the window-seat with an illustrated London paper full of some royal
event, and silence reigned for an hour. Neither had seen the
Professor's glasses rise like two full moons above his paper now and
then to peep at them as they chatted at the other end of the room;
neither saw him smile as he made a memorandum in his note-book, nor
guessed how pleased he was at Jenny's girlish admiration of his
plain but accomplished and excellent wife. It was one of the trifles
which went to form his opinion of the two lasses, and in time to
suggest a plan which ended in great joy for one of them.
“Now the real fun begins, and I shall be perfectly contented,” cried
Ethel as they rolled through the London streets towards the dingy
Langham Hotel, where Americans love to congregate.
Jenny's eyes were sparkling also, and she looked as if quite ready
for the new scenes and excitements which the famous old city
promised them, though she had private doubts as to whether anything
could be more delightful than Scotland.
The Sibleys were at the hotel; and the ladies of both parties at
once began a round of shopping and sightseeing, while the gentlemen
went about their more important affairs. Joe was detailed for escort
duty; and a fine time the poor lad had of it, trailing about with
seven ladies by day and packing them into two cabs at night for the
theatres and concerts they insisted on trying to enjoy in spite of
heat and weariness.
Mrs. Homer and Jenny were soon tired of this “whirl of gayety,” as
they called it, and planned more quiet excursions with some hours
each day for rest and the writing and reading which all wise
tourists make a part of their duty and pleasure. Ethel rebelled, and
much preferred the “rabble,” as Joe irreverently called his troop of
ladies, never losing her delight in Regent Street shops, the parks
at the fashionable hour, and the evening shows in full blast
everywhere during the season. She left the sober party whenever she
could escape, and with Mrs. Sibley as chaperone, frolicked about
with the gay girls to her heart's content. It troubled Jenny, and
made her feel as if she were not doing her duty; but Mrs. Homer
consoled her by the fact that a month was all they could give to
London, and soon the parties would separate, for the Sibleys were
bound for Paris, and the Professor for Switzerland and Germany,
through August and September.
So little Jane gave herself up to the pleasures she loved, and with
the new friends, whose kindness she tried to repay by every small
service in her power, spent happy days among the famous haunts they
knew so well, learning much and storing away all she saw and heard
for future profit and pleasure. A few samples of the different ways
in which our young travellers improved their opportunities will
sufficiently illustrate this new version of the gay grasshopper and
the thrifty ant.
When they visited Westminster Abbey, Ethel was soon tired of tombs
and chapels, and declared that the startling tableau of the skeleton
Death peeping out of the half-opened door of the tomb to throw his
dart at Mrs. Nightingale, and the ludicrous has-relief of some great
earl in full peer's robes and coronet being borne to heaven in the
arms of fat cherubs puffing under their load, were the only things
worth seeing.
Jenny sat spellbound in the Poets' Corner, listening while Mrs.
Homer named the illustrious dead around them; followed the verger
from chapel to chapel with intelligent interest as he told the story
of each historical or royal tomb, and gave up Madam Tussaud's
wax-work to spend several happy hours sketching the beautiful
cloisters in the Abbey to add to her collection of water-colors,
taken as she went from place to place, to serve as studies for her
pupils at home.
At the Tower she grew much excited over the tragic spots she visited
and the heroic tales she heard of the kings and queens, the noble
hearts and wise heads, that pined and perished there. Ethel “hated
horrors,” she said, and cared only for the crown jewels, the faded
effigies in the armor gallery, and the queer Highlanders skirling on
the bagpipes in the courtyard.
At Kew Jenny revelled in the rare flowers, and was stricken with
amazement at the Victoria Regia, the royal water-lily, so large that
a child could sit on one of its vast leaves as on a green island.
Her interest and delight so touched the heart of the crusty keeper
that he gave her a nosegay of orchids, which excited the envy of
Ethel and the Sibley girls, who were of the party, but had soon
wearied of plants and gone off to order tea in Flora's Bower,--one
of the little cottages where visitors repose and refresh themselves
with weak tea and Bath buns in such tiny rooms that they have to put
their wraps in the fireplace or out of the window while they feast.
At the few parties to which they went,--for the Homers' friends were
of the grave, elderly sort,--Jenny sat in a corner taking notes of
the gay scene, while Ethel yawned. But the Mouse got many a crumb of
good conversation as she nestled close to Mrs. Homer, drinking in
the wise and witty chat that went on between the friends who came to
pay their respects to the Professor and his interesting wife. Each
night Jenny had new and famous names to add to the list in her
journal, and the artless pages were rich in anecdotes, descriptions,
and comments on the day's adventures.
But the gem of her London collection of experiences was found in a
most unexpected way, and not only gave her great pleasure, but made
the young gadabouts regard her with sudden respect as one come to
honor.
“Let me stay and wait upon you; I'd much rather than go to the
Crystal Palace, for I shouldn't enjoy it at all with you lying here
in pain and alone,” said Jenny one lovely morning when the girls
came down ready for the promised excursion, to find Mrs. Homer laid
up with a nervous headache.
“No, dear, you can do nothing for me, thanks. Quiet is all I need,
and my only worry is that I am not able to write up my husband's
notes for him. I promised to have them ready last night, but was so
tired I could not do it,” answered Mrs. Homer, as Jenny leaned over
her full of affectionate anxiety.
“Let me do them! I'd be so proud to help; and I can, for I did copy
some one day, and he said it was well done. Please let me; I should
enjoy a quiet morning here much better than the noisy party we shall
have, since the Sibleys are to go.”
With some reluctance the invalid consented; and when the rest were
gone with hasty regrets, Jenny fell to work so briskly that in an
hour or two the task was done. She was looking wistfully out of the
window wondering where she could go alone, since Mrs. Homer was
asleep and no one needed her, when the Professor came in to see how
his wife was before he went to the British Museum to consult certain
famous books and parchments.
He was much pleased to find his notes in order, and after a glance
at the sleeping lady, told Jenny she was to come with him for a
visit to a place which SHE would enjoy, though most young people
thought it rather dull.
Away they went; and being given in charge to a pleasant old man,
Jenny roamed over the vast Museum where the wonders of the world are
collected, enjoying every moment, till Mr. Homer called her away, as
his day's work was done. It was late now, but she never thought of
time, and came smiling up from the Egyptian Hall ready for the lunch
the Professor proposed. They were just going out when a gentleman
met them, and recognizing the American stopped to greet him
cordially. Jenny's heart beat when she was presented to Mr.
Gladstone, and she listened with all her ears to the silvery
un-English voice, and stared with all her eyes at the weary yet wise
and friendly face of the famous man.
“I'm so glad! I wanted to see him very much, and I feel so grand to
think I've really had a bow and a smile all to myself from the
Premier of England,” said Jenny in a flutter of girlish delight when
the brief interview was over.
“You shall go to the House of Commons with me and hear him speak
some day; then your cup will be full, since you have already seen
Browning, heard Irving, taken tea with Jean Ingelow, and caught a
glimpse of the royal family,” said the Professor, enjoying her keen
interest in people and places.
“Oh, thanks! that will be splendid. I do love to see famous persons,
because it gives me a true picture of them, and adds to my desire to
know more of them, and admire their virtues or shun their faults.”
“Yes, that sort of mental picture-gallery is a good thing to have,
and we will add as many fine portraits as we can. Now you shall ride
in a Hansom, and see how you like that.”
Jenny was glad to do so, for ladies do not use these vehicles when
alone, and Ethel had put on great airs after a spin in one with Joe.
Jenny was girl enough to like to have her little adventures to boast
of, and that day she was to have another which eclipsed all that her
young companions ever knew.
A brisk drive, a cosy lunch at a famous chop-house where Johnson
had drunk oceans of tea, was followed by a stroll in the Park; for
the Professor liked his young comrade, and was grateful for the
well-written notes which helped on his work.
As they leaned against the railing to watch the splendid equipages
roll by, one that seemed well known, though only conspicuous by its
quiet elegance, stopped near them, and the elder of the two ladies
in it bowed and beckoned to Professor Homer. He hastened forward to
be kindly greeted and invited to drive along the Ladies' Mile.
Jenny's breath was nearly taken away when she was presented to the
Duchess of S--, and found herself sitting in a luxurious carriage
opposite her Grace and her companion, with a white-wigged coachman
perched aloft and two powdered footmen erect behind. Secretly
rejoicing that she had made herself especially nice for her trip
with the Professor, and remembering that young English girls are
expected to efface themselves in the company of their elders, she
sat mute and modest, stealing shy glances from under her hat-brim at
the great lady, who was talking in the simplest way with her guest
about his work, in which, as a member of one of the historical
houses of England, she took much interest. A few gracious words fell
to Jenny's share before they were set down at the door of the hotel,
to the great admiration of the porter, who recognized the liveries
and spread the news.
“This is a good sample of the way things go in Vanity Fair. We
trudge away to our daily work afoot, we treat ourselves to a humble
cab through the mud, pause in the park to watch the rich and great,
get whisked into a ducal carriage, and come home in state, feeling
rather exalted, don't we?” asked the Professor as they went
upstairs, and he observed the new air of dignity which Jane
unconsciously assumed as an obsequious waiter flew before to open
the door.
“I think we do,” answered honest Jane, laughing as she caught the
twinkle of his eyes behind the spectacles. “I like splendor, and I
AM rather set up to think I've spoken to a live duchess; but I think
I like her beautiful old face and charming manners more than her
fine coach or great name. Why, she was much more simply dressed than
Mrs. Sibley, and talked as pleasantly as if she did not feel a bit
above us. Yet one couldn't forget that she was noble, and lived in a
very different world from ours.”
“That is just it, my dear; she IS a noble woman in every sense of
the word, and has a right to her title. Her ancestors were
kingmakers, and she is Lady-in-waiting to the Queen; yet she leads
the charities of London, and is the friend of all who help the world
along. I'm glad you have met her, and seen so good a sample of a
true aristocrat. We Americans affect to scorn titles, but too many
of us hanker for them in secret, and bow before very poor imitations
of the real thing. Don't fill your journal with fine names, as some
much wiser folk do, but set down only the best, and remember, 'All
that glitters is not gold.'”
“I will, sir.” And Jenny put away the little sermon side by side
with the little adventure, saying nothing of either till Mrs. Homer
spoke of it, having heard the story from her husband.
“How I wish I'd been there, instead of fagging round that great
palace full of rubbish! A real Duchess! Won't the Sibleys stare? We
shall hear no more of Lady Watts Barclay after this, I guess, and
you will be treated with great respect; see if you are not!” said
Ethel, much impressed with her companion's good fortune and eager to
tell it.
“If things of that sort affect them, their respect is not worth
having,” answered Jane, quietly accepting the arm Ethel offered her
as they went to dinner,--a very unusual courtesy, the cause of which
she understood and smiled at.
Ethel looked as if she felt the reproof, but said nothing, only set
an example of greater civility to her companion, which the other
girls involuntarily followed, after they had heard of Jenny's
excursion with the Professor.
The change was very grateful to patient Jane, who had borne many
small slights in proud silence; but it was soon over, for the
parties separated, and our friends left the city far behind them, as
they crossed the channel, and sailed up the Rhine to Schwalbach,
where Mrs. Homer was to try the steel springs for her rheumatism
while the Professor rested after his London labors.
A charming journey, and several very happy weeks followed as the
girls roamed about the Little Brunnen, gay with people from all
parts of Europe, come to try the famous mineral waters, and rest
under the lindens.
Jenny found plenty to sketch here, and was busy all day booking
picturesque groups as they sat in the Allee Saal, doing pretty
woodland bits as they strolled among the hills, carefully copying
the arches and statues in St. Elizabeth's Chapel, or the queer old
houses in the Jews' Quarter of the town. Even the pigs went into the
portfolio, with the little swineherd blowing his horn in the morning
to summon each lazy porker from its sty to join the troop that
trotted away to eat acorns in the oak wood on the hill till sunset
called them home again.
Ethel's chief amusement was buying trinkets at the booths near the
Stahlbrunnen. A tempting display of pretty crystal, agate, and steel
jewelry was there, with French bonbons, Swiss carvings, German
embroidery and lace-work, and most delectable little portfolios of
views of fine scenery or illustrations of famous books. Ethel spent
much money here, and added so greatly to her store of souvenirs that
a new trunk was needed to hold the brittle treasures she accumulated
in spite of the advice given her to wait till she reached Paris,
where all could be bought much cheaper and packed safely for
transportation.
Jenny contented herself with a German book, Kaulbach's Goethe
Gallery, and a set of ornaments for each sister; the purple, pink,
and white crystals being cheap and pretty trinkets for young girls.
She felt very rich with her generous salary to draw upon when she
liked; but having made a list of proper gifts, she resisted
temptation and saved her money, remembering how much every penny was
needed at home.
Driving from the ruins of Hohenstein one lovely afternoon, the girls
got out to walk up a long hill, and amused themselves gathering
flowers by the way. When they took their places again, Ethel had a
great bouquet of scarlet poppies, Jenny a nosegay of blue
corn-flowers for Mrs. Homer, and a handful of green wheat for
herself.
“You look as if you had been gleaning,” said the Professor, as he
watched the girls begin to trim their rough straw hats with the gay
coquelicots and the bearded ears.
“I feel as if I were doing that every day, sir, and gathering in a
great harvest of pleasure, if nothing else,” answered Jenny, turning
her bright eyes full of gratitude from one kind face to the other.
“My poppies are much prettier than that stiff stuff. Why didn't you
get some?” asked Ethel, surveying her brilliant decoration with
great satisfaction.
“They don't last; but my wheat will, and only grow prettier as it
ripens in my hat,” answered Jenny, contentedly settling the graceful
spires in the straw cord that bound the pointed crown.
“Then the kernels will all drop out and leave the husks; that won't
be nice, I'm sure,” laughed Ethel.
“Well, some hungry bird will pick them up and be glad of them. The
husks will last a long time and remind me of this happy day; your
poppies are shedding their leaves already, and the odor is not
pleasant. I like my honest breadmaking wheat better than your opium
flowers,” said Jenny, with her thoughtful smile, as she watched the
scarlet petals float away leaving the green seed-vessels bare.
“Oh, I shall get some artificial ones at my little milliner's, and
be fine as long as I like; so you are welcome to your useful,
bristly old wheat,” said Ethel, rather nettled by the look that
passed between the elders.
Nothing more was said; but both girls remembered that little talk
long afterward, for those two wayside nosegays served to point the
moral of this little tale, if not to adorn it.
We have no space to tell all the pleasant wanderings of our
travellers as they went from one interesting place to another, till
they paused for a good rest at Geneva.
Here Ethel quite lost her head among the glittering display of
jewelry, and had to be watched lest she rashly spend her last penny.
They were obliged almost forcibly to carry her out of the enchanting
shops; and no one felt safe till she was either on the lake, or
driving to Chamouni, or asleep in her bed.
Jenny bought a watch, a very necessary thing for a teacher, and this
was the best place to get a good one. It was chosen with care and
much serious consultation with the Professor; and Mrs. Homer added a
little chain and seal, finding Jenny about to content herself with a
black cord.
“It is only a return for many daughterly services, my dear; and my
husband wishes me to offer these with thanks to the patient
secretary who has often helped him so willingly,” she said, as she
came to wake Jenny with a kiss on the morning of her twenty-first
birthday.
A set of little volumes like those she had admired was the second
gift, and Jenny was much touched to be so kindly remembered. Ethel
gave her some thread lace which she had longed to buy for her mother
at Brussels, but did not, finding it as costly as beautiful. It was
a very happy day, though quietly spent sitting by the lake enjoying
the well-chosen extracts from Shakspeare, Wordsworth, Byron, Burns,
Scott, and other descriptive poets, and writing loving letters home,
proudly stamped with the little seal.
After that, while Ethel haunted the brilliant shops, read novels in
the hotel-garden, or listlessly followed the sight-seers, Jenny,
with the help of her valuable little library, her industrious
pencil, and her accomplished guides, laid up a store of precious
souvenirs as they visited the celebrated spots that lie like a
necklace of pearls around the lovely lake, with Mont Blanc as the
splendid opal that fitly clasps the chain. Calvin and Geneva,
Voltaire and Ferney, De Stael and Coppet, Gibbon's garden at
Lausanne, Byron's Prisoner at Chillon, Rousseau's chestnut grove at
Clarens, and all the legends, relics, and memories of Switzerland's
heroes, romancers, poets, and philosophers, were carefully studied,
recorded, and enjoyed; and when at last they steamed away toward
Paris, Jenny felt as if her head and her heart and one little trunk
held richer treasures than all the jewelry in Geneva.
At Lyons her second important purchase was made; for when they
visited one of the great manufactories to execute several
commissions given to Mrs. Homer, Jenny proudly bought a nice black
silk for her mother. This, with the delicate lace, would make the
dear woman presentable for many a day, and the good girl beamed with
satisfaction as she pictured the delight of all at home when this
splendid gift appeared to adorn the dear parent-bird, who never
cared how shabby she was if her young were well feathered.
It was a trial to Jenny, when they reached Paris, to spend day after
day shopping, talking to dressmakers, and driving in the Bois to
watch the elegant world on parade, when she longed to be living
through the French Revolution with Carlyle, copying the quaint
relics at Hotel Cluny, or revelling in the treasures of the Louvre.
“Why DO you want to study and poke all the time?” asked Ethel, as
they followed Mrs. Homer and a French acquaintance round the Palais
Royal one day with its brilliant shops, cafes, and crowds.
“My dream is to be able to take a place as teacher of German and
history in a girl's school next year. It is a fine chance, and I am
promised it if I am fitted; so I must work when I can to be ready.
That is why I like Versailles better than Rue de Rivoli, and enjoy
talking with Professor Homer about French kings and queens more than
I do buying mock diamonds and eating ices here,” answered Jenny,
looking very tired of the glitter, noise, and dust of the gay place
when her heart was in the Conciergerie with poor Marie Antoinette,
or the Invalides, where lay the great Napoleon still guarded by his
faithful Frenchmen.
“What a dismal prospect! I should think you'd rather have a jolly
time while you could, and trust to luck for a place by-and-by, if
you must go on teaching,” said Ethel, stopping to admire a window
full of distracting bonnets.
“No; it is a charming prospect to me, for I love to teach, and I
can't leave anything to luck. God helps those who help themselves,
mother says, and I want to give the girls an easier time than I have
had; so I shall get my tools ready, and fit myself to do good work
when the job comes to me,” answered Jenny, with such a decided air
that the French lady glanced back at her, wondering if a quarrel was
going on between the demoiselles.
“What do you mean by tools?” asked Ethel, turning from the gay
bonnets to a ravishing display of bonbons in the next window.
“Professor Homer said one day that a well-stored mind was a
tool-chest with which one could carve one's way. Now, my tools are
knowledge, memory, taste, the power of imparting what I know, good
manners, sense, and--patience,” added Jenny, with a sigh, as she
thought of the weary years spent in teaching little children the
alphabet.
Ethel took the sigh to herself, well knowing that she had been a
trial, especially of late, when she had insisted on Jane's company
because her own French was so imperfect as to be nearly useless,
though at home she had flattered herself that she knew a good deal.
Her own ignorance of many things had been unpleasantly impressed
upon her lately, for at Madame Dene's Pension there were several
agreeable English and French ladies, and much interesting
conversation went on at the table, which Jenny heartily enjoyed,
though she modestly said very little. But Ethel, longing to
distinguish herself before the quiet English girls, tried to talk
and often made sad mistakes because her head was a jumble of new
names and places, and her knowledge of all kinds very superficial.
Only the day before she had said in a patronizing tone to a French
lady,--
“Of course we remember our obligations to your Lamartine during our
Revolution, and the other brave Frenchmen who helped us.”
“You mean Lafayette, dear,” whispered Jenny quickly, as the lady
smiled and bowed bewildered by the queerly pronounced French, but
catching the poet's name.
“I know what I mean; you needn't trouble yourself to correct and
interrupt me when I'm talking,” answered Ethel, in her pert way,
annoyed by a smile on the face of the girl opposite, and Jenny's
blush at her rudeness and ingratitude. She regretted both when Jane
explained the matter afterward, and wished that she had at once
corrected what would then have passed as a slip of the tongue. Now
it was too late; but she kept quiet and gave Miss Cholmondeley no
more chances to smile in that aggravatingly superior way, though it
was very natural, as she was a highly educated girl.