Jone. He had been to Chedcombe, and was coming back. Jone is a good fellow, but he's got a will of his own, and he said thatthis would be the end of my tricycle riding, and that the next time wewent out together on wheels he'd drive. I didn't tell him anythingabout the stag hunt then, for he seemed to be in favor of doing all thetalking himself; but after dinner, when we was all settled down quietand comfortable, I told him and Mr. Poplington the story of the chase, and they both laughed, Mr. Poplington the most. _Letter Number Thirteen_ CHEDCOMBE, SOMERSETSHIRE It is now about a week since my stag hunt, and Jone and I have keptpretty quiet, taking short walks, and doing a good deal of reading inour garden whenever the sun shines into the little arbor there, and Mr. Poplington spends most of his time fishing. He works very hard at this, partly for the sake of his conscience, I think, for his bicycle tripmade him lose three or four days he had taken a license for. It was day before yesterday that rheumatism showed itself certain andplain in Jone. I had been thinking that perhaps I might have it first, but it wasn't so, and it began in Jone, which, though I don't want youto think me hard-hearted, madam, was perhaps better; for if it had notbeen for it, it might have been hard to get him out of this comfortablelittle cottage, where he'd be perfectly content to stay until it wastime for us to sail for America. The beautiful greenness which spreadsover the fields and hills, and not only the leaves of trees and vines, but down and around trunks and branches, is charming to look at andnever to be forgotten; but when this moist greenness spreads itself toone's bones, especially when it creeps up to the parts that worktogether, then the soul of man longs for less picturesqueness and moreeasy-going joints. Jone says the English take their climate as they dotheir whiskey; and he calls it climate-and-water, with a very little ofthe first and a good deal of the other. Of course, we must now leave Chedcombe; and when we talked to Mr. Poplington about it he said there was two places the English went tofor their rheumatism. One was Bath, not far from here, and the otherwas Buxton, up in the north. As soon as I heard of Bath I was on pinsand needles to go there, for in all the novel-reading I've done, whichhas been getting better and better in quality since the days when Iused to read dime novels on the canal-boat, up to now when I like thebest there is, I could not help knowing lots about Evelina and BeauBrummel, and the Pump Room, and the fine ladies and young bucks, and itwould have joyed my soul to live and move where all these people hadbeen, and where all these things had happened, even if fictitiously. But Mr. Poplington came down like a shower on my notions, and said thatBath was very warm, and was the place where everybody went for theirrheumatism in winter; but that Buxton was the place for the summer, because it was on high land and cool. This cast me down a good deal;for if we could have gone where I could have steeped my soul inromanticness, and at the same time Jone could have steeped himself inwarm mineral water, there would not have been any time lost, and bothof us would have been happier. But Mr. Poplington stuck to it that itwould ruin anybody's constitution to go to such a hot place in August, and so I had to give it up. So to-morrow we start for Buxton, which, from what I can make out, mustbe a sort of invalid picnic ground. I always did hate diseases andailments, even of the mildest, when they go in caravan. I like to takepeople's sicknesses separate, because then I feel I might do somethingto help; but when they are bunched I feel as if it was sort of mean forme to go about cheerful and singing when other people was all grunting. But we are not going straight to Buxton. As I have often said, Jone isa good fellow, and he told me last night if there was any bit of fancyscenery I'd like to stop on the way to the unromantic refuge he'd beglad to give me the chance, because he didn't suppose it would mattermuch if he put off his hot soaks for a few days. It didn't take me longto name a place I'd like to stop at--for most of my reading lately hasbeen in the guide books, and I had crammed myself with the descriptionsof places worth seeing, that would take us at least two years to lookat--so I said I would like to go to the River Wye, which is said to bethe most romantic stream in England, and when that is said, enough issaid for me, so Jone agreed, and we are going to do the Wye on our waynorth. There is going to be an election here in a few days, and this morningJone and me hobbled into the village--that is, he hobbled in body, andI did in mind to think of his going along like a creaky wheelbarrow. Everybody was agog about the election, and we was looking at someplacards posted against a wall, when Mr. Locky, the innkeeper, camealong, and after bidding us good-morning he asked Jone what party hebelonged to. "I'm a Home Ruler, " said Jone, "especially in the matterof tricycles. " Mr. Locky didn't understand the last part of thisspeech, but I did, and he said, "I am glad you are not a Tory, sir. Ifyou will read that, you will see what the Tory party has done for us, "and he pointed out some lines at the bottom of a green placard, andthese was the words: "Remember it was the Tory party that lost us theUnited States of America. " "Well, " said Jone, "that seems like going a long way off to get somestones to throw at the Tories, but I feel inclined to heave a rock atthem myself for the injury that party has done to America. " "To America!" said Mr. Locky, "Did the Tories ever harm America?" "Of course they did, " said Jone; "they lost us England, a very valuablecountry, indeed, and a great loss to any nation. If it had not been forthe Tory party, Mr. Gladstone might now be in Washington as a senatorfrom Middlesex. " [Illustration: "I'm a Home Ruler"] Mr. Locky didn't understand one word of this, and so he asked Jonewhich leg his rheumatism was in; and when Jone told him it was his leftleg he said it was a very curious thing, but if you would take ahundred men in Chedcombe there would be at least sixty with rheumatismin the left leg, and perhaps not more than twenty with it in the right, which was something the doctors never had explained yet. It is awfully hard to go away and leave this lovely little cottage withits roses and vines, and Miss Pondar, and all its sweet-smellingcomforts; and not only the cottage, but the village, and Mrs. Locky andher husband at the Bordley Arms, who couldn't have been kinder to usand more anxious to know what we wanted and what they could do. Thefact is, that when English people do like Americans they go at it withjust as much vim and earnestness as if they was helping Britannia torule more waves. While I was feeling badly at leaving Miss Pondar your letter came, dearmadam, and I must say it gave heavy hearts to Jone and me, to meespecially, as you can well understand. I went off into thesummer-house, and as I sat there thinking and reading the letter overagain, I do believe some tears came into my eyes; and Miss Pondar, whowas working in the garden only a little way off--for if there isanything she likes to do it is to weed and fuss among the rose-bushesand other flowers, which she does whenever her other work gives her achance--she happened to look up, and seeing that I was in trouble, shecame right to me, like the good woman she is, and asked me if I hadheard bad news, and if I would like a little gin and water. I said that I had had bad news, but that I did not want any spirits, and she said she hoped nothing had happened to any of my family, and Itold her not exactly; but in looking back it seemed as if it was almostthat way. I thought I ought to tell her what had happened, for I couldsee that she was really feeling for me, and so I said: "Poor LordEdward is dead. To be sure, he was very old, and I suppose we had notany right to think he'd live even as long as he did; and as he wasnearly blind and had very poor use of his legs it was, perhaps, betterthat he should go. But when I think of what friends we used to bebefore I was married, I can't help feeling badly to think that he hasgone; that when I go back to America he will not show he is glad to seeme home again, which he would be if there wasn't another soul on thewhole continent who felt that way. " Miss Pondar was now standing up with her hands folded in front of her, and her head bowed down as if she was walking behind a hearse witheight ostrich plumes on it. "Lord Edward, " she said, in a melancholy, respectful voice, "and will his remains be brought to England forinterment?" "Oh, no, " said I, not understanding what she was talking about. "I amsure he will be buried somewhere near his home, and when I go back hisgrave will be one of the first places I will visit. " A streak of bewilderment began to show itself in Miss Pondar'smelancholy respectfulness, and she said: "Of course, when one lives inforeign parts one may die there, but I always thought in cases likethat they were brought home to their family vaults. " It may seem strange for me to think of anything funny at a time likethis, but when Miss Pondar mentioned family vaults when talking of LordEdward, there came into my mind the jumps he used to make whenever hesaw any of us coming home; but I saw what she was driving at and themistake she had made. "Oh, " I said, "he was not a member of the Britishnobility; he was a dog; Lord Edward was his name. I never loved anyanimal as I loved him. " I suppose, madam, that you must sometimes have noticed one of the topcandles of a chandelier, when the room gets hot, suddenly bending overand drooping and shedding tears of hot paraffine on the candles below, and perhaps on the table; and if you can remember what that overcomecandle looked like, you will have an idea of what Miss Pondar lookedlike when she found out Lord Edward was a dog. I think that for onebrief moment she hugged to her bosom the fond belief that I wasintimate with the aristocracy, and that a noble lord, had he notdeparted this life, would have been the first to welcome me home, andthat she--she herself--was in my service. But the drop was an awfulone. I could see the throes of mortified disappointment in her back, asshe leaned over a bed of pinks, pulling out young plants, I am afraid, as well as weeds. When I looked at her, I was sorry I let her know itwas a dog I mourned. She has tried so hard to make everything all rightwhile we have been here, that she might just as well have gone onthinking that it was a noble earl who died. To-morrow morning we shall have our last Devonshire clotted cream, forthey tell me this is to be had only in the west of England, and when Ithink of the beautiful hills and vales of this country I shall notforget that. Of course we would not have time to stay here longer, even if Jonehadn't got the rheumatism; but if he had to have it, for which I am assorry as anybody can be, it is a lucky thing that he did have it justabout the time that we ought to be going away, anyhow. And although Idid not think, when we came to England, that we should ever go toBuxton, we are thankful that there is such a place to go to; although, for my part, I can't help feeling disappointed that the season isn'tsuch that we could go to Bath, and Evelina and Beau Brummel. _Letter Number Fourteen_ [Illustration] BELL HOTEL, GLOUCESTER We came to this queer old English town, not because it is any betterthan so many other towns, but because Mr. Poplington told us it was agood place for our headquarters while we was seeing the River Wye andother things in the neighborhood. This hotel is the best in the townand very well kept, so that Jone made his usual remark about its beinga good place to stay in. We are near the point where the four principalstreets of the town, called Northgate, Eastgate, Southgate, andWestgate, meet, and if there was nothing else to see it would be worthwhile to stand there and look at so much Englishism coming and goingfrom four different quarters. There is another hotel here, called the New Inn, that was recommendedto us, but I thought we would not want to go there, for we came to seeold England, and I don't want to see its new and shiny things, so wecame to the Bell, as being more antique. But I have since found outthat the New Inn was built in 1450 to accommodate the pilgrims who cameto pay their respects to the tomb of Edward II. In the fine oldcathedral here. But though I should like to live in a four-hundred-andforty-year-old house, we are very well satisfied where we are. Two very good things come from Gloucester, for it is the well-spring ofSunday schools and vaccination. They keep here the horns of the cowthat Dr. Jenner first vaccinated from, and not far from our hotel isthe house of Robert Raikes. This is an old-fashioned timber house, andlooks like a man wearing his skeleton outside of his skin. We are sorryMr. Poplington couldn't come here with us, for he could have shown us agreat many things; but he stayed at Chedcombe to finish his fishing, and he said he might meet us at Buxton, where he goes every year forhis arm. To see the River Wye you must go down it, so with just one handbag wetook the train for the little town of Ross, which is near the beginningof the navigable part of the river--I might almost say the wadeablepart, for I imagine the deepest soundings about Ross are not more thanhalf a yard. We stayed all night at a hotel overlooking the valley ofthe little river, and as the best way to see this wonderful stream isto go down it in a rowboat, as soon as we reached Ross we engaged aboat and a man for the next morning to take us to Monmouth, which wouldbe about a day's row, and give us the best part of the river. But Imust say that when we looked out over the valley the prospect was notvery encouraging, for it seemed to me that if the sun came out hot itwould dry up that river, and Jone might not be willing to wait untilthe next heavy rain. While we was at Chedcombe I read the "Maid of Sker, " because its scenesare laid in the Bristol Channel, about the coast near where we was, andover in Wales. And when the next morning we went down to the boat whichwe was going to take our day's trip in, and I saw the man who was torow us, David Llewellyn popped straight into my mind. This man was elderly, with gray hair, and a beard under his chin, witha general air of water and fish. He was good-natured and sociable fromthe very beginning. It seemed a shame that an old man should row twopeople so much younger than he was, but after I had looked at himpulling at his oars for a little while, I saw that there was no needof pitying him. It was a good day, with only one or two drizzles in the morning, and wehad not gone far before I found that the Wye was more of a river than Ithought it was, though never any bigger than a creek. It was just aboutwarm enough for a boat trip, though the old man told us there had beena "rime" that morning, which made me think of the "Ancient Mariner. "The more the boatman talked and made queer jokes, the more I wanted toask him his name; and I hoped he would say David Llewellyn, or at leastDavid, and as a sort of feeler I asked him if he had ever seen acoracle. "A corkle?" said he. "Oh, yes, ma'am, I've seen many a one androwed in them. " I couldn't wait any longer, and so I asked him his name. He stoppedrowing and leaned on his oars and let the boat drift. "Now, " said he, "if you've got a piece of paper and a pencil I wish you would listencareful and put down my name, and if you ever know of any other peoplein your country coming to the River Wye, I wish you would tell them myname, and say I am a boatman, and can take them down the river betterthan anybody else that's on it. My name is Samivel Jones. Be sureyou've got that right, please--Samivel Jones. I was born on this river, and I rowed on it with my father when I was a boy, and I have rowed onit ever since, and now I am sixty-five years old. Do you want to knowwhy this river is called the Wye? I will tell you. Wye means crooked, so this river is called the Wye because it is crooked. Wye, the crookedriver. " There was no doubt about the old man's being right about thecrookedness of the stream. If you have ever noticed an ant running overthe floor you will have an idea how the Wye runs through this beautifulcountry. If it comes to a hill it doesn't just pass it and let you seeone side of it, but it goes as far around it as it can, and then goesback again, and goes around some other hill or great rocky point, or aclump of woods, or anything else that travellers might like to see. Atone place, called Symond's Yat, it makes a curve so great, that if wewas to get out of our boat and walk across the land, we would have towalk less than half a mile before we came to the river again; but torow around the curve as we did, we had to go five miles. Every now and then we came to rapids. I didn't count them, but I thinkthere must have been about one to every mile, where the river-bed wasfull of rocks, and where the water rushed furiously around and overthem. If we had been rowing ourselves we would have gone on shore andcamped when we came to the first of these rapids, for we wouldn't havesupposed our little boat could go through those tumbling, rushingwaters; but old Samivel knew exactly how the narrow channel, just deepenough sometimes for our boat to float without bumping the bottom, runsand twists itself among the hidden rocks, and he'd stand up in the bowand push the boat this way and that until it slid into the quiet wateragain, and he sat down to his oars. After we had been through four orfive of these we didn't feel any more afraid than if we had beensitting together on our own little back porch. As for the banks of this river, they got more and more beautiful as wewent on. There was high hills with some castles, woods and crags andgrassy slopes, and now and then a lordly mansion or two, and greatmassive, rocky walls, bedecked with vines and moss, rising high upabove our heads and shutting us out from the world. Jone and I was filled as full as our minds could hold with the romanticloveliness of the river and its banks, and old Samivel was so pleasedto see how we liked it--for I believe he looked upon that river as hisprivate property--that he told us about everything we saw, and pointedout a lot of things we wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for him, as if he had been a man explaining a panorama, and pointing out with astick the notable spots as the canvas unrolled. The only thing in his show which didn't satisfy him was two very finehouses which had both of them belonged to noble personages in daysgone by, but which had been sold, one to a man who had made his moneyin tea, and the other to a man who had made money in cotton. "Think ofthat, " said he; "cotton and tea, and living in such mansions as themare, once owned by lords. They are both good men, and gives a greatdeal to the poor, and does all they can for the country; but only thinkof it, madam, cotton and tea! But all that happened a good while ago, and the world is getting too enlightened now for such estates as themare to come to cotton and tea. " Sometimes we passed houses and little settlements, but, for the mostpart, the country was as wild as undiscovered lands, which, being thatto me, I felt happier, I am sure, than Columbus did when he firstsighted floating weeds. Jone was a good deal wound up too, for he hadnever seen anything so beautiful as all this. We had our luncheon at alittle inn, where the bread was so good that for a time I forgot thescenery, and then we went on, passing through the Forest of Dean, lonely and solemn, with great oak and beech trees, and Robin Hood andhis merry men watching us from behind the bushes for all we knew. Whenever the river twists itself around, as if to show us a new view, old Samivel would say: "Now isn't that the prettiest thing you've seenyet?" and he got prouder and prouder of his river every mile he rowed. At one place he stopped and rested on his oars. "Now, then, " said he, twinkling up his face as if he was really David Llewellyn showing us afish with its eyes bulged out with sticks to make it look fresh, "as weare out on a kind of a lark, suppose we try a bit of a hecho, " and thenhe turned to a rocky valley on his left, and in a voice like the man atthe station calling out the trains he yelled, "Hello there, sir! Whatare you doing there, sir? Come out of that!" And when the words cameback as if they had been balls batted against a wall, he turned andlooked at us as proud and grinny as if the rocks had been his own babysaying "papa" and "mamma" for visitors. Not long after this we came to a place where there was a wide field onone side, and a little way off we could see the top of a house amongthe trees. A hedge came across the field to the river, and near thebank was a big gate, and on this gate sat two young women, and down onthe ground on the side of the hedge nearest to us was another youngwoman, and not far from her was three black hogs, two of them pointingtheir noses at her and grunting, and the other was grunting around aplace where those young women had been making sketches and drawings, and punching his nose into the easels and portfolios on the ground. Theyoung woman on the grass was striking at the hogs with a stick andtrying to make them go away, which they wouldn't do; and just as wecame near she dropped the stick and ran, and climbed up on the gatebeside the others, after which all the hogs went to rooting among thedrawing things. As soon as Samivel saw what was going on he stopped his boat, andshouted to the hogs a great deal louder than he had shouted to theecho, but they didn't mind any more than they had minded the girl withthe stick. "Can't we stop the boat, " I said, "and get out and drive offthose hogs? They will eat up all the papers and sketches. " "Just put me ashore, " said Jone, "and I'll clear them out in no time;"and old Samivel rowed the boat close up to the bank. But when Jone got suddenly up on his feet there was such a twitchacross his face that I said to him, "Now just you sit down. If you goashore to drive off those hogs you'll jump about so that you'll bringon such a rheumatism you can't sleep. " "I'll get out myself, " said Samivel, "if I can find a place to fastenthe boat to. I can't run her ashore here, and the current is strong. " "Don't you leave the boat, " said I, for the thought of Jone and medrifting off and coming without him to one of those rapids sent ashudder through me; and as the stern of the boat where I sat was closeto the shore I jumped with Jone's stick in my hand before either ofthem could hinder me. I was so afraid that Jone would do it that I wasvery quick about it. The minute I left the boat Jone got ready to come after me, for he hadno notion of letting me be on shore by myself, but the boat had driftedoff a little, and old Samivel said: "That is a pretty steep bank to get up with the rheumatism on you. I'lltake you a little farther down, where I can ground the boat, and youcan get off more steadier. " But this letter is getting as long as the River Wye itself, and I muststop it. _Letter Number Fifteen_ BELL HOTEL, GLOUCESTER As soon as I jumped on shore, as I told you in my last, and had taken agood grip on Jone's heavy stick, I went for those hogs, for I wanted todrive them off before Jone came ashore, for I didn't want him to thinkhe must come. I have driven hogs and cows out of lots and yards often enough, as youknow yourself, madam, so I just stepped up to the biggest of them andhit him a whack across the head as he was rubbing his nose in amongsome papers with bits of landscapes on them, as was enough to make himgive up studying art for the rest of his life; but would you believeit, madam, instead of running away he just made a bolt at me, and gaveme such a push with his head and shoulders he nearly knocked me over? Inever was so astonished, for they looked like hogs that you might thinkcould be chased out of a yard by a boy. But I gave the fellow anothercrack on the back, which he didn't seem to notice, but just turnedagain to give me another push, and at the same minute the two othersstopped rooting among the paint-boxes and came grunting at me. For the first time in my life I was frightened by hogs. I struck atthem as hard as I could, and before I knew what I was about I flungdown the stick, made a rush for that gate, and was on top of it in notime, in company with the three other young women that was sittingthere already. "Really, " said the one next to me, "I fancied you was going to be goredto atoms before our eyes. Whatever made you go to those nasty beasts?" I looked at her quite severe, getting my feet well up out of reach ofthe hogs if they should come near us. "I saw you was in trouble, miss, and I came to help you. My husbandwanted to come, but he has the rheumatism and I wouldn't let him. " The other two young women looked at me as well as they could around theone that was near me, and the one that was farthest off said: "If the creatures could have been driven off by a woman, we could havedone it ourselves. I don't know why you should think you could do itany better than we could. " I must say, madam, that at that minute I was a little humble-minded, for I don't mind confessing to you that the idea of one American womanplunging into a conflict that had frightened off three English women, and coming out victorious, had a good deal to do with my trying todrive away those hogs; and now that I had come out of the little endof the horn, just as the young women had, I felt pretty small, but Iwasn't going to let them see that. "I think that English hogs, " said I, "must be savager than Americanones. Where I live there is not any kind of a hog that would not runaway if I shook a stick at him. " The young woman at the other end ofthe gate now spoke again. "Everything British is braver than anything American, " said she; "andall you have done has been to vex those hogs, and they are chewing upour drawing things worse than they did before. " Of course I fired up at this, and said, "You are very much mistakenabout Americans. " But before I could say any more she went on to tellme that she knew all about Americans; she had been in America, and sucha place she could never have fancied. "Over there you let everybody trample over you as much as they please. You have no conveniences. One cannot even get a cab. Fancy! Not a cabto be had unless one pays enough for a drive in Hyde Park. " I must say that the hogs charging down on me didn't astonish me anymore than to find myself on top of a gate with a young woman chargingon my country in this fashion, and it was pretty hard on me to have herpitch into the cab question, because Jone and me had had quite a gooddeal to say about cabs ourselves, comparing New York and London, without any great fluttering of the stars and stripes; but I wasn'tgoing to stand any such talk as that, and so I said: "I know very well that our cab charges are high, and it is not likelythat poor people coming from other countries are able to pay them; butas soon as our big cities get filled up with wretched, half-starvedpeople, with the children crying for bread at home, and the father gladenough that he's able to get people to pay him a shilling for a drive, and that he's not among the hundreds and thousands of miserable men whohave not any work at all, and go howling to Hyde Park to hold meetingsfor blood or bread, then we will be likely to have cheap cabs as youhave. " "How perfectly awful!" said the young woman nearest me; but the one atthe other end of the gate didn't seem to mind what I said, but shiftedoff on another track. "And then there's your horses' tails, " said she; "anything nastiercouldn't be fancied. Hundreds of them everywhere with long tails downto their heels, as if they belong to heathens who had never beencivilized. " "Heathens?" said I. "If you call the Arabians heathens, who have thefinest horses in the world, and wouldn't any more think of cutting offtheir tails than they would think of cutting their legs off; and ifyou call the cruel scoundrels who torture their poor horses by sawingtheir bones apart so as to get a little stuck-up bob on behind, like amoth-eaten paint-brush--if you call them Christians, then I supposeyou're right. There is a law in some parts of our country against thewickedness of chopping off the tails of live horses, and if you hadsuch a law here you'd be a good deal more Christian-like than you are, to say nothing of getting credit for decent taste. " By this time I had forgotten all about what Jone and I had agreed uponas to arguing over the differences between countries, and I was just aspeppery as a wasp. The young woman at the other end of the gate wasrather waspy too, for she seemed to want to sting me wherever she couldfind a spot uncovered; and now she dropped off her horses' tails, andbegan to laugh until her face got purple. "You Americans are so awfully odd, " she said. "You say you raise yourcorn and your plants instead of growing them. It nearly makes me dielaughing when I hear one of you Americans say raise when you meangrow. " Now Jone and me had some talk about growing and raising, and thereasons for and against our way of using the words; but I was ready tothrow all this to the winds, and was just about to tell the impudentyoung woman that we raised our plants just the same as we raised ourchildren, leaving them to do their own growing, when the young womanin the middle of the three, who up to this time hadn't said a word, screamed out: [Illustration: "AND WITH A SCREECH I DASHED AT THOSE HOGS LIKE A STEAMENGINE"] "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! He's pulled out my drawing of Wilton Bridge. He'lleat it up. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Whatever shall I do?" Instead of speaking I turned quick and looked at the hogs, and there, sure enough, one of them had rooted open a portfolio and had hold ofthe corners of a colored picture, which, from where I sat, I could seewas perfectly beautiful. The sky and the trees and the water was justlike what we ourselves had seen a little while ago, and in about half aminute that hog would chew it up and swallow it. The young woman next to me had an umbrella in her hand. I made a snatchat this and dropped off that gate like a shot. I didn't stop to thinkabout anything except that beautiful picture was on the point of beingswallowed up, and with a screech I dashed at those hogs like a steamengine. When they saw me coming with my screech and the umbrella theydidn't stop a second, but with three great wiggles and three scaredgrunts they bolted as fast as they could go. I picked up the picture ofthe bridge, together with the portfolio, and took them to the youngwoman who owned them. As the hogs had gone, all three of the women wasnow getting down from the gate. "Thank you very much, " she said, "for saving my drawings. It wasawfully good of you, especially--" "Oh, you are welcome, " said I, cutting her off short; and, handing theother young woman her umbrella, I passed by the impudent one without somuch as looking at her, and on the other side of the hedge I saw Jonecoming across the grass. I jerked open the gate, not caring who itmight swing against, and walked to meet Jone. When I was near enough Icalled out to know what on earth had become of him that he had left methere so long by myself, forgetting that I hadn't wanted him to come atall; and he told me that he had had a hard time getting on shore, because they found the banks very low and muddy, and when he had landedhe was on the wrong side of a hedge, and had to walk a good way aroundit. "I was troubled, " said he, "because I thought you might come to griefwith the hogs. " "Hogs!" said I, so sarcastic, that Jone looked hard at me, but I didn'ttell him anything more till we was in the boat, and then I just saidright out what had happened. Jone couldn't help laughing. "If I had known, " said he, "that you was on top of a gate discussinghorses' tails and cabs I wouldn't have felt in such a hurry to get toyou. " "And you would have made a mistake if you hadn't, " I said, "for hogsare nothing to such a person as was on that gate. " Old Samivel was rowing slow and looking troubled, and I believe at thatminute he forgot the River Wye was crooked. "That was really hard, madam, " he said, "really hard on you; but it wasa woman, and you have to excuse women. Now if they had been threeEnglishmen sitting on that gate they would never have said such thingsto you, knowing that you was a stranger in these parts and had come onshore to do them a service. And now, madam, I'm glad to see you arebeginning to take notice of the landscapes again. Just ahead of us isanother bend, and when we get around that you'll see the prettiestpicture you've seen yet. This is a crooked river, madam, and that's howit got its name. Wye means crooked. " After a while we came to a little church near the river bank, and hereSamivel stopped rowing, and putting his hands on his knees he laughedgayly. "It always makes me laugh, " he said, "whenever I pass this spot. Itseems to me like such an awful good joke. Here's that church on thisside of the river, and away over there on the other side of the riveris the rector and the congregation. " "And how do they get to church?" said I. "In the summer time, " said he, "they come over with a ferry-boat and arope; but in the winter, when the water is frozen, they can't get overat all. Many's the time I've lain in bed and laughed and laughed whenI thought of this church on one side of the river, and the wholecongregation and the rector on the other side, and not able to getover. " Toward the end of the day, and when we had rowed nearly twenty miles, we saw in the distance the town of Monmouth, where we was going to stopfor the night. [Illustration: "In the winter, when the water is frozen, they can't getover"] Old Samivel asked us what hotel we was going to stop at, and when wetold him the one we had picked out he said he could tell us a betterone. "If I was you, " he said, "I'd go to the Eyengel. " We didn't know whatthis name meant, but as the old man said he would take us there weagreed to go. "I should think you would have a lonely time rowing back by yourself, "I said. "Rowing back?" said he. "Why, bless your soul, lady, there isn'tnobody who could row this boat back agen that current and up themrapids. We take the boats back with the pony. We put the boat on awagon and the pony pulls it back to Ross; and as for me, I generally goback by the train. It isn't so far from Monmouth to Ross by the road, for the road is straight and the river winds and bends. " The old man took us to the inn which he recommended, and we found itwas the Angel. It was a nice, old-fashioned, queer English house. Asfar as I could see, they was all women that managed it, and it couldn'thave been managed better; and as far as I could see, we was the onlyguests, unless there was "commercial gents, " who took themselves awaywithout our seeing them. We was sorry to have old Samivel leave us, and we bid him a mostfriendly good-by, and promised if we ever knew of anybody who wanted togo down the River Wye we would recommend them to ask at Ross forSamivel Jones to row them. We found the landlady of the Angel just as good to us as if we had beenher favorite niece and nephew. She hired us a carriage the next day, and we was driven out to Raglan Castle, through miles and miles ofgreen and sloping ruralness. When we got there and rambled throughthose grand old ruins, with the drawbridge and the tower and thecourtyard, my soul went straight back to the days of knights andladies, and prancing steeds, and horns and hawks, and pages andtournaments, and wild revels and vaulted halls. The young man who had charge of the place seemed glad to see how muchwe liked it, as is natural enough, for everybody likes to see uspleased with the particular things they have on hand. "You haven't anything like this in your country, " said he. But to thisI said nothing, for I was tired of always hearing people speak of mynational denomination as if I was something in tin cans, with a labelpasted on outside; but Jone said it was true enough that we didn't haveanything like it, for if we had such a noble edifice we would havetaken care of it, and not let it go to rack and ruin in this way. Jone has an idea that it don't show good sense to knock a bit offurniture about from garret to cellar until most of its legs arebroken, and its back cracked, and its varnish all peeled off, and thentie ribbons around it, and hang it up in the parlor, and kneel down toit as a relic of the past. He says that people who have got old ruinsought to be very thankful that there is any of them left, but it's nouse in them trying to fill up the missing parts with brag. We took the train and went to Chepstow, which is near the mouth of theWye, and as the railroad ran near the river nearly all the way we hadlots of beautiful views, though, of course, it wasn't anything like asgood as rowing along the stream in a boat. The next day we drove to thecelebrated Tintern Abbey, and on the way the road passed two miles anda half of high stone wall, which shut in a gentleman's place. What hewanted to keep in or keep out by means of a wall like that, we couldn'timagine; but the place made me think of a lunatic asylum. The road soon became shady and beautiful, running through woods alongthe river bank and under some great crags called the Wyndcliffe, andthen we came to the Abbey and got out. Of all the beautiful high-pointed archery of ancient times, this ruinedAbbey takes the lead. I expect you've seen it, madam, or read about it, and I am not going to describe it; but I will just say that Jone, whohad rather objected to coming out to see any more old ruins, which henever did fancy, and only came because he wouldn't have me come bymyself, was so touched up in his soul by what he saw there, and bywandering through this solemn and beautiful romance of bygone days, hesaid he wouldn't have missed it for fifty dollars. We came back to Gloucester to-day, and to-morrow we are off for Buxton. As we are so near Stratford and Warwick and all that, Jone said we'dbetter go there on our way, but I wouldn't agree to it. I am tooanxious to get him skipping round like a colt, as he used to, to stopanywhere now, and when we come back I can look at Shakespeare's tombwith a clearer conscience. * * * * * LONDON. After all, the weather isn't the only changeable thing in this world, and this letter, which I thought I was going to send to you fromGloucester, is now being finished in London. We was expecting to startfor Buxton, but some money that Jone had ordered to be sent from Londontwo or three days before didn't come, and he thought it would be wisefor him to go and look after it. So yesterday, which was Saturday, westarted off for London, and came straight to the Babylon Hotel, wherewe had been before. Of course we couldn't do anything until Monday, and this morning whenwe got up we didn't feel in very good spirits, for of all the dolefulthings I know of, a Sunday in London is the dolefullest. The whole townlooks as if it was the back door of what it was the day before, and ifyou want to get any good out of it, you feel as if you had to sneak inby an alley, instead of walking boldly up the front steps. Jone said we'd better go to Westminster Abbey to church, because hebelieved in getting the best there was when it didn't cost too much, but I wouldn't do it. [Illustration: "Who do you suppose we met? Mr. Poplington!"] "No, " said I. "When I walk in that religious nave and into the hallowedprecincts of the talented departed, the stone passages are full ofcloudy forms of Chaucers, Addisons, Miltons, Dickenses, and all thosegreat ones of the past; and I would hate to see the place filled upwith a crowd of weekday lay people in their Sunday clothes, which wouldbe enough to wipe away every feeling of romantic piety which might risewithin my breast. " As we didn't go to the Abbey, and was so long making up our minds wherewe should go, it got too late to go anywhere, and so we stayed in thehotel and looked out into a lonely and deserted street, with the windblowing the little leaves and straws against the tight-shut doors ofthe forsaken houses. As I stood by that window I got homesick, and atlast I could stand it no longer, and I said to Jone, who was smokingand reading a paper: "Let's put on our hats and go out for a walk, for I can't mope hereanother minute. " So down we went, and coming up the front steps of the front entrancewho do you suppose we met? Mr. Poplington! He was stopping at thathotel, and was just coming home from church, with his face shining likea sunset on account of the comfortableness of his conscience afterdoing his duty. _Letter Number Sixteen_ BUXTON When I mentioned Mr. Poplington in my last letter in connection withthe setting sun I was wrong; he was like the rising orb of day, and hefilled London with effulgent light. No sooner had we had a talk, and wehad told him all that had happened, and finished up by saying what adoleful morning we had had, than he clapped his hand on his knees andsaid, "I'll tell you what we will do. We will spend the afternoon amongthe landmarks. " And what we did was to take a four-wheeler and goaround the old parts of London, where Mr. Poplington showed us a lot ofsoul-awakening spots which no common stranger would be likely to findfor himself. If you are ever steeped in the solemnness of a London Sunday, and youcan get a jolly, red-faced, middle-aged English gentleman, who has madehimself happy by going to church in the morning, and is ready to makeanybody else happy in the afternoon, just stir him up in the mixture, and then you will know the difference between cod-liver oil andchampagne, even if you have never tasted either of them. The afternoonwas piled-up-and-pressed-down joyfulness for me, and I seemed to bewalking in a dream among the beings and the things that we only see inbooks. Mr. Poplington first took us to the old Watergate, which was the riverentrance to York House, where Lord Bacon lived, and close to the gatewas the small house where Peter the Great and David Copperfield lived, though not at the same time; and then we went to Will's oldcoffee-house, where Addison, Steele, and a lot of other people of thatsort used to go to drink and smoke before they was buried inWestminster Abbey, and where Charles and Mary Lamb lived afterward, andwhere Mary used to look out of the window to see the constables takethe thieves to the Old Bailey near by. Then we went to Tom-all-alone's, and saw the very grating at the head of the steps which led to the oldgraveyard where poor Joe used to sweep the steps when Lady Dedlock camethere, and I held on to the very bars that the poor lady must havegripped when she knelt on the steps to die. Not far away was the Black Jack Tavern, where Jack Sheppard and all thegreat thieves of the day used to meet. And bless me! I have read somuch about Jack Sheppard that I could fairly see him jumping out of thewindow he always dropped from when the police came. After that we sawthe house where Mr. Tulkinghorn, Lady Dedlock's lawyer, used to live, and also the house where old Krook was burned up by spontaneouscombustion. Then we went to Bolt Court, where old Samuel Johnson lived, walked about, and talked, and then to another court where he lived whenhe wrote the dictionary, and after that to the "Cheshire Cheese" Inn, where he and Oliver Goldsmith often used to take their meals together. Then we saw St. John's Gate, where the Knights Templars met, and theyard of the Court of Chancery, where little Miss Flite used to wait forthe Day of Judgment; and as we was coming home he showed us the churchof St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, where every other Friday the bells arerung at five o'clock in the afternoon, most people not knowing what itis for, but really because the famous Nell Gwynn, who was far frombeing a churchwoman, left a sum of money for having a merry peal ofbells rung every Friday until the end of the world. I got so wound upby all this, that I quite forgot Jone, and hardly thought of Mr. Poplington, except that he was telling me all these things, andbringing back to my mind so much that I had read about, thoughsometimes very little. When we got back to the hotel and had gone up to our room, Jone said tome: "That was all very fine and interesting from top to toe, but it doesseem to me as if things were dreadfully mixed. Dr. Johnson and JackSheppard, I suppose, was all real and could live in houses; but whenit comes to David Copperfields and Lady Dedlocks and little MissFlites, that wasn't real and never lived at all, they was all talkedabout in just the same way, and their favorite tramping grounds pointedout, and I can't separate the real people from the fancy folk, if we'vegot to have the same bosom heaving for the whole of them. " "Jone, " said I, "they are all real, every one of them. If Mr. Dickenshad written history I expect he'd put Lady Dedlock and Miss Flite andDavid Copperfield into it; and if the history writers had writtenstories they would have been sure to get Dr. Johnson and Lord Bacon andPeter the Great into them; and the people in the one kind of writingwould have been just as real as the people in the other. At any rate, that's the way they are to me. " On the Monday after our landmark expedition with Mr. Poplington, whichI shall never forget, Jone settled up his business matters, and thenext day we started for Buxton and the rheumatism baths. To our greatdelight Mr. Poplington said he would go with us, not all the way, forhe wanted to stop at a little place called Rowsley, where he would stayfor a few days and then go on to Buxton; but we was very glad to havehim with us during the greater part of the way, and we all left thehotel in the same four-wheeler. When we got to the station Jone got first-class tickets, for we havefound out that if you want to travel comfortable in England, and haveporters attend to your baggage and find an empty carriage for you, andhave the guard come along and smile in the window and say he'll try tolet you have that carriage all to yourselves if he's able--the ablenessdepending a good deal on what you give him--and for everybody to dotheir best to make your journey pleasant, you must travel first class. Mr. Poplington also bought a first-class ticket, for there was noseconds on this line. As we was walking along by the platform Jone andI gave a sort of a jump, for there was a regular Pullman car, whichmade us think we might be at home. We stopped and looked at it, andthen the guard, who was standing by, stepped up to us and touched hishat, and asked us if we would like to take the Pullman, and when Joneasked what the extra charge was, he said nothing at all for first-classpassengers. We didn't have to stop to think a minute, but said rightoff that we would go in it, but Mr. Poplington would not come with us. He said English people wasn't accustomed to that, they wanted to bemore private; and, although he'd like to be with us, he could nottravel in a caravan like that, and so he went off by himself, and wegot into the Pullman. The guard said we could take any seats we pleased; and when we got inwe found there was only two or three people in it, and we chose twonice armchairs, hung up our wraps, and made ourselves comfortable andcosey. We expected that the people who engaged seats would soon come crowdingin, but when the train started there was only four people besidesourselves in that beautiful car, which was a first-class one, built inthe United States, with all sorts of comforts and conveniences. Therewas a porter who laid himself out to make us happy, and about oneo'clock we had a nice lunch on a little table which was set up betweenus, with two waiters to attend to us, and then Jone went and had asmoke in a small room at one end of the car. We thought it was strange that there should be so few people travellingon this train, but when we came to a town where we made a long stopJone got out to talk to Mr. Poplington, supposing it likely that he'dhave a carriage to himself; but he was amazed to see that the train wasjammed and crowded, and he found Mr. Poplington squeezed up in acarriage with seven other people, four of them one side and four theother, each row staring into the faces of the other. Some of them waseating bread and cheese out of paper parcels, and a big fat man wasreading a newspaper, which he spread out so as to partly cover the twopeople sitting next to him, and all of them seemed anxious to findsome way of stretching their legs so as not to strike against the legsof somebody else. Mr. Poplington was sitting by the window, and Jone couldn't helplaughing when he said: "Is this what you call being private, sir? I think you would find acaravan more pleasant. Don't you want to come to the Pullman with us?There are plenty of seats there, nice big armchairs that you can turnaround and sit any way you like, and look at people or not look atthem, just as you please, and there's plenty of room to walk about andstretch yourself a little if you want to. There's a smoking-room, too, that you can go to and leave whenever you like. Come and try it. " "Thank you very much, " said Mr. Poplington, "but I really couldn't dothat. I am not prejudiced at all, and I have a good many democraticideas, but that is too much for me. An Englishman's house is hiscastle, and when he's travelling his railway carriage is his house. Helikes privacy and dislikes publicity. " "This is a funny kind of privacy you have here, " said Jone. "And howabout your big clubs? Would you like to have them all divided up intolittle compartments with half a dozen men in each one, generallystrangers to each other?" "Oh, a club is a very different thing, " said Mr. Poplington. Jone was going to talk more about the comfort of the Pullman cars, butthey began to shut the carriage doors, and he had to come back to me. We like English railway carriages very well when we can have one toourselves, but if even one stranger gets in and has to sit looking atus for all the rest of the trip you don't feel anything like as privateas if you was walking along a sidewalk in London. But Jone and I both agreed we wouldn't find any fault with Englishpeople for not liking Pullman cars, so long as they put them on theirtrains for Americans who do like them. And one thing is certain, thatif our railroad conductors and brakes-men and porters was as polite andkind as they are in England, tips or no tips, we'd be a great dealbetter off than we are. Whenever we stopped at a station the people would come and look throughthe windows at us, as if we was some sort of a travelling show. I don'tbelieve most of them had ever seen a comfortable room on wheels before. The other people in our car was all men, and looked as if they hadn'ttheir families with them, and was glad to get a little comfort on thesly. When we got to Rowsley we saw Mr. Poplington on the platform, running about, collecting all his different bits of luggage, andcounting them to see that they was all there, and then, as we had awindow open and was looking out, he came and bid us good-by; and whenI asked him to, he looked into our car. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" he said. "What a public apartment! I could nottravel like that, you know. Good-by; I will see you at Buxton in a fewdays. " [Illustration: Mr. Poplington looking for the luggage] We talked a good deal with Mr. Poplington about the hotels of Buxton, and we had agreed to go to one called the Old Hall, where we are now. There was a good many reasons why we chose this house, one being thatit was not as expensive as some of the others, though very nice; andanother, which had a good deal of force with me, was, that Mary Queenof Scots came here for her rheumatism, and the room she used to have isstill kept, with some words she scratched with her diamond ring on thewindow-pane. Sometimes people coming to this hotel can get this room, and I was mighty sorry we couldn't do it, but it was taken. If I couldhave actually lived and slept in a room which had belonged to thebeautiful Mary Queen of Scots, I would have been willing to have justas much rheumatism as she had when she was here. Of course, modern rheumatisms are not as interesting as the rheumatismspeople of the past ages had; but from what I have seen of this town, Ithink I am going to like it very much. _Letter Number Seventeen_ [Illustration] BUXTON When we were comfortably settled here, Jone went to see a doctor, whois a nice, kind old gentleman, who looks as if he almost might havetold Mary Queen of Scots how hot she ought to have the water in herbaths. He charges four times as much as the others, and has about aquarter as many patients, which makes it all the same to him, and agood deal better for the rheumatic ones who come to him, for they havemore time to go into particulars. And if anything does good to a personwho has something the matter with him, it's being able to go intoparticulars about it. It's often as good as medicine, and always morecomforting. We unpacked our trunks and settled ourselves down for a three weeks'stay here, for no matter how much rheumatism you have or how little, you've got to take Buxton and its baths in three weeks' doses. Besides taking the baths Jone has to drink the waters, and as I cannotdo much else to help him, I am encouraging him by drinking them too. There are two places where you can get the lukewarm water that peoplecome here to drink. One is the public well, where there is a pump freeto everybody, and the other is in the pump-room just across the streetfrom the well, where you pay a penny a glass for the same water, whichthree doleful old women spend all their time pumping for visitors. [Illustration: Pomona encourages Jonas] People are ordered to drink this water very carefully. It must be doneat regular times, beginning with a little, and taking more and moreeach day until you get to a full tumbler, and then if it seems to betoo strong for you, you must take less. So far as I can find out thereis nothing particular about it, except that it is lukewarm water, neither hot enough nor cold enough to make it a pleasant drink. Itdidn't seem to agree with Jone at first, but after he kept at it threeor four days it began to suit him better, so that he could take nearlya tumbler without feeling badly. Two or three times I felt it might bebetter for my health if I didn't drink it, but I wanted to stand byJone as much as I could, and so I kept on. We have been here a week now, and this morning I found out that all thewater we drink at this hotel is brought from the well of St. Ann, wherethe public pump is, and everybody drinks just as much of it as theywant whenever they want to, and they never think of any such thing asfeeling badly or better than if it was common water. The onlydifference is, that it isn't quite as lukewarm when we get it here asit is at the well. When I was told this I was real mad, after all themeasuring and fussing we had had when taking the water as a medicine, and then drinking it just as we pleased at the table. But the peoplehere tell me that it is the gas in it which makes it medicinal, andwhen that floats out it is just like common water. That may be; but ifthere's a penny's worth of gas in every tumbler of water sold in thepump-room, there ought to be some sort of a canopy put over the town tocatch what must escape in the pourings and pumpings, for it's toovaluable to be allowed to get away. If it's the gas that does it, arheumatic man anchored in a balloon over Buxton, and having the gascoming up unmixed to him, ought to be well in about two days. When Jone told me his first bath was to be heated up to ninety-fourdegrees I said to him that he'd be boiled alive, but he wasn't; andwhen he came home he said he liked it. Everything is very systematic inthe great bathing-house. The man who tends to Jone hangs up his watchon a little stand on the edge of the bathtub, and he stays in just somany minutes, and when he's ready to come out he rings a bell, and thenhe's wrapped up in about fourteen hot towels, and sits in an armchairuntil he's dry. Jone likes all this, and says so much about it that itmakes me want to try it too; though as there isn't any reason for it Ihaven't tried them yet. This is an awfully queer, old-fashioned town, and must have been a gooddeal like Bath in the days of Evelina. There is a long line of highbuildings curved like a half moon, which is called the Crescent, and atone end of this is a pump-room, and at the other are the natural baths, where the water is just as warm as when it comes out of the ground, which is eighty-two degrees. This is said to chill people; but fromwhat I remember about summer time I don't see how eighty-two degreescan be cold. Opposite the Crescent is a public park called The Slopes, and fartheron there are great gardens with pavilions, and a band of music everyday, and a theatre, and a little river, and tennis courts, and allsorts of things for people who haven't anything to do with their time, which is generally the case with folks at rheumatic watering-places. Opposite to our hotel is a bowling court, which they say has beenthere for hundreds of years, and is just as hard and smooth as a boy'sslate. The men who play bowls here are generally those who have gotover the rheumatism of their youth, and whose joints have not been verymuch stiffened up yet by old age. The people who are yet too young forrheumatism, and have come here with their families, play tennis. The baths take such a little time, not over six or seven minutes forthem each day, and every third day skipped, that there is a good dealof time left on the hands of the people here; and those who can't playtennis or bowl, and don't want to spend the whole time in the pavilionlistening to the music, go about in bath-chairs, which, so far as I cansee, are just as important as the baths. I don't know whether you eversaw a bath-chair, madam, but it's a comfortable little cab on threewheels, pulled by a man. They take people everywhere, and all thestreets are full of them. As soon as I saw these nice little traps I said to Jone, "Now this isthe very thing for you. It hurts you to walk far, and you want to seeall over this town, and one of these bath-chairs will take you intolots of places where you couldn't go in a carriage. " "Take me!" said Jone. "I should say not. You don't catch me beinghauled about in one of those things as if I was in a sort ofwheelbarrow ambulance being taken to the hospital, with you walkingalong by my side like a trained nurse. No, indeed! I have not gone sofar as that yet. " I told him this was all stuff and nonsense, and if he wanted to get thegood out of Buxton he'd better go about and see it, and he couldn't goabout if he didn't take a bath-chair; but all he said to that was, thathe could see it without going about, and he was satisfied. But thatdidn't count anything with me, for the trouble with Jone is, that he'stoo easy satisfied. It's true that there is a lot to be seen in Buxton without going about. The Slopes are just across the street from the hotel, and when itdoesn't happen to be raining we can go and sit there on a bench and seelively times enough. People are being trundled about in theirbath-chairs in every direction; there is always a crowd at St. Ann'swell, where the pump is; all sorts of cabs and carts are being drivenup and down just as fast as they can go, for the streets are as smoothas floors, and in the morning and evening there are about half a dozencoaches with four horses, and drivers and horn-blowers in red coats, the horses prancing and whips cracking as they start out for countrytrips or come back again. And as for the people on foot, they justswarm like bees, and rain makes no difference, except that then theywear mackintoshes, and when it's fine they don't. Some of these peoplestep along as brisk as if they hadn't anything the matter with them, but a good many of them help out their legs with canes and crutches. Ibegin to think I can tell how long a man has been at Buxton by thenumber of sticks he uses. One day we was sitting on a bench in The Slopes, enjoying a bit ofsunshine that had just come along, when a middle-aged man, with a veryhigh collar and a silk hat, came and sat down by Jone. He spoke civillyto us, and then went on to say that if ever we happened to take a housenear Liverpool he'd be glad to supply us with coals, because he was acoal merchant. Jone told him that if he ever did take a house nearLiverpool he certainly would give him his custom. Then the man gave ushis card. "I come here every year, " he said, "for the rheumatism in myshoulder, and if I meet anybody that lives near Liverpool, or is likelyto, I try to get his custom. I like it here. There's a good many 'otelsin this town. You can see a lot of them from here. There's St. Ann's, that's a good house, but they charge you a pound a day; and thenthere's the Old Hall. That's good enough, too, but nobody goes thereexcept shopkeepers and clergymen. Of course, I don't mean bishops; theygo to St. Ann's. " I wondered which the man would think Jone was, if he knew we wasstopping at the Old Hall; but I didn't ask him, and only said thatother people besides shopkeepers and clergymen went to the Old Hall, for Mary Queen of Scots used to stop at that house when she came totake the waters, and her room was still there, just as it used to be. "Mary Queen of Scots!" said he. "At the Old Hall?" "Yes, " said I, "that's where she used to go; that was her hotel. " "Queen Mary, Queen of the Scots!" he said again. "Well, well, Iwouldn't have believed it. But them Scotch people always wasclose-fisted. Now if it had been Queen Elizabeth, she wouldn't haveminded a pound a day;" and then, after asking Jone to excuse him forforgetting his manners and not asking where his rheumatism was, andhaving got his answer, he went away, wondering, I expect, how MaryQueen of Scots could have been so stingy. But although we could see so much sitting on benches, I didn't give upJone and the bath-chairs, and day before yesterday I got the better ofhim. "Now, " said I, "it is stupid for you to be sitting around in thisway as if you was a statue of a public benefactor carved bysubscription and set up in a park. The only sensible thing for you todo is to take a bath-chair and go around and see things. And if you areafraid people will think you are being taken to a hospital, you can putdown the top of the thing, and sit up straight and smoke your pipe. Patients in ambulances never smoke pipes. And if you don't want mewalking by your side like a trained nurse, I'll take another chair andbe pulled along with you. " The idea of a pipe, and me being in another chair, rather struck hisfancy, and he said he would consider it; and so that afternoon we wentto the hotel door and looked at the long line of bath-chairs standingat the curbstone on the other side of the street, with the men waitingfor jobs. The chairs was all pretty much alike and looked verycomfortable, but the men was as different as if they had been horses. Some looked gay and spirited, and others tired and worn out, as if theyhad belonged to sporting men and had been driven half to death. Andthen again there was some that looked fat and lazy, like the old horseson a farm, that the women drive to town. Jone picked out a good man, who looked as if he was well broken and notafraid of locomotives and able to do good work in single harness. WhenI got Jone in the bath-chair, with the buggy-top down, and his pipelighted, and his hat cocked on one side a little, so as to look as ifhe was doing the whole thing for a lark, I called another chair, notcaring what sort of one it was, and then we told the men to pull usaround for a couple of hours, leaving it to them to take us toagreeable spots, which they said they would do. After we got started Jone seemed to like it very well, and we wentpretty much all over the town, sometimes stopping to look in at theshop windows, for the sidewalks are so narrow that it is no trouble tosee the things from the street. Then the men took us a little way outof the town to a place where there was a good view for us, and a benchwhere they could go and sit down and rest. I expect all the chair menthat work by the hour manage to get to this place with a view as soonas they can. After they had had a good rest we started off to go home by a differentroute. Jone's man was a good strong fellow and always took the lead, but my puller was a different kind of a steed, and sometimes I was leftpretty far behind. I had not paid much attention to the man at first, only noticing that he was mighty slow; but going back a good deal ofthe way was uphill, and then all his imperfections came out plain, andI couldn't help studying him. If he had been a horse I should have saidhe was spavined and foundered, with split frogs and tonsilitis; but ashe was a man, it struck me that he must have had several differentkinds of rheumatism and been sent to Buxton to have them cured, but nottaking the baths properly, or drinking the water at times when he oughtnot to have done it, his rheumatisms had all run together and hadbecome fixed and immovable. How such a creaky person came to be abath-chair man I could not think, but it may be that he wanted to stayin Buxton for the sake of the loose gas which could be had for nothing, and that bath-chairing was all he could get to do. I pitied the poor old fellow, who, if he had been a horse, would havebeen no more than fourteen hands high, and as he went puffing along, tugging and grunting as if I was a load of coal, I felt as if Icouldn't stand it another minute, and I called out to him to stop. Itdid seem as if he would drop before he got me back to the hotel, and Ibounced out in no time, and then I walked in front of him and turnedaround and looked at him. If it is possible for a human hack-horse tohave spavins in two joints in each leg, that man had them; and helooked as if he couldn't remember what it was to have a good feed. He seemed glad to rest, but didn't say anything, standing and lookingstraight ahead of him like an old horse that has been stopped to lethim blow. He did look so dreadful feeble that I thought it would be amercy to take him to some member of the Society for the Prevention ofCruelty to Animals and have him chloroformed. "Look here, " said I, "youare not fit to walk. Get into that bath-chair, and I'll pull you backto your stand. " "Lady, " said he, "I couldn't do that. If you dunno mind walking home, and will pay me for the two hours all the same, I will be rightthankful for that. I'm poorly to-day. " "Get into the chair, " said I, "and I'll pull you back. I'd like to doit, for I want some exercise. " "Oh, no, no!" said he. "That would be a sin; and besides I was engagedto pull you two hours, and I must be paid for that. " "Get into that chair, " I said, "and I'll pay you for your two hours andgive you a shilling besides. " He looked at me for a minute, and then he got into the chair, and Ishut him up. "Now, lady, " said he, "you can pull me a little way if you wantexercise, and as soon as you are tired you can stop, and I'll get out, but you must pay me the extra shilling all the same. " "All right, " said I, and taking hold of the handle I started off. Itwas real fun; the bath-chair rolled along beautifully, and I don'tbelieve the old man weighed much more than my Corinne when I used topush her about in her baby carriage. We were in a back street, wherethere was hardly anybody; and as for Jone and his bath-chair, I couldjust see them ever so far ahead, so I started to catch up, and as thestreet was pretty level now I soon got going at a fine rate. I hadn'thad a bit of good exercise for a long time, and this warmed me up andmade me feel gay. [Illustration: "STOP, LADY, AND I'LL GET OUT"] We was not very far behind Jone when the man began to call to me in asort of frightened fashion, as if he thought I was running away. "Stop, lady!" he said; "we are getting near the gardens, and the peoplewill laugh at me. Stop, lady, and I'll get out. " But I didn't feel abit like stopping; the idea had come into my head that it would bejolly to beat Jone. If I could pass him and sail on ahead for a littlewhile, then I'd stop and let my old man get out and take his bath-chairhome. I didn't want it any more. Just as I got close up behind Jone, and was about to make a rush pasthim, his man turned into a side street. Of course I turned too, andthen I put on steam, and, giving a laugh as I turned around to look atJone, I charged on, intending to stop in a minute and have some fun inhearing what Jone had to say about it; but you may believe, ma'am, thatI was amazed when I saw only a little way in front of me the bath-chairstand where we had hired our machines! And all the bath-chair men werestanding there with their mouths wide open, staring at a woman runningalong the street, pulling an old bath-chair man in a bath-chair! For asecond I felt like dropping the handle I held and making a rush for thefront door of the hotel, which was right ahead of me; and then Ithought, as now I was in for it, it would be a lot better to put a goodface on the matter, and not look as if I had done anything I wasashamed of, and so I just slackened speed and came up in fine style atthe door of the Old Hall. Four or five of the bath-chair men camerunning across the street to know if anything had happened to the oldparty I was pulling, and he got out looking as ashamed as if he hadbeen whipped by his wife. "It's a lark, mates, " said he; "the lady's to pay me two shillingsextra for letting her pull me. " "Two shillings?" said I. "I only promised you one. " "That would be for pulling me a little way, " he said; "but you pulledme all the way back, and I couldn't do it for less than two shillings. " Jone now came up and got out quick. "What's the meaning of all this, Pomona?" said he. "Meaning?" said I. "Look at that dilapidated old bag of bones. Hewasn't fit to pull me, and so I thought it would be fun to pull him;but, of course, I didn't know when I turned the corner I would be hereat the stand. " Jone paid the men, including the two extra shillings, and when we wentup to our room he said, "The next time we go out in two bath-chairs, Iam going to have a chain fastened to yours, and I'll have hold of theother end of it. " _Letter Number Eighteen_ BUXTON I have begun to take the baths. There really is so little to do in thisplace that I couldn't help it, and so, while Jone was off tending tohis hot soaks, I thought I might as well try the thing myself. At anyrate it would fill up the time when I was alone. I find I like thissort of bathing very much, and I wish I had begun it before. It remindsme of a kind of medicine for colds that you used to make for me, madam, when I first came to the canal-boat. It had lemons and sugar in it, andit was so good I remember I used to think that I would like to go intoa lingering consumption, so that I could have it three times a day, until I finally passed away like a lily on a snowbank. Jone's been going about a good deal in a bath-chair, and doesn't mindmy walking alongside of him. He says it makes him feel easier in hismind, on the whole. Mr. Poplington came two or three days ago, and he is stopping at ourhotel. We three have hired a carriage together two or three times andhave taken drives into, the country. Once we went to an inn, the Catand Fiddle, about five miles away, on a high bit of ground called AxeEdge. It is said to be the highest tavern in England, and it's luckythat it is, for that's the only recommendation it's got. The sign infront of the house has on it a cat on its hind-legs playing a fiddle, with a look on its face as if it was saying, "It's pretty poor, butit's the best I can do for you. " Inside is another painting of a cat playing a fiddle, and truly thatone might be saying, "Ha! Ha! You thought that that picture on the signwas the worst picture you ever saw in your life, but now you see howyou are mistaken. " Up on that high place you get the rain fresher than you do in Buxton, because it hasn't gone so far through the air, and it's mixed with morechilly winds than anywhere else in England, I should say. But everybodyis bound to go to the Cat and Fiddle at least once, and we are glad wehave been there, and that it is over. I like the places near the town agreat deal better, and some of them are very pretty. One day we two andMr. Poplington took a ride on top of a stage to see Haddon Hall andChatsworth. Haddon Hall is to me like a dream of the past come true. Lots of otherold places have seemed like dreams, but this one was right before myeyes, just as it always was. Of course, you must have read all aboutit, madam, and I am not going to tell it over again. But think of it; agrand old baronial mansion, part of it built as far back as the elevenhundreds, and yet in good condition and fit to live in. That is what Ithought as I walked through its banqueting hall and courts and noblechambers. "Why, " said I to Jone, "in that kitchen our meals could becooked; at that table we could eat them; in these rooms we could sleep;in these gardens and courts we could roam; we could actually livehere!" We haven't seen any other romance of the past that we could saythat about, and to this minute it puzzles me how any duke in this worldcould be content to own a house like this and not live in it. But Isuppose he thinks more of water-pipes and electric lights than he doesof the memories of the past and time-hallowed traditions. As for me, if I had been Dorothy Vernon, there's no man on earth, noteven Jone, that could make me run away from such a place as HaddonHall. They show the stairs down which she tripped with her lover whenthey eloped; but if it had been me, it would have been up those stairsI would have gone. Mr. Poplington didn't agree a bit with me about thejoy of living in this enchanting old house, and neither did Jone, I amsure, although he didn't say so much. But then, they are both men, andwhen it comes to soaring in the regions of romanticism you must notexpect too much of men. After leaving Haddon Hall, which I did backward, the coach took us toChatsworth, which is a different sort of a place altogether. It is agrand palace, at least it was built for one, but now it is an enormousshow place, bright and clean and sleek, and when we got there we sawhundreds of visitors waiting to go in. They was taken through in squadsof about fifty, with a man to lead them, which he did very much as ifthey was a drove of cattle. The man who led our squad made us step along lively, and I must saythat never having been in a drove before, Jone and I began to getrestive long before we got through. As for the show, I like the BritishMuseum a great deal better. There is ever so much more to see there, and you have time to stop and look at things. At Chatsworth they chargeyou more, give you less, and treat you worse. When it came to taking usthrough the grounds, Jone and I struck. We left the gang we was with, and being shown where to find a gate out of the place, we made for thatgate and waited until our coach was ready to take us back to Buxton. It is a lot of fun going to the theatre here. It doesn't cost much, andthe plays are good and generally funny, and a rheumatic audience is avery jolly one. The people seemed glad to forget their backs, theirshoulders, and their legs, and they are ready to laugh at things thatare only half comic, and keep up a lively chattering between the acts. It's fun to see them when the play is over. The bath-chairs that havecome after some of them are brought right into the building, and aredrawn up just like carriages after the theatre. The first time we went Iwanted Jone to stop a while and see if we didn't hear somebody callout, "Mrs. Barchester's bath-chair stops the way!" but he said Iexpected too much, and would not wait. We sit about so much in the gardens, which are lively when it is clear, and not bad even in a little drizzle, that we've got to know a goodmany of the people; and although Jone's a good deal given to reading, Ilike to sit and watch them and see what they are doing. When we first came here I noticed a good-looking young woman who washauled about in a bath-chair, generally with an open book in her lap, which she never seemed to read much, because she was always gazingaround as if she was looking for something. Before long I found outwhat she was looking for, for every day, sooner or later, generallysooner, there came along a bath-chair with a good-looking young man init. He had a book in his lap too, but he was never reading it when Isaw him, because he was looking for the young woman; and as soon asthey saw each other they began to smile, and as they passed they alwayssaid something, but didn't stop. I wondered why they didn't give theirpullers a rest and have a good talk if they knew each other, but beforelong I noticed not very far behind the young lady's bath-chair wasalways another bath-chair with an old gentleman in it with abottle-nose. After a while I found out that this was the young lady'sfather, because sometimes he would call to her and have her stop, andthen she generally seemed to get some sort of a scolding. Of course, when I see anything of this kind going on, I can't helptaking one side or the other, and as you may well believe, madam, Iwouldn't be likely to take that of the old bottle-nosed man's side. Ihad not been noticing these people for more than two or three days whenone morning, when Jone and me was sitting under an umbrella, for therewas a little more rain than common, I saw these two young people intheir bath-chairs, coming along side by side, and talking just as hardas they could. At first I was surprised, but I soon saw how things was:the old gentleman couldn't come out in the rain. It was plain enoughfrom the way these two young people looked at each other that they wasin love, and although it most likely hurt them just as much to come outinto the rain as it would the old man, love is all-powerful, even overrheumatism. Pretty soon the clouds cleared away without notice, as they do in thiscountry, and it wasn't long before I saw, away off, the old man'sbath-chair coming along lively. His bottle-nose was sticking up in theair, and he was looking from one side to the other as hard as he could. The two lovers had turned off to the right and gone over a littlebridge and I couldn't see them; but by the way that old nose shook asit got nearer and nearer to me, I saw they had reason to tremble, though they didn't know it. When the old father reached the narrow path he did not turn down it, but kept straight on, and I breathed a sigh of deep relief. But thenext instant I remembered that the broad path turned not far beyond, and that the little one soon ran into it, and so it could not be longbefore the father and the lovers would meet. I like to tell Joneeverything I am going to do, when I am sure that he'll agree with methat it is right; but this time I could not bother with explanations, and so I just told him to sit still for a minute, for I wanted to seesomething, and I walked after the young couple as fast as I could. WhenI got to them, for they hadn't gone very far, I passed the youngwoman's bath-chair, and then I looked around and I said to her, "I begyour pardon, miss, but there is an old gentleman looking for you; butas I think he is coming round this way, you'll meet him if you keep onthis path. " "Oh, my!" said she unintentionally; and then she thanked mevery much, and I went on and turned a corner and went back to Jone, andpretty soon the young man's bath-chair passed us going toward thegate, he looking three-quarters happy, and the other quarterdisappointed, as lovers are if they don't get the whole loaf. From that day until yesterday, which was a full week, I came into thegardens every morning, sometimes even when Jone didn't want to come, because I wanted to see as much of this love business as I could. Formy own use in thinking of them I named the young man Pomeroy and theyoung woman Angelica, and as for the father, I called him Snortfrizzle, being the worst name I could think of at the time. But I must waituntil my next letter to tell you the rest of the story of the lovers, and I am sure you will be as much interested in them as I was. _Letter Number Nineteen_ [Illustration] BUXTON I have a good many things to tell you, for we leave Buxton to-morrow, but I will first finish the story of Angelica and Pomeroy. I think themen who pulled the bath-chairs of the lovers knew pretty much howthings was going, for whenever they got a chance they brought theirchairs together, and I often noticed them looking out for the oldfather, and if they saw him coming they would move away from each otherif they happened to be together. If Snortfrizzle's puller had been one of the regular bath-chair menthey might have made an agreement with him so that he would have keptaway from them; but he was a man in livery, with a high hat, who walkedvery regular, like a high-stepping horse, and who, it was plain enoughto see, never had anything to do with common bath-chair men. OldSnortfrizzle seemed to be smelling a rat more and more--that is, if itis proper to liken Cupid to such an animal--and his nose seemed to getpurpler and purpler. I think he would always have kept close toAngelica's chair if it hadn't been that he had a way of falling asleep, and whenever he did this his man always walked very slow, beingnaturally lazy. Two or three times I have seen Snortfrizzle wake up, shout to his man, and make him trot around a clump of trees and intosome narrow path where he thought his daughter might have gone. Things began to look pretty bad, for the old man had very strongsuspicions about Pomeroy, and was so very wide awake when he was awake, that I knew it couldn't be long before he caught the two together, andthen I didn't believe that Angelica would ever come into these gardensagain. It was yesterday morning that I saw old Snortfrizzle with his chin downon his shirt bosom, snoring so steady that his hat heaved, being veryslowly pulled along a shady walk, and then I saw his daughter, who wasnot far ahead of him, turn into another walk, which led down by theriver. I knew very well that she ought not to turn into that walk, because it didn't in any way lead to the place where Pomeroy wassitting in his bath-chair behind a great clump of bushes and flowers, with his face filled with the most lively emotions, but overspreadever and anon by a cloudlet of despair on account of the approach ofthe noontide hour, when Angelica and Snortfrizzle generally went home. [Illustration: "Your brother is over there"] The time was short, and I believed that love's young dream must be putoff until the next day if Angelica could not be made aware wherePomeroy was sitting, or Pomeroy where Angelica was going; so I gotright up and made a short cut down a steep little path, and, sureenough, I met her when I got to the bottom. "I beg your pardon verymuch, miss, " said I, "but your brother is over there in the entrance tothe cave, and I think he has been looking for you. " "My brother?" saidshe, turning as red as her ribbons was blue. "Oh, thank you very much!Robertson, you may take me that way. " It wasn't long before I saw those two bath-chairs alongside of eachother, and covered from general observation by masses of bloomingshrubbery. As I had been the cause of bringing them together I thoughtI had a right to look at them a little while, as that would be the onlyreward I'd be likely to get, and so I did it. It was as I thought;things was coming to a climax; the bath-chair men standing with muchconsideration with their backs to their vehicles, and, united for thetime being by their clasped hands, the lovers grew tender to a degreewhich I would have fain checked, had I been nearer, for fear of noticeby passers-by. But now my blood froze within my veins. I would never have believedthat a man in a high hat and livery a size too small for him could run, but Snortfrizzle's man did, and at a pace which ought to have beenprohibited by law. I saw him coming from an unsuspected quarter, andswoop around that clump of flowers and foliage. Regardless ofconsequences I approached nearer. There was loud voices; there wasexclamations; there was a rattling of wheels; there was the sunderingof tender ties! In a moment Pomeroy, who had backed off but a little way, began tospeak, but his voice was drowned in the thunder of Snortfrizzle'sdenunciations. Angelica wept, and her head fell upon her lovely bosom, and I am sure I heard her implore her man to remove her from the scene. Pomeroy remained, his face firm, his eyes undaunted, but Snortfrizzleshook his fist in unison with his nose, and, hurling an anathema athim, followed his daughter, probably to incarcerate her in herapartments. All was over, and I returned to Jone with a heavy heart and falteringstep. I could not but feel that I had brought about the sad end of thistender chapter in the lives of Pomeroy and Angelica. If I had let themalone they would not have met and they would not have been discoveredtogether. I didn't tell Jone what had happened, because he does notalways sympathize with me in my interest in others, and for hours myheart was heavy. It was about a half an hour before dinner that day when I thought thata little walk might raise my spirits, and I wandered into the gardens, for which we each have a weekly ticket, and there, to my amazement, notfar from the gate I saw Angelica in tears and her bath-chair. Her manwas not with her, and she was alone. When she saw me she looked at mefor a minute, and then she beckoned to me to come to her. I flew. Therewere but few people in the gardens, and we was alone. "Madam, " said she, "I think you must be very kind. I believe you knewthat gentleman was not my brother. He is not. " "My dear miss, " said I--I was almost on the point of calling herAngelica--"I knew that. I know that he is something nearer and dearerthan even a brother. " She blushed. "Yes, " said she, "you are right, and we are in greattrouble. " "Oh, what is it? Tell me quick. What can I do to help you?" "My father is very angry, " said she, "and has forbidden me ever to seehim again, and he is going to take me home to-morrow. But we haveagreed to fly together to-day. It is our only chance, but he is nothere. Oh, dear! I do not know what I shall do. " "Where are you going to fly to?" said I. "We want to take the Edinburgh train this evening if there is one, " shesaid, "and we get off at Carlisle, and from there it is only a littleway to Gretna Green. " "Gretna Green!" I cried. "Oh, I will help you! I will help you! Whyisn't the gentleman here, and where has he gone?" "He has gone to see about the trains, " she said, almost crying, "and Idon't see what keeps him. I could not get away until father went intohis room to dress for dinner, and as soon as he is ready he will callfor me. Where can he be? I have sent my man to look for him. " "Oh, I'll go look for him! You wait here, " I cried, forgetting thatshe would have to, and away I went. As I was hurrying out of the gates of the gardens I looked in thedirection of the railroad station, and there I saw Pomeroy pulled byone bath-chair man and the other one talking to him. In twenty bounds Ireached him. "Go back for your young lady, " I cried to Robertson, Angelica's man, "and bring her here on the run. She sent me for you. "Away went Robertson, and then I said to the astonished Pomeroy, "Sir, there is no time for explanations. Your lady-love will be with you in aminute. My husband and I are going to Edinburgh to-morrow, and I havelooked up all the trains. There is one which leaves here at twentyminutes past six. If she comes soon you will have time to catch it. Have you your baggage ready?" He looked at me as if he wondered who on earth I was, but I am sure hesaw my soul in my face and trusted me. "Yes, " he said, "she has a little bag in her bath-chair, and mine ishere. " "Here she comes, " said I, "and you must fly to the station. " In a moment Angelica was with us, her face beaming with delight. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" she cried, but I would not listen to hergratitude. "Hurry!" I said, "or you will be too late. Joy go withyou. " They hastened off, and I walked back to the gardens. I looked at mywatch, and to my horror I saw it was five minutes past six. Fifteenminutes left yet. Fifteen minutes in which they might be overtaken. Istopped for a moment irresolutely. What should I do? I thought ofrunning after them to the station. I thought in some way I might helpthem--buy their tickets or do something. But while I was thinking Iheard a rattle, and down the street came the man in livery, andSnortfrizzle's bottle-nose like a volcano behind him. The minute theyreached me, and there was nobody else in the street, the old manshouted, "Hi! Have you seen two bath-chairs with a young man and ayoung woman in them?" I was on the point of saying No, but changed my mind like a flash. "Didthe young lady wear a hat with blue ribbons?" I asked. "Yes!" he roared. "Which way did they go?" "And did the young man with her wear eyeglasses and a brown moustache?" "With her, was he?" screamed Snortfrizzle. "That's the rascal. Whichway did they go? Tell me instantly. " When I was a very little girl I knew an old woman who told me that if aperson was really good at heart, the holy angels would allow thatperson, in the course of her life, twelve fibs without charge, providedthey was told for the good of somebody and not to do harm. Now atsuch a moment as this I could not remember how many fibs of that kind Ihad left over to my credit, but I knew there must be at least one, andso I didn't hesitate a second. "They have gone to the Cat and Fiddle, "said I. "I heard them tell their bath-chair men so, as they urged themforward at the top of their speed. They stopped for a second here, sir, and I heard the gentleman send a cabman for a clergyman, post haste, tomeet them at the Cat and Fiddle. " [Illustration: TO THE CAT AND FIDDLE] If the sky had been lighted up by the eruption of Snortfrizzle's nose Ishould not have been surprised. "The fools! They can't! Cat and Fiddle! But they can't be half waythere. Martin, to the Cat and Fiddle!" The man touched his hat. "But I couldn't do that, sir. I couldn't runto the Cat and Fiddle. It's long miles, sir. Shall I get a carriage?" "Carriage!" cried the old man, and then he began to look about him. Horror struck me. Perhaps they would go to the station for one! Justthen a boy driving a pony and a grocery cart came up. "There you are, sir, " I cried. "Hire that boy to tow you. Your butlercan sit in the back of the cart and hold the handle of your bath-chair. It may take long to get a carriage, and the cart will go much faster. You may overtake them in a mile. " Old Snortfrizzle never so much as thanked me or looked at me. He yelledto the boy in the cart, offered him ten shillings and sixpence to givehim a tow, and in less time than I could take to write it, that flunkywith a high hat was sitting in the tail of the cart, the pony was goingat full gallop, and the old man's bath-chair was spinning on behind itat a great rate. I did not leave that spot--standing statue-like and looking along bothroads--until I heard the rumble of the departing train, and then Irepaired to the Old Hall, my soul uplifted. I found Jone in an awfulfluster about my being out so late; but I do stay pretty late sometimeswhen I walk by myself, and so he hadn't anything new to say. _Letter Number Twenty_ EDINBURGH We have been here five or six days now, but the first thing I mustwrite is the rest of the story of the lovers. We left Buxton the nextday after their flight, and I begged Jone to stop at Carlisle and letus make a little trip to Gretna Green. I wanted to see the place thathas been such a well-spring of matrimonial joys, and besides, I thoughtwe might find Pomeroy and Angelica still there. I had not seen old Snortfrizzle again, but late that night I had hearda row in the hotel, and I expect it was him back from the Cat andFiddle. Whether he was inquiring for me or not I don't know, or what hewas doing, or what he did. Jone thought I had done a good deal of meddling in other people'sbusiness, but he agreed to go to Gretna Green, and we got there in theafternoon. I left Jone to take a smoke at the station, because Ithought this was a business it would be better for me to attend tomyself, and I started off to look up the village blacksmith and ask himif he had lately wedded a pair; but, will you believe it, madam, I hadnot gone far on the main road of the village when, a little ahead ofme, I saw two bath-chairs coming toward me, one of them pulled byRobertson, and the other by Pomeroy's man, and in these two chairs wasthe happy lovers, evidently Mr. And Mrs. ! Their faces was filled withlight enough to take a photograph, and I could almost see their heartsswelling with transcendent joy. I hastened toward them, and in aninstant our hands was clasped as if we had been old friends. They told me their tale. They had reached the station in plenty oftime, and Robertson had got a carriage for them, and he and the otherman had gone with them third class, with the bath-chairs in the goodscarriages. They had reached Gretna Green that morning, and had beenmarried two hours. Then I told my tale. The eyes of both of them wasdimmed with tears, hers the most, and again they clasped my hands. "Poor father, " said Angelica, "I hope he didn't go all the way to theCat and Fiddle, and that the night air didn't strike into his joints;but he cannot separate us now. " And she looked confiding at the otherbath-chair. "What are you going to do?" said I, and they said they had just beenmaking plans. I saw, though, that their minds was in too exalted astate to do this properly for themselves, and so I reflected a minute. "How long have you been in Buxton?" "I have been there two weeks and two days, " said she, "and myhusband"--oh, the effulgence that filled her countenance as she saidthis--"has been there one day longer. " "Then, " said I, "my advice to you is to go back to Buxton and staythere five days, until you both have taken the waters and the baths forthe full three weeks. It won't be much to bear the old gentleman'supbraiding for five days, and then, blessed with health and love, youcan depart. No matter what you do afterward, I'd stick it out at Buxtonfor five days. " "We'll do it, " said they; and then, after more gratitude andcongratulations, we parted. And now I must tell you about ourselves. When Jone had been three weeksat Buxton, and done all the things he ought to do, and hadn't doneanything he oughtn't to do, he hadn't any more rheumatism in him than asquirrel that jumps from bough to bough. But will you believe it, madam, I had such a rheumatism in one side and one arm that it made megive little squeaks when I did up my back hair, and it all came from mytaking the baths when there wasn't anything the matter with me; for Ifound out, but all too late, that while the waters of Buxton will curerheumatism in people that's got it, they will bring it out in peoplewho never had it at all. We was told that we ought not to do anythingin the bathing line without the advice of a doctor; but those littletanks in the floors of the bathrooms, all lined with tiles and filledwith warm, transparent water, that you went down into by marble steps, did seem so innocent, that I didn't believe there was no need in askingquestions about them. Jone wanted me to stay three weeks longer until Iwas cured, but I wouldn't listen to that. I was wild to get toScotland, and as my rheumatism did not hinder me from walking, I didn'tmind what else it did. And there is another thing I must tell you. One day when I was sittingby myself on The Slopes waiting for Jone, about lunch time, and with areminiscence floating through my mind of the Devonshire clotted creamof the past, never perhaps to return, I saw an elderly woman comingalong, and when she got near she stopped and spoke. I knew her in aninstant. She was the old body we met at the Babylon Hotel, who told usabout the cottage at Chedcombe. I asked her to sit down beside me andtalk, because I wanted to tell her what good times we had had, and howwe liked the place, but she said she couldn't, as she was obliged to goon. "And did you like Chedcombe?" said she. "I hope you and your husbandkept well. " I said yes, except Jone's rheumatism, we felt splendid; for my acheshadn't come on then, and I was going on to gush about the lovelycountry she had sent us to, but she didn't seem to want to listen. "Really, " said she, "and your husband had the rheumatism. It was awise thing for you to come here. We English people have reason to beproud of our country. If we have our banes, we also have our antidotes;and it isn't every country that can say that, is it?" [Illustration: "And did you like Chedcombe?"] I wanted to speak up for America, and tried to think of some goodantidote with the proper banes attached; but before I could do it shegave her head a little wag, and said, "Good morning; nice weather, isn't it?" and wobbled away. It struck me that the old body was alittle lofty, and just then Mr. Poplington, who I hadn't noticed, cameup. "Really, " said he, "I didn't know you was acquainted with theCountess. " "The which?" said I. "The Countess of Mussleby, " said he, "that you was just talking to. " "Countess!" I cried. "Why, that's the old person who recommended us togo to Chedcombe. " "Very natural, " said he, "for her to do that, for her estates lie southof Chedcombe, and she takes a great interest in the villages aroundabout, and knows all the houses to let. " I parted from him and wandered away, a sadness stealing o'er my soul. Gone with the recollections of the clotted cream was my visions ofdiamond tiaras, tossing plumes, and long folds of brocades and lacessweeping the marble floors of palaces. If ever again I read a novelwith a countess in it, I shall see the edge of a yellow flannelpetticoat and a pair of shoes like two horse-hair bags, which was thelast that I saw of this thunderbolt into the middle of my visions ofaristocracy. Jone and me got to like Buxton very much. We met many pleasant people, and as most of them had a chord in common, we was friendly enough. Jonesaid it made him feel sad in the smoking-room to see the men he'd gotacquainted with get well and go home, but that's a kind of sadness thatall parties can bear up under pretty well. I haven't said a word yet about Scotland, though we have been here aweek, but I really must get something about it into this letter. I wassaying to Jone the other day that if I was to meet a king with a crownon his head I am not sure that I should know that king if I saw himagain, so taken up would I be with looking at his crown, especially ifit had jewels in it such as I saw in the regalia at the Tower ofLondon. Now Edinburgh seems to strike me in very much the same way. Prince Street is its crown, and whenever I think of this city it willbe of this magnificent street and the things that can be seen from it. It is a great thing for a street to have one side of it taken away andsunk out of sight so that there is a clear view far and wide, andvisitors can stand and look at nearly everything that is worth seeingin the whole town, as if they was in the front seats of the balcony ina theatre, and looking on the stage. You know I am very fond of thetheatre, madam, but I never saw anything in the way of what they callspectacular representation that came near Edinburgh as seen from PrinceStreet. But as I said in one of my first letters, I am not going to write aboutthings and places that you can get much better description of in books, and so I won't take up any time in telling how we stand at the windowof our room at the Royal Hotel, and look out at the Old Town standinglike a forest of tall houses on the other side of the valley, with thegreat castle perched up high above them, and all the hills and towersand the streets all spread out below us, with Scott's monument right infront, with everybody he ever wrote about standing on brackets, whichstick out everywhere from the bottom up to the very top of themonument, which is higher than the tallest house, and looks like asteeple without a church to it. It is the most beautiful thing of thekind I ever saw, and I have made out, or think I have, nearly every oneof the figures that's carved on it. I think I shall like the Scotch people very much, but just now there isone thing about them that stands up as high above their other goodpoints as the castle does above the rest of the city, and that is thefeeling they have for anybody who has done anything to make hisfellow-countrymen proud of him. A famous Scotchman cannot die withoutbeing pretty promptly born again in stone or bronze, and put in someopen place with seats convenient for people to sit and look at him. Ilike this; glory ought to begin at home. _Letter Number Twenty-one_ EDINBURGH Jone being just as lively on his legs as he ever was in his life, thanks to the waters of Buxton, and I having the rheumatism now only inmy arm, which I don't need to walk with, we have gone pretty much allover Edinburgh, and a great place it is to walk in, so far as varietygoes. Some of the streets are so steep you have to go up steps if youare walking, and about a mile around if you are driving. I never gettired wandering about the Old Town with its narrow streets and awfullytall houses, with family washes hanging out from every story. The closes are queer places. They are very like little villages setinto the town as if they was raisins in a pudding. You get to them byalleys or tunnels, and when you are inside you find a littleneighborhood that hasn't anything more to do with the next close, ablock away, than one country village has with another. We went to see John Knox's house, and although Mr. Knox was pretty hardon vanities and frivolities, he didn't mind having a good house overhis head, with woodwork on the walls and ceilings that wasn't any morenecessary than the back buttons on his coat. We have been reading hard since we have been in Edinburgh, and wheneverMr. Knox and Mary Queen of Scots come together, I take Mary's sidewithout asking questions. I have no doubt Mr. Knox was a good man, butif meddling in other people's business gave a person the right to havea monument, the top of his would be the first thing travellers wouldsee when they come near Edinburgh. When we went to Holyrood Palace it struck me that Mary Queen of Scotsdeserved a better house. Of course, it wasn't built for her, but Idon't care very much for the other people who lived in it. The roomsare good enough for an ordinary household's use, although the littleroom that she had her supper party in when Rizzio was killed, wouldn'tbe considered by Jone and me as anything like big enough for our familyto eat in. But there is a general air about the place as if it belongedto a royal family that was not very well off, and had to abstain from agood deal of grandeur. If Mary Queen of Scots could come to life again, I expect the Scotchpeople would give her the best palace that money could buy, for theyhave grown to think the world of her, and her pictures blossom out allover Edinburgh like daisies in a pasture field. The first morning after we got here I was as much surprised as if I hadmet Mary Queen of Scots walking along Prince Street with a parasol overher head. We were sitting in the reading-room of the hotel, and on theother side of the room was a long desk at which people was sitting, writing letters, all with their backs to us. One of these was a youngman wearing a nice light-colored sack coat, with a shiny white collarsticking above it, and his black derby hat was on the desk beside him. When he had finished his letter he put a stamp on it and got up to mailit. I happened to be looking at him, and I believe I stopped breathingas I sat and stared. Under his coat he had on a little skirt of greenplaid about big enough for my Corinne when she was about five yearsold, and then he didn't wear anything whatever until you got down tohis long stockings and low shoes. I was so struck with the feeling thathe was an absent-minded person that I punched Jone and whispered to himto go quick and tell him. Jone looked at him and laughed, and said thatwas the Highland costume. Now if that man had had his martial plaid wrapped around him, and hadworn a Scottish cap with a feather in it and a long ribbon hanging downhis back, with his claymore girded to his side, I wouldn't have beensurprised; for this is Scotland, and that would have been like thepictures I have seen of Highlanders. But to see a man with the upperhalf of him dressed like a clerk in a dry goods store and the lowerhalf like a Highland chief, was enough to make a stranger gasp. [Illustration: "Jone looked at him and said that was the Highlandcostume. "] But since then I have seen a good many young men dressed that way. Ibelieve it is considered the tip of the fashion. I haven't seen any ofthe bare-legged dandies yet with a high silk hat and an umbrella, but Iexpect it won't be long before I meet one. We often see the Highlandsoldiers that belong to the garrison at the castle, and they lookmighty fine with their plaid shawls and their scarfs and theirfeathers; but to see a man who looks as if one half of him belonged toLondon Bridge and the other half to the Highland moors, does look tome like a pretty bad mixture. I am not so sure, either, that the whole Highland dress isn't bettersuited to Egypt, where it doesn't often rain, than to Scotland. LastSaturday we was at St. Giles's Church, and the man who took us aroundtold us we ought to come early next morning and see the militaryservice, which was something very fine; and as Jone gave him a shillinghe said he would be on hand and watch for us, and give us a good placewhere we could see the soldiers come in. On Sunday morning it rainedhard, but we was both at the church before eight o'clock, and so was agood many other people, but the doors was shut and they wouldn't let usin. They told us it was such a bad morning that the soldiers could notcome out, and so there would be no military service that day. I don'tknow whether those fine fellows thought that the colors would run outof their beautiful plaids, or whether they would get rheumatism intheir knees; but it did seem to me pretty hard that soldiers could notcome out in the weather that lots of common citizens didn't seem tomind at all. I was a good deal put out, for I hate to get up early fornothing, but there was no use saying anything, and all we could do wasto go home, as all the other people with full suits of clothes did. Jone and I have got so much more to see before we go home, that it isvery well we are both able to skip around lively. Of course there areever and ever so many places that we want to go to, but can't do it, but I am bound to see the Highlands and the country of the "Lady of theLake. " We have been reading up Walter Scott, and I think more than Iever did that he is perfectly splendid. While we was in Edinburgh wefelt bound to go and see Melrose Abbey and Abbotsford. I shall not saymuch about these two places, but I will say that to go into Sir WalterScott's library and sit in the old armchair he used to sit in, at thedesk he used to write on, and see his books and things around me, gaveme more a feeling of reverentialism than I have had in any cathedralyet. As for Melrose Abbey, I could have walked about under those toweringwalls and lovely arches until the stars peeped out from the loftyvaults above; but Jone and the man who drove the carriage were of adifferent way of thinking, and we left all too soon. But one thing Idid do: I went to the grave of Michael Scott the wizard, where once wasshut up the book of awful mysteries, with a lamp always burning by it, though the flagstone was shut down tight on top of it, and I got apiece of moss and a weed. We don't do much in the way of carrying offsuch things, but I want Corinne to read the "Lady of the Lake, " andthen I shall give her that moss and that weed, and tell where I gotthem. I believe that, in the way of romantics, Corinne is going to bemore like me than like Jone. To-morrow we go to the Highlands, and we shall leave our two big trunksin the care of the man in the red coat, who is commander-in-chief atthe Royal Hotel, and who said he would take as much care of them as ifthey was two glass jars filled with rubies; and we believed him, for hehas done nothing but take care of us since we came to Edinburgh, andgood care, too. _Letter Number Twenty-two_ [Illustration] KINLOCH RANNOCH. It happened that the day we went north was a very fine one, and as soonas we got into the real Highland country there was nothing to hinder mefrom feeling that my feet was on my native heath, except that I was ina railway carriage, and that I had no Scotch blood in me, but the joyof my soul was all the same. There was an old gentleman got into ourcarriage at Perth, and when he saw how we was taking in everything oureyes could reach, for Jone is a good deal more fired up by travel thanhe used to be--I expect it must have been the Buxton waters that madethe change--he began to tell us all about the places we were passingthrough. There didn't seem to be a rock or a stream that hadn't a bitof history to it for that old gentleman to tell us about. We got out at a little town called Struan, and then we took a carriageand drove across the wild moors and hills for thirteen miles till wecame to this village at the end of Loch Rannoch. The wind blew strongand sharp, but we knew what we had to expect, and had warm clothes on. And with the cool breeze, and remembering "Scots wha ha' wi' Wallacebled, " it made my blood tingle all the way. We are going to stay here at least a week. We shall not try to doeverything that can be done on Scottish soil, for we shall not stalkstags or shoot grouse; and I have told Jone that he may put on as manyScotch bonnets and plaids as he likes, but there is one thing he is notgoing to do, and that is to go bare-kneed, to which he answered, hewould never do that unless he could dip his knees into weak coffee sothat they would be the same color as his face. There is a nice inn here with beautiful scenery all around, and thelovely Loch Rannoch stretches away for eleven miles. Everything is justas Scotch as it can be. Even the English people who come here put onknickerbockers and bonnets. I have never been anywhere else where it isconsidered the correct thing to dress like the natives, and I will sayhere that it is very few of the natives that wear kilts. That sort ofthing seems to be given up to the fancy Highlanders. Nearly all the talk at the inn is about, shooting and fishing. Stag-hunting here is very different from what it is in England in moreways than one. In the first place, stags are not hunted with horses andhounds. In the second place, the sport is not free. A gentleman heretold Jone that if a man wanted to shoot a stag on these moors it wouldcost him one rifle cartridge and six five pound notes; and when Jonedid not understand what that meant, the man went on and told him abouthow the deer-stalking was carried on here. He said that some of the bigproprietors up here owned as much as ninety thousand acres of moorland, and they let it out mostly to English people for hunting and fishing. And if it is stag-hunting the tenant wants, the price he pays isregulated by the number of stags he has the privilege of shooting. Eachstag he is allowed to kill costs him thirty pounds. So if he wants thepleasure of shooting thirty stags in the season, his rent will be ninehundred pounds. This he pays for the stag-shooting, but some kind of ahouse and about ten thousand acres are thrown in, which he has aperfect right to sit down on and rest himself on, but he can't shoot agrouse on it unless he pays extra for that. And, what is more, if hehappens to be a bad shot, or breaks his leg and has to stay in thehouse, and doesn't shoot his thirty stags, he has got to pay for themall the same. When Jone told me all this, I said I thought a hundred and fiftydollars a pretty high price to pay for the right to shoot one deer. ButJone said I didn't consider all the rest the man got. In the firstplace, he had the right to get up very early in the morning, in thegloom and drizzle, and to trudge through the slop and the heather untilhe got far away from the neighborhood of any human being, and then hecould go up on some high piece of ground and take a spyglass and searchthe whole country round for a stag. When he saw one way off in thedistance snuffing the morning air, or hunting for his breakfast amongthe heather, he had the privilege of walking two or three miles overthe moor so as to get that stag between the wind and himself, so thatit could not scent him or hear him. Then he had the glorious right toget his rifle all ready, and steal and creep toward that stag to cutshort his existence. He has to be as careful and as sneaky as if he wasa snake in the grass, going behind little hills and down into gullies, and sometimes almost crawling on his stomach where he goes over an openplace, and doing everything he can to keep that stag from knowing hisend is near. Sometimes he follows his victim all day, and the sun goesdown before he has the glorious right of standing up and lodging abullet in its unsuspecting heart. "So you see, " said Jone, "he gets alot for his hundred and fifty dollars. " "They do get a good deal more for their money than I thought they did, "said I; "but I wonder if those rich sportsmen ever think that if theywould take the money that they pay for shooting thirty or forty stagsin one season, they might buy a rhinoceros, which they could set up ona hill and shoot at every morning if they liked. A game animal likethat would last them for years, and if they ever felt like it, theycould ask their friends to help them shoot without costing themanything. " Jone is pretty hard on sport with killing in it. He does not mindeating meat, but he likes to have the butcher do the killing. But Ireckon he is a little too tender-hearted. But, as for me, I like sportof some kinds, especially when you don't have your pity or yoursympathies awakened by seeing your prey enjoying life when you areseeking to encompass his end. Of course, by that I mean fishing. There are a good many trout in the lake, and people can hire theprivilege of fishing for them; and I begged Jone to let me go out in aboat and fish. He was rather in favor of staying ashore and fishing inthe little river, but I didn't want to do that. I wanted to go out andhave some regular lake fishing. At last Jone agreed, provided I wouldnot expect him to have anything to do with the fishing. "Of course Idon't expect anything like that, " said I; "and it would be a good dealbetter for you to stay on shore. The landlord says a gilly will goalong to row the boat and attend to the lines and rods and all that, and so there won't be any need for you at all, and you can stay onshore with your book, and watch if you like. " "And suppose you tumble overboard, " said Jone. "Then you can swim out, " I said, "and perhaps wade a good deal of theway. I don't suppose we need go far from the bank. " Jone laughed, and said he was going too. "Very well, " said I; "but you have got to stay in the bow, with yourback to me, and take an interesting book with you, for it is a longtime since I have done any fishing, and I am not going to do it withtwo men watching me and telling me how I ought to do it and how Ioughtn't to. One will be enough. " "And that one won't be me, " said Jone, "for fishing is not one of thebranches I teach in my school. " I would have liked it better if Jone and me had gone alone, he doingnothing but row; but the landlord wouldn't let his boat that way, andsaid we must take a gilly, which, as far as I can make out, is a sortof sporting farmhand. That is the way to do fishing in these parts. Well, we started, and Jone sat in the front, with his back to me, andthe long-legged gilly rowed like a good fellow. When we got to a goodplace to fish he stopped, and took a fishing-rod that was in pieces andscrewed them together, and fixed the line all right so that it wouldrun along the rod to a little wheel near the handle, and then he put ona couple of hooks with artificial flies on them, which was so small Icouldn't imagine how the fish could see them. While he was doing allthis I got a little fidgety, because I had never fished except with astraight pole and line with a cork to it, which would bob when the fishbit; but this was altogether a different sort of a thing. When it wasall ready he handed me the pole, and then sat down very polite to lookat me. Now, if he had handed me the rod, and then taken another boat and gonehome, perhaps I might have known what to do with the thing after awhile, but I must say that at that minute I didn't. I held the rod outover the water and let the flies dangle down into it, but do what Iwould, they wouldn't sink; there wasn't weight enough on them. "You must throw your fly, madam, " said the gilly, always very polite. "Let me give it a throw for you, " and then he took the rod in his handand gave it a whirl and a switch which sent the flies out ever so farfrom the boat; then he drew it along a little, so that the fliesskipped over the top of the water. [Illustration: "I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING, AND TAKING THE POLE IN BOTHHANDS I GAVE IT A WILD TWIRL OVER MY HEAD"] I didn't say anything, and taking the pole in both hands I gave it awild twirl over my head, and then it flew out as if I was trying towhip one of the leaders in a four-horse team. As I did this Jone gave ajump that took him pretty near out of the boat, for two flies swishedjust over the bridge of his nose, and so close to his eyes as he wasreading an interesting dialogue, and not thinking of fish or even ofme, that he gave a jump sideways, which, if it hadn't been for thegilly grabbing him, would have taken him overboard. I was frightenedmyself, and said to him that I had told him he ought not to come in theboat, and it would have been a good deal better for him to have stayedon shore. He didn't say anything, but I noticed he turned up his collar andpulled down his hat over his eyes and ears. The gilly said that perhapsI had too much line out, and so he took the rod and wound up a gooddeal of the line. I liked this better, because it was easier to whipout the line and pull it in again. Of course, I would not be likely tocatch fish so much nearer the boat, but then we can't have everythingin this world. Once I thought I had a bite, and I gave the rod such ajerk that the line flew back against me, and when I was getting readyto throw it out again, I found that one of the little hooks had stuckfast in my thumb. I tried to take it out with the other hand, but itwas awfully awkward to do, because the rod wobbled and kept jerking onit. The gilly asked me if there was anything the matter with the flies, but I didn't want him to know what had happened, and so I said, "Oh, no, " and turning my back on him I tried my best to get the hook outwithout his helping me, for I didn't want him to think that the firstthing I caught was myself, after just missing my husband--he might beafraid it would be his turn next. You cannot imagine how bothersome itis to go fishing with a gilly to wait on you. I would rather washdishes with a sexton to wipe them and look for nicks on the edges. At last--and I don't know how it happened--I did hook a fish, and theminute I felt him I gave a jerk, and up he came. I heard the gilly saysomething about playing, but I was in no mood for play, and if thatfish had been shot up out of the water by a submarine volcano itcouldn't have ascended any quicker than when I jerked it up. Then asquick as lightning it went whirling through the air, struck the pagesof Jone's book, turning over two or three of them, and then wiggleditself half way down Jone's neck, between his skin and his collar, while the loose hook swung around and nipped him in his ear. "Don't pull, madam, " shouted the gilly, and it was well he did, for Iwas just on the point of giving an awful jerk to get the fish loosefrom Jone. Jone gave a grab at the fish, which was trying to get downhis back, and pulling him out threw him down; but by doing this hejerked the other hook into his ear, and then a yell arose such as Inever before heard from Jone. "I told you you ought not to come in thisboat, " said I; "you don't like fishing, and something is alwayshappening to you. " "Like fishing!" cried Jone. "I should say not, " and he made up such acomical face that even the gilly, who was very polite, had to laugh ashe went to take the hook out of his ear. When Jone and the fish had been got off my line, Jone turned to me andsaid, "Are you going to fish any more?" "Not with you in the boat, " I answered; and then he said he was glad tohear that, and told the man he could row us ashore. I can assure you, madam, that fishing in a rather wobbly boat with ahusband and a gilly in it, is not to my taste, and that was the end ofour sporting experiences in Scotland, but it did not end the glorioustimes we had by that lake and on the moors. We hired a little pony trap and drove up to the other end of the lake, and not far beyond that is the beginning of Rannoch Moor, which thebooks say is one of the wildest and most desolate places in all Europe. So far as we went over the moor we found that this was truly so, and Iknow that I, at least, enjoyed it ever so much more because it was sowild and desolate. As far as we could see, the moors stretched away inevery direction, covered in most places by heather, now out of blossom, but with great rocks standing out of the ground in some places, andhere and there patches of grass. Sometimes we could see four or fivelochs at once, some of them two or three miles long, and down throughthe middle of the moor came the maddest and most harum-scarum littleriver that could be imagined. It actually seemed to go out of its wayto find rocks to jump over, just as if it was a young calf, and some ofthe waterfalls were beautiful. All around us was melancholy mountains, all of them with "Ben" for their first names, except Schiehallion, which was the best shaped of any of them, coming up to a point andstanding by itself, which was what I used to think mountains alwaysdid; but now I know they run into each other so that you can hardlytell where one ends and the other begins. For three or four days we went out on these moors, sometimes when thesun was shining, and sometimes when there was a heavy rain and the windblew gales, and I think I liked this last kind of weather the best, forit gave me an idea of lonely desolation which I never had in any partof the world I have ever been in before. There is often not a house tobe seen, not even a crofter's hut, and we seldom met anybody. SometimesI wandered off by myself behind a hillock or rocks where I could noteven see Jone, and then I used to try to imagine how Eve would havefelt if she had early become a widow, and to put myself in her place. There was always clouds in the sky, sometimes dark and heavy onescoming down to the very peaks of the mountains, and not a tree was tobe seen, except a few rowan trees or bushes close to the river. But bythe side of Lock Rannoch, on our way back to the village, we passedalong the edge of a fine old forest called the "Black Woods ofRannoch. " There are only three of these ancient forests left inScotland, and some of the trees in this one are said to be eighthundred years old. [Illustration: Pomona drinking it in] The last time we was out on the Rannoch Moor there was such a savageand driving wind, and the rain came down in such torrents, that mymackintosh was blown nearly off of me, and I was wet from my head to myheels. But I would have stayed out hours longer if Jone had beenwilling, and I never felt so sorry to leave these Grampian Hills, whereI would have been glad to have had my father feed his flocks, and whereI might have wandered away my childhood, barefooted over the heather, singing Scotch songs and drinking in deep draughts of the pure mountainair, instead of--but no matter. To-morrow we leave the Highlands, but as we go to follow the shallop ofthe "Lady of the Lake, " I should not repine. _Letter Number Twenty-three_ [Illustration] OBAN, SCOTLAND It would seem to be the easiest thing in the world, when looking on themap, to go across the country from Loch Rannoch over to Katrine and allthose celebrated parts, but we found we could not go that way, and sowe went back to Edinburgh and made a fresh start. We stopped one nightat the Royal Hotel, and there we found a letter from Mr. Poplington. Wehad left him at Buxton, and he said he was not going to Scotland thisseason, but would try to see us in London before we sailed. He is a good man, and he wrote this letter on purpose to tell me thathe had had a letter from his friend, the clergyman in Somersetshire, who had forbidden the young woman whose wash my tricycle had run intoto marry her lover because he was a Radical. This letter was in answerto one Mr. Poplington wrote to him, in which he gave the minister myreasons for thinking that the best way to convert the young man fromRadicalism was to let him marry the young woman, who would be sure tobring him around to her way of thinking, whatever that might be. I didn't care about the Radicalism. All I wanted was to get the twomarried, and then it would not make the least difference to me whattheir politics might be; if they lived properly and was sober andindustrious and kept on loving each other, I didn't believe it wouldmake much difference to them. It was a long letter that the clergymanwrote, but the point of it was, that he had concluded to tell the youngwoman that she might marry the fellow if she liked, and that she mustdo her best to make him a good Conservative, which, of course, shepromised to do. When I read this I clapped my hands, for who could havesuspected that I should have the good luck to come to this country tospend the summer and make two matches before I left it! When we left Edinburgh to gradually wend our way to this place, whichis on the west coast of Scotland, the first town we stopped at wasStirling, where the Scotch kings used to live. Of course we went to thecastle, which stands on the rocks high above the town; but before westarted to go there Jone inquired if the place was a ruin or not, andwhen he was told it was not, and that soldiers lived there, he said itwas all right, and we went. He now says he must positively decline tovisit any more houses out of repair. He is tired of them; and since hehas got over his rheumatism he feels less like visiting ruins than heever did. I tell him the ruins are not any more likely to be damp thana good many of the houses that people live in; but this didn't shakehim, and I suppose if we come to any more vine-covered and shatteredremnants of antiquity I shall be obliged to go over them by myself. The castle is a great place, which I wouldn't have missed for theworld; but the spot that stirred my soul the most was in a littlegarden, as high in the air as the top of a steeple, where we could lookout over the battlefield of Bannockburn. Besides this, we could see themountains of Ben-Lomond, Ben-Venue, Ben-A'an, Benledi, and ever so muchScottish landscape spreading out for miles upon miles. There is alittle hole in the wall here called the Ladies' Look-Out, where theladies of the court could sit and see what was going on in the countrybelow without being seen themselves, but I stood up and took ineverything over the top of the wall. I don't know whether I told you that the mountains of Scotland are"Bens, " and the mouths of rivers are "abers, " and islands are"inches. " Walking about the streets of Stirling, and I didn't have timeto see half as much as I wanted to, I came to the shop of a "flesher. "I didn't know what it was until I looked into the window and saw thatit was a butcher shop. I like a language just about as foreign as the Scotch is. There are agood many words in it that people not Scotch don't understand, but thatgives a person the feeling that she is travelling abroad, which I wantto have when I am abroad. Then, on the other hand, there are not enoughof them to hinder a traveller from making herself understood. So it isnatural for me to like it ever so much better than French, in which, when I am in it, I simply sink to the bottom if no helping hand is heldout to me. I had some trouble with Jone that night at the hotel, because he had anovel which he had been reading for I don't know how long, and which hesaid he wanted to get through with before he began anything else. Butnow I told him he was going to enter on the wonderful country of the"Lady of the Lake, " and that he ought to give up everything else andread that book, because if he didn't go there with his mind preparedthe scenery would not sink into his soul as it ought to. He was of theopinion that when my romantic feeling got on top of the scenery itwould be likely to sink into his soul as deep as he cared to have it, without any preparation, but that sort of talk wouldn't do for me. Ididn't want to be gliding o'er the smooth waters of Loch Katrine, andhave him asking me who the girl was who rowed her shallop to the silverstrand, and the end of it was that I made him sit up until a quarter oftwo o'clock in the morning while I read the "Lady of the Lake" to him. I had read it before and he had not, but I hadn't got a quarter throughbefore he was just as willing to listen as I was to read. And when Igot through I was in such a glow that Jone said he believed that allthe blood in my veins had turned to hot Scotch. I didn't pay any attention to this, and after going to the window andlooking out at the Gaelic moon, which was about half full and rollingalong among the clouds, I turned to Jone and said, "Jone, let's sing'Scots wha ha', ' before we go to bed. " "If we do roar out that thing, " said Jone, "they will put us out on thecurbstone to spend the rest of the night. " "Let's whisper it, then, " said I; "the spirit of it is all I want. Idon't care for the loudness. " "I'd be willing to do that, " said Jone, "if I knew the tune and a fewof the words. " "Oh, bother!" said I; and when I got into bed I drew the clothes overmy head and sang that brave song all to myself. Doing it that way thewords and tune didn't matter at all, but I felt the spirit of it, andthat was all I wanted, and then I went to sleep. The next morning we went to Callander by train, and there we took acoach for Trossachs. It is hardly worth while to say we went on top, because the coaches here haven't any inside to them, except a holewhere they put the baggage. We drove along a beautiful road withmountains and vales and streams, and the driver told us the name ofeverything that had a name, which he couldn't help very well, beingasked so constant by me. But I didn't feel altogether satisfied, for wehadn't come to anything quotable, and I didn't like to have Jone sittoo long without something happening to stir up some of the "Lady ofthe Lake" which I had pumped into his mind the day before, and so keepit fresh. Before long, however, the driver pointed out the ford of Coilantogle. The instant he said this I half jumped up, and, seizing Jone by thearm, I cried, "Don't you remember? This is the place where the Knightof Snowdoun, James Fitz-James, fought Roderick Dhu!" And then withoutcaring who else heard me, I burst out with: "'His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before: "Come one, come all! This rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I. "'" "No, madam, " said the driver, politely touching his hat, "that was amile farther on. This place is: "'And here his course the chieftain staid, Threw down his target and his plaid. '" "You are right, " said I; and then I began again: "'Then each at once his falchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain, As what they ne'er might see again; Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed. '" I didn't repeat any more of the poem, though everybody was listeningquite respectful without thinking of laughing, and as for Jone, I couldsee by the way he sat and looked about him that his tinder had caughtmy spark; but I knew that the thing for me to do here was not to giveout but take in, and so, to speak in figures, I drank in the whole ofLake Vannachar, as we drove along its lovely marge until we came to theother end, and the driver said we would now go over the Brigg of Turk. At this up I jumped and said: "'And when the Brigg of Turk was won, The headmost horseman rode alone. '" I had sense enough not to quote the next two lines, because when I hadread them to Jone he said that it was a shame to use a horse that way. We now came to Loch Achray, at the other end of which is theTrossachs, where we stopped for the night, and when the driver told methe mountain we saw before us was Ben-Venue, I repeated the lines: "'The hunter marked that mountain high, The lone lake's western boundary, And deem'd the stag must turn to bay, Where that huge rampart barr'd the way. '" At last we reached the Trossachs Hotel, which stands near the wildravines filled with bristling woods where the stag was lost, with thelovely lake in front and Ben-Venue towering up on the other side. I wasso excited I could scarcely eat, and no wonder, because for the greaterpart of the day I had breathed nothing but the spirit of Scott'spoetry. I forgot to say that from the time we left Callander until wegot to the hotel the rain poured down steadily, but that didn't makeany difference to me. A human being soaked with the "Lady of the Lake"is rain-proof. _Letter Number Twenty-four_ EDINBURGH I was sorry to stop my last letter right in the middle of the "Lady ofthe Lake" country, but I couldn't get it all in, and the fact is, Ican't get all I want to say in any kind of a letter. The things I haveseen and want to write about are crowded together like the Scottishmountains. On the day after we got to Trossachs Hotel, and I don't know any placeI would rather spend weeks at than there, Jone and I walked through the"darksome glen" where the stag, "Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, In the deep Trossachs' wildest nook His solitary refuge took. " And then we came out on the far-famed Loch Katrine. There was a littlesteamboat there to take passengers to the other end, where a coach waswaiting, but it wasn't time for that to start, and we wandered on thebanks of that song-gilded piece of water. It didn't lie before us like"one burnished sheet of living gold, " as it appeared to JamesFitz-James but my soul could supply the sunset if I chose. There, too, was the island of the fair Ellen, and beneath our very feet was the"silver strand" to which she rowed her shallop. I am sorry to say thereisn't so much of the silver strand as there used to be, because, inthis world, as I have read, and as I have seen, the spirit ofrealistics is always crowding and trampling on the toes of theromantics, and the people of Glasgow have actually laid water-pipesfrom their town to this lovely lake, and now they turn the faucets intheir back kitchens and out spouts the tide which kissed "With whispering sound and slow The beach of pebbles bright as snow. " This wouldn't have been so bad, because the lake has enough and tospare of its limpid wave; but in order to make their water-works theGlasgow people built a dam, and that has raised the lake a good dealhigher, so that it overflows ever so much of the silver strand. But Ican pick out the real from a scene like that as I can pick out andthrow away the seeds of an orange, and gazing o'er that enchanted sceneI felt like the Knight of Snowdoun himself, when he first beheld thelake and said: "How blithely might the bugle horn Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn!" and then I went on with the lines until I came to "Blithe were it then to wander here! But now--beshrew yon nimble deer"-- "You'd better beshrew that steamboat bell, " said Jone, and away we wentand just caught the boat. Realistics come in very well sometimes whenthey take the form of legs. The steamboat took us over nearly the whole of Lake Katrine, and I mustsay that I was so busy fitting verses to scenery that I don't rememberwhether it rained or the sun shone. When we left the boat we took acoach to Inversnaid on Loch Lomond, and, as we rode along, it made myheart almost sink to feel that I had to leave my poetry behind me, forI didn't know any that suited this region. But when we got in sight ofLoch Lomond a Scotch girl who was on the seat behind me, and hadseveral friends with her, began to sing a song about Lomond, of which Ionly remember, "You take the high road and I'll take the low road, andI'll get to Scotland afore you. " I am sure I must have Scotch blood in me, for when I heard that song itwound up my feelings to such a pitch that I believe if that girl hadbeen near enough I should have given her a hug and a kiss. As for Jone, he seemed to be nearly as much touched as I was, though not in the sameway, of course. We took a boat on Loch Lomond to Ardlui, another little town, and thenwe drove nine miles to the railroad. This was through a wild and solemnvalley, and by the side of a rushing river, full of waterfalls and deepand diresome pools. When we reached the railroad we found a trainwaiting, and we took it and went to Oban, which we reached about sixo'clock. Even this railroad trip was delightful, for we went by thegreat Lake Awe, with another rushing river and mountains and blackprecipices. We had a carriage all to ourselves until an old lady got inat a station, and she hadn't been sitting in her corner more than tenminutes before she turned to me and said: "You haven't any lakes like this in your country, I suppose. " Now I must say that, in the heated condition I had been in ever since Icame into Scotland, a speech like that was like a squirt of cold waterinto a thing full of steam. For a couple of seconds my boiling stopped, but my fires was just as blazing as ever, and I felt as if I could turnthem on that old woman and shrivel her up for plastering hercomparisons on me at such a time. "Of course, we haven't anything just like this, " I said, "but it takesall sorts of scenery to make up a world. " "That's very true, isn't it?" said she. "But, really, one couldn'texpect in America such a lake as that, such mountains, such grandeur!" Now I made up my mind if she was going to keep up this sort of thingJone and me would change carriages when we stopped at the next station, for comparisons are very different from poetry, and if you try to mixthem with scenery you make a mess that is not fit for a Christian. ButI thought first I would give her a word back: "I have seen to-day, " I said, "the loveliest scenery I ever met with;but we've got grand caņons in America where you could put the whole ofthat scenery without crowding, and where it wouldn't be much noticed byspectators, so busy would they be gazing at the surrounding wonders. " "Fancy!" said she. "I don't want to say anything, " said I, "against what I have seento-day, and I don't want to think of anything else while I am lookingat it; but this I will say, that landscape with Scott is very differentfrom landscape without him. " "That is very true, isn't it?" said she; and then she stopped makingcomparisons, and I looked out of the window. Oban is a very pretty place on the coast, but we never should have gonethere if it had not been the place to start from for Staffa and Iona. When I was only a girl I saw pictures of Fingal's Cave, and I have reada good deal about it since, and it is one of the spots in the worldthat I have been longing to see, but I feel like crying when I tellyou, madam, that the next morning there was such a storm that the boatfor Staffa didn't even start; and as the people told us that the stormwould most likely last two or three days, and that the sea for a fewdays more would be so rough that Staffa would be out of the question, we had to give it up, and I was obliged to fall back from the realityto my imagination. Jone tried to comfort me by telling me that he wouldbe willing to bet ten to one that my fancy would soar a mile above thereal thing, and that perhaps it was very well I didn't see old Fingal'sCave and so be disappointed. "Perhaps it is a good thing, " said I, "that you didn't go, and that youdidn't get so seasick that you would be ready to renounce yourcountry's flag and embrace Mormonism if such things would make you feelbetter. " But that is the only thing that is good about it, and I have acloud on my recollection which shall never be lifted until Corinne isold enough to travel and we come here with her. But although the storm was so bad, it was not bad enough to keep usfrom making our water trip to Glasgow, for the boat we took did nothave to go out to sea. It was a wonderfully beautiful passage we madeamong the islands and along the coast, with the great mountains on themainland standing up above everything else. After a while we got to theCrinan Canal, which is in reality a short cut across the field. It isnine miles long and not much wider than a good-sized ditch, but itsaves more than a hundred miles of travel around an island. We was on asort of a toy steamboat which went its way through the fields andbushes and grass so close we could touch them; and as there was elevenlocks where the boat had to stop, we got out two or three times andwalked along the banks to the next lock. That being the kind of a rideJone likes, he blessed Buxton. At the other end of the canal we took abigger steamboat which carried us to Glasgow. In the morning it hailed, which afterward turned to rain, but in theafternoon there was only showers now and then, so that we spent most ofthe time on deck. On this boat we met a very nice Englishman and hiswife, and when they had heard us speak to each other they asked us ifwe had ever been in this part of the world before, and when we said wehadn't they told us about the places we passed. If we had been anEnglish couple who had never been there before they wouldn't have saida word to us. As we got near the Clyde the gentleman began to talk aboutship-building, and pretty soon I saw in his face plain symptoms that hewas going to have an attack of comparison making. I have seen so muchof this disorder that I can nearly always tell when it is coming on aperson. In about a minute the disease broke out on him, and he began totalk about the differences between American and English ships. He toldJone and me about a steamship that was built out in San Francisco whichshook three thousand bolts out of herself on her first voyage. Itseemed to me that that was a good deal like a codfish shaking hisbones out through swimming too fast. I couldn't help thinking that thatsteamship must have had a lot of bolts so as to have enough left tokeep her from scattering herself over the bottom of the ocean. I expected Jone to say something in behalf of his country's ships, buthe didn't seem to pay much attention to the boat story, so I took upthe cudgels myself, and I said to the gentleman that all nations, nomatter how good they might be at ship-building, sometimes mademistakes, and then to make a good impression on him I whanged him overthe head with the "Great Eastern, " and asked him if there ever was avessel that was a greater failure than that. He said, "Yes, yes, the 'Great Eastern' was not a success, " and then hestopped talking about ships. When we got fairly into the Clyde and near Glasgow the scene waswonderful. It was nearly night, and the great fires of the factorieslit up the sky, and we saw on the stocks a great ship being built. We stayed in Glasgow one day, and Jone was delighted with it, becausehe said it was like an American city. Now, on principle, I likeAmerican cities, but I didn't come to Scotland to see them; and thegreatest pleasure I had in Glasgow was standing with a tumbler of waterin my hand, repeating to myself as much of the "Lady of the Lake" as Icould remember. _Letter Number Twenty-five_ LONDON Here we are in this wonderful town, where, if you can't see everythingyou want to see, you can generally see a sample of it, even if your fadhappens to be the ancientnesses of Egypt. We are at the Babylon Hotel, where we shall stay until it is time to start for Southampton, where weshall take the steamer for home. What we are going to do between hereand Southampton I don't know yet; but I do know that Jone is all onfire with joy because he thinks his journeys are nearly over, and I amchilled with grief when I think that my journeys are nearly over. We left Edinburgh on the train called the "Flying Scotsman, " and itdeserved its name. I suppose that in the days of Wallace and Bruce andRob Roy the Scots must often have skipped along in a lively way; but Iam sure if any of them had ever invaded England at the rate we wentinto it, the British lion would soon have been living on thistlesinstead of roses. The speed of this train was sometimes a mile a minute, I think; and Iam sure I was never on any railroad in America where I was given ashorter time to get out for something to eat than we had at York. Joneand I are generally pretty quick about such things, but we had barelytime to get back to our carriage before that "Flying Scotsman" went offlike a streak of lightning. On the way we saw a part of York Minster, and had a splendid, view ofDurham Cathedral, standing high in the unreachable--that is, as far asI was concerned. Peterborough Cathedral we also saw the outside of, andI felt like a boy looking in at a confectioner's window with no moneyto buy anything. It wasn't money that I wanted; it was time, and we hadvery little of that left. The next day, after we reached London, I set out to attend to a pieceof business that I didn't want Jone to know anything about. My businesswas to look up my family pedigree. It seemed to me that it would be ashame if I went away from the home of my ancestors without knowingsomething about those ancestors and about the links that connected mewith them. So I determined to see what I could do in the way of makingup a family tree. By good luck, Jone had some business to attend to about money and roomson the steamer, and so forth, and so I could start out by myselfwithout his even asking me where I was going. Now, of course, it wouldbe a natural thing for a person to go and seek out his ancestors in theancient village from which they sprang, and to read their names onthe tombstones in the venerable little church, but as I didn't knowwhere this village was, of course I couldn't go to it. But in London isthe place where you can find out how to find out such things. [Illustration: "A PERSON WHO WAS A FAMILY-TREE-MAN"] As far back as when we was in Chedcombe I had had a good deal of talkwith Miss Pondar about ancestors and families. I told her that myforefathers came from this country, which I was very sure of, judgingfrom my feelings; but as I couldn't tell her any particulars, I didn'tgo into the matter very deep. But I did say there was a good manypoints that I would like to set straight, and asked her if she knewwhere I could find out something about English family trees. She saidshe had heard there was a big heraldry office in London, but if Ididn't want to go there, she knew of a person who was afamily-tree-man. He had an office in London, and his business was to goaround and tend to trees of that kind which had been neglected, and toget them into shape and good condition. She gave me his address, and Ihad kept the thing quiet in my mind until now. I found the family-tree-man, whose name was Brandish, in a small roomnot too clean, over a shop not far from St. Paul's Churchyard. He hadanother business, which related to patent poison for flies, and atfirst he thought I had come to see him about that, but when he foundout I wanted to ask him about my family tree his face brightened up. When I told Mr. Brandish my business the first thing he asked me was myfamily name. Of course I had expected this, and I had thought a greatdeal about the answer I ought to give. In the first place, I didn'twant to have anything to do with my father's name. I never had anythingmuch to do with him, because he died when I was a little baby, and hisname had nothing high-toned about it, and it seemed to me to belong tothat kind of a family that you would be better satisfied with the lessyou looked up its beginnings; but my mother's family was a differentthing. Nobody could know her without feeling that she had sprung fromgood roots. It might have been from the stump of a tree that had beencut down, but the roots must have been of no common kind to send upsuch a shoot as she was. It was from her that I got my longings for theromantic. She used to tell me a good deal about her father, who must have been awonderful man in many ways. What she told me was not like a sketch ofhis life, which I wish it had been, but mostly anecdotes of what hesaid and did. So it was my mother's ancestral tree I determined tofind, and without saying whether it was on my mother's or father's sideI was searching for ancestors, I told Mr. Brandish that Dork was thefamily name. "Dork, " said he; "a rather uncommon name, isn't it? Was your fatherthe eldest son of a family of that name?" Now I was hoping he wouldn't say anything about my father. "No, sir, " said I; "it isn't that line that I am looking up. It is mymother's. Her name was Dork before she was married. " "Really! Now I see, " said he, "you have the paternal line all correct, and you want to look up the line on the other side. That is verycommon; it is so seldom that one knows the line of ancestors on one'smaternal side. Dork, then, was the name of your maternal grandfather. " It struck me that a maternal grandfather must be a grandmother, but Ididn't say so. "Can you tell me, " said he, "whether it was he who emigrated from thiscountry to America, or whether it was his father or his grandfather?" Now I hadn't said anything about the United States, for I had learnedthere was no use in wasting breath telling English people I had comefrom America, so I wasn't surprised at his question, but I couldn'tanswer it. "I can't say much about that, " I said, "until I have found outsomething about the English branches of the family. " "Very good, " said he. "We will look over the records, " and he took downa big book and turned to the letter D. He ran his finger down two orthree pages, and then he began to shake his head. "Dork?" said he. "There doesn't seem to be any Dork, but here isDorkminster. Now if that was your family name we'd have it all here. Nodoubt you know all about that family. It's a grand old family, isn'tit? Isn't it possible that your grandfather or one of his ancestors mayhave dropped part of the name when he changed his residence toAmerica?" Now I began to think hard; there was some reason in what thefamily-tree-man said. I knew very well that the same family name wasoften different in different countries, changes being made to suitclimates and people. "Minster has a religious meaning, hasn't it?" said I. "Yes, madam, " said he; "it relates to cathedrals and that sort ofthing. " Now, so far as I could remember, none of the things my mother had evertold me about her father was in any ways related to religion. They wasmostly about horses; and although there is really no reason for thedisconnection between horses and religion, especially when you considerthe hymns with heavenly chariots in them must have had horses, itdidn't seem to me that my grandfather could have made it a point ofbeing religious, and perhaps he mightn't have cared for the cathedralpart of his name, and so might have dropped it for convenience insigning, probably being generally in a hurry, judging from what mymother had told me. I said as much to Mr. Brandish, and he answeredthat he thought it was likely enough, and that that sort of thing wasoften done. "Now, then, " said he, "let us look into the Dorkminster line and traceout your connection with that. From what place did your ancestorscome?" It seemed to me that he was asking me a good deal more than he wastelling me, and I said to him: "That is what I want to find out. Whatis the family home of the Dorkminsters?" "Oh, they were a great Hampshire family, " said he. "For five hundredyears they lived on their estates in Hampshire. The first of the namewas Sir William Dorkminster, who came over with the Conqueror, and mostlikely was given those estates for his services. Then we go on until wecome to the Duke of Dorkminster, who built a castle, and whose brotherHenry was made bishop and founded an abbey, which I am sorry to saydoesn't now exist, being totally destroyed by Oliver Cromwell. " You cannot imagine how my blood leaped and surged within me as Ilistened to those words. William the Conqueror! An ancestral abbey! Aduke! "Is the family castle still standing?" said I. "It fell into ruins, " said he, "during the reign of Charles I. , andeven its site is now uncertain, the park having been devoted toagricultural purposes. The fourth Duke of Dorkminster was to havecommanded one of the ships which destroyed the Spanish Armada, but wasprevented by a mortal fever which cut him off in his prime; he diedwithout issue, and the estates passed to the Culverhams of Wilts. " "Did that cut off the line?" said I, very quick. "Oh, no, " said the family-tree man, "the line went on. One of theduke's younger sisters must have married a man on condition that hetook the old family name, which is often done, and her descendants musthave emigrated somewhere, for the name no longer appears in Hampshire;but probably not to America, for that was rather early for Englishemigration. " "Do you suppose, " said I, "that they went to Scotland?" "Very likely, " said he, after thinking a minute; "that would beprobable enough. Have you reason to suppose that there was a Scotchbranch in your family?" "Yes, " said I, for it would have been positively wrong in me to saythat the feelings that I had for the Scotch hadn't any meaning at all. "Now then, " said Mr. Brandish, "there you are, madam. There is a lineall the way down from the Conqueror to the end of the sixteenthcentury, scarcely one man's lifetime before the Pilgrims landed onPlymouth Rock. " I now began to calculate in my mind. I was thirty years old; my mother, most likely, was about as old when I was born; that made sixty years. Then my grandfather might have been forty when my mother was born, andthere was a century. As for my great-grandfather and his parents, Ididn't know anything about them. Of course, there must have been suchpersons, but I didn't know where they came from or where they went to. "I can go back a century, " said I, "but that doesn't begin to meet theend of the line you have marked out. There's a gap of about two hundredyears. " "Oh, I don't think I would mind that, " said Mr. Brandish. "Gaps of thatkind are constantly occurring in family trees. In fact, if we was toallow gaps of a century or so to interfere with the working out offamily lines, it would cut off a great many noble ancestries fromfamilies of high position, especially in the colonies and abroad. I begyou not to pay any attention to that, madam. " My nerves was tingling with the thought of the Spanish Armada, andperhaps Bannockburn (which then made me wish I had known all thisbefore I went to Stirling, but which battle, now as I write, I knowmust have been fought a long time before any of the Dorks went toScotland), and I expect my eyes flashed with family pride, for do whatI would I couldn't sit calm and listen to what I was hearing. But, after all, that two hundred years did weigh upon my mind. "If you makea family tree for me, " said I, "you will have to cut off the trunk andbegin again somewhere up in the air. " "Oh, no, " said he, "we don't do that. We arrange the branches so thatthey overlap each other, and the dotted lines which indicate themissing portions are not noticed. Then, after further investigation andmore information, the dots can be run together and the tree madecomplete and perfect. " Of course, I had nothing more to say, and he promised to send me thetree the next morning, though, of course, requesting me to pay him inadvance, which was the rule of the office, and you would be amazed, madam, if you knew how much that tree cost. I got it the next morning, but I haven't shown it to Jone yet. I am proud that I own it, and Ihave thrills through me whenever my mind goes back to its Norman roots;but I am bound to say that family trees sometimes throw a good deal ofshade over their owners, especially when they have gaps in them, whichseems contrary to nature, but is true to fact. _Letter Number Twenty-six_ SOUTHWESTERN HOTEL, SOUTHAMPTON To-morrow our steamer sails, and this is the last letter I write onEnglish soil; and although I haven't done half that I wanted to, thereare ever so many things I have done that I can't write you about. I had seen so few cathedrals that on the way down here I was bound tosee at least one good one, and so we stopped at Winchester. It waswhile walking under the arches of that venerable pile that the thoughtsuddenly came to me that we were now in Hampshire, and that, perhaps, in this cathedral might be some of the tombs of my ancestors. Withoutsaying what I was after I began at one of the doors, and I went cleanaround that enormous church, and read every tablet in the walls and onthe floor. Once I had a shock. There was a good many small tombs with roofs overthem, and statues of people buried within, lying on top of the tombs, and some of them had their faces and clothes colored so as to make themlook almost as natural as life. They was mostly bishops, and had beenlying there for centuries. While looking at these I came to a tombwith an opening low down on the side of it, and behind some iron barsthere lay a stone figure that made me fairly jump. He was on his backwith hardly any clothes on, and was actually nothing but skin andbones. His mouth was open, as if he was gasping for his last breath. Inever saw such an awful sight, and as I looked at the thing my bloodbegan to run cold, and then it froze. The freezing was because Isuddenly thought to myself that this might be a Dorkminster, and thatthat horrible object was my ancestor. I was actually afraid to look atthe inscription on the tombstone for fear that this was so, for if itwas, I knew that whenever I should think of my family tree this bag ofbones would be climbing up the trunk, or sitting on one of thebranches. But I must know the truth, and trembling so that I couldscarcely read, I stooped down to look at the inscription and find outwho that dreadful figure had been. It was not a Dorkminster, and myspirits rose. [Illustration: "This might be a Dorkminster"] We got here three days ago, and we have made a visit to the Isle ofWight. We went straight down to the southern coast, and stopped allnight at the little town of Bonchurch. It was very lovely down therewith roses and other flowers blooming out-of-doors as if it was summer, although it is now getting so cold everywhere else. But what pleased memost was to stand at the top of a little hill, and look out over thewaters of the English Channel, and feel that not far out of eyeshot wasthe beautiful land of France with its lower part actually touchingItaly. You know, madam, that when we was here before, we was in France, and ahappy woman was I to be there, although so much younger than now Icouldn't properly enjoy it; but even then France was only part of theroad to Italy, which, alas, we never got to. Some day, however, I shallfloat in a gondola and walk amid the ruins of ancient Rome, and if Joneis too sick of travel to go with me, it may be necessary for Corinne tosee the world, and I shall take her. Now I must finish this letter and bid good-by to beautiful Britain, which has made us happy and treated us well in spite of somecomparisons in which we was expected to be on the wrong side, but whichhurt nobody, and which I don't want even to think of at such a momentas this. _Letter Number Twenty-seven_ NEW YORK I send you this, madam, to let you know that we arrived here safelyyesterday afternoon, and that we are going to-day to Jone's mother'sfarm where Corinne is. I liked sailing from Southampton because when I start to go to a placeI like to go, and when we went home before and had to begin by goingall the way up to Liverpool by land, and then coming all the way backagain by water, and after a couple of days of this to stop atQueenstown and begin the real voyage from there, I did not like it, although it was a good deal of fun seeing the bumboat women come aboardat Queenstown and telescope themselves into each other as they hurriedup the ladder to get on deck and sell us things. We had a very good voyage, with about enough rolling to make the diningsaloon look like some of the churches we've seen abroad on weekdayswhere there was services regular, but mighty small congregations. When we got in sight of my native shore, England, Scotland, and eventhe longed-for Italy, with her palaces and gondolas, faded from mymind, and my every fibre tingled with pride and patriotism. We reachedour dock about six o'clock in the afternoon, and I could scarcely standstill, so anxious was I to get ashore. There was a train at eight whichreached Rockbridge at half-past nine, and there we could take acarriage and drive to the farm in less than an hour, and then Corinnewould be in my arms, so you may imagine my state of mind--Corinnebefore bedtime! But a cloud blacker than the heaviest fog came downupon me, for while we was standing on the deck, expecting every minuteto land, a man came along and shouted at the top of his voice that nobaggage could be examined by the custom-house officers after sixo'clock, and the passengers could take nothing ashore with them buttheir hand-bags, and must come back in the morning and have theirbaggage examined. When I heard this my soul simply boiled within me! Ilooked at Jone, and I could see he was boiling just as bad. "Jone, " said I, "don't say a word to me. " "I am not going to say a word, " said he, and he didn't. All ourbelongings was in our trunks. Jone didn't carry any hand-bag, and I hadonly a little one which had in it three newspapers, which we boughtfrom the pilot, a tooth-brush, a spool of thread and some needles, anda pair of scissors with one point broken off. With these things we hadto go to a hotel and spend the night, and in the morning we had to goback to have our trunks examined, which, as there was nothing in themto pay duty on, was waste time for all parties, no matter when it wasdone. [Illustration: "Jone didn't carry any hand-bag, and I had only a littleone"] That night, when I was lying awake thinking about this welcome to ournative land, I don't say that I hauled down the stars and stripes, butI did put them at half mast. When we arrived in England we got ashoreabout twelve o'clock at night, but there was the custom-house officersas civil and obliging as any people could be, ready to tend to us andpass us on. And when I thought of them, and afterward of the lordlyhirelings who met us here, I couldn't help feeling what a gloriousthing it would be to travel if you could get home without coming back. Jone tried to comfort me by telling me that we ought to be very glad wedon't like this sort of thing. "In many foreign countries, " said he, "people are a good deal nagged by their governments and they like it;we don't like it, so haul up your flag. " I hauled it up, and it's flying now from the tiptop of my tallest mast. In an hour our train starts, and I shall see Corinne before the sungoes down.