Some things abroad

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CHAPTER I. From New York To BELFAST

II. From BELFAST TO NEWCASTLE III. From NewcastLte THroucu Norway. IV. From Norway To IraAty ..

MemeeNeNORTHERN ITALY ... .

VI. To AND THRoUGH ATHENS. .

VII. In AND ABouT CONSTANTINOPLE. VIII. From ConsTANTINOPLE TO DAMASCUS DeINOIPAMASCUS . . » 3 «so % BANIAS AND TIBERIAS. . . .

XI. From TIBERIAS TO JERUSALEM XII. IN AND AROUND JERUSALEM .

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SOME THINGS ABROAD. aha

CHAPTER I.

FROM NEW YORK TO BELFAST.

WE were waiting for the hour of sailing when we walked out upon the bridge which joins New York and Brooklyn, and read the words of restriction and eaution which were repeated for the benefit of travellers, — Keep to the right and keep moving. We felt the force of the counsel, and allowed it to settle in our minds as we turned to the unbridged sea.

It was on the Fourth of July that we really began to move. The day was as hot as it could be, and the tar melted in the seams of the deck. It was refreshing to think of cooler airs, which were lying in wait for us. Days passed before we found complete relief. Between the hot sides of the ship and the hot air of the engine, our state-rooms were intolerable. When they became comfortable, the sea became rough, . and the appearance of the upper deck changed, as it is accustomed to do in the process of the voyage. Men were fewer. Ladies concealed themselves entirely, or, encased in shawls, clung to their long chairs. A general seriousness prevailed; while incipient friendships were nipped in the bud, and neighbors - were interrupted in their promised intercourse, and 7 the ship rolled with might and main. But we were at sea, with no familiar faces to remind us of the land we had left, or to recall the discussions and conflicts that had grown wearisome. For us there

was more calm on the sea than on the land. The incidents of the voyage were not remarkable. Yet it takes but little to enlist attention and interest in the long leisure and the somewhat persistent languor of mind which belongs to a landsman upon the deep. Of course, a few of the company were more conspicuous than their fellows. There was one gentleman from the British Provinces who carried good-nature on his round face, and dealt it out to every one who manifested any need of such cheer as he could impart. He had his opinions upon most subjects, and illustrative incidents were at his command. He was frank, and, some might say, intrusive. He was very fond of walking with the ladies, when walking was permitted, and of chatting to them at other times. Yet he was still in the state in which he was created, because he had never met a woman who, upon his analysis of her character, answered his demands. He made no concealment of his fondness for conversation with those on whom he could not bestow a complete admiration. “They don’t scrape you down to the brick,” he remarked. This testimony seemed impressive and expressive. But, as I think upon it, I am at a loss to know from what department of masonry he drew his comparison, or why he should object to the intelligent scraping which removes what is superficial, and discloses the substantial character beneath.

He was an indulgent story-teller, always pointing out the point of his narratives, and doing this repeatedly in condescension to dull hearers. He liked to tell of a misguided goat who ate dried apples and drank water till he looked like a side-wheel steamer. This tale illustrated conscience, but he did not make the application clear.

He was a man of experience, and when, on one of ’ our early days, he announced that there is a way to be comfortable in a hot state-room, we listened hopefully for the rule. The rule proved to be this: Find out how hot it is, and then adapt yourself to it. This was disappointing, and yet I doubt if he could have done better. He professed, more than once, to be shocked at the unbecoming conduct of his room-mate after a very warm night, when the poor fellow “ came up to the surface of his sensibilities,” and, not heeding the supposed devotions of his companion, made a brief remark which had a resemblance to swearing.

Then we had an English Nimrod who had been exploring our Far West. He told thrilling tales of his prowess. At his approach, the American buffaloes fell upon their knees, and the deer, with the piteous tears chasing one another down their innocent noses, lay quiet at his feet; while the eagle faltered in his flight and fluttered into the sportsman’s hand. Possibly I exaggerate the statements, but I preserve the tone of them.

We had dlso a long Romish priest, who had served as an army chaplain in India and Australia, and was talkative and good natured. His geography seemed

a little confused, as he plainly thought that Captain sg

Cook was killed in New Zealand. And he told of a man who had seen a hundred and twenty-five different clubs with which the murder was committed. He amazed a bluff Scotchman with some story of a Parsee. “ Was he an Englishman?” the Scotchman asked. “No; a Parsee.” ‘Oh, he belongs to that country.” “No, no; a Parsee —a fire-worshipper — a Persian.” Ido not think the man has yet found out why the priest was so emphatic; he was certainly staggered at the priest’s report of Parsee wealth, and of a hospital a mile long which one had built in India. The priest had brought back one other tale, of a man with whom he was once riding who refused to strike his beast because the soul of his brother was then residing init. This was an inconvenient application of the doctrine of transmigration ; and it might be asked why he was willing to drive his brother at all.

On our one Sabbath we were favored with a sermon from an American bishop. He had a fine presence, a strong voice, an impressive manner. He had a good text, as they used to tell us at Andover, and the sermon was earnest and helpful.

Our Canadian friend said that some people go through the world “like a paper-knife,’ smoothly and easily. It was in this manner our passage was made, for the most part. On the morning of the 13th of July we saw land, and, after running down the pleasant coast of Ireland, in the afternoon we left the Bothnia for the Jackal. “We had a charming sail, for an hour, in the fine harbor of Queenstown, and then our feet were on Irish soil. The prudent custom-house officer inquired if we

~ had tobacco or fire-arms, and, finding that we had neither, suffered us to go on our way. We found the people easy in their habits, and very deliberate. We demurred at the needless delay, and were told that Americans are in too much of a hurry. That may be true, —I fancy that it is. But I am sure that neither the lesson nor the instruction was attractive just then. We had time for a glimpse of Queenstown, which is more of a place than we expected to find. At length we were on the train. We had a delightful ride along the Lee to Cork, where we found quarters at the Imperial. They put us at the top of the house, in recognition of our nationality or our personal worth. A fellow-passenger on the steamer invited us to drive about the city. The poor man had been greatly disturbed at Queenstown, by finding that his valise had fallen under the wheels of the dray and been crushed out of shape. He tried to obtain redress, but none was to be found. He was an old traveller, and did not let his equanimity be long disturbed. He engaged a jaunting-car, and gave us a very agreeable hour. The large, busy city, with its fine buildings, is in strong contrast to the Cork of the stranger’s imagination. We found that men, women, and children had a way of walking in the streets endangering their lives and bothering the drivers, who are continually screaming “ Whay!” which is understood at once and opens the way for the approaching carriage. There was an evident good-nature which was agreeable. There was a distinct recognition of America in the sign over one shop, —“ Waltham Watches.”

I ventured to have a strain of Irish blood added to my own timepiece, in the confidence that it would not produce any aberration. |

The chief thing to see at Cork is Blarney Castle, which we visited, by an Irish boy and a jaunting-car. The castle is a fine old ruin, and well managed. There are two gates, an inner and outer; ; and, by keeping a man at each, they secure a double fee, which becomes a treble fee when you have gone further in. It was claimed that special favor was shown to Americans in regard to visiting-days. A woman received us at the castle, and descanted volubly on the ruins. We were allowed to wander about at our pleasure. The Blarney stone was found in its place, but, as I had little use for eloquence at that time, I contented myself with touching it. This was much easier than kissing would have been, which there does not go by favor, but by una easily twisting and turning, thrusting the body into a window, and bending down the head till the lips press the stone in the face of the wall. The country was very pleasant as we drove through it. The little stone houses, many of them with thatched roofs, were picturesque. ‘The trees were heavy with foliage, and the roadside flowers were pretty, as they always are. There was less evidence of care than in the hedges and lawns of England, but Ireland was green enough to justify her reputation. The children whom we met looked sleek and well fed, though their clothes were in a less creditable condition. There was an air of innocent trustfulness in the faces of the people, except, perhaps, those of the old women. It seemed queer to be in a land where Irish is, the mother-tongue. It was not always easy to understand it. Donkeys abounded, and had a patient, overworked look, though they seemed to be on good terms with their owners.

On Saturday afternogn we left Cork, and, after a journey of six hours, reached Killarney. The very name was alluring, and the place at once promised to fulfil our desires. ‘There are the finest mountains and lakes of Ireland. Walter Scott said that he had seen no grander lake than the middle one at Killarney, saving only Loch Lomond. We found a fine hotel, — the Royal Victoria, —and settled down for the Sabbath. These lakes would be thronged if they were near one of our large cities. All that could be asked is there, — delightful scenery, cool airs, pleasant drives, charming walks, good fishing and sailing. It is a place to be sought, and which will long be remembered. On many a weary day I shall sigh for the repose of Killarney. There was no church near the Lakes, so that we had leisure to commune with our own thoughts and be still.

On Monday we made the grand excursion, in company with some of the Bothnia’s passengers. The excursion takes the whole day, and rewards the investment. Besides what one sees in the way of scenery, there are various side-shows which are thrust upon his notice. The first fact which is made apparent is that all the people live on the traveller. You bargain at the hotel for all you want, and agree to pay a good price for it. Do not think that is the end. You have scarcely lost sight of the house before gay cavaliers gather about you and almost force you to ride two or three ponies. Boys and girls solicit your money, “to buy a book, sir.” As a friend of female education, I cheerfully gave a penny to a girl, who laughed and begged in the same breath, and specified the “ Fourth Reader” as the book which her attainments demanded. Kate Kearney stands at the door of her hut, with a bottle in one hand and a pitcher in the other, and business in her untamed eye. She has none of the beauty of her famed ancestress, but she has goat’s milk and mountain dew, which she is willing to part with for a suitable consideration. ‘Thenceforth women attend you. They run at your horse’s side, in bare feet, and beg you to buy stockings. They flourish two bottles and crave your patronage for the two kinds of beverage just mentioned, while their red shawls wave in the wind, and their fluent tongues invoke upon you long life and other blessings. From all this, if your horse is fleet, you may run away. But there is no escape from your legitimate attendants. Not a man whom you have hired is content with the price agreed upon. Each one makes his separate appeal to your compassion, and confidently holds out his hand. He expresses his discontent with your alms, and turns away like a wretch you have wronged. This unprofessional beggary is the worst of all; the hardest to satisfy and the least thankful. This custom of begging prevails throughout the island. Common beggars are not quite everywhere, but the uncommon ones abound. You run a gauntlet from the Lakes of Killarney to the Giant’s

Causeway. You have almost to escape from your hotel by stealth, if you have funds enough left to take you to the nearest banker’s.

The scenery was very impressive as we rode through the Gap of Dunloe. Wild, dark, sublime, solemn were the mountains which enclosed us. We rode through the Black Valley, but saw no traces of the railroad of that name of which we had heard. There were signs that it was not far away. We passed the place where St. Patrick craftily boxed up the snakes, and threw them into the water. The work was thoroughly done, for not a snake was to be seen. The driver said only an approaching storm can awaken them, when they throw the waters into tumult. “They will come out day after to-morrow, which never comes.” At Lord Brandon’s cottage we took a large boat with four rowers and were carried about eleven miles. At a certain point the boat was stopped, and we were asked to solve the Killarney puzzle — how to get out of the lake. The captain promised a bottle of Irish whiskey to any one who should guess right, and expected one from each person who failed. He was disappointed. There was only one correct guess, yet no bottles changed hands.

We were then driven to Muckross Abbey, the finest ruin in Ireland. The cloister is in almost perfeet preservation, with the customary yew-tree in the centre of the open space. The monuments are numerous, and the ivy is luxuriant. A young man of the company expressed a desire to see the yule-tree from which the yule-log is cut, but there was no way of gratifying him. We were ticketed in to see the Tore waterfall, which is the best in these parts. We saw Ross Castle in its decay, and from its broken wall had a fine view. It was a famous fortress in the old wars. The place was beset with women, who had for sale a variety of things made of the bog-oak and arbutus-wood. To the solicitation of one woman some one said “No”; whereupon she cried after him, “Such a fascinating young man as you to say ‘No’ to a lady!”’ We took boat again, and were taken past Innisfallen and its ruins, which we had no time to visit. Then we crossed the rough waters of the lower lake, Lough Leane, and disembarked near the hotel. It was a very pleasant excursion, very faithfully carried out. We came northward by rail to Dublin, where, in the Shelbourne, we found “the best hotel in the United Kingdom’”’—so some travellers say. But “best” is a word to be used with caution. It was certainly a fine house, though it gave us rather narrow accommodations. On the side of a jaunting-car and on the top of a tramway carriage we had an outside view of the inside of the city. There is the Cathedral, dating from the twelfth century — the first church in Ireland in which the liturgy was read in the English language. And St. Patrick’s Cathedral, on the site of the church built by the national saint. Among the memorials in this cathedral are the simple marble slabs which mark the graves of Swift, and “Stella” whose name and life were so closely and darkly associated with his. ‘There, too, is the monument of Whately, with the Archbishop reclining upon it. The ancient castle has been modernized, like so many other buildings of its time, but preserves something of its old estate. When we were in Dublin, the most familiar local name was Pheenix Park, which had been recently the scene of the cruel murder in which madness expressed its hatred of English rule. We knew it was in Dublin that Tom Moore was born, and Wellington, and that O’Connell for a long time had his residence. But we could not stay even to see what has been named.

We moved on to Belfast, second in rank of the Irish cities, but had only two hours for a drive through its fine streets and among its comely buildings.

Still moving northward, we came to Portrush and the Northern Counties Railway Hotel. The house was formerly the Antrim Arms, but has surrendered that fine name for one more remunerative. The connecting of railroads and hotels has become common in the United Kingdom, and has some advantages. But it is a pity to lose the good old names. The view from our windows, which looked over the wide sea from the very end of Ireland, could only be grand even to eyes which were accustomed to the sea. Close at hand were the Skerries, with their lighthouses. The Skerries, for “Skerry” is applied to any isolated rock in the sea. We had a pleasant walk, and saw a good many of the people. There had been apparently an excursion from some other place, and we were amused and interested in watching the embarkation of the returning voyagers.

We devoted the next day to the chief attraction of the locality. But before we saw the Giant's Causeway, we saw what was almost as great a marvel in this remote region, a horse railroad with the cars drawn by an electric engine,— I am imitating the Irish method of writing. ‘This is the Premier Electric Tramway,” “ the first in the United Kingdom, and the largest in the world.” The novelty disgusts the hotel-keepers, who find their tourists spirited away from their doors, and the drivers of jauntingcars, who find the tramway preferred above their own vehicles. Eight miles of the tramway brought us into the midst of guides and boatmen who were lying in wait, prepared to render all manner of service, desirable and undesirable. It was necessary to employ a portion of them, and it seemed best to bargain with them before setting out, though this latter part of the arrangement was of less value than a stranger would suppose. We were so fortunate as to secure the services of the best boatmen there. We knew this, for one of them assured us that it was the fact. We were taken into the smallest cave where a boy, for whose presence we had not been able to account, accounted for himself by producing an old pistol and arousing the numerous echoes of the place. We had not asked for this luxury, but we paid for it, and the boy left us for fresh victims. We were then taken into the larger cave, as the day was favorable for this, and we looked in wonder on its awful grandeur. Then we rowed and sailed past the cliffs, getting a very fine view of them, when our guides took us for a short walk over what seemed to be sunken columns.

When this excursion was over, the guides announced that their mission was ended, and that the time for payment had arrived. As a matter of course, they demanded more than we had agreed upon, but we thought upon their superior qualifications, which we certainly should not have discovered, and we added to the stipulated amount. That was not all. Each guide was armed with a rough wooden box, covered with newspaper and laboriously surrounded with twine. At an auspicious moment two of these were opened in our boat, and we were asked to buy both or either. There seemed to be no partnership in this traffic. The boxes proved to be filled with specimen stones, arranged in strawberry fashion—the best on the top. We bought more than we wanted. Could we do less? After that came men with broken pieces of doublerefracting spar, which has the power of making one shilling look like two. I adopt their illustration, though I noticed that they did not use the. spar for this purpose when collecting their pay. All the mysterious powers of the stone were given up to the purchaser. If one should buy all the stones that are offered him, he would need to hire all the men and women who infest the rocks to carry them for him. Yet it is not easy to choose when you want none but must take some. We came upona queer old man who was selling water from the “ Giant’s well.” There was some variety even in his simple enterprise, for he had a cup for the well and a bottle for the still. The “mountain dew” had evidently collected in the bottle. When we asked for a drink of the water, I thought it prudent to remark that we did

Df a SOME THINGS ABROAD.

not desire any appendage from the bottle. “ Will you wait—” he said. “But we don’t want any of that.” “ Will you just wait —” he persisted in asking. “But I tell you we don’t want anything from the bottle!” And the queer old man, in a solemn, almost reproachful tone, made answer: ** Will you just wait till you’re asked?” We waited. When we had refreshed ourselves from the spring, I sought to draw the offended gentleman into conversation. ‘ Did the giants drink of this spring?” I inquired. ‘No, the giants drink of no spring.” “ But they say that when the giants piled up these rocks, they used to come to this well,” I ventured to remark. “No giants built up these rocks,” he answered. ‘“ Who did, then?” ‘The one who made these things is the One above,’ —and he pointed toward the sky. I found that he was getting the better of me, and I hastened to reply that we ought to try to please Him who is so great and has done such wonderful things. He assented to this, and added that he feared we do not please Him. I said that some day we should see Him. “I hope so,” he continued; “I hope that we may have one look.” Then we left him. But it is a strange scene even now as I look back upon it, — the grand cliffs, the vast sea, and all the strange sublimity, and in the midst this lone priest in the Temple of the Giants, standing by the spring among the rocks, with a tin cup in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, turning upward his red face, and pointing with a finger, set free for this purpose, to the dwelling-place of Him who has uplifted and upholds the mountains. Well, who shall say how much he thought and hoped in his long solitude, or what he has learned in a life which must have had its vicissitudes. It may be that his ruddy cheeks will look less earthy when the hand of death has passed over them. Who does not look for some gain in that transformation ?

We sat in the “wishing chair” of rock, which the guide said was also the “Giant’s chair.” It was a much frequented place, but the visitors did not look like descendants of the giants. Afterward we sat in another chair, nearer the sea, which is said to be the real seat of the giants. It was reasonably comfortable as a chair, and we had it to ourselves, which was a marked advantage.

I have said very little of the “Causeway.” The ride to it from Portrush was very pleasant by the sea, among the cliffs, over the gorges. We passed Dunluce Castle, an old ruin, which crowns the isolated cliff where it has stood for five hundred years. The Causeway has been so often described and pictured that I need not attempt to present it here. Everybody knows how it looks. It is not quite what we supposed, but it is fully as grand and strange. To walk over the tops of huge columns sunk in the depths, to look up at the towering peaks and mountains of rock, to wander along the bays between the cliffs, to penetrate the deep caves, to gaze upon the ocean beyond whose borders lies the land we love, — this is full of interest and wonder: surprising, awakening, quieting; stirring the deep emotions. of mind and heart. It would be well to wie SOME THINGS ABROAD.

linger among these stupendous works and slowly receive their inspiration. The grandeur grows as the hours pass, and the eye and the mind expand to the proportions of the place. But we had to move on. We came again among men and women. We resisted their solicitation to purchase mosses and fragments of the rocks; we had our final look at their miseries and our final listening to their complaints, and came back to the civilization of Portrush, and then moved on at once toward Scotland.

Before we leave Ireland there are a few more things to be said, which may be set together here. There is a great deal of interest attached to the people of this island. They are wonderfully good-natured and very obliging. They are talkative, but kindly. The jollity is toned down as their estate improves, but out-of-doors and along the road the wit and humor remain. ‘They seem to take life easily, and to make the best of the seasons which are short and hard for shillings, sixpences, and strangers to dispense them. Even their extortion and vexation have but a brief existence. Plainly the people are poor. The cottages must be barren places to live in, and the national drink is somewhat expensive. Wesawno signs of hunger. We were not in the right quarter for that. We saw health and length of days. Indeed, it is a fact which disturbs our estimates a little that the Irish race deteriorates on our soil. The generation born in America is not equal physically to that which came over the seas. The change in the habits of life does not work in their favor, in this regard at least.

As a whole, our first impression was sustained. There was clearly more to eat than there was to wear. Economy in dress was evidently a necessity. We saw one barefoot woman with her shoes in a basket on her head. She was waiting for extremes to meet, as in some domains they have a way of doing. Animal life was represented by donkeys and crows, with here and there a horse, and now and then a cow. <A stray sheep occasionally came in sight, and there was on the hills and plains a sprinkling of goats, which called to mind the sequestered outskirts of New York. We saw men cutting peat, which they stack for drying, and we enlarged our knowledge of Natural History by learning that in a few years from the time when they are stripped, the bogs are supplied with a new crop of the national fuel.

As we went northward, the people looked better. The women in the fields wore shoes and stockings, which may be regarded as marking the boundary between poverty and less poverty. The sleek, plump children had a more comfortable aspect than those of the same class in some other countries. I asked why the people in the north were better off than those in the south, but the answers were not satisfactory. One said they were more industrious in the north, and had better land. But the land in the north is certainly not the best in the island. It is common to ascribe the advantage to the prevalence of Protestantism. But whether the Protestant faith and institutions are cause or effect, as relates to the well-being of the people, did not appear on the spot. I presume that they are both. That they are a superior sort of folk at the north was clear enough. I cannot discuss Irish questions here, but no one can travel through the island, even as hastily as I did, without feeling that the people deserve a better history than has been made for them. The men at the north were anxious to have it understood that they were not rebels and discontents: that it is at the south riot and murder assert themselves. They complain that the name of Irishman is made to bear reproach which is sectional, and from which they ought to be free. The point is well taken and easily appreciated. We were continually reminded of a past. Ruined castles were on the hill-tops, and were so numerous that after a time we scarcely troubled ourselves to look at them as we rode by. They are the witnesses to times which have gone. Rough times they were, but not wanting in heroism and virtue.