Chapter I: Must Rove Away From Paris (1)

Here is the middle of August, nearly a month of uninterrupted sight seeing has passed away, and my curiosity is surfeited. I am now on the eve of roving away to "the hilly Oberland," where I will tire my limbs on the rocky Alps, and crave the comfort I here have enjoyed. I know I am but leaving Paris to enjoy the anxiety to get back.

Four days are gone by, and I have spent half a day at Chalon, and one at Lyons, the "silk city." In this last half a day, I saw more manufactories than I ever saw in one town. It is said that machines to the enormous power of two hundred horse, are in some of these factories. From 50 to 60,000 hands are engaged in manufacturing silk daily. This is a very rich looking city, and must indeed, be very rich. It is no doubt an older city than Paris. If a man was brought here blindfolded, after beholding its magnificence and wealth, he might easily be led to believe he was at the Capitol of France.

Another day is gone, and finds me not less fleeting. I am away up the Rhone, at "_Aix le Bain_." This romantic little town of a few thousand inhabitants, has the celebrity of chronology of 700 years before the Christian era. It points to some warm baths, which it is named after, as its grey hairs; and of which was its phoenix. The Romans built it up on account of its feasibility of becoming a "national bath tub" of Gaul. Under the ground, as far as the ambition of a Roman chooses to go, these baths could be made profitable. There are now from eight to ten stone walled rooms, where all a man has to do to put the bath in readiness, is to open the door.

Some 200 or 300 Frenchmen were here passing away the summer, enjoying themselves fishing, dancing and gaming, for there is a very rich bank in a splendid Casino, to draw that class of France that live on excitement, I saw one American here who was broke. He wanted to relate his misfortunes to me, but I did not wish to hear them, as I was well posted before he tried to post me.

I am intercepted on all sides, as I step off the steps of the hotel, by donkey boys, who are indeed anxious to have me take a ride to a little old city not far away, but in Savoy. It is impossible to tell a good donkey from a bad one by his looks, and each boy assures me that his donkey is the best in Aix. By way of proving it to me, he gives me the word of an American that rode him the summer before; but were I an Englishman instead of what he took me to be, he would have had other testimonials more influential. But what these little good natured plagues say is true, so far as the words of their patrons are to be trusted; it would be very indecorous to ride his little donkey three or four miles and have the little owner to run along behind all the time and whip and beat the poor donkey, and then get off and walk in without saying he was a "good donkey," "the best you ever saw." That pleases the little fellows. His donkey is worth 5 or $6, and to run down his little stock, would be no part of a gentleman.

August is not yet gone, but I am a long way from Paris. Here I am, at the "City of Watches," Geneva, and lake Leman. Never did a better opportunity present itself to man, to make a good impression, than this beautiful day presents Geneva to me, her visitor. Not a cloud intervenes to Mount Blanc's snow clad peak, fifty odd miles away, and it looks as if it was merely over yonder hill, to the right of Byron's house, which is not two miles away. It reminds me of a still cloud, over a sun-set that indicates fair weather to-morrow. As Mount Blanc is covered with snow here in August, it makes another mountain of a lesser height that lies between here and Mount Blanc, appear as if its top was painted red. Mount Blanc, standing beyond, with her white capped peak, through the intervening heat of this hot day, the small one may well resemble a fiery painted mountain. This is the edge of Switzerland, and still the French is the prevalent language, which language seems destined to be universal throughout Europe.

After looking over some of the watch factories, I went to Mount Blanc on horses, and stayed two days at the a city at its base, and went across the country to Vevey, a small town on lake Leman. To my astonishment I saw two Americans here. One was Dr. Elliot, of Louisville, Ky., and the other Mr. N., of New Orleans. The old Dr. was very glad to see me. He and I had been sick companions together on the steamship Africa, where and when we both wished that we had never heard of Europe, but now that we were out of the slough, and traveling over the Republican land of Wm. Tell in the very best health and spirits, and like the roe and buck, we were happy in these Highlands.

Vevey is a very handsomely situated village, one would not forget it after seeing its picturesque groups of vineyards and rustic huts, interspersed with fairy-like palaces. It is a lively little place, and a great many English and rich Switzers come here in the dog days of summer.

After staying at Vevey a couple of days, I hired a carriage and plodded on over this hilly land to Switzerland's Capital, Bern. Bern is a very dull looking place, and most especially so for a Capitol. The second story of the houses hang over the pavement, so you can walk the town without getting wet. The language generally is German, so you see the close alliance of languages in Switzerland.

Five days more; I am in the Great Oberland, among the towering Alps. I traversed the whole of the valley of Interlaken, to the almost hidden village of Interlaken. The hotels are all small, generally not more than ten rooms, and are called pensions; queer name to create an appetite with.

English come here in summer for cheap living; there is also some Americans with patience enough to stay a short time and strengthen their means, that are most too frequently consumed at Paris, Brussels, or Vienna. As you leave the village to take a tour in a carriage up the great valley, you pass the ruins of an ancient castle, which once was the court of an ancient and noble race, whose ancestors are not to be traced, whose names was Unspunnin. A young knight belonging to another court scaled the walls and stole away Ida, the last male descendant's daughter, and made her his bride. Many years of bloody strife followed, after which the young knight came forth to Burkard, the lord of this castle and father of Ida, with his infant son in his arms and offered himself up, when the old man went into tears and made Rudolph's infant son heir of his numerous estates.

Farther up the valley a place is pointed out where a great murder was committed, and a noble young knight was the doer of the deed. He could never rest afterwards, so he fled from the sight of man, and has never been heard of since. In the immense vallies of perpetual glaciers, the snow has lain for thousands of years, and where the mountains drip upon the glaciers below, crevasses are made through and under. It is supposed that this knight crept into one of these and there froze up his heart, unseen by father, mother, sister, brother, friend or acquaintance.

This part of Switzerland is unlike any other part. It is nothing but mountains and small lakes. The lakes are as apt to be found on the tops of mountains as in vallies. From these large basins of water on top of mountains, are crevasses running through side rocks, and falling off makes the crevasses through and under the glaciers as I have described.

But here is a specimen of the intelligence of the Switzers of olden time. It is a little old town with a wall round it, and a hill close up to the wall all round. The walls could have done no more good than the hill if there was any spunk in the builders. The lake of Lucern comes up to this bigoted little spot. Its appelation is in honor of this important lake of catfish and suckers. It has a piece of art, too, a lion sculptured in the side of a rock outside the walls. It is the most natural artificial lion I ever saw. Here is Zurich, the prettiest city in Switzerland, notwithstanding Byron's praise of Geneva. Here is the famed "Zurich waters." The people here have not that staring stupidity so characteristic of the Swiss in other towns. They are all going along about their business as if they had lived among strangers all their lives. It is a thriving town, and they manufacture silks here on quite an extensive scale. In conclusion, Switzerland is a Republic, and all parts, except the ruggedest mountains, is in the highest state of cultivation. Wine and wheat are among their chief studies. They are devout christians. Every mile of their highways there is an image of the Son of Mary hung high up by the roadside, denoting his suffering, patience and forbearance. The Swiss are not a homely people. Their country is too mountainous for railroads.

SPICY TOWNS IN GERMANY.

Having passed over the borders of Switzerland and Germany, and through the first German town, called Friedsburg, I will linger a while at Strasborg. It was once the Capitol of many provinces. In times gone by, many centuries ago, it was called the Roman's "Argentoratum," and experienced more than a few of the miseries of war. The tallest piece of monumental art the world ever had recorded on the pages of its Chronology, not even the Tower of Babel excepted, is here in this city of over two thousand years old. Its name is the Munster, and ought to have been Monster. It is a Church, and was three hundred years in process of erection. It is 474 feet from the earth, and to give a clearer perception of its height, it is 24 feet higher than the Pyramids of Egypt. In it is that famous clock, made three hundred years ago, which runs yet. This clock might justly have an other half added to its name, _clock_. Many people flock there every day to see its manoeuvres. At 12 o'clock, or a few minutes before twelve, wooden men, representing the Apostles or Priests, come out of the clock, and some inferior personages also, and march a short distance and waits a few minutes to be warned of the hour, then this waited for moment is signalized by a brass cock coming out of the clock on the other side, which flaps its wings three times and crows, after which this group of old men returns to their vestry of study or seclusion, and the clock clicks on as it has done for three hundred years, and the crowd disperses.

The streets are crowded with soldiers, as in Paris, and the ladies go about the streets holding up their dresses just the right height to attract attention.

The rain is over, and there is no more attraction in the spicy town of Strasborg, so I am going to Baden Baden, the spiciest gambling place in Europe. In the Park is a great large building in the shape of a country stable, but full of splendor, called a Casino or conversation room, and this conspicuous appellation is conspicuously written on the front of the building. In this open hall--open to all--is gambling hours between each meal. The great gambling table is in the centre with numerous stools, such as are to be found in Stuarts, or any other fashionable Dry Goods store in America. On these stools are all classes of society that like excitement--dukes, earls, marquises, barons, knights, valets, and even liveried coachmen, betting from 5 francs to 10,000 francs. While I was in the Casino the Prince of Prussia broke the bank. Only thirty thousand francs is allowed in the Bank at once, and if broken no more business or amusement goes on that day in that Cassino; but there are others dealing on the same platform.

It is quite amusing to see the anxiety written on the brow of players, and to see the expression of disinterested persons, which we in America term "stuck on the game." I have seen more excruciating pain come from an outsider by the loss of some pile of gold, than I ever saw come from the expression of the loser. Here comes a Count who has been betting and losing on another bank, and he came to change his luck. He threw down his last thousand and it won; he let it all stand on the red, and this time it all goes into the bank. He exclaims, "that's my luck." Then the outsiders would cast an eye of pity on him, and say, he might have known that he would lose it, when the very reason they were not betting, was, they were broke on the same bank perhaps a week ago. I see six beautiful noble ladies betting, with their money snugly piled up before them. Their bets generally range from twenty to one hundred francs. But the most amusing part of this crowd's entertainment is, the airs that the money scampers put on. If a lady or gentleman should win, he pays it with an air of nonchalence and great pleasure; but if he wins, which he is sure to do in the end, he looks very melancholy, as if it were the result of accident, and in his opinion it was very vulgar for the bank to win. I put down a five franc piece, it won; I let the ten stand, it won; I let the twenty stand, it won; I moved it, and it lost, and I quit. He attempted to console me by saying I ought to have let it stand where it was, "what do you bet on now sir," said he; I don't bet any more said I, I have already lost five francs. He took me to be a green Yankee and said no more to me. Another amusing sight was there; it was two more broken American youths, who said they were waiting for Mr. Peabody to forward them money, and was "sound on the borry." I did'nt pride myself much here on my nationality, lest I would have some unprofitable fame. One of them owed two weeks' board in the British Hotel. He was mighty polite when he met me in company, and placed me under the truly painful necessity of being introduced to some person of note whom he had himself been a bore upon. He asked me if I was acquainted with the Grand Duke, at the same time looking over the heads of the players, as if he would call him if he could only get his eye on him. Then he insisted on my going down to the other Bank, where the chances were better, and where the Grand Duke of Baden would most likely be. I declined all invitations, and got a carriage and went out of town to see the ruins of the Erhreinstein Castle.

Having returned and paid my bill, I left this little German town to go to Heidelburg, where once dwelled a good Castilian, Frederick the 1st, of the Palatinate.

James lived between Baden Baden and Heidelberg two or three years, and wrote the two following novels, which gives a better history of these, the Castles of Heidelberg and Erhreinstein, than any other history gives or can be obtained at present. He lived at Carlsruth. The Grand Duke lives at Baden Baden, and Carlsruth, and Heidelberg, and he is here now at Heidelberg, and was here when my American friend was hunting him in the Casino.

Tilly, the great French general, blew up the front side of this castle in 1620, since which all its magnificence has been known but as tradition. The picture gallery still remains perfect, that is to say, some wings of it. There is many talented artists now grouped about in its rural halls, for the grass has grown up in them, taking copies of these splendid pictures. The city of Heidelberg which this castle overlooks, is quite a large city for a German interior town. I was told by my landlord that its population was upwards of 60,000. The cellar of the old ruins still contains its wine casks. I saw one cask or vat said to hold 60,000 bottles of wine. Ten men can dine round a King Arthur's round table on its head. In the cellar is the statue of one of King Frederick's fools, with one side of his face painted green and one half of his hair red, whilst the other is not. He drank eighteen bottles of wine each day and lived one hundred years. Father Matthew never heard of that juice of such admirable longevity, or it would have clapped the cap on his spouting eloquence. German towns are spicy towns. Outside of the city, just across the Necker, is to be two duels to-day with short swords, and they fight duels on that duelling ground every day, either students or other citizens. It is considered a small gladiatorial arena. The Grand Duke is about to leave for Carlsruth, and the people are parading with great glee. Children women and men are crowding the gates in solid batallions; you would think old Zack had come to town.

I am dizzy with reflections of these fast little towns of Germany. As I whirl along now towards the cradle of the Rothschild's my brain is rocking its reflective matter from the canton of the quiet and religious Swiss here to the burghers of this profane people. But here I am, in the independent little territory of the Duchess of Darmstadt. Each mile-post is painted barber-pole style. This Duchess is better known as the Duchess of Nassau. The cars stopped at Darmstadt, and if a good big southern barber's shop had been here the people all would have gone in it instead of Darmstadt by mistake. The gates are barberified in its style of designation.

I saw an American looking out of the cars at these posts until he felt his beard. All at once he threw himself back in his seat, as if he thought the country was too dull to look at, and of course impossible to produce anything sharp enough to take off beards.

Frankfort may be strictly termed the capitol of Germany; because all the German Princes meet here once a year and hold a conference on the great topics of interest to the whole German people. This gathering is called the Diet. This Diet enacts for the German principalities, some of the most wholesome and sound logical laws that comes from the parliament of any nation of these modern times. Frankfort has produced the most sagacious merchants the world ever knew. I have just been to look at Goethe's house. It has stood the scathing weather of the main for five hundred years, but none of the calamities of time have laid their fingers upon it, save a slight decay.

"Frankfort on the Oder" must not be misconstrued so as to convey an idea of this Frankfort. This is generally designated as Frankfort on the Main. It is a town full of high spirited people, and lively as crickets, but less sedate. Business is always good here. Each man is in some degree possessed with the ambition of a Rothschild. I am going to see the house of the primitive Rothschild, and then off to the Rhine.

Here I am at Mainz, on the banks of the Rhine. Looking at my ticket down the Rhine, I see this is the 17th of September, but the weather indicates summer time. This old, dead, but vast town, has the distinction allotted to it of producing the first book printer.

I will not attempt, as most chroniclers, to describe the impression the legend river of Europe made on me; suffice it to say that, on every peak, and that is saying a good deal, is the ruins of tyrants, and every hole that is made through these turrets, sends out a woeful wisp of a "Blue Beard's wrath," that quickens the pulse of a modern civilian.

I am now in town, at a great hotel, called Disch. Here is a very old city, and in old times Roman emperors were proclaimed here. The wife of Germanicus, Aggrippa, the mother of the tyrant that "fiddled" whilst Rome was burning, was born here. In this city is a church which has already cost four millions of florins, and is not finished yet. In this church is one of the most imposing pieces of splendor the eye of man ever gazed on. Inside of this case of jewels is three skulls filled with jewels. They glitter about in the nose and eyes and ears like moving maggots, and causes man to gaze with amazement upon the peculiarities of the people of German towns. Its name is Cologne. Its modern merit is its production of Colognes, not little towns, but the fluid possessing requisite qualifications of admittance to the private apartment of the sweetest virgin.

I must now bring this chapter to a close and go down among the Dutch.

DOWN AMONG THE DUTCH.

Having been disappointed in seeing a magnificent city, and smelling one, I am rapidly running down the Rhine to the Netherlands--Holland among the Dutch. These boats are hardly worth mentioning, more than to say they have steam and a crew. The crew are very stupid looking; mind you I say stupid looking, but I don't mean to say they are stupid. They have nothing to say or do with the passengers. They don't leave their watch and come to the cabin to sit a minute and talk with passengers, and occasionally "take a hand" at a game, as they do on our inferior boats running the Yazoo, Arkansas, Red and Black River, until the boiler hisses, or the boat snags. They are slow but sure.

In the cabin, which is below, is a sufficient number of small tables in restaurant style, and whoever eats does it _a la carte_. If you eat what is worth only fifteen grochens, you only pay fifteen grochens; but, if you eat one hundred grochens' worth, you will pay one hundred grochens; not one cent over or under is required, for the Dutch, as a class, are a reasonable, just and inoffensive people, therefore wish nothing but fair understanding and dealing. They always keep an interpreter on a cheap scale, to enable them to get along without difficulty. He was either a waiter, dish washer or potato-peeler, but on a no more expensive scale. They are the last people I am acquainted with to count unhatched chickens.

Captain Husenhork, I understand, is a gentleman and a good humored man, but the eye of a lynx would have a task to catch a smile upon his hickory countenance. He brought an old Dutch musket on deck for me to amuse myself with, shooting at snipe along the dykes. I shot into their midst several times, but they all flew up, circled around and lit at the same place. I never before saw so many of this style or genera of bird. Their bills was the most conspicuous part of them.

The boat is now turning to land at a pretty large town called Arnheim; but Holland is so low that a man cannot see the spires of a city until he enters its walls.

Holland is one vast marsh. It is dyked so as to drain each acre, but it is the richest soil in Europe, and its productiveness is so profitable that its owners would not swop it for the land of Goshen. It has nourished a people that seem to be well adapted to its nature; the forbearance of the Dutch people is not to be equalled by any. The labor required to till such soil as Holland's, has been the best friend to the Hollanders, for no people on the earth enjoys the labor as does a Holland farmer, and no people could make it so profitable. In taking a hack ride a few miles in the country around Arnheim, I can say the nurseries are unsurpassed by Switzerland, the Hanse States, or France.

Having gossiped in Arnheim two days, I called for my bill, paid it, packed my trunk for Amsterdam. Wine being such an extravagant item I thought I would enquire into it, as I might get some information why it was so much more in Holland than the other parts of the Rhine. I found that wine was an imported liquor, consequently, the duty made the difference between wine on that side of the Rhine and the other. A swilly beer is most universally the beverage of the Netherlands. The clerk supposing that I was not satisfied with the length of my bill, took it in his inspection and examined it carefully, and said, "Sir, you eat snipe." "Well is that any reason you should make my bill like a snipes?" "Yes sir," said he, "it is extra." "All right, sir, I did not ask you about any part of the bill except wine." Next day I was in Amsterdam, the wealthiest city of Holland. It is a city of canals; they run through all the main parts of the town, leaving a large side-walk on each side. Some pretty large ships are in the heart of the town. Bridges run across the canals, but they revolve on hinges and are easily turned.

The gayest time of Amsterdam is dead winter. Then the Zuyder Zee and all its canals are frozen over, when ladies and gentlemen are skating night and day. Vessels sail charmingly on the ice, but their bottoms are made for the ice instead of water. Balls and pic-nic parties are numerous in winter. The Amsterdam ladies are all healthy looking. I saw half a dozen ladies yesterday shooting snipe, when I rode out to Saandam. They had on nice little boots and moved among the high grass like skilful hunters. At Saandam I registered my name in the little "book of names," in the house of Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia. He ran away from Russia and came here and rented this little house with only two rooms, and lived in poverty here, to learn to build ships. Hollandaise builders worked with him a year at a time, but knew not that it was Peter the Great, of the Russias. The little frame hut is three hundred years old, but has been preserved on account of its strange and novel history.

26th of September, and I am at the capitol of Holland, The Hague. The King lives here, about a quarter of a mile from my hotel, the "Bellevue." But I just dined with a King. The father of the Queen is the old King of Wurtemburg, and he is putting up here, and we have a guard of honor at our door. He is going out--he bows to me.

COL. FELLOWES LEARNING DUTCH.

I must now introduce the reader to an American "merchant Prince," better known by his associates as the "Prince of Good Fellows." This is Cornelius Fellowes, of the respectable firm of Messrs. Fellowes & Co., of New Orleans, La. He is rather more than a medium size man, and straight as an exclamation point, with handsome limbs. He cannot be justly termed handsome, without adding _man_. His face was the color of a last year's red apple all free from decay; his hair is light for black, and not very thick on top, and he is aged 48 years. He is no politician, statesman, or orator, but as a business man, he is "sound on the goose." I know of no man that could settle business disagreements to the entire satisfaction of both, better than Mr. Fellowes. He would have made a profound judge, his heart and talent alike is so justly qualified. He is a very liberal and extravagant man, more so than any man I am acquainted with, but he is by no means a benevolent man; I don't mean to say that he is stingy, for he is not, but I mean to indicate that he always has some original idea of his own to make him give; for example, if a group of little ragged girls come around him begging, he will instantly feel his pockets, and take out all the change, but the most of it would go into the hands of the prettiest or cleanest, at the same time saying, "this is a pretty little girl," and if there is any left they will be sure to get the remainder. Or if a group of little boys are the beggars, he will give the most to the smartest, and exclaim, "he is a smart little fellow." And sometimes he is conscious of this partiality, and tries to evade it by throwing the coin among the boys to see them scuffle for it, but this trait of his is so marked, that he will be sure to throw it on his favorite's head, and if he fails to catch it, it is a sure sign of another chance for the boys. He laughs heartily when his boy catches it, as if it done his soul good. He is so proud, or haughty, or perhaps I had better say, naturally aristocratic, that he can descend from his sphere to vulgar without knowing it, and joke, laugh, and even offer some of his drink, but if you forget yourself, he will recollect himself. He can treat a free colored man as polite as he can a poor white one, and a class that are below them must be in his estimation what they are.

He is a man with no enemies; I don't believe he has one, and he himself hates no man, and in fact is always happy, jovial, and scarcely ever disappointed with his calculations of things and people. Whatever the Col. does, he does well, but he always puts it off until it can be delayed no longer. If he makes up his mind that he must go up the river, and look in the affairs of his agents or debters, he will appoint next week, but four or five weeks will follow in succession, but as next week must eventually come, he battles with that until the last day. Saturday he leaves on the last boat, and, is his most interested partner abler than another man to tell when he will ever turn his face home, or whether he will stop at Natchez, or Memphis, for what convinced him at 2 o'clock Saturday that he had better get off that evening, was as much the departure of his friends on that boat, as the conviction that these affairs of his must be looked into. When he wants a partner in any of his various traffics, he never looks for a man with capital, but one that understands what his views are, and would feel an aspiring interest, so much so as to devote all his time and talent and scrutiny to its development of prosperity in the end, if not at first. His object seems more the perfection of the business than its profits; but at the end of the year of business, which is the first day of September, if there is no profit, and he is not very deeply in, he will not be inclined to risk much, but he sticks like a leech, and this year must pay the loss of last. He will bleed some branch of this business before he lets go. The balance sheet of the firm of Messrs. Fellowes and Co., foots per annum about $140,000 to $170,000 profit; but if he lost by giving up some of his planters that have made a good crop, $10,000, he thinks that he managed badly, and goes about finding who they are connected with, and whether they wish to come back again. He will now furnish them with more means than he refused them when they left him. No man can get along with a planter better than Cornelius Fellowes; for he considers a planter, or slave holder, his equal in every particular; consequently feels himself at home with them. A planter looks at a merchant as his agent until they become the leading houses in their community, then they are honored in having the great merchant to stay a few days and hunt. But when they go to New Orleans they expect to be waited on by the merchant, when to their great disgust, the merchant sends his clerk to look after their wants; and the merchant, instead of persuading them to come and put up at his house, or dine with him, has other friends more congenial to his taste and dignity, than the planter with his Sunday suit of store made clothes. But as Mr. Fellowes never cares much for looks or position, and as he is an old bachelor and never had a house, and a slave holder is his equal, he hesitates not to go to the ladies ordinary and order his seat at table, and call on the rustic gentleman and family to dine with him, where they drink such wine as they would most likely take at home for stump water and cider. But this familiarity will tell upon the nerves of Mr. Fellowes, for he does not like to feel himself obliged to do any thing, and they will, in this good mood, invite him to the opera, theatre, or most likely the circus. Now this stumps his benevolent feelings to those who need no benevolence; he has his club mates, or the gaieties of Orleans to meet, where are to be found the very men he must touch glasses or whif a cigar with. He is now puzzled. He will let them know before dark, but will have their tickets for them already. He surely will be found missing; he says to himself "it will not do to refuse them without a good and plausable excuse," therefore he plans in his mind. He calls on one of his numerous clerks, and requests him to take an amount of money and go and buy so many tickets, and requests him further to call on Mr. Brown, and make an excuse, and offer to accompany him and the ladies to the amusement in view. These rich, bustle-dressed, young girls are diamonds in the eyes of young clerks; and young clerks in the best houses are Adonises to what these girls are used to. They soon become agreeable, and when they return home, Sam Smith, their next neighbor, is treated as he deserves to be by civilized beings. Soon after a letter comes to Mr. Clerk from this plantation, with a lady's scrawl, care Fellowes & Co., and Mr Fellowes delights to find that his suggestion of this young man met the entire approbation of the favorite of the old farmer. The fact is Mr. Fellowes can kill more birds with one stroke of his policy, than any other man that studies so little. Mr. Fellowes is never in so bad a humour as when he treats one kindly, and it is unkindly returned, to illustrate this, I must drop this epitome of his history, and carry the reader to the Capitol of Holland, where Mr. Fellowes is trying to learn something of this slow and easy people. He was smoking his segar when the King of Wurtimburg went out, but took no notice of him, because he was engaged with a group of beggar boys, throwing stivers at them. An English gentleman that had lived in the Indies, was by us, and we had travelled on the Rhine together. "Let us go down to the sea, five miles off, and see the Dutch fisheries. I understand they are extensively engaged in fishing, Mr. Grant," said Col. Fellowes. "I have been there, Mr. Fellowes," said the Englishman, "but will go again with you, though I know you will be annoyed with these plagued beggars." "O," said Mr. Fellowes, "I like to see them, with their large wooden shoes, jumping after the grochens, and further, they are a great people, and I wish to find out a great deal about their habits and manners; I think I shall stay here a week." The fame of the Col. had reached the remotest corner of the Hague, and squads of two and three were seen in all directions coming to the Bellevue House. Here our lacquey brought before the door a fine turnout, and he jumped in and drove away like a prince, whilst they followed on all sides, some hundreds of yards, like Fallstaff's soldiers, ready to run from any one they found they were close to that knew them except their abject leader. In a few moments we were down on the North sea. It was very cold down on the beach, but fishermen were walking in the sea from their smacks, with hamper baskets full of all kinds of fish. Their vessels that had been two days seining, was full of fish, but as these vessels could get no nearer than a quarter of a mile to land, they always fill their bushel basket, and shoulder it, and walk through the surging waves on the beach, on whose sand was pyramids of fish piled up, to be sold at a zwanzich bushels (about 25 cents). Sometimes they would disappear in the waves with the fish, but would appear soon again nearer shore, plodding on patiently.

Whilst Col. Fellowes was reading a description of this fish point, the lacquey explained a conversation he had with six or seven beggars off a rod from us. He said they were anxious to know who we three fellows were, and had dubbed Mr. Fellowes "Count of New York." I was son of the Count, and would eventually become Count of the Amsterdam, of the Empire state. Mr. Grant was dignified with the royal appellation of "Duke of Brunswick." They certainly found more curious matter in the polish of our glazed boots, than we did at their large wooden trotters, that at every step rattled against the others, who stood so close together as to form a bouquet of dirty Dutch heads of various colors.

Having informed Mr. Fellowes of his new made honor, he laughed heartily, and called them nearer to corroborate the information that they had been so lucky to find out, by throwing among them some of his revenue of the city named after their great Amsterdam. The Col. threw stavers and grochens until he astonished the natives. Some jumped clear over other's heads. Now the Col. was in his glory. This was Friday, and they had'nt eaten anything, but from their movements and agility, you would swear "they would make hay while the sun shines." Their strange movements was not only a signal for miles up the beach, but the fishermen had abandoned their smacks, and were coming through the surf, and under it. The Col. here run out of money, and called on my money bag, which was hanging under my arm like a bird bag, and was full of various coins, from Louis d' Or's of twenty franc pieces, to the smallest denominations. I gave small coin until I thought he had thrown away enough, and then cried broke. Mr. Grant and myself drew back from the Col., and he was beseiged. He told them he was broke, at the same time feeling all his pockets, whilst they was looking all around him for pockets he might overlook. About sixty or seventy had circled him, and we were laughing to ourselves because we saw he was vexed and felt himself in a dilemma. The little Dutch had almost fell down in the sand by his feet, and was feeling up his pantaloons leg to see if some was not dropping. One old honest Dutchman that had been carefully examining Mr. Fellowes coat tail, had come across his white handkerchief, and took it round in front and returned it. Here Mr. Fellowes showed tokens of fear, and he hallowed out, "Lacquey, why don't you take a stick and beat them off, don't you see they are robbing me?" "No sir, that handkerchief he thought was something that you had overlooked sticking to your clothes, and he brought it to your notice," said the lacquey. "Then tell them I am broke and drive them off." "Yes, sir, if I can." Here he went to work in earnest, explaining that the Count had run out of money but he had a plenty in the Bank, and they could get no more to-day. Then they went away about a rod and seemed buried in reflection. They started to come again, but the Col. backed, while the lacquey appealed to their reason by informing them that were it the king himself, he could not carry all his money with him. Mr. Fellowes shook himself and tried to put on a pleasing countenance, but we could not for our lives maintain our gravity at his lesson of familiarity while learning Dutch.

We walked up the beach, and conversed on the subject of the North Sea and Sir John Franklin, when all of a sudden Mr. Fellowes called to the coachman to drive up. I looked around and saw the beggars coming. We lost no time in retreating. While passing through the gates of the city, I noticed a bronze lion placed in the position of a guardian over it. I said, what an awful condition Daniel must have been in when in the lion's den. "No worse," said the Col. "than I was in with the Dutch!" Here a boy opened a door on the Col.'s side, that he might descend. As the Col. stepped out, he alighted on the Dutchman's wooden shoe, and tripped himself up. As he picked himself up and moved towards the hotel door, he exclaimed in an under tone, d----n the Dutch.

It must not be supposed that Mr. Fellowes meant any harm to the Dutch, but, they were not in his opinion, as agreeable as they might be. He left next day, although he intended staying a week "learning Dutch."

ON! ON! TO WATERLOO.

Without noting Rotterdam, Holland's lowest town, and Antwerp, an old Flemish town, I am at the carpet city of Belgium, Brussels, on my way to Waterloo. I have a little old lacquey I just hired and he is as cute as a mink. "All ready, sir," said he, "shall I drive you to the Palace or the Museum?" "No sir, on to Waterloo!" Here the hackman remonstrated--he was not engaged for twelve miles and only engaged inside the city walls, and would not go to Waterloo this cold wet day for less than twenty francs. "Go on, sir," said I, and he traversed the whole of the Brussels Boulevard before he passed the gates. Here we are at the battle-field where Wellington rose and Napoleon fell. Wellington conquered the master of the world. Byron says, in his Ode on Napoleon,--

"'Tis done! but yesterday a king,
And armed with kings to strive;
And now thou art a nameless thing--
So abject, yet alive"

He continues:--

"Is this the man with thousand thrones
Who strewed our earth with hostile bones,
And can he yet survive?
Since he miscalled the morning star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far."

My guide was an old revolutionary soldier who was opposed to the Bourbons before the days of Charles the 10th. He fought in this bloody fray, and pleads up fool play on the part of Grouchy.

Mr. Cotton's clerk sold me a copy of a book giving the details of this battle, which it took ten years to accumulate the matter for. Mr. Cotton was in the battle or close to it. In the centre of this field is now an immense mound, made with the bones of slain warriors. Small steps run up to its top, and Wellington is a monumental emblem seated on a horse moving over the field, apparently as natural as life, pinnacling this mound.

Having rested my body by leaning on the leg of the horse, I listened to the harangue of this old man, whose jaws had crept into his mouth, which was void of teeth. He first pointed out the position of Grouchy, who was not in the battle, but was Napoleon's climaxing reserve, off miles in the distance. He now evidently felt some of the animating spirit of that great day, as, pointing in the same direction, he showed me the hill over which Blucher came, and made Napoleon believe that it was his own Grouchy. The old man quieted his feelings before proceeding farther. He assured me that Napoleon's heartstrings must have burst at this perfidious conduct of Grouchy. He believed that Grouchy was so angry with Napoleon for refusing to let him lead on the battle in the morning instead of French Generals and Marshals, that he sold himself to the allies. Grouchy was one of Napoleon's German Generals, and wanted the glory of a battle which, if lost, would bankrupt the French nation, as they had drained their coffers to support the ambition of its chief, which, no doubt, was the greatest general of modern times. The old soldier pointed off to the right of Blucher's march over the hill, to the French position of Belle Alliance, and referred to those hours of anxiety from the first evening Napoleon arrived there and saw the English in the distance, when he craved the power of Joshua to stop the sun that he might attack them that day, to the close of the battle, when he mounted his white steed and started to the carnage, that he might fall among the slain, and how he was checked by Marshal Soult, which Marshal is yet living, who said to Napoleon, "They will not slay you but take you prisoner," upon which he fled from the scene of desolation and mourning.

The old soldier now turned languidly round to Hougomont, and there depicted some of the most daring fighting that ever a juvenile ear listened to. He said that Napoleon ordered Hougomont to be taken, and gave so many soldiers for that purpose. Hougomont is a long brick building, like an old fashioned barracks. It has a hedge of tall shrubbery in front, looking towards the battle plain. Thousands of English were stationed there with loop holes only a foot apart, so as to shoot down all attacks. When the French soldiers went towards the house to take it, they were shot down one upon another so fast that the few thousands sent against it were slain before they reached the hedge, where the French thought the fire came from. Word was sent to Napoleon that Hougomont could not be taken, and asking for an answer to the leader. Napoleon glanced once round the field, and said, "Tell him to take Hougomont," but he reinforced the leader, who said to his true soldiers, "Let us march up to die, the emperor says, take Hougomont." When these soldiers heard the orders of their emperor, they scuffled over the hedge to find the fire of their enemy, but to their great disappointment it came from the loopholes! but these daring veterans were not inclined to disobey the great emperor, who was no more a "little corporal." "They," says history, "marched up to the muzzles of the English muskets, and grappled with them till they sank beneath their wrath." Afterwards they took it, but could not keep it. They took it again and kept it some time, but finally left it in the hands of the enemy.

The old man says there were all sorts of reports on the field the night after the battle concerning the emperor. One was, that he rode into the fight and fell with the old guard, who made a pyramid over his body trying to screen him from the blows which fell on him; others were, that Wellington had him in close confinement, and when this was told, thousands of mangled men that seemed to be living only to hear his fate, fell back and died the death that none can die but a soldier. Next day the news came to the living wounded, that Napoleon was on his way, if not at Fontainbleau, and the old soldiers sprang up on their broken limbs, and filled the air with _vive l'empereur, vive toujours_.

Blucher and Wellington then commenced preparing to march on Paris and did. Blucher wanted to burn it but Wellington knew the revengeful spirit of the nation. He might have burned Paris as his allies wished, and, like Nero, fiddled while it burned, but all France would have been annihilated, or London razed to the earth.

Napoleon sent to Paris to know the Cabinet's opinion of this awful disaster to her Treasury and dignity. Tallyrand who was at the head of affairs, advised him to stay away from Paris, for he bankrupted France, and therefore, must abdicate. Napoleon sent a faithful man to plead in favor of his son, but Tallyrand said he had cost France millions of souls, besides bankrupting her, and must leave unconditionally.

Next morning this king of a hundred thrones rode out of Fontainbleau towards Dieppe. He went aboard an English vessel and said, "I am Napoleon." The old captain trembled as he saw the resemblance of that cold countenance, whose pictures filled even the hamlets of England. Struck with this importance, he untied his vessel, drew up his sail and steered to the admiral. Thus ends this Chapter as it did Napoleon, whose orders some days ago were, "On to Waterloo."

THE BIAS OF MY TOUR.

Here is Ghent. It is a large city, and a great many of the Brussells carpets are made here. There is no doubt it is as old a city as London. It is here the famous "Treaty of Ghent" was made by Henry Clay and John Adams. I have just been in their old residence, which, from appearances, must have been one of the best houses in Ghent. A good deal of silk is manufactured here even now. A great many Flemish families live here. The city supports an Opera, besides Theatres and other places of amusement. They are inclined to be Frenchy on the Sabbath. I went on the Sabbath to see a horse go up in a balloon. Three men, who paid a certain sum, took passage with the beast, and as he hung below the balloon, well strapped so he could not kick or agitate himself, these passengers were seated above; I hated it much, as the beast looked so melancholy and innocent. I had seen the same performance at Paris. It was not such a novelty to the horse as to me, for this was the same horse I had seen at Paris some time before. Away they went, upward like a cloud, in a hurry toward the sea, and were soon lost to our sight.

Another day is gone and leaves me in Bruges; an old quiet city that figured much in the romantic affairs of Flanders. Bad hotels are plentiful here, with wise men to keep them, for if a man was to keep them better, he would soon have to keep none. We were the only occupants, or even strangers in town. And as we walked out to see its wonders, we found that our arrival had excited the curiosity of a hundred beggars. It is a characteristic trait of beggars, to keep quiet when they see a stranger in town, like a dog with his bone he wishes the picking of alone. But always betray themselves by waiting too long about the hotel where their victim resides. They generally watch the movement of the shrewdest beggar, and keep in his track. They most always keep themselves concealed from view, until they get their victim fairly launched; then with the sails of poverty, like boreas, they will follow him up till they drive his temper straight into the channel of charity, where we can only find safety in our acts of humanity. Here I was right for once, because I had procured an immense quantity of the smallest coin. I called them all up, and told the lacquey de place to tell them I would give them all I had, if they would cease to follow us, it was agreed, and I give him about half a pint of small coin to divide among them; he give it to a responsible one and they all followed him in counsel.