{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_33319/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_33319","id":"gutenberg_33319","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33319","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Travel Writing","England -- Description and travel -- Juvenile literature","France -- Description and travel -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sam W. and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nIllustration captions in braces {like this} are from the Table of\nContents, and have been added to the main text by the Transcriber\nfor the convenience of the reader.\n\n\n\n\n ZIGZAG JOURNEYS\n IN\n EUROPE.\n\n _VACATION RAMBLES IN HISTORIC LANDS._\n\n BY\n HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.\n\n\n BOSTON:\n ESTES AND LAURIAT.\n 1882.\n\n\n\n\n _Copyright_,\n BY ESTES & LAURIAT,\n 1879.\n\n [Decoration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"THE BOY-KING.\"]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe aim of the publishers and writer, in preparing this volume for\nyoung people, is to give a view of the principal places in England and\nFrance where the most interesting events have occurred; and, by a free\nuse of pictures and illustrative stories, to present historic views of\nthe two countries in an entertaining and attractive manner.\n\nAn American teacher takes a class of boys on a vacation tour to\nEngland and France, and interests them in those places that illustrate\nthe different periods of English and French history. It is his purpose\nto give them in this manner a picturesque view of present scenes and\npast events, and to leave on their minds an outline of history for\ncareful reading to fill.\n\nA few of the stories are legendary, as the \"Jolly Harper Man\" and the\n\"Wise Men of Gotham;\" but these illustrate the quaint manners and\ncustoms of the Middle Ages. Nearly all of the stories that relate to\nhistory are strictly true.\n\nThe illustrations of history, both by pencil and pen, are given in the\ndisconnected way that a traveller would find them in his journeys;\nbut they may be easily combined by memory in their chronological\norder, and made to form a harmonious series of pictures.\n\nThe writer has sought to amuse as well as to instruct, and for this\npurpose the personal experiences of the young travellers are in part\ngiven. Two of the boys, who have small means, make the trip in the\ncheapest possible manner. Tommy Toby meets the mishaps a thoughtless\nboy might experience. The other travellers have an eye for the\nliterary and poetic scenes and incidents of the tour.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThat the volume may amuse and entertain the young reader, and awaken\nin him a greater love of books of history, biography, and travel, is\nthe hope of the publishers and the author.\n\n 28 Worcester St., Boston, Mass.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n CHAPTER PAGE\n I. THE JOURNEY PROPOSED 3\n\n II. TOM TOBY'S SECRET SOCIETY 12\n\n III. FIRST MEETING OF THE CLUB 22\n\n IV. ON THE ATLANTIC 51\n\n V. THE LAND OF SCOTT AND BURNS 71\n\n VI. STORY TELLING IN EDINBURGH 84\n\n VII. A RAINY EVENING STORY AT CARLISLE 104\n\n VIII. A CLOUDLESS DAY 119\n\n IX. A SERIES OF MEMORABLE VISITS 135\n\n X. A VISIT TO OXFORD AND WOODSTOCK 153\n\n XI. LETTERS AND EXCURSIONS 160\n\n XII. LONDON 173\n\n XIII. BELGIUM 205\n\n XIV. UPPER NORMANDY 226\n\n XV. PARIS 249\n\n XVI. BRITTANY 283\n\n XVII. HOMEWARD 304\n\n\n\n\n THE ZIGZAG SERIES.\n\n BY\n HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH,\n\n OF THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE \"YOUTH'S COMPANION,\" AND\n CONTRIBUTOR TO \"ST. NICHOLAS\" MAGAZINE.\n\n\n NOW PUBLISHED.\n _ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN EUROPE._\n _ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN CLASSIC LANDS._\n _ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN THE ORIENT._\n\n TO BE FOLLOWED BY\n _ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN THE OCCIDENT._\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n PAGE\n \"The Boy-king\" _Frontispiece._\n\n Statue of William the Conqueror at Falaise _Half-title._\n\n It is Vacation 3\n\n Tommy and the Bear 9\n\n Tommy's Adventure 10\n\n Norman Fisher-Girl 13\n\n King Charles's Hiding-place 14\n\n White Horse Hill 15\n\n Street Scene in Normandy 16\n\n Colonnade of the Louvre 17\n\n Harold's Oath 23\n\n Finding the Body of Harold 26\n\n The Death of the Red King 27\n\n St. Stephen's Church at Caen 30\n\n Robert Throwing Himself on his Knees before his\n Prostrate Father 31\n\n William the Conqueror Reviewing his Army 35\n\n Mont St. Michel 37\n\n Amazement of Christopher Sly 46\n\n Norman Peasant Girls 49\n\n Pilot-Boat 53\n\n Two of our Fellow-Travellers 55\n\n A Steerage Passenger 56\n\n Joan of Arc 59\n\n Joan of Arc Recognizing the King 63\n\n Joan of Arc Wounded 67\n\n Signals 70\n\n The Boys Consult the Barometer 72\n\n Birthplace of Robert Burns 73\n\n Edinburgh Castle 77\n\n Holyrood Palace 79\n\n Mary Stuart 80\n\n Murder of Rizzio 81\n\n Francis II. of France 86\n\n Francis II. and Mary Stuart Love-making 89\n\n The Death-bed of Francis II. 93\n\n Mary Stuart Swearing she had never sought the\n Life of Elizabeth 97\n\n The Black Douglas Surprising an Enemy 100\n\n C\u00e6sar's Legions Landing in Britain 104\n\n Romans Invading Britain 105\n\n Massacre of the Druids 106\n\n Druid Sacrifice 107\n\n The Hermit 111\n\n Shamble Oak 121\n\n Greendale Oak 122\n\n Parliament Oak 123\n\n Mortimer's Hole 124\n\n Murder of Thomas \u00c0 Becket 125\n\n Richard's Farewell to the Holy Land 129\n\n Limestone Dwellings 133\n\n Peveril of the Peak 137\n\n The Boy at the Wheel 138\n\n Boscobel 139\n\n The Tomb of Richard Penderell 139\n\n King Charles's Hiding-place 140\n\n Shakspeare 141\n\n Anne Hathaway's Cottage 144\n\n Ruins of Kenilworth Castle 145\n\n Portrait of Elizabeth 149\n\n Alfred and his Mother 153\n\n Canute and his Courtiers 154\n\n Flight of Empress Maud 155\n\n Death of Latimer and Ridley 156\n\n Rosamond's Bower 157\n\n A Studious Monk 157\n\n An Old Time Student 158\n\n House of a Migrating Citizen 162\n\n Fac-simile of the Bayeux Tapestry 163\n\n St. Augustine's Appeal to Ethelbert 169\n\n The Saxon Priest Striking the Images 171\n\n Westminster Abbey 174\n\n Trial of Charles I. 177\n\n Burial of Richard 180\n\n The Tower of London 181\n\n Wolsey Served by Nobles 185\n\n Whitehall 187\n\n Wolsey's Palace 188\n\n Death of Cardinal Wolsey 189\n\n Children of Charles I. 190\n\n Oliver Cromwell 191\n\n Queen Henrietta Maria 193\n\n Street Amusements 195\n\n Street Amusements 196\n\n \"'Ave you got a Penny?\" 197\n\n Victoria at the Age of Eight 200\n\n Anger of King John 203\n\n A Dutch Windmill 206\n\n Dog-Carts 207\n\n Street Scenes in Brussels 208\n\n Hotel de Ville, Brussels 209\n\n Charlemagne in Council 210\n\n Charlemagne at the Head of his Army 211\n\n Hotel de Ville, Ghent 212\n\n Van Artevelde at his Door 213\n\n Charles the Rash Discovered 217\n\n Capture of King John and his Son 227\n\n Tower of Joan of Arc, Rouen 229\n\n The Maid of Orleans 230\n\n \"It is Rather Hard Bread\" 233\n\n Death of St. Louis 235\n\n Interior of St. Ouen 236\n\n Palais de Justice, Rouen 237\n\n Northmen on an Expedition 238\n\n The Barques of the Northmen before Paris 239\n\n Catharine de Medici 241\n\n Coligny 243\n\n Charles IX. and Catharine de Medici 247\n\n The Goddess of Reason carried through the\n Streets of Paris 251\n\n Garden of the Tuileries 255\n\n Fountain in the Champs Elys\u00e9es 257\n\n Place de la Concorde 258\n\n Entrance to the Louvre 259\n\n Fountain, Place de la Concorde 261\n\n Man of the Iron Mask 263\n\n Versailles 267\n\n Little Trianon 268\n\n The Dauphin with the Royal Family in the Assembly 269\n\n Forest of Fontainebleau 273\n\n In the Wood at Fontainebleau 274\n\n \"Je ne comprends pas\" 277\n\n At Prayers 278\n\n Clock Tower at Vire 283\n\n Revoking the Edict of Nantes 291\n\n F\u00e9nelon and the Duke of Burgundy 295\n\n The Cathedral at Nantes 298\n\n Louis XV. 299\n\n Moli\u00e8re 306\n\n The Reading of \"Paul and Virginia\" 307\n\n Racine 309\n\n Racine Reading to Louis XIV. 310\n\n\n\n\nZIGZAG JOURNEYS;\n\nOR,\n\nVACATIONS IN HISTORIC LANDS.\n\n\n[Illustration: {STATUE OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR AT FALAISE.}]\n\n\n[Illustration: IT IS VACATION.]\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE JOURNEY PROPOSED.\n\n\n\"The school--is--dismissed.\"\n\nThe words fell hesitatingly, and it seemed to us regretfully, from the\ntutor's lips.\n\nThe dismission was for the spring vacation. It was at the close of a\nmild March day; there was a peculiar warmth in the blue sky and\ncloudless sunset; the south winds lightly stirred the pines, and\nthrough the open window wandered into the school-room.\n\n\"Dismissed!\"\n\nUsually at this word, on the last day of the term, every boy leaped to\nhis feet: there would be a brief bustle, then Master Lewis would be\nseen seated alone amid the silence of the school-room.\n\nBut to-day there was something in the tone of the master's voice that\nchecked the usual unseemly haste. Every boy remained in his seat, as\nthough waiting for Master Lewis to say something more.\n\nThe master saw it, and choked with feeling. It was a little thing, the\nseeming unwillingness to part; but it indicated to both teacher and\nschool an increasing respect and affection.\n\nMaster Lewis had learned to love his pupils: his hesitating words told\n_them_ that. Every boy in his school loved Master Lewis: their conduct\nin remaining in their seats told _him_ that.\n\nThe master stepped from his desk, as was his custom when about to say\nany thing unusually social and confidential.\n\n\"Boys,\" he said, \"I wish to tell you frankly, and you deserve to know\nit, that I have become so attached to you during the winter term that\nI am sorry to part from you, even for a week's vacation.\"\n\n\"I wish we might pass the vacation together,\" said Frank\nGray,--meaning by \"we\" the teacher and the school.\n\n\"I once read of a French teacher,\" said Ernest Wynn, \"who used to\ntravel with his scholars in the neighboring countries, during\nvacations.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't it be just grand if we could travel with Master Lewis during\nour summer vacation!\" said Tom Toby, who, although the dullest scholar\nin the school, always became unexpectedly bright over any plan that\npromised an easy time.\n\n\"We might visit some country in Europe,\" said Ernest. \"We should then\nbe learning geography and history, and so our education would go on.\"\n\n\"It would help us also in the study of modern languages,\" said Frank\nGray.\n\nTom Toby's sudden brightness of face seemed to be eclipsed by these\nlast remarks.\n\n\"I think we had better travel in places nearer home, then.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Frank.\n\n\"I was seasick once: it was _orful_.\"\n\n\"The sickness is a short and healthy one,\" said Frank.\n\n\"You will find it a healthy one, if you ever are rolling on the\nAtlantic, with\n\n 'Twice a thousand miles behind you, and a thousand miles before.'\n\nI wouldn't be sick in that way again for any thing. I tell you 'twas\n_orful_!\"\n\nMaster Lewis laughed at Tom's pointed objection.\n\n\"As to learning the languages,\" continued Tom, \"I've noticed all the\nFrenchmen and Germans I have tried to talk with speak their own\nlanguage very poorly.\"\n\nTom's percentages in the modern languages were the lowest of his\nclass, and Master Lewis could not restrain a smile.\n\n\"I once tried to make a Frenchman understand that I thought Napoleon\nBonaparte was the greatest man that ever lived. He kept saying, _Cela\nva sans dire, cela va sans dire!_ [That is a matter of course.] I\nnever knew what he meant, to say: all I could make of it was, _That\ngoes without saying any thing_.\"\n\n\"The French teacher of whom I spoke,\" said Ernest Wynn, \"used to allow\nhis pupils to travel much on foot, and to visit such places as their\nlove of history, geography, and natural science, made them most wish\nto see. So they journeyed in a zigzag way, and published a book called\n'_Voyages en zigzag_.'\"\n\n\"I would not object to learning history, geography, and natural\nscience in that way,\" said Tom Toby. \"I should rather walk after\nhistory than study it the way I do now. I should prefer _riding_ after\nit to walking, however. I wouldn't be cheated out of having a real\ngood time during my summer vacation for any thing.\"\n\nA shadow fell on Master Lewis's face, as though his feelings were hurt\nby something implied in Tom's remarks. Tom saw it.\n\n\"But--but I should have a real good time if I were with you, Master\nLewis, even if it were on the Atlantic, or studying French in France.\"\n\n\"I have often thought I would like to travel with my boys abroad. I\ncould take my first class, if I could secure their parents' consent,\nthe coming summer.\"\n\n\"Good!\"\n\nEvery boy joined in the exclamation. Tom's voice, however, was a\nlittle behind the others,--\"-o-d.\"\n\n\"Let me suggest to the class,\" said Master Lewis, \"that each member\nspeak to his parents about this matter during the present vacation;\nand let each boy who can go send me in a letter during the week a map\nof the country and the places he would most like to visit. He can draw\nit in ink or pencil, and he need only put down upon it the places he\nwould most like to see.\"\n\n\"Good!\"\n\nThe exclamation was unanimous.\n\nThe boys left their seats.\n\nTom Toby's face had become very animated again. Presently the boys of\nthe class were all gathered about him.\n\n\"I have a plan,\" said Tom. \"It is just grand. Let us form a secret\nsociety, and call ourselves the Zigzagers!\"\n\n\"Good!\" unanimously.\n\n\"But why a secret society?\" asked Frank Gray.\n\n\"There is something so mysterious about a secret society,\" said Tom.\n\"Gives one such a good opinion of himself. Have a constitution, and\nby-laws, and wear a pin!\"\n\nThe first class in Master Lewis's school parted in high spirits, their\nfaces bright with smiles as they went out into the light of the March\nsunset.\n\nTom's last words on parting were: \"Try to think up a secret for the\nsociety: it should be something surprising.\"\n\nThe first class in Master Lewis's school numbered six boys:--\n\n Frank Gray,\n Ernest Wynn,\n Wyllys Wynn,\n Thomas Toby,\n George Howe, and\n Leander Towle.\n\nFrank Gray was the oldest boy and finest scholar in the school. He\nwas about fifteen years of age; was tall and manly, and was more\nintimate with Master Lewis than with any of his schoolmates. Thomas\nToby, who disliked Frank's precise manners and rather unsocial ways,\nused to call him \"Lord _I_.\" Frank, however, was not intentionally\nreserved: he was merely studious in his leisure, and best liked the\nsociety of those from whom he could learn the most.\n\nErnest and Wyllys Wynn were brothers. Ernest had made himself popular\nat school by his generous, affectionate disposition, and his ready\nsympathy for any one in distress. He lived, as it were, a life outside\nof himself; and his interest in the best good of others made for\nhimself unconsciously a pure and lovable character. He was fond of\nmusic, and an agreeable singer: he liked the old English and Scottish\nballads, and so sung the songs of true feeling that every one is eager\nto hear.\n\nHe often went to an almshouse near Master Lewis's to sing to the old\npeople there. The paupers all loved him, and clustered eagerly around\nhim when he appeared. His songs recalled their childhood scenes in\nother lands. On fine summer evenings he might often be seen on the\nlawn before the charitable institution, with a crowd of poor people\naround him, whom he delighted with \"Robin Ruff and Gaffer Green,\" \"The\nMistletoe Bough,\" \"Highland Mary,\" \"The Vale of Avoca,\" \"Robin Adair,\"\nor something aptly selected to awaken tender feelings and\nassociations.\n\nNearly all the children of the town seemed to know him, and regard him\nas a friend, and used often to run out to meet him when he appeared in\nthe street. Master Lewis, in speaking of Ernest, once quoted Madame de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9's remark, \"The true mark of a good heart is its capacity for\nloving.\" It was meant to be a picture, and it was a true one.\n\nWyllys Wynn was much like his brother, and a very close friendship\nexisted between them. He was fond of history and poetry; he wrote\nfinely, and usually took the first prize for composition.\n\nTom Toby was quite a different character. He was just a _boy_, in the\ncommon sense of the word. In whatever he attempted to do, he was sure\nto blunder, and was as sure to turn the blunder to some comical\naccount. He had a way of making fun of himself, and of inciting others\nto laugh at his own expense, which Master Lewis was disposed to\ncensure as wanting in proper self-respect.\n\nTom had no particular friend. He seemed to like all boys alike, except\nthose whom he thought insincere and affected, and such were the butt\nof his sharp wit and ready ridicule.\n\nTom was famous among the boys for telling stories, and these often\nrelated to his own mishaps. A knot of boys was often seen gathered\naround him to listen to his random talk, his wit, and his day dreams.\nThough a poor scholar, he was an apt talker, and almost any subject\nwould furnish him a text.\n\nHis father was a Maine lumber-dealer, and he had spent much time with\nhis father in the logging camps and backwoods towns of the Pine Tree\nState. His adventures in these regions, told in his droll way, often\nexcited the wonder of his companions.\n\n\"Did you ever see a bear in the backwoods?\" one of the boys asked him\none day.\n\n\"I never saw a live one but once.\"\n\n\"What did you do?\"\n\n\"Do? I received a polite bow from him, and then I remembered that I\nwas wanted at home, and went home immediately.\n\n\"It was this way.\"--All of the boys of the class now gathered around\nTommy, as was the custom when he seemed about to tell one of his odd\nstories.\n\n\"I attempted one day to rob a pigeon-woodpecker's nest which I had\nfound in one of the old logging roads that had not been used for\nseveral years. The nest was in a big hollow tree. The top of the tree\nhad blown off, leaving a trunk some twelve or fifteen feet high.\n\n[Illustration: {TOMMY AND THE BEAR.}]\n\n\"These woodpeckers make a hole for their nest so large that you can\nrun the whole length of your arm into it. I had long wanted a few eggs\nfrom one of these birds' nests. I had heard the lumber-men tell how\nwhite and handsome the eggs are.\n\n\"I was climbing up the tree very fast, my heart beating like a\ntrip-hammer, when I heard a scratching sound inside the big trunk, and\nthen a shaking at the top. I thought it very mysterious. I stopped,\nand looked up. I saw something black, like a fur cap. I opened my eyes\nand mouth so as to take a big look, and just then _out popped a bear's\nhead_ from the top of the trunk, and looked over very inquiringly. I\njust looked once. He seemed to recognize me. He bowed. Then I\nremembered that father had said I must come home early. I dropped to\nthe ground, and I never picked up my feet so lively before in my life.\nI _flew_. When I got safely out of the woods, I thought of the\nwoodpecker. I never felt so glad for any bird in my life. What a\nnarrow escape that bird had! _I had been there myself_, and knew. I\nwouldn't have robbed her nest for any thing after that.\n\n \"'No, not I.'\"\n\n[Illustration: {TOMMY'S ADVENTURE.}]\n\nWhen Tommy first came to the boarding-school, he greatly amused his\ncompanions one day by attempting to ride on the hose of a\nstreet-sprinkler's cart, when it was not in action. He had never seen\nsuch a carriage, and thought it offered a wonderfully convenient\narrangement for riding behind. Presently the driver raised the lever,\nand the amazed lad found himself caught in the shower, and tumbled\ninto the dirt.\n\n\"Why didn't you tell me the thing was bewitched?\" said he, as the boys\ngathered around him.\n\nBut his indignation immediately subsided, and rubbing off the water\nand dirt, and discovering the use of the cart, he was soon found\nlaughing as heartily as the others, and quite outdid them in relating\nto Master Lewis the odd adventure.\n\nGeorge Howe and Leander Towle were cousins and very intimate friends.\nThey were unlike Frank Gray and the Wynns. They cared little for\npoetry, art, or music. They stood well in their classes in mathematics\nand the exact sciences, were fond of boating and out-of-door sports,\nand both were warm friends of Tom Toby.\n\nThe pleasant relations that existed between the teacher and the school\nalso prevailed to a great degree among the lads themselves. Frank Gray\nand Tommy Toby, being quite unlike, sometimes had a tilt in words;\nbut, as Frank was a gentleman by nature and training, and as Tommy had\ntender feelings, their differences were easily harmonized. The mild\nmanners and good sense of Master Lewis seemed to impress themselves\nstrongly on the characters of his pupils. Tommy Toby, who was often\nthoughtless in his conduct, was almost the only exception to the rule.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTOM TOBY'S SECRET SOCIETY.\n\n Plans for the Journey.--The Boys' Letters to Master Lewis.--Tom\n Toby's Plans.--The New Society.--Master Lewis arranges a Cheap\n Tour for George and Leander.--What may be seen for $100.\n\n\nFrom Frank Gray, Master Lewis received the following letter early in\nvacation-week:--\n\n Cambridge, Mass., March 20.\n\n My Dear Friend and Teacher:\n\n My good father has consented for me to go.\n\n He thinks that the tour, to be a really profitable one,\n should be short, and that it would be better to attempt\n to visit only a portion of a single country.\n\n I have decided what country I would most like to visit.\n It is \"fair Normandy,\" the scene of the most romantic\n events of both English and French history.\n\n I would go from Boston to London; from London to Dieppe;\n and then I would make partly on foot a zigzag journey to\n the places indicated on the enclosed map of Normandy,\n and such others, including Paris, as you may suggest.\n\n The old towns on the coast of Normandy are especially\n beautiful in summer, with their cool harbors, fine\n landscapes, and historic ruins. I am told that they are\n favorite places of resort of both the English and French\n people, and that they give one delightful insights of\n the best social life.\n\n In this journey, we would have views of London and\n Paris, and would be able to study that part of France\n whose history is associated with old English wars, and\n that is most famous in romance and song.\n\n I make the suggestion at your own request. You are the\n better judge in the whole matter, and it will give my\n father pleasure to adopt any plan for me you may think\n advisable.\n\n I thank you again for the invitation, and father wishes\n me to express to you his sense of your kindness.\n\n I wish you a most pleasant vacation, and am\n\n Affectionately yours,\n\n Frank Gray.\n\n\"Fan me with a feather!\" Tom Toby used sometimes to say after reading\none of Frank's letters; and we are not sure but this careful note\nwould have tempted a light remark, had he ever seen it.\n\n[Illustration: NORMAN FISHER-GIRL.]\n\nSoon after Frank's note, came a note from the Wynns:--\n\n Concord, Mass., March 22.\n\n Dear Teacher:\n\n Father thinks so favorably of your kind invitation that\n we venture to express our preference for a route of\n travel.\n\n It is a very simple one. We would go from Boston to\n Liverpool, and walk from Liverpool to London, _en\n zigzag_.\n\n This would take us through the heart of England, and\n enable us to visit such historic places as Boscobel,\n where Charles II. was concealed after the battle of\n Worcester, old Nottingham, Kenilworth, Oxford, and\n Godstowe Nunnery, Stratford-on-Avon, White Horse Hill,\n and a great number of old English villages and ruins.\n\n Or we would go to Glasgow, thence to Edinburgh, and then\n make short journeys towards London, visiting Abbotsford,\n Melrose, and the ruins on the Border.\n\n We are reading Walter Scott's \"Kenilworth.\" The book,\n as you may have guessed, has caused us to set our\n affections strongly on the middle of England as the\n scene of our proposed tour.\n\n With kind remembrances of all your kindness to us.\n\n Ernest Wynn.\n Wyllys Wynn.\n\n[Illustration: KING CHARLES'S HIDING-PLACE.]\n\nLater came a characteristic note from two of the other boys.\n\n Dear Teacher,--Our parents are desirous for us to go,\n but can hardly afford the expense. We have permission to\n accept your invitation, if we will travel so cheaply\n that the cost to each will not be more than $100. Can\n this be done? We are willing to go and return in the\n steerage, travel third-class, and take shilling\n lodgings, and eat plain food. We would prefer a tour\n through the great manufacturing towns of Scotland and\n England.\n\n Respectfully,\n\n George Howe.\n Leander Towle.\n\nOn Saturday of vacation-week, Master Lewis opened a much-blotted\nenvelope, and read the following rather surprising communication:--\n\n Master Lewis,--Father's answer to me is, \"You may go\n anywhere that promises any improvement.\"\n\n I have been thinking of it. One should see their own\n country first. This journey would about suit me: they\n are very interesting places,--Newport, Old Orchard\n Beach, White Mountains, Franconia Mountains,\n Adirondacks, Saratoga, Niagara.\n\n Mother has been crying. She is afraid, if I go to\n Europe, I will never come back again.\n\n Father thinks that there is no danger of that.\n\n If I must go across the sea, I would prefer to\n go--anywhere _you_ like, only take the shortest route\n and fastest steamer over the water.\n\n Were you ever sick on the ocean?\n\n I am going to organize a society of travellers in the\n school,--a secret society that will pledge each other\n never-ending friendship and assistance.\n\n I may need assistance myself in my life. Father thinks I\n shall.\n\n I am trying to think of a secret for the society. I can\n think of hardly any thing that the rest of the world do\n not know.\n\n Hope you are well.\n\n Tommy.\n\n[Illustration: WHITE HORSE HILL.]\n\nThe spring and summer term--the session lasted through April, May,\nand June--opened under unusually promising circumstances. The prospect\nof the journey of the first class seemed to stimulate the whole\nschool: in fact, little else was talked of out of school-hours.\n\nMaster Lewis's customary address at the close of the first day of the\nterm was waited with impatient interest. When the time came for it,\nthere was almost a painful silence in the school-room.\n\n[Illustration: STREET SCENE IN NORMANDY.]\n\n\"I shall speak first,\" said Master Lewis, \"on the subject about which\nyour conduct tells me you are most eager to hear. I have decided to\nmake the journey abroad with the first class _this_ year\"--\n\nThere was suppressed applause by the class.\n\n\"_Next_ year I hope to visit Switzerland and Italy, with all the\nmembers of the school who can go, if this proposed journey should\nprove a success. I say this, so that the second and third classes may\nfeel that they, too, have an interest in this general plan.\"\n\nThere was a burst of applause by the whole school.\n\n[Illustration: COLONNADE OF THE LOUVRE.]\n\n\"I thank the boys of the first class for their letters and suggestions\nabout the route to be decided upon. I think I have a plan that will be\nacceptable to you all. We will go first to Glasgow, will journey _en\nzigzag_ to London; will there take the steamer for Antwerp, and will\nmake a zigzag tour from Ghent to St. Malo, taking a glance at Belgium,\na view of the whole of Normandy and the picturesque part of Brittany,\nincluding a visit to Paris and a view of its beautiful palaces and\nparks.\n\n\"As a preparation for this tour, I shall require the class to give\nspecial attention to the French language and to English and French\nhistory during the term.\"\n\nEvery thing that Master Lewis said or did was popular with the boys,\nbut no decision ever received more emphatic applause.\n\nTom Toby was busy at once, forming his secret society. He called a\nmeeting of the boys on the evening of the very first schoolday, in his\nroom. The Wynns entered willingly into his plan, and George Howe and\nLeander Towle warmly supported it. Frank Gray, however, treated the\nmatter rather indifferently, a circumstance that Tommy quickly\nobserved.\n\n\"The first question to be decided,\" said Tommy, when the boys had met\nin his room, \"is, Shall we organize a secret society?\"\n\nThe Wynns asked Frank Gray his opinion.\n\n\"I should prefer to hold my opinion in reserve, until I understand\nwhat the object of the society is to be.\"\n\n\"It is to have a grip just like _that_,\" said Tommy, seizing Frank by\nthe hand, \"one that takes the conceit all out of you, and makes you\nremember who are your friends for ever.\"\n\n\"Then I do not think I shall care to join,\" said Frank, rubbing his\ncrushed hand on his knee. \"I shall probably remember you as long as I\nshall care to, without making any such arrangement.\"\n\n\"I think a school society is a good thing,\" said Ernest Wynn, mildly.\n\"It promotes lasting friendships\"--\n\n\"Good for you!\" said Tommy. \"That's just what I wanted to say. 'It\npromotes lasting friendship,' and, like a salve, it takes the\nconceit\"--\n\n\"It stimulates one to do his best, and\"--\n\n\"That's it exactly,\" said Tommy. \"I hope you all hear.\"\n\n\"Let's quit joking,\" said George Howe, in a matter-of-fact way. \"A\nsociety for the purpose of reading and studying about the places we\nare to visit and for correspondence with each other, when a part of us\nare abroad, would be an excellent thing. I hope we may have such a\nsociety, and shall make our very best boy President of it.\"\n\n\"Who may that be?\" said Frank.\n\n\"I,\" said Tommy, teasingly. \"I thought you knew.\"\n\n\"I believe it is decided to call the society the Zigzag Travellers,\"\nsaid George.\n\n\"A promising name,\" said Frank, who was decidedly out of humor. \"I\nwould suggest the Zigzag Club.\"\n\n\"I would nominate for President Wyllys Wynn.\"\n\n\"I agree to the nomination,\" said Frank.\n\n\"And so do I,\" said Tommy Toby: \"at last, Frank and I are agreed.\"\n\n\"Who will prepare the rules for the society?\" asked Frank.\n\n\"George Howe,\" said Ernest.\n\nTo this all the boys agreed.\n\n\"Who shall decide upon a secret?\" asked Wyllys.\n\n\"I would nominate Tommy Toby,\" said Frank.\n\nTom was unanimously elected.\n\nThe next evening a second meeting of the society was held, to which\nall the boys in the school were invited. It was decided to call the\nsociety \"The Zigzag Club.\" Charles Wyman, one of the second-class\nboys, was appointed its Secretary, and general rules were adopted for\nthe conduct of its meetings. All of the boys, sixteen in number,\nbecame members.\n\nIt was decided that the first formal meeting of the club for literary\nexercises should be held in a fortnight, and that on that occasion\neach boy of the first class should relate some historic story\nassociated with one of the places he expected to visit, and it was\nsuggested that the stories of the first meeting be confined to\n_Normandy_. Wyllys Wynn was asked to sing some French or Norman song\non the occasion, and the Secretary was instructed to invite Master\nLewis to be present, and to deliver an address.\n\nTommy Toby had been very reserved since the first meeting of the club.\nHe had been quite ignored, and his feelings were hurt.\n\n\"Are you sure you treated Tommy quite right at the first meeting?\"\nasked Ernest Wynn of Frank Gray, quietly, as he observed Tom's injured\nlook at the second meeting of the club.\n\n\"I fear I was not quite gentlemanly,\" said Frank. \"But I had no wish\nto join a society gotten up merely for fun.\"\n\n\"Tommy's suggestion was the beginning of the club,\" said Ernest.\n\"Let's give him a vote of thanks.\"\n\n\"I will offer the resolution,\" said Frank.\n\n\"Let us close this meeting,\" said Frank, \"by recognizing the debt we\nowe to one of our members. Thomas Toby is the real founder of this\nclub. I did not feel much interested in it at first. I do now. Let us\ngive Thomas a vote of thanks.\"\n\nEvery boy applauded the motion, which was passed enthusiastically.\n\nTommy's face brightened, and his eyes filled with tears.\n\n\"O Frank,\" he said, \"how could you? Ernest Wynn was at the bottom of\nthis, wasn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Frank.\n\n\"Well, Ernest _is_ a better fellow than I.\"\n\n\"Or I.\"\n\n\"We both are all right now!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Have you decided upon a secret?\" continued Frank.\n\n\"I have thought much about it,\" answered Tom.\n\n\"And what is the result?\"\n\nTommy turned to the blackboard, and wrote,--\n\n\"ALL O!\"\n\nThe boys looked at the characters mysteriously.\n\n\"Is that the secret?\" asked Frank.\n\n\"Yes, and I myself am going to keep it for the club.\"\n\nMaster Lewis had a private talk with George Howe and Leander Towle\nimmediately on their return.\n\n\"I wish you to go,\" he said; \"and I think a most profitable tour can\nbe made in the way you propose for $100. You can at least visit\nGlasgow, Edinburgh, Birmingham, London, and Paris, and spend three\ndays each in the three great capital cities. The information you would\nthus gain would be of great value to you. I thus estimate the probable\nexpense to each:--\n\n Steerage passage to go and return $50.00\n Glasgow to Edinburgh, 2_s._ 6_d._, or 60\n Edinburgh to London, and London to Paris by way\n of Dieppe, about \u00a33, or 14.40\n Shilling lodgings and meals for fourteen days 14.00\n Miscellaneous expenses 11.00\n ______\n $90.00\n\n\"I will do my best to make your expenses as light as possible. I am\ntold that one can live comfortably on four shillings a day in Scotland\nand England, and for five francs a day in Paris. You will not be able\nto enjoy our walks in historic places outside of the great cities, and\nyou will probably be obliged to return before the rest of the party;\nbut the very restraint you will have to use will be a good experience\nfor you. As Franklin once said, 'A good kick out of doors is worth all\nthe rich uncles in the world.' It is good for one to bear the yoke in\nhis youth. You see what I mean,--self-reliance, independence! I am not\naltogether sorry that you will be compelled to make the journey in\nthis way.\"\n\nThe boys thanked their teacher.\n\nWhen they had left him, George Howe said decidedly,--\n\n\"I never respected any teacher as much as I do Master Lewis. How nobly\nhe has treated us!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nFIRST MEETING OF THE CLUB.\n\n Normandy.--Story of the New Forest and the Red King.--Story of\n Robert of Normandy.--Story of the White Ship.--Story of the\n Frolicsome Duke and the Tinker's Good Fortune.--Master Lewis\n commends the Club.--The Secret.\n\n\nWhen the boys were allowed to go to Boston,--once a week,--they had\naccess to the fine Public Library of which that city is justly so\nproud. It was observed that the whole character of their reading\nchanged from merely entertaining to the most instructive books, after\nthe forming of the Club. Such picturesque historical works as Guizot's\n\"France\" and \"England,\" Palgrave's \"Norman Conquest,\" Froude's\n\"England,\" Agnes Strickland's \"Lives of the Queens,\" became especial\nfavorites. Even Tommy Toby read through Dickens's Child's History of\nEngland, several of Abbott's short histories of the kings and queens,\nand a book of marvellous old English ballads.\n\n[Illustration: HAROLD'S OATH.]\n\nThe Club met as appointed. Each of the six boys had made his best\npreparation for the exercises of the evening. All the boys were\npresent; and Master Lewis and his little daughter Florence sat beside\nyoung President Wynn, on the platform.\n\nWyllys Wynn was the first speaker.\n\n\"Although President of the Club,\" he said, \"I am expected to take part\nin these exercises, and have been asked to present my story first.\nNormandy is our subject to-night, and there is no name that is so\nfamously associated with the old Norman cities we expect to\nvisit--Caen, Falaise, Rouen, F\u00e9camp, St. Valery--as that of William\nthe Conqueror. I will tell you the story of his life, and call it\n\n\nTHE NEW FOREST.\n\n\"About eight hundred years ago, William, Duke of Normandy, aspired to\nbecome King of England, and to wear the crown whose rightful claimant\nwas Edgar Atheling. He made Harold, another heir to the English crown,\nsupport his claim, and take an oath to be true to him. To make Harold\nfeel how solemn was an oath, he obliged him to swear it over a chest\nfull of dead men's bones.\n\n\"But Harold disregarded the oath that he had taken over the chest of\nbones in Normandy; and, when old Edward, who was called The Confessor,\ndied, he seized the crown and royal treasure for himself, being\ncounselled to do so by an assembly of nobles called the Witenagemote.\n\n\"Duke William was an ambitious and a fiery-minded man. He gathered an\narmy of sixty thousand men, and a fleet of a thousand vessels and\ntransports; and one September day he sailed from St. Valery with his\narmy and fleet, the trumpets sounding and a thousand banners rising to\nthe wind. His own ship had many-colored sails: from its mast floated\nthe banner of the three Norman Lions; and a golden boy, pointing to\nEngland, glittered on the prow.\n\n\"This fleet came into the harbor of Pevensey. He led his army to\nHastings; and there, on a bright afternoon in October, he met the army\nof Harold.\n\n\"Duke William reviewed his army, and caused his men to pray for\nvictory ere they laid down beneath the moon and stars to rest. In the\nmorning, they sung an ode, called the War Song of Roland: then a\nbattle was fought, and the three Norman Lions at night waved\ntriumphantly over the field.\n\n\"Harold was slain, and the monks wandered over the battle-ground to\nfind his body. It was discovered at last, a despoiled and discrowned\nfigure, by Edith Swansneck, a beautiful girl who loved Harold and whom\nthe dead king had loved.\n\n\"Then William returned to Normandy. F\u00e9camp blazed in his honor, and\nall the cities received him with loud acclaim.\n\n[Illustration: FINDING THE BODY OF HAROLD.]\n\n\"A hard king was Duke William. With his great army of Normans, he\nmarched over England, suppressing all who opposed him. The rivers were\ntinged with blood, the beautiful English towns were reduced to\nash-heaps, the land was blackened with fire: he is said to have killed\nor maimed a hundred thousand people.\n\n[Illustration: THE DEATH OF THE RED KING.]\n\n\"Having conquered England, he sought enjoyment, and turned his\nattention to field-sports and to hunting. He had sixty-eight royal\nforests, full of stags and deer; but he permitted no one but himself\nand the people of his court to hunt in them.\n\n\"At Winchester, he thought it would be a fine thing to have a great\nhunting-park near his residence. There was a tract of country in the\ncounty of Hampshire, very picturesque and beautiful, that he\ndetermined to use for this purpose. But there were churches scattered\namong the hills; and thousands of peasants dwelt here, who had rude\nbut happy homes.\n\n\"William cared little for the churches and less for the homes of the\npeasants; so he sent soldiers to burn the former, and to drive the\npeople away from the latter.\n\n\"Nothing was done by the ruthless king to supply the wants of the\npeople, or to relieve their misery. They left their native hills with\nwailing and weeping and wringing of hands, uttering imprecations on\nthe head of the Conqueror and upon his race.\n\n\"The stags multiplied, and the deer increased; and delightful to the\nNorman was the New Forest, on the golden autumn days.\n\n\"One day, one of the king's sons, a fair-haired youth, named Richard,\nwent to hunt in this New Forest.\n\n\"He encountered a stag. The animal, maddened by the attack, rushed\nupon the prince, and killed him.\n\n\"As the dead body was borne from the forest, broken and stained with\nblood, the people said that this was a beginning of the reckoning God\nwould make with William, and that the New Forest would prove an\nunquiet place to the Conqueror and to those of his blood.\n\n\"Foolish and superstitious stories began to be circulated. The people\nsaid that the New Forest was haunted; that spirits were seen, by\nmoonlight, gliding among the dusky trees; that demons revelled there\nwhen the tempest arose, and the lightnings flashed, and the rain\ndashed on the great oaks. The old foresters did not wish to return to\nit now. They talked of it in low whispers, as of a place accursed.\n\n\"At last William died. It was a bitter death. The Conqueror trembled\nbefore that CONQUEROR to whom the princes of the earth must yield.\n\n\"It is said that, when he had reached the height of his fame, he\ndeclared that he would surrender his crowns and kingdom to know again\n'peace of mind, the love of a true friend, or the innocent sleep of a\nchild.'\n\n\"When his last hour drew near, the nobles fled from his bedside. His\nservants pillaged the apartment where he died, and rolled the dead\nbody from the bed, and left it lying on the floor. A good knight took\nit up, and carried it to St. Stephen's Church, at Caen.\n\n[Illustration: ST. STEPHEN'S CHURCH AT CAEN.]\n\n[Illustration: ROBERT THROWING HIMSELF ON HIS KNEES BEFORE HIS\n PROSTRATE FATHER.]\n\n\"He left three sons, William Rufus, Robert, and Henry. To the first\nhe bequeathed England, to the second Normandy, and to the last \u00a35,000.\n\n\"William Rufus now became king of England. He was called the Red King,\nbecause he had a red face and red hair; and a red king he proved to\nbe, in another sense.\n\n\"The Red King, like his father, quarrelled with everybody, and, like\nhim, sought and found enjoyment by hunting in the New Forest.\n\n\"One pleasant day in May, when the leaves were tender, and the ferny\nhills were sunny and sprinkled with flowers, another Richard, the son\nof Robert of Normandy, went to hunt in the New Forest. After a merry\ntime, he was accidentally shot by an arrow. Again a mournful retinue\ncame out of the forest, bearing the body of a prince, stained with\nblood.\n\n\"August came, with its young deer and newly fledged birds. The Red\nKing, with his brother Henry and a great court-party, went to the New\nForest, to spend some days in hunting and feasting. The first day sped\nmerrily, and was followed by a banquet. It was held at a place called\nMalwood-Keep, a famous lodge for royal hunting-parties.\n\n\"The next night, a man with a coal-cart was riding in the New Forest,\nwhen he discovered a body lying by the way, pierced by an arrow in the\nbreast. He laid it in his dirty cart, and jogged on. It was the Red\nKing.\n\n\"Many stories are told of the manner in which the king was killed.\nSome say that he was accidentally shot by Sir Walter Tyrrel, a famous\nhunter in those days.\n\n\"It is said that the king and Sir Walter came upon a stag. The king\ndrew his bow, and the string broke.\n\n\"'Shoot, Walter!' said the king.\n\n\"The arrow flew, struck a tree, glanced, and buried itself in the\nking's breast. He died where the poor peasants had foretold he would\ndie, in the New Forest.\n\n\"We hope to visit Caen, and its cathedral, an edifice that was\nfounded by the Conqueror, and that has grown for nearly a thousand\nyears. The Conqueror's tomb is before the altar, but his bones were\nscattered by the Huguenots in 1562.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWyllys Wynn's story was applauded; and Master Lewis, amid the\napplause, said audibly,--\n\n\"Excellent!\"\n\nFrank Gray followed:--\n\n\"Our President has told you the history of William the Conqueror and\nof one of his sons, in his story of the New Forest. I will try to tell\nyou\n\n\nTHE STORY OF ROBERT OF NORMANDY.\n\n\"Robert of Normandy was the second son of the Conqueror, and succeeded\nhis father in the dukedom. He was unlike the rest of the Conqueror's\nsons,--an easy, generous, pleasure-loving fellow; honest in heart, and\nbelieving with wonderful simplicity that the world was all sunshine,\nand that all the people in it were much like himself.\n\n\"I am sorry to say, however, that he once rebelled against his father,\nwhom he asked to give him the old Norman kingdom. 'I am not apt to\nundress before I go to bed,' said the Conqueror.\n\n\"He began to rule independently, and William besieged him in the old\nfortress of Gerberoi.\n\n\"In the midst of the battle, Robert unseated a tall knight, and was\nabout to despatch him, when he found him to be his father.\n\n\"He was greatly touched at the discovery, and kneeling down said, 'I\npray you forgive me.' He then raised his father, and they were\nreconciled.\n\n[Illustration: WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR REVIEWING HIS ARMY.]\n\n\"There is a castle in Normandy, which we hope to visit,--a mountain of\ntowers rising out of the sea. Pagan priests possessed it, holy hermits\nsucceeded them, and the Norman Dukes regarded it as their\nstronghold. I have brought with me a picture of it, that you may\nsee. It is a fortress built upon a rock; and, when the great tide\nsweeps in, it stands in the sea, lofty and doubly guarded.\n\n[Illustration: {MONT ST. MICHEL.}]\n\n\"The Red King and Robert once were engaged in a war with their brother\nHenry, who shut himself up in this fortress. At last, the water in the\nfortress failed. The Red King was happy, but Robert began to pity his\nfamishing brother. So he sent him some bottles of wine.\n\n\"'A fine way to wage war,' said the Red King.\n\n\"'What,' said Robert, 'shall we let our brother die of thirst? Where\nshall we get another, when he is gone?'\n\n\"We will see how Henry returned this love and brotherly kindness.\n\n\"It was considered very pious, in those rude times, for a person to\nmake a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, in order to visit the Holy Sepulchre.\nThe Turks, who held the Holy City, abused the Christian pilgrims. An\neloquent and a fiery-minded monk, called Peter the Hermit, believing\nit to be the duty of the Christian princes to wrest the Holy Sepulchre\nfrom the power of the Turks, began to urge his opinions throughout\nEurope. An intense excitement was created.\n\n\"Among his most fervent disciples was Robert of Normandy. In his\nenthusiasm, the thoughtless, generous-hearted fellow sold his\ndominions for a certain period to the Red King, and with the money\nequipped a splendid retinue of knights and soldiers for service in the\nHoly Land.\n\n\"He went to Jerusalem at the head of this glittering train, and, in\nunion with other Christian princes and nobles, besieged the Holy City,\nsubdued its defenders, and obtained possession of the Saviour's tomb.\n\n\"Robert was one of the most conspicuous leaders in the first crusade;\nand, of all the princes who aided in the recovery of the Holy\nSepulchre, he sacrificed the most.\n\n\"When he returned from the East, he stopped in Italy. He was fond of\nminstrelsy, and of works of art; and he feasted his eyes on the fading\ngrandeur of the old Italian cities. As he was the rightful claimant to\nthe throne of England, after the death of the Red King, and as his\nexploits in the Holy Land had added to his fame, the Italians greatly\nadmired him.\n\n\"While stopping in Italy among the minstrels, the pictures, and the\nloveliness of that dreamy and enchanted land, he fell in love with a\nlady of marvellous beauty.\n\n\"Her name was Sibylla. He married her, and in a little time returned\nto Normandy, to find that his younger brother, Henry, had assumed the\nthrone of England, and was governing with a high hand.\n\n\"It seems that the Red King had died while Robert was tarrying in\nItaly, enamoured of Sibylla; and Henry, without waiting to see him\nburied, had seized the royal treasure and the diadem, telling the\nnobles that Robert had become King of Jerusalem.\n\n\"Having established his government, he was prepared to give Robert a\nhot reception, if he should make any trouble about the matter on his\nreturn.\n\n\"Robert, of course, asserted his claim to the throne. Some of the\nnobles sustained Henry in his usurpation, others were for Robert.\n\n\"Henry, however, by dint of much fawning and lying, persuaded Robert\nto relinquish his claim to England, and to be content with the little\nduchy of Normandy, and with a pension, which he promised to pay.\n\n\"So the good-natured Robert governed in Normandy, and a good-natured\ngovernment he had. He was so weak and good-natured that he used to\nallow his servants to steal his clothes, while he was lying in bed in\nthe morning.\n\n\"Henry, like the Red King before him, thought that Robert's government\nwas rather loose, and that it would be a very benevolent thing to\nrelieve the Normans of his misrule. For this reason, he went over to\nNormandy with an army, took possession of the country, and established\nhis own hard rule, thus stealing from his brother the fair-skied duchy\nthat the Conqueror had given him. Having accomplished this, he settled\nit that Robert was a very troublesome fellow, and that the proper\nplace for him was a prison; and he accordingly put him in one.\n\n\"He was not satisfied even then.\n\n\"One day there appeared in the apartments of the castle where Robert\nwas confined some stone-hearted men, by order from the king. They\nheated a piece of metal red-hot, and then deliberately burned out poor\nRobert's eyes.\n\n\"Beautiful, loving eyes they were; and what sights they had seen,--the\nminarets of the East glimmering in the hot sun and shady moon, the\ncool palm-groves along the Jordan, the splendid streets of Antioch,\nthe City of the Great King, the Holy Sepulchre with its golden lamps,\nItaly with its deep skies and empurpled hills! Twenty-eight years was\npoor Robert imprisoned, and then he died.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nFrank's contribution was well received.\n\n\"I would like to add something to the touching narrative we have just\nheard,\" said Master Lewis. \"I would like to tell you about the great\nsorrow that came to King Henry, after he had so wronged his brother.\nAllow me to relate to you\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE WHITE SHIP.\n\n\"Henry had a son--Prince Henry--whom he intensely loved. The prince\nwas wild and dissipated, and as much a despot at heart as his father.\nHe once boasted that, when he became king, he would yoke the English\nto the plough, like oxen.\n\n\"The king's plottings, and much of his cruel treatment of his brother\nRobert, sprang from his strong desire that this son might succeed him\non the throne.\n\n\"Did Prince Henry succeed his father as king?\n\n\"The people of Normandy and other French territories under the Norman\ncrown rebelled against Henry. The king, by the aid of the Pope,\npacified the discontented people by fair promises, and a peace was\nmade, upon which the king and the prince and a great retinue of nobles\nwent to Normandy, to arrange some very important matters of state.\n\n\"During this state visit, the Norman nobles were induced to recognize,\nwith great pomp, Prince Henry as the successor to the king; and a\nmarriage was contracted for the prince.\n\n\"In honor of these events, there were gala-days and festivals, and at\nevery scene of rejoicing the prince was the glittering star.\n\n\"The heart of the king swelled with pride. He had reason to hope that\nall his plottings, and pilferings of crowns and dominions, were about\nto end happily. The future seemed almost without a cloud.\n\n\"One bright day in autumn, after these events, the prince and a gay\nparty prepared to embark for England.\n\n\"There came to the king a man by the name of Fitz-Stephen, who said\nthat he was the son of the sea-captain who conveyed the Conqueror to\nEngland on the ship with many-colored sails. He said, also, that he\nhad a beautiful ship, all white, and manned by fifty sea-browned\nsailors, and that he would deem it a great honor to take the royal\nparty to England.\n\n\"'I have ordered my ship,' said the king, after a little deliberation;\n'but yours shall have the honor of conveying the prince and young\nnobles to England.'\n\n\"So the prince, and one hundred and twenty-two nobles, and eighteen\nladies of rank, all young, and full of merry life, went on board of\nthe White Ship.\n\n\"The king sailed away while it was yet day, leaving the prince and his\ncompany still in the harbor.\n\n\"'Now,' said the prince, 'the king has gone, we will have a\nmerry-making. The time is ours, and we can spend it right jovially on\nthe deck of our beautiful ship.'\n\n\"He then ordered Fitz-Stephen to provide three casks of wine for the\nfifty sailors. The harbor grew dusky, and the hunter's moon rose,\nshimmering the wide waters. The wine flowed freely, the nobles danced,\nand the beautiful ladies joined heartily in the revelries.\n\n\"The great sea sobbed before and around them, but merry music filled\ntheir ears.\n\n\"At length, they shot out of the moonlit harbor. The sailors were\nexcited and half-drunk. The royal party urged them to row with speed,\nin order to overtake the vessels of the king. Fitz-Stephen was in the\nsame condition as his crew, and steered recklessly.\n\n\"Soon there came a terrific crash. The White Ship reeled and reeled,\nbut went no farther. She had struck upon rocks, and the mirth was\nturned to wailing and woe.\n\n\"As the ship was sinking, the prince leaped on board a boat. As he was\nrowed away, he heard his sister calling for help from the deck of the\nstaggering vessel. Putting back, he reached the place just as the\nWhite Ship was making her last plunge. Great numbers of the terrified\nand desperate young men leaped on board of the boat. It overturned,\nand the prince went down in the deep waters.\n\n\"Thus in a moment were baffled the purposes of King Henry for so many\nguilty years; and, of the three hundred souls that made merry in the\nmoonlit harbor of Balfleur, but one survived to tell the dismal tale.\n\n\"For some days no one dared to approach the king with the dreadful\nintelligence. At length, a little boy was sent to him to break the\nnews, who, weeping, knelt at his feet, and told him that the White\nShip was lost, and the prince had perished. The king fell to the floor\nas dead. The historians tell us that he never smiled again.\n\n\"I do not greatly pity him; for he lied again, and he stole again, and\nhe made the people suffer again, and I have little doubt that he\nsmiled again, when some plot of his crafty old age had ended to his\nliking.\n\n\"Mrs. Hemans, in a short historical poem, tenderly touches on the\nsorrow of King Henry for the lost prince; and, as I have not alluded\nto that sorrow in a very charitable spirit, I will quote the\nstanzas:--\n\n\nHE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.\n\n \"The bark that held a prince went down,\n The sweeping waves roll'd on;\n And what was England's glorious crown\n To him that wept a son?\n He lived,--for life may long be borne\n Ere sorrow break its chain;\n Why comes not death for those who mourn?--\n He never smiled again!\n\n There stood proud forms around his throne,\n The stately and the brave;\n But which could fill the place of one,\n That one beneath the wave?\n Before him pass'd the young and fair,\n In pleasure's reckless train;\n But seas dash'd o'er his son's bright hair--\n He never smiled again!\n\n He sat where festal bowls went round,\n He heard the minstrel sing,\n He saw the tourney's victor crown'd,\n Amidst the knightly ring:\n A murmur of the restless deep\n Was blent with every strain,\n A voice of winds that would not sleep--\n He never smiled again.\n\n Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace\n Of vows once fondly pour'd,\n And strangers took the kinsman's place\n At many a joyous board;\n Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,\n Were left to heaven's bright rain,\n Fresh hopes were born for other years--\n He never smiled again!\"\n\n\nTOMMY TOBY'S STORY OF THE FROLICSOME DUKE.\n\nTom Toby's turn came next, and at the announcement of his name there\nwas a sudden lighting up of faces. Tom's face, which was usually\nrather comical, assumed a more mirth-loving expression than ever.\n\n\"You said,\" he began, \"that we were to visit Ghent and Bruges. I\nbelieve these towns were in old Flanders, and that Flanders was in\nBurgundy. One of the most clever rulers of whom I ever read was Philip\nthe Good, Duke of Burgundy, though he had some faults when he used to\nbe young like me.\n\n\"The good Duke married Eleonora, sister to the King of Portugal. The\nwedding was celebrated in great pomp at Bruges, and the merry-makings\nlasted a week.\n\n\"Christopher Sly was a tinker, and a tinker was a man who used to\n'roam the countries around,' crying, 'Old brass to mend!' and who\nrepaired the good people's broken pots and kettles.\n\n\"Christopher heard of the great wedding in his travels, and came to\nBruges to enjoy the merry-making with the rest.\n\n\"He had only one pair of breeches, and they were made of leather. He\ndeemed them suitable for all occasions. He had never arrived at the\nluxury of a coat, but in its place he wore a large leather apron,\nwhich covered his great shoulders, like the armor of a knight.\n\n\"Christopher had one bad habit. He loved ale overmuch, and he used to\ndrink so deeply on festive occasions as to affect the steadiness both\nof his mind and body.\n\n\"Christopher enjoyed the gala-days. He mingled in the gay processions\nthat followed the ducal pair to the tournament; he gazed with loyal\npride on the horses with their trappings of crimson and gold; he\nfollowed the falconers to the hunting-parks, and listened to the music\nthat led the dance at night in the torch-lit palace.\n\n\"The ducal wedding took place in the deep of winter; and one night,\nsoon after the joyful event, and while Bruges was yet given up to\nfestivities, there fell a great snow-storm, blocking the streets and\nsilencing the town.\n\n\"Christopher's money was gone, and the falling weather chilled not\nonly his blood, but his spirits. He wandered about in the storm, going\nfrom ale-house to ale-house, and receiving hospitality, until the town\nof Bruges seemed to revolve around him as its inhabitants around the\nDuke. Still he plodded away through the streets, longing to see the\nwarm fires glow and the torches gleam in the ducal palace. When he had\nnearly reached the palace, the town began to spin and whirl around him\nat such a rate that presently he sank in the chilly snow and knew no\nmore.\n\n\"'I am tired of the palace,' said the Duke to some courtiers. 'Let us\ngo into the streets this blustering night: it may be that we shall\nmeet with an adventure.'\n\n\"The Duke, with a few muffled followers, glided out of one of the\npalace gates, and the gleamings of their lanterns shot down the\nstreet. Presently the Duke stumbled over some object, lying\nhalf-buried in the snow.\n\n\"'What's here?'\n\n\"'A dead man,' answered a courtier.\n\n\"'A drunken tinker,' answered an attendant, turning over the body of a\nman lying like a log in the snow. 'How he snores! Dead drunk, as I\nlive!'\n\n\"'He would perish here before morning,' said the Duke.\n\n\"'What is to be done?' asked a courtier.\n\n\"'Take him to the palace, and we will have some sport with him. I will\ncause him to be washed and dressed and perfumed, and to be laid in a\nchamber of state. He will awake sober in the morning, when we will\npersuade him that _he_ is the Duke, and that we are his attendants.\nTo-morrow the whole Court of Burgundy shall serve a poor tinker!'\n\n\"The attendants carried the unconscious tinker to the palace, where\nthey washed him, and, putting upon him an elegant night-dress, laid\nhim on a silk-curtained bed, in a very gorgeous chamber.\n\n\"The poor tinker, on waking in the morning, looked about the room in\nwonder. He concluded that he must be dreaming, or that he had become\ntouched in mind, or that he had died the night before and had been so\nhappy as to get to heaven.\n\n\"At last, the Duke entered the apartment in the habit of the ducal\nchamberlain.\n\n\"'What will your Worship have this morning?' asked the Duke.\n\n\"The tinker stared.\n\n\"'Has your Worship no commands?'\n\n\"'I am Christopher Sly,--Sly, the tinker. Call me not your Worship.'\n\n\"'You have not fully recovered yet, I see. But you will be yourself\nagain soon. What suit will your Worship wear to-day? Which doublet,\nand what stockings and shoes?'\n\n[Illustration: AMAZEMENT OF CHRISTOPHER SLY.]\n\n\"'I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor\nmore shoes than feet; nay, sometime, more feet than shoes. I tell you\nI am Christopher Sly, and I am a tinker,' was the puzzled reply.\n\n\"But the ducal chamberlain only bowed the more.\n\n\"Sly continued to look about him in amazement. At last, he said, with\nmuch hesitation,--\n\n\"'You may bring me my best suit. The day is pleasant. I will dress\nbecomingly.'\n\n\"'Now you are yourself again. I must hasten to inform the Court of\nyour recovery. I must fly to her Grace the Duchess, and say, \"The\nDuke, the Duke is himself again!\"'\n\n\"'The Duke! I tell you I am Christopher Sly,--old Sly's son, of Burton\nHeath,--by birth a peddler and by trade a tinker. Duke Sly! No. Duke\nChristopher! or, better, Duke Christophero! Marry, friend! wouldn't\nthat sound well? It may be I am a duke, for all. Go ask Marian Hacket,\nthe buxom inn-keeper of Wincot, if she don't know Christopher\nSly,--Duke Christophero; and if she say I do not owe her fourteen\npence for small ale, then call me the biggest liar and knave in\nChristendom!'\n\n\"The servants presently brought the poor tinker a silver basin, 'full\nof rose-water, and bestrewed with flowers.' Then they brought him a\nsuit of crimson, trimmed with lace and starred. The bewildered fellow\nstared awhile in silence; then he slowly put on the gorgeous apparel.\n\n\"The tinker next was conducted to a magnificent banqueting-hall, where\nwas spread a rich feast. The tables smoked with venison and sparkled\nwith wine. He was led to a high seat beneath a canopy of silk and\ngold, the Duchess following, and seating herself by his side. Knights\nand ladies filled the tables, and the tinker began to feast and to sip\nwine like a duke indeed.\n\n\"'I wish'--said he, suddenly.\n\n\"'What is your wish?' asked the Duchess.\n\n\"'I wish that old Stephen Sly was here, and John Naps and Peter Turf,\nand my wife Joan, and Marian Hacket: wouldn't it be jolly?'\n\n\"Christopher had never smacked his lips over such wine before, and he\ndrank so deeply that his ideas became mixed again. The feast ended.\nThe ladies sung and the musicians played, but Christopher continued\ndrinking as long as he could hold a beaker. He began to be sleepy, and\npresently tumbled from his high seat beneath the silken canopy to the\nfloor,\n\n 'Where he sleeping did snore,\n Being seven times drunker than ever before.'\n\n\"And here the reign of Duke Christophero came to a sudden end. The\nreal Duke ordered the attendants to take him away, and to put upon him\nhis 'old leather garments again.'\n\n\"'When the night is well advanced,' said the Duke, 'take him back to\nthe place where we found him, and there watch his behavior when he\nawakes.'\n\n\"Poor Christopher Sly woke in the morning to find his glory gone. The\nsun shone on the snow-covered gables of Bruges. He looked around him\nwith woe in his face, as he saw the snow beneath him instead of a\ncouch of down, and the sky above him, instead of a silken canopy,\nsprinkled with gold. He snuffed the frosty air, and, heaving a deep\ngroan, he said, 'And I am old Stephen Sly's son, after all. I have\nseen a vision. I will go home, and take my scolding from Joan.'\"\n\n\"When we visit Bruges,\" added Tommy, \"I hope we may all visit the\nresting-place of Duke Christopher Sly.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nTommy's story, although not of great value to the young travellers,\nwas loudly applauded by the Club.\n\n\"I have heard,\" said Wyllys, \"that there is a spire in Bruges four\nhundred and fifty feet high, and a tower that contains forty-eight\nbells; but I never heard before of Duke Christopher.\"\n\nErnest Wynn, who spoke French well and took a lively interest in\nFrench poetry, sang a Norman seaside song, which is a favorite in some\nof the coast towns, and is especially employed by the fishermen of\n\u00c9tretat, when a ship goes out to sea in a storm. It began--\n\n Le matin, quand je me r\u00e9veille,\n Je vois mon J\u00e9sus venir,\n Il est beau \u00e0 merveille,\n C'est lui qui me r\u00e9veille.\n C'est J\u00e9sus!\n C'est J\u00e9sus!\n Mon aimable J\u00e9sus!\n\n Je le vois, mon J\u00e9sus, je le vois\n Porter sa brillante croix,\n L\u00e0 haut sur cette montagne:\n Sa m\u00e8re l'accompagne.\n C'est J\u00e9sus,\n C'est J\u00e9sus,\n Mon aimable J\u00e9sus.\n\n In the morn, when I awake,\n My Jesus near I see.\n He is wonderfully beautiful--\n It is He that wakens me.\n It is Jesus,\n It is Jesus,\n My lovable Jesus!\n\n I see, I see my Jesus\n Bear over the mountain high\n His cross of light, accompanied\n The Holy Mother by.\n It is Jesus,\n It is Jesus,\n My lovable Jesus!\n\nThe selection was a rare one, and was mentioned by Master Lewis as\nbeing exceptionally creditable.\n\nGeorge Howe and Leander Towle presented acceptable exercises on\n\"Norman Industries\" and \"Peasant Customs.\" The last topic seemed to\nexcite Tommy Toby to try to throw some farther light on this romantic\nand interesting country.\n\n\"Would you like to know what lovely-looking creatures these Norman\npeasant girls are, and how they look?\" said he. \"Well, they look\n[going to the blackboard and drawing with a crayon a moment] just like\nthose.\"\n\n[Illustration: {NORMAN PEASANT GIRLS.}]\n\n\"I am very gratified,\" said Master Lewis, \"at the amount of historic\nstudy our proposed tour has already stimulated. One must read and\nstudy _to see_. Dr. Johnson used the comparison that 'some people\nwould see more in a single ride in a Hempstead stage-coach than others\nwould in a tour round the world.' Thoreau said,--\n\n 'If with fancy unfurled\n You leave your abode,\n You may go round the world\n By the old Marlboro' road.'\n\n\"You might have added many charming stories to those already told. In\nCalais, the last town of the Gallic dominions of the Plantagenets, we\nshall visit the scene of the siege of Edward III. and of the immortal\nFive who offered their lives as a ransom for their city, and whom good\nQueen Philippa spared. At Falaise, we may see the ruin of the castle\nfrom whose window Duke Robert, the father of the Conqueror, first saw\nArletta, the tanner's daughter, and was enchanted with her beauty. At\nRouen, we shall stand in the square where the Maid of Orleans was\nburned, and, in all places, in contrast with the dark romances of the\npast, will appear sunny hills, bowery valleys, and picturesque\nstreams.\n\n\"I think it was Victor Hugo who said that 'Europe was the finest\nnation on the earth, France the finest country, and Normandy the\nfinest part of France.' I do not ask you to accept his opinion, but\nNormandy is very beautiful.\"\n\nMeetings of the Club were held every two weeks.\n\nThe boys tried to learn the secret which Tommy had been instructed to\nselect. But he claimed that he had been instructed also to keep it.\n\n\"It would not be creditable to the Club to tell it now,\" he said.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nON THE ATLANTIC.\n\n The Steerage.--Pilot Boats.--Tommy meets Rough Weather.--His Letter\n and Postscript.--Queer Passengers.--Games and Story-telling.--Story\n of Joan of Arc.--Signalling at Sea.--Land!\n\n\nAn ocean steamer! Though a speck upon the waters, what a world it\nseems! What symmetry, what strength, what a triumph of human skill!\nWhat a cheerful sense of security one feels as one looks upon the oak\nand the iron, and hears the wind whistle through the motionless forest\nof cordage! There society in all its grades is seen, and human nature\nin all its phases.\n\nThe cool upper deck of the steamer was more inviting to our tourists\nthan the hot streets and hotels of New York, and early in the\nafternoon they met on the North River Pier, and went on board of their\nocean home. First, they examined the elegant saloons, then their snug\nstate-rooms, and at last the steerage apartment, where George and\nLeander were to have their quarters.\n\nThe steerage was not a wholly uninviting apartment. It was a plain\ncabin, amidships, well lighted and ventilated, and very clean. A\nstanch-looking pair of stairs led down to it. On each side were bunks\nin little rooms; those on the right hand for women, and on the left\nfor men. These were lighted and aired by port-holes. Each passenger\nprovided his own bedding and eating utensils.\n\n\"I like this,\" said Tommy Toby to the steward. \"Are the passengers\nhere more likely to be sick than in the first cabin?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the steward. \"This is the steadiest part of the ship.\"\n\n\"Then what is the difference between the cabin and the steerage?\"\n\n\"Well, the difference is in the folks, and the furniture, and the way\nyou eat your victuals.\"\n\nThe steerage passengers were allowed the freedom of the decks, but not\nof the grand saloons. Master Lewis and the boys seated themselves in a\ngroup on the upper deck, when they had well visited the different\nparts of the ship.\n\nEarly in the evening, the immense ship moved slowly and steadily away\nfrom the sultry wharves into the calm sea and cool air. The great city\nwith its gleaming spires seemed sinking in the sea, and the hills of\nNeversink to be burying themselves in the shadows.\n\nPilot boats several times crossed the track of the steamer, with their\nnumbers conspicuously painted on their sails.\n\n\"Why does a captain, who navigates a ship across the ocean,\" asked\nFrank of Master Lewis, \"need the assistance of pilots and pilot-boats\nwhen he is in sight of land?\"\n\n\"It is because the harbor is more dangerous than the open ocean, and\npilots make these dangers the study of their lives.\n\n\"See yonder pilot-boat skimming with the grace of a sea-bird along the\nsea. It has the stanchness of a ship built for the longest voyages. It\nis doubtless made of the best oak, is sheathed with the best copper,\nand may have cost twenty thousand dollars.\"\n\n\"The life of a pilot must be an adventurous one,\" said Frank, \"and\nthere must be also much pleasure in it.\"\n\n\"It requires special education and hard training to become a pilot. It\nis expected that the candidate for the position shall have been an\napprentice four years, during which he shall have performed all the\nduties of a common sailor, even to the washing of the decks and the\ntarring of the rigging. This is his college life. If he is an apt\nstudent, he then obtains a certificate of qualification from a board\nof commissioners by whom he has been rigidly examined.\n\n\"The pilot-boats themselves are exposed to great dangers in foggy\nweather. A calm comes on, and they cannot move. In this situation,\nthey are liable to be struck by one of the great iron vessels or ocean\nsteamers. During the last twenty-five years, some thirty pilot-boats\nhave been lost on this coast.\"\n\n[Illustration: PILOT-BOAT.]\n\nThe night was beautiful, calm, cool, starry. In the morning, the sun\nrose red from the sea. Land had disappeared. The boys all met on the\ndeck, in fine health and spirits.\n\nTowards evening, the sea grew rough, and there were premonitions of\nsea-sickness among the passengers. Tommy Toby, in an amusing letter\nwhich he wrote to his parents, gave a stereoscopic pen-picture of the\ncondition of our travellers at this period of the voyage. He\nafterwards added a characteristic postscript. We give Tommy's letter\nand postscript entire:--\n\n My Dear Parents:\n\n If I can only get safely back to Boston, I will never\n start on a voyage again.\n\n I knew it would be so. I have been seasick.\n\n The first night and day we had very pleasant weather and\n a light sea.\n\n On the evening of the second day, I was on deck with\n the boys.\n\n All at once the boat gave a great lurch. Then another.\n Then another.\n\n \"We are getting into rough water,\" said Master Lewis.\n\n Wyllys Wynn, who is a poet, was repeating some beautiful\n rhymes, when suddenly he grew white in the face, and\n said, \"And so it goes on for several lines.\" He meant\n the poetry. Then he began to wander to and fro in search\n of the cabin and his state-room.\n\n Frank Gray began to tell a story, but stopped short, and\n said, \"The rest of it is like unto _that_!\" He meant the\n rest of the story. Then he went to the cabin, \"making\n very crooked steerage,\" one of the deck-hands said.\n\n Ernest Wynn followed him, in the same strange gait.\n\n \"The Zigzag Club,\" said the deck-hand. He was a very\n sarcastic man.\n\n The ship gave another dreadful lurch, and I began to\n feel very strange.\n\n I went to my state-room. I felt worse on the way.\n\n The ship seemed to have lost all her steadiness.\n\n I cannot describe the night that followed. The ship\n creaked, and seemed just about to roll over after every\n lurch. Sometimes she went up. I was so dizzy, it seemed\n to me that she went up almost to the moon. Then she came\n down. She always came down. It seemed to me she must be\n going down to the bottom of the sea.\n\n In the morning, the steward came.\n\n \"It 'as been a 'eavy blow, ruther.\"\n\n \"A heavy blow!\" said I. \"Did you ever know any thing\n like it in your life? Do you think we shall ever see\n land again?\"\n\n \"Nothin' alarmin',\" said the steward.\n\n A dreadful day followed. I did not leave my room. I\n wished I had never left home. I felt like the Frenchman\n who said, \"I would kees ze land, if I could only see any\n land to kees.\"\n\n The next day I was better, only there was a light\n feeling in my head.\n\n I went up on deck. The sun was shining. The wind blew,\n but the air was very refreshing.\n\n This is the fourth day out. I have been able to eat\n to-day. I am feeling very hungry.\n\n I find that all the boys have been obliged to keep their\n rooms, except George Howe, who is in the steerage.\n\n How fearful I am we shall have another night like\n _that_! How glad I shall be to see land again! The land\n is the place, after all. I wish I were sure we would\n have good weather, when we return.\n\n Your thoughtful son,\n\n Thomas Toby.\n\n P. S. Three days after. I am well now. I never felt so\n bright and happy in my life. The steward says that\n people are seldom sick twice during the same voyage. An\n ocean trip is just the thing, after all.\n\nThere were a few rather odd characters among the passengers: among them\na portly, self-satisfied Englishman, returning from a tour of the\nStates, with an increased respect for fine old English society; a\nglib-tongued Frenchman, who was delighted with \"Ze States,--deelight\u00e9d!\"\nand whose talk was like a row of exclamation points; and a sentimental\nItalian fiddler, in very poor dress, going back to the beauties of\nNaples and the dreamy airs and skies of \"Etalee.\"\n\n[Illustration: {TWO OF OUR FELLOW TRAVELLERS.}]\n\nTommy Toby seemed to gravitate towards these people, when his\nsea-sickness was over.\n\n\"I likes zis American poy,\" said the Frenchman. \"Intelegent! Has ze\nactivitee; agilitee; very great prom-ese!\"\n\n\"Our country must be very different from yours,\" said Tommy, one day.\n\n\"Veery, veery different indeed! Wonderful countree,--delightful! What\ngrand rivers! what waterfalls,--Niag-e-ra! what lakes! Room for all ze\nworld! Hospitalitee for all ze nations!\"\n\n\"The Frenchman says our country is the most wonderful in all the\nworld,\" said Tommy to the portly Englishman.\n\nThe latter looked very solemn; seemed about to speak, then made a\nlong pause as though the opinion he was about to utter was a very\nweighty one.\n\n\"Poverty to riches, riches to poverty; now up, now down, but the\nanimating principle always the same,--riches, riches. Wonderful\npeople! progress! each one living to outdo the other. To-day an\nalderman, to-morrow in the penitentiary; to-day my Lady of Lynne,\nto-morrow John o' the Scales's wife!\"\n\nTommy had an idea of what his lugubrious acquaintance meant to say,\nthough the latter's wisdom was rather above his intellectual stature.\n\n\"We have no castles in America,\" said Tommy.\n\n\"Castles! No; an American family could not keep a castle: it would be\nsold in five years for a mill.\"\n\n[Illustration: {A STEERAGE PASSENGER.}]\n\nTommy's face was always very bright after talking with the Frenchman,\nbut lengthened out during the interview with his English friend. He\nusually retired discomforted from the latter, to seek comfort in the\nsteerage from the lively Italian's fiddle.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a bright girl on board, named Agnes,--the daughter of a\nBoston gentleman, who was going abroad for a year. She was a social\nmiss; witty, yet polite; speaking to every one freely, without being\nintrusive.\n\nOn the evening of the sixth day, nearly all the passengers were in the\nsaloon. Agnes was asked to sing. She winningly said,--\n\n\"I will do my best, if agreeable to all.\" She asked to be excused a\nmoment, and presently returned with a broad-rimmed hat and a basket,\nand wandering carelessly up and down the saloon sang \"The Beggar\nGirl.\"\n\n \"Over the mountain, and over the moor,\n Hungry and barefoot I wander forlorn.\n My father is dead and my mother is poor,\n And she grieves for the days that will never return.\n\n Pity, kind gentlefolk,\n Friends of humanity,\n Keen blows the blast and night's coming on;\n O give me some food\n For my mother, for charity;\n Give me food for my mother, and I will be gone.\"\n\nAgnes presented her basket to one and another of the passengers, as if\nto solicit contributions as the song went on. All were pleased with\nthe diversion, and it was proposed to have some other amusements\nduring the evening.\n\nAgnes arranged some impromptu charades: one on _Ingratiate_ (in grey\nshe ate); another on _Cowhiding_ (cow hiding, in which she personated\na milk-maid calling \"Co boss, co boss!\" and afterwards the same maid\ncowhiding a boy for hiding her cow). Agnes selected Tommy Toby to\nassist her in this last amusing tableau.\n\nAgnes next appeared as a mind-reader. Before this last r\u00f4le, however,\nshe was observed having a confidential chat with Tommy Toby.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"if any of you are interested in clairvoyance, I\nshall be pleased to give an exhibition of the science. You may not\nknow I am a mind-reader.\"\n\n\"She probably has been reading Master Toby's mind already,\" said her\nfather, smilingly looking over his paper.\n\n\"Oh, father!\"\n\n\"If each of you will write a word on a slip of paper, I will have the\nslips collected and put on my forehead; and I will take them from my\nforehead one by one, but before I take each one down, I will tell what\nis written upon it.\"\n\nAll wrote some word.\n\n\"Will some one collect the slips?\" she asked.\n\n\"I will,\" said her father.\n\n\"I think as Thomas Toby is _spry_, I shall have to ask him to do me\nthe favor.\"\n\n\"How I wish I were _spry_!\" said her father.\n\nThe slips were collected. Tommy put them all on her forehead. She put\nup her fingers and held them there, and Tommy took a seat with his\nfriends.\n\nAgnes seemed in reverie. Then she said emphatically,--\n\n\"On the first slip is written 'Boston!' Who wrote that?\"\n\n\"I,\" said Tommy Toby.\n\n\"Then it is correct?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nShe took the slip from her forehead and laid it in her lap, saying as\nshe did so,--\n\n\"It is not written very plainly, either.\"\n\nSo one by one she read all the slips. Each passenger acknowledged the\nwriting of each announced word, after it had been correctly given by\nAgnes. First, the correct readings awakened wonder, then positive\nexcitement. The experiment was repeated at the request of all, with\nthe same wonderful result.\n\nThe diversion was reproduced on the following evening, and even Master\nLewis failed to see how the girl read the slips. It was noticed,\nhowever, that Tommy Toby always collected the slips, and acknowledged\nwriting the first word. Agnes also examined each slip closely as she\ntook it down, as if to verify the results of her very penetrating\nmind.\n\n[Illustration: JOAN OF ARC.]\n\nThe secret of the trick was that Tommy always placed what he had\nwritten at the bottom of the slips, or last; but he acknowledged to\nhave written what was taken from the forehead first. This gave Agnes\nthe opportunity of reading each slip as she laid it in her lap, and\nof announcing what she read as though it were written on the _next_\nslip on her forehead.\n\nOne evening, when Master Lewis and the boys were talking of the\nhistorical places they expected to visit, Agnes approached pleasantly\nand said, \"I have a conundrum for you.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Master Lewis.\n\n\"What was Joan of Arc made of?\"\n\nThe boys were unable to guess.\n\n\"Suppose you tell us the story of Joan of Arc, Master Lewis,\" said\nWyllys. \"Then, perhaps, we will be able to decide.\"\n\n\"Yes, please,\" said Agnes. \"I should be delighted to hear the story.\"\n\n\"As we expect to visit Rouen, where the Maid of Orleans\"--\n\n\"I think she was Maid of\"--said Tommy Toby. \"I will tell you after the\nstory.\"\n\nThen Master Lewis related the story of the unfortunate shepherd girl.\n\n\nSTORY OF JOAN OF ARC.\n\n\"Jeanne d'Arc, known in history as the Maid of Orleans, was born in\nthe pleasant village of Domremi, near the borders of Lorraine. Her\nparents were peasants, and Jeanne was their fifth child. Her education\nwas very limited, and she spent her early years as a shepherdess.\n\n\"Her soul was full of romance and poetic inspiration, and she led a\ndreamy life among the flocks.\n\n\"The neighborhood of Domremi abounded in superstitions. Stories of\nfairies and demons, beautiful legends of the Virgin, and the medi\u00e6val\ntraditions of the saints were the themes of fireside hours, and Jeanne\ndrank deeply into the spirit of these wonderful myths.\n\n\"At the age of thirteen, she began to see visions and to dream\ndreams. She fancied that angel voices whispered in her ear, and that\ncelestial lights flashed before her eyes.\n\n\"'At the age of thirteen,' she said, in her defence before the judge\nwho condemned her to death, 'I heard a voice in my father's garden at\nDomremi, proceeding from the right on the side of the church,\naccompanied with a great light. At first I was afraid, but presently\nfound that it was the voice of an angel, who has protected me ever\nsince, who has taught me to conduct myself properly, and to frequent\nthe church. It was Saint Michael.'\n\n\"She continued to hear strange voices. Her father said,--\n\n\"'Heed them not, Jeanne, it is but a fancy.'\n\n\"In this state of enthusiasm, she passed some five years among the\nvine-clad hills of Domremi, her heart estranged from worldly\naffections, and seeking for loving companionship from the beautiful\nbeings that filled her dreams.\n\n\"France, at this period, was rent asunder by civil dissension; the\npeople of the interior acknowledging Henry VI. of England as their\nrightful sovereign, and those of the remoter provinces, Charles VII.\nof France. The people of Lorraine adhered to the cause of Charles, and\nJeanne became a politician in girlhood, and aspired to chivalrous\ndeeds.\n\n\"When eighteen years of age, she fancied that celestial voices told\nher that she was called to deliver her country from English rule, and\nto place the young French king upon the throne of his fathers.\n\n\"Her father said,--\n\n\"'I tell thee, Jeanne, it is a fancy.'\n\n\"Leaving her rustic home, the unlettered girl sought an audience of\nCaptain de Baudricourt, who commanded for Charles at Vaucoleurs. In\nthis she was successful, and, although he at first treated her as an\nidle enthusiast, he was finally so impressed by the recital of her\ninspirations and visions, that he sent her to Chinon, where Charles\nheld his court, to consult with the king.\n\n[Illustration: JOAN OF ARC RECOGNIZING THE KING.]\n\n\"'None in the world,' she said to Baudricourt, 'can recover the\nkingdom of France, there is no hope but in me.' She added, 'I would\nfar rather be spinning beside my poor mother; but I must do this work,\nbecause my Lord wills it.'\n\n\"'Who is your lord?' asked the general.\n\n\"'The Lord God!'\n\n\"'By my faith,' said Baudricourt, 'I will take you to the king.'\n\n\"She obtained an interview with Charles, whom she claimed to have\nrecognized in a promiscuous company by a sudden inspiration,\naccompanied by celestial light. The story of her divine appointment\ndeeply moved the king; and, his cause becoming desperate, he accepted\nthe services of the fair prophetess, clad her in armor, and placed her\nat the head of an army of ten thousand men.\n\n\"There was something in her very appearance that inspired awe. Her\nmien was noble and commanding; her form was tall and elegant. She\ncontrolled her charger with wonderful grace and skill. By her side was\na consecrated sword, found buried in the old church of St. Catherine\nde Fierbois, the existence of which she claimed to have discovered by\na special revelation from above; and in her hand she carried a banner\nemblazoned with angels and consecrated to God.\n\n\"The English troops, with the French allies of Henry, were besieging\nOrleans, a famous old city, and one of the strongholds of Charles.\nThither Jeanne led her army. She soon inspired her soldiers with the\nconviction that she held a commission from on high; and, when they\narrived before Orleans, they were wrought up to the highest pitch of\nenthusiasm.\n\n\"Jeanne attacked the English, and in several engagements displayed\nsuperior generalship and won brilliant victories. The confidence of\nthe French troops in her now became implicit, and they received her\ncommands as from a messenger of celestial truth.\n\n\"The English soldiers, too, were infected by the superstition, and a\npanic ensued whenever she appeared. Jeanne was at last completely\nvictorious, and, although once severely wounded, raised the siege of\nOrleans, and entered the city in triumph.\n\n\"The French kings for a long period had received their crowns at\nRheims. The city was a great distance from Orleans, and the approaches\nto it were held by the English. Thither mysterious voices directed\nJeanne. Charles, yielding to her influence, set out on the long and\nperilous journey, to be crowned in the ancient fane where his\nancestors of the house of Valois had received their diadems.\n\n\"The English troops retired, and the cause of Charles received a new\nimpetus wherever the young prophetess and her army appeared. The\njourney was a continued triumph for Charles, and when he reached\nRheims, the fame of his success rekindled the fires of patriotism in\nevery town and province of France.\n\n\"'It was a joyous day in Rheims of old,' when the glittering retinue,\nled by the young king and the peasant child, marched to the thronged\ncathedral. The coronation services were wonderfully impressive and\ninconceivably splendid. The holy unction was performed with oil said\nto have been brought from heaven by a dove, to King Clovis. By the\nside of the young monarch stood Jeanne in full armor, holding in her\nhand her consecrated banner. Triumphant music pealed forth, and the\nplaudits of the people made the old cathedral tremble. When the\nceremony was over, Jeanne threw herself at the feet of the king,\nembraced his knees and wept.\n\n\"She felt now that her mission was accomplished. She resolved to\nreturn to her home, and to pass her days among the simple peasants of\nDomremi.\n\n\"But fame was too dazzling, and ambition tempted her to new exploits.\nShe was taken prisoner at last by her enemies, the Burgundians, was\ndelivered over to the English, put upon trial as a sorceress,\npronounced guilty, and condemned to death.\n\n\"She wept over her hard fate. 'I would rather be beheaded than\nburned,' she said, when she reflected on the manner of her death,\nwhich was to be burned at the stake. 'Oh, that this body should be\nreduced to ashes!'\n\n[Illustration: JOAN OF ARC WOUNDED.]\n\n\"She wept for her country.\n\n\"'O Rouen, Rouen!' she said, 'is it here that I must die? Here shall\nbe my last resting-place.'\n\n\"A huge pile of fuel was made in the ancient market place in Rouen,\nand the Maid of Orleans was placed upon it; and in the presence of a\nvast concourse of citizens, soldiers and ecclesiastics, she was\nburned. Her last words were expressive of inward triumph. The\nlamentable event occurred on the last day of May, 1431. Her ashes were\ncast into the Seine, and carried to the sea.\n\n\"Joan of Arc was no wilful impostor. She fully believed that she\nbeheld faces of departed saints, and heard the voices of beings from\nthe unseen world. The result of her wonderful career was that Charles\nultimately won back to the royal house of Valois the whole kingdom of\nFrance.\n\n\"An imposing mausoleum in the city of Orleans perpetuates her memory;\nbut her name stands above mortality, independent of marble or bronze.\nApart from her character as a visionary, Jeanne was a most noble girl.\nThe French still cherish an enthusiastic attachment for her memory,\nand a yearly f\u00eate is given in honor of her deeds in the City of\nOrleans.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"I think,\" said Tommy Toby, \"that I can answer Agnes's conundrum. Joan\nof Arc was Maid (made) of Orleans.\"\n\n\"Right,\" said Agnes. \"What an agreeable company the Zigzag Club is!\"\n\nOne afternoon the man on the lookout called the attention of those\naround him to a distant object: it seemed like a mere speck in the\nhorizon. He presently said,--\n\n\"It is a ship.\"\n\nThe news spread. Every one came upon deck. Even the cooks in the\ngalley left their pots and kettles.\n\nAs she drew near, the British ensign was seen fluttering at the stern.\nAs she drew still nearer, she hoisted five small flags.\n\nThen one of the quartermasters on our own ship brought several small\nflags and a signal-book from the wheel-house. He opened the book to a\npage of colored pictures of small flags, five of which corresponded to\nthose raised by the ship in view. Opposite each flag was a figure. The\nfigures combined in order made the number 94,362.\n\nThe quartermaster turned to another page, and opposite this number\nappeared the name and port of the ship.\n\nThe ship hoisted another set of flags, which was answered by our own\nship.\n\n\"She asks to know our reckonings,\" said the quartermaster.\n\n\"Can a ship meeting another ask other questions in this way?\" inquired\nGeorge Howe.\n\n\"Oh, yes; two vessels miles apart can carry on a long conversation\nwith each other. Ships have a regular alphabet of signal flags.\"\n\n\"What are signals of distress?\" asked George.\n\n\"That flag,\" said the quartermaster, pointing to a picture in the\nbook, \"means a fire or a leak. (1)\n\n\"This means a want of food. (2)\n\n\"And that, aground. (3)\n\n\"Here is one that signifies, 'Will you take a letter from me?'\" (4)\n\n[Illustration: {SIGNALS.}\n _Fig. 1._\n _Fig. 2._\n _Fig. 3._\n _Fig. 4._]\n\nThis dialogue between the two ships was the most pleasing and exciting\nepisode of the voyage, until land began to appear as a dim streak upon\nthe horizon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE LAND OF SCOTT AND BURNS.\n\n Glasgow.--Visit to Ayr.--Story of Highland Mary.--Glasgow\n to Edinburgh.--Scene in Edinburgh at Night.--The Castle.--\n Melrose.--Long Summer Days.\n\n\nOld Glasgow, almost encircled by hills and uplands, presents a\npicturesque view, as the steamer moves slowly up the narrowing channel\nof the Clyde. But with its rapid commercial growth, its 2,000,000\nspindles, its steam-power, and its busy marts of trade, it is a city\nof the present rather than the past, and beyond the Knox monument and\nthe Cathedral presents few attractions to the history-loving stranger.\n\nOur tourists stopped at Glasgow to make a day's excursion to the home\nof Burns. They were taken from the boat to the Queen's Hotel in\nGeorge's Square; but George Howe and Leander Towle after resting with\nthe rest of the party, secured lodgings in a private house.\n\nThe boys arose the next morning, with dreams of the Doon and Ayr. To\ntheir disappointment, a heavy mist hung over the city; and they found\nit a dreary and disappointing walk to the South Side Station, where\nthey were to take the train for Ayr. The two hours' ride on the train\nwas as colorless; they were whirled through a novel and beautiful\nsummer landscape, but Nature had dropped her sea-curtain and\nsky-curtain of fog and mist over all.\n\nWhen the party arrived at Ayr, it was raining. The boys' faces, too,\nwere cloudy, and each one pressed Master Lewis with the question,\n\"What shall we do?\"\n\nTommy Toby at last answered the rather embarrassing question with,\n\"Let us consult the barometer.\"\n\n[Illustration: {THE BOYS CONSULT THE BAROMETER.}]\n\nThe barometer, too, wore a cloudy face, and frowned at them, as though\nit meant never to predict fine weather again.\n\nBut, after waiting awhile at the station, there were signs of lifting\nclouds and clearing skies. A weather-wise old Scotchman promised the\nparty a fair day, and bid them \"God speed\" for the home of \"Robbie\nBurns.\" Presently, the sun began to shoot his lances through the mist,\nand the tourists set out for their first walk, which was to be a\ntwo-mile one, to Burns's cottage.\n\n[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF ROBERT BURNS.]\n\nThe cottage was indeed an humble one. It was built by the father of\nBurns, with his own hands, before his marriage, and originally\ncontained two rooms.\n\nIn the interior of the kitchen, a Scotchwoman showed to the party a\nrecess where\n\n \"The bard peasant first drew breath.\"\n\nThe simplicity of the place and its ennobling associations seemed to\ntouch all except Tommy, who remarked to Frank Gray,--\n\n\"I was born in a better room than that myself.\"\n\n\"But I fear you never will be called to sing the songs of a nation.\"\n\n\"I fear I never shall,\" said Tommy, meekly.\n\nFrom the cottage, the party went to the Burns monument.\n\nFrom the base of its columns, the beauties of Scottish scenery began\nto appear.\n\n\"It is the way in which one ends life that honors the place of one's\nbirth,\" said Frank to Tommy.\n\n\"So I see,\" said Tommy, as the sun came out and covered the beautiful\nmonument, and illuminated the record of the poet's fame.\n\nThe tourists, under the direction of a Scottish farmer, whose\nacquaintance Master Lewis had made, next proceeded to an eminence\ncommanding a view of the mansion house of Coilsfield, the\nromance-haunting Castle of Montgomery.\n\n\"There,\" said the Scotchman, \"lived Burns's first sweetheart.\"\n\n\"Highland Mary?\" asked several voices.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"They were separated by death,\" said Master Lewis. \"Can you tell us\nthe story?\"\n\n\"As Mary was expecting soon to be wedded to Burns, she went to visit\nher kin in Argyleshire. She met Burns for the last time on a Sunday in\nMay. It was a lovely day, and standing one on the one side and one on\nthe other of a small brook, and holding a Bible between them, they\npromised to be true to each other for ever.\n\n\"On the journey, Mary fell sick and died. You have read Burns's lines\n'To Mary in Heaven'?\"\n\n That sacred hour can I forget?\n Can I forget the hallowed grove,\n Where by the winding Ayr we met,\n To live one day of parting love?\n Eternity will not efface\n Those records dear of transports past;\n Thy image at our last embrace!\n Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!\n\n\"Do you ever sing the songs of Burns?\" asked Master Lewis.\n\n\"Would you like to hear me try 'Highland Mary'?\"\n\n\"Do!\" said Ernest Wynn, who was always affected by ballad music.\n\nThe Scotchman quoted a line or two of the poem, changing from the\nEnglish to the Scottish accent. The boys were charmed with the words,\nand sat down on the grass to listen to\n\n\nHIGHLAND MARY.\n\n Ye banks and braes and streams around\n The castle o' Montgomery,\n Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,\n Your waters never drumlie!\n There simmer first unfauld her robes,\n And there the langest tarry;\n For there I took the last fareweel\n O' my sweet Highland Mary.\n\n How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,\n How rich the hawthorn's blossom,\n As underneath their fragrant shade\n I clasped her to my bosom!\n The golden hours, on angel wings,\n Flew o'er me and my dearie;\n For dear to me as light and life\n Was my sweet Highland Mary.\n\n Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace,\n Our parting was fu' tender;\n And, pledging aft to meet again,\n We tore oursels asunder:\n But, oh! fell death's untimely frost\n That nipt my flower sae early!\n Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay,\n That wraps my Highland Mary!\n\n Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips,\n I aft hae kissed sae fondly!\n And closed for aye the sparkling glance\n That dwelt on me sae kindly!\n And mould'ring now in silent dust\n That heart that lo'ed me dearly!\n But still within my bosom's core\n Shall live my Highland Mary.\n\nThe \"banks and braes and streams around\" gleamed like a vision of\nenchantment in the full noon sunlight. Never had the boys listened to\na song amid such highly romantic associations.\n\nBidding the entertaining Scotchman farewell, the party returned to\nAyr, and thence to Glasgow, where it arrived in the lingering sunlight\nof the long afternoon.\n\nThe next morning it left by rail for Edinburgh, that city of high\nhouses and terraced hills; of grandly picturesque beauty; of the times\nof Bruce, and the bright and dark days of the Stuarts; where one is\nsurrounded by the relics of a thousand years, and stands under the\nprotecting shadow of a castle that seems lifted into the regions of\nair.\n\nThe party took rooms on Prince's Street, a thoroughfare one hundred\nfeet wide and a mile in length, graced with noble monuments of art and\nbowery pleasure-grounds. It is considered one of the most picturesque\nstreets in the world.\n\nAround you are shops with splendid windows, statues, public gardens,\nbirds, and flowers; above you are houses six or eight stories high;\nabove these, on the rocky hillsides, are queer old buildings of other\ntimes; and high over all is the Castle, cold and grand on its rocky\nthrone.\n\n\"I shall rest to-morrow, boys,\" said Master Lewis, \"and shall let you\nroam at will. Let us spend the evening in one of the public gardens.\"\n\nAfter supper, the party went to one of these fragrant street-gardens.\nThe band of the Duchess of Sutherland's Own, as a certain Highland\nregiment is called, filled the quiet air with delicious music.\n\nThe sun withdrew his light from the street, the gardens, and the tall\nhouses on the hills, but the Castle stood long in the mellowed glory\nof the sunset.\n\nBut the sun left even the Castle at last, and then began a spectacle\nthat seemed like an illusion or fairy-land.\n\n[Illustration: EDINBURGH CASTLE.]\n\nLights began to twinkle in the streets; then in the tall windows\nabove them. Now and then a whole face of an antique pile was\nilluminated; now some little eyrie that seemed hanging in air burst\ninto flame; now a line of terraces began to twinkle. The lights crept\nup the hillsides everywhere.\n\n\"I never saw any thing so beautiful!\" said Ernest Wynn.\n\nEvery one talks of the Castle in Edinburgh, and the boys paid their\nfirst visit to it, and saw it in its morning glory. On the highest\nplatform of the Castle, three hundred and eighty-three feet above the\nsea, stands the celebrated old cannon Mons Meg, made in Mons, in\nBrittany, in 1486. It had figured in so many wars and historic scenes,\nthat the Scottish people came to regard it as a national relic. The\nsite of the Castle is about seven hundred feet in circumference, and\non three sides it seems just a bare rock, rising almost\nperpendicularly in air.\n\n[Illustration: HOLYROOD PALACE.]\n\nThe boys next visited Arthur's Seat, a high rock on the top of a hill,\nin which there is a fancied resemblance to a chair. Queen Victoria\nclimbed up to it on a recent visit. It commands a sweeping view of the\nsea, and the hills that encircle the city.\n\nThey next went to the old Palace of Holyrood, and were shown the\napartments of the unfortunate Queen of Scots.\n\n\"There,\" said the tall Scotchman who attended them about the place,\n\"is the room where Rizzio was murdered, in the presence of Mary.\"\n\nThey were told that a certain stain in the floor was the blood of the\nhapless man.\n\n[Illustration: MARY STUART.]\n\n\"We must ask Master Lewis to tell us the whole story,\" said Wyllys.\n\nThey next visited St. Giles, the scene of the preaching of Knox, the\nMartyrs' Monument, and Knox's grave.\n\n\"We must have an evening meeting of the Club in Edinburgh,\" said\nWyllys Wynn, when the party with Master Lewis were at tea.\n\n\"To-night?\" asked Frank.\n\n\"I would wait until after we have been to Abbotsford,\" said Master\nLewis. \"Then I would have a meeting in the parlor, and let each one\ntell some story associated with the most interesting object he has\nseen.\"\n\n[Illustration: MURDER OF RIZZIO.]\n\nThe next day Master Lewis and the tourists, except George and Leander,\nwho preferred remaining in the city, took the train for Melrose,\nstopped at Melrose Station, and rode to Abbotsford, the reputed haunt\nof Thomas the Rhymer, and the residence of Walter Scott.\n\nThey were met at the entrance of the gray mansion by a tall Scotchman,\nand were taken from the magnificent entrance hall, about forty feet in\nlength, to the dining-room, which has a wonderful black-oak roof, and\nis the place where Sir Walter died. Gazing from the window on the\nbeautiful landscape for the last time, he said to Lockhart, \"Bring me\na book.\" \"What book?\" \"There is but one book.\"\n\nThey were next shown the library, a repository of some twenty thousand\nbooks and of presents from most eminent persons, among them a silver\nurn from Lord Byron and two arm-chairs from the Pope.\n\nOur tourists next visited the ruin of Melrose Abbey, and found it less\ninteresting than its historic associations. Late evening found them\nagain in Edinburgh.\n\n\"What time of the evening do you think it is?\" asked Master Lewis of\nthe boys as they entered the hotel.\n\n\"Seven o'clock,\" said Tommy Toby.\n\n\"After nine o'clock,\" said Master Lewis.\n\nThe Castle still stood in the damask light of the twilight, like a\ndark picture on an illuminated curtain.\n\n\"The summer days in these Northern regions are as long as they are\nbeautiful,\" said Master Lewis.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nSTORY TELLING IN EDINBURGH.\n\n Story of Queen Mary and Rizzio.--Story of the Black Douglas.--Story\n of a Glasgow Factory Boy.--The Castle by Moonlight.\n\n\nThe following day was to be the last the party were to spend in the\nbeautiful city of Edinburgh. In the evening the Class met as by\nappointment, and, at the suggestion of Wyllys Wynn, Master Lewis was\nasked to conduct the exercises of the section of the Club.\n\n\"I thank you,\" he said, \"for this kind confidence, and I think we may\ncongratulate ourselves on the success of our journey thus far. I will\nbegin our conversation by asking Wyllys Wynn what is the most\ninteresting place he has seen in Scotland.\"\n\n\"The place that has most excited my interest,\" said Wyllys, \"is the\nroom in the palace where Rizzio was killed. It is not the most\ninteresting place I have seen, of course, but it has most awakened my\ncuriosity.\n\n\"Will you not tell us the history of Rizzio?\"\n\n\"To do so,\" said Master Lewis, \"would require some account of the\nwhole of Queen Mary's life. The romance of Queen Mary's story will\nhave a freshness, after what you have now seen. I will do the best I\ncan to relate those incidents which make up the\n\n\nSTORY OF QUEEN MARY AND RIZZIO.\n\n\"Mary, Queen of Scots, was perhaps the most beautiful in person and\nwinning in manners and polite accomplishments of any modern queen. She\nwas the daughter of James V. of Scotland and Mary of Lorraine. Her\nfather heard of her birth on his death-bed. He had hoped his heir\nwould prove a son.\n\n\"'It came with a lass, and it will end with a lass,' said he.\n\n\"The crown of Scotland came with the daughter of Bruce, and ended with\nunfortunate Mary.\n\n\"Mary became queen before she was a week old. Little she knew, in her\ninnocent cradle at Linlithgow, of the crown waiting her head or the\nkingdom that was ruled in her name.\n\n\"Her childhood was like a fairy story. She had there Marys for\nplaymates, as she herself was named Mary; and each Mary was the\ndaughter of a noble family.\n\n\"When six years of age she was given in marriage to Francis II., the\nson of the French King. The French fleet carried her away from the\nrugged shores of Scotland, and the Scottish Marys went with her.\n\n\"Ten years were passed amid the gayeties and splendors of the French\ncourt, and then, at the age of sixteen, she was married, amid great\npomp and rejoicings, to the Dauphin, whose courtly devotion and\nelegant society she had long enjoyed. The associations of the young\npair before marriage had been very happy. They delighted to be with\neach other even in society, when they would often separate themselves\nfrom the gay throngs around them.\n\n\"The next year found Francis on the throne, and Mary seemed to be the\nhappiest queen in the world.\n\n\"But the following year the young king died, childless, and Mary was\ncompelled to return to Scotland.\n\n\"She sailed from Calais in the late summer of another changeful year.\nShe wept when the shores of France faded from her sight, and expressed\nher regret in a tender poem, which you may have read.\n\n[Illustration: {FRANCIS II. OF FRANCE.}]\n\n\"Mary was a Catholic. Scotland had adopted the Reformed Faith, and\nthe Scots received her with coldness and suspicion.\n\n\"Mary's life from childhood to her imprisonment was a series of\nromances associated with marriage schemes. Francis had not been long\ndead before many of the courts of Europe were planning marriage\nalliances with the beautiful Queen. The kings of France, Sweden,\nDenmark, Don Carlos of Spain, the Archduke of Austria, and many others\nof lesser rank were named as suitable candidates for her hand.\n\n\"Her own choice fell upon her handsome cousin, Lord Darnley, who was a\nCatholic, and among the nearest heirs to the English crown. He was a\nweak, corrupt, ambitious man. But he had a winning face, and the\nmarriage was celebrated in Holyrood Palace, in the summer of 1565.\n\n\"One day, long before this marriage, as Mary was coming down the\nstairs of the Palace, she saw the graceful form of a dark Italian\nmusician reclining on a piece of carved furniture in the hall. It was\nher first view of David Rizzio, who had come to Scotland in the train\nof the embassador from Savoy. In a celebrated picture of Mary, she is\nrepresented as starting back in surprise and horror at the sight of\nthis adventurer, as though the moment were one of fate and evil\nforeboding.\n\n\"This fascinating Italian won the confidence of Mary by his arts, and\nused his influence to bring about the marriage with Darnley. He became\na friend of Darnley: they occupied the same apartments and engaged in\nthe same political intrigues.\n\n\"But, after the marriage, Rizzio himself drew away the affections of\nthe Queen from Darnley, who determined to assassinate Rizzio. Several\nScottish lords united with Darnley to do the deed.\n\n\"One day, when Mary had been supping with Rizzio, the white face of\nLord Ruthven appeared at the door of the room.\n\n\"'Let _him_ come out of the room,' he said to the Queen.\n\n\"'He shall not leave the room,' said the Queen; 'I read his danger in\nyour face.'\n\n\"Then Ruthven and his followers rushed upon Rizzio, dragged him from\nthe room, and stabbed him fifty-six times. You have seen the\nblood-stains in the Palace, where the wily Italian was killed.\n\n\"It is said that his body was thrown upon the same chest, at the foot\nof the stairs, where Mary had seen him first.\n\n\"Mary knew that Darnley had caused the murder.\n\n\"'I will now have my revenge,' she said, in the presence of the\nconspirators.\n\n\"She said to Darnley, 'I will cause you to have as sorrowful a heart\nas I have now.'\n\n\"For political reasons she, however, became seemingly reconciled to\nhim. Three months after the tragedy, James VI. of Scotland and I. of\nEngland was born. You have seen his birthplace to-day.\n\n\"Twelve months passed. Earl Bothwell, a profligate noble, had won the\nQueen's confidence. There is little doubt that the two formed a plot\nto destroy Darnley's life.\n\n\"The Queen went to visit Darnley at Glasgow, he having fallen ill. She\npretended great affection for him, and brought him to Edinburgh, and\nsecured lodgings for him in a private house. She left him late one\nSunday evening, to attend a marriage feast.\n\n\"She remarked to him, in one of their last interviews,--\n\n\"'It was about this time, a year ago, I believe, that David was\nmurdered.'\n\n\"After she had gone, there was a great explosion, and Darnley's dead\nbody was found in a neighboring garden.\n\n\"Mary had had her revenge.\n\n\"Three months after the tragedy she married Bothwell, who had secured\na divorce from his young wife to prepare the way for the event.\n\n[Illustration: FRANCIS II. AND MARY STUART LOVE-MAKING.]\n\n\"Scotland rose against Mary. She fled to England, and threw herself on\nthe protection of Elizabeth, abdicating the throne in favor of her\nson. She was secured as a prisoner, and confined at Carlisle. She was\ntaken from Carlisle to Fotheringhay Castle. She was at last tried\nfor conspiracy against the life of Elizabeth. Sentence of death was\npassed upon her. She protested her innocence. You know the rest,--the\nlast tragedy of all, in the Castle of Fotheringhay.\n\n\"Bothwell died an exile and a madman, some nine years after his\nmarriage with Mary.\n\n\"It is said that it was found, after her execution, that her real\nhair, under her wig, was as white as that of a woman of seventy. I\ncannot wonder.\n\n\"She had one little friend who remained true to the last. It was her\nlittle dog. He followed her to the block, and cowered, frightened,\nunder her dress, at the fatal moment, and lay down beside her headless\nbody when the last tragedy was over. It could not be driven away from\nits mistress; and when the body was removed it began to droop, as\nthough understanding its loss, and in two days it died.\"\n\n\"I have spoken at school a poem by Bulwer Lytton, founded on the\nincident,\" said Wyllys.\n\n\"Can you now repeat it?\" asked Master Lewis.\n\n\"I will try.\"\n\n\nTHE DEAD QUEEN.\n\n The world is full of life and love; the world methinks might spare,\n From millions, one to watch above the dust of monarchs there.\n And not one human eye!--yet, lo! what stirs the funeral pall?\n What sound--it is not human woe wails moaning through the hall.\n Close by the form mankind desert one thing a vigil keeps;\n More near and near to that still heart it wistful, wondering, creeps.\n It gazes on those glazed eyes, it hearkens for a breath;\n It does not know that kindness dies, and love departs from death.\n It fawns as fondly as before upon that icy hand,\n And hears from lips that speak no more the voice that can command.\n\n To that poor fool, alone on earth, no matter what had been\n The pomp, the fall, the guilt, the worth, the dead was still a Queen.\n With eyes that horror could not scare, it watched the senseless clay,\n Crouched on the breast of death, and there moaned its fond life away.\n And when the bolts discordant clashed, and human steps drew nigh,\n The human pity shrank abashed before that faithful eye;\n It seemed to gaze with such rebuke on those who could forsake,\n Then turned to watch once more the look, and strive the sleep to wake.\n They raised the pall, they touched the dead: a cry, and both were\n stilled,\n Alike the soul that hate had sped, the life that love had killed.\n\n Semir'amis of England,[1] hail! thy crime secures thy sway;\n But when thine eyes shall scan the tale those hireling scribes convey,\n When thou shalt read, with late remorse, how one poor slave was found\n Beside thy butchered rival's corse, the headless and discrowned,\n Shall not thy soul foretell thine own unloved, expiring hour,\n When those who kneel around the throne shall fly the falling tower?--\n When thy great heart shall silent break; when thy sad eyes shall strain\n Through vacant space, one thing to seek, one thing that loved--in vain?\n Though round thy parting pangs of pride shall priest and noble crowd,\n More worth the grief that mourned beside thy victim's gory shroud!\n\n [1] Elizabeth.\n\nMaster Lewis continued the general subject of the meeting.\n\n\"What, Frank, has been the most interesting object you have seen?\"\n\n\"The Cannongate. I read its history in the guide-book, and I spent an\nhour in the place. One could seem in fancy to live there hundreds of\nyears.\"\n\n\"King James rode through this street on his way to Flodden,\" said\nMaster Lewis. \"Montrose was dragged here upon a hurdle. It was in a\nchurch here that Jenny Geddes bespoke the sentiment of the people by\nhurling her stool at the head of the Dean, who attempted to enforce\nthe Episcopal service.\n\n\"'I will read the Collect,' said the Dean.\n\n\"'Colic, said ye? The De'il colic the wame of ye!'\n\n\"Here came John Knox, after his interview with Queen Mary, cold and\ngrim, and unmoved by her tears. Here rode the Pretender. Here dwelt\nthe great Dukes of Scotland and the Earls of Moray and Mar.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE DEATH-BED OF FRANCIS II.]\n\n\"I wished I were a poet, a painter, or an historian, when I was\nthere,\" said Frank. \"It is said Sir Walter Scott used to ride there\nslowly, and that almost every gable recalled to him some scene of\ntriumph or of bloodshed.\"\n\n\"I cannot begin to tell you stories of Cannongate,\" said Master Lewis.\n\"Such stories would fill volumes, and give a view of the whole of\nScottish history. What, Ernest, has impressed you most?\"\n\n\"The view of Edinburgh at night is the most beautiful sight I have\nseen. But the charm that Scott's poetry has given to Melrose Abbey,\nhaunts me still, notwithstanding my disappointment at the ruin. This\nwas the tomb of the Douglases and of the heart of Bruce.\"\n\n\"I will tell you a story of one of the Douglases, whose castle still\nstands, not far from Melrose,\" said Master Lewis; \"a story which I\nthink is one of the most pleasing of the Border Wars. I will call the\nstory\n\n\nTHE BLACK DOUGLAS.\n\n\"King Edward I. of England nearly conquered Scotland. They did not\nhave photographs in those days, but had expressive and descriptive\nnames for people of rank, which answered just as well. So Edward was\nknown as 'Longshanks.' It was from no lack of spirit or energy that he\ndid not quite complete the stubborn work; but he died a little too\nsoon. On his death-bed he called his pretty, spiritless son to him,\nand made him promise to carry on the war; he then ordered that his\nbody should be boiled in a caldron, and that his bones should be\nwrapped up in a bull's hide, and carried at the head of the army in\nfuture campaigns against the Scots. After these and some other queer\nrequests, death relieved him of the hard politics of this world, and\nso he went away. Then his son, Edward II., tucked away the belligerent\nold King's bones among the bones of other old kings in Westminster\nAbbey, and spent his time in dissipation among his favorites, and\nallowed the resolute Scots to recover Scotland.\n\n\"Good James, Lord Douglas, was a very wise man in his day. He may not\nhave had long shanks, but he had a very long head, as you shall\npresently see. He was one of the hardest foes with whom the two\nEdwards had to contend, and his long head proved quite too powerful\nfor the second Edward, who, in his single campaign against the Scots,\nlost at Bannockburn nearly all that his father had gained.\n\n\"The tall Scottish Castle of Roxburgh stood near the border, lifting\nits grim turrets above the Teviot and the Tweed. When the Black\nDouglas, as Lord James was called, had recovered castle after castle\nfrom the English, he desired to gain this stronghold, and determined\nto accomplish his wish.\n\n\"But he knew it could be taken only by surprise, and a very wily ruse\nit must be. He had outwitted the English so many times that they were\nsharply on the lookout for him.\n\n\"How could it be done?\n\n\"Near the castle was a gloomy old forest, called Jedburgh. Here, just\nas the first days of spring began to kindle in the sunrise and\nsunsets, and warm the frosty hills, Black Douglas concealed sixty\npicked men.\n\n\"It was Shrove-tide, and Fasten's Eve, immediately before the great\nChurch festival of Lent, was to be celebrated with a great gush of\nmusic and blaze of light and free offerings of wine in the great hall\nof the castle. The garrison was to have leave for merry-making and\nindulging in drunken wassail.\n\n\"The sun had gone down in the red sky, and the long, deep shadow began\nto fall on Jedburgh woods, the river, the hills, and valleys.\n\n\"An officer's wife had retired from the great hall, where all was\npreparation for the merry-making, to the high battlements of the\ncastle, in order to quiet her little child and put it to rest. The\nsentinel, from time to time, paced near her. She began to sing,--\n\n \"'Hush ye,\n Hush ye,\n Little pet ye!\n Hush ye,\n Hush ye,\n Do not fret ye;\n The Black Douglas\n Shall not get ye!'\n\n[Illustration: MARY STUART SWEARING SHE HAD NEVER SOUGHT THE LIFE\n OF ELIZABETH.]\n\n\"She saw some strange objects moving across the level ground in the\ndistance. They greatly puzzled her. They did not travel quite like\nanimals, but they seemed to have four legs.\n\n\"'What are those queer-looking things yonder?' she asked of the\nsentinel as he drew near.\n\n\"'They are Farmer Asher's cattle,' said the soldier, straining his\neyes to discern the outlines of the long figures in the shadows. 'The\ngood man is making merry to-night, and has forgotten to bring in his\noxen; lucky 't will be if they do not fall a prey to the Black\nDouglas.'\n\n\"So sure was he that the objects were cattle that he ceased to watch\nthem longer.\n\n\"The woman's eye, however, followed the queer-looking cattle for some\ntime, until they seemed to disappear under the outer works of the\ncastle. Then, feeling quite at ease, she thought she would sing again.\nSpring was in the evening air; it may have made her feel like singing.\n\n\"Now the name of the Black Douglas had become so terrible to the\nEnglish that it proved a bugbear to the children, who, when they\nmisbehaved, were told that the Black Douglas would get them. The\nlittle ditty I have quoted must have been very quieting to good\nchildren in those alarming times.\n\n\"So the good woman sang cheerily,--\n\n \"'Hush ye,\n Hush ye,\n Little pet ye!\n Hush ye,\n Hush ye,\n Do not fret ye;\n The Black Douglas\n Shall not get ye!'\n\n\"'DO NOT BE SO SURE OF THAT!' said a husky voice close beside her, and\na mail-gloved hand fell solidly upon her shoulder. She was dreadfully\nfrightened, for she knew from the appearance of the man he must be the\nBlack Douglas.\n\n\"The Scots came leaping over the walls. The garrison was merry-making\nbelow, and, almost before the disarmed revellers had any warning, the\nBlack Douglas was in the midst of them. The old stronghold was taken,\nand many of the garrison were put to the sword; but the Black Douglas\nspared the woman and the child, who probably never afterward felt\nquite so sure about the little ditty,--\n\n \"'Hush ye,\n Hush ye,\n Do not fret ye;\n The Black Douglas\n Shall not get ye!'\n\nIt is never well to be too sure, you know.\n\n[Illustration: THE BLACK DOUGLAS SURPRISING AN ENEMY.]\n\n\"Douglas had caused his picked men to approach the castle by walking\non their hands and knees, with long black cloaks thrown over their\nbodies, and their ladders and weapons concealed under their cloaks.\nThe men thus presented very nearly the appearance of a herd of cattle\nin the deep shadows, and completely deceived the sentinel, who was\nprobably thinking more of the music and dancing below than of the\nwatchful enemy who had been haunting the gloomy woods of Jedburgh.\n\n\"The Black Douglas, or 'Good James, Lord Douglas,' as he was called by\nthe Scots, fought, as I have already said, with King Robert Bruce at\nBannockburn. One lovely June day, in the far-gone year of 1329, King\nRobert lay dying. He called Douglas to his bedside, and told him that\nit had been one of the dearest wishes of his heart to go to the Holy\nLand and recover Jerusalem from the Infidels; but since he could not\ngo, he wished him to embalm his heart after his death, and carry it to\nthe Holy City and deposit it in the Holy Sepulchre.\n\n\"Douglas had the heart of Bruce embalmed and inclosed in a silver\ncase, and wore it on a silver chain about his neck. He set out for\nJerusalem, but resolved first to visit Spain and engage in the war\nwaged against the Moorish King of Grenada. He fell in Andalusia, in\nbattle. Just before his death, he threw the silver casket into the\nthickest of the fight, exclaiming, 'Heart of Bruce! I follow thee or\ndie!'\n\n\"His dead body was found beside the casket, and the heart of Bruce was\nbrought back to Scotland and deposited in the ivy-clad Abbey of\nMelrose.\n\n\"Douglas was a real hero, and few things more engaging than his\nexploits were ever told under the holly and mistletoe, or in the warm\nChristmas light of the old Scottish Yule-logs.\n\n\"What has interested you most in Scotland?\" said Master Lewis to\nGeorge Howe, continuing the subject.\n\n\"I am hardly interested in antiquities at all,\" said George, frankly.\n\"I try to be, but it is not in me. A living factory is more to my\ntaste than a dead museum. The most interesting things I have seen are\nthe great Glasgow factories. As for stories, I have been thinking of\none that has more force for me than all the legends I ever read.\"\n\n\"We shall be glad to hear you tell it,\" said Master Lewis. \"My\nbusiness is teaching, and it is my duty to stimulate a love of\nliterature. But I have all respect for a boy with mechanical taste;\nno lives promise greater usefulness. We will listen to George's\nstory.\"\n\n\"It is not a romantic story,\" said George. \"I will call it\n\n\nA GLASGOW FACTORY BOY.\n\n\"Just above the wharves of Glasgow, on the banks of the Clyde, there\nonce lived a factory boy, whom I will call Davie. At the age of ten he\nentered a cotton factory as 'piecer.' He was employed from six o'clock\nin the morning till eight at night. His parents were very poor, and he\nwell knew that his must be a boyhood of very hard labor. But then and\nthere, in that buzzing factory, he resolved that he would obtain an\neducation, and would become an intelligent and a useful man. With his\nvery first week's wages he purchased 'Ruddiman's Rudiments of Latin,'\nHe then entered an evening school that met between the hours of eight\nand ten. He paid the expenses of his instruction out of his own hard\nearnings. At the age of sixteen he could read Virgil and Horace as\nreadily as the pupils of the English grammar schools.\n\n\"He next began a course of self-instruction. He had been advanced in\nthe factory from a 'piecer' to the spinning-jenny. He brought his\nbooks to the factory, and placing one of them on the 'jenny,' with the\nlesson open before him, he divided his attention between the running\nof the spindles and rudiments of knowledge. He now began to aspire to\nbecome a preacher and a missionary, and to devote his life in some\nself-sacrificing way to the good of mankind. He entered Glasgow\nUniversity. He knew that he must work his way, but he also knew the\npower of resolution, and he was willing to make almost any sacrifice\nto gain the end. He worked at cotton-spinning in the summer, lived\nfrugally, and applied his savings to his college studies in the\nwinter. He completed the allotted course, and at the close was able\ntriumphantly to say, '_I never had a farthing that I did not earn_.'\n\n\"That boy was Dr. David Livingstone.\"\n\n\"An excellent story,\" said Master Lewis. \"A sermon in a story, and a\nvolume of philosophy in a life. Now, Tommy, what is the most\nattractive thing _you_ have seen?\"\n\n\"I see it now. Oh, look! look!\" said Tommy, flying to the window.\n\nThe full moon was hanging over the great castle, whitening its grim\nturrets.\n\nThe boys all gazed upon the scene, which appeared almost too beautiful\nfor reality.\n\n\"It looks like a castle in the sky,\" said Wyllys.\n\nStory-telling was at an end. So the exercises ended with an exhibition\nof Edinburgh Castle by moonlight.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: {C\u00c6SAR'S LEGIONS LANDING IN BRITAIN.}]\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nA RAINY EVENING STORY AT CARLISLE.\n\n The Druids and Romans.--The Story of the Jolly Harper Man.--\"When\n first I came to Merry Carlisle.\"\n\n\n\"Carlisle!\" said Master Lewis, as the cars stopped at a busy looking\ncity, the terminus of many lines of railway.\n\n\"Carlisle?\" asked Frank Gray, glancing at the evidences of business\nenergy about the station. \"Carlisle? I have heard that the city was a\nthousand years old.\"\n\n\"An old city may grow,\" said Master Lewis, on the way to the hotel.\n\"In 1800, Carlisle had but 4,000 inhabitants, now it has more than\n30,000.\"\n\nCarlisle was the ancient seat of the kings of Cambria, and was a Roman\nstation in the early days of the Christian era. It was destroyed in\n900 by the Danes, was ravaged by the Picts and Scots, was doubtless\nvisited by Agricola, Severus, and Hadrian, and it has a part in the\nhistory of all the Border wars. Here half-forgotten kings lived; here\nRoman generals made their airy camps, and near it the grotesque ships\nof Roman emperors dropped their sails in the Solway. Here Christianity\nmade an early advent, and the hideous rites of the Druid priests\ndisappeared.\n\n[Illustration: ROMANS INVADING BRITAIN.]\n\nThe ancient Druids worshipped in sacred groves; the oaks were their\nfanes and chapels, but they erected immense stone temples open to the\nsky, the moon, and stars: these were their cathedrals. In them were\ngreat stones used as altars of sacrifice, and on their altars the dark\nand mysterious priests offered up human victims to their gods.\n\nThe country around Carlisle abounds in Roman and Druidical relics, and\nin antiquities associated with the Border contests. At Penrith may be\nseen the ruins of a Druid temple, formed of sixty-seven immense\nstones, called \"long Meg and her daughters.\"\n\nThe Isle of Man, the ancient and poetic Mona, whose grand scenery was\nonce the supposed abode of the gods of the Saxons, lies near the\nSolway, and to it excursion steamers go from the western coast towns\nof England carrying pleasure seekers all the long summer days. Here\nthe Druids gathered after the defeat of the Saxons by the Romans, and\nthither the Romans followed them, and fell upon the long-bearded\npriests and the wild torch-bearing priestesses, and put them to the\nsword. The island of Mona may be called the Druid's sepulchre.\n\nThe afternoon was rainy, and the boys, though impatient, were confined\nto the hotel.\n\n[Illustration: {MASSACRE OF THE DRUIDS.}]\n\nIn the evening Master Lewis said,--\n\n\"One of the most quaint and curious of old English ballads is\nassociated with Carlisle, and is founded upon a funny story which\nillustrates the rude simplicity of the early English court. The ballad\nmay be found in the Percy Society's Collections, which you may some\nday examine in the Boston Public Library, or indeed in any great\nlibrary at home or in England. It is entitled 'The Jolly Harper Man.'\nI will relate it to you in the rather decorated style that I once\nheard it told to a company of young people at a Christmas gathering in\none of the London charity schools. I hope it will interest you as much\nnow as it did the boys and girls who listened to it then.\n\n[Illustration: DRUID SACRIFICE.]\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE JOLLY HARPER MAN AND HIS GOOD FORTUNE.\n\n\"Many, many years ago,--as long ago as the days of Fair Rosamond, when\nHenry Plantagenet and his unruly family governed England, and some\nthink as long ago as old Henry I.,--there lived in Scotland a jolly\nharper man, who was accounted the most charming player in all the\nworld. The children followed him in crowds through the streets, nor\ncould they be stopped while he continued playing; even the animals in\nthe woods sat on their haunches to listen when he wandered harping\nthrough the country; and the fair daughters of the nobles immediately\nfell in love as often as he approached their castles.\n\n\"King Henry had a wonderful horse--a very wonderful horse--named\n_Brownie_. He did not quite equal in dexterity and intelligence the\nhigh-flying animal of whom you have read in the 'Arabian Nights,' but\nhe knew a great deal, and was a sort of philosopher among\nhorses,--just as Newton was a philosopher among men. King Henry said\nhe would not part with him for a province,--he would rather lose his\ncrown. In this he was wise, for a new crown could have been as easily\nmade as a stew-pan; but all the world, it may be, could not produce\nsuch another intelligent horse.\n\n\"King Henry had fine stables built for the animal,--a sort of horse\npalace. They were very strong, and were fastened by locks, and bars,\nand bolts, and were kept by gay grooms, and guarded day and night by\nsoldiers, who never had been known to falter in their devotion to the\ninterests of the king.\n\n\"So strongly was the animal guarded, that it came to be a proverb\namong the English yeomanry, that a person could no more do this or\nthat hard thing than 'they could steal Brownie from the stables of the\nking.'\n\n\"The king liked the proverb; it was a compliment to his wisdom and\nsagacity. It made him feel good,--so good, in fact, that it led him\none day quite to overshoot the mark in an effort that he made to\nincrease the people's high opinion.\n\n\"'If any one,' said he, after a good dinner,--'if any one were smart\nenough to get Brownie out of his stables without my knowledge, I would\nfor his cleverness forgive him, and give him an estate to return the\nanimal.' Then he looked very wise, and felt very comfortable and very\nsecure. 'But,' he added, 'evil overtake the man who gets caught in an\nattempt to steal my horse. Lucky will it be for him if his eyes ever\nsee the light of the English sun again.'\n\n\"Then the report went abroad that the man who would be so shrewd as to\nget possession of the king's horse should have an estate, but that he\nwho failed in the attempt should lose his head.\n\n\"The English court, at this time, was at Carlisle, near the Scottish\nborder. The jolly harper man lived in the old town of Striveling,\nsince called Stirling, at some distance from the border.\n\n\"The jolly harper man, like most people of genius, was very poor. He\noften played in the castles of the nobles, especially on festive\noccasions; and, as he contrasted the luxurious living of these fat\nlords with his own poverty, he became suddenly seized with a desire\nfor wealth, and he remembered the proverb, which was old even then,\nthat 'Where there is a will there is a way.'\n\n\"One autumn day, as he was travelling along the borders of Loch\nLomond, a famous lake in the middle of Scotland, he remembered that\nthere was a cave overlooking the lake from a thickly wooded hill, in\nwhich dwelt a hermit, who often was consulted by people in perplexity,\nand who bore the name of the 'Man of Wisdom.'\n\n\"He was not a wicked magician, nor did he pretend to have any dealings\nwith the dead. He was gifted only with what was called clearness of\nvision; he could see into the secret of things, just as Zerah Colburn\ncould see into difficult problems of mathematics, without study.\nThings that were darkness to others were as clear as sunlight to him.\nHe lived on roots and herbs, and flourished so wonderfully on the\ndiet, that what he didn't know was considered not worth knowing.\n\n[Illustration: THE HERMIT.]\n\n\"It was near nightfall when the jolly harper man came to the famous\nhill. The sun was going down in splendor, and the moon was coming up,\nfaint and shadowy, and turning into gold as the shadows deepened.\nShowers of silver began to fall on Loch Lomond, and to quiver over the\nvalleys. It was an hour to fill a minstrel's heart with romantic\nfeeling, and it lent its witchery to the heart of the jolly harper\nman.\n\n\"He wandered up the hill overlooking the lake, where dwelt the Man of\nWisdom to whose mind all things were clear. He sat down near the mouth\nof the cave, partook of his evening meal, then, seizing his harp,\nbegan to play.\n\n\"He played a tune of wonderful sweetness and sadness, so soft and airy\nthat the notes seemed to glide down the moonbeams, like the tinkling\nof fairy bells in the air. The wicked owl pricked up his ears to\nlisten, and was so overcome that he wished he was a more respectable\nbird. The little animals came out of the bushes, and formed a circle\naround the jolly harper man, as though enchanted.\n\n\"The old hermit heard the strain, and came out to listen; and, because\nhe had clearness of vision, he knew that music of such wonderful\ntenderness could be produced only by one who had great gifts of\nnature, and who also had some secret longing in his heart.\n\n\"So he came up to the jolly harper man, walking with his cane, his\ngray beard falling over his bosom, and his long white hair silvered in\nthe moonlight.\n\n\"The jolly harper man secretly expected him, or at least he hoped that\nhe would come out. Like the Queen of Sheba, he wished to test the\nwisdom of this new Solomon, and to inquire of him if there were no way\nof turning his wonderful musical genius into bags of gold.\n\n\"'Why do you wander here, my good harper?' asked the hermit, when the\nlast strain melted away in low, airy echoes over the lake. 'There are\nneither lads to dance nor lassies to sing. This hill is my dominion,\nand the dominion of a hermit is solitude.'\n\n\"'See you not Loch Lomond silvered in the moon?' said the jolly harper\nman. 'Nature inspired me to touch my harp, and I love to play when the\ninspiration of Nature comes upon me.'\n\n\"The answer pleased the hermit as much as the music.\n\n\"'But why is your music so sad, my good harper man; what is there that\nyou would have that fortune denies?'\n\n\"'Alas!' said the jolly harper man, 'I am very poor. My harpings all\ndie in the air, and leave me but a scanty purse, poor clothing, and no\nroof over my head. You are a man of wisdom, to whom all things are\nclear. Point out to me the way to fortune, my wise hermit. I have a\ngood liberal heart; you could not do a service to a more deserving\nman.'\n\n\"The old hermit sat down on a stone in silence, resting his chin on\nhis staff. He seemed lost in profound thought. At last he looked up,\nand said slowly, pausing between each sentence,--\n\n\"'Beyond the border there is a famous country; in that country there\nis a palace; near the palace there is a stable, and in that stable\nthere is a stately horse. That horse is the pride of the kingdom; the\nman who would get possession of that horse, without the king's\nknowledge, might exchange him for a province.'\n\n\"'Wonderful! wonderful! But--'\n\n\"'Near Striveling town there is a hill; on the hillside is a lot; in\nthe lot is a fine gray mare, and beside the gray mare is a foal.'\n\n\"'Yes, yes! wonderful! but--'\n\n\"'I must now reveal to you one of the secrets of Nature. Separate that\nmare from the foal, though it be for hundreds of miles, and, as soon\nas she is free, she will return to her foal again. Nature has taught\nher how, just as she teaches the birds of passage the way to sunny\nislands; or the dog to find the lost hunter; or--'\n\n\"'Yes, yes; all very wonderful, but--'\n\n\"'In your hand you carry a harp; in the harp lies the power to make\nmerry; a merry king makes a festive board, and festivity produces deep\nsleep in the morning hours.'\n\n\"The jolly harper man saw it all in a twinkling; the way to fortune\nlay before him clear as sunlight. Perhaps you, Tommy, do not get the\nidea so suddenly. If not, I fear you are not gifted like the good\nhermit with clearness of vision.\n\n\"The jolly harper man returned to Striveling the next day, after\nspending the night with the hermit on the borders of Loch Lomond.\n\n\"The following night he was summoned to play before two famous\nScottish knights, Sir Charles and Sir Roger. They were very valiant,\nvery rich, and, when put into good humor, were very liberal.\n\n\"The jolly harper man played merrily. The great hall of the castle\nseemed full of larks, nightingales, elves, and fairies.\n\n\"'Why, man,' said Sir Roger to Sir Charles, in a mellow mood, 'you and\nI could no more harp like that than we could gallop out of Carlisle on\nthe horse of the king.'\n\n\"'Let me make a prophecy,' said the jolly harper man at this. 'I will\none day ride _into_ Carlisle on the horse of the king, and will\nexchange the horse for an estate.'\n\n\"'And I will add to the estate five ploughs of land,' said Sir Roger;\n'so that you never shall lack for a home in old Scotland.'\n\n\"'And I will add to the five ploughs of land five thousand pounds,'\nsaid Sir Charles; 'so that you never shall lack for good cheer.'\n\n\"The next morning the jolly harper man was seen riding out of\nStriveling town on a fine gray mare; but a little colt was heard\nwhinnying alone in the high fenced lot on the side of the hill.\n\n\"It had been a day of high festival at Carlisle; it was now the cool\nof the summer eve; the horn of the returning hunter was heard in the\nforest, and gaily plumed knights and courtiers were seen approaching\nthe illuminated palace, urging their steeds along the banks of the\nriver Eden, that wound through the moonlit landscape like a ribbon of\nsilver.\n\n\"The feast was at its height. The king's heart was merry. There only\nneeded some novelty, now that the old diversions had come to an end,\nto complete the delights of the festive hours.\n\n\"Suddenly sweet sounds, as of a tuning harp, were heard without the\npalace. Then music of marvellous sweetness seemed to fill the air. The\nwindows and doors of the palace were thrown open. The king himself\nleft the table, and stood listening on the balcony.\n\n\"A merry tune followed the airy prelude; it made the nerves of the\nold nobles tingle as though they were young again; and, as for the\nking, his heart began to dance within him.\n\n\"'Come in! come in, my harper man!' shouted the king, shaking his\nsides with laughter, and patting a fat noble on the shoulder with\ndelight. 'Come in, and let us hear some more of your harping.'\n\n\"The jolly harper man bowed very low. 'I shall be glad to serve your\ngrace; but first, give me stabling for my good gray mare.'\n\n\"'Take the animal to my best stables,' said the king. ''Tis there I\nkeep my Brownie, the finest horse in all the land.'\n\n\"The jolly harper man, accompanied by a gay groom, then took his horse\nto the stables; and, as soon as he came out of the stable-door, struck\nup his most lively and bewitching tune.\n\n\"The grooms all followed him, and the guards followed the grooms. The\nservants all came flocking into the hall as the jolly harper man\nentered, and the king's heart grew so merry, that all who came were\nmade welcome, and given good cheer.\n\n\"The small hours of night came at last, and the grand people in the\nhall began to yawn, one after another. The jolly harper man now played\na very soothing melody. The king began to yawn, opening his mouth each\ntime a little wider than before, and finally he dozed off in his\nchair, his head tilted back, and his mouth stretched almost from ear\nto ear. The fat nobles, too, began to snore. First the king snored,\nand then the nobles, which was a very proper way of doing the\nthing,--the blissful sound passing from nose to nose, and making a\ncircuit of the tables.\n\n\"The guards, grooms, and servants began to feel very comfortable,\nindeed; and, though it was their business to keep awake, their eyelids\ngrew very heavy, and they began to reason that it would be perfectly\nsafe to doze while their masters were sleeping. Who ever knew any\nmischief to happen when everybody was asleep?\n\n\"The jolly harper man now played his dreamiest music, and just as the\ncock crew for the first time in the morning, he had the satisfaction\nof seeing the last lackey fall asleep. He then blew out the lights,\nand crept nimbly forth to the stables. He found the stable door\nunlocked, and the gray mare kicking impatiently about, and whinnying\nfor her foal.\n\n\"Now, what do you suppose the jolly harper man did? Guess, if you have\nClearness of Vision. He took from his pocket a stout string, and tied\nthe halter of the king's horse, the finest in all the land, to the\nhalter of his own animal, and patting the fine gray mare on her side\nsaid: 'And now go home to your foal.'\n\n\"The next morning all was consternation in the palace. The king's\nhorse was gone. The king sent for the jolly harper man, and said,--\n\n\"'My horse has escaped out of the stables, the finest animal in all\nthe land!'\n\n\"'And where is my fine gray mare?' asked the jolly harper man.\n\n\"'Gone, too,' said the king.\n\n\"'I will tell you what I think,' said the jolly harper man, with\nwonderful confidence. 'I think that there has been a rogue in the\ntown.'\n\n\"The king, with equal wisdom, favored the idea, and the jolly harper\nman made an early escape that morning from the palace.\n\n\"Then the jolly harper man went as fast as he could to Striveling. Of\ncourse, he found his fine gray mare in the lot with her foal, and the\nking's horse tied to her halter; and, of course, he rode the noble\nanimal into Carlisle; and presenting himself before the two knights,\nSir Roger and Sir Charles, claimed his five ploughs of land and five\nthousand pounds.\n\n\"'Go to! go to!' said Sir Roger, pointing at him in derision; and Sir\nCharles laughed a mighty laugh of scorn. 'The man does not live who\ncould ride away the king's Brownie! Go to!'\n\n\"'The king's Brownie stands in your own court!' cried the jolly harper\nman; and Sir Roger and Sir Charles paid their forfeits without another\nword.\n\n\"Then the jolly harper man returned the king's horse to the royal\nowner: and who ever heard of such a thing as a king breaking his\npromise? Not the jolly harper man, you may be sure.\"\n\n\"Is the story a true one?\" asked Tommy Toby.\n\n\"The story, as I heard it, was acknowledged to be considerably\nembellished; and I have tried to make it as attractive as possible.\nYou should always remember this, that a good historic story gathers\ncolor by time. The stories of Faust, Macbeth, King Lear, William Tell,\nRobert the Devil, and many others I might name, have but meagre facts\nfor a starting point.\"\n\n\"I know a story of Nottingham, that I think as funny as that,\" said\nTommy. \"It is about the Wise Men of Gotham.\"\n\n\"We will hear it when we go to Nottingham,\" said Master Lewis. \"I\nthink we will go there at once, after an excursion to the English\nLakes.\"\n\nThe next morning George Howe and Leander Towle left the party for\nBirmingham, London, and Paris, as their means would not admit of their\nmaking easy zigzag journeys through England, in the way that Master\nLewis had planned for the other boys. They agreed to meet Master Lewis\nand their companions in London, on their return from Paris, at which\ntime they would have completed their tour, and would be obliged to\nleave for home before the others made their journey through Normandy.\n\nErnest Wynn, as we have said, was very fond of old English and\nScottish ballads, and he never lost any good opportunity to hear a new\nsong.\n\nWhile the party were talking over their plans for visiting English\nplaces, the sound of a piano in an adjoining room fell upon Ernest's\near.\n\nHe left his companions, and, going into the open room from which the\nmusic came, listened attentively to the playing.\n\n\"Do you sing?\" asked Ernest of the player, who was a pleasant-faced\nlittle miss about ten or twelve years of age.\n\n\"Sometimes.\"\n\n\"I like music. Will you not sing for me?\"\n\n\"If I can. What would you have me sing?\"\n\n\"Oh, something about Carlisle: something that I would not hear at\nhome.\"\n\n\"Where is your home?\"\n\n\"In America.\"\n\n\"In America! What, so far? Perhaps you would like to hear 'Mona's\nWaters?'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ernest.\n\nThe song was very winningly sung.\n\n\"Now perhaps you would like to hear 'When first I came to merry\nCarlisle'?\"\n\nErnest smiled.\n\n\"It doesn't mean you at all. It was a girl who lost her lover in one\nof the Border Wars.\n\n \"'When first I came to merry Carlisle,\n Ne'er was a town sae sweetly seeming:\n The white rose flaunted o'er the wall,\n The thistled banners far were streaming.\n\n \"'When next I came to merry Carlisle,\n Oh sad, sad, seemed the town, an' eerie!\n The auld, auld men came out and wept,\n O maiden! come ye to seek yere dearie?'\"\n\n\"Thank you for that song,\" said Ernest. \"I have heard 'Highland Mary'\nsung at Ayr, and shall always remember it. And I shall also be pleased\nto recollect,--\n\n \"'When first I came to merry Carlisle.'\"\n\n\"And 'the girl I left behind me,'\" said Tommy Toby to Ernest, softly.\n\nThe Miss saw the point of the joke, and, as it was politely spoken,\nreceived the implied compliment with becoming modesty and good-humor,\nsaying that she should also remember very pleasantly the visit of the\nZigzag Club to her father's house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nA CLOUDLESS DAY.\n\n Sherwood Forest.--Nottingham.--Story of the Wise Men of Gotham.\n\n\n\"Have stood by the graves of Wordsworth and Coleridge. The trees were\ngreen and cool; the Rotha rippled beside the poets' resting-place, and\nHelvellyn and Catchedicam in the distance rose in the calm, bright\nair. Beautiful indeed are these mountains in midsummer. The whole Lake\nregion is beautiful--beautiful!\"\n\nSuch was the brief entry Wyllys Wynn made in the journal in his\nguide-book, on returning from the English Lakes.\n\n\"There is a touching story associated with Helvellyn,\" said Wyllys to\nMaster Lewis, as the boys were returning from the Lakes, \"that Scott\nhas told in very musical verse. It is of a little dog that watched\nbeside the dead body of his master for several months, and was found\nguarding the bones. Will you not relate it to us?\"\n\n\"Wordsworth and Scott, I think,\" said Master Lewis, \"both tell the\nstory in verse.\n\n\"About the year 1805 there dwelt in the district a young man of\nelegant tastes, who loved to explore these mountain regions. He was\nwell known for his literary attainments, and greatly beloved for his\ngentle and amiable manners.\n\n\"He used to make frequent excursions among the wild mountains, and\nwould spend whole days feasting his eye on the exhaustless beauties\nthey afforded. He was always attended by a little terrier dog, to\nwhich he was greatly attached, and which was ever on the alert to do\nhis master's bidding. Scott, in his ballad, calls the young man the\nWanderer, and so I will call him now.\n\n\"One spring day, when the streams were swollen, and the mountains were\nall alive with waterfalls, birds, and flowers, the Wanderer set out on\nan excursion that promised unusual attractions, attended by his little\nfavorite. He penetrated too far, or remained too long; night probably\novertook him, and he lost his way. He fell from a precipice, and was\ndashed in pieces. For several months the little dog watched by the\nremains of his beloved master, only leaving them, it is supposed, to\nobtain necessary food. The remains of the Wanderer were found during\nthe following summer by a party of excursionists, and, when\ndiscovered, the terrier was guarding them with pitying care.\n\n\"Sir Walter Scott, in company with Wordsworth, ascended Helvellyn\nduring the following autumn, and visited the spot where the Wanderer\ndied. The well-known ballad, one of the most pathetic of Scott's\npoetical compositions, was the result of this excursion.\n\n \"'I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,\n Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide,\n All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,\n And starting around me the echoes replied.\n On the right Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,\n And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,\n One huge, nameless rock in the front was ascending,\n When I marked the sad spot where the Wanderer had died.'\"\n\nThe Class stopped at Sheffield, and thence began their first\nexperience of English stage-coaching to the old town of Mansfield.\nThey entered the latter upon a market-day, and found the streets full\nof empty carts, cattle, and rustic people, presenting a scene of truly\nancient simplicity. Mansfield is still a miller's town, and must\npresent nearly the same appearance as in the days of Henry II., who,\naccording to the old ballad, was lost in the forests near the place.\nThe forests, however, have changed: little remains of them but a\nheath, traversed by wild and romantic roads. Here and there a great\ntree, like a forest lord, may be seen, to remind one of the kingly\nhunting days.\n\nLeaving Mansfield for Sherwood Forest, strange houses by the wayside,\nexcavated in limestone and recalling the supposed age of the\ncave-dwellers, as in an unexpected picture, much excited the boys'\ncuriosity.\n\nSherwood Forest, or as much of it as remains, is twenty-five miles\nlong and about eight broad. The new growth of trees is very fine; but\nit is the remains of the grand old oaks that attract the tourist and\nsummer wanderer. The wood has a ground-work of exhaustless ferns, the\ndelicate birches flutter in the warm winds, their peculiar shade\ncontrasting with the greenery around them. Here and there oaks of\ndifferent ages and altitudes rise gray, gnarled, and almost\nleafless,--oaks on which a thousand tempests have beaten, and around\nwhich ten thousand storms have blown. In Henry II.'s time not only\nNottingham, but the whole of England, was covered with oaks.\n\n[Illustration: SHAMBLE OAK.]\n\nTommy Toby was very urgent to visit some of the old historic oaks of\nSherwood, especially such as are associated with quaint stories and\ntragic histories.\n\nProcuring a guide, the Class went first to see Shamble Oak. Think of\nit: in the main circuit it is thirty-four feet! It is called Shamble\nOak because a butcher once used its hollow trunk to conceal stolen\nsheep. He was hung on an oak.\n\nThe guide next took the boys to a dreamy old place called Welbeck\nPark, to see the Greendale Oak, supposed to be seven hundred years\nold, and which has a circumference of more than thirty-five feet!\n\n\"It looks as though it had the rheumatism,\" said Tommy. \"With all of\nits crutches and canes it will not live many years longer. Do you\nthink it will?\"\n\n\"I think it likely to outlive all of us,\" said the guide. \"More than\none hundred and fifty years ago an arch was cut in this tree, and a\nlord rode through it on his wedding day. It was very, very old then;\nbut the lord is gone, and the oak lives.\"\n\n[Illustration: GREENDALE OAK.]\n\nThe guide procured for the party a vehicle, and drove to Parliament\nOak, under which it is said that Edward I. held a Parliament in 1290.\nThe tree still furnishes green boughs. Its girth is about twenty-nine\nfeet.\n\nNewstead Abbey, the home of Lord Byron, forms a part of the old\nforest of Sherwood, and is but a short distance from Mansfield. It was\nfounded by Henry II., and presents one of the picturesque and\ninteresting ruins in this part of England.\n\n\"You will not be allowed to visit the Abbey,\" said the guide. \"The\nrooms of Lord Byron remain just as he left them; his bedstead, with\ngilded coronets, his pictures, portraits of friends, writing-table,\nand all; but it is private property, and visitors are not allowed.\"\n\n\"The Abbey was built by Henry as one of the many peace offerings which\nhe made for the murder of Thomas \u00e0 Becket,\" said Master Lewis. \"You\nremember the story?\"\n\n[Illustration: PARLIAMENT OAK.]\n\n\"Yes,\" said Wyllys Wynn. \"Thomas \u00e0 Becket claimed that the power of\nthe clergy was superior to the power of the king, and Henry pronounced\nhim a traitor. He was killed at the altar by a party of conspirators,\nwhose deed had the supposed sanction of the king. Henry did penance at\nThomas \u00e0 Becket's tomb.\"\n\n\"He stripped his back, and allowed the monks to whip him, did he not?\"\nsaid Tommy. \"I remember the picture of it in my history.\"\n\nDistant views of Newstead, so full of strange memories and fantastic\nhistories, were all the Class could obtain. The ruin looked down upon\nthe charming old Nottinghamshire woodlands like a picture of the\npast, and the spirit of romance and poetry seemed to linger around it\nstill.\n\n[Illustration: MORTIMER'S HOLE.]\n\nGoing next to the fine old town of Nottingham, almost the first thing\nwhich the boys desired to see was Mortimer's Hole. This is a passage\nthrough a sand-rock, more than three hundred feet in length. Through\nthis passage young Edward entered Nottingham Castle by night, and thus\nsurprised and captured Mortimer (Earl of March). The wicked Earl was\nconveyed by the same passage out of the castle so secretly that the\nguards were not aware that it had been entered.\n\nIn the evening spent at Nottingham, Tommy Toby was asked about his\nstory of which he had spoken in connection with the place.\n\n[Illustration: MURDER OF THOMAS \u00c0 BECKET.]\n\n\"It is not a story of Nottingham, but of Gotham, near Nottingham. It\nis about the Wise Men.\"\n\n\"Who went to sea in a bowl?\" asked Frank.\n\n\"No, they were much wiser than that. I will try to tell it in the way\nMaster Lewis tells his stories: in the rather _decorated_ style.\"\n\n\"I hope you will always have as nice a sense of honor as you show\nnow,\" said Master Lewis, \"whenever you make the slightest change from\nplain truth to parable. You have a tact for story-telling, for one so\nyoung; and you studied up the story of 'The Frolicsome Duke,' which\nyou told the Club, in a manner that quite surprised us. I hope this\nstory will prove as entertaining.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM.\n\n\"More than six hundred and fifty years ago, there reigned in England a\nking, named John. They called him _Sansterre_ or Lackland, for, unlike\nhis brothers, he had received from his father no fiefs.\n\n\"He was the son of Henry Plantagenet, a good king, as kings went in\nthose rude times, who governed England for thirty-four years.\n\n\"His mother was Eleanora of Aquitaine, who was, in her day, the\nprettiest girl in France. But she was a wilful little woman and full\nof craft. She married the French king first, but, not liking him on\naccount of his monkish ways, she procured a divorce, and told Henry\nPlantagenet, who was young and handsome and gay, that she would like\nto marry him. He accepted the proposal, because the union would add to\nhis dominions several provinces. Henry loved Rosamond Clifford,--'Fair\nRosamond,'--whom he had met in the valley of the Wye, and who was the\nprettiest girl in all the world.\n\n\"The marriage proved an unhappy one. Henry soon discovered what a\nwily, wilful little woman she was; he tried to curb her, and a\nterrible time he had.\n\n\"Richard succeeded his father. It was he who made the grandest crusade\nof the Middle Ages; who was married at Cyprus in flower-time; who\nfought with noble Saladin at Acre and Jaffa; who was obliged to sail\naway from the Holy Land; who looked back from his beautiful ship on\nthe unconquered coast with regret; who was shipwrecked and cast upon a\nhostile coast; and who was discovered, when imprisoned in a gloomy old\ncastle on the Danube, by the harp of Blondel the Troubadour.\n\n\"Then came John, in whose veins flowed the worst blood of King Henry's\nfamily. Prince Arthur, Geoffrey's son, had the best claim to the\ncrown, but somehow John got himself crowned, and he began to reign so\nterribly that the hearts of the barons quaked within them; and so, for\na time, he silenced all opposition. He was as cunning as bad Queen\nEleanora, and he loved to make mischief as well. He would order that a\nman should be killed, apparently with as little conscience as he would\nhave ordered a butcher to slay a sheep. Most bad kings have been\nnotable for some good qualities; King John, so far as I know, had\nnone.\n\n\"In Nottinghamshire there is an old town, removed from the great\ncentres of life and activity, called Gotham. The inhabitants were of\ngood Saxon stock, and they hated the whole race of Norman\nPlantagenets. These people had learned something of liberty from bold\nRobin Hood, 'all under the greenwood tree.'\n\n\"One day there came a report to Old Gotham that King John was making a\nprogress, and would pass through the town. Now it was an old custom in\nfeudal times that the course that a king took, in passing for the\nfirst time through a district or a shire, should become ever after a\npublic highway. The people of Gotham wanted no public highway to their\ntown, no avenue that would open their retreat to the Normans, and put\nthem more easily in the power of brutal kings. And they hated John. So\nthey held a council, and resolved that the feet of John Lackland, the\nmurderer, should never dishonor the town of Gotham.\n\n[Illustration: RICHARD'S FAREWELL TO THE HOLY LAND.]\n\n\"But the people understood that it would be a foolhardy work to oppose\nthe progress of the king openly. They must rely upon their wits.\nThe men decided to go in a body and fell large trees across a certain\nupland, over which the royal party must pass to enter the town. This\nthey did, making a barrier through which mounted horsemen would find\nit difficult to break, and which would compel a party like the king's\nto turn off by another way.\n\n\"When King John came to the eminence, and found his progress arrested,\nhe was very angry, and, finding a couple of rustics near the place, he\ndemanded of them who had made the barrier.\n\n\"'The people of Gotham,' answered one of the rustics.\n\n\"'Go you to Gotham,' said the king, 'and tell the people from me, that\nas soon as I return to camp I will send a troop to cut off their\nnoses.'\n\n\"The two rustics ran off, terribly frightened, and reported the\ncheerful intelligence at Gotham. Oh, then there were stirring times in\nthat old town! The people had no wish to receive a kingly decoration\nin that way.\n\n\"What was to be done?\n\n\"They met for consultation.\n\n\"Now there were wise men in Gotham, and, when the convention met,\nthese wise men expressed their opinions not only on the nose question,\nbut on public affairs in general. After a long deliberation, one of\nthese wise men, whom I will call Fitz Peter, said: 'Our wits have thus\nfar prevented King John from setting foot in our town, and our wits\nare able to save our noses.' This opinion was received with great\nsatisfaction.\n\n\"But how should they accomplish the end?\n\n\"Now chief among the wise men of Gotham was one whom I will call\nLeofric. He at last stood up with a very knowing look, and said: 'I\nhave heard of many people who were punished for being wise, but I\nnever heard of a person who was punished for being a fool. When the\nking's troops come, let us each imitate a safe example, and act like a\nfool.'\n\n\"At this the people shouted. So they decided to rely on their wits\nfor the safety of their noses, and to act like fools.\n\n\"One morning, very early, as a party of horsemen were leaving the town\nfor hunting, a troop appeared, with a fierce sheriff at their head.\n\n\"The bowmen were terribly scared, and the question passed around as to\nwhat they should do. They hit upon a plan, and threw away their\nhunting-gear. When the sheriff came up, he found the old men rolling\ngreat stones up the hill, and the young men bending over and grunting\nas if they were in great distress.\n\n\"'What are you doing?' demanded the sheriff of one of the old men who\nwas tugging away at a stone.\n\n\"'We are rolling stones up hill for day.'\n\n\"'You old fool!' said the sheriff. 'Go home and go to bed, and day\nwill come itself.'\n\n\"'Why,' returned the man, as though greatly astonished, 'I never\nthought of that. How wise you be! You are the wisest man I ever did\nsee!'\n\n\"'And what are _you_ doing?' asked the sheriff, of one of the young\nmen.\n\n\"'We do the _grunting_,' was the prompt reply.\n\n\"'The old men do the lifting, and the young men do the grunting!'\nexclaimed the sheriff. 'Well,' he added, in sudden good-humor, 'that\nis the way the world goes everywhere!' And he galloped away, leaving\nthe men unharmed.\n\n\"The sheriff next met four old women, with brooms on their shoulders.\n\n\"'Whither away?' asked the sheriff.\n\n\"'To the priest's, to be married,' said they all.\n\n\"'To the priest's, to be married?'\n\n\"'We go every morning to be married,' answered one of the old crones,\n'and we have been for the last forty years!'\n\n\"'Then why are you not married?'\n\n\"'The priest says that we do not bring the right thing. We carry\nsomething new every morning.'\n\n\"'But why do you not take a _man_?'\n\n\"'A MAN!' exclaimed the old woman, leaping straight into the air. 'A\nMAN? I never thought of that! How wise you be! Why, you are the wisest\nman that I ever did see!'\n\n[Illustration: LIMESTONE DWELLINGS.]\n\n\"The sheriff next met some men who had started on a journey, each of\nwhom carried on his back a door.\n\n\"'Why do you carry that door?' asked the sheriff of one of the\ntravellers.\n\n\"'Left my money at home.'\n\n\"'Then why not leave the door at home too?'\n\n\"'Afraid of thieves.'\n\n\"'Afraid of thieves? Then leave your door at home to protect your\nmoney.'\n\n\"'They can't break in, because, you see, I've got the door.'\n\n\"'Leave your door at home, and take your money with you.'\n\n\"'I never thought of that. How wise you be! You are the wisest man\nthat I ever did see!'\n\n\"The sheriff let the travellers pass on unmolested.\n\n\"'The people are all fools here,' he said.\n\n\"'It would be too bad to harm such simple people,' said his comrades.\n\n\"'Fools all,' said the sheriff.\n\n\"'Fools all,' said the horsemen.\n\n\"'Let us go back,' said the sheriff, 'and report to the king that the\npeople in Gotham are fools.'\n\n\"'Right,' said the men.\n\n\"So they returned to the king, and reported that Gotham was a place of\nfools. And from these circumstances, or incidents like these, if I may\nbelieve an old tale, the men of that place were called, in derision,\n'The Wise Men of Gotham,' from that day.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA SERIES OF MEMORABLE VISITS.\n\n Tommy goes hunting.--\"Peveril of the Peak.\"--The Boy at the\n Wheel.--Leamington.--Stratford-on-Avon.--Shakspeare's Birthplace,\n Garden, and Tomb.--Queer Relics.--Kenilworth.--Ernest's Album of\n Leaves and Flowers.--Warwick Castle.--The Mighty Guy.--The Antique\n Portress.\n\n\nMaster Lewis gave the boys a couple of days in Nottingham to enjoy\nthemselves as they liked.\n\nTommy Toby went _hunting_.\n\n\"I want to be able to tell people,\" he said, \"that I have hunted in\nSherwood Forest, the royal hunting-ground of English kings.\"\n\n\"In midsummer?\" asked Master Lewis. \"I fancy if you were to use a gun\nin the Forest of Sherwood, you might make a longer vacation abroad\nthan you intended.\"\n\n\"I do not intend to use a gun. I have bought me a bow and some\narrows.\"\n\n\"Let me see them,\" said Master Lewis. \"They look very harmless,\ncertainly.\" Master Lewis seemed to hesitate about making further\nobjections.\n\nJust what came of Tommy's hunting we cannot state at this stage of our\nnarrative. He left the boys at the hotel, bow and arrows in hand, and\nsaying as a word of parting,--\n\n \"'Let's go to the wood, said Richard to Robin.'\"\n\nHe evidently went outside of the city into the wooded district, that\nwas a part of old Sherwood Forest. When Master Lewis found that he had\nreally gone out of the place he looked troubled, and said:--\n\n\"I should have prevented it.\"\n\nTommy returned late on the evening of the same day after a ten hours'\nabsence. He certainly looked like a modern hunter, for he was empty\nhanded, and his clothes were in a very disarranged condition.\n\n\"Where are your bow and arrows?\" asked Frank.\n\n\"I shall tell you nothing at all about it, now,\" said Tommy. \"It is my\nown secret.\"\n\n\"Then you have two secrets,\" said Frank, referring to the fact that\nTommy had been made custodian of the secret he was supposed to have\nselected for the Club.\n\n\"Yes, but _that_ don't _amount to much_,\" said Tommy.\n\n\"_Nothing, after all_,\" said Master Lewis, quietly, who had seen\nTommy's conundrum on a card. \"I did not suppose that you really\nintended to spend the day in the country alone with bow and arrow.\"\n\n\"Just look at my legs,\" said Tommy, rolling up his pants, and showing\nbloody scars.\n\n\"Where did you get _them_?\" asked Master Lewis.\n\n\"_Up a tree._ Please do not ask me now. If you will excuse me from\ntelling you now, I will give you a full account some other time.\"\n\n\"I will excuse you from giving an account of yourself, to-night; but\nplease remember that you must not go hunting, or anywhere, alone again\nwithout my permission,\" said Master Lewis, noticing some singular\nrents in Tommy's clothes.\n\nTommy went to his supper.\n\n\"I've been chased by the _terriblest_ bull you ever saw,\" he whispered\nconfidentially to Wyllys Wynn, as he passed him. \"I'll tell you all\nabout it some time.\"\n\nHe added,--\n\n\"And that ain't all. I've been chased by _John_ Bull, too.\"\n\n[Illustration: PEVERIL OF THE PEAK.]\n\nErnest Wynn went, under an arrangement made for him by Master Lewis,\nto the Peak near Castleton, wishing to view the scene of Sir Walter\nScott's charming romance, \"Peveril of the Peak.\" He found there only a\npitiful ruin, and instead of knights with dancing plumes and silver\nshields, with which fancy pictures the eyry of the grand old Norman\nbaron, he met some very strange-looking mining people, who are often\nto be seen in the rural districts in this part of England.\n\nOne incident touched Frank's kind heart, and seemed more to impress\nhim than the associations of manorial splendor he had made the journey\nto see.\n\n[Illustration: THE BOY AT THE WHEEL.]\n\nIn the entrance of one of the caves of the Peak was a little\nrope-spinner, who was lame, and whose time was spent from sun to sun\nin turning the wheel,--always the same, faithfully turning the wheel.\n\n\"I gave him a shilling,\" said Frank, \"spoke kindly to him, and left\nhim gazing after me with tears in his eyes, still turning his wheel,\nturning his wheel.\"\n\nFrom Nottingham Master Lewis and the boys went to Birmingham, and\nFrank Gray and Ernest Wynn made a d\u00e9tour to the little village of\nMadeley, and visited Boscobel, the place of refuge of King Charles II.\nafter his defeat at the battle of Worcester. The king first arrived at\nWhite Ladies about three-quarters of a mile from Boscobel House: there\nhe secreted himself in an oak, afterwards famous as the Royal Oak of\nBoscobel. The brothers Penderell, foresters and yeomen, concealed him\nin closets in their simple mansion, being true to their sovereign at\nthe risk of their lives, when it might have raised them from poverty\nto riches to have uttered a treacherous word.\n\n[Illustration: BOSCOBEL.]\n\nThe closets in which Charles was concealed are exhibited to visitors,\nand Frank and Ernest were allowed to pass up and down the passages\nthat had afforded so secure a retreat to the fugitive. In the parlor\nthey were shown a chimney-piece, and on one of the panels a picture of\nthe king in the oak, and on another the king in disguise on\nhorse-back, escorted by the Penderells.\n\n[Illustration: {THE TOMB OF RICHARD PENDERELL.}]\n\nIt is said that the king's pursuers were thrown off the right track of\ndiscovery by an owl that flew out of the oak where he was concealed,\nleading the captain to say, \"The owl loveth not company, and where he\nis no one else can be.\" It is also related that when Charles\ncomplained of the slowness of the horse on which he fled in disguise,\none of the Penderells remarked that the animal never before had \"the\nweight of three kingdoms on his back.\" These stories may not be quite\ntrue, but one is reminded of them by the figures on the chimney-piece.\n\nThe Class next went to Leamington, a most convenient point from which\nto make short excursions to Stratford-on-Avon, Warwick Castle, and\nKenilworth Castle. Leamington, although itself not historically\ninteresting, is provided with excellent hotels, being an English\nwatering-place.\n\n[Illustration: KING CHARLES'S HIDING PLACE.]\n\nThe first excursion of the party from Leamington was to\nStratford-on-Avon, to the house where Shakspeare was born, and the\nchurch in which he was buried.\n\n[Illustration: SHAKSPEARE.]\n\nThe birthplace of Shakspeare is an antique-looking stone house two\nstones high, with picturesque gables fronting the street. In the room\nwhere he first saw the light of the world he was to enrich with his\nthought there is a cast of his face taken after his death, and a\nportrait painted in the prime of his life. The latter showed a truly\nnoble brow; it was such a face as fancy itself might paint, so royally\ndid it seem endowed with genius. In this room Sir Walter Scott had\ninscribed his name on a pane of glass, and Wordsworth once wrote a\nstanza which is still preserved under glass. It began with these\nlines:--\n\n \"The house of Shakspeare's birth we here may see;\n That of his death we find without a trace.\n Vain the inquiry, for immortal he\"--\n\nHere the poet seemed to pause as though the literary work was not\nsatisfactory; he drew his pen across what he had written, and under it\nwrote the following stanza:--\n\n \"Of mighty Shakspeare's birth the room we see;\n That where he died, in vain to find we try.\n Useless the search, for, all immortal he:\n And those who are immortal never die.\"\n\nThe effort furnishes a curious illustration of the methods of a poet's\nmind in careful composition.\n\nBack of the house is a garden, in which grew the old English flowers\nthat are portrayed by the poet in his dramas.\n\nFrom the house the party went to the cottage of Anne Hathaway,\nShakspeare's wife, whom he loved in youth when life's bright ways lay\nfair before him. It is a house which is mainly noticeable for its\nsimplicity.\n\n\"There is the place where he sat when he came to see his sweetheart,\"\nsaid the old lady who showed the house.\n\nShakspeare and his wife sleep in the same beautiful church amid the\nbowery town of Stratford-on-Avon; and thither, rowing up the Avon\nalmost to the churchyard, our tourists made their way.\n\nThe party approached the church through an avenue of limes, and\nentered the richly-carved oak doors of the Gothic porch. The tomb of\nShakspeare is in the chancel. The Avon runs but a short distance from\nthe walls, and the cool boughs of the summer trees wave before the\nwindows. A flat stone marks the place where the poet is buried, on\nwhich are inscribed the oft quoted lines said to be written by the\npoet himself:--\n\n \"Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear\n To dig the dust enclosed here!\n Blest be the spade that spares these stones,\n And curst be he that moves my bones.\"\n\nOver the grave, in a niche of the wall, is a bust of the poet. The\ninscription mentions his age as fifty-three years.\n\n[Illustration: ANNE HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE.]\n\nReturning to the birthplace, Frank Gray and Tommy Toby visited the\nShakspeare Museum. The collection of curiosities was somewhat\ncomical,--such for example as a phial containing _juice_ from\nmulberries gathered from Shakspeare's mulberry-tree; Shakspeare's jug,\nfrom which Garrick sipped wine at the Jubilee in 1769. Frank seemed to\nenjoy the specimens, his mind poetically associating them with bygone\nscenes.\n\n[Illustration: RUINS OF KENILWORTH CASTLE.]\n\nTommy showed a great contempt for Frank's wonder-talk.\n\n\"I've found something now,\" he said, \"that outdoes all the rest. It is\na letter written--\"\n\n\"By Shakspeare?\" asked Frank, in an animated way.\n\n\"No: _to_ Shakspeare.\"\n\n\"By whom?\"\n\n\"Mr. Richard Quyney. You have often heard of him, I suppose?\"\n\n\"He was probably a literary man,\" said Frank.\n\n\"Probably. He asked for a _loan_ of thirty pounds.\"\n\nThe next day's trip was to Kenilworth Castle, an ivy-hung ruin\nassociated with the whole of England's history, and traditionally with\nthe romances of King Arthur. The walls are broken, the great\nbanqueting hall has just fallen into decay, and where the coronals\nflashed and astrals blazed at night, now shine only the dim light of\nthe moon and stars. Here Queen Elizabeth was entertained by her\nfavorite, the Earl of Leicester. The splendor of that reception has\nrarely been equalled. The f\u00eate, which was one long banquet, broken by\na most wonderful series of dramatic representations, lasted seventeen\ndays. There were tilts and tournaments; the park was peopled with gods\nand goddesses to surprise the Queen wherever she went; nymphs and\nmermaids rose from the pools, and there was minstrelsy on every hand.\nThirty-one barons were present. Ten oxen were slaughtered every\nmorning, sixteen hogsheads of wine and forty hogsheads of beer were\nconsumed daily. There were lodged in the castle four hundred servants,\nall of whom appeared in new liveries of velvet, and shared the\nunrestrained hospitality.\n\n\"All the clocks in the castle were stopped during that long festival,\"\nsaid Master Lewis, \"and the hands were all left pointing at the\nbanquet hour.\"\n\n\"But time went on,\" said Wyllys Wynn.\n\n\"Yes, time went on, and the maiden Queen grew old as all mortals must,\nand there came a time when her vanity could no longer be deceived.\nShe sought to keep from sight the white hairs and wrinkles of age by\nevery art, but Nature did its work, as with Canute and the sea. When\nher form and features began to lose whatever of beauty they once\npossessed, she tried to banish from her mind the reality that she was\npast her prime by viewing herself in false and flattering mirrors.\n\n\"But the wrinkles grew deeper, and the white hairs multiplied, and her\nlimbs lost their power, and her strength at last was gone. Her\nflatterers still fed her fondness for admiration with their arts, and\nwhile life offered her any prospect she still smiled upon those whom\nshe must have suspected were deceiving her.\n\n\"'One day,' says her attendant, Lady Southwell, 'she desired to see a\n_true glass_, which in twenty years before she had not seen, but only\nsuch an one as on purpose was made to deceive her sight.'\n\n\"They brought it to the poor withered Queen. She raised it to her face\nwith her bony hands, and looked. For the first time for years she saw\nherself.\n\n\"It was a revelation. Her old rage came back again. She pointed to her\nflatterers with scorn, and ordered them to quit her presence.\n\n\"Then came the Archbishop of Canterbury, disgracing his sacred office\nby his words. 'Madam,' said he, 'your piety, your zeal, and the\nadmirable work of the Reformation afford great grounds of confidence\nfor you.'\n\n\"But the wretchedly disenchanted woman could no longer be deceived.\n\n\"'My lord,' she said, 'the crown that I have borne so long has given\nme enough of _vanity_ in my time. I beseech you not to augment it at\nthis hour.'\n\n\"She had seen herself, and the world also, in the true glass.\"\n\nErnest Wynn was observed by Master Lewis making a collection of ivy\nleaves at Kenilworth.\n\n\"Do you collect leaves at all the historic places you visit?\" he\nasked.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF ELIZABETH.]\n\n\"I picked some heather at the birthplace of Burns, brought ivy from\nMelrose, and wild flowers from Newstead and from the Peak, and I\npurchased flowers from Shakspeare's garden.\"\n\n\"What do you intend to do with them?\"\n\n\"I will tell you privately. George Howe is pleased with collections of\ninteresting things,--shells, stamps, autographs. He has but little\nmoney, and I am making a scrap-book of pictures, leaves, and flowers\ncollected at notable places, as a present for him.\"\n\n\"It seems to me an admirable plan,\" said Master Lewis. \"I should be\npleased with such a book myself.\"\n\nThe next day the party visited Warwick Castle, one of the finest and\nbest preserved of all the ancient country seats of the English\nnobility. To one approaching it, its rich lawns, its towering trees\n(of which some are from Lebanon), its picturesque windows, and harmony\nof design make it an ideal of castellated beauty.\n\nThe Class was ceremoniously admitted by men in livery, and was taken\ncharge of by a portly and pompous Englishwoman, who wore a black silk\nthat rustled as she swept along. She carried a bunch of keys at her\nside, and evidently entertained a high sense of the dignity of her\nposition.\n\n\"_This_,\" said the stately lady, pointing to an immense structure of\narmor, \"this is the armor of the mighty Guy.\"\n\n\"The mighty Guy!\" said Tommy Toby, with large eyes, \"will you please\ntell us who _he_ was?\"\n\nThe antique portress stared as though amazed at such a confession of\nignorance.\n\n\"We are from America,\" said Tommy.\n\nMaster Lewis smiled at being included in the uninstructed \"we.\"\n\n\"Guy was a giant.\"\n\nTommy's interest grew.\n\n\"He was the great Earl of Warwick: a valiant soldier who slew so many\npeople that he became melancholy, and retired to Guy's Cliff, as it\nis now called, and there lived alone in a cave for thirty years. He\nwas _nine_ feet high.\"\n\n\"And what is _that_?\" said Tommy Toby, pointing to an immense pot.\n\n\"That,\" said the antique lady, \"was the mighty Guy's _porridge pot_.\"\n\n\"How much does it hold?\"\n\n\"It holds one hundred and twenty gallons, and weighs eight hundred\npounds.\"\n\n\"Did the mighty Guy drink as much porridge as that at every meal?\"\nasked Tommy, his curiosity taking a wider circle with each new\nstatement.\n\n\"I don't know; all of these things happened long, long before I was\nborn.\n\n\"_That_,\" said the lady, \"is a rib of the Dun Cow.\"\n\n\"What kind of a cow was that?\" asked Tommy.\n\n\"It was a cow which the mighty Guy killed on Dunsmore Heath. It weighs\nnine pounds and a half.\"\n\n\"The cow?\"\n\n\"No, the rib.\"\n\nThe lady led the party in a procession which she dramatically headed\nthrough the lower rooms of the principal building. She showed them the\nsuperb old baronial hall; the drawing-rooms, magnificent with\ntapestries and inlaid furniture; the pictures by Vandyke. Then in an\nawesome manner she suddenly stopped, and said in a low confidential\nvoice,--\n\n\"The Countess herself is above stairs.\"\n\n\"How many feet high is the Countess? I'd give a quarter--\"\n\nTommy's intended remark was checked by Master Lewis.\n\nThe lady requested a fee on showing the party back to the lodge, and\ndismissed Master Lewis with a stiff bow that indicated a want of\nconfidence in American respect for the great and mighty Guy and his\nsuccessors.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nA VISIT TO OXFORD AND WOODSTOCK.\n\n A University a Thousand Years Old.--Woodstock.--Fair Rosamond.--Old\n Ballad.--The Head of Brass that Spoke.\n\n\n\"Beautiful! beautiful!\" exclaimed Wyllys Wynn, as the city of Oxford\nappeared in view. \"It looks like a city of churches.\"\n\n\"It is indeed a city of institutions,\" said Master Lewis.\n\n\"It is a very old city, is it not?\" asked Wyllys.\n\n\"It is said to have been the residence of Alfred the Great, and of\nKing Canute. The University of Oxford was, according to tradition,\nfounded by Alfred the Great.\"\n\n\"If it be so, what a monument the good king left behind him! It was\nthis king, was it not, whose mother offered a beautiful manuscript to\nthe one of her four sons who would first learn to repeat it from\nmemory? Alfred, although he was a mere child and could not read,\ninduced an instructor to teach him the manuscript, and so secured the\nprize.\"\n\n[Illustration: ALFRED AND HIS MOTHER.]\n\n\"This was the king,\" said Tommy Toby, \"who, when flying from the\nDanes in disguise, was left by a rustic's wife to watch some cakes\nthat were baking by the fire.\"\n\n\"And let them burn,\" said Wyllys.\n\n\"The woman,\" said Tommy, \"gave him a gentle hint, saying that if he\nwas too lazy to watch them, he would be glad enough to eat them when\nthey were cooked. I have heard my mother make very similar remarks.\"\n\n[Illustration: CANUTE AND HIS COURTIERS.]\n\n\"Canute, of whom you spoke, was the king who ordered his throne to be\nplaced on the margin of the sea,\" said Wyllys to Master Lewis, \"and\nthen commanded the sea to rise no farther.\"\n\n\"But the sea rose,\" said Master Lewis, \"and the king refused to wear\nagain his golden crown for ever, resolving to serve only that King who\nrules the sea.\n\n\"The history of Oxford covers a period of a thousand years,\" continued\nMaster Lewis. \"Here Queen Matilda, or the Empress Maud, as she was\ncalled, because she had been the wife of the German Emperor, was\nbesieged by King Stephen, who had usurped the throne, and thence she\nfled from him one snowy day, herself and attendants dressed in white\nthat they might not be discovered; here the people closed the gates\nagainst William the Conqueror; here Richard I. was born, and here\nRidley, Latimer, and Cranmer were burned. The early history of nearly\nall great English scholars for many centuries is associated with the\ncolleges in this place.\"\n\n[Illustration: FLIGHT OF EMPRESS MAUD.]\n\n\"How green are the English meadows with their hedgerows and trees!\"\nsaid Wyllys.\n\n\"And how bright are the streams that run among them! An English\nlandscape is more rich and varied than an American.\"\n\n\"I never would tell of it,\" said Tommy. \"Grass is grass, and we have\njust as good grass at home as anywhere.\"\n\n\"We have no buildings at home that are quite equal to Warwick\nCastle,\" said Frank.\n\n\"It is better to admit excellences frankly wherever one is,\" said\nMaster Lewis, \"and never let any prejudice color an opinion. When one\nis travelling it is well never to make a comparison.\"\n\nFew scenes are more charming, especially on a long sunny summer\nafternoon, than the college buildings of Oxford, separated by gardens,\nmeadows, and rows of venerable trees, the latter as old as the roofs\nand spires that rise above them.\n\n[Illustration: DEATH OF LATIMER AND RIDLEY.]\n\nWhile at Oxford the boys were taken to Woodstock, a distance of some\neight miles. The old ballad of \"Fair Rosamond\" so haunted the mind of\nErnest Wynn, at Oxford, that he induced Master Lewis to make an\nexcursion to Woodstock, the scene of the fancied tragedy.\n\n\"I have seen Kenilworth, the scene of one of Walter Scott's romances,\"\nsaid Ernest; \"have been among the associations of 'Ivanhoe,' and\n'Peveril of the Peak,' and I shall always be glad to have seen the\nplace of the novelist's other English fiction.\"\n\nThe town of Woodstock once constituted a part of the royal demesnes.\nHere Ethelred held a council, and Alfred the Great translated the\n\"Consolations of Boethius.\" The history of the old palace of Woodstock\nis associated with dark romances, splendid cavalcades, and crumbled\nkings and queens.\n\nNot a vestige of the palace now remains; its site is merely marked by\ntwo sycamore trees.\n\nThe famous Rosamond's Bower, Maze, or Labyrinth seems to have\nconsisted of a succession of under-ground chambers, and is thought to\nhave existed before the time of King Henry II., who is supposed to\nhave used it to hide Fair Rosamond from his jealous queen. There was\nbut one way into it, though there were many ways that would lead\nastray any one who should try to find the right passage. It may have\nbeen like the following diagram, which may puzzle the reader who\nattempts to find an open way to the centre.\n\n[Illustration: {ROSAMOND'S BOWER.}]\n\nHenry II. had married Eleanor of Aquitaine, a woman of bad reputation,\nfull of craft and wickedness, whom the French king had put away. But\nhe gave his affections to Rosamond Clifford, whose beauty had charmed\nhim when he first met her in the valley of Wye. It is said that she\nsupposed herself wedded to him; but however this may be, she and not\nEleanor was the spouse of his heart. She pined away in the seclusion\nthat the king provided for her, but he was true to her in her illness;\nhe hovered around her sick bed, and at last, when she was laid away to\nrest in the chapel at Edstowe Nunnery, he kept her grave bright with\nlights and sweet with flowers. The story of her being poisoned by\nQueen Eleanor is a fiction, although it is said the Queen discovered\nher place of concealment, and administered to her a severe reproof.\n\n[Illustration: A STUDIOUS MONK.]\n\nThe atmosphere of learning dispels superstition, but history clings\nfondly to the fine old legends of the past that gather around them\nunreal lights and shadows. It is not strange that Oxford, the quiet\nvalley town, hidden even to the bases of its pinnacles, spires, and\ntowers in ancient groves, through which glide the waters of the\nThames, should still preserve traditions of the wonder-working gifts\nof its early philosophers, whom ignorance associated with the magical\narts and regarded as more than men.\n\nIt is related that two old Oxford monks made a head of brass that\nspoke.\n\nThese wise monks discovered from their wonderful books (the like of\nwhich are not now to be found in any of the twenty colleges) that if\nthey were able to make a head of brass that could speak, and if they\ncould _hear_ it speak within a month, they would be given the power to\nsurround England with a magic wall of brass.\n\nSo they studied their folios, and found out the chemistry of making\nthe wonderful head.\n\n[Illustration: AN OLD TIME STUDENT.]\n\nThey listened to hear it three weeks, and then became irresistibly\nsleepy. So they intrusted a servant to listen, and to wake them if the\nstatue should begin to speak.\n\nWhen they were well asleep, the head said,--\n\n\"Time is.\"\n\nThen it said,--\n\n\"Time was.\"\n\nThe servant, not knowing the secret of the monks, failed to awake them\nas he had been ordered to do, and down came the figure with a fearful\ncrash; and England has remained without any other wall of brass than\nenters into an Englishman's composition to this day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nLETTERS AND EXCURSIONS.\n\n An English Skylark.--Letter from George Howe.--Tommy's Account\n of his Nottingham Adventure.--Glastonbury Abbey.--The Beginning\n of the English Church.--St. Joseph of Arimath\u00e6a and the\n Glastonbury Thorn.--Story of St. Dunstan and the Devil.\n\n\nMaster Lewis set apart a day at Oxford for leisure, writing, and rest.\n\nIn the morning, after breakfast, the Class took a walk to the suburbs,\nand rested on some wayside seats overlooking the Thames.\n\nIt was a beautiful morning, cool and still. The world of sunlight all\nseemed to be above the trees, an over-sea of gold, of which the long\narcades of intermingling boughs afforded but glimpses.\n\nNear the wayside resting-place was a field bordered with trees. A\nspeck of a bird rose from it out of the grass uttering a few notes\nthat attracted the boys' attention. Up, up it went like a rocket, and\nas it rose higher and higher its song became sweeter and sweeter,--a\nhappy, trilling melody, which made every boy leap to his feet, and try\nto find a place where he could see it through the openings in the\ntrees.\n\n\"The bird seems to have gone straight up to heaven,\" said Wyllys Wynn.\n\"I can hardly see it; but I can hear its melody yet.\"\n\n\"That is an English skylark,\" said Master Lewis, \"so famous in\npastoral poetry. You now understand Tennyson's meaning when he says,--\n\n \"'The lark becomes a sightless song.'\n\nI am glad you have seen it. I wish we might see more of common sights\nand scenes.\n\n\"I have here a letter from George Howe and Leander Towle, which\ngreatly pleases me. My object is to take you to historic scenes.\nGeorge and Leander have different tastes from yours, and expect to\nfollow different occupations. They are making their journey a study of\ncommon life and its pursuits, as I would have them do.\"\n\n\"Will you not read their letter to us?\" asked Ernest.\n\n\"That was just what I was about to do,\" said Master Lewis.\n\n Caen, Normandy, July.\n\n Dear Teacher:--\n\n I begin my letter here in this city, which I suppose has\n an atmosphere of old history, but which is interesting\n to me because it is the centre of the \"food-producing\n land\" of France, as Lower Normandy is well called. All\n of this part of the country through which I have passed\n is a scene of thrift, productiveness, and plenty. The\n people are all busy and happy. Occupied minds are always\n happy, I believe.\n\n How did we get here?\n\n We rode a part of the way to London on what is called, I\n think, Parliamentary trains. This is not a train of\n grand coaches for the use of members of Parliament, but\n a sort of slow-coach train which Parliament has enacted\n shall carry cattle, produce, and commercial necessities\n for a fixed rate a mile. Or this is the way in which the\n running of these cheap trains was explained to me.\n\n It would have been a hard ride, had not new scenes been\n continually coming into view, and the train have gone so\n slowly that we were enabled to enjoy them almost as well\n as though we had been riding on an English stage-coach.\n I was so interested in the new objects that presented\n themselves that I entirely forgot the manner of\n conveyance.\n\n I shall never forget that ride: it was like viewing a\n long panorama.\n\n It cost me only about \u00a31 or $5.00, to travel from\n Scotland to London.\n\n We took a lodging room in London which cost us a\n shilling a night apiece. While in London I visited the\n Tower, Westminster Abbey, Windsor, and the principal\n Parks. The half day spent in Westminster Abbey was worth\n all the discomforts of the journey across the sea.\n\n We also made a journey to Sydenham Crystal Palace,--an\n immense museum of novelties, to which the admission is\n only one shilling. It is probably the first palace ever\n built for the people, and I like the idea of a people's\n palace better than a king's. It occupies with its\n grounds about three hundred acres, and cost nearly\n \u00a32,000,000. Twenty-five acres of glass were used in its\n construction. The museum is full of the products of\n industry of all countries and times. Think of it--all\n for one shilling! It is a thing to make one always\n respect the English people.\n\n I need say very little of the tombs of the twenty or\n thirty kings and queens in Westminster Abbey. I was\n first impressed with the value of fame when I read\n inscriptions to persons once famous of whom I never\n heard,--Thomas Shadwell, Poet Laureate in the Court of\n William III.; Mrs. Oldfield, whom we are told was buried\n \"in a fine Brussels lace head-dress,\"--and I thought,\n Well, all men can do is to perform their duty, and time\n will one day make forgotten Thomas Shadwells and Mrs.\n Oldfields of them all.\n\n While in London I made also a pleasant excursion into\n Berkshire, and there I saw the famous White Horse Hill.\n It is said that the figure of the White Horse on the\n hill was first made by Alfred the Great a thousand years\n ago, to commemorate the defeat of the Danes,--the White\n Horse being the standard or national emblem of the\n Danish chief. Whatever may have been its origin, it is\n _now_ made by annually cutting about an acre of turf\n away from the chalk beneath it. This work is performed\n during a festival in its honor, and is called \"Scouring\n the White Horse.\"\n\n[Illustration: {HOUSE OF A MIGRATING CITIZEN.}]\n\n While in Berkshire I saw an odd picture, not of a\n castle, but of an old English gentleman's residence,\n which was truly castle-like in appearance, and which\n furnishes a happy suggestion to people who do not like\n to live long in any one place. It was a tun on wheels,\n and it had been used by an overtaxed and indignant\n democrat for the purpose of having no fixed locality,\n and so to avoid assessment.\n\n In London I made a study of the cheapest way of getting\n to Paris, and of seeing the most on the journey. I found\n I could take a returning produce boat at Southampton for\n Lower Normandy at a trifling cost, and could go on a\n produce train from Caen to Paris as inexpensively.\n\n We took a third-class ticket to Southampton. What a\n delightful ride it was! Out of the smoke of London into\n the blossoming country, among landscapes of cottages and\n gardens,--thatched cottages, cottages covered with old\n red tiles, cottages whose gardens seemed to climb up\n embankments to the roofs; past wheat fields so full of\n poppies that they seemed like poppy-fields in full\n bloom! I saw one field completely covered with red,\n purple, yellow, and white poppies. It was an exquisitely\n beautiful sight,--nothing but bright color.\n\n The steamer we took was employed simply for the\n exportation of Normandy butter, potatoes, and other farm\n produce. It comes to England loaded, and goes back\n empty. I obtained passage for 10 francs, and what I\n saved by travel on the water I intended to make up by a\n longer trip by land.\n\n We were much tossed about by the tides of the English\n Channel, but arrived safely at Cherbourg, and went by\n rail immediately to Bayeux, a dreamy, ecclesiastical\n city that the battles of the past seem to have left in\n strange silence. I spoke at the beginning of my letter\n of the activity and thrift of Lower Normandy, but Bayeux\n is the stillest city I ever saw.\n\n[Illustration: FAC-SIMILE OF THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY.]\n\n Here, in the Public Library, we saw the famous Bayeux\n Tapestry, which is displayed under a glass case; is two\n hundred and fourteen feet long and contains over fifteen\n hundred figures. The canvas is embroidered in woollen\n thread of various colors, the work of Matilda and her\n maids. I make a copy from a sample picture of the exact\n size of the thread used.\n\n[Illustration: {EXAMPLE OF WOOLLEN THREAD.}]\n\n One may read on this fabric the history of the Norman\n Conquest of England. It is the most novel work of\n history I ever saw.\n\n The farming districts of Normandy seem indeed like\n Arcadia: farmers mean business here, and thrive by\n thrift. Their sons and daughters, I am told, do not run\n off to the city. I have never seen a people whose habits\n I like so well.\n\n Give our regards to all.\n\n George Howe.\n\n P. S. We are on our way to Paris, riding through a\n country of old churches, castles, and flowers, on a\n produce train.\n\n\"I think,\" said Master Lewis, \"that George and Leander are, after all,\nmaking a very delightful tour; they certainly are getting better views\nof common, practical life abroad than we are. I am glad that they had\nthe independence to make the journey in this way.\"\n\n\"How much do you think their whole tour will cost them?\" asked Ernest.\n\n\"It will cost each of them less than either you or I have paid for a\nsingle ocean passage,\" said Master Lewis.\n\nThe boys spent the afternoon in letter-writing.\n\nTommy Toby wrote a long letter to George Howe.\n\n\"I have taken George into my confidence,\" said he, after tea, as\nMaster Lewis and the boys were sitting by the open windows of the\nhotel, \"and have given him an account of my hunting adventure in\nNottingham.\"\n\n\"Suppose you read the letter to us,\" said Master Lewis.\n\nTommy, whose nature would not allow him to keep a secret long, however\ndisparaging to himself, seemed pleased to accept Master Lewis's\nsuggestion.\n\n Oxford, July.\n\n Dear George:--\n\n We are all pleased with the trip you are making.\n\n We have been to lots of curious places,--dust heaps of\n old kings and queens and _we have heard a lark sing_.\n\n At Nottingham I bought a bow and arrows, and went\n hunting. Like you, I wanted to see the country.\n\n I saw it.\n\n They are very inquisitive people around Nottingham. They\n seem to want to know your business before you are\n introduced.\n\n A little way out of the city I came to a fine old tract\n of country. A gate opened into some large, hilly fields,\n and there was a path through the fields that seemed to\n lead to the wood.\n\n I opened the gate and was going towards the wood, when I\n heard a voice from the road,--\n\n \"Boy!\"\n\n I looked around, and made no answer.\n\n \"Where are yer going, _yer honor_?\"\n\n \"I am going hunting,\" said I; and I walked on very fast.\n\n I came to a wooded hill, and the scenery all around was\n delightful, just like a picture. Below the hill was a\n long pasture, and through it ran a stream of water\n overhung with old trees. Under the trees were some\n cattle.\n\n I was going down towards the pasture when I heard a very\n distressing noise,--\n\n O-o-o-o-o!\n\n \"This is an English landscape,\" said I to myself. \"How\n much more lovely it is than castles, abbeys, and tombs!\"\n and I was trying to think of some poetry, such as Frank\n would have quoted, when I heard that alarming sound\n again,--\n\n O-o-o-o-o!\n\n I noticed that one of the fine animals had separated\n himself from the rest of the herd by the shady brook,\n and was coming out to meet me, looking very important.\n Presently he put down his head, gave the earth a scrape\n with his foot, and then came jumping towards me,\n bounding and plunging over the hillocks, like a ship on\n a heavy sea.\n\n I turned right around, just as I did when I saw the\n bear, and I remembered that Master Lewis might not like\n to have me venture too far in my first hunting\n expedition.\n\n I ran! didn't I run? I soon heard the same deep sound\n again, \"nearer, clearer, deadlier than before,\" as the\n reading book says.\n\n I had almost regained the top of the hill, when the\n animal bellowed almost right behind me. There was a tree\n close by, and I went _up_. It was just as easy for me to\n climb it as though it had been a ladder.\n\n The animal bounded up the hill, and stood under the\n tree, pawing the earth and making the same hollow noise.\n\n I drew my bow, and let fly an arrow at him.\n\n \"Boy, come down!\"\n\n There was a thick, fat man, with a great stomach, coming\n up the hill. He appeared greatly excited, and quite out\n of breath. He presently arrived at the foot of the tree.\n\n \"Boy, bring me that bow and arrow.\"\n\n I came down the tree more scared at the man than I was\n at the animal. I handed him the bow, and what do you\n think he did with it?\n\n He gave me a dreadful cut across my back, and said,--\n\n \"Where'd yer come from? Take _that_ and That, and THAT,\n and don't yer ever trespass on my grounds again.\"\n\n I promised him I never would.\n\n I walked just as fast as I could towards the gate, and\n when I came to the road I was so flustrated that I went\n the wrong way, and wandered about in the heat for hours\n before I could get rightly directed towards Nottingham.\n\n I wish you were with us at Oxford; it seems to me the\n most beautiful place in all the world.\n\n It was here we heard the skylark sing.\n\n Tommy.\n\nThe next journey of the Club was indeed _en zigzag_.\n\n\"I have allowed you to visit,\" said Master Lewis to the boys, \"the\nplaces to which your reading has led your curiosity, most of which\nplaces I have visited before. I now wish to take you to a ruin that I\nhave never seen, and of which you may have never heard. It is the\nplace where, according to tradition, Christianity was first\nestablished in Great Britain; where St. Patrick is said to have\npreached, and where he was buried. It is the place which poetry\nassociates with the mission and miracles of Joseph of Arimath\u00e6a; here\nhis staff, in the shape of the white thorn, is said to blossom every\nChristmas.\"\n\n\"Glastonbury Abbey,\" said Ernest Wynn. \"Of course there can be no\ntruth in the tradition of Joseph of Arimath\u00e6a and the White Thorn?\"\n\n\"The story of Joseph's mission to England, his burial here, and his\nblooming staff,\" said Master Lewis, \"is undoubtedly a fiction, like\nthe legend which claims that the stone in the old Scottish Coronation\nChair in Westminster Abbey is the one on which Jacob rested when he\nsaw the vision of angels. But Glastonbury Abbey was possibly the first\nChurch in England. Here were the monuments of King Arthur, King\nEdmund, and King Edgar; and even old King Coel, St. David, and St.\nDunstan are said to have been buried here.\"\n\n\"What! the St. Dunstan that the devil tried to tempt?\" asked Tommy.\n\n\"The St. Dunstan that the devil did tempt, I fear,\" said Master Lewis.\n\n\"I would like to hear the story of his temptations,\" said Tommy, \"as\nwe are going to Glastonbury.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY OF ST. DUNSTAN'S TEMPTATION.\n\n\"St. Dunstan,\" said Master Lewis, \"was Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, and\nwas a very ambitious man.\n\n\"He caused a cell to be made in which he could neither stand erect nor\nlie down with comfort. He retired to this cell and there spent his\ntime in working as a smith, and--so the report went--in devotion.\n\n\"Then the people said, 'How humble and penitent Dunstan is! He has the\nback-ache all day, and the legs-ache all night, and he suffers all for\nthe cause of purity and truth.'\n\n\"Then Dunstan told the people that the devil came to tempt him, which,\nwith his aches for the good cause, made his situation very trying.\n\n\"The devil, he said, wanted him to lead a life of selfish\ngratification, but he would not be tempted to do a thing like that; he\nnever thought of himself. O no, good soul, not he!\n\n\"The people said that Dunstan must have become a very holy man, or the\ndevil would not appear to him _bodily_.\n\n\"The devil came to him one day, he said, as he was at work at his\nforge, and, putting his nose through the window of his cell, tempted\nhim to lead a life of pleasure. He quickly drew his pincers from the\nfire, and seized his tormentor by the nose, which put him in such pain\nthat he bellowed so lustily as to shake the hills.\n\n\"The boy-king Edred, who filled the throne at this time, was in poor\nhealth, and suffered from a lingering illness for years. He felt the\nneed of the counsel of a good man, and he said to himself,--\n\n\"'There is Dunstan, a man who has given up all selfish feelings and\naspirations, a man whom even the devil cannot corrupt. I will bring\nhim to court, and will make him my adviser.'\n\n\"Then pure-hearted Edred brought the foxy prelate to his court, and\nmade him, of all things in the world, the royal treasurer; and he took\nsuch good care of the money entrusted to his keeping that he was\nspeedily released from the responsibility. He seems to have been very\neasily tempted during his political career.\"\n\nThe next day the party was borne away from shady Oxford, where one\nwould indeed like to tarry long in the midsummer days, to the old city\nof Bristol, famous in the Roman conquest of Britain. In the journey\nthe gay poppy-fields and the picturesque cottage scenes, which give a\ncharm to the English landscape, often flitted into and out of view,\nreminding the boys of George Howe's letter.\n\nGlastonbury Abbey is indeed an interesting ruin. It stands apart from\nthe popular lines of travel, and so it figures little in the\nnarratives of those who make short tours abroad.\n\nThink of the ruins of a church at least fourteen hundred years old! A\nchurch that Joseph of Arimath\u00e6a, who provided the tomb for Jesus, is\nreputed in the old monkish legends to have founded, and where St.\nPatrick and St. Augustine probably did preach, and where in the Middle\nAges the remains of good King Arthur were disenterred!\n\n[Illustration: ST. AUGUSTINE'S APPEAL TO ETHELBERT.]\n\nOf the great church and its five chapels there yet remain parts of the\nbroken wall, and the three large crypts where the early kings of\nEngland and founders of the English Church were buried. A little\nwestward from the ruin stands the beautiful Chapel of St. Joseph of\nArimath\u00e6a.\n\n\"I do not wonder,\" said Wyllys Wynn, \"that the old English people\nliked to believe that their church sprang from the mission of so\namiable a saint as St. Joseph.\"\n\n\"Christianity,\" said Master Lewis, \"was really first established in\nGreat Britain in 596 by St. Augustine and forty missionaries who came\nwith St. Augustine from Rome to preach to the Anglo-Saxons. These\nmissionaries were kindly received by King Ethelbert, whose wife was\nalready a Christian. It is related that one of the Saxon priests, to\nsee if indeed his gods would be angry, went forth on horse-back, and\nsmote the images the people had been worshipping. To the astonishment\nof the Saxons no judgment followed. The king was baptized, and the\nmissionaries baptized ten thousand converts in a single day in the\nriver Swale. The Christian religion had been preached in Britain\nbefore, but not generally accepted.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE SAXON PRIEST STRIKING THE IMAGES.]\n\n\"I like the association of St. Joseph's name with this old ruin so\nwell,\" said Wyllys, \"that I wish to see the staff that you say is\nbelieved to bloom at Christmas.\"\n\nOn the south side of Glastonbury is Weary-all Hill. It owes its name\nto a very poetic legend. It is said that St. Joseph and his\ncompanions, _all_ of them _weary_ in one of their missionary journeys,\nhere sat down to rest, and the Saint planted his staff into the earth,\nand left it there. From it, we are told, springs the famous\nGlastonbury Thorn which blossoms every Christmas, and whose miraculous\nflowers were adored in the Middle Ages. Such a shrub still remains\nwhich blooms in midwinter, and perpetuates the memory of the pretty\nsuperstition.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nLONDON.\n\n London.--Westminster Abbey.--Westminster Hall and Parliament\n Houses.--The Tower.--Sir Henry Wyat and His Cat.--Madame\n Tussaud's Wax Works.--Tommy Accosts a Stranger.--Hampton Court\n Palace.--Stories of Charles I. and Cromwell.--The Duchess's\n Wonderful Pie.--The Boys' Day.--Tommy goes Punch and Judy\n Hunting.--Street Amusements.--Tommy's Misadventure.--George\n Howe's Cheap Tour.--Windsor Castle.--Story of Prince Albert and\n his Queen.--Antwerp.\n\n\nThe train, from its sinuous windings among old English landscapes and\nthickly populated towns, seemed at last to be gliding into a new world\nof vanishing houses and streets. It suddenly stopped under the glass\nroof of an immense station, where a regiment of porters in uniform\nwere awaiting it, and where all outside seemed a world of cabmen.\n\nLONDON!--the world's great city, the nations' bazaar,--where humanity\nruns in no fixed channels, but ceaselessly ebbs and flows like the\nsea. Cabs, cabs! then a swift rattle through rattling vehicles, going\nin every direction, on, on, on! Names of places read in histories and\nstory-books pass before the eye. The tides of travel everywhere seem\nto overflow; all is bewildering, confusing. What a map a man's mind\nmust be to thread the innumerable streets of London!\n\nThe Class stopped at a popular hotel in a fine part of the city,\ncalled the West End. It is pleasanter and more economical to take\nfurnished lodgings in London, if one is to remain in the city for a\nweek or more, but as Master Lewis was to allow the boys but a few\ndays' visit, he took them to a hotel in a quarter where the best\nLondon life could be seen.\n\nThe London cabs meet the impatient stranger's wants at once, and the\nboys were soon rattling in them about the city, out of the quarter of\nstately houses into the gay streets of trade, which seemed to them\nindeed like a great world's fair.\n\n[Illustration: WESTMINSTER ABBEY.]\n\n\"This is Pall Mall [Pell Mell],\" said Frank to Tommy, as their cab\nrounded a corner.\n\n\"It seems to be all _pell mell_ here,\" said Tommy. \"Had the poet been\nto London when he wrote,--\n\n \"'Oh, then and there was hurrying to and fro'?\n\nBut this street has a more quiet look. What splendid houses!\"\n\n\"Those,\" said Frank, \"are the houses of the famous London Clubs.\"\n\nThe first visit that the boys made was to that time-honored pile of\nmagnificence into which kings and queens for centuries have gone to be\ncrowned and been carried to be buried,--Westminster Abbey.\n\nThe party entered at the western entrance, which commands an awesome,\nalmost oppressive, view of the interior. In the softened light of the\nstained windows rose a forest of columns, rich with art and grandly\ngloomy with the associations of antiquity. Far, far away it stretched\nto the chapel of Edward the Confessor, a name that led the mind\nthrough the faded pomps of the past almost a thousand years.\n\nMonuments of kings and queens, benefactors and poets, beginning with\nold Edward the Confessor and coming down to the Stuarts; of Eleanor,\nwho sucked the poison from her husband's wounds, and Philippa, who\nsaved the heroes of Calais. Here Bloody Mary, Queen Elizabeth, and\nMary, Queen of Scots, sleep in peace in the same chapel; and here the\nmerry monarch, Charles II., lies among the kingly tombs without a slab\nto mark the place.\n\nThe new Houses of Parliament which stand between the Abbey and the\nThames are the finest works of architecture that have been erected in\nEngland for centuries. They form a parallelogram nine hundred feet\nlong and three hundred feet wide. The House of Lords and House of\nCommons occupy the centre of the building. Between these two halls of\nState rises a tower three hundred feet high. At each end of the\nbuilding are lofty towers; the Victorian Tower, three hundred\nforty-six feet high, and a clock tower, in which the hours are struck\non a bell called Big Ben, which weighs nine tons.\n\nThe entrance to the Houses of Parliament is through old Westminster\nHall, ninety feet high and two hundred and ninety long, whose gothic\nroof of wood is the finest specimen of its kind in English art, and is\nregarded as one of the wonders of human achievement.\n\nIt was in this hall that Charles I. was tried for treason, and\ncondemned; and it was here, at the trial, that the words of a\nmysterious lady smote Oliver Cromwell to the heart.\n\n\"The Prisoner at the bar has been brought here in the name of the\nPeople of England,\" said the solicitor.\n\n\"Not half the people!\" exclaimed a mysterious voice in the gallery.\n\"Oliver Cromwell is a _traitor_!\"\n\nThe assembly shuddered.\n\n\"Fire upon her!\" said an officer.\n\nThey did not fire. It was Lady Fairfax.\n\nWestminster Bridge, one thousand one hundred and sixty feet long, is\nnear the clock tower, and here the Class took its best view of the\nParliament Houses.\n\nThe next day the Class visited London Tower and the relics that recall\nthe long list of tragedies of ambitious courts and kings.\n\n\"This,\" said the guide, as the Class was taken into an apartment in\nthe White Tower, an old prison whose walls are twelve feet thick, \"is\nthe beheading block that was used on Tower Hill. The Earl of Essex was\nbeheaded on it: see the _dints_!\"\n\nAn axe stood beside the block, which is kept on exhibition in one of\nthe rooms in which Sir Walter Raleigh was confined.\n\n\"Where were the children of Edward murdered?\" asked Frank Gray, after\nbeing shown the place of the execution of Anne Boleyn.\n\n\"In the Bloody Tower,\" said the guide. \"I am not hallowed to admit\nvisitors into that.\"\n\n\"We are a class in an American school. Could you not make some\narrangement to admit us?\" asked Wyllys.\n\n[Illustration: TRIAL OF CHARLES I.]\n\nThe guide left the party a few minutes, and then returned with a\nbunch of keys.\n\nHe led the way to a small room in which the little sons of Edward had\nbeen lodged, to be accessible to the murderers. Here the unhappy\nchildren were smothered in bed. The room, apart from its dreadful\nassociations, was a pleasant one looking out on the Thames.\n\nThe party was next shown the stairs at the foot of which the remains\nof the princes were discovered.\n\n\"I can imagine,\" said Ernest Wynn, \"the life of the boys in the Tower.\nHow they went from window to window and looked out on the Thames, the\nsunlight, and the sky as we do now; how they saw the bright, happy\nfaces pass, and children in the distance at play; how they watched, it\nmay be, the lights in their dead father's palace at night, and how\nthey wondered why the freedom of the gay world beyond the prison was\ndenied them. It is said that an old man who loved them used to play on\nsome instrument in the evening under the walls of the Tower, and thus\nexpress to them his sympathy which he could not do in words.\"\n\n\"The burial of Richard III., who caused the death of the royal\nchildren,\" said Master Lewis, \"was almost as pitiful as that of the\nprinces themselves. After the fatal battle, his naked body was thrown\nupon a sorry steed and carried over the bridge to Leicester amid\nderision and scorn. For two hot summer days it was exposed to the\njeers of the mob, and then was laid in a tomb costing \u00a310 1_s._, to\nrest fifty years. The tomb was dashed in pieces during the\nReformation, the bones thrown into the river and the stone coffin,\naccording to tradition, used as a horse-trough.\"\n\nThe collection of armor in an apartment of the Tower called the Horse\nArmory, a building over one hundred and fifty feet long, presented a\nspectacle that filled our visitors with wonder. It seemed like a\nsudden reproduction of the faded days of chivalry. On each side of the\nroom was a row of knights in armor, in different attitudes, looking\nas though they were real knights under some spell of enchantment,\nwaiting for the magic word to start them into life again.\n\n[Illustration: BURIAL OF RICHARD.]\n\nThe Jewel Tower did not so much excite the boys' astonishment. It was\nlike a costumer's shop; and even the royal crown of England wore an\nalmost ridiculous look, civilization and republican progress have so\nfar outgrown these theatrical playthings. The Queen's diadem, as it is\ncalled, was indeed a glitter of diamonds, and the royal sceptres of\nvarious devices carried one back to the days of Queen Esther.\n\n[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LONDON.]\n\n\"Among the stories told of the prisoners in the Tower,\" said Master\nLewis, \"there is one that is pleasant to remember. Sir Henry Wyat was\nconfined here in a dark low cell, where he suffered from cold and\nhunger. A cat came to visit him at times, and used to lie in his bosom\nand warm him. One day the cat caught a pigeon and brought it to him to\neat. The keeper heard of pussy's devotion to the prisoner, and treated\nhim more kindly. When Wyat was released, he became noted for his\nfondness for cats.\"\n\nLeaving the Tower, the boys stopped to look at the Traitor's Gate,\nwhich had clanged behind so many illustrious prisoners brought to the\nprison in the fatal barge; Cranmer, More, Anne Boleyn, bad men and\ngood men, how it swung behind them all, and ended even hope! With\nsober faces the boys turned away.\n\nThe Zo\u00f6logical Gardens in Regent's Park presented the boys, on the day\nafter their visit to the Tower, a more cheerful scene. Who that has\nread of the London \"Zoo\" has not wished to visit it? Here specimens of\nthe whole animal kingdom may be seen, and one wanders among the\nimmense cages, artificial ponds, bear-pits, enclosures of tropical\nanimals, reptile dens, feeling as free and secure as Adam appears in\nthe picture of Naming the Creation.\n\nHere, unlike a menagerie, the animals all have room for the comforts\nof existence. The rhinoceroses have a pond in which to stand in the\nmud, and the hippopotami may sport as in their native rivers.\n\nThe British Museum, with its Roman sculptures, Elgin marbles, and\nalmost innumerable classic antiquities, and St. Paul's with its fifty\nmonuments of England's heroes and benefactors, presented to the Class\nan extended view of the world's history. Sight-seeing became almost\nbewildering, and when it was asked what place they next should visit,\nTommy Toby replied,--\n\n\"I feel as though I had seen almost enough.\"\n\n\"Let us visit Madame Tussaud's wax works,\" said Master Lewis.\n\n\"Are they like Mrs. Jarley's 'wax figgers?'\" said Tommy; \"if so I\nwould like to go. Who was Madame Tussaud?\"\n\n\"She was a little French lady who took casts of faces of great men,\nsometimes after their death or execution, and who died herself some\ntwenty or more years ago, at the age of ninety years.\"\n\nThe price of the exhibition was a shilling, and--\n\n\"For the Chamber of Horrors a sixpence hextra,\" said the man admitting\nthe party. Each one paid the \"hextra\" sixpence.\n\nThere were three hundred figures in all, supposed to be exact\nrepresentations of the persons when living. In a room called the Hall\nof Kings were fifty figures of kings and queens, reproducing to the\nlife these generally condemned players on the stage of English\nhistory.\n\nA clever, winsome old man sat on one of the benches in the place,\nholding a programme in his hand, and now and then raising his head, as\nfrom studying the paper, to scrutinize one or another of the\nastonishing works of art.\n\nTommy sat down beside the much interested, benevolent-looking old\ngentleman, and said,--\n\n\"It was not _George_ Wilkes Booth who killed President Lincoln, it\nwas--\n\n\"Well, if this don't cap the whole! Why, _you_ are a 'figger,' too.\"\n\nAnd so the mild, attentive-looking old gentleman proved to be.\n\nThe Chamber of Horrors revived the feeling the visitors had felt in\nthe Tower. It was a collection of representations of criminals. Among\nthe relics is the blade of the guillotine used during the Reign of\nTerror in France, which is said to have cut off two thousand heads.\n\n[Illustration: WOLSEY SERVED BY NOBLES.]\n\nHampton Court Palace, the gift of Cardinal Wolsey to Henry VIII., and\nprobably the most magnificent present that a prelate ever gave a king,\nnext received our tourists' attention. The palace originally consisted\nof five courts, only a part of which now remain, but which assist the\nfancy in stereoscoping the old manorial splendor. Here Wolsey lived in\nvice-regal pomp, and had nearly one thousand persons to do his\nhouse-keeping, and noble lords, on state occasions, waited upon him\nupon bended knees.\n\nThe establishment at this time contained fifteen hundred rooms.\n\n[Illustration: WHITEHALL.]\n\nEdward VI., the last of the boy-kings of England, a youth noted for\nhis piety and love of learning, was born here, and here spent in\nscholarly occupations a part of his short life. Catharine Howard, who\nfor a long time held the affections of Henry VIII., and who in his\nbest years greatly influenced his conduct by her wisdom and\naccomplishments, was first acknowledged as queen here; and here also\nHenry married another Catharine,--Catharine Parr, his sixth and last\nwife. Bloody Mary kept Christmas here in 1557, when the great hall was\nlighted with one thousand lamps.\n\nOur visitors found Hampton Court open to the public,--a place of rare\nfreedom where people go out from London and enjoy the grounds much as\nthough it were their own. It is in fact a grand picture gallery and a\npublic garden.\n\n[Illustration: WOLSEY'S PALACE.]\n\n\"Wolsey gave this palace to the king,\" said Master Lewis; \"and the\nking was sporting in the palace when he received the news of the death\nof the Cardinal, who was stricken with a mortal sickness near\nLeicester Abbey, soon after having been arrested for high treason. The\nsad event did not seem to give the king the slightest pain. Such is\nthe value of the presents of a corrupt friendship.\n\n\"Charles I. resided here at times. Here he brought his young bride\nwhen all London was reeking with the pestilence.\n\n\"Charles had three beautiful children, and was fond of their company.\nOnce, it is said, when he was with them at a window of Hampton Court\nPalace, a gypsy appeared before him and asked for charity. He and the\nchildren laughed at her grotesque appearance, which angered her, when\nshe took from her basket a glass and held it up to the king. He looked\ninto it and saw his head severed from his shoulders.\n\n\"The king gave her money.\n\n\"'A dog shall die in this room,' she said, 'and then the kingdom which\nyou will lose shall be restored to your family.'\n\n[Illustration: DEATH OF CARDINAL WOLSEY.]\n\n\"Many years passed; and Oliver Cromwell, attended by his faithful dog,\ncame to Hampton Court Palace and slept in this room. When he awoke in\nthe morning, the dog was dead.\n\n\"'The kingdom has departed from me,' he said, recalling the gypsy's\nprophecy; and so it proved.\n\n\"Of course the story of the gypsy's mirror is untrue, but the legend\nis a part of the old romance of the palace; and such poetic incidents,\nthough false colored lights, serve to impress the facts of history\nmore vividly on the mind.\n\n[Illustration: CHILDREN OF CHARLES I.]\n\n\"This legend of Charles I.,\" continued Master Lewis, \"reminds me of a\nmore pleasant story, which I will tell you, now that you are at the\npalace where the king brought his bride when life looked so fair and\npromising. I will call the story--\n\n\nTHE DUCHESS'S WONDERFUL PIE.\n\n\"There were gala days at Paris,--wedding days. Then the new Queen of\nEngland, Henrietta Maria, who had been married amid music and\nrejoicings and strewings of flowers, made a journey to the sea, that\nshe might embark for England and see her new husband to whom she had\nbeen married by proxy. There were more rejoicings when she landed at\nDover.\n\n[Illustration: OLIVER CROMWELL.]\n\n\"It was the plague time in London, so the gala days were omitted\nthere; but the new queen had some magnificent receptions at\nBurleigh-on-the-hill, the residence of the king's favorite, the Duke\nof Buckingham.\n\n[Illustration: QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA.]\n\n\"There was one reception which the duke gave to the royal bride and\nbridegroom that was a surprise and delight. It was a banquet; the\ntables were sumptuous and splendid, and on one of them was a very\nlarge pie,--as large as that is supposed to be in which the\nfour-and-twenty blackbirds of nursery-rhyme fame are said to have been\nconcealed. The pie excited wonder, but the guests all knew that it was\nsome\n\n \"'Dainty dish\n To set before the king.'\n\n\"The banquet passed gayly, and the time came to serve the wonderful\npie. The crust was being removed, when instead of four-and-twenty\nblackbirds flying out, up popped a little man. He was a chipper little\nfellow, yet very polite, and was armed _cap-\u00e0-pie_.\n\n\"This was the first introduction of Jeffrey Hudson to the English king\nand queen. The pie had been purposely constructed to hold the little\nfellow, who, when the duchess made an incision in his castle of paste,\nshifted his situation until sufficient room was made for his\nappearance.\n\n\"The queen expressing herself greatly pleased with his person and\nmanners, the duchess presented him to her.\n\n\"This dwarf became very famous in the court of the queen.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe third day in London was given to the boys as their own. They were\nallowed by Master Lewis to go to such places as best suited their\ntastes. The prudent teacher had adopted this plan before, believing\nthat the boys needed it to teach them self-reliance.\n\n\"Where will you go to-day?\" asked Frank Gray of Tommy.\n\n\"Punch-and-Judy hunting,\" said Tommy. \"The streets of London are full\nof exhibitions; the queerest performances you ever saw. I have been\nwishing some time for a chance to see sights for myself. Will you go\nwith me?\"\n\n\"Punch-and-Judy hunting?\" said Frank, contemptuously. \"No; I am going\nto make an excursion to Cambridge.\"\n\n\"Remember,\" said Master Lewis, who had heard Tommy's remark, \"that\nLondon is a wilderness of streets. You must not wander far from any\nprincipal street. Never lose sight of the cabs and omnibuses.\"\n\n\"I feel perfectly sure that I shall need no other help than the\ncabman's in finding my way back. I have taken ten shillings in my\npurse in case of an emergency.\"\n\n\"Keep your purse in your pocket wherever you find yourself,\" said\nMaster Lewis. \"Punch-and-Judy crowds have not the credit of being the\nmost honest people.\"\n\nTommy found the hunting for street performances indeed alluring. Every\ncourt and alley seemed alive with the most remarkable entertainments a\nboy could witness.\n\n[Illustration: STREET AMUSEMENTS.]\n\nHe first met three grotesque musicians who had gathered around them an\naudience of admiring house-maids, dilatory market-people, and unkempt\nchildren. But the hat for contributions was passed so soon after he\njoined himself to the music-loving company that he at once left for\nanother performance where the call for money might not be so pressing.\nA fiddler with three performing dogs, that were bedecked with hats and\nruffles, quite exceeded in dramatic interest the former exhibition.\nBut the fiddler, too, had immediate need of money, and Tommy\nremembered Master Lewis's caution about the purse, and passed on to a\npublic place that seemed quite alive with groups of people gathered\naround curious sights and entertainments.\n\nThe pastimes here took a scientific turn. Chief among these street\nshowmen rose the tall head of a middle-aged gentleman--\"the\nprofessor\"--who administered the \"galvanic grip.\"\n\n\"Has fast has yer cured, gentlemen, pass right along, pass right\nalong, and give others a chance. 'Ave you han hache or a pain? I say,\n'ave you han hache or a pain? Cure ye right hup, right hup hin a\nminute. I'll tell you what, it is astonishing, gentlemen, what cures\nscience will perform.\"\n\n[Illustration: STREET AMUSEMENTS.]\n\nAt this point some one not schooled in the mysteries of science\nreceived a very liberal dose of the \"magnetic grip,\" and doubled his\nbody with an \"O!\" that seemed to be shot out of him, when the crowd\nlaughed and moved on.\n\nYou pay your five or ten pence and are presented with the handles\nforming the terminations of the electric wire: you grasp these as\ntight as you can, one in either hand, while the galvanist grinds away\nat the machine.\n\nWhen a hundred or more eyes are levelled upon you he suddenly\nincreases the motion in a manner that leaves no doubt in your mind\nthat that man has magnetism about him, whether he be a \"professor\" or\nnot. Of course your rheumatism at once disappears: it would do the\nsame had you fallen from the roof of a house.\n\nTommy had a strong inclination to be \"cured\" by the \"professor of\ngalvanism,\" but he conscientiously recalled Master Lewis's advice\nabout the purse.\n\nA man with a wonderfully bedecked performing monkey was leaving the\nsquare, and, as a sort of testimony to the attraction of his\nexhibition, a crowd of boys and girls were following him. Tommy wished\nto see a performance that had evidently excited so much interest, and\nhe allowed himself to be borne along after the man in the juvenile\ntide. After passing through several streets, the performer stopped in\nan open court, but for some reason was ordered away. Tommy found\nhimself left almost alone in an antique-looking place, where there\nwere in sight neither omnibuses nor cabs.\n\n\"Which is the way to Regent Street?\" asked Tommy of a sad-looking\nlittle girl.\n\n\"Dunno,\" said Sad Eyes; \"'ave ye got a penny?\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"For tellin' ye.\"\n\nTommy made other inquiries, but received about as definite information\nas at first, and each person followed the unsatisfactory answer with,\n\"'Ave ye a penny?\" as though it was worth that trifling amount to open\none's mouth.\n\nAn honest-looking house-wife, without bonnet or shawl, came marching\nalong the street with an air of friendly interest.\n\n\"Will you direct me to a street where I can find a hack?\" asked Tommy.\n\n\"A what?\"\n\n\"A cab.\"\n\n\"I guess yer lost, ar'n't ye?\"\n\n\"If you will be so kind as to direct me to Regent Street or Oxford\nStreet, or Pall Mall, I will pay you.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'AVE YOU GOT A PENNY?\"]\n\nTommy felt in his pocket for his purse. It was _not_ there.\n\n\"Give me yer hand, little boy,\" said the benevolent-looking dame.\n\nThe two walked on through several streets, when the woman said,--\n\n\"This street will take you to Oxford Street. 'Ave you got a penny?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Tommy; \"I have lost it.\"\n\n\"Oh, you blackguard--\"\n\nTommy did not stop to hear any figurative language, but found his way\nto Oxford Street as quickly as possible, and took with him to the\nhotel so deep a sense of humiliation that he did not relate the\nmisadventure and loss to his companions.\n\nIn the evening of the boys' \"own\" day, George Howe and Leander Towle\narrived unexpectedly at the hotel.\n\n\"We have come,\" said George, \"to bid you good-by.\"\n\n\"Why good-by?\" asked Master Lewis.\n\n\"We have been abroad a fortnight,\" said George; \"have seen the\ncapitals of Scotland, England, and France; have rode through the heart\nof England and the most interesting part of Normandy, and, as our\nmoney is more than half gone, we must return. The steamer leaves\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"How much will the whole trip cost you?\" asked Wyllys.\n\n\"It will cost us each $56.00 for the ocean passage both ways, and our\ntravelling expenses and board for the two weeks have averaged to each\n$2.00 per day, or $28.00. The trip will cost me, well--when I have\nmade some purchases--say $95.00, though I have not yet spent as much\nas this.\"\n\n\"Have you obtained your return tickets?\" asked Master Lewis.\n\n\"No, not yet.\"\n\n\"Let me advise you not to take steerage passage in returning. The\nsteerage will be crowded, and you will in that case find it no holiday\nexperience. Take a second-cabin ticket for $40.00.\"\n\n\"My expenses then will not greatly exceed $100.\"\n\n\"Another steamer sails in a few days,\" said Master Lewis; \"accept my\ninvitation to remain with us over to-morrow, and visit Windsor Castle\nwith us. It shall add nothing to your expenses.\"\n\nThe boys were delighted to accept Master Lewis's generous proposal. It\nwas arranged that the next morning the whole party should go to\nWindsor.\n\n\"Before we go to Windsor Castle,\" said Frank Gray to Master Lewis,\n\"will you not tell us something about the place?\"\n\n\"Windsor Castle,\" said Master Lewis, \"is the finest of English\npalaces, and is one of the residences of the royal family. In its\npark, Prince Albert lies buried in the mausoleum erected by the queen.\nPerhaps I cannot better instruct you for the visit than by telling you\nthe story of\n\n\nPRINCE ALBERT AND HIS QUEEN.\n\n\"For seventeen years Queen Victoria has mourned for one of the best\nhusbands and one of the wisest advisers that ever a female sovereign\nhad.\n\n\"The marriage of Victoria and Albert was a love-match; not a very\ncommon thing in unions of princes and princesses. They were first\ncousins, Albert's father and Victoria's mother having been brother and\nsister, the children of the Duke of Coburg; but, when they became\nengaged, their situations were very different. Victoria was the young\nqueen of one of the mightiest and proudest empires on earth; Albert\nwas only the younger son of a poor and petty German prince, 'across\nwhose dominion one might walk in half a day.'\n\n\"But their relationship and the plans of their family served to bring\nthem together at a very early age, and they were very young when their\nunion was first thought of. Old King Leopold of Belgium was the uncle\nof both of them; and it was he who first conceived the idea of their\nmarriage. But not a word was said to either of them about it until an\naffection had grown up between them, and it was time for the young\nqueen to choose a partner for her heart and throne.\n\n[Illustration: VICTORIA AT THE AGE OF EIGHT.]\n\n\"Albert and Victoria met for the first time when they were both\nseventeen years old. The young prince and his brother went to England\nto pay a visit to their aunt and cousin, and the young couple were\nbrought together. Albert at that time was rather short and thick-set,\nbut fine-looking, rosy-cheeked, natural and simple in his manners, and\nof a cheerful disposition. He took a great deal of interest in every\nthing about him, and while on his visit to England spent much time in\nplaying on the piano with his cousin Victoria, who was then a slight,\ngraceful, and interesting girl.\n\n\"She fell in love with him at once; but he, though he liked her, was\nnot so quickly impressed. He wrote to his Uncle Leopold that 'our\ncousin is very amiable,' but had no stronger praise for her. Albert\nthen returned to the continent, and spent some years in travel and\nstudy, writing occasionally to Victoria and she to him. Meanwhile,\nKing William IV. died, and Victoria, in her eighteenth year, ascended\nthe British throne.\n\n\"The young prince's next visit took place in the year after this\nevent, and now his object was to plead for the hand and heart of the\nyoung queen. Victoria could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw\nhim. The short, thick-set boy had grown into a tall, comely youth,\nwith elegant manners and a strikingly handsome face. Soon after, she\nwrote to her Uncle Leopold, 'Albert's beauty is most striking, and he\nis most amiable and unaffected,--in short, very fascinating.'\n\n\"A few days after his arrival, Victoria had made up her mind; and,\nsending for Lord Melbourne, the prime minister, told him that she was\ngoing to marry Prince Albert. The next day she sent for the prince;\nand 'in a genuine outburst of heartiness and love' she declared to him\nthat he had gained her whole heart, and would make her very happy if\nhe would share his life with her. He responded with warm affection,\nand thus they became betrothed.\n\n\"The queen not only thus 'popped the question,' but insisted that the\nmarriage should take place at an early day. This was in the summer of\n1839; and, in the early winter of 1840, the young couple were married\nin the royal chapel of St. James, in the midst of general rejoicing,\nand with great pomp and ceremony.\n\n\"Such was the beginning of a happy wedded life, which lasted for over\ntwenty years, and during which the love of each for the other seemed\nto increase constantly. A little circle of children was soon formed\naround the royal hearthstone, and the domestic life of the palace was\nfull of contentment and good order; and, as Victoria grew older, she\nlearned more and more of the excellent character that Providence had\ngiven her for a husband.\n\n\"While Prince Albert assumed the direction of the family, and was the\nunquestioned master of it in its private life, he was wise enough to\nbe very careful how he interfered with the queen in the performance of\nher public duties. He knew that, as a foreigner, the English would be\nvery jealous of him if he took part in politics, or tried to influence\nVictoria in her conduct as a ruler.\n\n\"At the same time, the young queen, scarcely more than a girl, needed\na guiding hand, and one that she could trust. No one could be so much\ntrusted as her husband; and Albert gradually became her adviser on\npublic affairs, as well as the head of her household. At first, there\nwere many grumblings and complaints about this in England; but as the\npurity and good sense of the prince became better known, as it became\nevident that his ambition was to serve the queen and the country,\nthese complaints for the most part ceased.\n\n\"Prince Albert devoted himself, with all his heart and mind, to the\nduties which he found weighing upon him as a husband and father, and\nas the most intimate counsellor of the monarch of a great country. He\ndenied himself many of the innocent pleasures which lay within his\nreach, went but little into society, and spent his days and evenings\nin serious occupations and in the midst of his happy family circle.\n\n\"Among other things, he took a very deep interest in the progress of\nart, science, and education. 'His horses,' says a writer, 'might be\nseen waiting for him before the studios of artists, the museums of art\nand science, the institutions for benevolence or culture, but never\nbefore the doors of dissipation or mere fashion.'\n\n\"It was Prince Albert who proposed and planned the great London\nExhibition of 1851, the first of the series of 'World's Fairs,' which\nhave since been so frequently held, the latest being our own\nCentennial; and when it had been resolved upon, it was Prince Albert's\nlabor and energy, more than that of any other, which made it a\nsuccess.\n\n\"In his own family circle Prince Albert was always kind, gentle, and\nindulgent, but firm and resolute in his treatment of his children. He\ntook a great interest in their studies, and directed their education,\nsometimes teaching them himself; and he bestowed an anxious and\nfatherly care upon the formation of their manners and habits, and a\nright training of their hearts and minds.\n\n\"From first to last, he was as tenderly devoted to the queen as a\nlover. He went with her everywhere, and his tastes and hers were\nentirely congenial. Of a quiet and domestic disposition, he was amply\ncontent to find his pleasures in the family circle; and Victoria took\na perpetual delight in his kind and cultivated companionship.\n\n\"When Prince Albert died, in December, 1861, the queen was overwhelmed\nwith grief; and it was many years before she so far recovered from it\nthat she could bear to show herself in public, or to take part in any\nsocial gathering or State ceremony.\n\n\"He was placed in a tomb in the beautiful park of Windsor, where she\nhad so often roamed with him in their early wedded life; and every\nyear, on the sad anniversary of his death, Victoria repairs to his\ngrave, and prays, and scatters flowers on the tomb.\"\n\nWindsor Castle had its rise in early Saxon times, and was made a\nfortress by William the Conqueror. Froissart says that King Arthur\ninstituted his Order of the Knights of the Round Table here. King John\ndwelt here during the conferences at Runnymede, when the barons drove\nhim almost to madness by compelling him to sign away his royal claims\nby the acceptance of the Magna Charta.\n\nThe situation of the castle is most beautiful; it overlooks the\nThames, and from its tower twelve counties may be seen. The home park\nof the palace contains five hundred acres, and this is connected with\nWindsor Great Park, which has an area of one thousand eight hundred\nacres.\n\n[Illustration: ANGER OF KING JOHN.]\n\nThe beauty of St. George's Chapel greatly excited the wonder of our\ntourists. Here are the tombs of Henry VIII., Charles I., Georges III.\nand IV., and William IV.\n\n\"Here,\" said Wyllys Wynn, \"is the finest monument I have yet seen in\nEngland. How beautifully the light is made to fall upon it!\"\n\nThe monument represented a dead princess, with a sheet thrown over the\nbody and couch, as though she had just expired. Above it the spirit of\nthe maiden is shown in the form of an angel ascending to heaven.\n\n\"It is the tomb of the Princess Charlotte,\" said Master Lewis. \"She\nwas one of the most amiable princesses that ever won the affections of\nthe English people. Her death came like a private sorrow to every\nfamily in the kingdom, and was the occasion of the most tender public\nexpressions of grief.\n\n\"I must tell you a story,\" continued Master Lewis, after standing at\nthe tomb of George III., \"that will soften your feelings, perhaps,\ntowards one whom, for political reasons, our own history has taught us\nto regard as little worthy of respect; but who had great private\nvirtues, whatever may have been his political mistakes.\"\n\nIn the bright avenue of elms, called the Long Walk, which connects the\nhome park with the Great Park of Windsor, Master Lewis told the boys\nthe story of the lamented Princess Amelia and her unhappy father, who\nbecame insane from his loss, when she died. The pathetic story made a\ngreat impression on the minds of the party, and it was several hours\nbefore they resumed their accustomed air of gayety and enjoyment. They\nreturned to London in the late evening twilight, and the next day the\nparty separated. George Howe and Leander Towle remained in London\nuntil the sailing of the next steamer for America; and Master Lewis\nand the boys under his own care took a steamer for Antwerp.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nBELGIUM.\n\n Belgium.--Dog-carts.--Waterloo.--Aix-la-Chapelle and\n Charlemagne.--Story of Charlemagne.--Ghent and James van\n Artevelde.--Bruges.--Story of Charles the Rash.--Longfellow's\n \"Belfry of Bruges.\"--French Diligences.--Normandy.--A\n Story-telling Driver.--Story of the Wild Girl Of Songi.\n\n\n\"Anvers!\" By this name is Antwerp known in Belgium, of which it is the\nchief commercial port.\n\nThe Class stopped here only long enough to visit the Cathedral, where\nare to be seen two of Rubens' most celebrated pictures, the Elevation\nof and the Descent from the Cross. The boys climbed up to the belfry\nof the famous spire, whose bells make the air tremble for miles with\nthe melody of their chimes.\n\nIt was Master Lewis's plan to travel through the lower part of Belgium\nand through Normandy by short journeys near the coast, but he made a\nd\u00e9tour from Antwerp to Brussels that the boys might visit the\nbattlefield of Waterloo.\n\nThe landscape along the route to Brussels was dotted with quaint\nwindmills, reminding one of the old pictorial histories, in which\nHolland is illustrated by cuts of these workshops of the air.\n\nThe boys entered the city in the morning and passed in view of the\ngreat market square and its contiguous streets.\n\n\"This city,\" said Frank Gray, \"was the scene of the grand military\nball before the Battle of Waterloo.\n\n \"'There was a sound of revelry by night,\n And Belgium's capital had gathered then\n Her beauty and her chivalry, and--'\"\n\n\"And please don't quote the reading book,\" said Tommy Toby. \"The city\nis full of _dog-carts_. Dog-carts heaped full of vegetables and women\nto lead about the dogs! What a comical sight!\"\n\n[Illustration: {A DUTCH WINDMILL.}]\n\n\"They are probably country people with produce to sell,\" said Wyllys.\n\"What curious head-dresses! What odd jackets! The scene does not much\nremind one of Byron's poetry; but it is poetic, after all!\"\n\n\"I understood that we came here to study the associations of\nhistory,\" said Frank, \"and not dog-carts.\"\n\n\"I came to see what I could see,\" said Tommy, \"and not to imagine\nbattles in the air.\"\n\n[Illustration: DOG-CARTS.]\n\nThe unexpected street scenes and the general interest of the Class in\nthem so offended Frank that he turned his eyes with a far-away look\ntowards the highest gables, and passed on the rest of the way to the\nHotel de l'Europe in silence.\n\nThe next morning the Class left the Place Royale, in a fine English\nstage-coach, in company with an agent of the English mail coaches, for\nWaterloo, which is about twelve miles from the city. It was a bright\nday, and the airy road led through the forest of Soignies,--the\n\"Ardennes\" of Byron's \"Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.\"\n\n \"And Ardennes waves about them her green leaves,\n Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass.\"\n\nThe battlefield of Waterloo is an open plain, graced here and there\nwith appropriate monuments, and dignified with an imposing earth mound\nwith the Belgian Lion on its top.\n\nIt did not seem that the plain could ever have been the scene of such\na contest, so great was its beauty and so quiet its midsummer\nloveliness.\n\n[Illustration: STREET SCENES IN BRUSSELS.]\n\n\"Here,\" said Frank, \"the Old Guard of France, who could die but not\nsurrender, gave their blood for the empire.\"\n\n\"Here,\" said Wyllys, \"England won her greatest battle on land--\"\n\n\"At the cost of twenty thousand men, as I have read,\" said Tommy.\n\n\"Victor Hugo,\" said Master Lewis, \"declares that Waterloo was not a\nbattle: it was a change of front of the nations of the world.\"\n\nThe Class stopped at Brussels on their return from the most peaceful\nplain to take a view of the Hotel de Ville, which is one of the\nfinest town-halls in the country. Its tower is more than three hundred\nand sixty feet high, and is surmounted with a colossal statue of St.\nMichael, which looks very small indeed from the square, but which is\nreally seventeen feet high. The figure turns in the wind, and is the\nweather vane of the city.\n\n[Illustration: HOTEL DE VILLE, BRUSSELS.]\n\n\"I wish you to visit Aix-la-Chapelle,\" said Master Lewis. \"The places\nyou have seen in England and expect to see in Normandy will, I hope,\nleave in your mind a clear view of English history, when you shall\nassociate them under my direction, as I purpose to have you do. To\nhave a view of French history you will need to learn something of the\nold empire of Charlemagne, of which this city was the principal\ncapital on this side of the Alps. Here the great king of the Franks,\nRoman Emperor, and virtual ruler of the world was born, had his\nfavorite residence, and here he was buried. Here, in 1165, his tomb\nwas opened, and his body was found seated upon a throne, crowned, the\nsceptre in his hand, the Gospel on his knee, and all of the insignia\nof imperial state about him.\"\n\n[Illustration: CHARLEMAGNE IN COUNCIL.]\n\nThrough districts of pasture lands, by cliffs that looked like\ncastles, over clear streams and past populous villages our tourists\nmade their way to the old city of the emperor of the West. It is\nsituated in a valley, surrounded by heights. Its town hall was built\non the ruins of the palace of Charlemagne.\n\nThe grand old cathedral has sixteen sides. In the middle of the\ninterior, a stone with the inscription CAROLO MAGNO marks the grave of\nCharlemagne.\n\n[Illustration: CHARLEMAGNE AT THE HEAD OF HIS ARMY.]\n\n\"Charlemagne, like Alfred of England,\" said Master Lewis, \"was a\npatron of learning; and he instituted in his own palace a school for\nhis sons and servants. But he was a war-making king. He conducted in\nall fifty-three expeditions in Germany, Gaul, Italy, and Greece, and\nmade himself the ruler of the greater part of Northern and Eastern\nEurope. He went to Rome in 800 A.D. and received a most gracious\nreception from the Pope, as in all his contests he had been a faithful\nservant of the Church.\n\n\"On Christmas day, 800 A.D. he went into St. Peter's to attend mass.\nHe took his place before the altar, and, as he bowed his head to pray,\nthe Pope placed the crown of the Roman Empire upon it, and all the\npeople shouted, 'Long live Charles Augustus, crowned of God, the great\nEmperor of the Romans!'\n\n\"And so the king of the Franks became the emperor of the world.\"\n\nThe relics which the cathedral exhibits from time to time at great\npublic festivals are remarkable as illustrations of the influence of\nsuperstition. Among the so-called _Grandes Reliques_ are the robe worn\nby the Virgin at the Nativity and the swaddling clothes in which the\ninfant Saviour was wrapped. It would be almost irreverent to excite\nridicule by giving a list of the articles associated with the\ncrucifixion of Christ. Among the _Petites Reliques_ are pieces of\nAaron's rod that budded. Upon these pretended relics the German\nemperors used to take the State oath at their coronations.\n\n[Illustration: HOTEL DE VILLE, GHENT.]\n\nThe Class next visited the coronation room in the Hotel de Ville, a\nhall one hundred and sixty feet long, where a series of impressive\nfrescoes presents a view of the life of Charlemagne. In this hall\nthirty-five German emperors and fourteen empresses had been crowned.\n\n[Illustration: VAN ARTEVELDE AT HIS DOOR.]\n\nThe Class returned to Brussels, and thence made easy journeys\nthrough a fertile and thickly settled country, towards Normandy.\n\nGhent, a grand old city of the commerce kings of Flanders, with its\nquaint town-hall and its two hundred and seventy bridges, next met the\neager eyes of our tourists, who stopped here briefly on their way to\nBruges.\n\n\"I never hear the name of Ghent pronounced,\" said Master Lewis,\n\"without recalling the scene which history pictures of James van\nArtevelde standing in the door of his house, when the burghers, tired\nof the rule of kings and nobles, came to him for counsel, and asked\nhim to become their leader. It was really the burghers' declaration of\nindependence, and the making one of their number,--for James van\nArtevelde was a brewer,--president of the rich old city. This was on\nthe 26th of December, 1337. It was a bold stroke for liberty in the\ndays of tyranny, and the memory of it will ever live.\"\n\n\"I know but little of the history of Bruges,\" said Wyllys Wynn to\nMaster Lewis, during the ride to that city. \"I have heard, of course,\nof its belfry, and I also remember what Tommy said about it in his\nstory of Philip the Good and the Tinker. What makes the city so\nfamous?\"\n\n\"It was once,\" said Master Lewis, \"the greatest commercial port in the\nworld; a hundred and fifty foreign vessels would sometimes enter its\nbasins in a single day. Its inhabitants became very rich, and its\ngrandees lived like princes. A French queen who visited it in its high\nprosperity is said to have exclaimed, 'I thought myself the only queen\nhere, but I see a thousand about me!' Twenty ministers from foreign\ncourts had residences within its walls. It excelled all places in the\nmanufacture of wool; and in recognition of this fact Philip the Good\ninstituted there the Order of the Golden Fleece.\n\n\"There is an historic character whose name is associated with Bruges\nin a very different way from Philip the Good,--a famous son of Philip,\nwho was called\n\n\nCHARLES THE RASH.\n\n\"His surname is a picture of his character, and it seems strange that\nso good a duke as Philip should have had so bad a son. To wage war,\nharry and burn, to be engaged always in some work of destruction, was\nthe passion of his life. He devastated Normandy, destroying more than\ntwo hundred castles and towns. He filled the land with smoke, and\ncolored the rivers with blood.\n\n\"He succeeded to the ducal crown of Burgundy in 1467. Being the\nrichest prince of the times, he immediately began to make preparations\nfor war on a gigantic scale, which should add all the neighboring\nterritories and provinces to Burgundy. He desired to extend his\npersonal power at any expense of blood and treasure, and he mapped out\nplans of conquest and dreamed dazzling dreams.\n\n\"While he was getting ready for war, Louis XI. of France invited him\nto a conference: he hesitated, and Louis, through his partisans,\nincited the citizens of Li\u00e9ge to revolt against him. Charles then\nconsented to the conference, but as soon as Louis arrived, he\ntreacherously seized him and made him his prisoner. He forced him to\nswear a treaty on a box which was believed to contain pieces of the\ntrue cross, and which had belonged to Charlemagne. He then compelled\nhim to go with him to Li\u00e9ge, and apparently to sanction the punishment\nof the people for the very revolt he had incited them to make.\n\n\"He conquered Lorraine, and planned to subdue Switzerland and add it\nto Burgundy. He entered Switzerland, captured Grandson, and hanged and\ndrowned the garrison. The Swiss rose unitedly against such a merciless\nfoe, and utterly defeated him. But he raised another army and again\nentered Switzerland, full of visions of conquest. He was again\ndefeated.\n\n[Illustration: CHARLES THE RASH DISCOVERED.]\n\n\"He came back to Burgundy, morose and gloomy. His nails and beard grew\nlong; he looked like a wild man; the people recoiled from him, and\nhis dark character seemed to throw a shadow around him wherever he\nappeared.\n\n\"Lorraine, which he had conquered, rose against him. This roused him\nagain to action: he hired soldiers, and led the way to war. He met the\nrebellious Lorrainers in the plain of Nancy. Here the rash duke made\nhis last fight. It was a snowy day, and the battle was a short\none,--the soldiers of Charles flying quickly before the enemy.\n\n\"When the duke was preparing himself for the battle, the gilt lion\nwhich formed the crest of his helmet fell off.\n\n\"'It is a sign from God,' said he, smitten in conscience.\n\n\"When the battle was over his body was nowhere to be found.\n\n\"They searched for it in the snow-covered fields. At last a Roman page\nsaid he had seen the duke fall. He led the people towards a frozen\npond, where were some bodies lying, stripped. A washerwoman who had\njoined in the search, saw the glitter of a jewel on the hand of a\ncorpse whose face was not visible. The head was frozen in the ice. The\nposition of the body was changed. It was Charles the Rash. He was\nfinally buried in the church of Notre Dame, whose spire you may\nalready see shining in the sun.\"\n\nThe story of Charles the Rash led the Class to visit the old church of\nNotre Dame soon after their arrival in the courtly old city. It had a\ngreater charm for the boys than the ornate town-hall with its famous\nbelfry and its many bells. In a side chapel was the tomb of the rash\nduke and that of his daughter, Mary of Burgundy.\n\n\"I can only think of the snowy field, and the naked body frozen in the\nice,\" said Ernest Wynn, as he left the solemn chapel.\n\nThe belfry of Bruges, of which so much has been said and sung, is\nreally only about three hundred feet high, but affords a grand view of\nthe surrounding country. Its chimes play by machinery four times an\nhour, and are regarded the finest in Europe.\n\nWe must let Longfellow tell the charming story of his visit to the old\ntower:--\n\n In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;\n Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.\n\n As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,\n And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood.\n\n Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray,\n Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay.\n\n At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there,\n Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air.\n\n Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,\n But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.\n\n From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;\n And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.\n\n Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,\n With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes,\n\n Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the\n choir;\n And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.\n\n Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;\n They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again;\n\n All the Foresters of Flanders,--mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer,\n Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de Dampierre.\n\n I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old;\n Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece\n of Gold.\n\n Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies;\n Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal pomp and ease.\n\n I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground;\n I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound;\n\n And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen,\n And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between.\n\n I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold,\n Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold;\n\n Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west,\n Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest.\n\n And again a whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;\n And again the wild alarum from the tocsin's throat,--\n\n Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand,\n \"I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land!\"\n\n Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar\n Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more.\n\n Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware,\n Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square.\n\nOn entering Normandy, Master Lewis engaged passages on diligences,\nwherever a promise of a route amid pleasant scenery offered itself. It\nseemed to be the boys' greatest delight to ride on the top of a\ndiligence.\n\nThese French stage-coaches are lofty, lumbering vehicles, composed of\nthree parts. The front division is called _coup\u00e9_, and is shaped\nsomewhat like an old-time chariot. It holds three persons. Next is the\n_int\u00e9rieur_ or inside, holding six persons, an apartment much shunned\nin pleasant weather in summer time. Behind is the _rotonde_ which\ncollects \"dust, dirt, and bad company.\" Over all is the _banquette_, a\ncastle-like position on the top of the coup\u00e9, a seat protected by a\nhood, or head, and leather apron.\n\nTo secure this seat beside the \"driver\" was Tommy Toby's highest\nambition, when about to leave a newly visited place.\n\nIn one of these rides, when Tommy and Wyllys Wynn occupied this high\nseat, Tommy said to the driver,--\n\n\"It seems strange to me to find such great forests in old countries\nlike England, Belgium, and France. I fancied that great tracts of wood\nonly existed in new lands like America, or half-civilized places. Are\nthere wild animals in the woods here?\"\n\nThe driver was a French soldier, quite advanced in life. He spoke\nEnglish well, and seemed to enjoy giving the largest possible\ninformation to his seat companions.\n\n\"Yes, there are some wild animals left in the forest,\" he said,--\"of\nthe harmless kind. _Wild people_ have sometimes been found in the\nlargest tracts of forest.\"\n\n\"Wild people?\" asked Tommy, his curiosity greatly excited. \"Did you\never see a wild man?\"\n\n\"No, not myself. Did you ever hear of Peter the Wild Boy found in the\nwoods in Hanover?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Tommy.\n\n\"There was a wild girl found in the French woods, not far from Paris,\nabout the same time.\"\n\n\"Will you not tell us the story?\" asked Tommy.\n\nThe diligence lumbered along among the cool forest scenery, between\nthe walls of green trees which now and then, like suddenly opened\nwindows, afforded extended views; and the good-natured, well-informed\ndriver told the two boys the story of\n\n\nTHE WILD GIRL OF SONGI.\n\n\"In the year 1731, as a nobleman was hunting at Songi, near the\nancient and historic town of Chalons, on the river Champagne, in\nFrance, he discovered a couple of objects at a distance in the water,\nat which he fired, supposing them to be birds.\n\n\"They immediately disappeared, but arose at a point near the shore,\nwhen they were found to be two children, evidently about a dozen years\nof age.\n\n\"They carried to the shore some fish that they had caught, which they\ntore in pieces with their teeth and devoured raw, without chewing.\n\n\"After their meal, one of them found a rosary, probably lost by some\ndevotee, with which she seemed highly delighted. She endeavored to\nconceal it from her companion, but the latter made the discovery,\nand, filled with rage and jealousy, inflicted a severe blow on the\nhand containing the treasure. The other returned the blow, striking\nher companion on the head with a heavy missile, and bringing her to\nthe ground with a cry of pain.\n\n\"The sisters, for such they probably were, parted. The one most\ninjured went towards the river and was never seen or heard of\nafterwards. The other hurried off towards the hamlet of Songi.\n\n\"She was a strange and frightful-looking creature. Her color was\nblack, and her only clothing consisted of loose rags and the skins of\nanimals. The people of Songi fled to their houses and barred their\ndoors at the sight of her.\n\n\"She wandered about the place, greatly to the terror of the villagers,\nbut at last some adventurers determined to set a dog on her. She\nawaited the attack coolly, but as soon as the monster came fairly\nwithin her reach, she dealt him such a blow on the head as laid him\nlifeless on the spot.\n\n\"The astonished peasants kept at a safe retreating distance, not\nwishing a personal encounter with such a creature. She endeavored to\ngain admittance to some of the houses, but the quaking occupants, who\nseem to have fancied that the evil one himself had made his\nappearance, securely fastened their doors and windows.\n\n\"She at length retired to the fields and climbed a tree, where she\nsat, appearing to the spectators like an omen of ill to Songi.\n\n\"The Viscount d'Epinoy was stopping at Songi at this time, and,\nsupposing the creature to be a wild girl, offered a reward for her\ncapture.\n\n\"The excitement in the hamlet cooling, a party was formed to secure\nthe reward. The wild girl still remained in the tree, evidently taking\nrepose. Thinking that she must be thirsty, a bucket of water was\nplaced at the foot of the tree. She descended, looking cautiously\naround, and drank, but immediately ascended to the top of the tree, as\nthough fearful of injury.\n\n\"She was at length allured to descend by a woman, who held out to her\nfish and fruit. She was seized by stout men, and taken to the seat of\nthe viscount. One of her first acts was to devour raw some wild fowl,\nwhich she found in the kitchen.\n\n\"After public curiosity had been satisfied, the viscount sent her to a\nshepherd to be tamed. The latter found this no easy matter, and her\nwildness and animal nature were exhibited in so marked a manner that\nshe became known as the shepherd's beast.\n\n\"She sometimes escaped. Once she was missing over night, when there\ncame a terrible snow-storm, and the poor shepherd wandered in search\nof her. He discovered her at last housed just as she had been in\nchildhood, in the branches of a tree. The wind blew and the snow\ndrifted around her, but she was loth to return. She had learned that\ntrouble dwells in houses, and here in the tree-top, if she was cold,\nshe was free. I wonder if she thought of her sister in whose arms she\nhad doubtless slept in the trees, in her childhood.\n\n\"Her agility was marvellous. She would outrun the swiftest animals,\neven the rabbits and hares. The Queen of Poland once took her on a\nhunting excursion, and much amusement she afforded to the royal party.\nShe would discover game with the shrewdness of a bird of prey, and\nhaving outrun and captured a hare, she would bring it with great\neagerness to the astonished and delighted queen.\n\n\"She was once set at the table with some people of rank, at a banquet.\nShe seemed delighted with the bright costumes, and the wit and gay\nspirits of the guests. Presently she was gone. She returned at last\nwith something very choice in her apron, and with a face beaming with\nhappiness, she approached a fine lady, and holding up a live frog by\nthe leg said gleefully, 'Have some?'\n\n\"She dropped the frog into the plate of the startled guest, and\npassing around the table, with a liberal supply of the reptiles, said,\n'Have some? have some?'\n\n\"The ladies started back from such a dessert, and the poor girl felt\na pang of disappointment at the sudden rejection of the offering.\n\n\"She had gathered the frogs from a pond near at hand.\n\n\"It was a long time before she became accustomed to the habits of\ncivilization. She died in a convent.\"\n\n\"What a strange history!\" said Wyllys Wynn. \"She must have found her\nlife in the convent very different from that of her childhood. What\nwas her name?\"\n\n\"They called her Maria le Blanc.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nUPPER NORMANDY.\n\n Calais.--The Black Prince.--\u00c9tretat.--French Bathing.--Legend.--\n Rouen.--Story of St. Louis.--Story of St. Bartholomew's Eve.\n\n\nThe Class stopped briefly at Calais, and was disappointed to find a\ncity so famous in history situated in a barren district, and\nsurrounded with little that is picturesque. The old walls around the\ntown are, however, pleasant promenades, and command a view of the\nwhite cliffs of England. It was here, after a siege of eleven months,\nthat Eustace de St. Pierre and his five companions offered themselves\nto Edward III. as a ransom for the city, and were saved from death by\nthe pleading of Queen Philippa. The town was a fortress then, and\nlooked menacingly over to England. The English proudly held possession\nof it for more than two hundred years, or from 1347 to 1558, when it\nwas captured in Bloody Mary's time by the French under the Duc de\nGuise.\n\n\"When I am dead,\" said Mary in her last days, \"and my body is opened,\nye shall find _Calais_ written on my heart.\"\n\nCalais recalls the stories of valor of the chivalrous campaigns of\nEdward III. and his son, the Black Prince, in Normandy. At Crecy, the\nBlack Prince, when only sixteen years of age, led the English army to\nvictory, and slew the King of Bohemia with his own hand.\n\nKing Edward watched this battle from a windmill on a hill. The French\narmy was many times larger than the English. The Prince during the\nbattle found himself hard pressed, and at one point the Earl of\nWarwick sent to the king for assistance.\n\n\"Is my son killed?\"\n\n\"No, sire,\" said the messenger.\n\n\"Is he wounded?\"\n\n\"No, sire.\"\n\n\"Is he thrown to the ground?\"\n\n\"No, but he is hard-pressed.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the king, \"I shall send no aid. I have set my heart upon\nhis proving himself a brave knight, and I am resolved that the victory\nshall be due to his own valor.\"\n\n[Illustration: CAPTURE OF KING JOHN AND HIS SON.]\n\nIn 1356, in another campaign in Normandy, the Black Prince won a most\nbrilliant victory at Poitiers, and captured the French King John. The\nlatter was a brave soldier, and fought with his battle-axe until all\nthe nobles had forsaken him. The Black Prince made a supper for him in\nhis tent in the evening, and waited upon him at the table with his own\nhands. The Black Prince and the captive king rode through London\ntogether, the former in great pomp, and the latter on a cream-colored\npony by his side. All of these things read prettily in history, but\none is glad that the time is past when war was the game of kings, and\narmies were used as their playthings.\n\nA series of easy rides near the cool sea brought the Class to the old\nfishing village of \u00c9tretat, now a fashionable summer resort for French\nartists, and a popular bathing-place for those desiring seclusion amid\nthe coast scenery. It is situated amid rocks which the sea has\nexcavated into arches, aiguilles, and other fantastic recesses and\ncaverns. Its pretty ch\u00e2lets and villas on the hills, its gayly-dressed\nsummer idlers, its groups of fishermen who are to be seen in all\nweathers, its handsome fisher girls bronzed by the sun who lead a free\nlife by the sea, its bathers in brilliant dresses of blue serge and\nbright trimmings, its bracing air and usually fine weather, make it\none of the quaintest and most restful nooks in France.\n\nThere are the remains of a Norman church near the sea. It is said to\noccupy the spot where the people watched the great flotilla of William\nthe Conqueror drift to St. Valery, there to take the Norman army to\nEngland.\n\nA French watering-place is quite different from an American seaside\nresort. You have your board and sleeping-room in one of the hotels,\nbut your parlors, piazzas, and places of recreation are in an elegant\npleasure house, called the _Casino_. For the privileges of the Casino\nyou pay a small sum; at \u00c9tretat it amounts to about ten dollars a\nmonth. The billiard-rooms, ball-room, and the rooms for general\nconversation are in the Casino.\n\nEvery one bathes in the sea at \u00c9tretat, women and children, whole\nfamilies together, and most of the girls are expert swimmers. It is\ndelightful to sit upon the _shingle_, as the pebbly beach is called,\nand watch the sport in the sun-bright mornings or golden and dreamy\nafternoons. The costumes of the bathers are so pretty that the scene\nseems like a ball in the sea. Bathing men are stationed here and there\nto render any needed assistance.\n\nThe great caverns which the sea has worn in the rocks at \u00c9tretat\nremind one of the ruins of immense cathedrals, and are grand indeed in\nthe light of the full summer moon.\n\nThe place abounds with story-telling fishermen. The Class was told one\nstory here which is worthy of a poem.\n\n\"A beautiful stream once watered the valley. Its bed may still be\nseen, but it now runs under ground. On the stream an industrious\nmiller built his mill and did a thriving business. One day a woman,\nsick and destitute, came to him for help. He turned heartlessly away\nfrom her with abuse. The poor creature raised her withered arm, and\nsaid,--\n\n\"'To-morrow thou shalt have thy reward.'\n\n\"When the miller awoke the next morning he found his mill standing on\ndry ground. The river had gone down into the earth, where it still\nruns.\"\n\n[Illustration: TOWER OF JOAN OF ARC, ROUEN.]\n\nThe fisher's hymn which Ernest Wynn gave the Club at its first meeting\nwas asked for here by Master Lewis, and was procured. It is sung\nbefore the departure of ships and during great storms in the fishing\nseason, being a part of the mass for seamen, or the _messe\nd'equipage_.\n\nThe Class left \u00c9tretat for Rouen.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"O Rouen! Rouen! it is here I must die, and here shall be my last\nresting-place!\" said Joan of Arc at the stake. Rouen was hardly the\nresting-place of the heroic peasant girl, for her ashes were thrown\ninto the Seine. But the thought of the stranger on coming to Rouen is\nless associated with its history under the sea-kings of the North, the\nNorman dukes and the English invaders, than with the hard fate and the\npublic memorials of the simple shepherdess, who seems to have been\ncalled from her flocks to change the destiny of France.\n\n[Illustration: THE MAID OF ORLEANS.]\n\nThe Class entered Rouen after a series of short, zigzag journeys,\npartly in coaches and partly on foot, going leisurely from town to\ntown through roads that presented to view continuous landscapes of\nshining orchards, ripening gardens, and resplendent poppy-fields;\nstopping at Amiens, the birthplace of Peter the Hermit, meeting here\nand there a ruin, and finding everywhere the connecting historical\nlinks between the present and the past.\n\nAt Amiens the Class was brought into the presence of a relic which\ngreatly excited the boys' wonder.\n\n\"This church,\" said their guide, taking the Class to a side chapel of\nthe cathedral, \"contains a very rare relic,--a part of the head of\nJohn the Baptist!\"\n\nPassing into the beautiful chapel the Class was shown the shrine\ncontaining the precious treasure, which consists of the supposed\nfrontal bone, and the upper jaw of the saint.\n\nThe _valet de place_ who accompanied the Class from the hotel seemed\nto have no doubt of the genuineness of the relic, or of the propriety\nof adoring it, if indeed it were real,--and he bowed reverently before\nthe shrine.\n\n\"A very rare relic,\" he said.\n\n\"Wonderful!\" said Frank. \"I did not know that such sacred remains were\nanywhere to be found as are shown us in the churches of France.\"\n\n\"_Quite_ a rare relic,\" said Master Lewis, coolly. \"I believe that,\nprevious to the French Revolution, several whole heads of John the\nBaptist were to be seen in France.\"\n\n\"You do not think that a church like this would be guilty of\nimposture, do you?\" asked Ernest Wynn.\n\n\"Not wilfully. Most of these French relics were brought from\nConstantinople at the time of the Crusades. They may be genuine,--the\npeople believe them so; but, in the absence of direct historic\nevidence, it is probable that the Crusaders were deceived in them by\nothers, who in their turn may have been deceived.\n\n\"You will be shown wonderful relics or shrines supposed to contain\nthem, in nearly all the great churches of France. The French people\nwere taught their reverence for relics by St. Louis, who sought to\nenrich the churches of his country with such treasures.\"\n\n\"Who was St. Louis?\" asked Ernest.\n\n\"I am glad to have you ask the question,\" said Master Lewis. \"His name\nmeets you everywhere in France.\n\n\nSTORY OF ST. LOUIS.\n\n\"St. Louis was one of the best men that ever sat on a throne. But he\nwas influenced by the superstitions of the times in which he lived.\n\n\"His mother was a most noble and pious woman, and he was a dutiful and\naffectionate son.\n\n\"It was regarded as very pious at this time for a prince to go on a\ncrusade. St. Louis was taken sick, and he made a vow that, if he\nrecovered, he would become a crusader. On his recovery, he appointed\nhis mother regent, and sailed with forty thousand men for Cyprus,\nwhere he proceeded against Egypt, thinking by the conquest of that\ncountry to open a triumphant way to Palestine. He was defeated, and\nreturned to France.\n\n\"He was a model prince among his own people. He used to spend a\nportion of each day in charity, and to feed an hundred or more paupers\nevery time he went to walk. He visited his own domestics when they\nwere sick; he founded charities, which have multiplied, and to-day\ncause his name to be remembered with gratitude almost everywhere in\nFrance. He made it the aim of his life to relieve suffering wherever\nit might be found.\n\n\"It is related of him, among a multitude of stories, that he was once\naccosted by a poor woman standing at the door of her cottage, who held\nin her hand a loaf, and said,--\n\n\"'Good king, it is of this bread that comes of thine alms that my\npoor, sick husband is sustained.'\n\n\"The king took the loaf and examined it.\n\n\"'It is rather hard bread,' said he; and he then visited the sick man\nhimself and gave the case his personal sympathy.\n\n[Illustration: \"IT IS RATHER HARD BREAD.\"]\n\n\"Going out on a certain Good Friday barefoot to distribute alms, he\nsaw a leper on the other side of a dirty pond. He waded through it to\nthe wretched man, gave him alms, then, taking his hand in his own,\nkissed it. The act greatly astonished his attendants, but the disease\nwas not communicated to him.\n\n[Illustration: DEATH OF ST. LOUIS.]\n\n\"In 1270 he started on a new crusade, but died in Tunis of the\npestilence. Visions of the conquest of the Holy City seemed to fill\nhis mind to the last. He was heard to exclaim on his death-bed in his\ntent, 'Jerusalem! Jerusalem! We will go up to Jerusalem!'\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nOne of the first places which the Class sought out in Rouen was the\nstatue of Joan of Arc. It is placed on a street fountain near the spot\nwhere the unfortunate maid was burned. It disappointed our tourists,\nand seemed an unworthy tribute to such an heroic character. The great\ntower, called the Tower of Joan of Arc, seemed a more fitting reminder\nof her achievements.\n\nThe streets of Rouen are narrow, but are full of life. Rouen has been\ncalled a New Paris, and Napoleon said that Havre, Rouen, and Paris\nwere one city of which the river Seine was the highway. The\ngable-faced, timber-fronted mansions are interspersed with evidences\nof modern thrift, and the Rouen of romance seems everywhere\ndisappearing in the Rouen of trade.\n\nThe Cathedral of Rouen is a confusing pile of art; it has beautiful\nrose windows, and its spire is four hundred and thirty-six feet high.\nThe old church of St. Ouen, which is larger and more splendid than the\ncathedral, is regarded as one of the most perfect specimens of Gothic\nart in the world. It is 443 feet long.\n\n[Illustration: INTERIOR OF ST. OUEN.]\n\nThe Palais de Justice, as the old province house or parliament house\nis called, is an odd but picturesque structure. It lines three sides\nof a public square.\n\n[Illustration: PALAIS DE JUSTICE, ROUEN.]\n\n\"To-morrow,\" said Master Lewis, after a day of sight-seeing in Rouen,\n\"we go to the most beautiful city in all the world.\"\n\n\"I wish I knew more about the history of Paris,\" said Ernest Wynn,\n\"now that it is so near to us. I think of it as a place of gayety and\nsplendor, the scene of St. Bartholomew's Massacre, of the Revolution,\nand the Commune. It was the city that Napoleon seemed to love more\nthan any thing else in the world. What is its early history?\"\n\n\"You will read in Julius C\u00e6sar's Commentaries, in your course in\nLatin,\" said Master Lewis, \"a brief account of Lutetia, the chief town\nof the Parisii, a Gallic tribe that the Romans conquered. This, I\nthink, is the oldest historical allusion to Paris, as Lutetia came to\nbe called. It was probably an old town at the time of the Roman\ninvasion; it was chosen by Clovis as the seat of his empire in the\nsixth century; it began to grow when the Northmen came sailing up the\nSeine in their strange ships to its gates, and made it their prey. In\nthe tenth century it became the residence of Hugh Capet, the founder\nof the Capetian line of kings, and soon after increased so rapidly\nthat it doubled in size and population. Under Henri of Navarre, in\n1589, the city began to be famous for its tendencies to gayety and\nsplendor. Louis the Great lavished the wealth of France upon it,\nconverting the old ramparts into picturesque public walks or\nboulevards, and enlarging and adorning its palaces so that they\nrivalled the royal structures of the East. Then Napoleon I. enriched\nit with the spoils of Europe, spending on it more than \u00a34,000,000 in\ntwelve years. Napoleon III. completed the work of his predecessors by\nintroducing into the city all modern improvements, and making Paris in\nevery respect the most magnificent capital in Europe.\n\n[Illustration: NORTHMEN ON AN EXPEDITION.]\n\n\"I have given you in the story of Charlemagne and in the visit to\nAix-la-Chapelle a view of the early French Empire; in the story of St.\nLouis you have had a glance at France at the time of the Crusades; I\nthink I will here tell you a story which will present to you another\nperiod of the nation's history.\n\n[Illustration: THE BARQUES OF THE NORTHMEN BEFORE PARIS.]\n\n\nSTORY OF CHARLES IX. AND ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE.\n\n\"Charles IX., the twelfth king of the family of Valois, came to the\nFrench throne when only ten years of age, under the regency of his\nmother, that terrible woman, Catharine de Medici. He was an impulsive\nyouth, restless and vacillating, and was left wholly to the evil\ninfluences of his mother. The first years of his reign were disturbed\nby the struggles between the Protestant and Catholic parties in\nFrance. These difficulties were apparently settled in 1569.\n\n\"The queen-mother, who was a Catholic, seemed to entertain kind\nfeelings towards the Protestant leaders. The Protestant King of\nNavarre was promised the hand of the king's sister Marguerite, and\nmarked courtesy and apparent kindness of feeling were shown by the\nroyal household to many of the leading men of the great Protestant\nparty. The latter were thus rendered unsuspicious of danger, and\nbecame almost wholly disarmed.\n\n[Illustration: CATHARINE DE MEDICI.]\n\n\"But Catharine de Medici, full of craft and wickedness, had resolved\nto destroy the Protestant power. She was fully versed in crime, and\nthe passion for dark deeds grew upon her with years. One day she went\nto the boy-king, Charles, and disclosed a plot for the massacre of the\nProtestants of France. He listened with a feeling of horror. He had\nlearned to love the Protestant statesmen, and to call their great\nleader, Coligny, 'father.' His young heart recoiled from such a deed.\nBut his mother gave him no rest. She confided her plot to the Catholic\nleaders, who joined hand in hand with her to accomplish the crime.\nChurch and State united to persuade the young king that the stability\nof the throne, the glory of his family, and the advancement of\nreligious truth demanded the slaughter of the Huguenots, as the\nProtestant party were called. Still he hesitated; but after a little\nwhile exhibited his characteristic weakness under the influence of\npersuasion, and the conspirators knew his final assent was certain.\n\n\"St. Bartholomew's Day was at hand, the time appointed by the Catholic\nleaders, the Guises, for the work of death. Paris was full of\nHuguenots from the principal provincial cities, who had been drawn\nhither by the magnificent wedding of the Protestant King of Navarre.\nThe preparations for the massacre were nearly complete, but the young\nking still hesitated to issue the fatal order.\n\n\"His mother now used every art in her power to make him place himself\nboldly with the Guises. As he was king, she wished the sanction of a\nroyal edict to do her bloody work. With this the preparations for the\ndestruction of the Huguenots would be complete. Her appeals at length\nso wrought upon his mind that he excitedly exclaimed, 'Well, then,\nkill them! kill them all, that not a single Huguenot may live to\nreproach me!' This frantic remark was construed as an order.\n\n\"The massacre was appointed to begin on St. Bartholomew's Eve, at the\ntolling of a bell. The young king was fearfully nervous and agitated\nduring the preceding day. Just before the fatal hour, his conscience\nhad so affected his better feelings, that he despatched orders to the\nDuc de Guise, countermanding the slaughter. The duke received the\nmessage as he was in the act of mounting his horse to lead the\nassassins.\n\n\"'_Il est trop tard!_' 'It is too late!' said the duke to the bearer,\nand at once rode away.\n\n[Illustration: COLIGNY.]\n\n\"It was a still night, August 24, 1572. The defenceless Huguenots\nwere unsuspicious of danger, while armed assassins were lurking in\nevery house. At last the heavy clang of a great bell fell on the\nbreathless evening air, and the slaughter began.\n\n\"All that summer night the streets ran with blood. The young and the\nold, the daughter, the mother, the nobleman and the beggar,--all who\nbore the name of Huguenot,--were cut off without mercy. None were\nspared. Even women murdered women, and children, it is said, impelled\nby the maddening example, applied the dagger to other children in\ntheir beds. The streets of Paris ran with blood. From thirty to\nseventy thousand persons were slain in the city and in the towns of\nFrance on this night and a few days following it.\n\n\"The new Queen of Navarre, Marguerite de Valois, had gone to bed on\nthe fatal eve, by the express order of Catharine. Just as she was\ngoing to sleep, she says, a man knocked with hands and feet at her\ndoor, shouting 'Navarre! Navarre!' The nurse, thinking it was the\nking, opened the door. A Protestant gentleman, bleeding, and pursued\nby four archers, threw himself on her bed for protection. The archers\nrushed after him, but were stayed by the appearance of the captain of\nthe guard. The young queen hid the wounded Huguenot in one of her\nclosets, and cared for him until he was able to escape. Such scenes\ntook place in nearly all the houses of the nobility.\n\n\"Coligny was rudely murdered, and his body thrown out of the window of\nhis apartments into the courtyard, where it is said to have been\nkicked by the Duc de Guise. The young king was in a court of the\npalace of the Louvre, with his mother, when the great bell began to\ntoll. At first he trembled with fear and horror. He recovered\npresently from his fear, and, running to the palace window, became so\nexcited at the sight of blood that he fired upon the wretched\nfugitives who were attempting to escape by swimming across the Seine.\n\n\"But the young king never knew a happy hour after that dreadful night.\nHe grew pale and thin, and his tortured conscience and shattered brain\ncalled up in his solitary hours the images of the slain.\n\n\"Two years after the massacre of St. Bartholomew's Eve the young king\nlay dying. His disease, it has been said, was caused by poison, which\nhad been applied to the leaves of one of his favorite books for the\npurpose, by his unnatural mother. His sufferings were dreadful in the\nextreme. Historians tell us that he sweat drops of blood. His mental\nanguish was as fearful as his bodily distress. He would cry out to his\nnurse, '_Ah, nourrice, ma mie, ma bonne! que du sang, que\nd'assassinats! Oh quels mauvais conseils j'ai suivis! Oh Seigneur\nDieu, pardonnez moi, et faites moi misericorde!_' 'Ah, nurse, my good\nnurse! What blood! What murders! Oh what bad counsels I followed! Lord\nGod, pardon me! Have mercy on me!'\n\n\"Historians cover the memory of Charles IX. with infamy, but his first\nimpulses were usually kind, and his first intentions good. He does not\nseem to have inherited the disposition of that monster of wickedness,\nhis mother. His most evil acts could hardly be called his own. Left to\nhimself he would have been deemed a most polished and amiable prince,\nthough wanting in decision. As a victim of bad counsellors, pity\nshould mingle with the censure that follows his name.\"\n\n[Illustration: CHARLES IX. AND CATHARINE DE MEDICI.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nPARIS.\n\n Paris the Beautiful.--Notre Dame.--Tuileries and Louvre.--Garden\n of the Tuileries.--Bois de Boulogne.--Church of the Invalides.--\n Napoleon's Tomb.--Place de la Concorde.--Story of the Man of the\n Iron Mask.--Versailles and the Trianons.--Story of the Dauphin.--\n Fontainebleau.--The Seine.--Water-Omnibuses.--A Wonderful Boat.--\n Tommy's French.--A Surprise.--St. Eustache.--Moli\u00e8re.--Young French\n Heroes.--Wyllys Wynn's Poem.\n\n\nParis the beautiful!\n\nCity of light hearts, smiling faces, charming courtesies, and gay\nscenes everywhere!\n\nCity of dark tragedies of history that have hardly left behind a scar!\nThe tropical forest gives no warning of poison lurking under the\nflowers; the bright Southern sky wears no trace of the tempest. Paris\nsays to the stranger, \"I am beautiful: I have ever been beautiful, and\nI wear loveliness like a crown.\"\n\nThe streets are as gay as the summer sunshine in them; the boulevards,\nas the wide streets and avenues for pleasure walks are called, seem\nchannels of happiness, through which the tides of life run as brightly\nas they glimmer along the Seine. \"La belle Paris!\" says the stranger\nas he comes, and \"La belle Paris!\" he utters respectfully as he goes.\n\nWe do not wonder that the French love it; that Napoleon gloried in it,\nand that Mary Queen of Scots left it with a heavy heart. Here human\nnature has light, warmth, and glow; and love, sympathy, and patriotism\nare everywhere to be seen.\n\n\"Where are the ruins caused by the siege and the Commune?\" asked Frank\nGray, after the Class had been driven through a number of streets. \"I\ndo not see the first sign of there having been a recent war and\nrevolution.\"\n\n\"In the fall of 1870,\" said Master Lewis, \"shot and shell for a long\nperiod fell around the city and into it like rain. In the following\nspring the Commune was declared the government of Paris, and it seemed\nbent on destroying the city's beauty, and overturning its monuments of\nart. The Vend\u00f4me Column, which celebrated the victories of Napoleon\nthe Great, was pulled down as a monument of tyranny; the Palace of the\nTuileries and the Hotel de Ville were set on fire; and the wealthy\ncitizens who had endured the siege by a foreign foe fled from their\nown countrymen. To-day most of the houses destroyed by the war and the\nCommune are rebuilt, and the streets are as splendid as in the gay\ndays of the Empire.\"\n\nThe Class took rooms in the _Grand Hotel_, one of the largest and\nfinest houses for public entertainment in Europe. Its first visit was\nto the ancient Cathedral of Notre Dame, whose history is as old as\nChristianity in France, and which even before that period was a Pagan\ntemple. Here _Te Deums_ for all of the nation's victories have been\nsung; funeral orations of kings have been pronounced, confessions of\nsin for a thousand years have been made, and masses innumerable\ncelebrated. Here Napoleon the Great was crowned, and Napoleon III. was\nmarried. Here the Goddess of Reason, after being borne through the\nstreets in state, was enthroned during the Revolution of 1793. It has\nthirty-seven chapels.\n\nIn entering the cathedral the Class seemed to be in a new world. The\nrose-colored windows flooded the edifice with a soft light; and beyond\nit was a blaze of candles amid clouds of incense, for the priests in\ntheir gorgeous vestments were administering at the altar.\n\n[Illustration: THE GODDESS OF REASON CARRIED THROUGH THE STREETS\n OF PARIS.]\n\nThe boys passed through the waves of light reverently, and stood near\nthe altar. A choir of altar boys suddenly rose amid the smoke and\nlights and glitter of priestly robes, and sang most melodiously. It\nseemed very solemn and grand, but the thought of the associations of\nthe place was even more awe-inspiring. The scene was one that had\nbeen enacted for more than a thousand years, under the groined roof of\nthe same stately edifice, and the past seemed to hang, a weight of\ngloom, in the very air.\n\nOn each one's paying half a franc, the Class was admitted into the\nsacristy, where the sacred relics, purchased in the East by St. Louis\nhimself, are kept. Among them is a supposed piece of the true cross\nand a pretended part of the Crown of Thorns which was put upon the\nSaviour's head before the Crucifixion.\n\nThe second day that the Class spent in Paris was the most delightful\nof the whole tour.\n\n\"I shall go with you to-day,\" said Master Lewis, \"to the most\nbeautiful place in Europe, the most beautiful garden in Europe, and\none of the most beautiful picture-galleries in the world.\"\n\n\"The Tuileries?\" asked Frank.\n\n\"The Louvre?\" asked Ernest.\n\n\"Both,\" said Master Lewis.\n\n\"The Tuileries and the Louvre are now one. Francis I. began the\nbuilding of the Louvre in 1541; Catharine de Medici commenced the\nTuileries in 1564; Napoleon III. united the two palaces in the four\nyears following 1852. The two palaces have been growing about three\nhundred years. The Tuileries was partly burned by the Commune. The\nunited palaces cover twenty-four acres. Think of it! Twenty-four acres\nof art, ornament, pictures, and splendor!\"\n\nThe garden of the Tuileries is the favorite promenade of wealthy and\nfashionable Parisians, and seemed to the boys too beautiful for\nreality. Graceful statues rise on every hand from flower-beds, bowers,\nby cool fountains, and in the shade of grand old trees,--statues in\nmarble, stone, and bronze; Grecian, Roman, French. Airy terraces,\nbasins bordered with rich foliage and gorgeous flowers carry the eye\nhither and thither, and call out some new expression of admiration at\nalmost every step.\n\n\"How happy the life of a French king must have been!\" said Tommy\nToby.\n\n\"How unhappy the lives of French kings have been!\" said Master Lewis.\n\"If you would have a view of royalty that makes a peasant's life seem\ndesirable, read the history of the old French kings.\"\n\nThe beautiful forests of France extend to the very outskirts of the\ncity. One of these, the Bois de Boulogne, is the favorite park of\nParis. It contains more than two thousand acres. It has an immense\naquarium, pavilions of birds, and a garden for ostriches and\ncassowaries, and its principal avenue is one hundred yards wide.\n\nThe Class visited this park on a beautiful afternoon, passing through\nthe Champs Elys\u00e9es, a splendid avenue filled with equipages. In this\nwalk the boys saw the famous _Arc de Triomphe_ and the _Palais de\nl'Industrie_, in which the World's Fair was held in 1855, when nearly\ntwo million strangers beheld Paris in her glory. The Arc de Triomphe\nwas begun in 1806, the year of the battle of Austerlitz, and was\nfinished by Louis Philippe. It commemorates the victories of Napoleon,\nand is the most magnificent imperial monument in the world.\n\nNo scene in Paris seemed to inspire a part of the Class with so much\nawe as the tomb of Napoleon. At the entrance to the crypt of the dome\nof the church of the Invalides, containing the conqueror's remains,\nare these words: \"I desire that my ashes may rest on the banks of the\nSeine, in the midst of the French people whom I have loved so well.\"\n\nFrom a balustrade above the tomb under the beautiful dome the boys\nlooked down in silence on the sarcophagus, or stone coffin, which is\nof Finland granite. The monolith on which it rests is porphyry, and\nweighs 130,000 pounds. The monument cost nine million francs.\n\nA beautifully tinted light fell upon the sarcophagus.\n\n\"Look,\" said Tommy, \"see--\"\n\nAn armed guard approached, with a solemn gesture of the hand. He\nsimply said,--\n\n\"Be reverent.\"\n\n[Illustration: GARDEN OF THE TUILERIES.]\n\nThe Hotel des Invalides, an asylum for disabled soldiers, of which\nthe church and dome are a part, was founded by Louis XIV. The dome is\ngilded, and is three hundred and thirty feet high.\n\n[Illustration: FOUNTAIN IN THE CHAMPS ELYS\u00c9ES.]\n\nErnest Wynn, who seemed to have a part of some old ballad always upon\nhis lips, repeated some fine lines to Master Lewis as they went out of\nthe church,--a quotation from an old song, entitled \"Napoleon's\nGrave.\" (At St. Helena.)\n\n \"Though nations may combat and war's thunders rattle,\n No more on thy steed wilt thou sweep o'er the plain;\n Thou sleep'st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,\n No sound can awake thee to glory again.\"\n\nThe delightful _Place de la Concorde_, which is between the Garden of\nthe Tuileries and the Champs Elys\u00e9es, and which has been called the\nmost delightful spot in any European city, had been passed through by\nthe Class in their walk to the park, and it was decided to give an\nafternoon to a visit to it. Here stands the obelisk of Luxor, brought\nfrom the ruins of Thebes.\n\n[Illustration: PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.]\n\nHere stood the guillotine, or rather the guillotines, on which Louis\nXIV. and Marie Antoinette and nearly three thousand persons perished.\nHere revolutionists cut off the heads of the royal family, and the\npeople the heads of the revolutionists.\n\n[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE LOUVRE.]\n\nTwo beautiful fountains were playing on the afternoon when the Class\nmade their visit. The sky was all rose and gold; the Seine flowed\ncalmly along; the aspect of every thing seemed as foreign to any past\nassociation of war, tragedy, and pangs of human suffering as the\nfigures of the Tritons and Nereids that were spouting water from the\nfishes in their hands.\n\n[Illustration: FOUNTAIN, PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.]\n\nLeaving the Place de la Concorde, which Master Lewis said he believed\nwas constructed in part of stones of the old Bastile, the Class went\nto the public square where the Bastile had stood.\n\n\"The Place of the Bastile,\" said Master Lewis, \"now adorned by the\nColumn of Liberty, is the site of the old Castle of Paris, which was\nbuilt as a defence against the English. The castle became a prison for\npeople who offended the French kings. The Man of the Iron Mask was\nconfined here. It was regarded as an obstacle to liberty, and it was\nstormed by the people during the Revolution, and destroyed.\"\n\n\"Who was the Man of the Iron Mask?\" asked Tommy Toby.\n\n\"That is a question that used to be asked by all the statesmen of\nEurope, and that has been repeated and always will be by every reader\nof history. It has been answered in many different ways. Books,\npamphlets, and essays have been written upon the subject. It is still\na secret, and seems destined always to remain so. I will give you\nbriefly the strange history of this State prisoner.\"\n\n\nTHE MAN OF THE IRON MASK.\n\n\"During the reign of that voluptuous old monarch, Louis XIV. of\nFrance, there appeared on one of the Marguerite Islands, in the\nMediterranean, a prisoner of State closely guarded, and entrusted to\nthe especial care of a French governmental officer, De Saint Mars.\n\n\"Although confined in this obscure spot in the sea, where but little\nwas seen or heard save a distant sail and the dashing of waters, he\nbecame a marked man among the few who chanced to meet him, and the\ncircumstance of his concealment was in danger of being noised abroad.\nHe was consequently removed to Paris, and immured in the cells of the\nBastile.\n\n\"From the time that he began to attract attention on the island in the\nMediterranean to the close of his protracted life, no one but his\nappointed attendants is known to have seen his face.\n\n\"His head was enveloped in a black-velvet mask, confined by springs of\nsteel, and so arranged that he could not reveal his features without\nimmediate detection.\n\n[Illustration: MAN OF THE IRON MASK.]\n\n\"His guardian, De Saint Mars, had been instructed by a royal order,\nor by an order from certain of the king's favorites, to take his life\nimmediately, should he attempt to reveal his identity.\n\n\"During his confinement on the Marguerite island, De Saint Mars ate\nand slept in the same room with him, and was always provided with\nweapons with which to despatch him, should he attempt to discover the\nsecret of his history. If report is true, De Saint Mars might well\nexercise caution, for it is asserted that he was to forfeit his own\nlife if by any want of watchfulness he allowed the prisoner to reveal\nhis identity.\n\n\"The prisoner himself seemed anxious to make the forbidden discovery.\nHe once wrote a word on some linen, and succeeded in communicating\nwhat he wished to an individual not in the secret of the mystery. But\nthe _ruse_ was discovered, and the person that received the linen died\nsuddenly, being taken off, it was supposed, by poison. He once\nengraved something, probably his name, on a piece of silver plate. The\nperson to whom it was conveyed was detected in his knowledge of the\nsecret, and soon after died, as suddenly and mysteriously as the one\nwho had received the linen.\n\n\"These incidents indicate that the prisoner was a man of shrewdness\nand learning.\n\n\"He was attended, during his imprisonment in the Bastile, by the\ngovernor of the fortress, who alone administered to his wants; and\nwhen he attended mass he was always followed by a detachment of\ninvalides (French soldiers), who were instructed to fire upon him in\ncase he should speak or attempt to uncover his face.\n\n\"These circumstances, and many others of like character, show that he\nwas a person of very eminent rank, and that those who thus shut him\nout from mankind were conscious that they were committing a crime of\nno ordinary magnitude.\n\n\"Who, then, was this person of mystery, familiarly known as the Man of\nthe Iron Mask?\n\n\"He is supposed by many to have been a son of Anne of Austria and the\nDuke of Buckingham, and consequently a half-brother of Louis XIV., and\na co-heir to the throne of France. If so, it would appear, that, while\nLouis XIV. was luxuriating amid the splendors of the palace of\nVersailles, his brother was suffering the miseries of exile, or\nlanguishing in a dungeon, shut out not only from the outward world,\nbut from all intercourse with mankind. But other writers think him to\nhave been some less remarkable person.\n\n\"The iron mask, of which frequent mention has been made in sensational\nbooks, was a very simple contrivance of velvet and springs of steel.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Class made two excursions from Paris, one to Versailles and the\nother to Fontainebleau.\n\nVersailles, a town of 30,000 inhabitants, which has grown up around\none of the finest palaces and parks of Europe, was originally the\nhunting-lodge of Louis XIII. Louis XIV. chose the place for a palace,\nand employed almost an army of men for eleven years upon the\nstructure. He spent upon this palace nearly \u00a340,000,000 sterling.\nThither in 1680 he removed his gay court, and here he passed in gloomy\ngrandeur his melancholy old age.\n\nIt is a place of beautiful gardens, wonderful fountains, fine statues,\nand walks associated with the history of kings, queens, statesmen, and\nscholars. The palace to the visitor seems a vast picture gallery,\nwherein is shown the conquests of France. It is a long journey through\nthe glittering rooms. Here you see the representation of a king in his\nmoment of triumph, adored as a god, and there you see the same king\noverthrown or stretched upon his bed of death. The fountains murmur,\nthe orange trees fill the air with perfume, and you turn from the\nexhibition of the glowing and faded pomps of history to the gardens,\nfeeling that after all man's only nobility and kingship and hope of a\ncrown lies in his soul, and it is virtue alone that makes one royal.\n\nTwo small palaces or villas in the Park of Versailles, called Great\nTrianon and Little Trianon, recalled to Master Lewis the happy days of\nthe life of Marie Antoinette, which she spent here while the unseen\ncloud of the Revolution was gathering, and the calm settled down on\nParis before the storm.\n\n[Illustration: VERSAILLES.]\n\n\"We have seen the places where Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette lived\nand were beheaded. What became of their children?\" asked Frank Gray.\n\n\"The oldest son of Louis XVI. died at the beginning of the Revolution.\nAs it may give you a picture of the stormy times of the period, let me\ntell you\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE DAUPHIN.\n\n\"He was born at Versailles in 1785. He was a most affectionate child,\nand was ardently attached to his mother. He used to sport about the\ngardens of the palace; the very place where we are now was his\nplay-ground.\n\n\"He would sometimes rise early in the morning to gather flowers from\nthe gardens to lay on his mother's pillow.\n\n\"'Ah!' he would say, when weary of play, 'I have not earned the first\nkiss from mother to-day.'\n\n[Illustration: LITTLE TRIANON.]\n\n[Illustration: THE DAUPHIN WITH THE ROYAL FAMILY IN THE ASSEMBLY.]\n\n\"The Revolution came and cast a shadow over Versailles, with all its\nglory. The royal family was surrounded with enemies, and was in\nconstant terror, and the little dauphin was made unhappy by the sight\nof his mother's tears.\n\n\"One day a serving-woman told him that if he would procure some favor\nfor her she would be happy as a queen.\n\n\"'As happy as a queen!' he answered: 'I know of one queen who does\nnothing but weep.'\n\n\"The Revolutionists overthrew the Bastile and the throne, and the\nmembers of the royal family were obliged to seek protection in the\nNational Assembly. They were then confined in an old French prison,\ncalled the Temple.\n\n\"The king was tried by the Assembly, was condemned and executed. He\ndeeply loved the dauphin, and parted from him with bitter grief.\n\n\"After the king's death the dauphin was the principal solace of the\nqueen in her imprisonment. He was at last removed from the queen's\napartment by an order of the Committee of Public Safety. It is related\nthat when the guards came to take him away, his mother fought for him\nuntil her strength was exhausted, and she fell senseless upon the\nfloor.\n\n\"After the execution of his mother he was given over to the care of a\nbrutal shoemaker, named Simon, who endeavored to cause his death\nwithout committing palpable murder. He was ill-fed, beaten and abused,\nand received the name of the 'She-wolf's Whelp,' referring to Marie\nAntoinette.\n\n\"At this period the police were in the habit of distributing in the\nstreets songs against 'Madame Veto,' as the queen had been called. One\nof the most infamous of these, as vulgar as it was brutal, had been\npreserved by Simon.\n\n\"One day, for the want of a new torture for the child, Simon resolved\nto make him sing this obscene song against his mother.\n\n\"'Come along, Capet,' said he, 'here is a new song which you must\nsing to me.'\n\n\"He handed the song to the dauphin. The boy saw its meaning, and with\nall the instincts of a susceptible nature he recoiled from the thought\nof reviling his mother. He laid it down on the table without saying a\nword.\n\n\"Simon arose in wrath.\n\n\"'I thought I said you must sing.'\n\n\"'I never will sing such a song.'\n\n\"'I declare to you that I will kill you if you refuse to obey me.'\n\n\"'Never!'\n\n\"Simon caught up an andiron, and threw it at the child with a force\nthat would have proved fatal had he not missed his aim. His passion\nthen gradually subsided, but the boy refused to sing.\n\n\"One day, after a system of abuses too shocking to relate, Simon\nseized the dauphin by the ear, and drawing him to the middle of the\napartment, said,--\n\n\"'Capet, if the Vend\u00e9ans were to set you at liberty, what would you do\nto me?'\n\n\"'I would forgive you,' replied the noble boy.\n\n\"His situation at last became wretched in the extreme. He was placed\nin a filthy cell where he could neither receive pure air nor have\nexercise; his food was scanty, his bed was not made for six months,\nand his clothes were not changed for a year. He became covered with\nvermin, and the mice used to nibble at his feet. He passed the days in\nutter silence, wishing only to die. Once, when he had attempted to\npray kneeling, he had been discovered and terribly punished, and he\nfelt that it was not safe for him to speak even to his God.\n\n\"After the overthrow of the Revolutionary government under\nRobespierre, he was assigned to more merciful keepers. But his body\nand mind were in ruins, and all efforts to restore him proved in vain.\n\n\"It was a lovely June day in the summer of 1795. He was dying;\nwithout, the air was full of sunshine, of birds and roses.\n\n\"'Are you in pain?' asked his attendant.\n\n\"'Yes,' he said; 'but not in so much as I was, the music is so sweet.'\n\n\"He presently added; 'Do you not hear the music?'\n\n\"'From whence does it come?'\n\n\"'From above.'\n\n\"His eyes became luminous; he seemed happy and peaceful, and he\nfancied that among the voices that seemed to be singing around him he\ncould distinguish that of his mother. It may have been all but a dream\nor fancy, but it grew out of the filial devotion of his heart.\"\n\n[Illustration: FOREST OF FONTAINEBLEAU.]\n\nFontainebleau is one of the most ancient palaces of France; it is a\nlabyrinth of galleries, salons, amphitheatres, secret chambers, and\nfantastic balconies. To traverse the palace is a journey. Like all the\nold French palaces, it is surrounded with gardens, parks, and has its\nwood or forest. Indeed, the town of Fontainebleau is situated in a\nforest, which covers an extent of sixty-four miles.\n\n[Illustration: IN THE WOOD AT FONTAINEBLEAU.]\n\n\"Artists, poets, romancers, and lovers,\" says a writer, \"have from\ntime immemorial made the forest of Fontainebleau the empire of their\ndreams. You ought to see it in the morning, when the bird sings, when\nthe sun shines, ... when all these stones, heaped beneath those aged\ntrees, take a thousand fantastic forms, and give to it the appearance\nof the plain on which the Titans fought against Heaven. Oh, what\nterrible and touching histories, stories of hunting and of love, of\ntreason and vengeance, this forest has covered with its shadow!\"\n\nSt. Louis loved this forest, and Napoleon signed his abdication at\nFontainebleau.\n\nMaster Lewis had allowed the boys to have a day to themselves in each\nof the principal places where they had stopped. If one of them wished\nto make an excursion on that day to some neighboring place, the good\nteacher made some careful arrangement for that one to do so. He was\nvery careful about all matters of this kind, without really seeming to\ndistrust the boys' judgment in their efforts to look out for\nthemselves. A coach-driver, a traveller, a valet-de-place, or some\nperson was usually employed to have an eye on the member of the Class\nwho was allowed to make a tour to a strange place alone.\n\nThe boys, with the exception of Tommy Toby, were given a day to go\nwhere they liked in Paris. Master Lewis did not dare to allow Tommy\nthis privilege, after his misadventure in England.\n\nThe Wynns visited the Palace of the Institute; Frank Gray, the Grand\nOpera House.\n\n\"I would like to go to the river this morning,\" said Tommy, \"and sail\non the ---- queer boats there.\"\n\n\"The flies, or water-omnibuses?\" said Master Lewis. \"I will go with\nyou.\"\n\nTommy looked surprised and hardly seemed pleased, not that he did not\ngenerally like Master Lewis's company, but because it looked to him\nlike a restraint upon his freedom.\n\nBut the good teacher took his hat and cane, and Tommy did not express\nany displeasure in words. The two went to a splendid stone bridge\ncalled the Pont d'Jena, over the Seine.\n\nCompared with the Mississippi, the Ohio, or the St. Lawrence, the\nSeine is but a small stream. The river is lined with solid stone-work\non each side, and its banks are shaded with trees. It is filled with\nqueer crafts, and a multitude of families live on the barges that\nconvey wood, coal, and certain kinds of merchandise from place to\nplace.\n\nAs Master Lewis and Tommy were standing on the bridge, watching the\nsloops as they lowered their masts to pass under, an astonishing sight\nmet Tommy's eyes.\n\nIt was a great boat, like a steamer, but without screw or paddles,\nswiftly passing up the river by means of a chain which rose out of the\nwater at the bows, ran along the deck, turned around wheels which\nseemed to be worked by an engine, and then slipped overboard at the\nstern.\n\n\"How far can that boat go on in that way?\" asked Tommy.\n\n\"The chain by which the boat is carried forward,\" said Master Lewis,\n\"is _one hundred miles long_.\"\n\nMaster Lewis and Tommy passed some hours among the queer crafts on the\nriver, taking passages here and there on the flies or water-omnibuses.\n\n\"Were you afraid to trust me alone this morning?\" asked Tommy, on\ntheir return.\n\n\"Well, yes.\"\n\n\"Did you think I could not speak French well enough to go out alone?\"\n\n\"Your French might not be very well understood here.\"\n\n\"I think I can talk simple French, such as servants could understand\nvery well.\"\n\nIn the afternoon, being somewhat alone, Tommy thought he would explore\nthe hotel, which was something of a town in itself. He descended from\nhis apartment on the third floor, with the intention of going to the\ncourtyard. But he could not find the place which had so attracted him\nfrom his window. He tried to go back, but lost the way even to his\napartment. He descended again, but failed to find any place he\nremembered to have seen before. It was all as grand as a palace, but\nas puzzling as a labyrinth he had seen in the grounds of Hampton Court\nPalace.\n\nHe said to one after another of the very polite people he chanced to\nmeet,--\n\n\"Please, sir [or madam], do you speak English?\"\n\nHe received only smiles of good-will, and courteous shakes of the\nhead, in answer to all inquiries.\n\nTommy remembered his French lessons. Happy thought! He accosted a\nservant, whose knowledge of the language he fancied might be as simple\nas his own:--\n\n\"_Pardon, Monsieur, voulez-vous avez la bont\u00e9 de m'indiquer un\nvalet-de-place?_\"\n\n\"_Je ne comprends pas_,\" said he.\n\n\"_Je ne comprends pas_,\" said Tommy. \"_Je ne puis pas trouver ma\nchambre_,\" pointing upward. \"_Voulez-vous m'indiquer quelqu'un qui\nparle l'Anglais?_\"\n\n\"_Je ne comprends pas._\"\n\n\"_Ne comprenez-vous Fran\u00e7ais?_\" said Tommy.\n\nThe man's face wore a willing, but very puzzled expression.\n\nJust then a girl with a happy face came out of one of the rooms.\n\n\"Do you speak\"----\n\n\"Why, yes, of course I speak. I am very glad to meet you here. How\npleasant!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"JE NE COMPRENDS PAS.\"]\n\nIt was Agnes, the young lady who had made herself so agreeable on the\nsteamer.\n\nThe next morning, after a chat with Agnes, Master Lewis said to\nTommy,--\n\n\"I think I will let you take a day to go where you like.\"\n\n\"Will you not let me go with you?\" asked Agnes. \"It is a f\u00eate day, or\nsome kind of Church festival, and I would like to go to that lovely\nchurch of St. Eustache, where they have the finest organ and sweetest\nchanting in the world. I know you will like it. It took a hundred\nyears to build the church. It is all just like fairy-land.\"\n\nAs Agnes had been reading the comedies of Moli\u00e8re, the French\nShakspeare, she induced Tommy to attend her to the old Th\u00e9\u00e2tre\nFran\u00e7ais, which was under the direction of the great dramatist for\nmany years, and where he was stricken down by death in the middle of a\nplay. It was not open for an exhibition at the hour of the visit, but\na courteous Frenchman took them through it, and related to Agnes some\npleasing anecdotes of Moli\u00e8re.\n\nThe Class took many delightful walks along the clean streets and\ncharming boulevards, visiting churches, public buildings, statues, and\npaintings. In one of the visits to a church Tommy was much amused by a\npriest who, as the people were going out after some superb music,\npretended to be praying, but who, amid the noise and confusion, was\nonly making contortions of his face. Tommy went through the priest's\nperformance in dumb show when he returned to the hotel, for the\namusement of Agnes, but was checked by Master Lewis when he attempted\na similar imitation in one of the public rooms, lest some one might\nmistake it for a want of reverence for sacred things.\n\n[Illustration: {AT PRAYERS.}]\n\nIn one of these walks they were shown a place where a French boy did a\nnoble act at the end of the last war.\n\nAn order had been issued to shoot all persons found with arms in their\nhands in the streets. A captain with his company on duty came upon a\nFrench boy with a musket.\n\n\"I must order your execution,\" he said.\n\n\"Let me return a watch I have borrowed,\" said the boy.\n\n\"When will you return?\"\n\n\"At once, upon my word.\"\n\nThe boy went away, and the captain never expected to see him again.\nBut he presently came back, and taking a heroic attitude said,--\n\n\"_I am ready. Fire!_\"\n\nHe was pardoned.\n\n\"The young French people,\" said Master Lewis, \"are very patriotic.\nHistory abounds with noble acts of French boys. I will relate an\nincident or two to the point:--\n\n\"Joseph Barra lived in the interior of France at the beginning of the\nFrench Revolution. He was a generous-hearted boy, who loved truth, his\nmother, and his country. He was a Republican at heart; a boy of his\nimpulses could have been nothing else.\n\n\"Wishing to serve his country in the great struggle for liberty, he\nentered the Republican army at the age of twelve, as a drummer boy.\nHis whole soul entered into the cause; he was ready to endure any\nhardship and to make any sacrifice, that the country he loved might be\nfree. He allowed himself no luxuries, but he sent the whole of his pay\nas a musician to his mother.\n\n\"His regiment was ordered to La Vend\u00e9e to encounter a body of\nRoyalists. One day he found himself cut off from the troops, and\nsurrounded by a party of Royalists. Twenty bayonets were pointed\ntowards his breast. He stood, calm and unflinching, before the\nglittering steel.\n\n\"'Shout,' cried the leader of the Royalists, 'shout, \"Long live Louis\nXVII!\" or die!'\n\n\"The twenty bayonets were pushed forward within an inch of his body.\n\n\"He bent upon his captors a steady eye, kindling with the lofty\npurpose of his soul. He took off his hat. He gazed for a moment on\nthe blue sky and the green earth. Then, waving his hand aloft, he\nexclaimed, '_Vive la R\u00e9publique!_'\n\n\"The twenty bayonets did their cruel work, and the boy died, a martyr\nto his convictions of right and of liberty.\n\n\"Joseph Agricole Vialla, a boy thirteen years of age, connected\nhimself with a party of French Republican soldiers stationed on the\nDanube. One day an army of insurgent Royalists were discovered on the\nopposite side of the river, attempting to cross over on a pontoon. The\nonly safety for the Republican soldiers was to cut the cables that\nheld the bridge to the shore. Whoever should attempt to do this would\nfall within range of the Royalists' guns, and would be exposed to what\nseemed to be certain destruction.\n\n\"Who would volunteer?\n\n\"Every soldier hesitated. The boy Vialla seized an axe, and ran to the\nbank of the stream. He began to cut the cables amid frequent volleys\nof shot from the other side, when a ball entered his breast. He fell,\nbut raising himself for a moment, exclaimed,--\n\n\"'I die, but I die for my fatherland!'\n\n\"In the _Chant du D\u00e9part_--an old French revolutionary song, once\nalmost as famous as the _Marseillaise_--the deeds of these boy-heroes\nare celebrated in the following strain:--\n\n \"'O Barra! Vialla! we envy your glory.\n Still victors, though breathless ye lie.\n A coward lives not, though with age he is hoary;\n Who fall for the people ne'er die.\n\n \"'Brave boys, we would rival your deed-roll,\n 'Twill guard us 'gainst tyranny then;\n Republicans all swell the bead-roll,\n While slaves are but infants 'mong men.\n\n \"'The Republic awakes in her splendor,\n She calls us to win, not to fly!\n A Frenchman should live to defend her,\n For her should he manfully die!'\"\n\nWyllys Wynn seemed much impressed by these incidents of youthful\nheroism. He sometimes wrote poems, and on his return to the hotel he\nrelated the incident of the boy and the watch in these lines, which he\nread in one of the parlors to Agnes.\n\n\nHONOR BRIGHT.\n\n The rush of men, the clash of arms,\n The morning stillness broke,\n And followed fast the fresh alarms,\n The clouds of battle-smoke.\n\n The Seine still bore a lurid light,\n As down its ripples run,\n Where late had shone the fires at night,\n The rosy rifts of sun.\n\n \"Shoot every man,\" the captain cried,\n \"That dares our way oppose!\"\n Like water ran the crimson tide,\n Like clouds the smoke arose.\n\n They forward rushed, the streets they cleared,--\n But ere the work was done,\n Before the troop a boy appeared,\n And bore the boy a gun.\n\n \"Thou too shalt die,\" the captain said.\n The boy stopped calmly there,\n And sweet and low the music played\n Amid the silenced air.\n\n \"Hold!\" cried the boy; \"a moment wait.\n For, ere I meet my end,\n I would return this watch, that late\n I borrowed of my friend.\"\n\n \"Return a watch?\" The captain frowned.\n \"Your meaning I discern;\n Such honest lads are seldom found:\n And when would _you_ return?\"\n\n \"At once!\" the hero makes reply;\n \"As soon as e'er I can;\n I _will_ return, and I will die\n As nobly as a man!\"\n\n \"Well, go!\" The lordly bugle blew,\n And said the man, with joy,\n \"Right glad am I to lose him, too,\n I would not harm the boy.\"\n\n Some moments passed; the deadly rain\n Fell thickly through the air;\n The smoke arose, and, lo! again\n The boy stood calmly there.\n\n The muskets ceased, the smoke-wreath passed\n O'er sunlit dome and spire,--\n \"Here, captain, I have come at last,\n And I am ready. Fire!\"\n\n As marble grew the captain's cheek,\n He could not speak the word.\n The shout of _Vive la R\u00e9publique!_\n Adown the ranks was heard.\n\n The bugle blew a note of joy,\n \"Advance!\" the captain cried,--\n They marched, and left the happy boy\n The colonnade beside.\n\n We sing Vialla's sweet romance,\n Of Barra's death we read,\n But few among the boys of France\n E'er did a nobler deed.\n\n The palace burns, the columns fall,\n The works of art decay,\n But deeds like these the good recall\n When empires pass away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nBRITTANY.\n\n Avranches.--Riding on Diligences.--Mont St. Michel.--Chateaubriand.--\n Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9.--Brittany.--Breton Stories.--Story of the Old\n Woman's Cow.--Story of the Wonderful Sack.--Nantes.--Scenes of the\n Revolution at Nantes.--F\u00e9nelon and Louis XV.\n\n\nThe Class went by rail from Paris to the bright Norman district of\nCalvados, visiting Caen and Bayeux, whose attractions have been\nbriefly sketched in the letter of George Howe to Master Lewis. The\nnext journey was to Avranches, or the \"Village of the Cliff,\" by the\nway of Falaise, the residence of Duke Robert, father of William the\nConqueror, and to the quaint town of Vire, famous for its cleanly,\nindustrious inhabitants its grand old hills buried in woods, its great\nwayside trees, and its ancient clock-tower.\n\n[Illustration: CLOCK TOWER AT VIRE.]\n\nThe Class met few people on this journey. The cantonniers were\nevidently busy with their own simple industries. Once or twice the\nboys saw gentlemen, whom Master Lewis said were cur\u00e9s, at work in\ncool, green gardens; and often they met the pretty sight of women and\ngirls at work in the fields. The cottages were thatched, and some were\nmoss-grown, and all the canton wore the appearance of simple\ncontentment, virtue, and thrift.\n\nAvranches is a favorite summer resort for English tourists, owing to\nthe beauty of its situation, its health-giving air, and the ease and\ncheapness with which one may live.\n\nThe journey from Caen, along the bowery Norman highways, was made in\ndiligences. The boys seemed to brim over with pleasure at the prospect\nof a ride in a diligence.\n\n\"There is one place where contentment and happiness may surely be\nfound,\" said Tommy Toby, one day.\n\n\"Where?\" asked Master Lewis.\n\n\"On the top of a diligence.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Yes, sure.\"\n\nThe next day the Class was overtaken, while travelling in the French\ncoach, by a pouring rain. Tommy, as usual, was on the seat with the\ndriver. He became very impatient, saying, every few minutes, \"I wish\nit would stop raining, I wish--\" this, that, and the other thing.\n\n\"Tommy,\" said Master Lewis, from within the coach, \"are you _sure_?\"\n\nAfter a time the sunlight overspread the landscape, making the watery\nleaves shine like the multitudinous wavelets of the sea.\n\nTommy's merry voice was heard again, talking bad French.\n\n\"Contentment and happiness,\" said Master Lewis to Frank, \"have\nevidently returned again.\"\n\nFrom Avranches the Class visited that wonderful castle, church, and\nvillage of the sea, Mont St. Michel.\n\nThe journey from the mainland was by a tramway across the Gr\u00e8ve, or\nsands, at low tide. At neap tides the Mount is not surrounded by water\nat any time, but at spring tides it is washed by the sea twice a day,\nand sometimes seems like a partly sunken hill in the sea. The fortress\nis girt about the base with feudal walls and towers colored by the\nsea; above these rises a little town, the houses being set on broken\nledges of rock; above the town stand the fortifications, and a church\nand its tower crown all. It is one of the most curious places in the\nworld.\n\nPagan priests here worshipped the god of high places; monks succeeded\nthem; Henry II held court here, then it became a place to which saints\nmade yearly pilgrimages. The Revolution drove out the monks, and\nturned it into a prison. In an iron cage called the Cage of St.\nMichel, a torturous contrivance, state prisoners used to be confined.\n\nThe Class next went to St. Malo, by the way of Dol; a breezy journey,\nwith the sea in view.\n\n\"St. Malo,\" said Master Lewis, \"was the birthplace of Chateaubriand,\nwho visited our country after the American Revolution, and in 1801\nwrote an Indian romance, 'Atala,' a prose Hiawatha, if I may so call\nit, which charmed all Europe. He published a political work on\nAmerica, which had great influence in France. He was in early life a\nsceptic, but the memory of a good mother made him a Christian, and he\npublished a book on religion which arrested the infidel tendencies of\nthe times. Louis XVIII. declared that one of his pamphlets was worth\nan army of one hundred thousand men. He was one of the most brilliant\nwriters France ever produced. You should read on your return 'Atala'\nin French. You will find an edition, I think, illustrated by Dor\u00e9, in\nwhich the pictures will compel you to read the story.\"\n\n\"I have read 'Atala,'\" said Frank.\n\n\"Would you like to visit Chateaubriand's birthplace with me?\" asked\nMaster Lewis.\n\nFrank was very desirous to see the place at once, and Master Lewis\nand he went to the house, now a hotel, immediately on their arrival in\nthe town. From the windows of the house could be seen the tomb of\nChateaubriand, which is on a little island in the harbor.\n\nWhen Master Lewis returned to the hotel he was alone.\n\n\"Where is Frank?\" asked Tommy.\n\n\"He is to spend the night in Chateaubriand's room,\" said Master Lewis.\n\"Visitors at St. Malo are allowed to sleep there on paying a small\nsum.\"\n\n\"Is Chateaubriand living yet?\" asked Tommy. \"I thought you said he\ncame to our country after the Revolution.\"\n\n\"No, he died many years ago. Frank and I have just been looking from\nthe windows of his birthplace at his tomb on one of the little\nislands.\"\n\n\"But Frank is not going to stay all night in the room of one that is\ndead! What good will that do?\"\n\n\"It is the respect that appreciation pays to genius,\" said Master\nLewis.\n\nErnest Wynn wished to spend the night with Frank, and received Master\nLewis's permission.\n\n\"Why, Ernest!\" said Tommy, \"I thought you had more sense. I am glad I\nam not literary. This is the strangest thing I have met with yet.\"\n\nChateaubriand's birthplace is the Hotel de France. His room is among\nthose offered to visitors, at a little extra cost. Master Lewis had\nstopped at the hotel during a previous tour.\n\nIf Tommy was surprised at the \"respect appreciation pays to genius,\"\nin the incident of sleeping in Chateaubriand's room, he was more so by\na conversation which took place next day, when Master Lewis made his\nplans for the last zigzag journeys.\n\n\"The last place we will visit,\" he said, \"is Nantes. We will go by\nrail to Rennes, and by diligences the rest of the way, which will\nafford you a fine view of Brittany. At Rennes, we will make, if you\nlike, a d\u00e9tour to Vitr\u00e9.\"\n\n\"What shall we see there?\" asked Tommy.\n\n\"The residence of Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9.\"\n\n\"Is _she_ living?\" asked Tommy.\n\n\"Oh, no.\"\n\n\"What did she do?\"\n\n\"She wrote letters to her daughter,\" said Frank.\n\n\"Who was her daughter?\"\n\n\"The prettiest girl in France.\"\n\n\"Is _she_ living?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said Frank, impatiently. \"Why, did you never hear of the\nLetters of Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9?\"\n\n\"I never did. Are her letters there?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"The room where she wrote them,\" said Master Lewis.\n\n\"They must be very wonderful letters, I should think,\" said Tommy, \"to\nmake a traveller take all that trouble.\"\n\n\"They are,\" said Master Lewis. \"Lord Macaulay says, 'Among modern\nworks I only know two perfect ones; they are Pascal's Provincial\nLetters, and the Letters of Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9.'\"\n\nThe Class was now in Brittany, a province old and poor, whose very\ncharm is its simplicity and quaintness. Normandy smiles; Brittany\nwears a sombre aspect everywhere. Normandy is a bed of flowers;\nBrittany seems to be a bed of stone. Here and there may be seen a\nchurch buried in greenery, but the landscape is one of heath, fern,\nand broom.\n\nThe people are as peculiar as the country. Their costumes are odd,\nsome of them even wear goat-skins. Many of them lead a sea-faring\nlife; it is the Bretons who chiefly man the French navy.\n\nThey cling to old legends and superstitions with great fondness; the\nwild country abounds with wonder-stories. Nearly all of these stories\nare striking from their very improbability. They relate to an\nimaginary period when the Apostles travelled in Brittany, or to men\nand women who were transformed during some part of their lives into\nanimals, especially into wolves. The story-telling beggars furnish\nmuch of the fiction to the unread people.\n\nThose legends which are the chief favorites are undoubtedly very old.\nThe Class listened to several of them at their hotel at St. Malo. Some\nof them begin in a way that at once arrests attention; as the\nfollowing story of the\n\n\nOLD WOMAN'S COW.\n\nWhen St. Peter and St. John were visiting the poor in Brittany they\nstopped one day to rest at a farm-house among the trees, where they\nmet a little old woman who kindly brought them a pitcher of cool\nwater.\n\nAfter the saints had drunk, the old woman told them the story of her\nhard life. She had seen better days, she said; her husband had once\nowned a cow, but he had lost it, and he now was only a laborer on the\nplace.\n\n\"Let me take the stick in your hand,\" said St. Peter.\n\nThe saint struck the stick on the ground, and up came a fine cow with\nudders full of milk.\n\n\"Holy Virgin!\" said the woman. \"What made that cow come up from the\nground?\"\n\n\"The grace of God,\" said St. Peter.\n\nWhen the saints had gone, the old woman wondered whether, if she were\nto strike with the stick on the ground, another cow would appear.\n\nShe struck the ground as she had seen St. Peter do, when up came an\nenormous wolf and killed the cow.\n\nThe old woman ran after the saints and told her alarming story.\n\n\"You should have been content,\" said St. Peter, \"with the cow the Lord\ngave you. It shall be restored to you.\"\n\nShe turned back, and found the cow at the door, lowing to be milked.\n\nAnother story, which greatly pleased Tommy is\n\n\nTHE WONDERFUL SACK.\n\nSt. Christopher was a ferry-man. He dwelt in Brittany, at Dol. One day\nthe Lord came to Dol, and wished to cross the river with the twelve\nApostles.\n\nSt. Christopher, instead of using a ferry-boat, carried the travellers\nwho came to him across the river on his broad shoulders.\n\nWhen he had thus taken over the Lord and his Apostles, he claimed his\nreward.\n\n\"What will you have?\" asked the Lord.\n\n\"Ask for Paradise,\" said St. Peter.\n\n\"No,\" said St. Christopher; \"I ask that whatsoever I may desire may at\nall times be put into my sack.\"\n\n\"You shall have your wish; but never desire money.\"\n\nOne day the Evil One came to St. Christopher, and tempted him to wish\nfor money.\n\nThey fell to fighting, and the fight lasted two whole days; but, just\nas the Evil One seemed about to overcome the saint, the latter said:--\n\n\"In the name of the Lord, get into my sack.\"\n\nIn a moment the Evil One was in the sack, and St. Christopher tied the\nstring, and took him to a blacksmith, and requested the use of a\nhammer.\n\nThen St. Christopher and the smith hammered the Evil One as thin as a\npenny.\n\n\"I own I am _beaten_,\" said a voice from the sack. \"Now let me out.\"\n\n\"On one condition,\" said the saint.\n\n\"Name it.\"\n\n\"That you will never trouble me again.\"\n\n\"I promise.\"\n\nThe ferry-man now began to lead a life of charity. He never thought of\nhimself, but lived wholly for others; and every one loved him, and all\nthat were in distress came to him for comfort.\n\nOne day he died, full of years, and, taking with him his wonderful\nsack, he started for the gates of Paradise.\n\nSt. Peter opened the gate. But when he saw that the new-comer was St.\nChristopher, who had slighted his counsel, he refused to admit him.\n\nThe Celestial City, blazing in splendor, stood on the top of a high\nmountain; the sound of music and the odors of flowers came through the\ngate as it was opened, and the saint with a heavy heart turned away\nfrom all the ravishing beauty, and, hardly knowing what he did, went\ndown the mountain, until he came to the gate of the region where bad\nsouls dwell.\n\nA youth at the gate said to him,--\n\n\"Come in.\"\n\nThe gate opened, and the Evil One saw him.\n\n\"Shut the gate! shut the gate!\" said the Evil One to the youth.\n\nFar, far away the Holy City beamed with ineffable brightness, and up\nthe hill again with a still heavy heart went St. Christopher.\n\n\"If I could only get my sack inside the gate, I could wish myself into\nit; and once inside the gate I could never be turned out.\"\n\nHe came up to the gate again, and called for St. Peter.\n\nThe saint opened the gate a little.\n\n\"I pray you in charity,\" said St. Christopher, \"let me listen to the\nmusic.\"\n\n[Illustration: REVOKING THE EDICT OF NANTES.]\n\nThe gate was set a little more ajar. Immediately St. Christopher threw\ninto the celestial place the wonderful sack; he wished, and in a\nmoment he was in the sack himself,--and he has remained in the region\nof light, music, flowers, and happiness ever since.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Class went by rail to Rennes, one of the old capitals of Brittany.\nIt was hardly interesting to them, but a pleasant ride took them to\nVitr\u00e9, where the boys visited the residence of Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9.\n\nNantes, the ancient residence of the Dukes of Brittany, is situated on\nthe river Loire, about forty miles from the sea. It is one of the\nlargest and most beautiful of the provincial towns of France. In the\nold castle Henry IV. signed the Edict of Nantes, giving freedom of\nworship to the Protestants in France.\n\nThis famous Edict was published April 13, 1598. The Reformers, or\nHuguenots, had at this time seven hundred and sixty churches. It was\nrevoked by Louis XIV. in 1685, under the influence of his prelates,\nwho persuaded him thus to seek expiation for his sins. The result of\nthe act was that four hundred thousand Protestants, who were among the\nmost industrious, intelligent, and useful people of France, left the\ncountry rather than to give up their religion. They took refuge in\nGreat Britain, Holland, Prussia, Switzerland, and America. From them\nthese countries learned some of the finest French arts.\n\nThe Revocation of the Edict of Nantes was one of the many acts of\ninjustice that opened the way for the French Revolution, by destroying\npublic virtue.\n\nSome of the most terrible scenes of the Revolution were enacted at\nNantes.\n\nOne of the first visits made by the Class at Nantes was to the old\nwarehouse, called the Salorges, built as an entrepot for colonial\nmerchandize, which is associated with the inhuman murders of the\nRevolution. Here the monster Carrier caused men and women to be tied\ntogether and hurled into the Loire, making an exhibition of the\ncruelty which was known as Republican Marriages. It was in front of\nthe Salorges that executions by water, called Noyades, were\nperformed. Boats loaded with from twenty to forty victims were towed\ninto the middle of the river, and were sunk by means of trap-doors in\ntheir sides, which were opened by cords communicating with the shore.\nIf any of these wretched people attempted to escape by swimming, they\nwere shot. As many as six hundred human beings perished in this way in\na single day. The whole number of persons thus destroyed reached many\nthousands. Women and children were drowned as well as men. The river\nbecame so full of bodies that the air was made pestilent.\n\nThis was during the dark days of the Reign of Terror, when Marat and\nRobespierre ruled France. Besides the victims of the Noyades were\nthose who perished in other merciless ways. Five hundred children were\nshot in a single day, and were buried in trenches that had been\nprepared for the purpose.\n\n\"I do not wonder that Charlotte Corday, who killed Marat, should have\nbeen regarded as a heroine,\" said Frank Gray. \"I cannot understand how\nFrenchmen, who seem to be the most polite, obliging, kind-hearted,\npeople in the world, could have been led to do the bloody deeds of the\nReign of Terror.\"\n\n\"That is because you have read history too much without thought. In\nreading history always go back to the causes of things. Read backward\nas well as forward. All the great palaces in France you have seen were\nbuilt by the money of an overtaxed people who had no political rights.\nThey were the glittering abodes of immorality. Again and again France\nwas governed by wicked women who became favorites of the king. The\nHuguenots, who were the sincerely religious people of France, were\ncompelled to leave the nation. Think of it,--four hundred thousand\npeople going away from their native country at the unrestrained edict\nof one bad man. Do you wonder the people of France desired a\nConstitution for their protection? The nobler orders of the Catholic\nChurch, the Jansenists and Port Royalists as they were called, were\nalso suppressed. The Church became immoral, tyrannical, and almost\nwholly corrupt, an enemy to the rights of the people. The reaction\nagainst such a church, which violated all the precepts of the Gospel,\nwas infidelity.\n\n[Illustration: F\u00c9NELON AND THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY.]\n\n\"During the whole of the reign of Louis XV. the cloud of Revolution\nwas gathering. Louis saw it, but he was so given over to sensuality\nthat it little troubled him. 'These things will last as long as I\nshall,' he said. '_Apr\u00e8s nous le d\u00e9luge_' (after us the deluge). He\nwas wholly governed, and the nation ruled, by Madame de Pompadour, a\ncorrupt and worthless woman, who made and dismissed ministers of State\nand cardinals, declared war and dictated terms of peace. She declared\nthat even her lap-dog was weary of the fawnings of nobles. Are you\nsurprised that Frenchmen should rise against such a state of things as\nthis?\"\n\n\"Was not Louis XV. educated by F\u00e9nelon, who wrote _T\u00e9l\u00e9maque_, the\nFrench text-book we have been studying?\" asked Frank.\n\n\"Yes, the most corrupt king of France was educated by the purest and\nmost lovable man of genius that the times produced. The king was a\nwilful child, but it was thought that F\u00e9nelon had quite changed his\ncharacter by his religious influence. He was subject to what were\ncalled 'mad fits.' I might tell you some pleasant stories of this\nperiod of his life. One day, when F\u00e9nelon had reproved him for some\ngrave fault, he said,--\n\n\"'I know what I am, and I know also what you are.'\n\n\"F\u00e9nelon's prudent conduct quite won back the affection of the child.\n\n\"'I will leave the Duke of Burgundy [his title] behind the door when I\nam with you,' he used to say, 'and I will be only little Louis.'\n\n\"F\u00e9nelon turned the boy's mind to piety, and for a time influenced him\nby it. 'All his mad fits and spites,' he said of his pupil, 'yielded\nto the name of God.'\n\n\"But F\u00e9nelon, like all good and pure men of the time, was condemned\nby the court and the Church. _T\u00e9l\u00e9maque_, written to train the mind of\nthe young prince in the principles of virtue, caused him to lose favor\nwith the court, and he spent the last years of his life in virtual\nexile.\n\n[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL AT NANTES.]\n\n[Illustration: LOUIS XV.]\n\n\"Aside from F\u00e9nelon's influence the prince had much to make him\nvain. He was once ill, and on his recovery all Paris was filled with\nrejoicing. An immense crowd gathered around the palace on the eve of\nSt. Louis's Day in honor of the convalescence. As the boy-king stood\non the balcony of the palace on the occasion, Marshal Villeroy said to\nhim,--\n\n\"'Look at all this company of people: all are yours; they all belong\nto you; you are their master.'\n\n\"Think of a boy's being told that the people of Paris belonged to him!\n\n\"I can wonder at the Reign of Terror, but I cannot be surprised at the\nRevolution when I view the history of France for the century that\npreceded it. It is rather a matter of surprise that an enlightened\npeople should have submitted to tyranny so long.\"\n\nNantes is the Paris of the Loire. Its streets, boulevards, public\nsquares, the forest of masts in the river, and the trees that line its\nbanks, all seem a copy of the bright and gay French capital. Its old\ncathedral is a queer-looking building, with towers scarcely higher\nthan its roof; but it contains a most beautiful tomb which was erected\nin memory of Francis II. last Duke of Bretagne. It is adorned with\nfigures of angels, the twelve Apostles, St. Louis, and Charlemagne.\n\nOne of the most interesting excursions made by the Class from Nantes\nwas to the ruin of the old castle of\n\n\nBLUE-BEARD.\n\nThere existed, many centuries ago, a ferocious, cruel old lord, whose\ntreatment of his wives and ogre-like tyranny to all around him, gave\norigin to the thrilling story of Blue-beard; indeed, the story was so\nnearly true that this old lord was actually called \"Blue-beard\" by his\nneighbors, so blue-black was his long and stubby beard.\n\nHe lived in the old days when barons were fierce and despotic, and\nshut their wives and daughters up in dark dungeons or high castle\ncasements, and thought little more of ordering a score of peasants off\nto instant execution than of eating their breakfasts.\n\nHe was a rich old fellow, and had several castles scattered about the\ncountry, whither princes and dukes used to go and visit him, and share\nin his hunting-parties in the wildwoods.\n\nHis castles were situated in the province of Brittany, and his real\nname was one which is still to be found in these secluded\nregions,--the Sieur Duval. The lapse of time has caused all his fine\ncastles wholly to disappear, with one exception, and it is that which\nI am about to describe to you.\n\nSieur Duval had his favorite residence on the banks of a lovely little\nriver, about two miles from Nantes. Here he was near town, and might\nride in on one of his high-tempered chargers whenever he listed, to\njoin the revels of the dukes, or go wife-hunting.\n\nIt was at this castle that his cruelties to his unhappy spouses are\nsupposed to have occurred; and it was from Nantes that the brother of\nhis last wife is said to have ridden in hot haste to rescue his\nwretched sister and make an end of the odious old tyrant.\n\nTaking a row-boat by the high, old bridge which, just on the outskirts\nof Nantes, spans the river Erdre, you find yourself at first on a\nbroad sheet of water, with quaint, whitewashed stone-houses and huts,\ntheir roofs covered with red brick tiles, and occasionally more\nhandsome mansions with lawns and gardens extending to the river-bank.\nHere you may perhaps observe a row of curious flat-boats with roofs,\nbut open on all sides, lining both banks of the stream. In these are a\nnumber of hard-featured, dark-skinned women of all ages, washing\nclothes. They lean over the boat-sides, and scrub the shirts and\nhandkerchiefs in the water, then withdraw them, lay them smoothly on\nsome flat boards, like a table, and taking a flat hammer pound upon\nthem.\n\nPresently you get past these, if you row vigorously, and come to\npretty bends in the river, and find yourself beyond the\nthickly-settled part, amidst pleasant rural fields, with some wealthy\nmerchant's mansion raising its towers above the green trees.\n\nAfter a while you approach a bright little village, all of whose\nhouses form a single street just along the banks of the river. Here\nyou disembark and pass along the village street, across a rickety\nbridge which spans a little inlet from the stream, and so out into the\ncountry, and through paths in the woods thickly grown with brush and\nwildflowers.\n\nPresently, soon after you have got out of sight of the village, you\nascend a gentle hill, and suddenly come upon an old, old house, with\nits wooden ribs appearing, crossing each other, through the stone\nwalls, and a roof that looks as if about to fall in upon the people\nwho inhabit it.\n\nJust beyond this, deeply imbedded in shrubs, brush, thickly-grown\nivies and other vines, and moss, is all that is left of Blue-beard's\ncastle.\n\nThe walls are still there, dividing the apartments. You can imagine\nthe rooms and the tower which arose above the tall trees that here\ncluster on the river bank. And you may fancy, as you stand among the\nbeautiful ruins, that you are on the very spot where the room used to\nbe which Blue-beard forbade his last wife to enter.\n\nHere is the portal, now crumbled and almost covered with moss and ivy,\nwhere the old tyrant came in and out; there the wall where the last of\nhis poor victims sat, looking out and straining her eyes to see her\nbrother coming; beyond, the spot where Blue-beard was struck down, and\nreceived his deserts. It seems too beautiful a place for so\nremorseless an ogre; and as one looks out upon the lovely scenes where\nthe tearful spouses mourned their lot, one cannot help thinking how\nhappy they might have been in such a charming retreat, had they\nenjoyed it with loving husbands and happy homes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nHOMEWARD.\n\n On the Cliffs at Havre.--Stories of French Authors.--Again on\n the Sea.\n\n\n\"Only three days more remain to us in France,\" said Master Lewis,\nafter spending two days in Nantes. \"We will now return to Paris by\nrail, stopping a few hours in Orleans, and from Paris will go directly\nto Havre, whence we will take the steamer for home.\"\n\n\"It seems to me,\" said Wyllys Wynn, \"that, after what we have seen, I\nshall like no reading so well as history.\"\n\n\"It has been my aim,\" said Master Lewis, \"to take you to those places\nwhere the principal great events of the histories of England and\nFrance have occurred. I stopped at Carlisle to give you a lesson in\nthe early history of Britain,--the periods of the Druids and the\nRomans. I took you to Glastonbury to give you a view of the history of\nthe early English Church. I went with you to Aix-la-Chapelle that you\nmight receive an impression of the dominion of Charlemagne. Normandy\nis the common ground of old English and French history. I was glad to\nselect it for you as the direct object of our visit, although it has\nformed a small part of our journey. I, like Tommy, have had a secret\nwhich I have kept for the Club; it has been to interest you in the\nplaces and events which would lead you, on your return, to become more\ncareful readers of the best books. I hope the journey will leave an\nhistoric outline in your minds that future reading will fill.\nCharacter is as much determined by the books one reads as by the\ncompany one keeps. Show me a boy's selection of books, and I will tell\nyou what he is and what he is likely to become.\"\n\n\"Master Lewis,\" said Wyllys, \"says he has aimed to take us to such\nhistoric places as would give us, at the end of the journey, a\nconnected picture of English and of French history. Let us try to\nassociate the places we have seen with historic events. As I think of\nour Scottish and English journey, I connect,--\n\n\"Carlisle with the Druids and Romans.\n\n\"Glastonbury with Early Christianity and the Boy Kings.\n\n\"Normandy with William the Conqueror and his sons.\n\n\"Nottingham with Robin Hood and the Norman and Plantagenet Kings.\n\n\"Boscobel with King Charles.\n\n\"Edinburgh with Mary, the Edwards, and the Douglases.\n\n\"Kenilworth with Elizabeth.\n\n\"Oxford with Canute and Alfred.\n\n\"London with the Tudors, the Commonwealth, the Georges, and Victoria.\"\n\n\"In our journey on the continent,\" said Frank, \"I associate,--\n\n\"Brussels with Waterloo and Napoleon.\n\n\"Aix-la-Chapelle with Charlemagne.\n\n\"Ghent and Bruges with the Dukes of Flanders and Burgundy.\n\n\"Calais with Mary Tudor and Edward III. of England.\n\n\"Rouen with Charles VII. and Joan of Arc.\n\n\"Paris with Charles IX., the Bourbons, and Napoleon.\n\n\"Nantes with the Huguenots and the Revolution.\"\n\n\"We have also had views of the homes and haunts of great authors,\"\nsaid Ernest. \"I have made a scrap-book of leaves and flowers from the\nhomes and graves of men of letters, and it includes souvenirs of\nnearly all the most eminent names in English literature.\"\n\nHavre is really a port of Paris, and is one of the most thriving\nmaritime towns of France. Like most port towns it is more\nbusinesslike than picturesque. The Class made but two visits here,\noutside of the hotel. One of these was to the birthplace of Bernardin\nde St. Pierre in Rue de la Cordesis, and the other to the cliffs on\nwhich the great French light-houses are erected at a height of three\nhundred feet.\n\n[Illustration: MOLI\u00c8RE.]\n\nIt was in the bright twilight of a late day in August that the Class\nmounted the cliffs and overlooked the sea, whose waves still reflected\nthe vermilion of the sky. The boys were sober at the thought that this\nwas their last day in Europe, and that they were now to return to the\nset tasks of the school-room.\n\n[Illustration: THE READING OF \"PAUL AND VIRGINIA.\"]\n\n\"These cliffs,\" said Master Lewis, \"were the favorite haunts of the\nauthor of 'Paul and Virginia.' He was a mere theorist, a daydreamer;\nand here he loved to gaze on the bright sea, and plan expeditions\nof republican colonists to such lands as he paints in his novels. His\nexpeditions ended in the air. But he himself went to Mauritius, where\nhe lived three years. On his return to Paris, while the brightness of\ntropical scenery still haunted him, he wrote 'Paul and Virginia.'\"\n\n[Illustration: RACINE.]\n\n\"When Corneille, the great Corneille, as the popular dramatist came to\nbe called, read his masterpiece, _Polyeucte_, to a party of\nfashionable literary people in Paris, it was coolly received on\naccount of the fine Christian sentiments it contained. The criticism\nwas that the religion of the stage should be that, not of God, but of\nthe gods. Even a bishop present took this view.\n\n\"Bernardin de St. Pierre was as sharply criticised when he first read\nin public his beautiful romance of 'Paul and Virginia.' It was at a\nparty given by Madame Necker. 'At first,' says a writer, 'every one\nlistened in silence; then the company began to whisper, then to yawn.\nMonsieur de Buffon ordered his carriage, and slipped out of the\nnearest door. The ladies who listened were ridiculed when tears at\nlast gathered in their eyes.'\n\n[Illustration: RACINE READING TO LOUIS XIV.]\n\n\"_Polyeucte_ still lives in French literature, and the wits who\ncondemned it are forgotten; 'Paul and Virginia' charmed France; fifty\nimitations of it were published in a single year, and it was rapidly\ntranslated into all European tongues. It remains a classic, but the\ncritics in Madame Necker's parlors are recollected only for their\nmistake.\"\n\n\"We must read the works of these French authors on our return,\" said\nWyllys, \"or at least the best selections from them. I shall wish to\nread 'Pascal's Provincial Letters' and the Letters of Madame de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9, after what you have said of them.\"\n\n\"You should also read some of the best selections from the works of\nBoileau, Moli\u00e8re, and Racine. I have only time to allude to them\nbriefly here.\n\n\"These authors were friends. They all lived in the time of the Grand\nMonarch, as Louis XIV. was called. La Fontaine, some of whose fables\nyou have read, belongs to the same period, which is the greatest in\nFrench literature.\n\n\"Louis XIV. appreciated nearly all the great writers of the time; he\nseems to have felt that great authors, like great palaces, would add\nlustre to his reign.\"\n\n\"I think that we might better change our society on our return into a\nreading-club,\" said Tommy Toby.\n\n\"It seems to me your proposal is a very good one,\" said Master Lewis.\n\"We may be able to travel again. If we should visit Germany or the\nLatin lands together another year, a reading-club would be an\nexcellent preparation for the journey.\"\n\n\"Very much better than a Secret Society,\" said Frank. \"Suppose you\ngive the Class the secret you devised for our first meetings, Tommy.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Tommy, soberly, \"that, like most of my other plans, was\njust _nothing, after all_.\"\n\nAway from busy Havre the next morning, under the French and American\nflags, moved a little ocean world; and on the decks, looking back to\nthe fading shores of old Normandy, and cherishing delightful memories\nof their zigzag journeys in historic lands, were the teacher and the\nlads whose winding ways we have followed.\n\n\n University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nMinor punctuation errors have been repaired. Hyphenation and use of\naccents has been made consistent.\n\nUse of quote marks is inconsistent, particularly around poetry and for\ncontinuing quotations, but is preserved as printed.\n\nThe illustration caption, 'THE BLACK DOUGLAS SURPRISING AN ENEMY' on\npage 100 was omitted from the List of Illustrations. It has been added\nin this e-text.\n\nThe uncaptioned sketch of thread from the Bayeux Tapestry, on page 164,\nis not included in the List of Illustrations. This may have been\ndeliberate, as it is supposed to be a sketch by one of the class,\nand so has not been added by the transcriber.\n\nThe List of Illustrations had the image on page 187 as 'OLD HAMPTON\nCOURT', while the caption under the illustration read 'WHITEHALL'. The\nTranscriber has confirmed that the illustration is a picture of the\nold Whitehall Palace (see painting _The Old Palace of Whitehall_, by\nHendrik Danckerts for comparison), and has amended the text in the\nList of Illustrations to match the caption in the text.\n\nPage 166 includes the word 'flustrated'. This may be a typographic\nerror for 'frustrated', or it may be deliberate on the part of the\nauthor, perhaps a combination of 'flustered' and 'frustrated'. As\nthere is no way to be sure which is the case, it is preserved as\nprinted.\n\nThe following amendments have been made--\n\n Page vii--Falise amended to Falaise--\"Statue of William\n the Conqueror at Falaise\"\n\n Page vii--the word 'At' deleted and the amended to The,\n to match the caption in the main text--\"The Death-bed of\n Francis II.\"\n\n Page 57--Ingraciate amended to Ingratiate--\"... one on\n _Ingratiate_ (in grey she ate); ...\"\n\n Page 173--Wyatt amended to Wyat--\"... The Tower.--Sir\n Henry Wyat and His Cat.--Madame Tussaud's Wax Works....\"\n\n Page 220--der amended to de--\"All the Foresters of\n Flanders,--mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, ...\"\n\nThe frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title\npage. Other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that\nthey are not in the middle of a paragraph.","title":"Zigzag Journeys in Europe: Vacation Rambles in Historic Lands","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":60664}