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[Illustration: A JUNE MORNING.]
ST. NICHOLAS.
VOL. XIII. JUNE, 1886. NO. 8.
[Copyright, 1886, by THE CENTURY CO.]
"ONCE-ON-A-TIME."
BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.
Heigh-ho! What frolics we might see,
If it only had happened to you and me
To be born in some beautiful far-off clime,
In the country of Somewhere, once-on-a-time!
Why, once-on-a-time there were mountains of gold,
And cans full of jewels, and treasures untold;
There were birds just waiting to fly before
And show you the way to the magical door.
And, under a tree, there was sure to be
A queer little woman to give you the key;
And a tiny, dancing, good-natured elf,
To say, with his scepter: "Help yourself!"
For millions of dollars grew from a dime
In the country of Somewhere, once-on-a-time.
If we lived in the country of Somewhere, you
Could do whatever you chose to do.
Instead of a boy, with the garden to weed,
You might be a knight, with a sword and a steed.
Instead of a girl, with a towel to hem,
I might be a princess, with robe and gem;
With a gay little page, and a harper old,
Who knew all the stories that ever were told,--
Stories in prose, and stories in rhyme,
That happened somewhere, once-on-a-time.
In the country of Somewhere, no one looks
At maps and blackboards and grammar books;
For all your knowledge just grows and grows,
Like the song in a bird, or the sweet in a rose.
And if ever I chance, on a fortunate day,
To that wonderful region to find my way,
Why then, if the stories all are true,
As quick as I can, I'll come for you,
And we'll row away to its happy shores,
In a silver shallop with golden oars.
LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY.
BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.
CHAPTER VIII.
Lord Dorincourt had occasion to wear his grim smile many a time as the
days passed by. Indeed, as his acquaintance with his grandson progressed,
he wore the smile so often that there were moments when it almost lost
its grimness. There is no denying that before Lord Fauntleroy had
appeared on the scene, the old man had been growing very tired of his
loneliness and his gout and his seventy years. After so long a life of
excitement and amusement, it was not agreeable to sit alone even in the
most splendid room, with one foot on a gout-stool, and with no other
diversion than flying into a rage, and shouting at a frightened footman
who hated the sight of him. The old Earl was too clever a man not to know
perfectly well that his servants detested him, and that even if he had
visitors, they did not come for love of him--though some found a sort of
amusement in his sharp, sarcastic talk, which spared no one. So long as
he had been strong and well, he had gone from one place to another,
pretending to amuse himself, though he had not really enjoyed it; and
when his health began to fail, he felt tired of everything and shut
himself up at Dorincourt, with his gout and his newspapers and his books.
But he could not read all the time, and he became more and more "bored,"
as he called it. He hated the long nights and days, and he grew more and
more savage and irritable. And then Fauntleroy came; and when the Earl
saw the lad, fortunately for the little fellow, the secret pride of the
grandfather was gratified at the outset. If Cedric had been a less
handsome little fellow the old man might have taken so strong a dislike
to the boy that he would not have given himself the chance to see his
grandson's finer qualities. But he chose to think that Cedric's beauty
and fearless spirit were the results of the Dorincourt blood and a credit
to the Dorincourt rank. And then when he heard the lad talk, and saw what
a well bred little fellow he was, notwithstanding his boyish ignorance of
all that his new position meant, the old Earl liked his grandson more,
and actually began to find himself rather entertained. It had amused him
to give into those childish hands the power to bestow a benefit on poor
Higgins. My lord cared nothing for poor Higgins, but it pleased him a
little to think that his grandson would be talked about by the country
people and would begin to be popular with the tenantry, even in his
childhood. Then it had gratified him to drive to church with Cedric and
to see the excitement and interest caused by the arrival. He knew how the
people would speak of the beauty of the little lad; of his fine, strong,
straight little body; of his erect bearing, his handsome face, and his
bright hair, and how they would say (as the Earl had heard one woman
exclaim to another) that the boy was "every inch a lord." My lord of
Dorincourt was an arrogant old man, proud of his name, proud of his rank,
and therefore proud to show the world that at last the House of
Dorincourt had an heir who was worthy of the position he was to fill.
The morning the new pony had been tried, the Earl had been so pleased
that he had almost forgotten his gout. When the groom had brought out the
pretty creature, which arched its brown, glossy neck and tossed its fine
head in the sun, the Earl had sat at the open window of the library and
had looked on while Fauntleroy took his first riding lesson. He wondered
if the boy would show signs of timidity. It was not a very small pony,
and he had often seen children lose courage in making their first essay
at riding.
Fauntleroy mounted in great delight. He had never been on a pony before,
and he was in the highest spirits. Wilkins, the groom, led the animal by
the bridle up and down before the library window.
"He's a well plucked un, he is," Wilkins remarked in the stable afterward
with many grins. "It weren't no trouble to put _him_ up. An' a old un
wouldn't ha' sat any straighter when he _were_ up. He ses--ses he to me,
'Wilkins,' he ses, 'am I sitting up straight? They sit up straight at the
circus,' ses he. An' I ses, 'As straight as a arrer, your lordship!'--an'
he laughs, as pleased as could be, an' he ses, 'That's right,' he ses,
'you tell me if I don't sit up straight, Wilkins!'"
But sitting up straight and being led at a walk were not altogether and
completely satisfactory. After a few minutes, Fauntleroy spoke to his
grandfather--watching him from the window:
"Can't I go by myself?" he asked; "and can't I go faster? The boy on
Fifth Avenue used to trot and canter!"
"Do you think you could trot and canter?" said the Earl.
"I should like to try," answered Fauntleroy.
His lordship made a sign to Wilkins, who at the signal brought up his own
horse and mounted it and took Fauntleroy's pony by the leading-rein.
"Now," said the Earl, "let him trot."
The next few minutes were rather exciting to the small equestrian. He
found that trotting was not so easy as walking, and the faster the pony
trotted, the less easy it was.
"It j-jolts a g-goo-good deal--do-doesn't it?" he said to Wilkins.
"D-does it j-jolt y-you?"
[Illustration: "WILKINS WAS CARRYING HIS HAT FOR HIM, AND HIS HAIR WAS
FLYING, BUT HE CAME BACK AT A BRISK CANTER."]
"No, my lord," answered Wilkins. "You'll get used to it in time. Rise in
your stirrups."
"I'm ri-rising all the t-time," said Fauntleroy.
He was both rising and falling rather uncomfortably and with many shakes
and bounces. He was out of breath and his face grew red, but he held on
with all his might, and sat as straight as he could. The Earl could see
that from his window. When the riders came back within speaking distance,
after they had been hidden by the trees a few minutes, Fauntleroy's hat
was off, his cheeks were like poppies, and his lips were set, but he was
still trotting manfully.
"Stop a minute!" said his grandfather. "Where's your hat?"
Wilkins touched his. "It fell off, your lordship," he said, with evident
enjoyment. "Wouldn't let me stop to pick it up, my lord."
"Not much afraid, is he?" asked the Earl, dryly.
"Him, your lordship!" exclaimed Wilkins. "I shouldn't say as he knowed
what it meant. I've taught young gen'lemen to ride afore, an' I never see
one stick on more determin'der."
"Tired?" said the Earl to Fauntleroy. "Want to get off?"
"It jolts you more than you think it will," admitted his young lordship
frankly. "And it tires you a little, too; but I don't want to get off. I
want to learn how. As soon as I've got my breath I want to go back for
the hat."
The cleverest person in the world, if he had undertaken to teach
Fauntleroy how to please the old man who watched him, could not have
taught him anything which would have succeeded better. As the pony
trotted off again toward the avenue, a faint color crept up in the fierce
old face, and the eyes, under the shaggy brows, gleamed with a pleasure
such as his lordship had scarcely expected to know again. And he sat and
watched quite eagerly until the sound of the horses' hoofs returned. When
they did come, which was after some time, they came at a faster pace.
Fauntleroy's hat was still off; Wilkins was carrying it for him; his
cheeks were redder than before, and his hair was flying about his ears,
but he came at quite a brisk canter.
"There!" he panted, as they drew up, "I c-cantered. I didn't do it as
well as the boy on Fifth Avenue, but I did it, and I stayed on!"
He and Wilkins and the pony were close friends after that. Scarcely a day
passed in which the country people did not see them out together,
cantering gayly on the highroad or through the green lanes. The children
in the cottages would run to the door to look at the proud little brown
pony with the gallant little figure sitting so straight in the saddle,
and the young lord would snatch off his cap and swing it at them, and
shout, "Hullo! Good morning!" in a very unlordly manner, though with
great heartiness. Sometimes he would stop and talk with the children, and
once Wilkins came back to the castle with a story of how Fauntleroy had
insisted on dismounting near the village school, so that a boy who was
lame and tired might ride home on his pony.
"An' I'm blessed," said Wilkins, in telling the story at the
stables,--"I'm blessed if he'd hear of anything else! He wouldn't let me
get down, because he said the boy mightn't feel comfortable on a big
horse. An' ses he, 'Wilkins,' ses he, 'that boy is lame and I'm not, and
I want to talk to him, too.' And up the lad has to get, and my lord
trudges alongside of him with his hands in his pockets, and his cap on
the back of his head, a-whistling and talking as easy as you please! And
when we come to the cottage, an' the boy's mother come out all in a
taking to see what's up, he whips off his cap an' ses he, 'I've brought
your son home, ma'am,' ses he, 'because his leg hurt him, and I don't
think that stick is enough for him to lean on; and I'm going to ask my
grandfather to have a pair of crutches made for him.' An' I'm blessed if
the woman wasn't struck all of a heap, as well she might be! I thought I
should 'a' hex-plodid, myself!"
When the Earl heard the story, he was not angry, as Wilkins had been half
afraid that he would be; on the contrary, he laughed outright, and called
Fauntleroy up to him, and made him tell all about the matter from
beginning to end, and then he laughed again. And actually, a few days
later, the Dorincourt carriage stopped in the green lane before the
cottage where the lame boy lived, and Fauntleroy jumped out and walked up
to the door, carrying a pair of strong, light, new crutches, shouldered
like a gun, and presented them to Mrs. Hartle (the lame boy's name was
Hartle) with these words: "My grandfather's compliments, and if you
please, these are for your boy, and we hope he will get better."
"I said your compliments," he explained to the Earl when he returned to
the carriage. "You didn't tell me to, but I thought, perhaps, you forgot.
That was right, wasn't it?"
And the Earl laughed again, and did not say it was not. In fact, the two
were becoming more intimate every day, and every day Fauntleroy's faith
in his lordship's benevolence and virtue increased. He had no doubt
whatever that his grandfather was the most amiable and generous of
elderly gentlemen. Certainly, he himself found his wishes gratified
almost before they were uttered; and such gifts and pleasures were
lavished upon him, that he was sometimes almost bewildered by his own
possessions. Apparently, he was to have everything he wanted, and to do
everything he wished to do. And though this would certainly not have been
a very wise plan to pursue with all small boys, his young lordship bore
it amazingly well. Perhaps, notwithstanding his sweet nature, he might
have been somewhat spoiled by it, if it had not been for the hours he
spent with his mother at Court Lodge. That "best friend" of his watched
over him very closely and tenderly. The two had many long talks together,
and he never went back to the castle with her kisses on his cheeks
without carrying in his heart some simple, pure words worth remembering.
There was one thing, it is true, which puzzled the little fellow very
much. He thought over the mystery of it much oftener than any one
supposed; even his mother did not know how often he pondered on it; the
Earl for a long time never suspected that he did so at all. But being
quick to observe, the little boy could not help wondering why it was that
his mother and grandfather never seemed to meet. He had noticed that they
never did meet. When the Dorincourt carriage stopped at Court Lodge, the
Earl never alighted, and on the rare occasions of his lordship's going to
church, Fauntleroy was always left to speak to his mother in the porch
alone, or perhaps to go home with her. And yet, every day, fruit and
flowers were sent to Court Lodge from the hot-houses at the castle. But
the one virtuous action of the Earl's which had set him upon the pinnacle
of perfection in Cedric's eyes, was what he had done soon after that
first Sunday when Mrs. Errol had walked home from church unattended.
About a week later, when Cedric was going one day to visit his mother, he
found at the door, instead of the large carriage and prancing pair, a
pretty little brougham and a handsome bay horse.
"That is a present from you to your mother," the Earl said abruptly. "She
can not go walking about the country. She needs a carriage. The man who
drives will take charge of it. It is a present from _you_."
Fauntleroy's delight could but feebly express itself. He could scarcely
contain himself until he reached the lodge. His mother was gathering
roses in the garden. He flung himself out of the little brougham and flew
to her.
"Dearest!" he cried, "could you believe it? This is yours! He says it is
a present from me. It is your own carriage to drive everywhere in!"
He was so happy that she did not know what to say. She could not have
borne to spoil his pleasure by refusing to accept the gift even though it
came from the man who chose to consider himself her enemy. She was
obliged to step into the carriage, roses and all, and let herself be
taken to drive, while Fauntleroy told her stories of his grandfather's
goodness and amiability. They were such innocent stories that sometimes
she could not help laughing a little, and then she would draw her little
boy closer to her side and kiss him, feeling glad that he could see only
good in the old man who had so few friends.
The very next day after that, Fauntleroy wrote to Mr. Hobbs. He wrote
quite a long letter, and after the first copy was written, he brought it
to his grandfather to be inspected.
"Because," he said, "it's so uncertain about the spelling. And if you'll
tell me the mistakes, I'll write it out again."
This was what he had written:
"My dear mr hobbs i want to tell you about my granfarther he is the
best earl you ever new it is a mistake about earls being tirents he
is not a tirent at all i wish you new him you would be good frends i
am sure you would he has the gout in his foot and is a grate sufrer
but he is so pashent i love him more every day becaus no one could
help loving an earl like that who is kind to every one in this world
i wish you could talk to him he knows everything in the world you can
ask him any question but he has never plaid base ball he has given me
a pony and a cart and my mamma a bewtifle carige and I have three
rooms and toys of all kinds it would serprise you you would like the
castle and the park it is such a large castle you could lose yourself
wilkins tells me wilkins is my groom he says there is a dungon under
the castle it is so pretty every thing in the park would serprise you
there are such big trees and there are deers and rabbits and games
flying about in the cover my granfarther is very rich but he is not
proud and orty as you thought earls always were i like to be with him
the people are so polite and kind they take of their hats to you and
the women make curtsies and sometimes say god bless you i can ride
now but at first it shook me when i troted my granfarther let a poor
man stay on his farm when he could not pay his rent and mrs mellon
went to take wine and things to his sick children i should like to
see you and i wish dearest could live at the castle but I am very
happy when i dont miss her too much and i love my granfarther every
one does plees write soon
"your afechshnet old frend
"Cedric Errol
"p s no one is in the dungon my granfarther never had any one
langwishin in there
"p s he is such a good earl he reminds me of you he is a unerversle
favrit"
"Do you miss your mother very much?" asked the Earl when he had finished
reading this.
"Yes," said Fauntleroy, "I miss her all the time."
He went and stood before the Earl and put his hand on his knee looking up
at him.
"_You_ don't miss her, do you?" he said.
"I don't know her," answered his lordship rather crustily.
"I know that," said Fauntleroy, "and that's what makes me wonder. She
told me not to ask you any questions, and--and I wont, but sometimes I
can't help thinking, you know, and it makes me all puzzled. But I'm not
going to ask any questions. And when I miss her very much, I go and look
out of my window to where I see her light shine for me every night
through an open place in the trees. It is a long way off, but she puts it
in her window as soon as it is dark and I can see it twinkle far away,
and I know what it says."
"What does it say?" asked my lord.
"It says, 'Good-night, God keep you all the night!'--just what she used
to say when we were together. Every night she used to say that to me, and
every morning she said, 'God bless you all the day!' So you see I am
quite safe all the time----"
"Quite, I have no doubt," said his lordship dryly. And he drew down his
beetling eyebrows and looked at the little boy so fixedly and so long
that Fauntleroy wondered what he could be thinking of.
CHAPTER IX.
The fact was, his lordship the Earl of Dorincourt thought in those days,
of many things of which he had never thought before, and all his thoughts
were in one way or another connected with his grandson. His pride was the
strongest part of his nature, and the boy gratified it at every point.
Through this pride he began to find a new interest in life. He began to
take pleasure in showing his heir to the world. The world had known of
his disappointment in his sons; so there was an agreeable touch of
triumph in exhibiting this new Lord Fauntleroy, who could disappoint no
one. He wished the child to appreciate his own power and to understand
the splendor of his position; he wished that others should realize it
too. He made plans for his future. Sometimes in secret he actually found
himself wishing that his own past life had been a better one, and that
there had been less in it that this pure, childish heart would shrink
from if it knew the truth. It was not agreeable to think how the
beautiful, innocent face would look if its owner should be made by any
chance to understand that his grandfather had been called for many a year
"the wicked Earl of Dorincourt." The thought even made him feel a trifle
nervous. He did not wish the boy to find it out. Sometimes in this new
interest he forgot his gout, and after a while his doctor was surprised
to find his noble patient's health growing better than he had expected it
ever would be again. Perhaps the Earl grew better because the time did
not pass so slowly for him, and he had something to think of beside his
pains and infirmities.
One fine morning, people were amazed to see little Lord Fauntleroy riding
his pony with another companion than Wilkins. This new companion rode a
tall, powerful gray horse, and was no other than the Earl himself. It
was, in fact, Fauntleroy who had suggested this plan. As he had been on
the point of mounting his pony he had said rather wistfully to his
grandfather:
"I wish you were going with me. When I go away I feel lonely because you
are left all by yourself in such a big castle. I wish you could ride
too."
And the greatest excitement had been aroused in the stables a few minutes
later by the arrival of an order that Selim was to be saddled for the
Earl. After that, Selim was saddled almost every day; and the people
became accustomed to the sight of the tall gray horse carrying the tall
gray old man, with his handsome, fierce, eagle face, by the side of the
brown pony which bore little Lord Fauntleroy. And in their rides together
through the green lanes and pretty country roads, the two riders became
more intimate than ever. And gradually the old man heard a great deal
about "Dearest" and her life. As Fauntleroy trotted by the big horse he
chatted gayly. There could not well have been a brighter little comrade,
his nature was so happy. It was he who talked the most. The Earl often
was silent, listening and watching the joyous, glowing face. Sometimes he
would tell his young companion to set the pony off at a gallop, and when
the little fellow dashed off, sitting so straight and fearless, he would
watch the boy with a gleam of pride and pleasure in his eyes; and
Fauntleroy, when, after such a dash, he came back waving his cap with a
laughing shout, always felt that he and his grandfather were very good
friends indeed.
One thing that the Earl discovered was that his son's wife did not lead
an idle life. It was not long before he learned that the poor people knew
her very well indeed. When there was sickness or sorrow or poverty in any
house, the little brougham often stood before the door.
"Do you know," said Fauntleroy once, "they all say, 'God bless you'! when
they see her, and the children are glad. There are some who go to her
house to be taught to sew. She says she feels so rich now that she wants
to help the poor ones."
It had not displeased the Earl to find that the mother of his heir had a
beautiful young face and looked as much like a lady as if she had been a
duchess, and in one way it did not displease him to know that she was
popular and beloved by the poor. And yet he was often conscious of a
hard, jealous pang when he saw how she filled her child's heart and how
the boy clung to her as his best beloved. The old man would have desired
to stand first himself and have no rival.
That same morning he drew up his horse on an elevated point of the moor
over which they rode, and made a gesture with his whip, over the broad,
beautiful landscape spread before them.
"Do you know that all that land belongs to me?" he said to Fauntleroy.
"Does it?" answered Fauntleroy. "How much it is to belong to one person,
and how beautiful!"
"Do you know that some day it will all belong to you--that and a great
deal more?"
"To me!" exclaimed Fauntleroy in rather an awe-stricken voice. "When?"
"When I am dead," his grandfather answered.
"Then I don't want it," said Fauntleroy; "I want you to live always."
"That's kind," answered the Earl in his dry way; "nevertheless, some day
it will all be yours--some day you will be the Earl of Dorincourt."
[Illustration: "UP THE LAD HAS TO GET, AND MY LORD TRUDGES ALONGSIDE OF
HIM WITH HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS."]
Little Lord Fauntleroy sat very still in his saddle for a few moments. He
looked over the broad moors, the green farms, the beautiful copses, the
cottages in the lanes, the pretty village, and over the trees to where
the turrets of the great castle rose, gray and stately. Then he gave a
queer little sigh.
"What are you thinking of?" asked the Earl.
"I am thinking," replied Fauntleroy, "what a little boy I am! and of what
Dearest said to me."
"What was it?" inquired the Earl.
"She said that perhaps it was not so easy to be very rich; that if any
one had so many things always, one might sometimes forget that every one
else was not so fortunate, and that one who is rich should always be
careful and try to remember. I was talking to her about how good you
were, and she said that was such a good thing, because an earl had so
much power, and if he cared only about his own pleasure and never thought
about the people who lived on his lands, they might have trouble that he
could help--and there were so many people, and it would be such a hard
thing. And I was just looking at all those houses, and thinking how I
should have to find out about the people, when I was an earl. How did you
find out about them?"
As his lordship's knowledge of his tenantry consisted in finding out
which of them paid their rent promptly, and in turning out those who did
not, this was rather a hard question. "Newick finds out for me," he said,
and he pulled his great gray mustache, and looked at his small questioner
rather uneasily. "We will go home now," he added; "and when you are an
earl, see to it that you are a better one than I have been!"
He was very silent as they rode home. He felt it to be almost incredible
that he, who had never really loved any one in his life, should find
himself growing so fond of this little fellow,--as without doubt he was.
At first he had only been pleased and proud of Cedric's beauty and
bravery, but there was something more than pride in his feeling now. He
laughed a grim, dry laugh all to himself sometimes, when he thought how
he liked to have the boy near him, how he liked to hear his voice, and
how in secret he really wished to be liked and thought well of by his
small grandson.
"I'm an old fellow in my dotage, and I have nothing else to think of," he
would say to himself; and yet he knew it was not that altogether. And if
he had allowed himself to admit the truth, he would perhaps have found
himself obliged to own that the very things which attracted him, in spite
of himself, were the qualities he had never possessed--the frank, true,
kindly nature, the affectionate trustfulness which could never think
evil.
It was only about a week after that ride when, after a visit to his
mother, Fauntleroy came into the library with a troubled, thoughtful
face. He sat down in that high-backed chair in which he had sat on the
evening of his arrival, and for a while he looked at the embers on the
hearth. The Earl watched him in silence, wondering what was coming. It
was evident that Cedric had something on his mind. At last he looked up.
"Does Newick know all about the people?" he asked.
"It is his business to know about them," said his lordship. "Been
neglecting it--has he?"
Contradictory as it may seem, there was nothing which entertained and
edified him more than the little fellow's interest in his tenantry. He
had never taken any interest in them himself, but it pleased him well
enough that, with all his childish habits of thought and in the midst of
all his childish amusements and high spirits, there should be such a
quaint seriousness working in the curly head.
"There is a place," said Fauntleroy, looking up at him with wide-open,
horror-stricken eyes--"Dearest has seen it; it is at the other end of the
village. The houses are close together, and almost falling down; you can
scarcely breathe; and the people are so poor, and everything is dreadful!
Often they have fever, and the children die; and it makes them wicked to
live like that, and be so poor and miserable! It is worse than Michael
and Bridget! The rain comes in at the roof! Dearest went to see a poor
woman who lived there. She would not let me come near her until she had
changed all her things. The tears ran down her cheeks when she told me
about it!"
The tears had come into his own eyes, but he smiled through them.
"I told her you didn't know, and I would tell you," he said. He jumped
down and came and leaned against the Earl's chair. "You can make it all
right," he said, "just as you made it all right for Higgins. You always
make it all right for everybody. I told her you would, and that Newick
must have forgotten to tell you."
The Earl looked down at the hand on his knee. Newick had not forgotten to
tell him; in fact, Newick had spoken to him more than once of the
desperate condition of the end of the village known as Earl's Court. He
knew all about the tumble-down, miserable cottages, and the bad drainage,
and the damp walls and broken windows and leaking roofs, and all about
the poverty, the fever, and the misery. Mr. Mordaunt had painted it all
to him in the strongest words he could use, and his lordship had used
violent language in response; and, when his gout had been at the worst,
he had said that the sooner the people of Earl's Court died and were
buried by the parish the better it would be,--and there was an end of the
matter. And yet, as he looked at the small hand on his knee, and from the
small hand to the honest, earnest, frank-eyed face, he was actually a
little ashamed both of Earl's Court and of himself.
"What!" he said; "you want to make a builder of model cottages of me, do
you?" And he positively put his own hand upon the childish one and
stroked it.
"Those must be pulled down," said Fauntleroy, with great eagerness.
"Dearest says so. Let us--let us go and have them pulled down tomorrow.
The people will be so glad when they see you! They'll know you have come
to help them!" And his eyes shone like stars in his glowing face.
The Earl rose from his chair and put his hand on the child's shoulder.
"Let us go out and take our walk on the terrace," he said, with a short
laugh; "and we can talk it over."
And though he laughed two or three times again, as they walked to and fro
on the broad stone terrace, where they walked together almost every fine
evening, he seemed to be thinking of something which did not displease
him, and still he kept his hand on his small companion's shoulder.
(_To be continued._)
WINGED SEEDS.
BY HELEN GRAY CONE.
Oh, gold-green wings, and bronze-green wings,
And rose-tinged wings, that down the breeze
Come sailing from the maple-trees!
You showering things, you shimmering things,
That June-time always brings!
Oh, are you seeds that seek the earth,
The shade of lovely leaves to spread?
Or shining angels, that had birth
When kindly words were said?
Oh, downy dandelion-wings,
Wild-floating wings, like silver spun,
That dance and glisten in the sun!
You airy things, you elfin things,
That June-time always brings!
Oh, are you seeds that seek the earth,
The light of laughing flowers to spread?
Or flitting fairies, that had birth
When merry words were said?
* * * * *
[Illustration: BESSIE: "THAT MEANS NO MORE SCHOOL TILL COLD WEATHER
COMES! MY TEACHER SAID SO!"]
PERSONALLY CONDUCTED.
BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.
VIII.
QUEEN PARIS.
We have already been in Paris, but we saw very little of it, as we were
merely passing through the city on our way to the south of France; and my
young companions should not go home without forming an acquaintance with
a city which, on account of its importance and unrivaled attractiveness,
may be called the queen city of the world, just as London, with its
wealth, its size, and its influence, which is felt all over our globe, is
the king of cities. In Rome, and in other cities of Italy, we have seen
what Europe used to be, both in ancient times and in the Middle Ages; but
there is no one place which will show us so well what Europe is to-day,
as Paris.
It is an immense city, being surrounded by ramparts twenty-one miles
long, and is full of broad and handsome streets, magnificent buildings,
grand open spaces with fountains and statues, great public gardens and
parks free to everybody, and (what is more attractive to some people than
anything else) it has miles and miles of stores and shops, which are
filled with the most beautiful and interesting things that are made or
found in any part of the world. All these articles are arranged and
displayed so artistically, that people buy things in Paris which they
would never think of buying anywhere else, simply because they had never
before noticed how desirable such things were. But, even if we do not
wish to spend any money, we can still enjoy the rare and beautiful
objects for which Paris is famous; they are nearly all in the shop
windows, and we can walk about and admire them for nothing and as much as
we please.
In many respects Paris is as lively as Naples; as grand as Rome; as
beautiful, but in a different way, as Venice; almost as rich in remains
of the Middle Ages as Florence; and yet, after all, it will remind you of
none of those cities.
Before we visit any particular place in Paris, we shall start out to
explore the city as a whole; although I do not mean to say that we shall
go over the whole of the city. Those of us who choose will walk, and that
is the best way to see Paris, for we are continually meeting with
something that we wish to stop and look at; but such as do not wish to
take so long a walk may ride in the _voitures_, or public carriages,
which abound in the streets of Paris. In fine weather, these are
convenient little open vehicles, intended to carry two persons, though
more can be sometimes accommodated. They can be hired for two francs
(about forty cents) an hour, with the addition of a small sum called
_pour-boire_ to which the driver is by custom entitled. Nearly everywhere
we may see empty _voitures_, their drivers looking out for customers.
When we want one, we do not call for it, nor do we stand on the curbstone
and whistle, as if we were stopping a Fifth Avenue stage: If no driver
sees us so that we can beckon to him, we follow the Parisian custom, and
going to the edge of the pavement, give a strong hiss between our closed
teeth. Instantly the nearest _cocher_, or driver, pulls up his horse and
looks about him to see where that hiss comes from, and when he sees us,
he comes around with a sweep in front of us.
The river Seine runs through Paris, and winds and doubles so much that
there are seven miles of it within the city walls. It is crossed by
twenty-seven bridges, and from one of these, the Pont de la Concorde, we
shall start on our tour through Paris. The upper part of this bridge is
built of stones taken from the Bastille prison after its destruction by
the enraged people. Thus the Parisians can feel, when they cross this
bridge, that they are treading under foot a portion of the building they
so greatly abhorred. The view up and down the river is very fine, and
gives us a good idea of the city we are about to explore. As we cross to
the northern side of the Seine, on which lies the most important part of
Paris, we have directly in front of us, the great Place de la Concorde, a
fine open square, in the center of which rises an obelisk brought from
Egypt. Here are magnificent fountains, handsome statuary on tall
pedestals, and crowds of vehicles and foot-passengers crossing it in
every direction, making a picturesque and lively scene. This was not
always as pleasant a place as it is now, for during the great French
Revolution the guillotine stood in this square, and here were executed
two thousand eight hundred persons, among whom were Queen Marie
Antoinette and her husband, Louis XVI. To the east of this square extends
for a long distance the beautiful garden of the Tuileries, which belonged
to the royal palace of that name, before it was destroyed. This garden is
shaded by long lines of trees, and adorned with fountains and statues. On
its southern side is an elevated walk, or terrace, very broad and
handsome, and about half a mile long. In the reign of the Emperor
Napoleon the Third, this walk was appropriated to the daily exercise of
the Prince Imperial. Here the young fellow could walk up and down without
being interfered with by the people below; and underneath was a covered
passage in which he could take long walks in rainy weather.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE BRIDGES ACROSS THE SEINE,--SHOWING THE PLACE DE
LA CONCORDE AND THE TUILERIES IN THE DISTANCE.]
On the other side of the great square extends a broad and magnificent
street, a mile and a third in length, called the Avenue des Champs
Elysees. On each side, for nearly half a mile, this street is bordered by
pleasure-grounds, beautifully laid out and planted with trees; and for
the rest of the way it runs between two double rows of trees to the great
Arch of Triumph, built by Napoleon Bonaparte to commemorate his
victories. This arch is like those erected by the Roman emperors, and is
covered with inscriptions and sculptures recording the glorious
achievements of the great Napoleon. When Paris was taken by the Prussians
in the war of 1871, the German army marched into the city through this
arch of triumph; and if they wished to humiliate the French people, they
could not have thought of a better plan. But the French people whom we
now see here on fine afternoons do not look at all humiliated. They walk
about under the trees; they sit upon the thousands of prettily painted
iron chairs which are hired out at two cents apiece for a whole day; they
drive up and down in the finest carriages that money can buy; and, so far
as we can discover by looking at them, they are as well content and have
as good an opinion of themselves as any people in the world. The pavement
of the street and that of the great square is as smooth as a floor, and
kept very neat and clean. This is the case indeed in nearly all the
principal streets of Paris, and it is a pleasure to drive over their
smooth and even pavements. But after a rain it is not so agreeable to
walk across these streets, which are then covered with a coating of very
sticky white mud.
On the northern side of the square is a handsome street of moderate
length, called the Rue Royale. It is filled with fine shops, and is very
animated and lively. At its upper end stands the beautiful church of the
Madeleine, fashioned like a Grecian temple. We go up this street, and
when we reach the broad space about the Madeleine, part of which is
occupied as a flower-market, with long lines of booths crowded with many
varieties of blossoms and plants, we find ourselves at the beginning of
the magnificent line of streets, which are called the _boulevards_ of
Paris. The word boulevards means ramparts or bulwarks, and this long line
of streets is built where the old ramparts of Paris used to stand. Of
late, however, the word has been applied to many of the other broad and
splendid streets for which Paris is famous. This crowded, lively, and
interesting thoroughfare is over two miles long, and is, in fact, but one
great street, although it is divided into eleven sections, called the
Boulevard de la Madeleine, Boulevard des Capucines, Boulevard des
Italiens, etc. These boulevards do not extend in a straight line, but
make a great sweep to the north, and come down again to within a short
distance of the river.
[Illustration: THE AVENUE DES CHAMPS ELYSEES. (SEE PAGE 573.)]
On each side of this wide line of streets are splendid shops and stores,
cafes, restaurants, and handsome hotels; and before we have gone very far
we shall see, standing back in an open space, the Grand Opera House of
Paris. It is a magnificent building both inside and out; it is the
largest theater in the world, and covers three acres of ground.
But although the fine buildings and the dazzling show-windows full of
beautiful objects will continually attract our attention, they can not
keep our eyes from the wonderful life and activity of the streets. The
broad sidewalks, of course, are crowded with people, though no more than
we often meet on Broadway, in New York, but the throng is peculiar
because it is made up of such a variety of people who seem to be doing so
many different things: ladies and gentlemen dressed in the latest
fashions; working men in blue blouses; working women, always without any
head-covering; boys and men with wooden shoes; gentlemen, and often
ladies, sitting at little tables placed on the sidewalk in front of
cafes, drinking coffee, or taking some other refreshment;
soldier-policemen marching up and down, and looking very inoffensive; now
and then a priest in long black clothes, and a broad felt hat. But yet
among this multitude of people we seldom meet any one who is dashing
along as if he were trying to catch a train or a boat, or to do something
else for which he is afraid there is not time enough. Here and there we
see, standing close to the curbstone, a little round wooden house,
prettily ornamented, inside of which a woman sits selling newspapers
which are displayed at the open window. These houses are called kiosks,
and they take the place of the newspaper stands in our country. As far as
possible, the French like to make their useful things ornamental, and
these kiosks add very much to the appearance of the streets.
Occasionally we come to the opening of a covered arcade, extending a long
distance back from the street, and crowded on both sides with shops, the
pavement in the center being occupied only by foot-passengers. These
arcades are called _passages_, and are among the most interesting
features of Paris. The shops here are generally small, but they display
their goods in a very enticing way. Some of the _passages_ contain cafes
and restaurants, and one of them is almost entirely devoted to the sale
of toys and presents for children.
In another _passage_ we shall find a very wonderful wax-work show, which,
although it is not so large as the famous exhibition of Madame Tussaud in
London, is, in many respects, much more interesting. There are figures
here of all kinds, many of celebrated people, but instead of being set up
stiffly around a room, they are arranged in groups in separate
compartments, and in natural positions, as if they were saying or doing
something. In the center of the room is a studio, in which the artist,
who looks as natural as life, is painting a picture of a girl standing at
a little distance from him, while behind him another girl is peeping over
his shoulder to see how he is getting on, and she looks so life-like that
we can almost expect to hear her say what she thinks about it. Near by,
some ladies and gentlemen are looking over portfolios of drawings, other
visitors are talking together and examining the pictures on the walls,
while a servant is bringing in wax refreshments which look quite good
enough to eat and drink. This scene will give us an excellent idea of
life in the studio of a French artist. There are all kinds of scenes
represented here, and some, especially in the basement, are of a gloomy
and somber kind. One of these represents a body of policemen bursting
into a room occupied by a band of counterfeiters engaged in making false
money. The dismay of the counterfeiters, disturbed in their work, and the
desperate fight that has already begun, are very startling and real, and
we almost feel that we ought to move out of the way.
The roadway of the boulevards is filled with vehicles of every kind, and
among these we particularly notice the great omnibuses, much larger than
any we have, and each drawn by three powerful horses, generally white.
These omnibuses have seats on top as well as inside, and a very good way
to see the city is to take a ride upon one of those upper seats. The
omnibuses are almost always well filled, but never crowded, no one being
taken on after every seat is occupied, and a fixed number are standing on
the outside platform. They stop at regular stations, not very far apart,
and the people who wait here for them are provided with numbered tickets,
which they procure from the agent at the station, so that when the
omnibus comes, as many as can be accommodated take their seats in regular
order, according to the number of their tickets. In this way, there is no
crowding and pushing to get in, and those who are left behind have the
best chance at the next omnibus.
[Illustration: PORTE ST. DENIS. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)]
[Illustration: THE PLACE DE LA BASTILLE. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)]
In other parts of the city of Paris, there are street railways, called
here tramways, which are managed very much in the same manner as the
omnibuses. These vehicles are convenient and cheap, but not very
agreeable, and it is much pleasanter to walk and pay nothing, or to take
a _voiture_ and pay thirty cents for two people for a drive from one end
of the city to another.
And thus we go on along the boulevards, passing the celebrated gateways,
Porte St. Martin and Porte St. Denis, until we come to the great open
space once occupied by the Bastille, in which now rises a tall,
sculptured column surmounted by a figure of Liberty. Those who have
studied and remembered modern French history will take a great interest
in this spot, where so many important events occurred.
Here end the boulevards. We now turn toward the river, and soon reach a
wide street called the Rue de Rivoli, one side of which is lined with
shops under arcades, which, in some respects, are more attractive than
any we have yet seen. At many of these, photographs are sold; and their
windows are crowded with pictures. All sorts of useful and cheap things
are to be found here, and a walk through this street is like a visit to a
museum. On the other side of the street is the great Palace of the
Louvre, which extends for some distance, and after that, we come to the
Garden of the Tuileries. When we have walked through this magnificent
pleasure-ground, we shall reach the point from which we started on our
tour.
[Illustration: THE OPERA-HOUSE, PARIS.]
We shall take many other walks and drives through the streets of Paris,
and wherever we go, we shall find in each an interest of a different
sort. On the southern side of the river, is the Latin Quarter, where
there are some celebrated schools and academies, which, for centuries,
have been the resort of students. Here we shall find narrow streets,
crowded footways, and shops full of all sorts of antiquarian articles,
and odds and ends of every kind, some of which seem to have no other
value than that they are old, while other things are very valuable, and
often very cheap.
Here, too, we find book shops, and shops where prints and engravings are
sold, and all with their windows and even their outside walls crowded
with the best things they have to offer. Along the river front are rows
of stalls covered with second-hand books at very low prices, and those of
us who are collectors of old coins can find them here by the peck or
bushel. In this quarter, also, are some immense dry-goods and variety
stores, which are worth going to see. One of them is so large, and there
is so much to see in it, that, at three o'clock every day, a guide who
can speak English sets out to conduct visitors through the establishment
and to explain its various details.
In nearly every quarter of Paris, on either side of the river, we shall
find shops, shops, shops; people, people, people; life, activity, and
bustle of every sort. Splendid buildings meet our eyes at every
turn,--churches, private residences, places of business, and public
edifices. In the western portion of the city, near the Arc de Triomphe,
there are fewer shops, these streets being generally occupied by fine
private residences. But there is very little monotony in Paris; no
quarter is entirely given up to any one thing. We can not walk far in any
direction without soon coming upon some object of interest. The parks,
palaces, public monuments, gardens, grand and beautiful churches,
fountains of various designs, great market-places, squares, and buildings
of historic interest or architectural beauty, are sometimes collected in
groups, but, as a rule, they are scattered all over the city.
[Illustration: THE PONT DES ARTS AND THE LOUVRE.]
[Illustration: A GALLERY IN THE LOUVRE.]
When we have satisfied ourselves with what Paris itself is, although we
have not seen anything like the whole of it, we shall set about visiting
some of its especial attractions. And the first place we shall go to will
be the great palace of the Louvre. This palace, with its courts and
buildings, covers some twenty acres. Here have lived kings, queens, and
princes; but now the palace has been made into a museum for the people,
and its grand halls and galleries are filled with paintings, statuary,
and other works of art, ancient and modern, from all parts of the world.
It would take many, many visits even to give one look at every painting
and statue in the Louvre; but if we have not much time to spare, it is
possible to see the best things without walking ourselves to death
through the never-ending galleries. Some of the finest paintings of
Raphael, Da Vinci, Murillo, and other great masters, are collected in one
room, which many persons would think well worth coming to Paris to see,
if they saw nothing else. The original statue of the noble Venus de Milo
is in the sculpture galleries; and in the Egyptian museum, which is so
full that the history of Egypt may be studied here almost as well as in
that land itself, we shall see a large stone sphinx which once belonged
to that king of Egypt from whom the children of Israel fled, and the
inscriptions on it show that it must have been a pretty old sphinx even
when Pharaoh had it. In another part of the museum are three life-size
figures in stone, which are portraits of persons who lived before the
great pyramids were built, about 4000 years before the Christian era.
[Illustration: BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF THE LOUVRE.]
Altogether, the collections of the Louvre are among the finest and most
extensive in the world, and they have a great advantage over the
galleries of the Vatican at Rome: In the Vatican some of the galleries
are open on one day and some on another, some requiring one kind of order
of admission, some another, and others yet another, and these permits are
sometimes troublesome to obtain;--but the galleries of the Louvre are
free to all, rich or poor, who may choose to walk into them on any day of
the week except Monday, which is always reserved for cleaning, dusting,
and putting things in order.
[Illustration: HOTEL DE CLUNY.]
In the old palace of the Luxembourg, a very much smaller building, there
is another valuable collection of paintings, but all by French artists;
and the Hotel de Cluny, not far away, is a small palace of the Middle
Ages, and is one of the quaintest, queerest, pleasantest, and most
home-like palaces we are likely to meet with. It is now a museum,
containing over ten thousand interesting objects, mostly relating to
mediaeval times. Here, among the other old-time things, we can see the
very carriages and sleighs in which the great people of the seventeenth
century used to ride. Those of us who suppose that we have now left the
Romans for good must not fail to visit some large baths adjoining this
palace, built about the end of the third century, when the Romans had
possession of Gaul. They then had a palace on this spot, and felt bound,
as the ancient Romans always did, to make themselves comfortable with
baths and everything of the kind. There are other museums and art
exhibitions in Paris, but those we have seen are the most important; and
it is very pleasant to find that they are greatly frequented by the
poorer classes of the city, who are just as orderly and well behaved
while walking about these noble palaces as if they belonged to the
highest families of the land. In the great garden of the Tuileries, in
the courts and gardens attached to the Louvre, the Luxembourg, the Palais
Royal, and in all the pleasure-grounds of the city, we find the poor
people enjoying themselves; and in some cases they seem to get more good
out of these places than do the rich. The old women sit knitting in the
shade of the trees; the little babies with their funny caps toddle about
on the walks; the boys and girls have their games in the great open
spaces around the fountains, and while those who have a cent or two to
spare can hire little chairs and put them where they like, there are
always benches for those who have no pennies to spend. The convenience of
resting one's self in the open air is one of the comforts of Paris. In
many places along the principal streets, there are benches on the
sidewalk, where weary passers-by may rest shaded by the trees. In one
part of the city, chiefly inhabited by the poor and the working people, a
fine park has been laid out entirely for their accommodation. In very
many ways the French government offers opportunities to the poor people
to enjoy themselves, and it is pleasant to see how neat, orderly, and
quiet these people are. It is very necessary that they should be kept in
good humor, for when the lower classes of Paris become thoroughly
dissatisfied, they are apt to rise in fierce rebellion, and then down go
kings, governments, and palaces.
[Illustration: NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL (FROM THE REAR).]
[Illustration: LUXEMBOURG PALACE.]
On the southern side of the river rises a great gilded dome which
glistens in the sun, and may be seen from all parts of Paris. This dome
belongs to the church attached to the Hotel des Invalides, or hospital
for invalid soldiers, and it covers the tomb of Napoleon Bonaparte. This
tomb, which is very magnificent and imposing, is some distance below the
floor of the church, and we look down upon it over a circular railing.
There we see the handsome sarcophagus, made of a single block of granite
weighing sixty-seven tons, which contains the remains of a man who once
conquered the greater part of Europe.
Paris is full of churches, some old and some new, and many grand or
beautiful, but no one of them is so interesting as the famous cathedral
of Notre Dame, which stands on an island in the Seine, called _La Cite_,
or the Island of the City, because here the original Paris was built.
This great church is not so attractive in appearance as some that we have
seen elsewhere, but it is connected with so many events in the history of
France, that as we wander about under its vaulted arches and through its
pillared aisles, and as we look upon the strange and sometimes startling
sculptures in the chapels, the curious wood carvings about the choir, the
immense circular window of gorgeously stained glass in the transept,
which sends its brightness into the solemn duskiness of the church, we
shall do so with a degree of interest increased by what we have read
about this old and famous building.
[Illustration: THE CHURCH OF THE HOTEL DES INVALIDES.]
Another church which we shall wish to see is Sainte-Chapelle, or Holy
Chapel, built in 1245 by King Louis IX., who was known as St. Louis. It
stands on the same island as Notre Dame, and near the Palace of Justice,
a great pile of buildings containing the law courts. This church or
chapel is small, but it is, perhaps, the most beautiful of the kind in
the world. The walls of the upper story, in which the royal court used to
worship, are almost entirely of exquisitely colored glass. These walls
are formed of windows nearly fifty feet high, and the light shining
through every side of this gorgeous temple of stained glass produces a
remarkable and beautiful effect.
The present Palace of Justice is for the most part a modern building, but
portions of the old edifice of the same name which used to stand upon
this spot still remain. In one of these we shall visit the old
Conciergerie, which is famous as a French state prison. Here we shall see
the little room with a brick floor, in which the beautiful Marie
Antoinette, the wife of Louis XVI., was imprisoned for two months before
her execution. Here is the very arm-chair in which she sat. Thus we bring
to mind the events of the great French revolution, and can easily recall
the sorrowful things which took place in the halls and rooms of that
gloomy Conciergerie.
Another celebrated Parisian church is the Pantheon, an immense edifice.
This building was intended as a burial-place for illustrious men of
France.
We have all heard of the famous cemetery of Pere-Lachaise. It lies within
the city, and will be interesting to us, not only because of its great
size and beauty, and because it contains the graves of so many persons
famous in art, science, literature, and war, but because it is so
different from any graveyard to which we are accustomed. It has more than
twenty thousand monuments, and many of these are like little houses
standing side by side as if they were dwellings on a street. Each vault
generally belongs to a family, and the little buildings are almost always
decorated with a profusion of flowers and wreaths, and often with
pictures and hanging lamps. Here, as in other French cemeteries, it is
not uncommon to place a framed photograph of a deceased person over his
grave.
There are small steamboats which run up and down the Seine like
omnibuses, and the charge to passengers is about two cents apiece. These
little boats are called by the Parisians _mouches_, or flies, and as they
are often very convenient for city trips, we shall take one of them and
go to the Jardin des Plantes, a very extensive and famous zooelogical and
botanical garden. Here we may ramble for hours, and see animals from all
parts of the world in cages, and houses, and in little yards, where they
can enjoy the open air.
At the other end of the city, outside the walls, is the Jardin d'
Acclimatation, that contains a great number of foreign animals and
plants, many of which have been naturalized so as to feel at home in the
climate of France. In one house here, we may see all kinds of silk-worms,
with the plants they feed upon growing near by. In another part of the
grounds we shall find trained zebras and ostriches harnessed to little
carriages, in which children may take a ride; and we shall see some very
gentle elephants and camels, on which we may mount and get an idea of how
people travel in the East. We shall here perhaps call to mind the account
of this place which was published in ST. NICHOLAS more than ten years
ago,--in June, 1874.
[Illustration: THE SARCOPHAGUS]
[Illustration: THE TOMB OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE IN THE CHURCH OF THE HOTEL
DES INVALIDES.]
The Bois de Boulogne, adjoining this garden, is a very large park, where
we can see the fashionable people of Paris in their carriages on fine
afternoons.
There are certain goods sold in Paris known under the name of "_articles
de Paris_." These consist of all sorts of pretty things, generally very
tasteful but not very expensive, among which are jewelry and trinkets of
many kinds, and a great variety of useful and ornamental little objects
made in the most attractive fashion. These goods, of course, can be
bought in other cities, but Paris has made a specialty of their
manufacture, and many shops are entirely given up to their sale. A great
number of such shops is to be found in the Palais Royal. This is a vast
palace built for Cardinal Richelieu, in 1625, and is in the form of a
hollow square, surrounding the garden of the Palais Royal. Around the
four sides of the palace, under long colonnades and facing the garden,
are rows of shops, their windows filled with all sorts of sparkling and
beautiful things in gold, silver, precious stones, bronze, brass, and
every other material that pretty things can be made of. By night or by
day the colonnades of the Palais Royal are very attractive places, and as
all visitors go to them, so do we. Even if we do not buy anything, we
shall be interested in the endless display in the windows.
Another place we shall wish to visit is the famous manufactory of Gobelin
tapestry. In this factory, which belongs to the Government, are produced
large and beautiful woven pictures, and the great merit of the work is
that it is done entirely by hand, no machinery being used. The operation
is very slow, each workman putting one thread at a time in its place, and
faithfully copying a painting in oil or water-colors, which stands near
him, as a model. If, in a day, he covers a space as large as his hand, he
considers that he has done a very good day's work. These tapestries,
which are generally very large and expensive, are used as wall-hangings
in palaces and public buildings. It will be an especial delight, I think,
to the girls in our company to watch this beautiful work slowly growing
under the fingers of the skillful workmen.
Outside of Paris, but not far away, there are some famous places which we
must see. First among these are the palace and grounds of Versailles, a
magnificent palace, built by Louis XIV. for a summer residence. This
gentleman, who liked to be called _Le Grand Monarque_ had so high an idea
of the sort of country place he wanted, that he spent upon this palace
and its grounds the sum of two hundred millions of dollars.[A] The whole
place is now open to the public, and the grand and magnificent apartments
and halls, some of them nearly four hundred feet long, are filled with
paintings and statuary, so that the palace is now a great art gallery.
The park is splendidly laid out, having in it a wide canal nearly a mile
long. The fountains here are considered the finest in the world, and when
they play, which is not very often, thousands upon thousands of people
come out from Paris to see them. In the grounds are two small palaces,
once inhabited by French queens; and one of these, called the little
Trianon, was the beautiful home of Marie Antoinette, whose last home on
earth was the brick-paved room of the Conciergerie. The private garden
attached to this little palace, which is more like a park than a garden,
possesses much rural beauty.
Here, on the margin of a lake, we may see the little thatched cottages
which Marie Antoinette had built, that she and the ladies of her court
might play at being milkmaids. These cottages stand just as they did when
those noble ladies dressed themselves up like peasant girls, and milked
cows, which, I have no doubt, were very gentle animals, while the royal
milkmaids probably tried to make themselves believe that they could have
the happiness of real milkmaids as well as that which belonged to their
own lives of luxury and state.
At Fontainebleau is another royal palace, to which is attached a
magnificent forest of forty-two thousand acres. The kings of France did
not like to feel cramped in their houses or grounds, and in this
beautiful forest, which measures fifty miles around, there are twelve
thousand four hundred miles of roads and foot-paths. On the borders of
this forest is the village of Barbizon, where lived the artist, Millet,
of whom you have read in ST. NICHOLAS.
Not far from Paris is the old palace of St. Germain, in which many kings
have been born, lived, and died, and to which there is a forest of nine
thousand acres attached. There is also St. Cloud, with a ruined palace
and a lovely park, with statues, fountains, and charming walks; and, near
by, the village of Sevres, where the famous porcelain of that name is
made. Also within easy distance of the city, is the old cathedral of St.
Denis, where, for over a thousand years, the kings of France were buried.
Here, in a crypt or burial-place under the church, we may look through a
little barred window into a gloomy vault, and see, standing quite near
us, the metal coffin which contains the bones of Marie Antoinette, whose
palaces, pleasure-grounds, prison-house, and place of execution we have
already seen.
The history of France shows us that Paris has been as rich in historical
events as it is now in bright, attractive shops; but, as a rule, it is
much more pleasant to see the latter than to remember the former. In our
walks through Paris, we will not think too much of the dreadful riots and
combats that have taken place in her streets, the blood that has been
shed even in her churches, and the executions and murders that have been
witnessed in her beautiful open squares. Instead of this, we will give
ourselves up to the enjoyment of the Queen of Cities, as she now is,
thinking only of the unrivaled pleasures she offers to visitors, and of
the kindness and politeness which we almost always meet with from her
citizens.
[Footnote A: A sketch of the boyhood of this spendthrift monarch was
given in the series of "Historic Boys," under the title of "Louis of
Bourbon: the Boy King," in ST. NICHOLAS for October, 1884.]
GRANDPAPA ROSEBUSH.
[Illustration]
There are roses that grow on a vine, on a vine,
There are roses that grow on a tree;
But my little Rose
Grows on ten little toes,
And she is the rose for me.
Come out in the garden, Rosy Posy!
Come visit your cousins, child, with me.
If you are my grandchild,
it stands to reason
That Grandpapa Rosebush
I must be.
Oh! fair is the rose on the vine, on the vine,
And fair is the rose on the stalk;
But there's only one rose
Who has ten little toes,
And it's that rose I'll take for a walk.
Come put on your calyx, Rosy Posy!
Put on your calyx and come with me;
For if you are my grandchild,
it stands to reason
That Grandpapa Rosebush
I must be.
THE KELP-GATHERERS.
[_A Story of the Maine Coast._]
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
CHAPTER I.
THE ELDER TWINS.
Before Beman's Beach had become the popular summer resort which all
tourists know to-day, there lived, a little back from the rocky coast
which stretches away from it toward the southwest, a farmer named Elder.
He had a large family, which consisted mostly of girls; but there were
two boys, who were twins.
The boys were called Moke and Poke. These were not their baptismal names,
of course. Moke Elder had been christened Moses, and Poke Elder had
received at the same time the respectable appellation of Porter--both
after their uncle, Mr. Moses Porter, who lived in the family. But they
were so seldom called by those names that most people seemed to have
forgotten them. Moke was Moke, and Poke was Poke, the world over.
That is to say, _their_ world, which would not have required a tape
measure quite twenty-five thousand miles long to go around it. "Frog-End"
was the nickname of the part of the town where they lived,--probably on
account of a great marsh which was very noisy in spring,--and they were
little known beyond its borders.
But everybody about Frog-End and along the coast knew Moke and Poke. That
is to say, they were known as twins, if not as individual, separate boys.
They looked so much alike, both being thin-faced and tow-headed, and
dressed so much alike, often wearing each other's clothes, that he who,
meeting one alone, could always say "Moke," or "Poke," as the case might
be,--and feel sure he wasn't calling Moke "Poke" or Poke "Moke,"--must
have known them very well indeed.
Of course, only a born Frog-Ender could do that. I am not a Frog-Ender
myself, and the only way I could ever tell them apart was by looking
closely at their moles.
They had two moles between them, exactly alike, except that Moke wore his
on the right cheek, quite close to the right nostril, while Poke hung out
his sign on the left cheek, at about an equal distance from the left
nostril; as if Nature had had just a pair of moles to throw in with their
other personal attractions, and had divided her gift in this impartial
way.
Even after people had learned these distinguishing marks, however, they
could not always remember, at a moment, which had the right mole and
which the left; but they would often say "Poke" to the right mole and
"Moke" to the left mole, in a manner that appeared very ridiculous to the
boys' seven sisters, who couldn't see that they resembled each other at
all.
The twins were nearly always together, whether at work or at play; when
one was sent on an errand, as a rule both would go, if it was only to get
a pound of board-nails or a spool of thread at the village store. They
were about the age of their neighbors and playmates, Oliver Burdeen
(commonly called Olly), who, when he was at home, lived two farms away
from them, and Percival Bucklin (familiarly known as Perce), who lived
still nearer, on the other side.
These four boys are the three heroes of our story,--counting the twins as
one,--and they come into it on a certain afternoon late in August, just
after a great storm had swept over the New England coast.
Uncle Moses Porter--uncle of the twins on the mother's side, an odd and
very shabby old bachelor--comes into it at the same time, but doesn't get
in very far. It would be hard to make a hero of him. At about four
o'clock that day he stood in Mr. Elder's backyard, barefooted and without
his hat, watching the clouds and the wooden fish on the barn, and making
up his mind about the weather. That was a subject to which he had given
the study of a lifetime. He could tell you as many "signs" as there are
letters in the alphabet, and spell out to-morrow's weather very exactly
with them; that is to say, what it should be, not always what it actually
was--Nature sometimes neglecting in the strangest way her own plain
rules. A great deal was said about Uncle Moses's occasional lucky hits,
and very little about his frequent misses; and he enjoyed a world-wide
reputation (the Frog-End world, again) as a weather-prophet, until "Old
Probabilities" at Washington took the wind out of his predictions, and
drove him, so to speak, out of the business.
But at the time of which I write he was at the pinnacle of his fame, and
nobody ventured to doubt his prognostications. If the weather didn't turn
out as he predicted, why, so much the worse for the weather!
"Wind has whipped 'round the right way this time, boys!" he remarked,
after long and careful observation. "It's got square into the west, and I
predict it's a-go'n' to stay there, and give us fair weather, nex'
four-'n'-twenty hours. The's no rain in yon clouds; it's all been
squeezed out, or else I never saw a flyin' scud afore!"
He paused as if to relax his mind after the severe strain of this
prophecy, and smiled as he came toward the woodshed,--where the twins
were standing.
"An' I tell ye what, boys! A heap o' that kelp the storm's hove up, are
a-go'n' to land, this tide an' tomorrer mornin's, an' you'd better be on
hand to git our share on 't."
[Illustration: UNCLE MOSE PREDICTS FAIR WEATHER.]
Of all the farm-work the twins ever tried, they found going for sea-weed
the most delightful. There was a relish of adventure in it; and it took
them to the beach, which was always a pleasant change for boys brought up
on Frog-End rocks. The kelp was usually hauled up from the shore and left
to rot in heaps; after which, it became excellent dressing for the land.
There was no good beach very near Mr. Elder's farm, but he had a right on
Beman's Beach, two or three miles down the coast.